“You’re from Rome, right?” he said. It was getting late, and Asher lit a torch to put over us.
“Me? No––Massachusetts. Why?” I said to Laurinaitis.
He angled it that way, across the Atlantic Ocean, to St. Martley’s.
“Well, we are from Rome,” he said. The keratin in his nails was thick. Laurinaitis kept them clipped, but even in man-form they were deadly. How must he look transformed? Like Ballard? Or no. Selwyn. Selwyn who was a cat.
“But I thought... there were the Sons and Daughters of Romulus,” I said, “and then the Grigori and the Benandanti? That they were separate. ‘You to your corner, we to ours,’” I repeated.
Laurinaitis hissed at the name Grigori. “Lump the first and third together, not the second,” he said.
“The Sons and Daughters of Romulus––and the Benandanti,” I said. “Better?”
He turned the arrow back down. I knew of whom he was thinking: Rayven. What was with the enmity between their two “covens”?
“You’re Wiccan, right?” he said.
“I am. But I’m uninitiated,” I said. It was starting to feel like an excuse.
“Not anymore,” said Laurinaitis. “Asher? What d’you say?”
“She needs to know,” he agreed.
“I agree....” said Laurinaitis. “Halsey, have you ever wondered why Il Gatto is the King of Cats, and the Werewolf King the Magister Equitum? Why a wolf is a cat, and a cat a dog? Compounded by the fact equus means horse, which is simply tradition and has no bearing on the matter whatsoever? If anything, Rome should be where the King of the Wolves resides, Digby Doubleday, our packhead’s non-pack sobriquet. Today there are domesticated cats, but no ailuranthropes, in Rome, is that correct?”
I nodded, confused.
“The reason is the Last War,” said Laurinaitis. “We really should have Manon here with us, Asher, and Enzo.”
Something in me clicked.
“Lorenzo? Is he here?” I said.
Both Asher and Laurinaitis shook their heads.
“He died, unfortunately,” said Asher. “Perhaps we should start with that.”
“Lorenzo used to be Head Wolf,” said Laurinaitis, “the position your friend Ballard currently holds––but he got thrown out of Rome. They gave him the boot––the benandanti as well.”
“Rome is shaped that way,” said Asher, who drew a shape of the Italian Peninsula in midair with his finger.
The pendant on the table looked like an upside-down, all-seeing eye. The diarist in me snuffled ahead. Maybe indoctrination was knowing? It was going to be a long night, but I needed to know this. Asher and Laurinaitis continued on...
“The Grigori were not as they are now,” said Laurinaitis. “They’re still mean and nasty, yes, but before––during the War––they had numbers.
“Following the Covenant of 1887, the respective covens, kords, clans, and dwayles, went their separate ways––you to your corner, we to ours, never to fight again. We hoped. Which should’ve been an end to it. But the Grigori marched against the Sons and Daughters of Romulus, and very nearly destroyed us. The Council of Magic was busy elsewhere, rebuilding their world, while ours was falling apart––a clever trick, to turn their backs on us, after we had decimated ourselves elevenfold saving them. Prague owes Rome. Never forget that, Halsey.
“Erasmus had helped to turn the tide. Hiving had been initiated, but Lenoir had been cast out. In one respect, Hiving is good,” said Laurinaitis. “In every other, it is monumentally bad and always has been so. But. Hiving. Was. It had happened. That was the material point. You look like I’m losing you, and maybe I am, but I assure you, all will be made clear.
“The problem with coming into something in the middle or the end––and let us hope it is not––is you never hear about the beginning,” said Laurinaitis. “We will now endeavor to indoctrinate you into the Past.
“It was Rayven who killed Vanity Ravenseal, Erasmus’s Mistress. On the orders of the vampires, some said. But Rome was in turmoil. The Grigori were all but extinct; they liked to fight amongst themselves, and so were undermined from within. Like a dead House, a conflict arose between the Roman Packheads. The Head Wolf, a cyanthrope named Crispus, was all for finishing the Grigori off. After all, they had attacked us! But his brother, Domitius, who was Head of the Quirinal at the time, thought otherwise. ‘Haven’t we suffered enough?’ said Domitius one day. Crispus disagreed and overruled him. It was within his power. ‘We must end this threat to us,’ he said, ‘once and for all.’ That night, Domitius killed his brother, and it was Romulus and Remus all over again. Rome was in free fall.
