“So Lenoir was a man?”
“Yes, he was a man. A wizard, in point of fact. The worst. This is something not even the Lenoir like to admit.
“But––”
“Magic split, remember, dear? You’ve seen the symbols. You know what they mean.Vittoria was hanging on her every word. Her long, corvus-colored hair, slicked down, like two sheer waterfalls, highlighting heavily-mascaraed eyes.
“You to your corner, we to ours. To Paris––the vampire; and to Rome––the wolves... my dear famiglia; but to Prague,” said Emma, “magic kept. And the old war was ended. But not before He changed everything. Oh yes, He changed it all. Some of us think it is just a timeout, a respite, if you will, a rest between perils; and that this THING is the first sign of... darker days...
“Indeed, the Dark Order is rising again... in Prague; or is very nearly risen. Avoid that place! AVOID IT! I say. For those who do not stay away must get sucked up in it. And the Last War––will be the beginning––of the middle––of the end. I need a refresher.”
Vittoria was left standing there; I hid behind the viburnum before she could see me. Grigori––Rasputin––a man called Lenoir?
Before Skarborough left, she said, “It’s apt, don’t you think? Lenoir’s name being Italian––the first one. There’ll be a second. Oh yes. There will be.”
“But what about this One?” said Vittoria. “The Chosen One––wait––come back––”
“It was foretold. It’s that simple,” said Skarborough, who suddenly realized she had found an attentive audience. “They call her The One and have a private name for her––such names being tremendously powerful, and susceptible to dark magic. But you need a Mark. And you don’t seem to have one––unless you’re keeping it hidden from me. You’re not, are you?”
“But what they? Who calls her The One?”
“My drink; I need my drink.”
“And who are the protettori?” Vittoria called after her.
Tipsy, Emma wobbled away. I left. Ballard found me wandering on my own. I think I was in a daze. What was going on? One thing was certain. I knew now what Vittoria had been up to, and what she was after. She was trying to find out more about ‘this One’, and the secrets to being the Wiccan Prime Mover. Which is what I should’ve been doing.
But she couldn’t be, could she? I mean, that was the one thing that was given, not earned? Oneness. No matter how hard you wanted it, it couldn’t just be taken, could it?
Or could it?
Gaven and Lia were about to head off. It was about that Ballard wished to speak with me.
Chapter 7 – Grey Wolf
Everyone met to farewell Gaven and Lia, pelting them with rice and last wishes. “May you have many happy new moons together,” they said.
Ballard, meanwhile, dragged me back to my viburnum. A tall and beautiful tree, it was overshadowed by only one other in this story.
I tried shushing him but he was adamant. “What... is it, Ballard?” I said. I managed to catch a glimpse of the bride and groom, as they departed the reception, on their new matching motorcycles. Good luck, you two, I whispered. Miraphora’s jinx would have no lasting repercussions, I hoped. Only Ballard was antsy, and he started pacing, always a danger sign.
I had other things to worry about: Like the fact Vittoria was becoming fledged faster than I was. Somehow I didn’t think the Wiccan Prime Mover would have any difficulties passing from neophyte to adept.
As for male Wiccans, and especially wizards my own age, I had never really met any of them. If I opened House Rookmaaker, I would probably be training with some of them. Which would be an awkward situation. A Mistress––me––but without any formal education... Instructing all of them.
First, Ballard’s problems... I would worry about my own when I got there.
“You wanted?” I said.
“Guess who I just spoke with?” he said. He seemed elated about it.
“Who?” I asked.
“My sister,” said Ballard. “Guess what she just said?”
“What?”
“She and Gaven are not going on their honeymoon!”
Ballard fought with some inner struggle. The burning rush had come over my Mark again. It felt like it was on fire. Maybe that was my proclivity? I stifled the gasp, which longed to escape from my lips, biting back the pain.
“Well, that’s just––I mean–– So?” I said.
“So. Now I can go with you, silly!”
