Neophyte / Adept (47 page)

That was the entry I had made, so many months ago. We were
now into March. I bit my lip and scribbled fast, filling the chart in.
Vargr noctum
, I wrote; that was the
spell Rayven had used to almost kill Ballard––but he had pointed it
at me. How come?

I didn’t know what precisely vargr noctum meant, but Ballard
was in deep trouble.

I put a question mark beside it, and then I wrote
remembr
.

Somehow, this one didn’t seem quite so baffling.

Rayven had shown me a memory––one of
his
memories, in point of fact. I stared
up at a great mansion. Damp. Derelict. Destroyed. The grounds filled with
willow trees. It was swampy underfoot. Filth and decay were everywhere. It
looked Dead.

Rayven stooped and I got a close-up of his clawed hand. In
it was a sign, covered in moss. I wondered how long ago this had been? Why was
he showing it to me?

Rot had eaten away at the sign, but clearly delineated were
two words. He howled and the moonlight broke through the willow trees.

The sign said HOUSE ROOKMAAKER.

Why had Rayven wanted me to see this, and when had he ever
been to my parents’ House? It was almost like he was encouraging me to find
House Rookmaaker. The memory-vision had been only a flash, but I wouldn’t
forget the mansion, or the grounds, anytime soon.

It was real and it was in ruins.

Something else, and it made me nervous....

We tried to save
you....

That’s what the gravediggers had said.
We tried to save you.
They said that to Rayven. Save him how? By
burying him? Were they working for the Dark Side?

It must have had something to do with the Last Rites. I
wrote that in my diary. It must have had something to do with what’s happening
in Prague. Is something happening in Prague? And if they didn’t save Rayven, is
he in danger? It was my only hope.

“The war is starting.
Battle lines will be drawn. She and the vampire are headed towards Prague. Find
the other one and kill him. Do not let
it
survive.”

“And them?”
the
hunter had asked.

“The Dark Order shall
rise again, my old friend.”

The Grigori had acknowledged the words––which
had set him on his mission, a mission, apparently, that had something to do
with me.

I scribbled the words in my Diary for a second time. I
flipped back to the original entry, but I hadn’t really thought about the words
until now. Almost like the visions were waiting for me to catch up with them.
My diary was suddenly hugely important. Maybe I should let Ballard read it.
Perhaps the abridged version. Some things were too private, I thought. And I
didn’t know what I had said about him. My memory was like a sieve. It let
things out.

“He’s right the way he
is. He’s too important to be just friends, and he’s too important to be
something else––”

That was dated around the time of my birthday, when big
things were supposed to happen to me, that Diary entry. It was in regards to
Ballard. I turned to a fresh page and drew out the following:

But where did werewolves and vampires fit in on the list?

An explosion rocked the base of the tree I was in. For one
split second I thought Ballard was all well and had come to see me again. But
voices were running around. Something was going on.
Battle lines will be drawn.

Whose side would I be fighting on? And Ballard? And Lennox?

What
were
these
sides?

Good/Evil
, I
wrote.

Vittoria....
As
for Houses... Where were House Harcort, House Coven, and House Ravenseal, in
all of this? Where was my House?

The past, the
past––the allegiances are in the past.
I didn’t know them, and
because of that––I didn’t know the past.

I threw my hands up in the air.

“I need to figure out everything,” I wrote. “Because until I
know––I don’t know.” I closed my diary and lay with it under my
chin. My mark prickled apprehensively; it was still glowing. I looked at it
under my sleeve.
He’s
here––Rayven’s still here
, I thought. He must be out there
still, running around. Asher assured me: “Our defenses are too secure for him
to get through.”

For now, I thought.

The war is starting.

She and the vampire
are headed towards Prague. Find the other one and kill him.

* * *

Not me. Not
her
.
Kill
HIM
.

It felt like a breakthrough.

Maybe
Ballard
was
Rayven’s target.

Do not let
it
survive.

I didn’t understand that bit. I had a crazy thought for five
seconds.
What if....
What if there
were
two
Prime Movers?

Bear with me
, I
wrote in my Diary.

What if Rayven and his Master were saying there were two
Prime Movers, the Wiccan Prime Mover, whoever she was, and another one.

