Did I want to just skip Adept? Jump straight to the Super Bitch? The all-powerful? The Chosen One?
If I was wiccaned, maybe there wasn’t really any choice. Choices are illusions, Halsey... someone sent you down this Path––Think! If I had to guess, Lenoir.
Who else could it have been? Maybe Lenoir was the Grey Wolf. Preposterous.
Then who?
In times of old, when magic spread,
and wizards, ranked, split off,
the following was compilèd.
Feverishly, I began flipping through the Everything book; for the first time in a long time my magic flared. But that was just my mark. The last time it acted up, Rayven was close by, but he couldn’t be here now, could he? Maybe it was because the book dealt with Grigori magic and Rayven was one of them, that my Mark was flaring. It spiked painfully, glowing blue.
I turned to the table of contents and found what I was looking for.
The Everything book was broken into sections. Section One dealt with Wicca; Two: Other Beings; Three: Dark Magic.
Rayven floating in my memory, I turned to Other Beings.
SHAPESHIFTERS––GRIGORI, BENANDANTI, THE SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF ROMULUS, THOSE WHO DO BOTH.
I flipped to where it directed, holding the Everything book under the candle flame of the Iron Roses, to THOSE WHO DO BOTH. The Grigori could transform and do spells, yet why could not Wiccans, or the Benandanti, or even The Sons and Daughters of Romulus? Once Lia turned, she could no longer TURN, I wrote in my Diary. It was like a lightbulb went off in my head––before it exploded. The Grigori had Grigori Magic. Unfortunately, such a revelation could mean only one thing. Our enemies are a lot stronger than we are.
There was even a picture of a Grigori. I looked at the vile form and felt myself shiver. So this was what they looked like:
Much fiercer than other werewolves, the Grigori possess an array of feiknstafir, and are handleggers, Those Who Do Both.
Under the safety of my four-poster, they were a lot easier to look at. Did “handlegger” mean what I thought it did? I looked it up in the glossary.
HANDLEGGER––the ability to transform, to conjure magic; to craft, Mark and paw. THOSE WHO DO BOTH.
The Grigori were handleggers, they could do both. Shift and craft. Rayven had a Mark. But if Lia had one also––? Could Ballard? How did the Sons and Daughters of Romulus and the Benandanti find their magic?
I looked again at the picture of the Grigori. They looked like monsters. Yet they had none of the cunning of Rayven. He was a Watchtower, after all, before he was bent.
The Grigori can be fought. If Rayven can fall, so can they! I wrote that in my Diary. But could Rayven be defeated?
I didn’t like to think what would happen if we fought them all. We could lose, we could definitely lose.
* * *
For some reason I expected the Grigori to have a bastardized form of magic, but they didn’t. It was just in Grigori language. In fact, handlegger was actually handleggr. Hard R. A lot of the spells were like that. I memorized the Grigori spellbook as far as I could. It went on for hundreds of pages. There were thousands of spells. Spells for all kinds of things. I whispered one and the candle flame went out. Another, and the French doors slammed shut.
The preface to the Grigori section listed a caveat which held true for all of magic:
Nota bene: Magic drains––
YOU, if you let it. That’s what makes dueling so difficult. Therefore, be most assured of where you stand, or you’ll not be the first spellcaster to die where he stood, embattled with an out-of-control hex.
So not only was it difficult to learn magic, but if you messed up, magic could kill you?! I had to look into that.
* * *
My head hit pillow and I fell into a troubling dream. Dallace and Camille were screaming. There was a battlefield. The earth cracked, and flames rushed forth. Lennox and Selwyn dueled a contingent of wizards....
Suddenly, I was falling through the air. I landed, flump, in a strange circular room. One of the twins from the Master House was there. But he wasn’t a twin. He was making lots of himself. Am I spiritwalking? I thought, looking at the mirrors on the walls. Is that what I’m doing? But that would mean–– Was I a Lare? Was I dead?
