The Wiccan Diaries: Neophyte Adept Part 38

I saw a familiar head of hair. Mariska Coven's. She was with some of the other Wiccans I had never met before.

"Shapes.h.i.+fters looking out for shapes.h.i.+fters," she said. She pointed her finger at Gaven. It was a long, narrow, bony, evil-looking implement. Her hair was a mess. "We know where we stand finally, do we, then? You helped him escape. It's a conspiracy. And after Selwyn murdered poor Mr. Pendderwenn," she said.

"Mariska, please," said Fanishwar Harcort.

But she was overruled by some of the other Wiccans.

"I think we deserve to know exactly what went on here, and how Pendderwenn was robbed of its last remaining member," said one wizard, an older gentleman in robes the color of Selwyn's eyes.

"I'll tell you how," said Mariska Coven. "He was murdered. Murdered, Torsten. And they're in on it." She pointed her finger at me, Gaven, all of us.

"It's moot now," said the wizard named Torsten. "The Dioscuri will take Selwyn to Prague, if that is where they're headed. The Master House will deal with him. It's finished. Pendderwenn is dead."

"Oh, come now, you can't really believe that. He must have been working with them. Selwyn must have been working with the Dioscuri," said Mariska Coven. "There is an insidious plot to destabilize everything for which we have been working so long. There is Dark Wicca afoot. Where is my Initiate? We're going. Come, Badgley."

Mariska left the place, her feet flying over the sandpit. I saw Badgley leaving with her, for which I sympathized.

I looked at Lia who was coming out of her funk; it was clear to me we had a lot to talk about. She was being supported by Gaven, who picked her up, carrying her out of the sandpit. Where Il Gatto went, the werewolves followed. They pushed their way through the Gathering, daring anyone to challenge them. No one did. With Selwyn gone, the remaining Wiccans dispersed, and I was left staring at Fanishwar Harcort, who, of all of them, had always impressed me the most with her ability to keep her head about her. She held her Wiccan W up to mine, as I returned the gesture. And then I met with Ballard's stare....

This was going to be difficult.

"I was supposed to protect you," he said.

"Well, you're talking to me again," I said. "That's something." I didn't know if I should be hard on him, or what. "Oh, come on, let's go." Some of the other Wiccans were staring at us. I was tired of being sociable. Yeah, that's right. I'm with the werewolves. So what of it.

They could all bite me.

But he didn't move. Instead, Ballard got down onto one knee, and he said, so that everyone could hear, "I'm with you, Halsey Rookmaaker. I won't ever fail you again. I'm serious."

"Get up, stupid. And don't ever call me that again," I said. But I was relieved. With Ballard back, I could figure out anything. Including how to get to Selwyn.

Ballard got up. "Are we good?" he said.

"Don't you know I think you hang the moon?" I said. I looked at him, exasperatedly.

"I howl at the moon," he said. But he smiled, nonetheless. Together we left the sandpit.

Chapter 29 Epilogue.

There were still some things to do. Namely, burying Julius Pendderwenn. The Wiccans had had a point. Something with claws had gotten to Julius Pendderwenn. Naturally, the suspicion fell on us, the werewolves. I included myself among that group. But an entire race of werewolves could not be condemned for one man's death, could they? The Heads of Houses had certainly gone off as quickly as they could. But something interesting had happened on the last day of the Gathering. The Initiates had come up to me, one by one. Lia was still recuperating at her home, so she missed out. Whatever the Dioscuri had done to her, she was getting over it. Ballard had said that Volt and Pouch had milked their injuries for all they were worth, but, essentially, the two of them were okay, and I was glad to hear it. They were getting ready to go back to school. I said goodbye to the Initiates on Lia's behalf. "We liked meeting herand you," they said to me. I returned the compliment. These were my contemporaries, my Wiccan coevals. "We'll meet again," I said.

"I'm sure of it," they said.

They were offto be Initiatedand to learnwhatnot. But I had other plans. Growing in me was the sense of what I must do.

Finally, everything was ended, and the Werewolves and I closed shop. The Gathering was brought to an end. There would not be another one for twenty-five years, at which point I would be forty-two, and Lennox, if he was still alive, would still be the same age. I felt him out there, wherever he was, and Marek, too; but it was Selwyn I was most worried about. I would not allow him to be kept by those evil monsters, wherever they were.

So, one night, just before the other werewolves and I were set to bury Julius Pendderwenn, I took Ballard aside. They had made me a member of the Pack, the werewolves, indoctrinating me into their family; in a sense, we did get two Initiates. Lia and I. Even though I was House Rookmaaker, I would still always think of them as mia famiglia, my family. I had not told them yet about House Rookmaaker. I figured I'd keep it a secret for a bit. Anyway, I could just imagine Lia's response: "I'm not taking your last name, Halsey, I'm House Gaven," she would say. They were due to be married soon. And then Lia and Gaven would be off, to Tuscany and elsewhere, for their honeymoon. Lia was going to be a January bride "At the New Year," she said to me. Which just left Ballard and me.