Literally, find the other
One
.

Full stop.

A male Prime Mover.
Kill
him....

There was more to this––in fact, a lot more.
What
she
was headed toward Prague,
anyway? Me? As if.

And if I was her, who was the vampire? Surely not Lennox.

Wherever Lennoxlove was, he wasn’t here, and I hadn’t seen
him in a
long
time....

Do not let
it
survive.

* * *

Since entering the world––in Rome,
In
fester––I had seen the
world turn from crystal clear, to metaphor and symbol... even to prophecy.

I didn’t know how to explain it, except to say it was very
much like déjà vu.

Weren’t the symbols, in a way, like the visions
saying
they were going to come to pass?

You don’t know you have déjà vu until you see something for
the second time, and then realize you’ve seen it before. And then it shocks you
and you think––

Something is going on.

The echo of the prophecy was coming true. The symbols were
leading me somewhere.

The war is starting
,
I thought.

What if... What if the
Them
isn’t the benandanti? What if the them the Dioscuri wanted me to find is the
Dark Order itself?

Chapter 9
– Watchtowers

A few days had passed, in which I did not think about
leaving, though, quietly, I had been preparing myself for the ordeal, mentally more
than anything. The rundown mansion on the outskirts of Rome had become a refuge
of sorts, since seeing it, a home I wished were mine, instead of Stromovka. I
thought of it often. Absently I wandered its willow trees, wondering what had
happened to the old place, and if I would ever get to it. It was like a House
of my mind––imaginary, but for the prospect of finding it. The
weeds, which had overgrown the old place, cut out the light.

The emptiness of it! The solitude of House Rookmaaker! I was
entering a new phase. I didn’t know
where
I was going to! Whom I should meet? What obstacles would be overcome?

Suddenly, my emotions got the better of me. I wished I could
remain here forever. But then another feeling intruded. I didn’t know what to
call it, either destiny or purpose. I had terrible things to do, I knew that
now. I had been selected. For what, I did not know.

A bitterness ate at my heart. What would I not give to have
some of the answers that I sought? And who would I not confront, to know what
had been done to me? And what I had to do?

Then, there was this pursuer, whoever he was, this creature,
Rayven. A wizard and a shifter. Part of me wanted to go looking for him, to lay
a trap, perhaps, finding out what he knew. He must know
something
, I thought.

The ring was on my finger. My Harm None ring. I had not
removed it since Lia told me to put it on. “Do
you
know the secret?” I asked of it.

The ring did not respond. It was not magical, per se.
Important, yes, but the article in itself did not give its wearer special
attributes, unlike, say, the tridents my old Styles Master Lux had worn. He
needed those tridents, otherwise he couldn’t craft. And I thought about that.
It was an altogether mysterious and unnerving object, the Harm None ring,
especially as the Wiccan Rede––an oath I had
taken––suggested that evildoers should be punished elevenfold.
Would be. Or perhaps they could escape? The crimes against my family were
monstrous, but who had perpetrated them? The necromancer I fought against? Was
he this
master
Rayven had spoken to?
And, if so, and my parents had been unable to defeat him, could I? They were
adults, after all. Fledged. Educated in the ways of Wicca. I was not. In fact,
judging by my circumstances, and the destroyed nature of House Rookmaaker, I
was well on my way to becoming an eclectic––a magical outcast with
rudimentary-to-no real-world skill.
My
-world
skill was in thinking. Big lot of good that will do, I thought, wondering about
words like
wheelhouse
and
skill set
, and if I had them.

One bright spot, and it made me feel better: Knowing a magic
spell, I had been able to perform it,
twice
now. Stormr hamrinum.
The fire spell. Once, when I nearly killed Blunt and
Giorgio––and again, when Ballard was
healed
, presumably.

He had been ill so long I had begun to think I had done more
harm than good. The only thing holding me back from going to Prague was
Ballard, and the fact we had begun this journey together. Somehow, I felt, I
needed him with me, should I continue to the Districts of Magic, that place
that was like a beacon to me, daring me to find it.

As for the ring, it was a part of me now. Had always been.
Would always
be
. It spoke to
something
larger
than myself: What
had been done to my parents... The crimes against them....

