“You were saying something about two,” said Ballard.
“Right. Exactly. Of course they can’t get along. They’re each trying to carve for themselves. To build their own lasting empires. Obviously one’s going to try to buy the other one out.”
“He killed him,” said Ballard, soberly.
“Who?”
“Romulus killed Remus. But there’s more to the story.”
“It reminds me how they used to sack villages to find brides!” I said.
“That actually happened, too. You were saying, though?”
“No, you say!” I said.
Ballard continued: “Legend has it that they, Romulus and Remus, were descended from the war god himself, Mars. It was predestined.”
“What was?” I asked.
“The coming strife,” he said. “Like the prophecy itself, it was foretold. They would have to endure an era of strife. War. I don’t know. I’m getting another one. Do you want?”
“Please,” I said. I passed him my empty Succo del Gatto. It was non-non-alcoholic. He returned, popping them open. He did so with his thumb.
“That’s... impressive,” I said. “You must work with your hands a lot.”
“So where were we?”
“You were telling me that it was foretold that they would have to get it on. War, that is.”
“So obviously, Romulus and Remus wanted to open Rome up to these wandering outlaws. Just so long as you bear arms for a just cause, here is your citizenship, right? Ready-made army.”
“You’re kind of smart.”
“Thanks. So, anyway, they were set upon by this tribe, from whom they stole women.”
“I’m telling you, it’s all about carving,” I said.
“And they drove back Romulus’s army to the brink, to the Capitol, to the heart of Rome. But then they made a treaty and everyone lived happily ever after. But it was never forgotten that Romulus had been suckled by a she-wolf. They called him dog boy, when his back was turned. And there were rumors that he licked his balls. True story.”
“So you’re... descended... from... the god... of... what, exactly?” I said.
“I’m descended from my mom and dad,” said Ballard. “That’s just some local hoo-ha.”
“Do you believe it?”
“I’ll put it this way,” said Ballard, but he didn’t get to finish. At that moment, a huge sound of engines starting, startled both of us. The Six Nine Guys were opening their throttles, revving their gazillion-dollar Ducatisti, I learned was plural for Ducati.
Ballard gulped. “I forgot,” he said. “I have to go for a while. I’ll be back, I promise. Just.”
“What’s going on?” I asked. I followed over to the rest of them. I lost Ballard in a tall pack of bodies. I moved into the crowd of people, all of whom nodded and smiled at me. I could see Lia giving some last words to Gaven, her boyfriend. She whispered something into his ear, and then they kissed. He sat on his bike with her hair falling between them. I saw their lips part. He smiled and put on his helmet. She gave him the double thumbs up and fell back.
“What... is going on?” I asked. But no one answered. Lia came to the fountain where we were gathered. She passed by and then walked out onto the cobblestones. I saw her hips move seductively. She turned around. She had on black lipstick and a wry smile. It was a starting line. They were all going to race.
The motorcycles formed two rows each of single riders, with Lia between them in the front. Gaven was at the head of the pack. I saw her look at him meaningfully and his head, in the shiny metallic helmet, nod a single time.
But there was a late entry. And as I looked I saw a Rider, smaller than the rest, wheel into position at the rear of the pack. He stopped and put his feet down, his legs between a huge shining motorcycle. He was fumbling with his helmet. I saw the curly black hair I associated with Ballard. He was going to race?! No. We must’ve had four Succo del Gatti.
He wobbled and I clawed my face, getting ready to shriek.
Lia dropped her arms, and they took off, one after the next. I saw Ballard, last in line. As the Rider in front accelerated, Ballard took his last foot off the ground, and his motorcycle took off like a rocket. I saw his retreating tail-light and they were zipping through the corridors. Everyone cheered!
Lia came trotting back and stood beside me. “Fun! You have barbecue sauce on your mouth.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little dangerous for Ballard to be racing with them? He’s only fifteen.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, my brother is fully capable of handling himself in most company,” said Lia.
