The Wiccan Diaries: Neophyte Adept Part 66

I decided not to condemn him just yet. Let Lennox talk about House Rookmaakerthen we'll see, I told myself.

As for the House...

Did all Wiccan Houses have such spells put upon them? They must, if they were to hide, to be hidden. Yet the Grigori could crack that magic, or else they knew where each House was located. The Directory I was sure said nothing about any of the special things you would need to do to find Wiccan Houses.

The sky overhead interested me, particularly because it was so storm-filled. The Dark Order was out thereeven the Council of Magic had refused to take action. Houses are left on their own, Halsey.

Well, not mine...

I would contact Prague immediately. Now that House Rookmaaker had pa.s.sed to me, a number three would need to be found, into whose hands it could safely pa.s.s, until I became Fledged. Was this my inheritance, to have my Wiccan House held in interreges?

I felt exposed. Great roots of willow trees fed at a stream that pa.s.sed through the hidden grounds, their towering branches drooping over the place. Some searching and I found the sign Rayven had dropped. Years of muck covered it until it was unrecognizable. Eighteen years ago he had come here. Why?

Had I thought I could move right in, I was mistaken. The inspector would need to be sent from Prague. Accordingly, I wrote to the Council of Magic straightaway.

Mr. Artemidorus Blackstock The Council of Magic Golden Lane, Prague It's me, Halsey.

I've found my place.

It's in Largo Argentina, Rome, Italy.

Do please hurry.

The unwelcome visitor, as I called the inspector, would be sure to remove the running of House Rookmaaker from my control. Ardane Number Six was explicit: If I could not find a number three, one would be appointed for me. I needed to hurry, unless I wanted the Council of Magic spying upon House Rookmaaker forever.

Gaven was the first person I thought of, but he couldn't lead a Wiccan coven. My dream choice, Mistress Genevieve, already had one; if I chose her Prague would definitely see this as us building up our power. Which meant I was down to one. One person who could get the job done.

"Sure, I'll do it," said Manon.

"You are fledged?" I said, still on my motorcycle, outside Coven City. She nodded, fervently.

"I can't deny that it'll be nice to have indoor plumbing again," she said.

My landlady was AWOL when I got home. I sipped an aperitif and studied some magic but understanding the Grigori was secondary to what I was going to say to Lennox when he arrived. The only plus side was that now I'd found my House, Selwyn could stay there. I imagined him roaming the grounds, scaring the other Housemates. Who knew having a House could be so difficult, though? Manon was a dynamo, simply everywhere. When I'd envisioned opening House Rookmaaker, it hadn't been with a bunch of strangers. House numbers was the bane of my existence. To become Adept should be my first priority, not having a good time. If only my friends were in House Rookmaaker, it would go against the oriflamme, my parents' wish House Rookmaaker be open to all.

Invitations were sent out and Initiates invited, but I was removed from the process.

One good thing: you didn't have to be a Rookmaaker to be in House Rookmaaker; a love of the G.o.ddess seemed to be the only prerequisite. We got around the House numbers by not having instructors, many of whom were eclectics, be in House Rookmaaker. But the Initiates had to be. There were many blessed bes. Unfortunately, that left no room for Ballard, or even Lia, who, as a werewolf, could train in secret, anyway. When the inspector arrived he went over the rules with us, including several do's and don'ts. "If you observe the ardanes," he said, "there will be no problems." And if we didn't? I thought. He and Manon disappeared to talk about "number three stuff," and I was left alone outside the archway. It had been a year since I had been in Rome; a y'r'n'a'd'y, as the saying went. I threw my leg over my Gambalunga and went to find the S Bros; the sun crept over the sky like a red flame.

Their shop was busier than Ballard'sand that was saying something.

Tourists were buying amphorae, ancient Roman jars, useful for candle making. But I wished to discuss something a little more pertinent to modern times.

