Neophyte / Adept (The Wiccan Diaries, Books 2-3)

by T. D. McMichael

  She wiped away her tears, and then took a gigantic sniff. “I’m okay,” she said. I saw her stand up and square her shoulders. She threw her head back, and her dark-colored hair cascaded down her back. The next thing, she was putting on her riding jacket. “I feel like going for a spin. What do you say?” she said....

  We returned that night with gowns we purchased from Via dei Condotti. They cost a fortune!

  It was amazing what it felt like to be back; like I had never left Rome; but also, that I might never come back. Everything was changing. I was changing. So was Lia. I also got some jeans and stuff.

  We had everything we needed to do our makeup and hair––and shoes; Lia and I got lots of shoes!

  Chapter 15 – Party

  Saturday, the day of the dance, dawned cold and dark. We had been at the Gathering now for nearly a week. Tonight I would be attending my first ball; the thought of it filled me with nerves, but they were good nerves. Rumors swept through the Werewolf side of things, over who would be in attendance. What Supernatural luminaries might we have the pleasure of getting to know firsthand?

  Lia was a bundle of feisty, maligned energy. She got up early and by a stroke of genius had one of the Wiccan witches––Gisela, I think her name was––who admitted us into the Gathering, do a bit of voila-action upon the cubbyhole of a desk in our room. It was transformed suddenly into a suitable place where we could put on our faces––cosmetically-speaking. We now had a large divaesque makeup station with mirrors and big pretty lights and another full-length mirror on the inside of the door. And a sink. I watched the witch perform her spell––but however she did it was beyond me. Lia decided to get to the bottom of it.

  “So, Gisela, right? Just how fledged are you, anyway?”

  Gisela’s nose wrinkled at being addressed. She was an arctic blonde.

  “You’re from the Covens, right?” persisted Lia.

  “Yes,” said Gisela, as if she thought this might go on longer, and was in a hurry to get away.

  “What’s the matter, you don’t want to talk to us?” said Lia. I sat up in my bed, holding a candle, watching her. There wasn’t enough room for all of us to stand up.

  Gisela said, “I am not supposed to offer my criticism or support to the Wiccan Initiates––”

  “We’re Neophytes now,” said Lia. She held up one finger. “One day gone. One year to go. Then I’ll be just like you. You are Adept?”

  “I am not supposed to influence the decision of the Council.”

  “What Council? I thought we got to decide which House we wanted to be in for ourselves,” said Lia.

  “No.”

  “No, we don’t, or no, you don’t know?”

  I watched as Lia bullied Gisela out of the room. “No, you don’t get to ask me that,” said Gisela.

  Lia slammed the door in her face. She turned to me with a triumphant smile, a little wistful for the unfortunate attitude of some of the Wiccans. “I gotta say,” she said, “if it’s a choice between her and being a werewolf... argh argh arwoo... I think I’ll keep the fleas. Don’t tell Vittoria I said that though. So, you’ve been quiet. Got a hot date?”

  I blushed. She smiled at me mischievously. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say. But you do have to get in this chair. Come here,” she said, kicking it out for me. “Crawl your skinny ass out of bed. We’ll have to work straight through breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I tell you...” I crawled out of bed, and set the flickering candle on the countertop. Lia and I proceeded to dump out all of our cosmetics onto the table and sorted them. “I’ll be glad when we can just focus on the witchcraft,” she said.

  She looked at me in the mirror, taking stock of the “raw goods,” as she called them. She ran the sink. “I need to wash your hair,” she said. Her fingers were massaging my scalp. “That’s right. Good.” I had had similar experiences basting turkeys before––except I was the turkey. Lia frequently grabbed for her power tools like we were in the motorcycle shop. She tweezed, plucked, and pinned...

  I talked. I got her to open up to me more about her family’s curse they had going on of being werewolves. “The old stories,” she frequently said. “According to the old stories...”

  I was more interested in now. “What’s it like?” I asked.

  Lia thought a bit. My hair was in her hands. She yanked it roughly about. When she talked she had to do it out of the side of her mouth, because the other side was full of pins.