I pulled him to the side of the road, on Via Appia Antica, which was where the werewolves buried their dead. As was their custom, the werewolves were sending Julius Pendderwenn off in style. "After all, he was from Rome," said Gaven. And from my parents' old House. He had wanted me as his Initiate, Pendderwenn. Even though the thought did not appeal to me, didn't mean what had happened to Pendderwenn should have. It was imperative Ballard know that it hadn't been Selwyn who had done it.

"Halsey," he said. "Selwyn was in such a hurry he wasn't able to sneak past us; he's sly, but we managed to track him down But then the Wiccans spotted him, and it was anarchy. They seemed to think he had done it, killed Pendderwenn, especially after the outburst at your Wiccaning, where he had yelled at Pendderwenn, you remember? They had a past. Naturally, Selwyn took the blame. He was the perfect fall guy."

"But he didn't do it, Ballard," I said.

"I know he didn't," Ballard said. "Like I said, Selwyn told us. We have ways of communicating that pretty much negate people lying to us. Selwyn couldn't have fibbed. But by the time he told us about Lia, it was too late. We were besieged. Selwyn managed to get away. But then you saw what happened. Or did you?" He looked at me skeptically. "You looked pretty out of it. Those things didn't hurt you, did they? Because, if they did..." said Ballard.

The werewolves were gathering to farewell the departed. The cypress trees stood like silent sentinels, high above us. Torchlights whipped like living flames in the cold night air. They were being held by some of the werewolves, as a sign of respect for Julius Pendderwenn.

Words were said and the casket covered over. Pendderwenn's mound joined countless others. I said some kind words silently to myself, but they didn't feel right.

Gaven, however, smiled, and said, "Julius's fate shall be an interesting one, wherever he is. Come now. I'm famished, and my soon-to-be bride is cooking for us."

There was a gigantic whoop, and I departed with the rest of them. Lia in the lead.

Rome was s.h.i.+ning in the distance, when we came to our motorcycles. I started my Gambalunga, and Ballard said, "I told Gaven about what I said to you. About me being your protector or whatever. And he told me, no, he ordered me, to follow that instinct. So, I guess that means you're stuck with me."

Ballard smiled at meand it was that old Ballard smile. The one the two of us shared, that was ours alone.

"I like knowing that you're there to protect me," I said. "It makes me feel special, Ballard, and like we can overcome, well, anything. So I guess I say: so be it."

The other werewolves revved their engines, and I put my helmet on. Gaven and Lia were riding once more, in tandem, at the head of the Pack. The world seemed right again.

Ballard picked his feet up, and we headed over the countryside, following the well-worn path, which took us back to Rome.

I weaved absentmindedly through the other riders, coming, finally, to a position side by side with Lia and Gaven. They nodded at me. And then I opened her up and raced ahead to meet my destiny.

Adept (The Wiccan Diaries, Volume 3).

Prologue The Hunter.

The moonlit lane crackled with the footsteps of the grave makers as they trundled their barrows upon the cobblestones leading to the quiet site. It was that half-light, somewhere between dreams and waking, in which they toiled with their backs. These two were in an unusually somber mood.

Men accustomed to the sight of death were, nevertheless, mere traffickers in bodies. The mysteries of the grave were not their business, even if they lived with it, in dirt under their fingernails, the earthy, raw odor pervading their very clothes. Not to mention the unusual circ.u.mstances.

Philosophically, they were being paid. And well. Money for silence, for questions unasked; money for their obliviousness, and guarantees to keep the secrets of the tomb. An old business, timeless as the stars that watched over them.

Yet not without its little surprises.

As anyone who ever took money to perform a hushed deed knew, the covenant was sealedin blood, or out of it....

Warily, they crested a small hill, overlooking the ancient relics: moss-grown crypts with burnished plaques, or else nondescript plots, with headstones in various sizes and degrees of ornamentation. It was endlessly unnerving despite years of experience, skulking through the graveyard at this late hour, two shapes hunched with their profession, a motley pair of mobile silhouettes where everything else was still, except the slow roll of shadows as night s.h.i.+fted overhead.

They needed to be quick. They weren't actually supposed to be here, for a very simple reason. Death had been lax of late. The exception obviously stowed in a burlap sack the leader pushed forward in his handcart.

He stopped. "Do you hear something?" he asked.

"Quiet as the tomb," replied his cohort half-mockingly. They were in a hurry, and he didn't have time for his friend's misgivings. He already had enough himself to last a lifetime.

"Not the tomb," said the other. "Him." He pointed to the outline of a figure bundled uncomfortably in a fetal position, its limbs overhanging the metal rim of the wheelbarrow.