Sandor and Septimus welcomed me inside. It was nearly closing time, when I arrived, and they had a large order of pessoi they wished to tinker with. I heard the cash register ring up a bunch of items. Finally, I was the last customer in the shop. I wondered if they would kick me out. Sandor cleared his throat. And the Dithering Award goes to...

I felt like a bad customer.

"Don't freak," I said. "But I have something I need to talk to you guys about." I had my backpack on, which I put on the counter. Out came Selwyn's red marker. Beware the Dark Path....

They read the message, while I conveyed to them how it had come into my possession.

Sandor made way for Septimus, who shuffled through the stacks.

"Hammersmith or Aeschylus?" he shouted.

"Hammersmith!" shouted Sandor.

Septimus returned, carrying a heavy book. He flipped through it. "There!" he said, turning it, so I could see.

"But that's a symbol!" I said.

And so it was. The Wiccan symbol for protection.

Septimus flipped the page and showed me the three rings becoming onejust like my House, I thought.

"This," he said, "is the symbol for the Dark Path. The so-called Path of Enlightenment. It's kind've difficult to explain. Magic split, remember, Halsey?"

You to your corner, we to ours, I thought, nodding, while he tugged at his soul patch.

"But how is that the symbol for the Dark Path?" I said, stunned that it had been engraved on the archway to my House.

"According to this book, the purpose of the Chosen One is to reunite Magic," said Septimus. "Three becoming one. Like so:"

The Protection symbol collapsed upon itself. Three interlocked rings becoming whole again. But if that was engraved upon the doorway to my parents' house....

"It's all there in the symbols" said Septimus. He flipped through the book to a symbol I had seen before. The Triple G.o.ddess. A moon and two halves, itself like the symbol for protection. "Even in the steps to BecomingNeophyte, Adept, and Fledgedthere are three steps," he said. "The triskele, or three symbol, is the Dark Path. Unite the magic that split. Turn it into one. That is the secret purpose of the Chosen One and why everyone wishes to find her. Because anyone who controls her would be unstoppable."

"So the Triple G.o.ddess is..."

"The Triple G.o.ddess is the Wiccan super-chick with the power to walk the Dark Path and unite magic," said Sandor. "It's a prophecy, you see, of someone like yourself, who will undo what was done.... The Triple G.o.ddess herself!"

But what was done, I thought, and was that why the Dark Lord was after me? Was I the Triple G.o.ddess? This super-chick? Of all the Initiates, it was me, according to the twins. I was the one who showed the most spirit. Whatever that meant. Now she may walk the Dark Path, and find out the secret the Dark Order has been waiting centuries to possess...?

I thanked the S's, but really I had more problems than solutions. I still needed to discover how far Vittoria had progressed in raising the dead?

When I went upstairs, I dug into the Everything book, and began familiarizing myself with necromancy. The trouble was, it was almost impossible to understand. I had never seen more tricky magic.

Objects, shapes, runes.... Circlesaccording to the bookprotected that which was within... demons entered physical world.... Payment for summoning flesh... certain objects... specific instructions... time, location... method of gathering items... The widespread belief dogs could see the dead....

Hold on. It got me to thinking of the grey wolf, and if it was a Lare Shoot, I almost had it.

Wait a minute... Hold on, I thought.

According to the book, dogs guarded the gates of h.e.l.l, right? Cerberus, the three-headed Greek dog....

I almost had it again.

What was my subconscious trying to tell me? Dogs accompanied the G.o.ddesscheckwho guarded the Gatescheck. Dogs were all mixed in with death. Too bad Ballard wasn't here, I thought.

But, wait a sec; I had read something somewhere before. What was it?

I flipped to the benandanti section of the Everything book, Those Who Do Good.

ACCORDING TO LEGEND, THE BENANDANTI DESCENDED DOWN INTO h.e.l.l TO DO BATTLE WITH THE WARLOCKES [SIC], ACCOMPANIED BY THE G.o.dDESS, WHO WOULD HUNT LOST SOULS.

