The Wiccan Diaries by McMichael T. D

Author:McMichael, T. D. [McMichael, T. D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Magnus Corner Books
Published: 2013-11-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11 – Halsey

I brought the Codex to the festival; it felt sort of sacrilegious to do so, but once I got there, I realized it was more than just a religious festival. I had been reading up on everything Rome and Italy.

For instance, there was this big celebration, Carnival, that happened in Rome and also Venice; people wore masks and partied the night away. Brazil did something similar. And even in the States, they had Mardi Gras.

Festa de’ Noantri was much more pious. It involved carrying a Madonna around to various churches, followed by a procession of the devout––which in Rome was quite a few.

There were also lights, games, music, and fireworks. Ballard said it would go on for weeks.

The way he described it, I thought I might need a mask. “Just come,” he said.

When I got there, Lia decided to stop being annoying, and actually acknowledged me warmly. “Don’t be fooled,” said Ballard. He was wearing a pair of loose-fitting dark grey shorts and a finely woven, light blue shirt, that showed off his muscles. He was deeply tanned. “She still wants to know what we’re doing, but she’s changing tack. Don’t let her lull you into giving something away.”

“I wish there were something to give away,” I said. I brought out the Codex. He and I had both been taking turns with it; anytime we made a new discovery we e-mailed the other. It seemed like all I was doing these days was driving back and forth between my apartment and the motorcycle shop in Trastevere.

We were parked between two stalls, sitting on a pair of crates. I could smell roast porchetta turning in a spit, it drew crowds. There was still some time before night.

There was still one thing that was bothering me, however. How to word it?

I could see Ballard concentrating on the Codex; he was looking at a page full of symbols, saying, “It’s some kind of clue,” looking for where we could turn to next; it had been slow going and our leads were nil, when I asked him what Succo del Gatto meant. He had a long neck in his hand. I could hear the gold foil crinkle.

“What do you mean?” he said, which was a very curious response.

“Seeing as how, together, we probably buy up half the Succo del Gattos produced in Rome,” I said, letting the words trail off. Was there something to all this?

I remembered the taxicab I hailed when I got here. “The driver had a whole ice chest full of them; it was actually pretty weird,” I said, watching as his brow furrowed. Was it something in the Codex? He continued to ignore me.

“The reason I mention it––I’ve been here a couple of weeks now, and the only time I ever see them is when I’m hanging around with you.”

I mentioned the vending machine down the hall, in my apartment. “And zip. It’s like they’re only here, in Trastevere.”

He definitely didn’t meet my eye.

“I bet, whoever that guy was, he probably lives around here,” I said.

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