Neophyte

  The Wiccan Diaries

  Vols. 2-3

  by

  T. D. McMichael

  Copyright 2013 by T. D. McMichael

  All rights reserved.

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  For more information, please visit:

  http://tdmcmichael.blogspot.com

  The Books

  Neophyte (The Wiccan Diaries, Vol. 2)

  Adept (The Wiccan Diaries, Vol. 3)

  Neophyte (The Wiccan Diaries, Volume 2)

  * * *

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 – Arguments

  Chapter 2 – Venice

  Chapter 3 – Lost Cause

  Chapter 4 – In the Muck

  Chapter 5 – Gambalunga

  Chapter 6 – Munchies

  Chapter 7 – Wolf Tales

  Chapter 8 – Nightmares

  Chapter 9 – Campagna

  Chapter 10 – Welcome

  Chapter 11 – The Rota

  Chapter 12 – Volt and Pouch

  Chapter 13 – The Styles Master

  Chapter 14 – Problems

  Chapter 15 – Party

  Chapter 16 – Hiving

  Chapter 17 – Wizard Donuts

  Chapter 18 – The Wiccaning

  Chapter 19 – The Aether

  Chapter 20 – Seeing Paris

  Chapter 21 – In the Dark

  Chapter 22 – Houses

  Chapter 23 – Vittoria’s Secret

  Chapter 24 – Birthright

  Chapter 25 – The Last Pendderwenn

  Chapter 26 – Them

  Chapter 27 – Misdirection

  Chapter 28 – Last Rites

  Chapter 29 – Epilogue

  Chapter 1 – Arguments

  We were born on the Summer and Winter Solstice, respectively. He was a Gemini, I was Sagittarius. He didn’t think he was human. I didn’t think he was not.

  We were as far apart, celestially, as it was possible to be. And yet...

  I fetched out my diary from underneath my pillows. Lennox had insisted on separate everything. That included beds.

  I clicked my pen. I had to get this down.

  “We are here, finally,” I wrote, putting the pen between my teeth. I scratched it out. For there to be a ‘we’ there would have to be two of us. “I am here. Why do I feel like I’m all alone? Oh yeah, maybe because I am...”

  It was hard to feel upset, with how beautiful everything was. The morning was my favorite time of day. The fog surrounding the lagoon islands closed us in. We were stuck someplace between the Lido, on the one hand, and San Clemente, on the other. On our own private island.

  Venice was in the distance. Venice, Italy. Too far away to see. I had not yet set foot there. It was the home of Lennox’s small but distinctly loving family. Having never actually met them, I couldn’t say for sure, but I was beginning to think Lennox didn’t want me to; like I wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t think of another reason why Lennox had not introduced us.

  “Nonsense,” he said. “That’s why I brought you here.”

  But I couldn’t help feeling like there was another, secret, reason, he had brought me to one of the oldest cities on earth. It had been three weeks.

  That was almost a lifetime to have been away from Rome, parted from my new life and everything in it. There was my best friend Ballard, for one thing. I could feel him growing restless, even though we had agreed not to write. Lennox had frowned against me bringing my laptop, which meant no sending emails back and forth.

  There was another reason why I wanted to keep Ballard close by, though. He was a werewolf. Or something.

  He was different. That was all that mattered. We all were.

  My landlady, a secretive crone––I couldn’t be sure if she knew more than she was saying––had agreed to continue letting me my small room above one of the brightest and busiest tourist areas in Rome. Something Lennox thought was perfect, because when I was all alone I was having the dreams––nightmares of creatures stalking me, and something worse. That was all over with, wasn’t it? The necromancer who had tried to kill me had been beaten, hadn’t he? Even my other friend, Marek, who had tried–– No, who had bitten me, was off.

  Who knows where, doing who knows what. He was a vampire like Lennox, and I, I was something else. That was part of the problem. Who was I? My past was more confusing than a jigsaw puzzle.

  Was I a witch? Or just a potential witch?

  My pen hovered over the page. It was as indecisive as I was... About everything: my life, my love. What I was even doing here?

  “Dear Diary,” I wrote again. “We are fugitives in a gorgeous villa, whose crumbling rock exterior hides a very lovely hovel, indeed. It is almost winter. I didn’t know it, but it snows in Italy; just not everywhere. We are near to the Dolomites. Italy’s own portion of the Alps. Lennox has suggested we go snowboarding. Not now. But someday.

  “I like that word: someday. I have taken to thinking about vampirism, and the Immortal Life, as I call it. Anything to get closer to the person that I love. I do love him.

  “I know this sounds like me trying to reassure myself, Diary, or even you, but–– You know how you know when you know? I’m still trying to imagine he and his family strapped to their Burtons straight-up grinding on the snow up there. They must fly down the mountainside, which is something I would dearly love to see, if I could, if I could keep up.

  “The name of our place? Rat Rock, of course. Lennox assures me that there aren’t any. In fact an old legend has it that Rat Rock was used during the Black Plague to quarantine the doges and other people of significance, who came here to die. A good cover story to ward off any adventuresome Venetians, who may want to set foot on our island. Actually, Lennox and his family use it, for when they ‘want to get away.’ Something I take to mean, for when they want to eat human beings.