“You couldn’t have before?” I asked.
“Rome,” he said, “cannot be free of my bloodline. It’s very complicated.”
“What about your mother and father? Or, I know, Sándor and Septimus?”
“My parents are leaving––they’re headed back to Greece. As for the twins–– We could use them,” said Ballard, “but they don’t like to get involved. ‘We’re arcane scholars. Tell us when there’s a fight––then we’ll be ready...’”
“But I thought they couldn’t shift?” I said.
“Their prowess lies elsewhere,” said Ballard. “How long do you think we’ll be gone, anyway, when we leave?”
We could go tomorrow, today, this very minute, I told him. And then I could rescue Selwyn.
“It’ll be two weeks, at least,” I said.
His face fell. “So long?”
“Ballard... Are you sure you really want to go with me? Prague’ll be dangerous.”
It hit me that I might be leading my friend into danger.
“You can stay behind, if you want. But I have to know,” I said. Which was perfectly true.
I had seen Ballard bend steel––leap to humanly impossible heights. But where we were going, the other side had powers as well. I understood now that there was an Other Side. That otherkin cultures encompassed more than just Rome. There were the Grigori, for one thing––to speak nothing of the Benandanti.
I didn’t realize how cold it was. Ripples of heat came off Ballard.
Mistress Genevieve’s words came back to me, about recklessness.
“Tomorrow... we’ll leave tomorrow...” I said.
But it would mean planning, leaving people behind.
“How will we get there?” said Ballard.
“Our motorcycles, obviously.”
He nodded, folding his arms. He was my protettore, my protector, my defender. I seemed to foresee great danger lying ahead for us, hope, hope. But we could overcome that, could we not? “I am just a Neophyte,” I said, practically to myself.
“You’ll have me,” said Ballard. “I’ll protect you.”
“Maybe you’re like my Risky,” I said.
There was the sense that the evening was ended. I and Ballard were leaving––we were going to find whatever there was to find.
I played a kind of game, there in my head, making a list of all the things I wanted to find out. Foremost was the Rookmaakers: Who had killed them, and why? Then about Risky, and what his deal had been; and, okay, if it meant learning magic, so be it. Anything to make me a better spellcaster. Given the dreams I was having, the fact Ravenseal had tried to grab me, I was being dragged into a world far older than I could possibly imagine. There were new names coming up. Ballard was right. The players had not all made themselves known yet. There were others out there. And whether they were like me or not, whether they liked me or not, there was something I had to do––and Ballard had to do. Risky had set us a mission. We were bound to it as the werewolves were to Rome.
“Won’t Locke and the others be upset you’re leaving them?” I asked. “You are still Il Gatto, after all.”
“What good is being Head Wolf,” said Ballard, “if you can’t act like it?”
I was worried that leaving Rome would cause him undo problems.
It was only then I noticed Vittoria staring at me across the way. It gave me the heebie-jeebies.
“What is Vittoria doing here, Ballard?” I said.
“I invited her. Why? She’s actually quite nice, you kno
w.”
I, at least, had hidden, while I eavesdropped on her. She gave me the Wiccan W, which in Vittoria’s mind meant something else.
“No reason,” I said.
Did she know I was going to Prague? I suddenly found myself fighting the tingling sensation in my fingertips. Did I want to duel Vittoria? I huffed and Ballard dropped it.
You just don’t like that she’s special and you’re not, I told myself, viciously.
Sándor and Septimus walked by, engaged in an argument about Gaelic symbology, “It’s under your nose,” said Septimus.
“It’s not.”
“It is, little brother, and over your head.” (Sándor being noticeably shorter than his sibling.) When I looked for Vittoria, she had gone.
“I’ll meet you tomorrow. Okay? At your place...” I said to Ballard.
He got all dreamy-eyed: “My place,” he said.
“And then we’re leaving Rome,” I said.
As for Vittoria, if she wanted me, she knew where to find me.