WHERE IS SHE? WHAT IS SHE DOING? We will not be able to control her. RAVENSEAL was ordered to control her. Their failure leaves us no option. THE MASTER HOUSE MUST INTERCEDE.
NO, said the other twin. We will couch it in the covenants––USE THEM. Yes––USE THEM. The Dark Order is in Prague, and they are very worried, very worried, indeed, about Halsey Rookmaaker. Of all the Initiates, she showed the most spirit. Now she may walk the Dark Path and find out the secret they have been waiting centuries to possess... unless––yes, unless...
I don’t think she knows how to find it, nor do I believe she has the POWER to open House Rookmaaker, to go her own way.... Will she figure out what she needs to do and follow the signs? Or bend like so many Houses have done before her?
Her parents and that werewolf planned ahead––they hid House Rookmaaker where only someone like her, someone Eclectic, could find it. If she is an Eclectic, then all she has to do is FOLLOW THE CATS. Yes––FOLLOW THE CATS. They will lead her straight....
* * *
I fell awake. Was the grey wolf somehow connected with me? What did that mean, follow the cats? What did I Gatti have to do with anything?
Because Risky was working with the Rookmaakers, to keep House Rookmaaker hidden, I thought. Then, how did Rayven find it? Because he’s a shape changer. Maybe only a shape changer can find House Rookmaaker. ECLECTICS...
One of my parents must’ve been one...
Was I?... AM I...
Am I?
* * *
Think what you know, Halsey. You have a Mark. But so does Lia. But she can’t transform anymore... Maybe you have to be a Grigori to be a handlegger.
But Lia used to be a Wolf, I said to myself.
DARKPATH... DARKPATH...
What if I was sitting on something so radical, so game changing, the consequences of it being found out were enough to kill to prevent? Again, what if my parents didn’t want me finding House Rookmaaker? They’d hidden it on purpose, after all...
Yeah––for me to find it.
FOLLOW THE CATS.
* * *
I leapt on my motorcycle, passing through the base of the Seven Hills. Eventually I entered the old historic center east of Trastevere at the Lower Tiber Bend. Lennox’s place was nearby, but I didn’t stop.
At first I thought “follow the cats” meant I Gatti, but it didn’t. It was more literal. As in, follow the cats. Literally. Thankfully, I had kept the newspaper article. At last, Skarborough did something right.
STRAY ROMAN TABBIES IN LARGO ARGENTINA
Calicoes, gingers, smoky grays––Roman grimalkins have always had their place in Rome––and their supporters––until now.
Largo Argentina. I needed to go to Largo Argentina. I pulled the map from my wall, scanning the index. Largos were streets. It took me a while to find the one for Largo Argentina, but it was there. A few minutes on my computer gave me the details. It was about a mile away. Julius Caesar had been killed there.
On my bike again, I found the place. But this couldn’t be it.
Buses came and went, the whole place had a kind of touring feel. Could my House really be located somewhere so––so mundane?
But if it’s hidden––said a voice––maybe your parents intended for your House to be overlooked!
Largo Argentina was very normal, except for all the cats. They were simply everywhere: longhairs, shorthairs, Siamese, Abyssinian, spangled, Burmese, bobtails, manx, munchkins... Napoleon emperor cats, ragamuffins, ragdolls, Savannah, Siberian, sphynxes. But the most common breed was the housecat.
Buried below street level was a kind of pit. It was to here the cats were traveling. Pillars shot out of the pit, and a full Roman ruin was revealed.
Only here could something be preserved, I thought. Tall, faceless buildings looked down upon us. Passengers shuffled busily past. But nobody stopped to look where they were going. And nobody paid attention to the cats.
They were mewling on the ancient Roman steps, the cats, or else basking in the sun. Others were looking at me.
I parked my motorcycle, taking off my helmet. Something of the lawless legend persisted from the Skarborough articles. Bus passengers kept their distances from me. I stepped into the road and crossed hurriedly. The cats were gamboling. I stopped to pet one and then looked into Largo Argentina. Follow the cats...
