“A fourth one. He has no name.”
“A coven of vampires. Four.”
“And that one?” said Ballard.
“It’s the symbol for war,” I said. “All told they tell the story of a Wiccan deity, with unspecified powers.”
Could that be true? As I said it, I knew that it was.
“These are just the broad strokes,” I said, “it’s a little more...”
“Oh,” said Ballard.
It happened. One second, I was in my room on Via dei Condotti, the next, it was like I was being transported someplace else. I could hear voices speaking, see strange shapes––but they were all obscured; they could not see me. Fog swirled like a vortex around us. “She will not undergo the trials. I will not let her be fledged.”
“And the other one?”
“Guided by passions. It is too soon to tell.”
“Let neither of them survive. Use THEM if you have to!”
The fog began to swirl. I felt myself falling from a great height. The next second, I was opening my eyes, and Ballard was standing over me.
* * *
Ballard and I spent the day together. I didn’t know how much time we could expect to see one another, with tomorrow happening, and all of that. He got this really weird vibe, like it had been coming on all day, whatever was bothering him––jumping at strange noises and all that. I had never seen him so spooked. When I asked him what was wrong, all he said was, “It’s Gaven’s orders.”
I told him about my lapse-journey-thing and not to worry about it, that I could take care of myself. He didn’t believe me.
“What if something attacked you?” he said.
“Nothing’s going to attack me, Ballard. And if it did, so what? I don’t know if you’re aware, but there’s going to be a bunch of magical people there––not to mention werewolves, and I’m sure not all the vampires are evil bloodsuckers of the night. They’re getting together for a purpose, whatever that is.”
“I still don’t feel safe leaving you alone tonight,” he said. It was super sweet. “Maybe I could, I don’t know, curl down at your feet or something.”
The werewolf puns were going to be an ongoing treat with us, I could tell.
He looked out the windows, like something was going to attack us, and then stood out on the balcony––and he would do that, like, every five minutes.
“Will you sit down,” I said.
He obeyed me like a good boy.
“So, what else did you learn? Did you and Gaven get a chance to talk last night?” I asked Ballard.
“I did learn one thing. You remember that seven-sided star that was engraved over the entrance to La Luna Blu?”
La Luna Blu was this bar they all hung out at. It was in Trastevere.
“Well, supposedly, it’s etched over the doorways of every werewolf-friendly tavern in town. Can you believe it? I was, like, the last to know.”
Ballard was starting to interject everything he said with like, like me.
“Did that restaurant you took me to?” I asked.
“It had it,” he said.
So that at least explained one thing. Their secret went beyond the bounds of I Gatti itself; I found this troubling on a couple of levels, and I also remembered the Vampire Killers, the Hunters in Prague who made it their business to eliminate Immortals. In a way, it was like there were three levels, just as there were three levels to Magical apotheosis.
There were those who were. I.e., the Supernaturals.
There were those who knew. These hunters, and certain tavern keepers, it sounded like.
And there were those who had no idea what was happening, and that there was an entire netherworld, they had never heard about before.
I had to add a new group of individuals to the second level––the ones who knew, but who were not magical whatsoever. Because there had to be people who were trained in magic but didn’t Graduate? Was that the right word?
I realized that that was me.
I had been trained in Wicca. St. Martley’s had trained me. But I had never crafted. I had never graduated, either.
They had taught me abstinence, to be patient. Why? What was it about witchcraft and wizardry that was not for the underage sorceress and sorcerer?
Some secret I had no idea about. That was the only thing I could think. It was the only thing that made sense. Of course, not even being a Neophyte, I had no idea.
Tomorrow... It would all come out tomorrow...
Ballard was making another round, checking outside my windows. What did he think, somebody was going to fly up here and kill me? They were all so afraid of the Lenoir. But vampires needed an invite, didn’t they? Otherwise they couldn’t come in here to get me. As if they would even want to. Lennox was a million miles away. Who knew where Marek was now?
Something bothered me. The place we were going to (and Ballard wouldn’t even say; “I am as curious about it as you are,” he said) sounded like a piazza buried deep underground. The città salotto, as in Venice; the city as a gathering place, open, inviting.