  “Which is why Lennox doesn’t think he’s good enough to be with me.

  “I try to tell him that I don’t care. ‘What’s past is past,’ I say. But he has fears: among them, that he may try and hurt me.

  “‘I can withstand anyone else––but not you,’ he says. ‘It’s like flame upon wax.’

  “‘If you mean you melt me,’ I said.

  “‘No. It’s just.’

  “‘What?’

  “He can be so prettily metaphoric. ‘You burn me.’

  “I suddenly understood: I was the flame. How could that be? If he knew what he did to me... He would understand it was I who was worked upon by him.

  “Or wished to be.

  “‘It’s like our first vacation together,’ I said, the day after we had first arrived, ‘like our––well, our...’

  “‘What?’ he said to me. ‘Say it. I feel like we don’t say it.’

  “‘Honeymoon,’ I said.

  “He immediately proceeded to turn into an ice cube. I could literally hear him freeze over. If he used his voice it would have chilled me. Instead, he disappeared into his room; I barely saw him anymore. It frightened me.

  “That I could lose him that quickly...

  “‘Rocks can’t be burned,’ I said, hoping he would come back to me, and stop being an island unto himself. After all, there were so many things I wanted to ask him, particularly about himself. Anything to do with himself was off-limits: just that I know I was too good for him and blah blah blah.

  “Just once I wanted him to see himself clearly, the way I did, for him to know what I knew him to be. But we had separate beds. It was
n’t even like we were boyfriend-girlfriend. The word ‘honeymoon’ had driven a wedge between us. I was determined to bring him out of his funk.”

  * * *

  I tucked my diary away. It was a running commentary of my time spent in Italy. A portable friend I could berate with the things I found out. I got up and made my bed and looked around my room.

  Vampires lived here. I had to remind myself of that. I suddenly got nervous about the possibility of meeting his family. It was like anything that had been postponed too long: artificially worked up into something ‘significant.’ I wondered suddenly if I would be required to put on a ‘performance.’

  I don’t do well with things when people are watching. One of the reasons I had not yet chosen to let Lennox in on my little secret. Because when we were not alone together––which was a kind of double entendre––I was busily researching all things supernatural, particularly as they related to me.

  I sat on the edge of my bed and put on my shoes, tying the laces tight. Lennox’s modest island getaway was exactly as it should be: with very little to distract from the solitude. Rat Rock would always be a place of contemplation for me. It was empty of any kind of frills, except for that spectacular view. I went out with a baggy sweater over a pair of tights, and my long, black hair done up in a ponytail, and was hit by the early-morning sounds.

  The lagoon water was granite-colored and choppy. I began stretching and walking around. Visibility was practically nothing. I could just make out the San Clemente tower and the old insane asylum, and the sun, a muted white orb that hung low on the horizon; its rays licked at the shoreline of Rat Rock, but seemed to die in the early-morning fog. The sound of creaking vessels could be heard off in the distance.

  Venice and its environs were awash with boats; they were like bicycles. Everyone had one. We had one too. A small wooden affair. Lennox had carried it from the rock outcrop that functioned as harbor, to a small tool shed adjacent to the deceptively small cabin.

  I took a sniff of the salt air, and watched as a flock of seagulls hovered overhead, and was about to turn, to go in and make a pot of coffee, when a voice behind me startled me out of my reverie.

  “But the sun,” I said.

  Lennox paid no attention. He was standing in a grey t-shirt, and pair of shorts, the kind I saw all the fishermen wear––except Lennox’s didn’t have fish guts all over them; and he was hunched over with his arms folded, as if cold.

  His dark hair was wild and unkempt and all over the place––as if he had had a long night. I noticed the bags underneath his eyes.

  He was my age––if you didn’t count the fact that he never grew older. Even in the pale light he looked haggard. He grimaced. “I should be okay for another hour or two,” he said looking at the sun. I wondered what would happen if our shack burnt down.

  “I don’t need to breathe,” he said, as if that settled the matter. It took me a moment to figure out.

  “You mean you would just jump into the water?” I said.

  “I would hang out down at the bottom until nighttime,” he said, nodding his head.

  “I see.”

  I wanted to see more. In fact, I needed to.

  Again, I asked him what was bothering him; he just shook his head. I was too accustomed to his dismissiveness where it came to himself. This time I was determined to get something more.

  “I feel like you brought me here and then changed your mind,” I chided him, noticing the pained look he wore. I interpreted it as a form of guilt. “Just so you know, people don’t like being felt sorry for.”

  That was another thing. “I need you to come back to me,” I said. “I don’t like it when we’re uncommunicative.” He tried to stop me, but I steamrollered on. “Let’s say something were to happen. By that I mean some vampire thing came up, and you needed my help. It could happen,” I said defensively. “How would I know what to do? Unless you tell me.”

  There. I waited for his response.