The twins had been afraid that I would do something––open House Rookmaaker––maybe train Eclectics––but they didn’t think I had the “power” or guts.
If I hadn’t traveled out-of-body, I would never have gotten this lead, I thought. Still––what if it were hocus-pocus? What if there was no House Rookmaaker buried in Rome, waiting for me to find it? If House Rookmaaker was hidden, maybe even I couldn’t find it.
I thought of Golden Lane, how you could only find Golden Lane if you knew where to look.
Only someone eclectic could find House Rookmaaker. But how?
The area was off-limits. I stood at street level, looking down into Largo Argentina, aware that if I was found out, I would probably be arrested. A multitude of cats was frisking about; I wasn’t sure what I should do. But the twins knew where House Rookmaaker was; they’d been here before, when they okayed my parents’ House. It must be here!
That settled it. I walked through the ancient rubble, past the cats, but no inspiration came to me. Several arches were in Largo Argentina. I walked toward them, but as I did so, something caught my eye.
A symbol, engraved in one of the columns, a symbol I had seen before. The Wiccan-slash-benandanti symbol for rebirth...
Asher told me that.
It was an eclectic symbol.
My heart rate accelerated.
The swirl. It was the symbol for rebirth. It meant they came back.
Lares, I thought.
What did it all mean? Feeling I was in the right place, I began walking over to the secret arches. They were hidden below street level. They fell in shadow; I couldn’t see what was beneath them.
I thought of my parents––murdered––forgotten. Was it possible––? Could it have been them who engraved that symbol on that pillar? What did it say about their House?
Three arches, one higher than the rest, stood in my view.
I could hear shouting––revelers coming from The Campo, a local hotspot. The oriflamme––they must’ve been eclectic, my parents––Could they come back? But I was elsewhere. The arches also had markings.
Three interlocked rings, which I had seen before, and on the center one, almost like a button, the symbol for Protection connected and became one.
My Harm None ring flashed. Somehow I knew, instinctively, what to do.
I reached out my index finger with the unique swirl of magic patterned upon it and pressed the center arch with the symbol for the three rings upon it and something––as they say––happened.
Writing began to appear––words written in cursive, there on the doorway.
Welcome to House Rookmaaker.
I stepped back from the magical archway, which had begun to shake, the three doorways like the symbol for Protection, becoming one. Stones shifted. No one had been here in eighteen years. Not even Rayven. But, if it was my House, how had he gotten through?
I was suddenly terrified what I might find.
What if, what if whatever I found, didn’t look like House Rookmaaker? What if I was digging where I shouldn’t be? What if Locke was right and Prague would use this as an excuse to sneak their way into Rome? To oversee us. Would I be beholden to them, after all? What if I couldn’t become fledged? I’d never shown any great aptitude. Would we be monitored forever?
It was almost like the symbol for the Wiccan-slash-benandanti sign for rebirth was a symbol for House Rookmaaker. Like House Rookmaaker was being born again. Like I was its mother.
Rome was gone. This hush crept over me, as I left the city, and entered the grounds. Willow trees were everywhere. Lightning flashed across the sky. Vines crept through the iron bars, which had been broken open and were hanging off their hinges. It was darker here, twilit. House Rookmaaker stood in the distance––a huge manor surrounded by a high hedge and a thick iron gate, below a tumultuous sky.
Lennox...
If the Grigori had come burning in the night, where were the scorch marks?
House Rookmaaker stood; yet it was my parents who had been eliminated. Not my House. I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the thunderstorm raging through me.
I fought my way through the branches and looked back at the silver shining archway I had come through. It was engraved with many runes. This place––wherever it was––was between two worlds. Like Limbo.
Only those who knew, could come here. House Rookmaaker... Yet a tiny suspicion began to form in the pit of my stomach. What THEM would the twins use? What them was it, in the ardanes, whose responsibility included punishing rogue Houses? What them had come here to kill my parents and destroy my House?
Had the vampires come to rout out this House?
