Neophyte

by T. D. McMichael

  I left off and ate a sardine. Little did I know that he would actually take me seriously.

  * * *

  We walked that night through the sestiere of San Marco, in the only true piazza in Venice, where I saw a strange clock tower and a mechanism of blue and gold. The sun was the hand of time.

  I realized it was the zodiac and the phases of the moon. Two huge bronze statues stood above us; they moved suddenly and struck the bell. Dallace explained them. The clock boomed.

  “They are the Mori,” he said. “Italian not Latin. They are the Moors. If it were Latin, they would mean death. They guard the clock.”

  It unsettled me for a second, watching the clock. Not least because it looked like the Wiccan symbol for the Three Protectors, otherwise known as the Triple Goddess.

  Infester had explained it to me. The Triple Goddess told the story of the Three Protectors. One, who was steadfast, never moved; that was the circle. The others, the crescents, could only be there some of the time. But Infester had an ingenious theory. It wasn’t because their interest in her had waned. Quite the contrary! It was because they were vampires. They could only protect me some of the time. And I, I––

  As I looked at it, the full moon was like the sun, chasing away the crescent moons––which were represented in the moon phases of the clock.

  As soon as I returned to Rome I was adamant about finding magic; I knew who needed to help me. There was also a Fourth Protector.

  The famous pigeons slept in their alcoves; the square was dark, unusually empty, even for this late hour. I took Dallace’s arm, as we walked along. Lennox and Camille were behind us, whispering about who knows what.

  “Something troubles you, Halsey Rookmaaker,” he said to me.

  “Camille and I spoke. Did she tell you?” I asked.

  Dallace said, “Camille is good about not revealing confidences. What did the two of you speak about?”

  “It was weird. We were talking about Venice, how it’s old and stuff,” I said, walking along; his footfalls kept time. “But I got the sense that we were talking about something more than that.”

  “Camille has troubling gifts.”

  “She’s very nice,” I said.

  “Perhaps if I explain what Venice means to me,” said Dallace, “and why I live here...”

  I waited for him to continue.

  “We don’t rule Venice,” he said. “Rather, we fit in. We love it too much to sully it with blood. This is a peaceful place. It teaches us patience, to take our time. A human ungifted with our preternatural speed could cross her in an hour, taking his time. It sets us a different pace, brings us back to our former selves. To a happy equilibrium. In Venice, you have all the time in the world... to be human.”

  “But something troubles me,” I said, “and I require your edification, if you will.”

  “Please. Go on,” he said.

  “Well, it’s just that you said you ‘love it too much’. And that’s just the thing. Can a vampire truly really love?”

  “You’re worried about Lennox.”

  “Do I need to be?” I said.

  “It’s true. What he faces is very real, Halsey Rookmaaker. It’s so real, that he’s afraid to let you in on it. As you can see, I lack some of my wife’s discretion. Perhaps I should say no more.”

  “Or,” I said, turning so that we could look at one another––Camille and Lennox were nowhere to be seen, “what you say is more to the point, and so, of greater value. No offense.”

  “None taken. I am honored that you care so much for him. But if you do, you will let him go. At least, for the time being.”

  “Is that what you advise me to do?”

  “I do. Lennox is very wise. But he is young and he has a lot to learn. This thing will be happening, whether he wants it to or not. We all face challenges in the immediate future. Tell me, have you given any thought to your letter?”

  “It was sent by the Lenoir, but who are they to tell me?” I said.

  “The Lenoir, for all of their longevity, have missed a few crucial lessons. You have heard the saying that Power corrupts; it also blinds. Be assured. They do not hold all the power. There are more supernaturals than just we vampires. And that should be exciting to you.”

  “What are you saying, exactly?” I said.

  “That there is a reason that Rome was picked. Just as there is a reason you yourself were chosen to bear this gift. For such gifts are given in the hopes that they will be taken as such––and used.”

  “I’m just afraid that Lennox will forget me. He is withdrawn, I feel him withdrawing more,” I said to Dallace.

  “Those things that we let go, return to us, if that is their will. Let go. You have another question.”

  “Camille spoke as though all vampires are dead.”

  “We are,” said Dallace.

  “You know what I mean. It was different.”

  “I understand.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. We call it the fugue. It actually happens twice for vampires. And that’s the whole deal. Lennox was turned some time ago. He is relatively new for a vampire, but he is old enough to ask all the right questions. Among them, Is this it? Are we all that there is?

  “Do not take that personally, Halsey Rookmaaker; this has been coming on for a while, since before he met you. A vampire confronted for the first time with the prospect of eternity oftentimes doesn’t know how to respond to that.

  “There is only one right way, and not all minds––for we retain that at least––know how to accept the unacceptable. But I would appreciate if you would mention nothing of what I have just said to Lennox. The Agonies is a private time for a vampire. Something that should be figured out for oneself. The alternative is complete death. That is the one that cannot be outrun.”

  * * *

  I stood in the square feeling my mind would pop. Dallace had become uncommunicative, but I understood it was because he had already shared more, perhaps, than even I was aware of, at the time. So we just walked and he admired the beauty of their home, and we returned to the empty, dark canal.