Hunt lost souls. What did that mean? I flipped shut the book and then opened it again and reread it. It was on the tip of... on thehold on.

I slammed shut the book and began pacingI had a six-pack of Succo del Gatto and would stay the night, if need be.

By G.o.ddess did whoever wrote the book mean the Triple G.o.ddess? What did hunting lost souls entail? I had heard of the Land of the Dead, or Hades, as it was known, but did it really exist? And then it clicked.

Where was it? Where was it? I thought. I had read about it before. I dug through months of scattered newspapers on the floor, but it wasn't there. It wouldn't be! It couldn't be! I hadn't taken out the newspaper subscriptions yet, had I? That article would be in my desk drawer...

I went over to the desk and fetched it out and lo and behold it was there, the Skarborough article I'd read nearly six months before.

IMMOLATION RESPONSIBLE FOR GRAVE SCENE INSIDE PeRE LACHAISE.

PARISFor generations, Paris youth have partied openly at the gravesites of some of History's most famous dead people. Lighting candles, drinking beer. An activity which has been called into question, of late, following the discovery, over night, of two bodies authorities say spontaneously combusted. Paraphernalia found near the corpses suggests they were up to no good.

According to one investigator, who spoke on condition of anonymity, "as this is still an open case," he said, "and I don't want this psychopath doubling back on me," there was another set of footprints there.

According to the source, they're looking for somebody who may be on a lunar schedule. "A lone wolf. A rogue, as they're referred, with abnormally-shaped feet. He left paw prints behind."

This rogue is considered armed and considerably dangerous. "How else did he fry those two individuals?"

Europol has posted a red notice along with a descriptor index of the subject. Be on the lookout for anyone with signs of hypertrichosis: a hairy disorder which makes you break out in fur, and perhaps, dog feet.

As is typical with arsonists, they always come back.

Dog feet, I thought. It was a story about Rayven. The story.

I pacedthinking.

Okay. I spiritwalked or whatever. I was out-of-body. It wasn't the first time. For some reason, I Saw that night. Maybe Rayven wanted me to see him come back. It wouldn't be the first time he showed me something secret. What do we know about Rayven, Halsey? Think. He's a Grigori, a Watchtower, a lone wolf. He immolated those two guys in the graveyard.

I hadn't thought about the gravediggers in months. But then it occurred to me: Skarborough wasn't there I was....

I was the only person alive who knew what had happened in the graveyard. I could recall it with perfect clarity. But what did happen? I had never fully a.n.a.lyzed it before.

"Remembr," I said.

I played the event back in my head. It was like it was being shadow-cast across the inside of my skull. There had been two gravediggers. Check. Thierry and Andre. They had been burying somebody. Rayven. But he had gotten away. He had been raised. They had been sure Rayven was dead. Had he been brought back to life, there and then?

Wait a sec.

Rayven was deadhe was dead when they started burying him; but then he had been raised. Someone had raised him. The gravediggers had until first light to do the Last Rites, the Last Rites. What were those?

I flipped through the Everything book to Dark Magic, but it didn't have it. Maybe some forms of magic you had to practice to become adept at. Perhaps they couldn't be written down, those spells; yet the Voettfangs had a.s.sured me, this was the book; if a spell didn't exist in here, it didn't exist at all. But necromancy did exist. It was some of the most complex magic imaginable. The covenants.... I thought. Maybe there was one that prevented arcane knowledge from being pa.s.sed down, forbidden knowledge. 401. Access denied. The Last War had been fought, after all, to destroy Dark Magic.

Those books Vittoria ordered were on the banned list of books, right? You're doing it again, Halsey. Making lots of yourself. Find the S Bros. Talk to them.

After all, if anyone would know about the Last Rites, it would be them.

Feeling like the Everything book should be ret.i.tled the Some Stuff book, I went to seek out the twins. They were downstairs, in their shop. I took the newspaper clipping with me.