* * *
Still images flashed across my dreams that night of the Master House, then various shots of different alleyways. A pair of watchful, dark eyes were following me... Vittoria’s, but worse...
It was out there, waiting for us. To what, attack me? I was foolishly rushing toward the Hunter.
What other option did I have? I needed to carry on with what I had started, namely the continuation of my magical education, because as much as I wanted to know, Ballard needed to know.
What had Risky meant for us to find out?
I could hear Ballard now: “I’m different. I know I am.” Only, he thought it was a problem, whereas I was inclined to think more along the lines of its having been meant to be.
After all, he was the youngest Head Wolf in history, one of the Four. His skills were definitely meant to protect me. But from what?
He should be awesome, shouldn’t he? BSB. Bigger. Silenter. Badassesser. He had shown early. Why? And why did he seem so superior to any other werewolf I had ever known, including Gaven?
I could hear Ballard now: “I’m not badass. I’m not special.”
It didn’t make sense; but when had anything? The only reason I had decided to go was because the werewolf had said the vampire and she were headed to Prague. Not Ballard and she. The vampire and she. This thing was obviously hunting somebody––but not me.
I slept late. Even though Ballard and I were rested, it meant, unfortunately, that we were on a night schedule. “I don’t want to get lost,” I said. We were at his place.
That was anther thing... My time in the EU was up. I would have to go back to the United States real soon. It had been ninety days... Twice that––three times... My visa had run out... What if we got stopped?
Ballard told me not to worry about it. “We’ll fix that, eventually,” he said, referring to my visa. “Something good about connections: As Head Wolf, I have some. Until then, we’ll take the Back Way.”
He winked at me. We were getting ready to depart.
What was this Back Way, and how did we find it? He showed me the map.
“I had it laminated,” he said, pulling it out, “in case it rains.” On it was our route. The map showed a zigzagging line, through Italy, and then over the Alps, through wild country. It was only then we started making our way East, through Austria, Slovakia, and the Czech Republic. A giant golden star showed Prague. I got goosebumps just looking at it.
“Where’s your stuff?” he asked me.
I shrugged. “I want to go light,” I said, but he shook his head.
“That’ll never do,” he said.
He explained to me about the wild and how being prepared was our only option. It was like the old Ballard, illustrating, diagramming... If the Wolves ever got in a fight, at least they’d be prepared.
“I brought my backpack,” I said helpfully, holding it up and showing him.
In it were things like my diary, and the red marker Selwyn had given to me; I also brought my diploma from St. Martley’s. Those were my true credentials, proof that I belonged in the Magic world!
If they rejected Ballard, I could vouch for him. Hadn’t he said something about potentially being magic? But then thoughts of vampire hunters crept into my imagination, and I put myself on guard.
Be reckless, not dumb, Halsey....
Ballard gathered and augmented my pack. He put things like cans of food, and even a can of engine oil, in it. I looked at his pack, and saw how massive it was. I tried lifting it, but it made a strange clinking noise when I lifted it; besides, it was way too heavy for me. Tethered to the outside was his moonflask; it glugged with some unknown liquid. When he was done, my pack looked almost like his. “There!” he said. “Now, if we die in the wild, at least it will take a while!”
Next, he showed me my Gambalunga––I had a grattachecca while he explained.
Ballard had rigged up a new system of onboard flips and switches––mechanical magic––for it.
“This is your booster,” he said, indicating the tank fitted under the seat; it said NOS on it (nitrous oxide systems). “For emergency use only,” he said.
I gulped.
“We may run into things while we’re out there,” said Ballard, “so I want you prepared. This is the Jesus bolt. Because if it breaks, you see Jesus.” He smiled. “So don’t wipe out.” It was the race all over.
I nodded my head. “I’m ready,” I said.
“I do love having a purpose. I told you the blue moon would ride again,” he said. I sat waiting on my motorcycle while he got on his. The last rays of the sun were going down. My pack felt heavy; but it would get lighter as we went. I watched him heft his own onto his back, and then he shut and locked the garage door.
