Neophyte / Adept (58 page)

Gaven was prematurely and quite quickly old. His hair had
turned all-white while in jail waiting for the Quirinal to bail him out. But of
course that just made him look even more handsome. He reminded me of the Grey
Wolf, or like Risky. Perhaps all ex-Il Gattos looked like silver foxes.

A calmness had come over Rome––a quietude. But I
knew better. Rayven was still out there. Every day lost brought us closer to
doom.

“Severe hailstorms... hundreds of lightning strikes...” The
news was filled with calamities and natural disasters––but no more
mysterious house fires had been reported.

If anything it felt as though the Dark Order was building up
to something big.

One good thing had come from our trip to
Prague––even though it had enabled Locke to potentially engineer
Ballard’s ouster. And that was the Benandanti, who were now back.
Once Lennox returns
, I thought,
we’ll have a nice little army
.

* * *

The S Bros, Sándor and Septimus, had been preparing Ballard
and I for our trial, the following week. They’d opened a shop in Via dei
Condotti, called S Bros, which was very swank. And it was there that we adjourned,
to discuss the case. S Bros reminded me of the Voettfangs’ shop, in a way.
Dusty books and other things scattered the tables and bookshelves. Maybe Via
dei Condotti could be the new Golden Lane. Antiquarian Row.

Ballard said, “I get it. Leave me alone,” to which they
replied, “Locke’s crafty. He’ll lead you into traps. You need to twist his
words, Ballard.”

Having a verbal duel was a lot harder than studying magic,
especially as you couldn’t afford to make mistakes. “One false word, it’s
over,” said Sándor. “Locke’s a xenophobe––it means he’s afraid of
Paris, London, Prague––all of us.”

Septimus pretended to cross-examine me.

“Stop stuttering. And don’t fidget. Stick to the facts,” he
said.

By the end of it, Ballard and I didn’t know what to do.

* * *

The next few days I withdrew from everybody else, doing my
best Vittoria impression, and began to work on my House.

It was annoying to think that it was going to be held in
interreges until I came to be––or if I ever
was––such-and-such.
Like I
wasn’t old enough. Like I needed their permission.
I was just irritated, is
all. I didn’t like being told what to do. Like I needed their help. All this
Locke talk. Maybe there was some kind of key I needed to unlock my House.

I will find it; my
blood will lead me there....

But so far there had not been any breaks and I had been led
more by fantasy than any familial connection.

What happened to my parents? And what was Risky’s role in
it?

Maybe he was encouraging them to hive... I thought... and he
got them killed before the plan was finished.
Yeah.
Maybe that’s what got them killed, I wrote in my Diary.
Because they led the werewolves with them! That’s why they’re not in The
Directory! Their House was never started! House Rookmaaker is invisible! An
abomination!

But I had seen it––unless it was all some kind
of trick on the part of Rayven. Not even Vittoria’s banging around could
discourage me from that line of reasoning––yet Mistress Genevieve
had warned me against being too often in my head. Like it was dangerous.

Siobhan, the Hall of Records woman, said there was no record
of my parents’ House anywhere.

Think, Halsey.
Why
would they cover it up? Who would cover it up? Maybe it wasn’t covered up? Why
would a House exist, but not be listed? What was it about
their
House that it had not been included in The Directory? Was
there anything about my parents that I didn’t know?

I was the de facto head of a House that didn’t
exist––on paper. But it was real. I was sure of it.
I need to know
, I wrote.
I need to know that they didn’t just leave
me. They didn’t die for nothing.

But who could I turn to?

I gathered all my stuff––Diary, Directory,
Codex, Everything book––emptying the desk drawers.

The Rookmaakers were
getting powerful––that much is clear. They had a lot of influence.
The Rookmaakers were trying to break away. To form their own House
, I
invented wildly. Mistress Genevieve’s letter fell out––followed by
Ballard’s––

And Selwyn’s Marker; I grabbed at it hungrily, rubbing the
Marker with my Wiccan fingertips––

Risky and them were up
to something––maybe this is the key...

“
BEWARE THE DARK PATH.”