  “Like wrapping your legs around a wild animal,” she said. “I mean, you know, you have your Gambalunga. What’s it like when you put on that helmet and start the engine?”

  “Wonderful,” I said.

  “But instead of being separate from it, it’s like you are the thing. And there are all kinds of upsides.”

  “Such as?” I said. I had already heard Ballard’s list of werewolf powers, but I wanted Lia’s take.

  “For starters, speed. Werewolves are fast. There’s also werewolf constitutions. Eat what you want. Do what you want. I like hamburgers and French fries, myself.”

  As she talked, I saw a flicker in her eyes, the corners of her mouth relaxed, and her eyelids half-closed––I could tell she was thinking about it. It made me think about what it was like for her and Gaven. I mean, they got to be this together, they got to be werewolves together. They got to run in a pack. Something such as that would be a loss, indeed, when it was gone.

  “The thing is,” she said, “that a long time ago, it didn’t used to go away, being a werewolf. I mean, there used to be stories. According to them, if a werewolf abstained––attacked no human being––then after a period of so many years, they would retire and return to their former selves, presumably as humans, to live out the remainder of their days. Which I’ve always thought was a kind of promised land. But that was then. Now it isn’t so much a curse as a way of life. And I have to say, once you’ve tasted it, it’s hard to imagine going back. I certainly can’t, and I think about it a lot. Gaven says he’s ready, but I don’t know. I’m going to be this for another six years. Unless the Magic takes. I’ve been thinking about it, and you’re right. It’s like when they threw me, temporarily, off the Wolves’ Council–– Which, by the way, did you hear about the Magic Council––? Gisela certainly didn’t mean to let that slip. There’s a lot of factions going on here. Anywho. I’m in a state of flux. I know what she was talking about, when Veruschka Ravenseal said minds get narrowed. I want what I want. And I’m too old to be in school again. Of course, we have other secrets, werewolves. But some things you need paws to comprehend. I can tell you this... that when a werewolf dies, so does the shape changer. It’s called reper-something-or-other,” said Lia, “and it’s what happens when you get stupid. Which is why Gaven is practically a stranger. He’s on the lookout for anyone acting in a way they shouldn’t be. Which means he’s pretty much busy all the time. Oh well. At least I get to hang out with him tonight.”

  How could I not love this woman?

  “Lia... I’m kinda glad I know you,” I said. She yanked my hair again. If I had to pay for her being neglected, so be it. Who knew hair could be so cathartic.

  * * *

  It was time. The lights were all low, and the magic that usually shone from the corridors, filled the hallways with twilight. Lia and I stood in our gowns in front of the full-length mirror, admiring one another, as the clock ticked to zero hour. It seemed to boom over the PA System, announcing the start of the evening’s festivities. We could hear doors opening and the sounds of the Wolves meeting each other for their dates. Lia winked at me.

  “Whoever he is, he’s lucky,” she said.

  I thought Lia exhibited more than her usual skill at fixing things; she had used real craft-magic getting the two of us together. Her hair was in an elegant twist and her eyes, Midnight and dusky, obviously had big, Gaven-sized plans for the night.

  We wore white evening gowns in deference to the black robes we had worn as Initiates. White for Neophyte.

  I
t was time to go meet our dates.

  “Remember,” said Lia, taking my hand and opening the door, “it’s a cotillion ball, a coming-out for of-age Crafters––you look great, by the way. As such––”

  “Halsey!”

  Ballard came running up to me.

  “See, told you so,” said Lia.

  But he had come with someone else. A woman older than he was.

  “May I present––Liesel. From the Sons and Daughters of Romulus,” said Ballard.

  Liesel said, “I really like your outfit, Halsey.”

  “Incidentally,” said Ballard, carrying on before I had had a chance to respond, and whispering to me so that only I could hear. “They don’t usually make them like that. Just don’t tell Lia.”

  Clearly he couldn’t believe his good luck.

  “I don’t know, Ballard,” I said. It was clear he didn’t know what he was talking about, because next second Gaven arrived. He beamed as Lia left me and took his arm.

