Neophyte / Adept (51 page)

“Sort’ve.”

“Now, repercussion holds that if the animal dies, the shape
shifter does as well. That’s not quite true. If I am a werewolf and I shift and
am killed, I die. If, however, my therian is cut––
it
may die, but I go on living... It’s
called therian exorcism and it’s very deadly.”

“Even when we lose our power to shift, we are still
connected with our sangomas––unless they are cut from us,” said
Laurinaitis.

“We can discuss parallaxis more in depth
later––for now––” said Manon, “we need to get to the
Watchtowers. It used to be there were crossroads to Rome, where a man would
stand, like a guard, or sentry. And these posts were called Watchtowers; and
their guards,
watchers
. There were
always
Four
. East was Aldebaran,
south Regulus, west Antares, and north Fomalhaut. The original Watchers
represented the four elements, and to this day are invoked during the
ritualistic casting of magic circles. North, South, East, West. Like this:

“
So in a sense, the stands for
Rome. But I had not heard that the Watchers were back. Who told you that your
parents were Watchtowers?!
”
said Manon.

“Julius Pendderwenn,” I said. He hadn’t lied to me, had he?
Manon looked skeptical.

“So far as I know the last of the Watchtowers were killed
during the purges of the Last War,” she said. “Your parents couldn’t’ve been
them. It was Lenoir, Halsey, the Dark Lord, and his servants, who destroyed the
last Watchtowers, igniting the powder keg, which lit the war.

“Everybody died. There was a rumor a necromancer was to
blame. A cult of Lenoir had sprung up. Misguided, foolish. Enamored of what he
had done. What he was doing...

“He managed through charisma and craft to siphon off from
the other houses certain of their up-and-comers, what he called The Fifth of
Fourth. Aurelia Peril and Electra Goodiefeeder being two notables.... Some
pretty badass Wiccans joined with him. Not to mention Rayven and the Grigori.
He wanted outsiders, the ones who felt disenfranchised. So naturally his
rhetoric found a foothold with the young.

“They joined him in droves. Soon his spies were everywhere.
You found them in every House. Lenoir had an army of devotees, willing and able
to do his bidding. It was the perfect marriage of the Fledged and the
Forgotten. At which point he set about to do what he did....

“Lenoir held the opinion any jurisdiction an organization
might have over magical power would denude the limits to which you could take
it. The Three should be abolished, and if no one else would do it, he would.
What started out as guerrilla warfare, eventually gained a following. Erasmus
of Ravenseal––the soon-to-be Head of that
House––convened a secret council, The Fraternity of Secrets, in
which all influential witches and wizards willing and able, were summoned to go
over what would be done about the upstart, known simply as Lenoir. No one had
ever seen his face; if you did, you were dead. He was like a bad
rumor––hushed up for too long––then, suddenly,
released
! He was on a crusade for his
own glorification. Ideas didn’t matter anymore. And his pranks were growing
more numerous, and more deadly. Lenoir’s genius was he recognized a way to
justify the atrocities which were already begun but were soon to rage across
the century! He was going to
redefine
Magic!

“War was coming. Misguided. Abstract,” said Manon. “But at
the top they knew exactly what it was about:
control
. Who would have it, and who would not.

“Lenoir was going to wrest magical control from the
Families. And he did. That was the purpose of the Last War.”

“But how?” I said.

“The answer is The Fifth of Fourth, a rogue faction of
magic, which broke from the trine of other Houses. The Dark Order began as The
Fifth of Fourth, Halsey. It was Lenoir’s House. Quite literally, a
fifth
, or portion, of the other Houses,
creating a new, fourth House. In point of fact,
The Master House
!

“After his defeat, we refitted it to a new
purpose––funny how magic and imagination seldom go hand in hand.
Covens and
the
Covens, Lenoir and
the
Lenoir. The Fifth of Fourth became
headquarters for the body responsible for regulating Hiving,
The Master House
, there in
Prague––

“As for the Watchers––or Watchtowers...,” said
Manon, “they were unparalleled in their skill and craft––Bronwen,
who was the East; Rayven the West; and Marek, who was a vampire, the South.

“Yes
––Rayven
was one of them,” said Manon, misinterpreting the way my gut had clenched.

“As for the North? It was Lenoir. He offered the other Watchers
power
; only Rayven accepted. It cost
him his
soul
.”

“The others were destroyed,” said Asher. “Rayven
corrupted––Bronwen murdered––and Marek
forsaken–– We don’t know what happened to him.”

“The
line
of the
Watchers was ended. It’s interesting,” said Manon, “when he bent Rayven, Lenoir
took the mother lode of Rayven’s
power
into himself––rather than share it with his ally. Rayven is
powerful but nothing of what he was––for he had been a Watchtower.”

“It took an act of betrayal to destroy them,” said Laurinaitis.
“It’s because of Rayven that shape shifters are now called
turncoats
. Even the Grigori hate him, and revile his name.”

I kept Marek to myself; Manon couldn’t possibly be referring
to someone else.

If what she told me were true, Lenoir
was
the necromancer who had tried to kill me. Lennox didn’t know!
No one did! Marek should have told me! He was one of my Four
Protectors––my protettori. The Lenoir wanted him dead.
He was a murderer.
But from how it
sounded, it didn’t sound like Marek
could
die.