Was Rayven close by? My mark was glowing faintly. He couldn't get through Coven City, could he? Not without raising the alarm. Still, why was my mark glowing? Perhaps it had something to do with all the supernatural energy currently headquartered in Rome; initiates were coming in. Plus, the inspector was here. What if he finds something? It was his job to dig into my parents' house, to make sure everything was copacetic. What if it's not? If his virtue is insight.... What if the inspector finds something compromising?

S Bros, S Bros, Answer the door before my mind explodes.

They came downstairs, rubbing sleep from their eyes, and let me into their shop; I bounded in. I couldn't help it; even if I was unwelcome, the gnomes of my invention had come out to play. Sandor was the first to finish the article and say So what? Perhaps if I helped him along, I thought. I'd never done the Remember Spell on another human being before. How tough could it be?

Their eyes crisscrossed and Rayven rose up in the graveyard; the fire spell erupted, killing the two gravediggers... We were back, once more, on Via dei Condotti, by the time the memory faded. Sandor snapped his fingers, out of breath. "I know that," he said. Both twins read through the article once more.

"So you know what it means?" I said.

Sandor nodded. "Immolate. To mactate someone. Immolation. It's a ritual sacrifice. You use fire, don't you see? Stormr hamrinum. It's the fire spell, right?"

"So?" I said.

"So, Rayven's a demon, Halsey. Paraphernaliait all makes sense! How else do you bring someone back, in what other form? Unless they're a zombie, or some other ill-shaped ent.i.ty. You use objects."

"How about a vampire?" said Septimus.

"Not the same thing," said Sandor. "Herelookread the article again. So far as I know, no one has managed to conquer death, to bring someone back. Not in the whole history of magic. At least not permanently. And there have been a lot of necromancers who've triedsome of whom were quite skilled. Which is kind of the point. If the Dark Order has somehow managed to raise the dead.... See, the Wiccan Rede is explicit," said Sandor. "Wrongdoing will be visited upon the wrongdoer elevenfold. Therefore: harm none. Yet, to raise the dead, to bring someone Back, you must first make a flesh offering, to sacrifice by fire; in other words, kill someone. To immolate them. Sacrifice is in the definition of immolation."

"So the Rede..." I said.

"You are going against it," said Sandor. "You are bringing upon yourself bad, bad karma. What is eleven times worse than murder? Anyway, the most that someone could raise would be a demon. Actually, it's more like they're summoned; the conjurer works his spell, encircled and protected, by magic. If done right the demon cannot get to him. But it can strike others. Its master tells it what to do. That's what makes it such a formidable being; if summoned properly, the demon, or shade, cannot go against its master's wish. What does whoever conjured it want, anyway?"

"Me," I said. "He wants to kill me." Lenoir, I thought.

Rayven had tried to get to me. In Stromovka, when we were alone, Rayven dealt with Ballard, then turned his attention to me. The vargr noctum spell. Kill it. What it?

It would have enveloped me, had it not gone off course; if not for the benandanti, Rayven would have succeeded in killing me; he was certainly annoyingly persistent. But, did that mean what I thought it did? That I had aa something inside of me? A limbo-spirit or whatever. Vargr noctum was used to cut out the therian.

If Rayven was a demon, how did I kill him?

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Sandor. "Something like he is cannot be attacked and killed. Haven't you heard anything we've said?"

"Can't he?" I said.

"For one thing, he's already dead," said Sandor. "For another, only the wonderworker who conjured Rayven can send him back to the everlasting, to the spirit world from which he came. He was artificially ripped, remember? The necromancer"

"Lenoir. Rayven was raised by Lenoir," I said.

"Whoever," said Sandor. "He has complete control, now, Halsey. Rayven must do what, all rightLenoirtells him to do. And if that's coming after you"

"Ideage. Major ideage," said Septimus, holding up his hand.