  I was quiet all night, but the dreams came back. Camille’s garden beckoned to me; I trod on the grass, up to it. I looked down, my feet were bare.

  Something was whispering inside the dark tunnel of vines and trees; I couldn’t see it. It was nighttime and the air was full of an impenetrable mist; it made my nightgown cling to me. My hair trailed thickly down my back. “What is it you’re saying?” I said.

  I whispered so that I was not found out. I must enter this tunnel alone. There was no response.

  I looked around, briefly. The high wall kept out the noise. The windows back the way I had come were dark. Above the canopy of trees the two tall towers lay dark, moonless. My windows fluttered open, but it was only the breeze.

  I turned and looked down the dark tunnel, to where it bent. I must go in there. I stepped on the stones with my bare feet. Bits of grass stood out greenly on my wet feet.

  “The magic in her blood is pulling her,” said a voice. I looked around. Deeper and deeper into the trees.

  “She is not one of us. It’s dangerous.”

  “No. Impossible. That hasn’t happened in over a century.”

  I looked up, hungrily, for the moon; it was gone, it was closed out. I was completely, totally alone.

  “She’s in and out,” said a voice. “Go, Lennoxlove. I will be here when she wakes.”

  “We will protect her.”

  “That’s the thing. I’m not sure you can,” he said.

  I wanted him to wait––for me––to stop–– To scream that I needed him. If I meant anything to him, he would wait. The thrashing thing was back again. A pair of dark eyes.

  Ballard. I ran to him. It attacked me. I tried to fend it off.

  It was too late.

  I woke up, screaming. The last image I had was of a small face turning to stare at me; the dark tunnel disappeared, and it was like I was being sucked b
ackwards from my dreams. Camille was standing over me, and I had the sudden impression that she had been trying to drink my blood. Impossible. I rolled away, trying to free myself, but she put her hands on me. They were like vices of cold iron I could not escape. I heard her voice. She was trying to bring me back.

  “Halsey! It’s just a dream! You were dreaming!”

  “Lennox...” I said. He had left me. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted my boyfriend back. He was gone. I was all alone. He was gone.

  Chapter 4 – In the Muck

  Ms. Halsey Rookmaaker

  c/o The Venice Coven

  Youknowwhere

  Venice, Italy

  Dear Ms. Rookmaaker,

  According to the European Covenant of Magic, as agreed to in 1887––we were there, so do not try to deny it––and in accordance with the highest ideals of Supernatural, and Immortal alike––agreed to, and signed in blood––by all parties involved––as stipulated:

  Every quarter century a reckoning must and will take place––As for the benefit of all––to include but not limited to––

  The indoctrination of all those magically-endowed, to be presided over by Three Houses (The Lenoir––Immortal, Vampire; Prague, the Districts of Magic, the original magical bloodline; The Sons and Daughters of Romulus).

  Taking place in the three European cities, The Gathering alternates between the home of the vampire; the aforementioned birthplace of Magic; and, now, this year, Rome. It is a celebration of our rare and unique gifts. You are hereby summoned to attend.

  As this is your first Gathering, failure to attend will be met with the severest penalties.

  Yours in Admiration and All Due Respect,

  Maria Lenoir

  Head Vampire

  * * *

  I read through this strange and curious correspondence, in the scrawl of the vampire. It was signed in blood. It sounded fussy and like a boss. It put me on my guard. Dallace and Camille had received similar invitations, I was sure. Though I’m sure theirs were a little different, given their age. Something about it disturbed me. Maybe it was all the slashes. I also noticed Maria put the Lenoir first, when naming the Houses. House Lenoir. Like they came first. But who were the Sons and Daughters of Romulus?

  Ballard––I needed his council. He was sixteen years old, but beyond his years in wisdom. His family relied upon him. I imagined him now, working in his motorcycle shop, with a grease rag in his hands, wiping some of it on his face; it excited me that I was going to get back to him, to his kind eyes, and gentle voice.

  I realized something. My hunt for Magic was over. They were going to be there, weren’t they? Whoever they were. These magic people. I needed to learn more. I felt like I had a test to study for. I didn’t want to walk in unprepared. It would be a catastrophe.

  “I never heard of this before. There are governing bodies, secret meetings, a European what is it? Covenant of Magic,” I said.

  “That was actually just agreed upon for ease, the thought being Vampirism was likewise ‘magical’. A subtle way of saying we can do everything you can do better,” said Dallace, referring to the feud between vampires and magic I had not really heard that much about.

  We were on the train. I clutched my diary in my hand, the letter tucked away safely inside it.

  There was a wax seal in the paper; it looked dripping with blood. An ornate letter L. Camille would be catching up with us, she said. It was just Dallace and I. He would see me back to my place, in Rome. (“You’ll be safe there,” he said. “At least from us.”)

  “I didn’t know there were so many things I had to worry about,” I said.

  Dallace looked excited for the Gathering; I didn’t imagine there were that many things he really looked forward to. And Lennox?

  “He had to go,” said Dallace.

  I nodded. “They sound like busybodies,” I said, “the Lenoir.”