Harm None.
It was
the Wiccan Rede in a nutshell. The golden rule. I could remember reciting the
Wiccan Rede verbatim.
Remembr
, I said
to myself, working a magic that was already in-built.

“I––Do
Solemnly Swear
––I had said––
That I will not use my Powers
[plural]
,
for any wrongdoing, unless
I am prepared to have that wrongdoing visited upon me elevenfold....”

It was the same oath that all non-initiated Neophytes swore
before being indoctrinated––including, I presumed, Lenoir himself!

Was there karma? Was there divine retribution?
Could
I have justice? Both for my
parents and their Wiccan House and for me? I swore to myself, there in the
Stromovka, that I would see my House rebuilt. It was my birthright. I would not
rest until it––and everything else––was put to rights.
Until I stood on its grounds––and saw it––and
Knew––everything.

It would be important, if Ballard and I were to continue, to
have the utmost confidence in each other’s instincts and abilities. Mine for
his was of the highest regard; but what was his for mine? There was craftiness
in Ballard, I imagined age would hone, until it would become like second nature
in him to perform feats of daring. As for my own abilities, who knew? So far
they had proven themselves to be quite lackluster. There was no way, I thought,
that I could be the Wiccan Prime Mover, if I could not excel at magic. And then
I thought, who really is the Prime Mover? The Super Bitch? That seemed like an
important question to have answered. One that had been scratched, but not
sufficiently punctured.

What could she do, and why could she do it?

Holding the ring up to the light of the rising sun I saw it
glow there like fire––a magic fire––the one which burnt
within me. Could I kill who had done these great wrongs to my family? Would I?
The triskele engraved on my ring danced in my eyes. The triskele could
represent all kinds of things. They used it in recycling
.
Three different arrows pointing in the same direction, like an ouroboros eating
itself. Something out of nothing. Or the new from the old. I decided the
triskele, which was much simpler, as it appeared on my ring, and looked like
this represented my mission, and that the ring was a reminder to push
on––through whatever fear or foul place––to the places
I needed to go. Which meant becoming Adept.

But what
was
Adept? How did I become it? And, if only a fledged could lead House Rookmaaker,
how did I become her? By becoming Adept.

* * *

Massachusetts spoke of the Blizzard of ’78. This must’ve
been like that. Spring was coming, but there was one last good
snow––it iced the eaves and weighed down the trees. I would stand
in it, thinking of St. Martley’s. It came down so fierce it was like the snow
was battling an invisible army.

Asher told me of a lake,
spectacular,
really
, buried deep within the woods. I could go to it, he said, while I
waited for Ballard to get better. I think the other benandanti were sick of me.
Anyway––I said I would––so that’s what I did, even
though the snow had yet to thaw, and the lake––wherever it
was––would probably be frozen over.

It was, when I finally found it.

The Vltava fed into the lake. It was pretty, hemmed in with
Douglas firs and cranberrybushes; they looked like Christmas trees, fat with
snow.

No matter how much I wanted to forget, the Stromovka would
not let me. I played a little game, seeing if I could open the Power of Sight
between me and Lennox, if I could hallucinate him. It didn’t work. Instead, I
flipped open my Diary. It was my confidante, my counsellor, and my therapist.

Today’s entry was on my mother.
My reckless, misfit, genius, intolerable, dead-as-ashes,
in-the-can––

I knew her no better than a handshake. Who was I kidding?
The sun had risen and set, just as it had on her life. I had never shared
anything with my mother. Boys I was crushing on... my first kiss....
Still––how do you pick up the pieces of a life un-lived? I felt
like I was on the outside, looking in; like the ice of the lake was a mirror,
reflecting back at me
her
face, which
was mine. If we shared Marks... I mean to say, was I anything like her? Did I
want to be? Who was Kinsey Rookmaaker, anyway? Who had she been?

I felt pale in comparison. A nobody. A gulf existed between
me and her, I didn’t think would ever be surmounted.

It was snowing again. So thick I couldn’t see. I put my
hoodie up, watching the blizzard impact the trees––thinking about
too many things––when a voice behind me interrupted my musings....