Something about this openness, made me believe the vampires wouldn’t have a problem sneaking into my bedroom, if I even had one.
Maybe that was what this gathering was all about. Being open.
From what I had heard, about the wars and everything, vampires did not like Wicca, did not like werewolves, and vice-versa, ad infinitum, and so on, and so forth.
That was all well and good, but what happened if you put us all together?
“I can answer that,” said Ballard. “What happened when you and what’s-his-face and I and everyone else all got together?”
“We averted the Apocalypse,” I said.
“So we’ll do something similar,” he said. “Perhaps develop some new unity. I don’t know. That’s all Lia’s business. She’s always walking around, making speeches. Like she’s some kind of politician or something. All I know is, I got something for them, if they step out of line.”
He made a fist and punched his hand with it.
“Ballard, just how strong are you anyway?” I said.
He shrugged. “That’s the purpose of these tests, isn’t it?” he said. “To find out.”
I gulped. I had forgotten about that. The Wiccans were going to be testing Lia and I, and Ballard, it sounded like, was going to be undergoing his own trials and tribulations, not to mention Lennox was out there––
If I could hear the whisperings of others, whoever they were, was it not so impossible to think I might somehow overhear Lennox himself?
Where was he, and what was he doing? Ballard stood all nonchalant at the balcony, a soft breeze playing with his hair. He looked like a younger version of Gaven himself. Incidentally, one of the most gorgeous men I had ever laid eyes upon. I had trouble breathing around Gaven. I didn’t know how Lia managed it. But maybe that was the whole point.
When I lit the iron roses, it was like staring into the flickering madness of Lennoxlove Lenoir’s lavender lovely light-filled eyes.
I had to stop doing this. I had to stop punishing myself. Wherever he was, he was going to be okay. He had to be. Otherwise, I didn’t know what I would do. Kill myself, probably. I just wished this could be over with already. I was tired of waiting and having to do all these things. I wanted a resolution. A sunset to all my problems. But they just kept stacking up.
Now Ballard was in on it––a Supernatural––and I would have to worry about him, too. But he had just the opposite in mind.
“I will protect you, Halsey Rookmaaker,” he said.
“I know, Ballard,” I said.
* * *
We were ringed around a romantic moonlit table, the four of us. Dallace, Camille, Lennoxlove and myself. Candlelight flickered. Lennoxlove was holding on to my fingertips. “Humans are sometimes, I don’t know, mates of vampires,” he said. “That vampire has rights to them.”
“She’s going to need to be trained,” said Dallace. He raised his empty wineglass to m
ine. Awesome fish dishes were laid before us––silver spoons with Venetian lion finials. “The family crest on the silverware we don’t use,” he said. His smile faded.
Waterfowl in the lagoon made their curious honking expressions.
I splashed my wineglass onto the table. The stem of wine ran like mercury, staining the tablecloth silver.
“I don’t feel so well,” I said.
“There, there,” said Camille. “Not to worry about it.” She dabbed at the blood that ran from my wineglass. “It’s the moon that does it. Makes it appear that way,” she said. She threw a napkin over it. “It takes some getting used to.”
I nodded, and the place changed. They were standing over me. I was unconscious, in my bed. We were at their home. We had left Rat Rock.
“It’s like he’s changed. He acknowledges it.”
I twisted in my sheets, listening to their conversation. What was Dallace talking about?
“The proper word is ‘affair’,” said Camille. She sounded upset.
“But I’m free,” said Lennoxlove.
“What about it,” said Dallace. “What do you think?” he asked his wife.
“The magic in her blood pulled him to her. There can be no doubt of that. It’s obvious.”
“I won’t let anyone hurt her. That includes all of you. I’m serious.”
“What do you take us for? Monsters.”
They all laughed.
“Anytime he brings her around other vampires, they’re going to want to drink her.”
“Perhaps we should turn her––if she really is this once-in-a-generation thing...”
“Out of the question.”
“What is it they’re afraid of she can do?” said Dallace.
