For one thing, there were a bunch more people at mealtimes. I reckoned the Houses had all sent their delegates. For another, those I hadn’t seen in a while––including the three chief mistresses––were making their reappearances. So everybody must’ve been excited for this selection process.
All day I had been reliving the confrontation with Lux, in the sandpit earlier that morning. At times I would think I had been a fool; at others, I would know I had been.
I wondered if it was too late to take it back. And then, if I really wanted to? Very rarely did I come off looking well, when I replayed the scenario in my head.
Yet, it felt right; and that was important to me.
Still, the consequences were disheartening.
The other Initiates were avoiding Lia and I. She had come with me, you see, and now she was being ostracized as well.
I imagined us in some lonely one-star hotel, bent over a hotplate, with the fingers missing from our gloves. Lia passing me a can of beans. It was clear that our Marks had not fully formed, in these visions. We had the stubs of Marks, and our beans were getting cold.
At other times, I imagined the two of us, leading some great revolution. I seemed to be carrying a flag, the Stars and Stripes, which must’ve meant that on some level I wasn’t over my homesickness yet. We were leading the Initiates to freedom. All except for Vittoria, who I didn’t give a crap about. But these visions wouldn’t last very long; and, before I knew it, I felt like a fool again.
Halsey, you dope. You moron dope. You big stupid moron dope, I said to myself. I was good at berating myself.
But that would pass too...
I said that thing you say about not being able to change the things that you can’t change, and to be at peace, and stuff, and I just let go. What would be, would be, I guessed. It was up to me to make a place that being me would be enough. I was going to be happy. Sooner or later, the rest would sort itself out.
“What will I do without a House?” I wrote in my diary. It didn’t respond back.
Chapter 22 – Houses
“Your name is the most important identifier you possess. All coven members’ surnames––Harcort,” said Fanishwar Harcort “––Coven, Ravenseal, and so on. ” She inclined her head to each of the mistresses. “All are hive names, because all covens hived. That’s how we came to be. Over-numbered covens split by hive.” The rest of the twitterers agreed. This time, I could see them, ranged up in the stands; crags of rock hid their bodies for the most part. But there were the jewel-bright heads of hair and the flashing gowns with the runic symbols; it made me think of the website I had seen and the symbols which tumbled down from it like snowflakes. But if I were to become adept, and then, potentially, fledged––if that was to be my lot in life––I would have to concentrate on my magic, and give up things like YouTube and video games. Still, it would be nice to get on my laptop, a high-powered Mac I carried with me everywhere I went. I wasn’t finished investigating the rest of the Wiccans by a long shot. The truth was that when you took on a name like House Harcort, that House, that lifestyle, was supposed to become your life, to the exclusion of everything else. Almost, as I looked at Lia, as if you married into ancientry, into legend, and history. Into a proscribed way of doing things.
There was a bit of steel to Lia. I could see it after having cracked her friendship barrier. I think we are guilty sometimes of underestimating our friends. We put them into nice little boxes and get upset when they crawl back out of them. You go here, friend, and stay put––or else...
Fanishwar Harcort kept going on and on about our duty to our Houses.
The eyes of the watchers flashed upon the other Initiates and I. We were in our black hooded robes. I kept my head down, for the most part, and my fledgling Wiccan Mark carefully hidden. To Lia I had shown it and she exclaimed with rapture: “It’s almost like we’re sisters now. Your secret’s safe with me,” she said, and winked.
Here we were.
Someone was missing from the proceedings. I could see Pendderwenn, his pale and clammy skin anxious as ever; he nodded to me briefly and I smiled at him, but I made sure to look away real fast. What if he held my marker? It was too much to think about.
Maria Lenoir. Her dark eyes were as inscrutable as ever. Asher, I noticed, was missing from her retinue, but her consort, as I supposed him to be, Pier Alexander, conversed good-naturedly with her, and I remembered, in Lennox’s dream, that apparently Maria had assumed––no, usurped––power, as it appeared she had killed the Vampire King. One of those things it was better not to let anyone else know I knew about. She inclined her head to me, and I winked back. Maria smirked and turned her head away. Something I didn’t understand was how a vampire could hold a marker to a Wiccan. Were Initiates expected to go with them––for real––and to learn to suck blood?
