Neophyte

by T. D. McMichael

  “Ties with vampires... And Skarborough... She’s your cousin,” said Locke. “Not telling her what we are, are you, Ballard? Otherwise, how would she know?!”

  “For that she has her own two eyes, and a brilliant mind––Oh yes, Locke, which, I admit, runs in my family,” said Ballard. “She may be outing us, but she’s also drawing out our enemy. We dueled him. Halsey and I fought a Grigori named Rayven this spring. Which brings me to my point, Locke. The Grigori are out there. They have attacked us already. But now there is a new group, pulling the strings. An insidious, evil Dark Order. And if we do not band together now––right now––we’re done for....

  “I know,” said Ballard, “that you’re scared––and you should be. But we have allies, other fighters. I am speaking, of course, of the Benandanti––whose magic, Locke, we also possess. What do you think I was doing in Prague? Taking a vacation? I wanted to see it for myself. It is a stronghold of magical power. But so is Rome. So are the werewolves. The septagrams are not wrong. They’re everywhere here. If the Benandanti can craft, so can we. The septagrams literally mean magic! We just need to find it!

  “If, in the scope of things, humans and paranormals discover we co-exist, so be it,” said Ballard. “Better that than they’re left undefended. Which is what will happen if you gut Rome, by continually dividing us!”

  Ballard looked at the Warlockes.

  “They are coming. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow,” he said, “but soon. Halsey’s House is in Rome, and either we protect it, we embrace our strengths, or divided we’ll get torn apart. This is something Risky knew. I think he must have known,” he said to me. To the rest, he said, “The wolves are to have magic. We are to find it. That is why I have given the Benandanti asylum here in Rome. Do you know, I think that’s what they’re afraid of, Locke? That is why Rayven and the Dark Order tried to kill us, and that is why they’re burning Houses. To divide Rome––to divide the world. So, yes, I protect this city. I protect it even when you won’t. I protect Rome because you won’t.”

  “A pretty speech. But it doesn’t negate the fact she’s opening the border,” said Locke. “Her interest here runs counter to The Sons and Daughters of Romulus. As for this vampire called Lennox, we don’t know who made him. We don’t know who he answers to. Sires have a kind of control over their progeny. I would be concerned we’re letting ‘people’ in whose allegiances we cannot vet; that in a bad moment, we might find ourselves stabbed in the back.” He pointed his finger at me. “She draws danger to us. Should a conflict arise, and Rome is put in peril, we are honor bound to defend it, to defend her. What will the humans think? Paris will need to eat something, when they come.”

  Ballard said, “I trust Halsey. Besides, we are in this together––the Sons and Daughters of Romulus, House Rookmaaker, and the Benandanti. That is a lot of supernatural firepower to contend with, Locke.”

  “Exactly. Provocation,” said Locke. “If the other side sees us building up our army, what’s to stop them doing the same, the ardanes?”

  “Those don’t say anything about werewolves––or, for that matter, eclectics, Locke,” said Ballard.

  “I would like to say something,” said another member of the Quirinal, an older gentleman, named Regan, he didn’t look as though he could transform anymore. “I knew Risky––not well, but I knew him. And I think he would agree with his nephew, insofar as we should see what comes of Miss Rookmaaker’s endeavor to find her House. Just because it exists is no guarantee of finding it. Upon a time we used to have Wicca here. I am speaking of House Pendderwenn, naturally. And now Lia Overstreet, one of our own, is a Wiccan. Whether we like it or not, magic seems to be creeping back into Rome––and as you say, Ballard, the septagrams support this as perfectly natural. Therefore I support we give Halsey the opportunity to find her House. There’s no danger from outsiders until she finds it. And we’ll be learning something about ourselves. The fact that Rome could contain this secret under our very noses, is remarkable. If such is the case, what else don’t we know about Rome?”

  “Hear, hear!” said another werewolf.

  Locke protested, but the rest of the Quirinal overruled him.

  “Let her find her House. Then we’ll decide,” said Regan.

  “But, we have the opportunity, to head this off... gentlemen!”

  “Our decision is final, Locke: Quirinal will reconvene later this year,” said Regan, “at which time we will decide what is to be done about Il Gatto––whether or not he is to be impeached; and about his friend, Miss Halsey Rookmaaker. As for myself, I hope she finds it. Lia will need someplace to study.

