The Wiccan Diaries

Chapter 8 – Lennox




Things were not going my way. It began with my wheels. The scent of dead guy was strong with this Fast Walker. He kept bitching and moaning.

That was a powerful trifecta of reasons not to take John Occam’s car. Next, the wardrobe issue. I had two stops to make. The first one I was not looking forward to. The second one I was. I did not want Halsey Rookmaaker to think I walked around in a trench coat all the time. So I put on something new. You could only wear leather so much in the summertime, anyway.

Unfortunately, that meant I would have to take the sewers, otherwise I would end up burning to death in the sun. I would probably end up getting to the morgue late and smelling really bad.

Which meant she was going to be wondering where I was, when I didn’t show up to her place on time. Stalker Boy didn’t miss a beat. Can’t tell her. Can’t stay away from her. Problems, problems.

That was something else that was bothering me. I usually had someone to talk to about my problems. Occam was incommunicado, doing god knows what. I could hear him now.

Girl? What does a girl have to do with the Zombie Apocalypse? Throw her off a really high cliff, preferably into a pit of stakes. If she lives, she is evil.

Stalker Boy was a little more adept.

If you turn her, he reasoned, she may enjoy that you have fangs. She can’t ever be anything serious.

He proceeded to relate it to coffee.

She is like a shot of espresso. She makes this teeny-tiny little cup. But you want to make a bigger deal of her than she already is. So you make her into a caffè latte. This is a tall glass of coffee. A rich, full-flavored experience. It is to be savored that much longer. But what you fail to realize is that she is still that same hit of espresso. Like a drug. All you have succeeded at is watering her down. Drink her and be done.

It would be easier if I did.

I had her locket around my neck for safekeeping. It tingled where it touched my skin. What was I doing, getting mixed up with someone like her? Already, I knew that it could end only one way.

I came up from the sewer like a hopeful monster, and checked the parking lot.

Just the security guard at the front desk, and a few orderlies cleaning up. The medical examiner liked to go home early.

I had Occam’s litmus kit he developed; any infected blood would turn the paper black. The only thing left to do was go to the place where they kept the dead bodies. At least, I hoped they were dead.

I had cultivated a persona. Doctor L.

Doctor L was a forensic fellow who had spent time at the Sorbonne and Cambridge, and had traveled extensively, lecturing at Harvard and La Jolla. He came and went at odd hours. Someone or other had seen fit to allow him to wander the pathology labs at will.

“He is interested in all forms of death,” they said. The interns gossiped that he must be a ghost. But a few had seen Doctor L, sometimes, wandering the halls. He was very pale. His eyes were dark, almost black, and he looked hungry, like he would eat you, if you disturbed him. He never talked to anybody. That was another thing, Doctor L was completely antisocial, but very brilliant. “Don’t ever bother him,” they said.

Doctor L entered through the front doors, strolling, for all to see, without a care in the world, in a grey V-neck casual T-shirt and jeans, wearing a pair of sneakers.

He looked like he had just made a million bucks selling oil futures or something. He was way too young to be a doctor.

He smiled at the desk clerk and signed in. The orderlies, and everyone, had never seen him so relaxed. Usually he had a look so serious upon his face that it froze any would-be conversationalists. This guy was just––there was something about him... They couldn’t quite put their fingers on it.

You realize, said Stalker Boy, that soon you won’t just have opportunities like this. That this period of your life is finite. That you are growing up. Or else––well...

I signed in and went down the hall to the elevators to go get a look at the stiffs. No one bothered me. It was the smart move on their parts.

Moretti had supplied me with the autopsy reports of the previous victims, all of whom were being tentatively attributed to the nasty serial killer Rome had roaming its streets. Peter Panico.

I had to make sure these bodies didn’t have any infectious diseases the pathology lab was unprepared for. That meant taking blood samples and testing them against the litmus Occam had prepared.

There were six cadavers in all, wrapped in white sheets. The medical examiner was probably waiting for the morning before he processed them.

I went to corpse number one, removed the cap on the syringe, and stuck it in. Blood stopped moving when someone died––the heart no longer beat.

This blood had already begun to degrade.

The autolytic effects were such that the erythrocytes were on self-destruct. The blood because of the hemolysis was see-through. I made a note of it.

The same for the next one. Both cadavers tested negative for the Suck.

Same with the third. I was halfway through them, discarding needles in biological waste containers. None of the bodies had any of the telltale marks of being bitten by vampires.

Now for number four. I paused with the needle.

“I’ll be,” I said.

The blood had given me an idea. If the virus was spreading to red blood cells, taking them over, destroying them–– No, it was converting them. It wasn’t necrosis. And it wasn’t decomposition. It has to be changing the blood––reconstituting it.

We had never done a postmortem on one of the infected rats. Never thought to study it. Occam and I had been too busy destroying the carriers.

We incinerated the rats.

I bet their hearts pump. I bet when the Suck attacks the nervous system, it does something to the circulatory system. If these contagion carriers, these revenants, have pumping hearts... One, it means they’re ‘alive’––and anything alive can be killed, I told myself. But also....

It was too new an idea. I concentrated on the fourth body. It failed to trigger Occam’s litmus.

So it’s not you.

Five, now.