* * *

“
What
is out there? The truth? What is that?
Somebody’s
truth. Isn’t necessarily
ours,” said Ballard, when I had whispered to him what I’d found, the next day.
“Why didn’t the Dark Order want Rookmaaker hiving from Pendderwenn?” he said.
“Because of their plans? What are those? Whose plans are those?”

Sándor and Septimus were still going on and on about what we
needed to do. I kept thinking about House Rookmaaker and the Dark Order.

“Rayven showed it to me, Ballard. He used the Remember
Spell. He must
want
me to find House
Rookmaaker. Although, I can’t think why.”

“Hmm, let’s think,” he said,
“so he knows where to find you, so he can kill you...”

“Oh yeah. Right,” I said.

“Are you two paying attention? Because he’ll most likely use
the witch argument.”

“Which argument is that?” said Ballard, drawing an
appreciative nod from yours truly.

* * *

It happened. There was a knock at Ballard’s roll-up door in
his motorcycle shop one day and Emma Skarborough appeared, with her notebook in
hand and a look on her face of deepest cunning. She made some wisecrack about
Ballard and I playing Spin the Bottle.

“What do you want, Em? Following up on your latest hit
piece?” said Ballard.

“Cousin, I had to warn the public. Besides,” she said in her
unusually nasal voice that made the hairs on the backs of my arms stand up,
“you should be thanking me. With motorcycles taboo, everyone will want one. And
you are?” she said to me.

“Nobody,” I said. I got on my motorcycle to go. “C’ya, Bal.”

“Wait a minute, wait just one second,” she said. “I
recognize
that bike. That’s Risky’s
bike. It belonged to my uncle. Ballard wouldn’t just give it to anybody.
Who
are you?”

“What’s it to you?” said Ballard. I realized immediately
he’d made a mistake.

“Something’s
not
right here,” she said. “The stories in the news––even though I put
them there. You’re up to something.
Both
of you! I can feel it! What is it? The only stories worth knowing aren’t
necessarily what people are willing to tell me. At the same time, I would never
dig
. No, I would not.” She eyed me
beadily and began scribbling in her notebook.

Ballard closed the door on her, saying “Get out!”

“She’ll get you next,” I warned. “You better be careful,
Ballard.”

* * *

ROME––Purse snatching pays. How motorcycle
gangs are funding their lavish lifestyle.
By
Emma Skarborough.

I read and I reread––I still couldn’t believe
it.

“Thankfully, with her visa up, Miss Rookmaaker of Via dei
Condotti, will be booted back to America where she belongs! It’s been a year!
Surely the Questura will be interested to know how an unemployed teenager with
no work history and no family connections is affording her rents in the posh
shopping district?”

I gulped.

With Skarborough on my case, I’d be out of Rome tomorrow,
even if the werewolves didn’t banish me. Why
was
my rent so cheap,
anyway
?
I thought.

Ballard took the pragmatic point of view. “At least she’s
after you now,” he said.

“I’m not kidding, Ballard! You have to apply in advance for
a permit to stay, and I didn’t! I’m done for!”

“Don’t you see? She’s lumped you in with us. We protect our
own, Halsey, at least I do.”

“Right... The trial,” I said, wondering if I was going to be
kicked out.

Emma Skarborough was nothing––nothing compared
to the trial. I could always put out a hit piece on her––
with my fists
. But if the werewolves
banished me...

The thing about
politicians
, I wrote in my Diary,
is
they put their faces on everything, but their souls into nothing.
Would
Locke destroy what Ballard and I were trying to build? Could he?

“Just remember,” said Septimus the day of the trial, “there
are others besides Locke on the Quirinal. They’ll give you a fair hearing.
Reason with them.”

“Stick to the facts,” said Sándor. “They can’t possibly kick
you out.”

Ballard and I nodded. It was almost time to go. Despite
their warning, my heart rate skyrocketed.

“We’re behind you one hundred percent,” they said.

We made our way to the Colosseum on motorcycles. All too
soon, we were coming through the fog, and the stadium appeared, wolf-shapes
running through the bars. The trial was by moonlight.

“They’re over here,” said Lia, pointing to us. She and Gaven
came running over. Ballard and I greeted them, but it was like I couldn’t
concentrate on anything.

The full twelve members of the Quirinal were present in the
pit, almost like a House, flanked by the werewolves known as The Warlockes. It
gave me the creeps.