  I said hi to Liesel who commented on the locket I was wearing. “It looks very old,” she said.

  “Seventeen years old!” I said.

  But then I forgot where I was and the sound got shut out. Lux was waiting for me at the entrance to the Werewolves’ dormitories.

  I nodded at Liesel and walked past Ballard, who momentarily stared after me, amid the others filing out. Lux stepped back, letting them pass.

  He had brought me a pink corsage, “Until you have a flower of your own,” he said.

  I had to stare at him before my mind would work. He obviously meant my Wiccan Mark. I didn’t know what it would be when it appeared.

  “Shall we?” he said.

  He held out his hand to me, the one with the scar on it, whereupon I noticed that he was not wearing his rings.

  “They’re called Tridents,” he said, when I commented upon this. The skin there was blackened, reddish raw.

  “Do they hurt?” I asked, seeing the three fingers which made up his Wiccan W. The index finger especially looked like it had been burned. It was different-colored than the rest of him. Despite what he said it looked like scar tissue.

  Before he could reply, however, we were being swept out into the Gathering. Where we were headed I had no idea. Apparently the warlocks who had helped build this place had been busy the length of time it took Lia and me to sufficiently coif our disobliging hair.

  Even the lock I usually had to blow out of my face knew where it was supposed to be tonight.

  The same could not be said for the Gathering. It had been transformed. Now holly, garland, and mistletoe bedecked every passageway in and out of the place. We were being led by streamers to the Star Room itself––the place where the other new-minted Wiccans and myself had been practicing under the tutelage of Professor Lux. I thought what Vittoria might say (“Teacher’s pet”), or indeed any of the other Neophytes, if they saw me hand-in-hand with him. That he’s too old for you, probably. Let haters hate, I thought. I had Lux. And we were going to a dance. Something Lia hadn’t said. It used to be that such as I, at such as this, were called debutantes, and it was our opportunity to exhibit and be seen. I had looked for European witchcraft all of my life––since St. Martley’s––never having really expected to find it. Now they were going to be seeing me, these witches and wizards!

  It was weird.

  What did they look like? How did they behave?

  Mistress Veruschka, et al, were here as ‘representatives’––nothing could be so false. But Wiccans outside of the Gathering! They were going to be in attendance, as well as other Supernaturals! It wasn’t just my coming out. It was the coming out of the world!

  I found Ballard, with my eyes, engaged in conversation with Liesel; she was in a pretty sequined dress that showed off her figure. I suddenly saw her laugh and Ballard throw his head back; she continued to giggle behind her hands. What was I doing?

  I looked at Lux, who smiled at me.

  “Nervous?” he said.

  “Not one bit,” I said. “I can hardly wait.”

  As the tunnels opened up and the ceilings became less oppressive, light filtered in, and the clicking of heels and whispering of cloth gave way to the sounds of hundreds and hundreds of individuals from here, there, everywhere. There were more Supernaturals at the Gathering than I could imagine! I looked for Asher, Dallace, Camille; what I saw instead were trains of people I had never seen in my life; it really was an opportunity to dress up and show off, like a parade, almost, and thanks to Lia’s ministrations, I had nothing to be worried about.

  I saw men––some so Mediterranean their eyes looked like they had dragged the sea with them; and women––like jewels in a box, bright and sparkly. They greeted each other and enquired as to this or that. Having always perceived of werewolves as eternally young, I was surprised to see very wolfy-looking older men and their dates; all of whom looked like it was high times indeed. Then there were the werecats.

  “Don’t ever call a werecheetah by a werepanther’s name,” said Lux. “They will so dislike you for that.”

  “I think that’s a were faux pas,” I said. “...A werepaw,” as he steered me through the assemblage.

  I looked out at the assembled skin-walker’s convention––and then I noticed the vampires––and something miraculous happened.

  They were happy. Everyone was. It was like they were glad to be here. I had to give myself a little pinch; they were all smiling and laughing. And all of it, the paranoia––the them versus us... None of it seemed to matter anymore. For tonight at least we were as one.