I turned––and the scene changed. Ballard was issuing orders in front of an army of werewolves. Something had happened, and it had all gone so wrong. He was different. It looked like a battlefield of some sort. He was scarred.
“She’s waking up. We’ll watch over her. Lennoxlove, you have our words.”
* * *
I yanked myself out of bed. Ballard slept soundlessly at my feet. One was running wild. The other I had never met before. One I could not see. And...
I took out my diary, and journeyed to a spot on the balcony. The words flowed.
Chapter 9 – Campagna
Mist unfurled, and crawled through the corridors, keeping pace with my Gambalunga, as I steered it from Rome––from her sprawling vistas of obelisks and domes, to the millennias-old monuments––hunching over the handlebars, with Ballard at my heels.
Everything appeared supernatural and surreal, colored by a lack of objectivity, which had nothing to do with where I was going, but only how I would get there––to the sub rosa goings-on I would soon be taking part in––and the people I would meet. Everything to do with where I was headed was shrouded in mystery, even how to get there. I had to swear, over and over, to Ballard, that yes, I would not tell a living soul.
“That includes your diary,” he said. He seemed to regard my keeping one as a risky business, fraught with peril.
A light pitter-patter drizzled intermittently, pelting off my helmet top. Ballard popped a wheelie. Water sluiced from his front wheel as he dropped the nose, the picture of self-control. We pulled to a stop sign in the shape of a theta and he smiled at me.
Nervousness par excellence played at the corners of his mouth––somehow a beautiful excitement––together with a light in his eyes I could only assume was acceptance of some inner, hidden challenge, I wasn’t to know about.
We were in a decrepit and beat up part of Rome, full of ruined old buildings, with graffiti and flyers adding to the mise en scène. Ballard’s family would be meeting us in Trastevere. Because when you went to a secret meeting the best way to go was as a pack!
I noticed for the umpteenth time the freedom-like bliss the Gambalunga gave to me. Any motorcycle for that matter. Even my old Vespa had done the trick. I didn’t care that I wasn’t going alone. I could’ve gone alone! That was the whole point! It was some weird mix of being an antisocial control freak, but with good intentions. I could go anywhere anytime. It didn’t matter. Nothing could stop me.
We peeled out and raced to Trastevere. Ballard did some trick, but I was right on his taillamp. We pulled into Trastevere Motor Club––and a mound of racing bikes greeted us.
Lia was on her Ducati next to Gaven, who, I noticed, was eating a grattachecca, the Ballard family specialty––blue ice as cool as he was. He smiled at me––one of those fabulous grins some guys have––and I returned the gesture with one of my own.
“About time, brother,” said Lia. She spoke into a walkie-talkie. “Tell Volt and Pouch to lock it up as soon as they get here. And follow after us. Yeah. You’ll be able to smell our exhaust.”
She was looking at me again––just blank staring. She put the walkie-talkie away. Next thing I knew her helmet was on and her fire-red racing bike spit and started.
Gaven hurriedly finished his grattachecca. The other riders were waiting for his command.
Being among them was like crawling through a stand of densely-packed fir trees––pun intended; they were all exceedingly tall. And Ballard was getting that way. Had he had a growth spurt? Already I had begun to look up to him. He had said the werewolves had vast sexual cravings. Maybe his hormones were catching up to him. What an animal, I thought.
Lia revved her engine impatiently––her thighs looked sleek in their bright leather pants––and Gaven, said, “Okay, let’s go, side by side, in pairs, if you would. Don’t break formation! This isn’t a race!” He flicked down his visor and I watched, in amazement, as even more riders appeared from Ballard’s motorcycle shop––they poured out of the garage, two by two, as Lia and Gaven accelerated down the minuscule alley, at the front end of a queue as long as the eye could see. They were around the bend, with still more bikes in front of us, before it was even our turn.
“Are you ready for this?” said Ballard.
I nodded, dumbly, and then got this huge grin. We were going to the Gathering! “Who are Volt and Pouch?” I asked, as I checked the switches on my Gambalunga, and prepared to depart. Still more riders poured in from behind us. Far more than were at the Wolves’ Council two nights before. Where were they coming from?