Someone lit a fire. It was the second time I’d been to a
Wolves’ Council––gone was the sense of solidarity. If anything, it
felt more like a witch-hunt.

I looked at each face of the Quirinal, wondering if they
knew how full of it their leader was?

Locke said, “From Lupercalia until two weeks ago, you both
have been missing. Where have you been and what were you doing, that you left
us in the lurch?”

“We went to Prague,” said Ballard, “I had business there.
Halsey went with me.”

“Why not tell us beforehand?” said Locke. “Why close the
border so we cannot follow?”

Apparently, Il Gatto’s prerogative had prevented them from
coming after us.

“It was a private matter,” said Ballard.

“Private from us?” said Locke.

Ballard clenched his fists, but said nothing.

“The border was penetrated at the start of the new year,”
continued Locke, “by wizards calling themselves
Ravenseals
. They seemed to think they had some rights to your
friend, Miss Halsey Rookmaaker.”

“I don’t get the question,” said Ballard.

“I’m trying to illustrate that when it comes to your
friends, you’re willing to stand your ground, even when the other side has call
to be there,” said Locke.

“If you mean,” said Ballard, “would I stand here and let
them take her––no, not unless she wanted to go.”

“Thank you.” Locke held up a letter from the Ravenseals.
“They sent me this. Apparently, Miss Rookmaaker has a House? What’s more, it’s
here in Rome.”

I could see Veruschka’s handwriting. What shrieks and oaths
had she put out against me, anyway? Between her and Skarborough, I’d take
Skarborough any day.

Brandishing the note, Locke said “There are quite a number
of rules or
ardanes
regarding Wiccan
Houses.
Quite
a number. I will read
to you a list of these rules. Because, apparently, we’re in quite a bit of
trouble. Ardane Number One––” He cleared his throat
“––Only a third-level Wiccan may lead her own House. Good so far.
Ardane Number Two,” said Locke, “Only twelve members to a House. Ardane Number
Three: Only a second-degree and up may initiate someone. Ardane Number Four:
Only someone initiated may attend
secret
Gatherings, well, well––
secret
Gatherings. Ardane Number Five: If a coven becomes thirteen-or-greater, that
coven must Hive. Ardane Number Six: If there is no number three, one will be
appointed by The Council of Magic,
well,
well, well
. Ardane Number Seven: Houses in interreges will be monitored and
the transfer of power overseen by––excuse me The
Master
House. You are still a Neophyte,
correct, Miss Rookmaaker?” he said to me.

“Me? Yes. Why?” I said.

“The reason I ask, do we really want outsiders having so
large a say in what goes on in
our
city?” said Locke. “Appointing officials and the like? Overseeing... monitoring
us
.... I say not. Bear in mind that
there are other unwritten rules,” he informed his colleagues.

If Rule Number One
could be broken
, I thought,
could
Rule Number Two?
For all that was written in the codex, there was a lot
more that was unwritten. Locke had a point.

“The fact is, if she breaks the rules,” said Locke, “the
vampires can come here and kill us––it’s called a Storm of Covens.
Which puts us in a quandary.” He pantomimed concern. “Do we vouch for her and
die, or do we cut her loose? Ballard has already said he will
fight
to protect her––and
you know how fond he is of drawing lines––of forcing conflicts.
Which means Miss Rookmaaker has the power to draw us into a war. Not only with
Prague but with Paris. Witches
and
vampires. On top of which, they would be
justified
in coming here.
It’s in their rules!
And I quote: ‘Any Storm Leader opens her House to being drained by
blood-drinkers.’ Unquote. She’s also
sleep-ing
with a vampire! One of the Lenoir! Our enemy!
Lennoxlove Lenoir!”

The way he said it. The other werewolves were looking at me,
particularly the Warlockes, like I was some kind of scarlet woman. Locke
gesticulated wildly. “What secrets have you been whispering about us, late,
late at night, Miss Rookmaaker?” he said, to nods from the Warlockes.

“My
turn,” said
Ballard, “because I have a lot to say also. It was Lennox, Locke, who helped
fight back the zombies. Lennox, who helped protect Halsey and me at Club Change.
If anything, her relationship with him
strengthens
our ties with vampires.”