“Thank you, Ballard,” I said. “For everything. You get points.”
“I always wanted to score with you.”
A sign, which read GONE FISHING, hung on the door. Ballard’s motorcycle sank with the weight of him. It groaned unnaturally. We started our engines.
I was to follow him out of Rome. It was an amazing moment for me, to know that I had started this alone, and that now I had Ballard, and together we were going to the Districts of Magic. I wondered what it would be like. The whole flight to Prague was one big check-it-out thing. What if I didn’t like what I saw? It would not be easy, but then, that was the point, wasn’t it? Just hearing the engines, I got the sense the Past was around the corner. Maybe if I looked for it hard enough, it would reveal itself to me, including certain secrets I wished to find out.
The previous volumes of my Diary were preamble to the adventures to come.
Ballard flipped his visor down and gave me the thumbs-up. I returned the gesture. We lifted our feet and headed down the vicolo, into the smog and monuments, leaving Trastevere behind us.
I felt like one of those dogs––exiled, in a way. Like Ballard and I were being booted from our home range. I didn’t know when I would be back. Could be never, I told myself. I had given my landlady four months’ rent. She literally cackled in my face.
“I am going. I may not be back.”
“Stupid ragazza,” she said. Like she knew something I did not. It made me feel uncertain about everything.
But that was over, now. All of it was. Ballard and I were going. We were leaving Rome.
* * *
We drove that night past Vatican City, and onto the autoroute, which took us out of Rome. I supposed things were different between Ballard and me now. Always before our objective had been to see What if... What if there were vampires out there? What if there were werewolves? What if witches and wizards really existed and I was one of them? Well, we had our answers now. It was the truth which eluded us.
We stopped to top off our fuel tanks before we put some miles behind us.
Ballard told me about the benandanti (“Witch-fighting werewolves,” he called them), who used to battle evildoers, in order to protect their crops. “They were called the Hounds
of God... Those Who Do Good.”
“Are they still around?” I said.
I was wondering about my landlady. She seemed to be one. Or Grigori.
Ballard shrugged. “Werewolf, witch, and vampire myths are wherever you go. In the Philippines the Aswang are all three. The Benandanti are no different... They were thought to originate in Venice...”
We would be passing it shortly. It was almost like a fourth magic city, was old Venice.
“...The Benandanti also existed in Rome and Germany...” said Ballard. “We should go looking for them, when we get to Prague....”
I wasn’t really paying attention. “Don’t you see, though, the old Histories are cross-mutating, interbreeding,” he said.
How come Dallace and Camille had been allowed to create their own magic city? They were vampires, after all. Yet they seemed to pay no allegiance to Paris. Why not?
Ballard removed the nozzle, and put the cap back on his fuel tank. “The last thing we want is to be drawn into a three-way war. There have been stories about disagreements in the past, between the Grigori and the Benandanti, and us... I figure I can introduce myself around. See what’s up,” he said.
My head felt like it was going to explode. Find Them––Look for them.
The weather was changing. It was becoming colder. We got back on the autoroute; finally it started to snow.
Neither Ballard nor I had any thoughts of stopping. The snowflakes felt otherworldly. As though there were two worlds––the one, non-magic, the other, magical.... The impulse to continue was so strong in us that in consequence we made very good time.
I eased my helmet off, riding momentarily no-hands, and came alongside Ballard. My hair––already long––flew behind me in a whipsong of wind and fury; my eyes stinging with how fast we were going, I changed to a higher gear. I passed the mile markers without really having passed the milestones, Wiccanwise. What, if anything, would we find? I rode without any particular fondness of feeling, content in the deep-seated assurance that I rode to nowhere.
The Dioscuri had set me a mission. They were the Enemy, vampires changed with longevity––they knew things, foul things, things I wanted to know.
Neophyte / Adept (The Wiccan Diaries, Books 2-3) Page 44