  “Now, the next matter seems to be our kin to the north, Those Who Do Good. How can that be bad, if they do good here? Therefore, I propose we back Il Gatto in his decision to quarter them in Rome, at least temporarily, until they can find a new home to replace the one that was burned down by the Dark Order. Does anyone disagree?

  “Well––no,” said Locke.

  “Anyone else? The Benandanti shall stay, then. With them and the Warlockes, I think we’ll be okay for now. It’s almost like magic is in your name, isn’t it?” Regan said to Locke.

  Chapter 15 – Spiritwalking

  Ballard’s motorcycle shop showed no signs of letting up. Liesel’s hot pink motorcycle was in for almost constant repairs. The Warlocke jackets were few and far between and June was a furnace of heat. If anyone asked, the Benandanti, who had set up camp outside Rome, were Roma, traveling gypsies, passing through; in actuality, Coven City, as it was called, was a collection of tents on the outskirts of Rome, in campagna, through which magical travelers must pass. The campagna was the new Aurelian Wall and Asher and his protettori our guards. If any Grigori attacked, we’d know about it.

  As far as my visa went, no police officers had come banging in the night, threatening to deport me, which was good, because I had nowhere else to go. Either I made it here, or I was done for. What would happen, I wondered, if I did leave Rome, if Rayven somehow tracked me down, and I had to fight him single-handed? Or for that matter, the entire Dark Order?

  Skarborough continued limning our existences in almost daily updates, but cannibal motorcycle riders, and ravening werepacks, etc., etc., just didn’t have the same cachet as terrorist attacks, or the latest school shootings. Thankfully, things were settling down. Which meant I could finally start on my House.

  I still had not made any headway on my House or on becoming Adept. Maybe, I thought, magic and I don’t mix. All I had to go on was a memory, after all, and Rayven’s memory of House Rookmaaker was highly colored. I couldn’t trust it. If I followed the septagrams––you know, the ones scattered throughout Rome, I told myself... but, no, they would probably just lead me in circles. The races for Il Gatto were like ouroboroses, or like my ring, Harm None: Everything went back to the beginning and my thoughts went nowhere. Who had engraved the septagrams, anyway? The old Defenders? Who were they?

  Silence was an enemy. There was no history of anything––especially in Rome––and think about THAT, I told myself. Maybe if Risky and the others had been more like Emma Skarborough, or my parents had written anything down, but all I had to go on was my stupid codex and Selwyn’s marker.

  What was the Dark Path? Was it like Golden Lane? Who was on it? Again, did my parents want me finding out anything or didn’t they? If only I had someone I could talk to, someone expert... hold on––

  What I really needed was someone from the past, someone who had lived a long time, someone like a vampire. Unfortunately, I had no idea where Lennox was at. What had been keeping him and Selwyn? Was anything wrong? If only I could scry Lennox. But that no longer worked.

  I left my apartment and went for a spin, thinking: Dark Path... Dark Path...

  Is there a spell that can hide a House? Maybe only someone who’s seen House Rookmaaker can find it. The trouble was, anybody who could tell me about House Rookmaaker was either dead or a cat.

  There’s got to be someo
ne who knows where it’s at! If it’s not in the Directory, where is it? A House that big, somebody would have seen it!

  Nowhere had I come across anything pertaining to House Rookmaaker, not in my books, and especially not in my Magus Codex. My parents had left it to me, but what good was it? I couldn’t ask Lux. He was a Ravenseal. Ballard? He knew less than I did. Gaven and Lia? They were busy with La Luna Blu. The Quirinal? As if.

  Maybe... hold on––

  There was somebody who could help me; someones, in point of fact: Sándor and Septimus, Ballard’s twin older brothers. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? What had Ballard said, they were arcane scholars?

  If anyone would know about the Dark Path, they would!

  I reversed course, bringing my Gambalunga about––

  A bell tinkled within the shop when I arrived, announcing to the S’s they had a visitor––another visitor, because the shop was already full; customers were buying moon charts, powdered wolfsbane packets, amulets and Roman candles; the whole city had lycanthropy fever...