“They guard
magic
,
Halsey. The Watchtowers guard the Chosen One.”

* * *

Dear Diary, why had
Mercaccio Lenoir wanted to destroy Rhea Silva? Was it so that he could take her
power?

Something was up. I couldn’t explain it, except to say I
knew things, things I had to keep secret. This Marek revelation threw me for a
loop. I thanked Manon, but uneasily. Just as I carefully extricated my Diary
from her grasp. I kept asking myself,
Did
Lennox know who Marek was?
He couldn’t possibly. Marek gave no hint.

It was like Marek was hiding from me. He spoke in riddles.
It left me uneasy. Like he knew things and wouldn’t say.

That was exactly his game! A game of riddles and lies! Yet
why did I trust him so much? Lennox may have drunk blood cups but Marek did
not. He was a vampire, in fact and in fangs.

I flexed my fingertips.
The
she-witch is MINE.

Why did Rayven want me so badly? And Marek? Why did he? Was
it because I was her? Perhaps they were attracted to the Chosen One.

She and the vampire
are headed toward Prague.

Find the other one and
kill him.

Do not let IT survive.

The Dark Order shall
rise again... my old friend...

Selwyn.
I needed
to find him; he must know something.
Even
if he doesn’t think he does, I can draw it out of him.
Was there a way for
surfacing repressed memories?

It surfaced, like a question mark.
Who was Frobenius Foucart?
The person who had signed my mother’s
and father’s
Magus Codex
. And if I
had theirs, whose codex had Vittoria received? Was she being whispered to, even
now, in a voice from beyond the grave?

* * *

Giant hourglassfuls of Time ran minutes-for-days, leaving my
Adepthood feeling increasingly out of reach. Where was Rayven now and what was
he doing? Had he returned to Prague, to his master?

I knew I should feel some kind of fear, when I heard the
name
Lenoir
; but instead, there was
only the desire to meet him, if I could.

Unbidden, came the voice of the necromancer who had claimed
the life of my parents. A crazy idea had come into my head. If necromancy
existed, maybe I could learn it. Would it be possible to speak with Kinsey and
Maximilian Rookmaaker? Talk directly with Risky, instead of all this
pussyfooting around? Necromancy dealt with communicating with the dead. But
then another voice intruded:
Don’t you
think if they could speak to you, they would, Halsey?

Yes, I thought. I needed to speak with Ballard.

Something had happened to him, when it was just the three of
us, and Rayven, sensing defeat, had cast his magic spell, to end my life.

It had hit Ballard instead of me and done something to him.

“Flagrante!”

I traced my name in fire, there in the air. The rook was the
castle on the chessboard.

Rookmaaker.

Castle
maker.

King-maker.

If something more permanent than a scar had been done to
Ballard, I didn’t know what I would do.

I had seen him
with
a scar. In my dreams. And I had also seen him leading an army. Ballard had been
standing before a collection of soldiers, getting ready to go into combat, his
left side marred by a twisting old wound... like he had been cut...

It was weird. Had I seen him, or was it just one of many
visions my imagination had cooked up to pain me with? Did everything I saw come
true, or could I change things?

The age-old question, really. Was I to be the master of my
own destiny? Or was Rayven? Or the symbols? Or Lenoir? Or Marek? Or any of the
people who had an affect on my life? Mistress Genevieve...

The only value in
knowing what’s to come, is being able to prevent it, when it does.

She and the vampire
are going to Prague.

Whatever gifts I had
Lenoir
had them as well. He could see things before they happened. How else did he
know what I was about to do?

I got the sense of sitting across a giant chessboard from a
grand master. Lenoir had made his turn. Now, it was mine.

Did he really believe that he could change the future and I
could not? That I would somehow just put up with it?

Lenoir may have had this selfsame gift of future-seeing, but
the question now was, how to hone it? I fetched out my diary and scribbled a
training regiment, and then inked it out, irritated.

 
I had my Four Protectors. I was going
about this all wrong.... The entire Grigori and everyone else could come after
me. I had Ballard and Selwyn, Lennox and Marek; I had my House.

I needed to set up my world, to gather to me all of the
important people in my life: Lia and Gaven, St. Martley’s.

If they
would
....

We needed our own Gathering.

Dear Diary..., a
word-puzzle perhaps, but is she the Super BITCH because she can transform into
a dog, a female B-I-T-C-H, or is it because she’s just really mean and nasty?
I shut out my light and went to sleep, snuffling ahead like the grey wolf, for
what lay in my path.

* * *

So much for a resting place. Prague was close by. I could feel
it. Trees were less secure than the solidity of Rome. Stromovka could not
compare to the pomerium and the Aurelian Wall.

Ballard––Ballard hurt––Ballard
cut
––Ballard
destroyed––

I put my foot down. The benandanti
would
let me see him––
right this minute––or else––

I brought my petition to Asher. He was one of the Celeres;
they all were. It was spring and the canopy of trees overhead let in joyful
light. Perhaps he could see my wrath.

“I will secure it. Please wait here. You are not waiting,”
he said.

“I want to go with you,” I said.

So that’s what we did.

The nurse, a wraith of a woman––she had clawed
hands, and a warty nose––said
“He’ll
live. But barely,”
referring to Ballard. “You may see him,
einhendr
.”