I didn’t like how she said that. “Still,” I said.
But she just shook her head. “They will make three circuits. Hopefully, no one gets killed.”
We heard them before we saw them. A huge roar erupted as the first of the Riders completed circuit number one. Lia jumped in the air. Gaven was first. If he’s going to start in the lead, I thought, then, naturally... I decided not to say this out loud.
But there was some whispering when Ballard came around. He had managed in a single circuit, to cut half the distance to the lead. He was running in the middle of the pack. Despite myself, I shouted for him. “Ballard! Woo! Woo, Ballard!”
Lia looked at me, annoyed. “Who are you, anyway?”
This time I ignored her. We waited for them to come around again. A low chant had begun. “Il Gatto, Il Gatto...” Gaven came around. I couldn’t believe it, Ballard was right on his tail. Lia bit her lip, nervously. “What happens if Ballard wins?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Gaven is too good,” she said.
“Still...” I wondered. “It could happen.”
“No. It is impossible.”
The last of the motorcycles whipped by. It was a matter of waiting. Come on, Ballard.
Lia was holding her hands, whispering something to herself. It looked like an incantation.
And then... And then... “Something is wrong,” she said. “They should have been around.” Everyone started whispering. After a while, everyone got really nervous. They were long overdue. Something had definitely happened.
Ballard, I thought. The motorcycles were arriving; but they were coming in as a group. It was like a sea of headlights. Finally, they pulled up, and we saw what must have happened. Ballard was on the back of Gaven’s bike. “He got thrown,” said Gaven. Ballard was all torn up.
Lia raced forward. “Ballard... can you hear me?”
I was right there with her.
He groaned, but he managed to take off his helmet. I saw nasty patches where the leather had been almost worn clean through––someone had given him a racing jacket to borrow. He must have hit the ground and slid. The abrasions looked awful. It could’ve been his skin.
“I’m not deaf,” he said.
Lia helped her brother off the motorcycle carefully. Everyone was coming to see now, including the other racers. I lost sight of Ballard, temporarily. I heard him say, “My bike... my bike...”
Lia lost it. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”
“You should have seen him, Lia.” I realized it was Gaven who was speaking.
“What happened? Tell me everything,” said Lia.
“I’m fine,” said Ballard. “You can let me go, now. It’s my motorcycle I’m worried about.” He saw me and beckoned me over. “You should’ve seen me,” he said, smiling.
Gaven nodded. “He almost had me.”
“Too bad I ran into a wall.”
“Ballard!” Lia looked mortified.
“The bike took the brunt of it,” said Gaven. “We all thought he’d died, though.”
Despite themselves, a chuckle went around the group. I could tell how tight-knit they were. Ballard was one of them.
Chapter 9 – Halsey
Dear Diary,
Slept in late. Think I will do nothing today. Ballard gave me his telephone number; he wants me to call him. He looked horrible last night. I h
ope he’s okay. Sometimes head and neck trauma may result hours or even days later. We spoke briefly. We had a moment while Lia and Gaven slurped on each other’s faces. He has some interesting ideas, Ballard. He wants to introduce me around. Of course, the secret reason is that Ballard and I both want to find out certain things. He wants to find out how his uncle knew about magic––and what it portends. I want to find out what happened to my parents. Having the Codex will help. After all, it is a forbidden magical text. I’m sure it will open doors.
Lia and Gaven, and some others, escorted me home last night. I heard them talking about things as we cruised through the city. Rome can get very quiet. Everyone is very deferential towards Gaven; he seems to be a leader of some sort. I get the idea that they do more than just hang out, though what, I’m not exactly sure.
I left them at the park. “It’s just a block,” I lied. They waved good-bye and left me. When I got home––thankful to be past my ever vigilant, annoying landlady––I thought I would do some light reading; I unzipped my pack and was just going to take my book out, when he appeared. I hastily returned The Magus Codex to my pack. He was on my balcony, of all places––standing there, looking at me, in the dark....