  Or maybe they just wanted protection from us. If the Mundanes only knew, I thought. I could see Septimus’s hair spikes bobbing through the shop––he was helping somebody. I stopped to listen.

  “Necromancy... that’s a dangerous subject matter. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a book on runes?” said Septimus.

  “No––necromancy.”

  “Entering Into A Flesh Agreement With The Dead and Hester’s Demonographie. I can order them for you, but it will take some time,” said Septimus, “considering they’re on the list of banned books.”

  “When?” said Vittoria.

  “At least a month.”

  There was a pause, during which I hid.

  “I don’t like waiting, but you’re the only dealer in town,” said Vittoria in her soft voice. “Do please hurry.” She handed him the list and shuffled off, past a large Antikythera Mechanism behind which I had hidden myself.

  So Vittoria was summoning the dead––and she was in a hurry. This couldn’t be good.

  “They don’t bite, Halsey,” said Septimus, indicating the books when he saw me lurking awkwardly behind a stack. He was unfolding the list Vittoria had given him, clearly grimacing.

  “Hold on. I’ll be right back, okay?” he said. I watched him type the titles into his computer, ordering copies. Didn’t he know who my next-door neighbor was?

  I grabbed for the first book I saw and started flipping through it. If Vittoria wanted to find out about the dead, so could I.

  “Ah, Beatrice Cenzi. She was beheaded in 1599,” said Septimus, “in Palazzo Cenci for witchcraft and murder.”

  “Huh?”

  “The book you’re reading, Murders in Rome. It’s all about Roman witchcraft.”

  “Would it have anything on septagrams?” I asked.

  Septimus shook his head. He asked me if there was anything else, but I honestly couldn’t remember. Instead, I bought Murders in Rome and spent the remainder of the day reading it. It was all about The Witchcraft Acts, repealed human laws forbidding the “unnatural” in Rome, and how Wicca, as it had become known, had been “misidentified with the Church of Satan.”

  Witch hunting had been big in Rome, “the old witch-cult,” as it was called, purged, and the Practitioners hunted down and murdered, or else converted from their false practices. Beatrice Cenzi was one of them. But she was framed for murder. According to the book, witches and wizards used to meet in secret. That was still happening, wasn’t it? Secret Gatherings....

  It was the first time I realized the non-supernatural world had already heard about us; either they didn’t care anymore or the Mundanes didn’t believe in the old witch stories, but they definitely knew. “If magic is to exist,” concluded the book, “then it shall be in secret, and its practitioners hidden.” Translation: If House Rookmaaker is to exist, then it shall be in secret, and its boundaries hidden. I needed to look for something hidden. How?

  The problem was this was Rome. It may have had ruins, but they were historical ruins; as for the rest of the city, it was a major, thriving metropolis. I typed urban decay into the search engine. It gave me back what looked like a war zone, steel and concrete rubble, ruinous gutted buildings, fallen into the ocean; or else boarded-up and abandoned homes reclaimed by wilderness. So House Rookmaaker would look. I was looking for somewhere forgotten. A part of the city that no longer existed, or had been overlooked. Somewhere a Wiccan House and its occupants wouldn’t be noticed, in case The Witchcraft Acts were reinstated. A place to gather, in secret.

  “Are you still listening to that Shakira song?” said Lia. She had dropped by Ballard’s motorcycle shop to pick something up. “My brother has discovered the twenty-first century.”

  “Shut up, Lia.”

  I had been regurgitating for Ballard the last few hours, hoping he might offer something up, something insightful, something Ballard-like...

  “Still scratching a living, I see.”

  Lia’s werewolf pun was the last straw.

  “Chillax––I’m going,” she said. Ballard shooed her out the door, rolling it down on her.

  “Problems?” I asked.

  “With Lia? Always. No.... It’s just my idiot cousin,” said Ballard. “Apparently Em’s investigating the Dark Order, now. Locke put her up to it.”

  The idea that Skarborough would be so bold. “She can’t honestly think she can publish what she finds out, can she?” I said. “The repercussions––”

  “She’s just after a story,” said Ballard. “I’ll deal with the repercussions.”

  He slapped a decal on the side of the bike he was working on. For not wanting to be found out, it sure looked like he was advertising I Gatti. “You were saying?” he said, admiring his handiwork.