A spell came instinctively to my lips, which shocked
me––like I was ready, like I wanted to fight––but it
wasn’t Rayven; I flinched, catching myself, turning back around; it wasn’t even
a Grigori. It was a woman (my age, or thereabouts), but she looked
older
, grown up. Like she was an adult
and I was not. Like she was
fledged
,
and I was not.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said. “The trees and
whatnot.”

Excellent use of
whatnot
, I thought.

“My name’s
Manon
,
by the way,” she said.

I could see the tell-tale points at her
fingertips––the swirls, which meant she was a spellcaster like me.
She had long pale slender-looking legs, and a
heart-shaped––casually pretty––face, all angles and
eyeliner; and like me, she didn’t seem to be cold. Maybe it was her Mark. I
caught a glimpse of it, as I turned back around. She was wearing a tunic dress,
black like her hair. In complete contrast with the weather.

“Sometimes I like to come here,” she said. “This
being
one of those times. And
you
are?”

“Halsey Rookmaaker––The Wiccan,” I said,
catching a glimpse of myself as I may have appeared to outsiders. Was
that
who I was?

“What are you thinking about, or do you mind my asking?”
said Manon.

I twirled my Harm None ring.

“Nothing. I’ll––I’ll see you later,” I said. I
needed to be alone. I got up to go.

“Don’t go,” she said. “We should talk some, compare notes.
I’m Wiccan too.”

“Are you Fledged? I thought eclectics couldn’t be. What
House are you from?” I demanded.

“Does it matter?” she said.

“Yeah––it kind’ve does... to some people.”

She stood on top of the snow, whereas I slushed in it. “Ooh,
look!” she said.

I turned and saw a grey wolf stepping out of the trees,
the
grey wolf. It was the same animal
that had been shadowing me. Come to have a look.

It sat still, watching me. The same bright know-it-all look,
the same sparkle, in its eyes.... It sniffed, putting its head down, and then
trotted closer––lifting its paws in a curious way. I watched it
sniff closer to me. And then it sat, very wise, and continued to
stare
.

Perhaps it had been trying to get to me for a very long
time. Was it leading me somewhere––or no––protecting
me––probably it wanted me to keep going––to keep
searching––To find my way to Prague––all the way to the
Master House itself!

My eyes lit up.... But that didn’t make sense...

It padded across the ice, disappearing into the trees.
Don’t go
, I thought. Now that it was
here, I wanted the Grey Wolf to stay forever.
I’ll come back
, I promised.
Later....

“That’s very good luck!” said Manon. She reminded me of
Gemma Moonflower, in a way––all brightness and pep.
“Well––see you!” she said.

“Yeah. See you later,” I said.

She left me standing there, wondering if the Grey Wolf was
who I thought it was? It seemed impossible, but for the instinct telling me
otherwise.

* * *

I sought out Asher, making my way back through the trees. If
Ballard awoke and I had any luck, I could bring him up to speed on who
I
thought the grey wolf was. I imagined
what his reaction would be. “You found out–– and I
wasn’t––there
...”

“Asher,” I said, arriving out of breath, anxious to put my
theories to the test. He was deep in conversation with Laurinaitis; they were
eating their dinner, there in the Hollow, at a table that had been set out,
like at a camp. I wondered how their hunt was going, and if Asher and
Laurinaitis were any nearer to catching Rayven?

Ballard’s motorcycle was over by the tree near mine.

“May I join you?” I asked. Other people were departing back
to their domovi, leaving the picnic area.

Asher and Laurinaitis looked like they were vegetarians.
That seemed to tally with the idea I’d had. It sent me into a major brain
wave––
But Ballard is a meat
eater
, I thought.
Later
, I said
again. Right now, I needed answers. I sat down and they offered to fetch me
dinner, but I could not be bothered. What is food when there is figuring out to
be done?!

“Halsey, Laurinaitis, Laurinaitis, Halsey,” said Asher.

“Pleasure.”

“So, you’re a witch, huh?” said Laurinaitis, shaking my
hand. “I’m an ailuranthrope.”

“What animal do you turn into?” I asked.

Laurinaitis flashed his fangs at me.