  “There have been problems in the past. Wars,” said Dallace.

  “Oh,” I said. I waited for him to go on. The countryside flashed past. Already my time in Venice was beginning to feel like a distant memory. Like I was some other Halsey. Like my old me was gone. I was headed into the unknown, and everything that entailed; within me, particularly, a sense of dread was growing, that I might not measure up, that I might, strange as this may sound, let my parents down. They had been dead since before I could remember.

  I thought about that as the train chugged along, through fields of wheat, and cypress trees, and the lovely Italian villages, that went rolling past our window, as we headed to Rome, to the smog, and the meetinghouses, and the secrets, and the past, I a witch.

  It was official now. My too-heavy head, full of thoughts and feelings. The sun was setting and we chugged into the night, through Bologna, and Firenze, and the Tuscan countryside. And all the while, I thought of Lennox, and what he must be doing. But I whispered nothing of my fears to Dallace.

  I was sure he had his own concerns. After all, Lennox was something of a son. They gave off this brotherly affection, but I knew who Lennox turned to for help and support. He turned to Dallace. Which made me love the vampire sitting across from me all the more. And I thought, witches and wizards and vampires do not get along? How come? Why not?

  What was it in our shared pasts that made us enemies? And Dallace, did he feel that way about me, that I could not be trusted?

  Had all of this, my staying with them, been a sham? Were they not, in a way, going to be glad to get rid of me?

  “Your mind oppresses you with figments and shadows and other haunting things,” he said.

  “So you know what haunts me?” I said.

  “Your dreams,” said Dallace.

  “I don’t want to go,” I said.

  “Can I tell you something? Perhaps it will ease your mind. You noticed the quatrefoils? The Venice architecture?”

  I had become expert in architecture. I had to, when I had been trying to figure out what Lennox was––before I knew, and that I loved him. A quatrefoil was simply four of something. They were particularly useful in windows. They looked something like this.

  Like four-leaf clovers; they were open. So was Dallace’s confession.

  “We have a Story, call it a family tale. That we are incomplete. That one day we shall be four: Camille, myself... Lennox, and now you.

  “So you see,” he said––I didn’t know what to say to this “––in a sense we have nothing to worry about. Lennox should survive, and this thing which hunts you, be it perceived only, or in fact the real deal––it cannot stop the fact that we are meant to be together, Camille, myself––and if you will, you and dear Lennox. This is why I am coming with you. Not as Protector. As friend and guardian. If I may, to vouch for you. The Lenoir will not think to bother you. Not unless they wish to open old hostilities. If I may, you should rest, Halsey Rookmaaker. We will be there soon, and you have much to get ready for. If I am not mistaken, the covens will want to test you––and the other initiates. They are looking for someone; or something. I have never really been sure what they meant by her. But here I have already said too much. It will be up to others to indoctrinate you. Just be sure you do not forget who you are. All right?”

  I nodded, and then gulped. Despite his words to the contrary, I knew not to assume Lennox would just make it. I worried about him, now more than ever. And had Dallace just said that he wanted to turn me into an immortal, a vampire, just like him?

  Was that what this was all about? Was I to become one of them?

  “I do not claim to see the future; but it would not be so bad. I can think of worse things than having my family whole and complete. We take you as you are, Halsey Rookmaaker,” he said.

  The train shot us through the two-hundred-fifty-mile trip, with various stoppages, so that it was almost morning when we arrived; I had slept intermittently; the jostling of the cabin kept any nightmares at bay. We arrived at Termini Station at first light.

  “I leave you here, but we will mee
t again. Goodbye, Halsey Rookmaaker.”

  I thanked Dallace for accompanying me, and wished him well. Where he would go, I had no idea; I couldn’t exactly invite him to come stay with me. He flew off, and that was it. The Gathering would be taking place in three days’ time. I would see him again.

  What to do now? I stood outside the station, clutching my diary, and just began to walk. It was a mile or so to my apartment on Via dei Condotti. The minicab operators were nowhere to be seen.

  When I got there, flushed from my walk in the mist and monuments, my landlady buzzed me up. She had still not learned how to stop disliking me so much. She had a very disapproving look upon her face. Amazed, no doubt, that I had still not managed to get myself killed. I nodded. “There’s still tomorrow,” I said, bidding her goodnight.

  Her eyes glinted. “This is tomorrow,” she said, in her broken English. She jabbed at me with her fingertips.

  Let her think I don’t know what she’s saying.

  I nodded and smiled. “Lovely to see you,” I said. I meant it, too. But her face distorted into a thousand ugly creases. “You. Be. Careful,” she said to me.

  I promised her that I would be; and then I ran. My room looked exactly as it always did; with the bed and the whatnot and the candles and the tub. There was a map of Rome on the wall, but I almost never looked at it. The idiosyncratic layout of the city was becoming second nature to me. I had been looking through it for so long, trying to find my past, that now I knew it better than I knew myself.

  This must change.

  It was too early to even think of going back to sleep; once I’m awake I go until I’m dead. This helps when you have a vampire throwing you off your sleeping patterns, not that we ever have.