Such a realization could mean only one thing. It wasn’t the Grigori who had done the destroying. Someone else had eliminated Kinsey and Maximilian Rookmaaker. If I had to guess:
Vampires...
Chapter 16 – The S Bros
As I thought it, I felt a shiver ripple through me. Lennox was the only vampire in Rome, yet he had never said anything about my House. Ever. What did that say? That he didn’t know about it, or he was covering things up?
I decided not to condemn him just yet. Let Lennox talk about House Rookmaaker––then we’ll see, I told myself.
As for the House...
Did all Wiccan Houses have such spells put upon them? They must, if they were to hide, to be hidden. Yet the Grigori could crack that magic, or else they knew where each House was located. The Directory I was sure said nothing about any of the special things you would need to do to find Wiccan Houses.
The sky overhead interested me, particularly because it was so storm-filled. The Dark Order was out there––even the Council of Magic had refused to take action. Houses are left on their own, Halsey.
Well, not mine...
I would contact Prague immediately. Now that House Rookmaaker had passed to me, a number three would need to be found, into whose hands it could safely pass, until I became Fledged. Was this my inheritance, to have my Wiccan House held in interreges?
I felt exposed. Great roots of willow trees fed at a stream that passed through the hidden grounds, their towering branches drooping over the place. Some searching and I found the sign Rayven had dropped. Years of muck covered it until it was unrecognizable. Eighteen years ago he had come here. Why?
Had I thought I could move right in, I was mistaken. The inspector would need to be sent from Prague. Accordingly, I wrote to the Council of Magic straightaway.
Mr. Artemidorus Blackstock
The Council of Magic
Golden Lane, Prague
It’s me, Halsey.
I’ve found my place.
It’s in Largo Argentina, Rome, Italy.
Do please hurry.
The unwelcome visitor, as I called the inspector, would be sure to remove the running of House Rookmaaker from my control. Ardane Number Six was explicit: If I could not find a number three, one would be appointed for me. I needed to hurry, unless I wanted the Council of Magic spying upon House Rookmaaker forever.
Gaven was the first person I thought of, but he couldn’t lead a Wiccan coven. My dream choice, Mistress Genevieve, already had one; if I chose her Prague would definitely see this as us building up our power. Which meant I was down to one. One person who could get the job done.
“Sure, I’ll do it,” said Manon.
&
nbsp; “You are fledged?” I said, still on my motorcycle, outside Coven City. She nodded, fervently.
“I can’t deny that it’ll be nice to have indoor plumbing again,” she said.
My landlady was AWOL when I got home. I sipped an aperitif and studied some magic but understanding the Grigori was secondary to what I was going to say to Lennox when he arrived. The only plus side was that now I’d found my House, Selwyn could stay there. I imagined him roaming the grounds, scaring the other Housemates. Who knew having a House could be so difficult, though? Manon was a dynamo, simply everywhere. When I’d envisioned opening House Rookmaaker, it hadn’t been with a bunch of strangers. House numbers was the bane of my existence. To become Adept should be my first priority, not having a good time. If only my friends were in House Rookmaaker, it would go against the oriflamme, my parents’ wish House Rookmaaker be open to all.
Invitations were sent out and Initiates invited, but I was removed from the process.
One good thing: you didn’t have to be a Rookmaaker to be in House Rookmaaker; a love of the Goddess seemed to be the only prerequisite. We got around the House numbers by not having instructors, many of whom were eclectics, be in House Rookmaaker. But the Initiates had to be. There were many blessed bes. Unfortunately, that left no room for Ballard, or even Lia, who, as a werewolf, could train in secret, anyway. When the inspector arrived he went over the rules with us, including several do’s and don’ts. “If you observe the ardanes,” he said, “there will be no problems.” And if we didn’t? I thought. He and Manon disappeared to talk about “number three stuff,” and I was left alone outside the archway. It had been a year since I had been in Rome; a y’r’n’a’d’y, as the saying went. I threw my leg over my Gambalunga and went to find the S Bros; the sun crept over the sky like a red flame.
Neophyte Page 57