  “The symbol of the cat... the House crest... the one you drew for me... Maybe one of my parents was one...” I said. “An eclectic, I mean... That would explain how they could know Risky... They wouldn’t have the prejudices against shapeshifters Prague has...”

  I was thinking of Rumor Scroop.

  Ballard said, “I think your parents must’ve known Risky because they were Wiccans in Rome and he would’ve made it his business to know them. As for whether or not they transformed.... Maybe that’s why you were having those visions––you know, about the Grey Wolf or whatever.”

  “What, like I’m trying to find my way home? Back to my past?” I said.

  Ballard shrugged.

  “We’ve talked about the Calling before,” he said. “If this grey wolf is your animal, maybe it’s trying to reconnect with you, become one. They’re called Lares, spiritwalkers, Halsey––Our therians are often in limbo until they reconnect with us. Do you remember Alec, and how he was the first werewolf? As he would come back, so would they? Well, it’s a story about Lares, and reincarnation. When we die, our Lares are banished, and when we are reborn, they find us. Maybe this grey wolf is one––a spiritwalker, I mean. Your Lare...”

  “What, you mean like a banished spirit?”

  I was trying to keen in on what Ballard was telling me, but it sounded nonsense.

  “A Lare, or wolf-spirit, caught in the aether,” said Ballard. “It would make sense. There’s been an uptick in the number of werewolves transforming. Volt and Pouch, you remember them? They’re transforming, and they’re only sixteen! Trastevere is overflowing with dogs!”

  “Yeah, but Ballard, I’m not a werewolf!” I said. “I can’t have a––a Lare inside of me, can I?”

  “We don’t know that,” he said. “You were born in Rome, remember? You might. Maybe you are one of us.”

  From the way it sounded, the Lares just wandered, waiting for another soul to inhabit. Whose Lare had the grey wolf been?

  But Ballard repeated: “It is your Soul Animal. Trust me.”

  In the Stromovka, Asher, Laurinaitis, and Manon had spoken to me about Lares, and how the symbol for aether, which was a circle, , was also the symbol for the dead
. Could Vittoria be on to something? Something like... necromancy? I thought.

  Maybe the grey wolf was one of my parents, come back from the dead––or else trying to reconnect with me. But if Risky couldn’t come back, how could they? And if it was one of my parents, did it prove one of them had been an eclectic? Ballard and the Benandanti were talking about finding their magic. Was I discovering a new angle to my own? Could I see the dead?

  “Can your spirit animal leave your body?” I asked Ballard.

  “Only during repercussion. You die, but your Lare stays on, lost in limbo, waiting for you forever,” he said sadly.

  “What, like to come back?”

  “It’s just a legend,” said Ballard.

  * * *

  Talking with Ballard had given me so much to think about it was morning by the time I finally closed my eyes. Right. Find your House. THEN we’ll deal with the Lares. But I couldn’t put my mind to anything. Was the Grey Wolf a Lare? If so, it was in limbo. I had to find it. To help it. Whose Lare, or spirit animal, was it, anyway, mine? That was ridiculous. Risky’s? My mother’s? My father’s?

  Shifters were eclectics––unless you were a witch- or wizard-shifter, but those were rare, hadn’t happened in a century.

  “Maybe that’s why House Rookmaaker isn’t in The Directory,” I told Ballard the following morning. “Because it’s an eclectic House. Prague wouldn’t like that. You saw how Scroop treated you, when she found out you were a cyanthrope. It goes against their worldview. It’s prejudice, is what it is. Them versus us. I may not transform, but I am a member of the Pack.” Good thing the Sons and Daughters of Romulus placed no such scruple upon House sizes, I thought. This was bound to get ugly.

  “If I can’t find my House, probably it’s because the Rookmaakers––my parents––knew to hide it. I’m on to something, Ballard. I can feel it. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  * * *

  I flipped open the Everything book, back at my apartment, thinking about the marker and Selwyn’s message: Beware the Dark Path. The marker was a warning to me––but I was all too reckless. I AM MY PARENTS’ HOUSE. THEIR ORIFLAMME. The standard for which their House stood. It can only be led by a Level-Three Wiccan. Me. I must become Fledged.