He had the sexiest damn silhouette I’ve ever seen. It was all hair and rakish angles. I could see his eyes clearly; that same to-die-for shade of lavender. They drew in the light, making him look dangerous. I froze.
“L-Lennox?” I said.
He nodded; or at least, I saw his hair move. He didn’t speak. He was playing mute. I felt it again. That same irresistible pull. Unknowingly, my arms reached out to him. I mastered myself and dropped them to my sides; still, my fingers grasped at the pair of sweats I had changed into. I bunched the cloth in my fingertips, I wanted him so badly. What was this feeling?
“I had to see you,” he said. “I wanted to give you... something.”
I saw him hold it up. I stepped closer, without realizing what I was doing. Inside my bedroom the light seemed to die at the balcony. He was out there, waiting for me. “You can come in,” I said, at the same time wondering how he had managed to climb all the way up without hurting himself.
It was far to fall.
“No,” he said.
“No? What do you mean?”
“I mean, ‘No. I cannot come in.’”
“Why not?” I asked.
I came to the French doors. I put my hands on them; otherwise, I didn’t think I could hold myself up. He was right there. He was so diffident, aloof. Something borne on the wind.
I wondered at him: so alone and so beautiful. His eyes had a desperate, searching quality. They were predatory and alive with some inner turmoil. It was torture trying to withstand them. I broke from his gaze.
He was holding a silver necklace. “I went back to look for it,” he said.
“I... thank you...” I said.
I held out my hand.
“You should not have invited me in,” he said. He deposited it in my hand. The pendant touching my palm, pierced me. “I can’t...”
“What...?” I asked.
He coiled it into my hand, and then with his hand, covered over my own.
“Do you feel that?” he asked.
He pulled me into the night. Smooth but firm. I was helpless to resist. Touching him was like touching electricity. It surprised me and caught me off guard. I was suddenly, overwhelmingly incapacitated by him.
I licked my lips. “I... I feel it...” I said. I watched his mouth, waiting for the words to form––for him to say my name.
“Halsey,” he said. Two simple syllables, I was ready to do anything––be anyone. Two syllables. There was nothing I would deny him. No service I would not perform, if he would just let me.
“I...”
I found myself in his arms. “You’re hurt,” I said.
I saw him wince. “It’s nothing.”
His hands were at my waist. They grasped me, firmly. I felt the heat of him through the flimsy fabric. It sent pulse waves of pleasure down my spine. I felt myself perceptibly warm to him.
I couldn’t believe what was happening. “Do you do this to all the girls you meet?”
Some kind of hypnotic power bound me to him. I thought of pleasures we could do together, now that we were alone. That lock of my hair that always fell in my face, did it again. I looked cockeyed at it. And screwed my face up.
He moaned. I had just blown the strand of hair out of the way. But he looked like he wanted to take me and ravage me right there. I felt him tense. He tightened his grip on me. “I should go,” he said.
I shook my head.
“Please,” he said.
“Face it. We’re part of each other’s lives.”
“You don’t even...” He sounded exasperated: “know me. For the love of God.”
“I don’t care,” I said.
“Well, you should.” Then he laughed. I felt his breath wash over me. I hastened to take a deeper breath. It was some kind of supercharged euphoria. I felt myself immediately engulfed by it. By him. He devastated me. That’s what he did.
Now how to tell him?
But whatever had me in thrall, Machiavellian tricks were no longer a part of my arsenal. I found I wanted to speak my affection both loudly and with no obfuscation.
“I think––and I hope this doesn’t sound crazy,” I said; he just listened. “But I think we’re meant––”
I trailed off.
“What?” he said. His scent enveloped me once more. It overruled my every other thought. “What are we meant?” he said.
“To be together,” I said.
He shook me: “Never say that!” I felt him release me, and he fell back against the balcony, in anguish. His hair hid most of his face––it was thick and black, it went all over the place. One hand was at his forehead; he had it balled into a fist. I could see him shaking, overcome as he was. With what? Rage.