“With Crispus gone, the Quirinal was in power. But a small faction of us rose from within––not Eclectics, per se, but fully-fledged werewolves and otherkin kind.” His eyes lit up like fiery bijoux. “Before the splitting, Rome embraced all forms of permutation––there were a million words for the things we could do. Loup garou and berserkers and so forth. Unfortunately, there were not enough of us to put an end to the Grigori, as should have been done––but we maintained Crispus’s last wish, that the Grigori should be watched. So that is what we have done. We broke from the Sons and Daughters of Romulus and headed north. To Stromovka. And so became the Benandanti. Those Who Do Good. But how do we good? We do good by keeping an eye on those who do bad.”
He pointed through the opening of the Hollow with his finger directly to Prague and the Districts of Magic. The places I must go. I felt a prickle of fear.
“The Stromovka circles Prague,” said Laurinaitis. “It surrounds it . Like a great magic circle. And the only thing––the only thing––between the Grigori and Rome, between the Dark Order and Rome, is us.”
“You mean––you’ve been watching all this time?” I said. “For a hundred plus years? For what the Grigori will do....”
“‘Watching’ is a good word––as will be shown. But it was not the Grigori alone, our vigilance extended to. It included the Dark Order.”
* * *
I did the math in my head. The European Covenant of Magic was signed in 1887. That would make Rayven hundreds of years old––an expert spellcaster. Way beyond fledged. Better than me.
“Don’t forget,” said Laurinaitis, “some of us can live for extraordinarily long times. Rayven, as he’s called, is ancient. In the lexicon of the Grigori, he is the worst.” He passed me an aperitif. The snow had let up, but the torch-side chat continued. “Prague was bad then,” he said. “Now it is a dangerous place, even if you don’t have magic.”
“The Dark Order is spreading,” said Laurinaitis. “Magic is growing once more from Prague, unfurling itself from the Districts of Magic. That knowledge alone would require this gathering–– you know, I think we should get Manon,” he said to Asher.
“We know you wish to go there,” continued Laurinaitis, as Asher got up to go, “––to Prague,” he said.
“Don’t do it. The friendship of our two families is paramount––perhaps we can repair old ties, and settle this matter once and for all––and reunite the Benandanti and Rome––because by going alone to Prague the Grigori have the advantage. But together....”
Did he mean what I thought he did? Were the Benandanti still interested in eliminating the Grigori? And if so, did they need our help? It had been a hundred and twenty-five years––five Gathering’s-worth since the Dark Days. As for two families, I wasn’t a part of the Sons and Daughters of Romulus. Not really. Families lived in houses and I still needed to find mine. For once, I was glad I had not won the race. It enabled me to go my separate way. Meanwhile, did the Sons and Daughters of Romulus need Ballard back?
“Think about it. Ravenseal is tottering. The Master House wants them. And when they say they come for you, Ravenseal comes on behalf of them. Surely you know this?” said Laurinaitis. “If we do not come for them, the Grigori will come for us––that is their plan. We grow our numbers––but so do they. And there are other parties involved, such as the Master
House. Our story’s getting out of hand. The Magister Equitum will wish us to speak coherently, you two. Everything depends upon it.”
Asher and Manon were back. Manon looked tousle-haired. “I was sleeping,” she said. “Hello, Halsey.”
“Hi.” I nodded. “But why me?” I said. “Who am I?”
“The two shall be explained,” said Laurinaitis. “But right now, as an answer to your question, I will say this––it was your parents, Kinsey and Max R, who set things in motion. A greater Gathering may indeed be in order down the road, where others will be included, but for now let us rattle this out together. Ballard knows everything of which I’m about to tell you.