Fanishwar, happily, was wrapping up her big to-do.
“Please, bear in mind, that if you are selected by our esteemed colleagues, the Lenoir, or wolf in mind, The Sons and Daughters of Romulus––” she said... Again, no ailuranthropes; Asher was right about that. They weren’t so much underrepresented as not represented at all. “––The covenant holds that you receive your magical education from a House of their choosing, and remain a friend to them, either the Lenoir or the werewolves, for the remainder of your life and the afterlife. For they hold your marker.”
She held it up; it was red as blood.
“And if war should renew itself––” she said.
Hisses and whispers of no, impossible, that will never happen, we are friends now.
“Then that House, that House, will be your House, and for that House, you shall fight; the ties that bind are many and complex. Blood and love. Love and blood,” she said.
“Love and blood,” they all repeated.
“A Wiccan in with vampires brings Wicca into their House. A vampire choosing a Wiccan and their school, acknowledges Wicca and the power of that school. And a Wiccan ‘raised’ by vampires, for want of a better word, respects those vampires, and will bear their messages, true and faithfully, into any House they travel. We bind ourselves with blood.”
“With blood.”
“Let our gathering renew our love––and prevent any ill-will. For what happened, happened. It was nobody’s fault.”
They bowed their heads.
Fanishwar Harcort stepped down from the podium, and I looked at Maria Lenoir, there, where Fanishwar returned to the judges’ table; she had an enigmatic look upon her face as though she had stolen into the Louvre and ate the Mona Lisa. Veruschka next.
“Ahem. Thank you for that, Mistress,” she said.
Fanishwar bowed her head; I suddenly realized who wasn’t here. Selwyn. He was off, I didn’t know where.
“Mistresses, this is a special Gathering,” said Veruschka Ravenseal. “The first in a quarter century.” Her voice boomed out across the Star Room. I noticed as she spoke lights pop on, which were held in the palms of the watching crowd. “Thirteen markers were sent out. Is she here with us, the One? We do not know. Probably. Maybe. Who knows? We do not know that she is not. For all we know, she might be. For all we know is that it was foretold. It’s as simple as that. Twenty-five years after the ending of the First War, we gathered; and then twenty-five years after that. And after that. And after that. From 1887 until now––we gather. She is the Chosen of the Chosen; the One Among the Many. And she is either here with us or she is not. But we gather to find out.”
Murmurs. More rustling of robes. I looked nervously around at all of the other Initiates.
“You hold your markers,” said Veruschka Ravenseal. “For five Gathering’s-worth, sixty-one have been sent out; and they have been bartered and traded and on and on. Is it guesswork or do you know something More?”
The lights died––and from overhead––starlight. It gathered and intensified onto each Initiate, one by one. Veruschka was doing it with her Wiccan Mark.
“Nora Blackknight,” said Veruschk
a Ravenseal. She was reading from her note cards. “A powerful potential. Beside her, Miss Larissa Nightbloom. My, we do have a preponderance of darknights. Miss Badgley Darknight, a shy, inquisitive girl, who makes up for this dichotomy by asking questions, a lot. Not so shy, after all, are we? Azura. She comes from the Ravenscroft family. They went extinct. Perhaps she’s back to reclaim what was wrongfully taken from her. Good luck, Miss Ravenscroft. Perhaps you’ll get a new name yet. Two P’s. Padget and Pilar. Both from non-magic roots, as are Astra, Lizette, and Shaharizan. Their last names don’t matter. What’s in a name is Wiccan, after all. Perhaps they’ll make new futures––and powerful ones, depending on who selects them. Next is Gemma Moonflower. An odd girl, not much is known of her. One day maybe she’ll finally speak. And, yes, there’s Lia. Halsey Rookmaaker is the final––and thirteenth––witch. An American. You take your chances with one of them. She’s apt to anger quite quickly. But our readers assure us, there’s more to her story than what we know. Can you find it?”