I didn’t think twice. I went to him. “Forgive me,” he said.
“Hey?” I reached out for his hand with both of mine. There was an unbelievable energy. Just being in his presence was unlike anything I had ever felt before. I took his hand in mine. “I want you to come inside,” I said. “I don’t know if you realize, but you look a mess. You haven’t been fighting, have you?” It didn’t matter that I didn’t know him. “Come on,” I said. “Then maybe you’ll tell me how you got up here.”
He looked up at me; there were tears in his eyes. My mind went blank. I was in total awe of him. His anguish sent daggers to my heart. I was impaled on the chance of him.
“No,” he said. He pulled me to him. I felt his arms around me. Then hesitation.
I finally resisted. “A ‘no’ is just a ‘yes’ that doesn’t know how to ask for what it wants,” I said. “Or something.” There; that put him right.
I lifted him. Though, I think to be fair, he let me. Pulled him into Chateau Halsey. He came, obediently. His one snarky protest was, “I thought girls always said yes, when they meant no.”
“And I thought all guys always thought no meant yes. I don’t think either one of us knows exactly what the other is all about.”
It gave me a thrill to talk to him this way. Bossing him was fun. I led him down the hall by the hand. Good boy. He sat on the edge of my clawfooted tub and fidgeted nervously. I couldn’t believe it.
His skin was so smooth. I couldn’t tell which was sculpted out of porcelain. Him or my bathtub?
“So, are you going to tell me what happened?” I asked. His shirt was all torn.
I turned on the sink, waiting for the water to get hot.
It just flopped out dirt. I could hear the pipes rattle. I bit my lip.
“Come on, come on,” I said.
Grabbing a hand towel, I held it under the lukewarm water, covering it with water, and then wrung it out. I turned to him.
He had a look on his face. I suppose it’s the look angels have when they’re lost in themselves. He looked far off, distant. I tilted
my head, trying to read his thoughts.
His lavender eyes, so beautiful, turned to me. I saw his lips part, as if he would speak. Instead, he sighed. “Just as long as you’re okay,” I said, and began to clean him off.
I sat on the edge of the tub myself. And rested my left hand on his shoulder. I felt how his muscles tied together. I tried not to probe his anatomy with my fingers too much. And set about washing him off. He had a cut at his chest. I saw it when I got rid of all the dirt.
I touched the blood with my fingers, rubbing it between them, then looked askance. His arms were back, on the far side of the tub. It produced a natural thrusting motion. I could see the definition in his torso. His eyes were closed. His hair falling back so that I could finally see his face.
He was more exquisite than I could ever have possibly imagined. I also noticed that he seemed to be my age. Or else a little older. But his face was so careworn, as though he carried a lot of burdens.
I was about to surreptitiously taste his blood, when he opened his eyes.
They lit with smoldering fire and then he comprehended what I was about to do. He reached forward and grabbed my hand before I could taste his blood. “Here,” he said, and he took us over to the sink. He rinsed my hands for me.
He held my fingers under the tap. “There.” He toweled me off.
I saw the last of the blood mix with the water and swirl down the drain. I turned around. He was staring, hungrily, into my eyes. “I think that is all for tonight,” he said.
I nodded, dumbly. I was still too caught up in the fact that here I was alone with him. Half-formed thoughts raced through my head, culminating in us waking up together. Tomorrow mornings. I still couldn’t form coherent thoughts.
“Wait!” I said. I followed him down the hall, when I saw he was leaving. He turned around. I think my heart stopped. But he was a complete and utter gentleman.
“May I say, Miss Rookmaaker, I love what you’ve done with the place. But I think I’ve dripped on your floor long enough,” he said. “I will call on you, if you will let me. Let us say the evening next?”
“I... okay.”
“It’s a date. Farewell until then.”
The Wiccan Diaries Page 10