The man behind sighed melodramatically, lifting his eyes up to the heavens, before shaking his head. He had a pair of spades over his shoulder he put down forcefully, striding from behind the leader to look at their charge.

"I don't see anything wrong with him, other than the fact he's dead."

"Or she," said the Leader. "After all, it could be a girl."

"It could be. Or it could be nothing. Actually it is nothing. Not anymore. Now can we get on? The last thing we need is to be taken for a pair of grave robbers, by some night watchman." Then he looked appraisingly at the body. "Very tall for a girl. What do you say we take a peek?"

"I don't like it Andre. And I thought I heard something."

"What," said Andre, "a moan? Give me a"

"There! You heard it again!"

Andre dropped down to his knees. He had heard it. Barely perceptible at first, but there, like a groan, but soft, m.u.f.fledlike a whispering voice, almost. The body remained immobile.

"You felt it, it was stiff as a board," hissed the man called Andre, the first inkling all was not right. "Bodies don't just reanimate, even if they arewellyou know" He couldn't bring himself to say the word magical.

The other man, whose name was Thierry, agreed, nodding silently at first, before joining Andre with his nose pressed nearly to the outline of the head. "I have heard it said that they are marked, sometimes," he said. "And that this mark can do special things." They stood like that for some time, hunched, not daring to move. Nearly fifteen minutes had elapsed before either of them spoke. It was Thierry who broke the silence.

"Where did you say this body came from again?" He asked. The same muddled thoughts seemed to be going through both men's minds. What to do if their worst fears were true, if they had been charged with the burial of a living corpse...?

Andre said, "I didn't, and neither did you, remember? We're not supposed to be here."

"Because it could be him," said Thierry, somewhat shakily.

"Who?"

"You know, the one who's been in the newsPeter Panico."

"I don't buy it. And I don't think this could be him."

"Why not?"

"For one thing," said Andre, "you're either one or the other, but not both."

"There's an easy way to check that," said Thierry, but fell silent at the look from his comrade.

"For another, those were the work of a monster not easily quelled, I don't think..."

"Look at the size of him, Andre. They say the life of one is forfeit upon entering this place. Besides, there are claw marks. If we could just check"

"No."

Andre was adamant.

Leaving the rest of this argument unspoken, they moved on, the plan resolved, agreed upon without words. They would dig. Or, rather, re-dig. The essence of the job was in secrecy. No evidence, imprints or otherwise, could be left behind. If I am right, thought Thierry, time will tell. No more murders.

It was an encouraging thought.

It was almost like something was going on. Their business had never been this busynor Andre so on edge.

It was arduous going, at first, the soil hard with the winter frost. The age of the grave didn't help matters. Soon they would be rid of the stranger. Least he'd have company, they thought. He was too big to be a she. Thierry recognized that now. Did they even come in females? He reckoned they must have.

This seemed to amuse him. Anything to deflect from the desecration. Still, Andre was uneasy, and he couldn't help thinking Thierry had a point. It would be wise to see who they were buryingif just for piece of mind; but the price said otherwise. They had mind readers, after all. The Lenoir would know....

One mistake was all it took to get killedand, strange though it may have sounded, Andre valued his reputation. He wouldn't let Thierry lead them astray with their temptations.

It was nearing 4 a.m., the sun would be up in a few hours, when they found what they were looking for. Throwing their shovels on top of the precarious mound, they popped quickly back downthinking all the while: hurry, hurryto brush back the dirt from the cheap pine lid of the coffin, which had lain undisturbed for nearly two decades. Amazing how it had survived intact all this time.

"We could forgo this bit," said Thierry, who had suddenly realized the time. They had wasted too much of it with their consciences.

Andre removed his pry bar in response. So be it, thought Thierry, taking it from him, not relis.h.i.+ng the sight that was about to greet them.

Thierry worked deftly, tearing at the wood. It gave in splinters and breaks. At his motion, Andre hopped dutifully from the grave. Thierry pried with all his might. Nails jarred from wood, reverberating in the freshly dug hole. And he bent it back, going so far as to step upon the occupant within. He felt the lace of her gown underfoot. Now if somebody checked, there would be two corpsesthe woman, and the strangerburied here.

"How much time do we have?" he asked. They were almost done.

Andre looked uncomfortably at the approaching dawn. A life of servitude had bestowed in him an accuracy of measures.

"Just enough to throw the dirt back on, I'd say, if we want to sneak out before the light."

He did not like to think what would happen if they got caught. Apart from trespa.s.sing, and other illegal acts, the ident.i.ty of their man should be known by no one. That was the agreement. They were referred by certain unscrupulous clients who did not forgive mistakes easily; all other considerations were insignificant compared to what would happen if they failed.

"No! How much time do we have to do the rites?" Thierry hissed.

Shaken, it was a moment before Andre could respond. "Well?" said the latter.