It was hard not to blush with the spotlight on me. And I thought what they read about us was supposed to remain secret! It was hard not to feel like a piece of human meat. A lapse had occurred. The twitters up in the stands were intense. With the light on me, I couldn’t see them. It leapt to the next girl beside me.
Veruschka had to apologize. “I forgot one,” she said. Vittoria stood there humiliated. “Vittoria––she doesn’t have a last name,” said Veruschka.
That was it; the Initiates were accounted for. All of them. The Star Room erupted in applause.
Vittoria’s heavily-lidded eyes were inscrutable; feignwork to hide the hurt and anger of being looked over by her own House, I guessed–– But was Vittoria destined for Ravenseal? Was it to be her Magic House?
Perhaps Ravenseal had passed. Maybe they were waiting for another Gathering. Twenty-five years from now. In that sense, we had all been passed over.
The act itself didn’t bother me; and it was hard to feel sorry for Vittoria––she had treated too many of us like that before. It was the insult I couldn’t abide. The First House was up. The First Marker.
“With the first pick,” said Veruschka Ravenseal, to various chuckles, holding the red marker with the name written upon it, both of the House and the Initiate it had chosen, “House Harcort selects Gemma Moonflower.”
At the name Harcort, Vittoria had flinched, infinitesimally, as if she had received a great shock and was trying to conceal it. She hadn’t been chosen first––as we all thought Vittoria would be. Gemma Moonflower had been.
It became obvious almost immediately that something was going on. Fanishwar, pleased with her new acquisition, greeted Gemma Moonflower, who actually opened her mouth to speak (“I’ve always wanted to see Piccadilly,” she said) and bowed to Veruschka Ravenseal who returned the courtesy.
Had Ravenseal traded its marker to House Harcort for some future consideration?
Vittoria did that tisk thing again. But this time it was like she couldn’t believe it. “You don’t know who I am,” she said underneath her breath. “I’ll show you.”
“Ladies...” Lux looked at me; hold your tongues, he seemed to say. I got upset with him, right there––but I refrained from speaking.
Lia looked sideways at me. Something was going on in her head, nerves, perhaps. She was standing on one foot, then the other. Something I had seen Ballard do before. He was up in the stands with the rest of them. Gaven was still Head Wolf, was he not? And as such, had a seat at the table in front of us. Whether or not he held a marker was anyone’s guess, he had never said. Harcort took Gemma Moonflower and the clapping died down.
Lux had said something about another reading––them potentially wanting to look into our minds again. It happened. Shaharizan was called into a back room. Several minutes elapsed. Then, Veruschka Ravenseal stood at the podium, to announce that Shaharizan had been taken as the second pick. There was a tremendous round of applause. It was by a House I had never heard of before.
Shaharizan became a twelfth, it was announced, something which was held in great esteem.
“Imagine selecting her as your last member,” said Vittoria scathingly; I knew how she felt. We had slipped further down the rung, she and I; we had not been chosen first or second.
I looked at Pendderwenn, who was sweating––I suddenly realized––he held a marker––and he wanted... me...
Two Initiates had already been chosen; obviously, if he didn’t get to me first...
Could another House be interested in me?
It truly was out of my hands.
“With the third pick––oh, this is interesting... With picks three and four, the House of Peril selects Pilar and Padget. The two P’s.”
Perfunctory clapping, my first whang of concern. That was four down! Had they read something in me they did not like? The Houses were picking the Initiates not based on how we felt about ourselves. Vittoria certainly would have been chosen first. She was clearly the most powerful. And I ranked fairly highly, if we were going based upon how we felt about each other. No. They were picking us based on our merits. Of which Vittoria and I seemed not to have any.