  Periwinkle-blue dog’s-bane and hydrangeas the size of footballs covered the sides of the catacombs, with twinkling glitterdust that floated in midair. Butterflybushes filled with real butterflies stretched towards the many hummingbirds I saw drinking from flutes of coppery foxglove like champagne glasses filled to the brim. Still we continued, past nasturtiums of nasturtiums and the devil’s-walkingsticks I saw guarding the way, past garlands of holly, and even a roisin dubh or two. And all the while I clutched Lux’s arm. It was perhaps a spell like the one Camille had weaved at Venice, ethereal and otherworldly; on the garden, not Lux.

  I wound my way through the tunnels with the other guests. No amount of magic could fool the eye when it came to discerning who these magical people were. The foreign werewolves and other shape changers, the vampires and the Wiccans, they gave an air of mixed breeding and savagery, of refinements and the most well-polished animal instincts. The vampires were like velvet-lined boxes or the powder rooms of movie stars, all, I realized, with that most coveted of possessions.

  Status.

  They were here by invitation of the Lenoir. I had the sense that they could blink away a quarter century no problem.

  As for the ailuranthropes, though lacking in refinements, they had cultivated a presence nonetheless that was all their own. Hirsute or not, they were formidable-looking. The only question was why they hadn’t sent delegates to the Gathering themselves.

  Asher was with the Lenoir, or so he’d said. His real objective was something else––I was sure of it. Lia had said that the other delegates had been upset with Maria Lenoir when she brought him along. What was it about ailuranthropes––Cat Shifters––that was so repulsive to them? There were so many dos and don’ts, to Magic. It was like Magic was Magic, and I was trying to keep up.

  As for the Wiccans, it sent chills down my spine seeing them all here.

  I heard voices behind me suddenly; one in particular I knew.

  “She’s all right, if you’re in to that sort of thing.”

  I looked back. Vittoria was staring after me with her heavily-lidded eyes, on the arm of Paolo, one of the Werewolf Team Leaders. He wasn’t divulging Pack secrets, was he? Then I thought: Is it even my business?

  If I’m going to be a werewolf, I told myself... Then, yes, it is....

  I cocked my head at her. She made a W and shot it at me, then smirked and walked past me, into the Star Room.
/>   It opened before us like a million galaxies. Immediately couples began to make their way onto the dance floor for the opening dance.

  Chapter 16 – Hiving

  This was the part I had been really afraid of. I can’t dance. It’s one of my major life failings. Lux and I revolved slowly on the dance floor. I frequently stepped on his toes. Every once in a while he would be hailed by someone presumably that he knew from across the dance floor––but he stayed with me.

  He’s with Ravenseal, Halsey, relax... I told myself, of course he knows people!

  Then a strenuous number. Lia and Gaven were throwing their bodies around wildly. You had to give it to the Wolves. There was something wild and free about the way they danced. Unselfconscious. As though they were at one with themselves. It was a moment before I remembered that Lia was split––she was either a werewolf or a Wiccan now, but she couldn’t be both; her Mark had still not filled in. No one’s had.

  The other weres, I noticed, were a secretive lot. Particularly the cats, who kept mostly to themselves, although one werecheetah actually bent and kissed my hand, when Gaven introduced us. An electric current passed between the werecheetah and I, which meant that we had sexual chemistry. I could almost see him blush through the whiskers on his fine face.

  Lux removed himself to go get us some drinks. I was left staring at the sandpit. Except it wasn’t the sandpit any longer. Magic had transformed it until it was a kind of Roman Forum (as if, in celebration of the fact that we were in Rome), with various statues of particularly impressive cyanthropes––that’s Dog Shifters––in full change––something I had never seen before––and wizards and witches who looked like they were in the throes of some particularly complex conjurations. A tall obelisk stood in the center of the room. It usually stood there, but seeing it tonight, it was somehow strange and ominous. And full of Magic. Ornate figures were carved around it so that it looked like an impenetrable iron fresco or a shadow caster. Instead of projecting the light, it drew you to it. The ground had been covered over with a parquet floor temporarily and the obelisk jutted out of it like a metallic tooth.