“How does he know? It’s simple. As Head Wolf, Ballard is privy to certain inside information. As was Lorenzo before him. But unlike Ballard and Gaven, Lorenzo got in the face of the Quirinal,” said Laurinaitis.
“The Quirinal had forgotten the Last War, you see, or wished to. When the covenant was signed, that was the end of it. But for the Grigori....
“The aftermath resulted in a xenophobic desire of sorts––you to your corner, we to ours. Even those few of the Lenoir––who had taken on the name of the great wizard––as a hunter will display his horns––were excommunicated, banished from the city. Rome fell to ruin and the werewolves to their bane––that of willful ignorance. Rome used to be very cosmopolitan. But the Quirinal wished to forget everything. The war, the other sides... Even,” said Laurinaitis, “their own magic. Yes. The werewolves have some. Occasionally, one or two of them will discover it. Meanwhile, the rest of them feel content to put it in its box, until today they do not know they possess it. Don’t you know that the Sons and Daughters of Romulus happen also to be Wiccans? We all do. But Wiccans of a certain type. Magic is in many voices, Miss Rookmaaker.”
“It’s true,” said Manon. “Magic split, but we all got a piece. Even the werewolves.”
“What about the Grigori? Do they have Magic?” I asked, thinking about Rayven, and wondering if his mark could be explained some other way. If perhaps Lenoir had given it to him, specifically, and the others were merely nasty?
“The Grigori have a brand of magic; so do the Sons and Daughters of Romulus; so do we. Eclectics is a term traditional Wicca-craft uses to shun. The Three wish to remain elite, and so are limited. And that is good,” said Manon.
“The real purpose in Hiving,” said Laurinaitis, “was as a check against The Second War. The Wiccan purges, they called it. Wizards and witches were wiped out during the war––killed mainly by each other. The otherkins being in it, we acquitted ourselves well, but blood was everywhere, and on everyone’s hands, including the vampires. It made it convenient that so few wizards and witches were left. Their numbers fit with the number thirteen. Thirteen-or-greater became a rallying cry of sorts––covens had to split, hive. Peace was the order of the day––like the reduction of nuclear arms––but a false peace. Everyone knew the Dark Order still existed. But who cared, if in the short-term wounds could be healed, and the days of darkness finally be forgotten?
“I have often thought of those three words: The Last War. Is it the last war because there is another one coming? Or is it the last war because we all die and so magic will be wiped from the universe? In any event, the Last War never really ended. It simply stopped.”
“At the beginning of this, I asked you about rebirth, which is the symbol on this necklace,” I said, “and you said it was like a compass, that there were four cardinal points...”
I turned it up and saw the symbol for fire , which also meant north (or Prague) to me.
This was like that . Only inverted in a way. The vampire symbol became the symbol for otherkin: The Grigori, the benandanti, and the Sons and Daughters of Romulus: or in my mind werewolves and ailuranthropes. .
The north symbol was also a delta or change. My fourth Protector would have a connection to fire. Fire pointed north. All the way to Selwyn. Could that be it or was I reading these tea leaves wrong? If this was Lennox and that was Ballard, was I in a love triangle with them both? Did I want to be? I remembered Infester’s words. He was really the symbol master––the one who taught me they came before us––that the symbols were the key to my own destiny and the destiny of others.
Rebirth... This swirl doodad, here, factored in, somehow.
Laurinaitis held up the necklace. And here I thought I was done with the symbols.
“The four points, North, South, East, West, are for the Watchtowers,” he said, “the protettori as they were called, those who defended Magic.” He seemed determined to make me “get it.” Some Chosen One. Everyone at the table looked at me like I was clueless; I felt like I was. Excuse me if I had never been indoctrinated before.
“Before he died, Pendderwenn told me my parents were Watchtowers. Powerful Wiccans, he called them. But who are the Watchtowers?” I said.
“It’s who they were,” said Laurinaitis pointing the triangle back down.
Grabbing some carrot sticks off his plate, Laurinaitis chomped them, until he made this symbol:
“This is the Wiccan symbol for EARTH,” he said.