She had stopped tisking, Vittoria, and was now folding her arms in her robes. I saw her three digits. The fingertips were etched in onyx-hued minute lines. She caught me staring at them. “I bet you’d love to look; to see my Wiccan Mark,” said Vittoria. “I can’t believe those idiots have been selected over me. Even you would’ve been better. Mind you, that isn’t saying much.”
“Ravenseal gave their marker away,” I said. “They must have. They only have one spot, you see. They probably wanted to use it on somebody who’s a sure thing.”
“And you think I’m not? I may not be her, but I am badass,” said Vittoria, and threw her hair in my face.
I had to give it to her. Her confidence was unshakeable. I admired it greatly. “If you say so,” I said.
“Four down. Nine to go,” said Veruschka Ravenseal. “Again, I should take the time to remind those Initiates who may be wondering if they are to be chosen, there is more at stake here than just this ‘Mythic Chick’, as I have heard her referred to before.” She looked at me. “Some Houses simply want people who are good for them. It is their fortune to hold markers in whatever order. Do you understand?”
Pendderwenn gulped––and stared at me. He was giving me the heebie-jeebies.
That was blather, what Veruschka had said, and we all knew it. Everyone, each House, wanted the One. So did House Ravenseal.
I must’ve not been her. Besides, I wasn’t even from here. I was from New England. Well, not originally, but for all intents and purposes. I was a carpetbagger. Somebody who went from one place to another for some quick benefit. I didn’t know that’s what I had been doing––but I had been. I wanted to be selected as badly as the rest of them.
Being chosen stung, because you had to subject yourself to not being chosen. And to not being the Chosen One.
Let’s face it, I told myself, there’re only nine of us remaining––in the whole of Europe, for the next twenty-five years. And then we would have had our time, the Initiates and I. We would be passed over for new people. New Wiccans. Younger and more powerful.
The problem with being a potential was and had always been what happened to the ones who had it, but then it went away? It was like, how could we ever go on? I had come so close to my dream and now it felt like I didn’t deserve to be here.
“The Sons and Daughters of Romulus next,” said Veruschka Ravenseal.
* * *
We were given a break. It was weird to think that we were losing each other. Strange though it may sound, I was used to us being thirteen. Now Gemma Moonflower and the other three members of their respective new Houses were off––being Indoctrinated... Truly––and miraculously––and completely...
They were wanted.
It felt enviable. Who didn’t want to fit in, or feel like they belonged? I had been a Wiccan now fore
ver and ever––even in the lean years when I didn’t have a Mark and couldn’t craft accidentally or on purpose––and I never felt that way, like I belonged.
I was always an outsider––even when I was in I was out. And especially at the Gathering. The Wiccans had a claim to her––whoever she might be––this One––and the werewolves and vampires. And that stake in something––in me, if I was to be Her––felt good. It felt like I was wanted. That I had not been abandoned. Or dumped in some hole somewhere. Some rota. That I had some value. Now I didn’t know. And it sucked.
It sucked worse than Pendderwenn, who couldn’t stop violating me with his I-want-you stare.
Or was I being double negative or impossible? Two-faced or whatnot?
Lia took my hand and whispered to me: “I really hope it’s you. I mean, I think you really deserve it, whatever it is. I’m––sure I’m not the One,” she said.
“What?” I said.
“I’m too old, for one thing. Twenty-four. You heard them. It’s like I’m practically a dinosaur. And my birthday’s coming up.”
“And you think that’s why you haven’t been selected?” I said. “Lia, you don’t really see yourself the way you are.”
“I don’t?” she said in a minute voice.
“Not at all,” I said.
Gaven called us over. We were standing in one of the many tunnels which went off in odd directions all over the secret underground Gatheringplace.
“I just wanted to see how you were doing–– Hi Halsey,” he said to me. Gaven took Lia’s hand. I let her go to him.
“I think I’ll just go elsewhere,” I said to them, but they didn’t hear me.
Neophyte / Adept (The Wiccan Diaries, Books 2-3) Page 25