“I Gatti. They’ll stay behind and monitor the city, helping make sure nobody gets up to any shenanigans. While we’re at the Gathering,” said Ballard, “Rome is exposed. Gaven’s orders.”
“Volt and Pouch must be two badass werewolves,” I said. He laughed. “We aren’t taking any chances,” he said, starting his Ducati. It was midnight blue. I would recognize it anywhere. Ballard had paid somebody to detail the monocoque with a steel-blue moon rising from storm clouds. He flicked it to life.
We pulled out and followed the queue.
I noticed, as we wound through Trastevere, everyone stop what they were doing, and watch, as rider after rider, passed them by. Never had I thought that I would be in such a group. Some of the onlookers had small children, whom they held by the hand, pointing and whispering secret things to. I wondered what they said. That there went the werewolves, the protectors of Rome. It was an honor and privilege to be in such a group.
I also felt like I didn’t belong.
As I passed a young girl bold enough to stand on her own, she smiled at me, and her small hand rose into a wave. I gave her a salute and allowed my Gambalunga to snort some; she giggled.
We were headed into the unknown––or at least I was.
I looked overhead and saw the clouds depart; the leaden sky turned cobalt blue, and the sun, in its last show of strength, beat upon our hot chrome. We left Trastevere, and headed south, away from the friendly confines of the Aurelian Wall, which formerly protected Ballard’s werewolf tribe, following the line of the Tiber river, as it wound itself away, into campagna––the site of the Gathering.
The long procession of motorcycles and their Riders interla
ced like the strands of an intricate Celtic knot, whose Wiccan symbolism was not lost on me; it made me think of druids and the time of Samhain and on and on, as we proceeded into dry hills, that ran over and under, following a trail only the Head Riders knew about. I wondered how long Lia and Gaven had been in charge of the Pack, and if it were really true, if Gaven was getting too old. Gaven’s orders was a phrase I was starting to get used to. I wondered if he would ever step down, if he even had a choice in the matter. From what Ballard had said, the ability to transform went away. Just poof. I didn’t want Gaven to just poof. It made me sad.
Nerves, and a slow pace, were making the Riders swerve back and forth, in a little game they liked to play in the middle of the pack. Wiccan knots within Wiccan knots. I and Ballard did it for a while. Listening to the whines of the engines was like being in a kennel full of dogs. I had to remind myself that these were weredogs. Sirius business. Not to be trifled with.
But why was Lia so gape-faced like she was staring at me all of the time?
If I swerved just right, I could make her out, in the curve of the hill up ahead. She and Gaven were cruising along like they didn’t have a care in the world.
One second I was feeling the enviousness I always felt when I stared at her for too long, the next, she had disappeared. It was like Lia was totally gone. I swerved with Ballard, and checked it from the other side. So was Gaven. They were all disappearing, two by two.
We looked like some kind of ouroboros, eating itself, we had become so twisted in the hills. Ballard just shrugged. He didn’t know what was going on either.
As we moved closer and closer to the thing which was eating up the Riders, the dragon’s tail naturally accelerated; I had quite the opposite reaction. I wanted to slow down. But it was too late. The Riders before us were disappearing, and pretty soon it was our turn. I looked up at the sky, not knowing what to expect, and if I would ever see it again, and then I looked down.
It was like going through an archway. One second we were in campagna, the next...
Rainbows and glitter, twenty percent off sales, caffeine, unicorns, holding hands, claddagh rings, staying up late, your nails done great, snakebites and flowers, butterfly tattoos, candy-flavored bubblegum, hallowed trees, musical CDs, popcorn at the theater, candyfloss, doing each other’s hair, scrapbooking, nail polish, grunge, being late, OCD, OMG, shopping spree, black lace lingerie, gift cards and get-well cards, Valentine’s cards, and credit cards, I love you grams and teddy bears and fluffy little bunnies. That was what this was like. And oh everything that my seventeen-year-old heart could wish for. I had arrived. I was there.
Neophyte / Adept (The Wiccan Diaries, Books 2-3) Page 9