He dipped his finger into the salad dressing. “Earth. Air. Fire. Water.” He drew them all out, joining them together.
“What does that look like to you?” he said.
I shrugged. “Like the four cardinal points?” I said.
Laurinaitis seemed pleased. “If you imagine them shooting from Prague, you have a fairly accurate representation of the initial splitting of Magic,” he said. “Like a compass rose on a map.”
“But wait,” I said. “Magic split into Three, the Covens, the Harcorts, and the Ravenseals, did it not? So why are there four Houses?”
It reminded me of my Four Protectors. One, two, three, four of them.
The Protection symbol had a fourth point, right in the center, which I had understood to mean Selwyn. But if that were the case, what were the symbols protecting me from?
From this? I filled it in mentally in my head. Was this accurate? Were they protecting me from all comers? From all corners? From the vampires in Paris? From the evil witches and wizards and Grigori in Prague? And from enemies closer to home? Now that I thought about it, it was an awful lot like the triskele on my ring . Three circles, and a center. The Protection symbol could also be drawn this way .
My ring was my Four Protectors.
“Actually,” Laurinaitis said, “there’s five. Look in the center of the four and you’ll see a fifth element.” 411. I need help, I thought.
He pointed them out. “Can you guess what this is?” he said, pointing to the circle, number 5. “I’ll help you.
“You have been told about it before. You must’ve been, if you were selected. Neophytes aren’t allowed to not know this, Halsey Rookmaaker.”
I was drawing a blank. Manon helped me out. The only thing that I could think was that it was my full moon, the circle, or a magic circle? That it represented Ballard, somehow. I didn’t understand. Manon was rubbing her three Wiccan fingertips together, willing me to figure it out.
Finally, I got it.
“The aether,” I said. “The is the aether.”
Laurinaitis nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “The circle is the fifth element, and it is also called spirit, or soul. It is the ethereal, the intangible, the unbelievable, without which there is no magic.”
So did that mean my three circles were surrounded in Magic? Ballard, Lennox, Selwyn, Marek? That they all could craft? Or were they protecting me from Magic? I didn’t understand. Magic split FOUR ways––But there are only THREE Houses––but there are FIVE elements––and there are Watchtowers. What came next?
My heartbeat started doing funny things.
I was thinking about the four triangles shooting off in different directions. Earth, Air, Fire, Water. Like a House of Fire, or a House of Air. And spirit, or soul, the fifth element, which was this . The intangible, the illusory.
Was that accurate?
Manon said, “Not to worry, Halsey Rookmaaker. We will help you figure this out. Now, in fact.”
She gathered up all of Laurinaitis’s carrot sticks, putting them back on his plate, and said, “The answer is The Fifth of Fourth.”
Chapter 10 – The Fifth of Fourth
The torchlight flickered over us, almost as if an invisible hand had been reaching out to snuff it.
“You know what this looks like, don’t you?” said Manon. “Us meeting here.... Like an insurrection. The Lenoir and the Master House will be quite interested to know what we’re doing here––quite interested, indeed.”
“We can no longer be disinterested,” said Asher. “The war is coming.”
“I’m in. Tell me. You’re freaking me out,” I said.
“The thing about supernaturals, Halsey, is there is always some small sign, a tell or otherwise, which encourages outrageous speculation: Oh, he must be a wizard. Do you see her? She’s magic, no doubt. We judge each other by our Marks. Which reminds me...”
She pulled back her sleeve and showed me hers. “So why I think I should talk in spirals,” she said...
It was Insight. Under my hoodie my orchid began to writhe and snake its way along the length of my arm.
“The Last War was a time of intense fear and paranoia,” Manon began, “and the lines––ever drawn––were clearer then. I have seen the old headlines: Murders, ritualistic killings; a period of crossover, during which the world of fantasy and magic intersects with the world of the mundane. This Rayven fellow killed two gravediggers––recently––and it was in the news! That has always been our great fear, and the reason we build fortresses! But during the time of the Fifth of Fourth we came closer than ever before to being found out.”
“But what are Watchtowers?” I said. “What do they do?”
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