  “You want to know... more?” he said. He was almost incredulous.

  “Duh...”

  Not my greatest comeback, but it got the job done. At least he was talking to me again.

  Lennox said, “A vampire lives forever. In theory.”

  “What does that even mean?” I said, pressing my advantage.

  “By that rationale, there should be vampires walking around since The Creation,” he said. “Only there aren’t. Not really. Do you understand?”

  “I understand that I love you. I understand that I want us to be together,” I said.

  He shook his head.

  “You’re doing it again,” I said.

  He looked at me.

  “Having second thoughts. Changing your mind,” I said, when he looked like he didn’t understand what I meant. “Am I so repulsive?”

  “Of course not,” he said.

  “Then... why?”

  I walked away from him. I walked all the way down to the water and picked up a stone. It plunked into the water.

  I imagined it traveling all the way down to the bottom and sitting there all day. I waited.

  “Do you want me to take you back?” he asked.

  I shook my head. Petulant.

  He put his arms around me and I fell back into his embrace. I was so easy. “Just tell me what’s going on,” I said. I craved knowledge, knowledge of him, his essence, his everything.

  He nuzzled my ear. “It is starting,” he said.

  * * *

  We were inside and I was treating him like he had an infection. “Describe it. Where does it hurt? How do we stop it?” Poking and prodding and pinching him.

  He smiled. “The vampire coming of age cannot be stopped,” he said.

  “So it is the Agonies.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “You don’t look in pain. Just a bit morbid. And I thought you said you couldn’t die,” I said.

  “You’re not paying attention,” said Lennox.

  Maybe I needed coffee. I made a pot.

  “Okay. You can’t die? But you can die?” I said.

  “Something like that,” said Lennox.

  I looked at him, exasperated. “Explain,” I said.

  He watched as I hastily prepared my cup of coffee: plenty of milk and sugar. All the good stuff, to compensate for my lack of honey. He reached out and held my hand. Our fingers intertwined at the kitchen table. I drank my coffee, waiting for him to speak.

  I expected him to go on with what he had already told me––The Agonies were tests administered to new vampires, less than a century old. Instead, he seemed to retreat within his mind, just when I was getting him back.

  I cleared my throat. “You were saying,” I said.

  He looked up at me, between his eyelashes, in as seductive a way as I had ever seen. Lennox had lavender eyes, too beautiful for words. My brain went numb.

  “The thing about a test is, you don’t know the questions,” he said.

  “Unless you cheat,” I said. “I won’t lose you. I mean it.”

  He wasn’t listening. “I don’t fear for myself. It’s you I’m worried about,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, Halsey. Don’t you think it’s a little unfair? You know everything there is to know about me. Enough anyway that the Lenoir will get nervous.”

  The Lenoir was this big bad Paris vampire coven. Supposedly peacekeepers. They made the laws, among them that it was forbidden for someone like me to know of their existence. I had a way around this. We had skirted this conversation before.

  “Only if Marek tells,” I said.

  So far as I knew, Marek was off, trying to cure himself, of the vampire malady known only as The Suck. He had to find and kill the necromancer responsible for it––the necromancer who was also responsible for the death of my parents. I thought of him out there, Marek, not un-fondly. “What is it between you two, that makes you dislike him so much?” I asked of Lennox.

  “You mean, other than
the fact that Marek tried to kill you?” he said.

  Here I had to prevent myself from blushing. I hid behind my cup of coffee. Lennox was mesmerized once more by our fingertips. I pulled mine away from him.

  When Marek had touched me, a kind of spark had happened. There was only one other character I had encountered that sensation with: Lennox himself. It was one of the things I wanted to know about. It was magic, or magical. It wasn’t the touch of a killer with his prey.

  The blood retreated from my face... It was sexual.

  Lennox said, “His intentions are selfish. They always have been. But that isn’t why I’m worried about him talking to the Lenoir.”

  “It’s not?”

  Lennox sighed. “You said you wanted to know more about us. About vampires.”

  “Yes please,” I said. It meant binding myself to him further and further. The more I knew, the greater the danger, the more he would have to protect me.

  Which meant that he could never leave me. My own vampire protector.

  “We have Powers,” he said, and then went to his room.

  I banged on his door. “Come out here!” I said.

  He reappeared, looking devastated. “Why?”

  It was such a curious question... I didn’t know what to say. “You’re still not ready to be honest with me, are you?” he said. He shut the door again.

  I banged on it some more.

  “What are you, Halsey Rookmaaker?” He shouted it through the door.

  “I––”

  It opened; he smirked and moved past me, wearing a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. It wasn’t snuggle time, was it?

  I blushed for all new reasons. He knew. Somehow he knew. That I was–– That I––

  Impossible! How could he?

  I think I said something like “Huh?” Or possibly, “I don’t know what you mean.” But playtime was over, he said.

  “You know all about me. I just told you we have secret Powers––vampires.” Which I wanted to go back to, but he was adamant: I had to come clean to him, he said. A relationship meant trust, and we had none.

  When he put it like that.