My mind was still working on the idea.

There were certain cells that were ‘programmed’ to die. This was a scientific fact. They were programmed to click off, like binary. Yes, no. Yes––

The fifth body, a Jane Doe, had holes in her neck. There wasn’t much time. Some of these had died almost forty-eight hours ago. Sometimes it took a while before authorities found them. That’s why I came each night. I didn’t want any of them ‘waking up,’ getting anybody. It was like waiting for a vampire to crawl out of the grave.

The Jane Doe tested negative for the Suck. However, she did have holes at her neck. Whoever this vampire was, he had nearly drained her dry. I managed to get a few drops.

The litmus remained neutral. It did not turn black.

I dropped the used syringe into the waste container, and then looked at her. The cops had bagged her hands. She looked... messy. She also looked young. Early twenties, at most, I thought.

I noticed the large gashing fang wounds.

The medical examiner would notice them. No doubt he had witnessed several similar wounds, in the past.

That made the vampire who was doing the killing dangerous. He was thumbing his nose at the Lenoir. At me. He was not existing silently. I replaced the shroud and turned to number six. Only it wasn’t there anymore.

It was staring me in the face.

“Oh... crap...”


I was flying backward through the air, crashing into one of the gurneys, the contents of which fell on top of me.

I got to my feet, my V-neck torn, and looked at the Fast Walker. It had to get through me before it could get outside.

It came at me. I didn’t have any of my weapons. We crashed through the swinging set of double doors, into the hallway. It landed on top of me. Saliva dripped from its fangs. I rolled over on top of it, both hands on its shoulders. It was still caught in the white bed sheet coroners sometimes used to transport dead bodies.

There were no vampire bites on its neck. That meant whoever had killed it had not contracted the disease. It had been merely resurrected by the boker. I could see the victim’s black gums, silver-like teeth; its diseased tongue lolled in its mouth. It snapped.

As far as strength went––the zombie had it.

I was stronger.

Nobody could see us; the hallway was empty. The elevator was right there. I got an idea. Before I could act upon it, however, the zombie twisted abruptly, and I was thrown off balance.

It happened. When the revenant had twisted, it caught me unawares. The energy in my body was still directed downwards.

My body dipped. I could see its eyes roll back like a shark’s. In that moment, it was interested in one thing only, ripping my flesh off. It nearly succeeded in biting me. Instead it howled in agony. A high-pitched keening sound that was sure to have traveled throughout the morgue.

The locket I had around my neck that belonged to Halsey Rookmaaker had fallen out of my torn T-shirt and stuck to its forehead.

I got hold of the white bed sheet the zombie was tangled in, and cinched it quickly about the zombie’s throat, then hit it hard with one of my elbows––there was a huge burn mark where the locket had touched its skin, which was smoking.

Getting to my feet, I pulled the zombie up with me and proceeded to walk it to the elevator. For a Fast Walker, it did what I told it to. We were almost there, when an orderly appeared.

He was coming out of a closet marked rifornimenti di pulizia, pulling a large cart laden with cleaning supplies. I saw earbuds poking from his ears. The janitor was listening to music on high volume.

I pushed the button for the basement, praying the elevator was empty and the janitor had not seen us. He bumped right past and didn’t notice a thing.

The elevator arrived. The zombie kept trying to twist around so he could get to me. It was then that I noticed how filthy he was. He had a long, matted beard. Life had taken a toll on his body. I cinched the sheet tighter, securing him, as we stepped into the elevator.

He stunk.

No one was inside the elevator. The doors closed and we headed down to the basement.

Suddenly, the Fast Walker ran up the side of the elevator on me. His feet flashed. I had his head tight in my grasp––the bed sheet twisted like rope around his throat. But his body just ran up the metal interior of the elevator, until it was halfway across the ceiling.

I heard its neck snap. The body fell with a thud. I stood there, dazed, letting the sheet fall, draping the zombie’s body. Ligature marks stood out on its neck. The kind of bruising that could only happen with a pumping heart.

I stepped off the elevator, dragging the revenant with me, and laid it out on the sheet. He was absolutely the filthiest human being I had ever seen before in my undead life, all covered in thick grime.

Satisfied that we were alone, I opened the door to the incinerator, and tossed him in. Life wasn’t supposed to be this messy.





Halsey



He didn’t come. He didn’t come. He didn’t come. Absentmindedly, I felt with my fingertips for the locket. For the portraits of Kinsey and Maximilian Rookmaaker. My parents. Why hadn’t he come? I stood at my balcony, watching the sun go down. Everywhere was a golden glow. I could look to my left and see the Spanish Steps. Lovers met there to share their evenings.

I had just taken a bath and brushed out my hair. Of course, my hair dryer would go on the fritz. Which meant more air-drying. Ballard’s hand drawn map was to what looked like a piazza.

It had me piqued. I was from the New England countryside. What was an authentic Italian get-together at a piazza like? This was the first real urban environment I had ever lived in before. Hanging out with Ballard’s family and friends sounded like fun.

I’m going. If he wants to find me, he knows where I live. Part of me wished Lennox were here. It wasn’t like going stag was a problem. I had never officially had a boyfriend. Becca was always trying to get me to go out more.

The only problem was there was nowhere to go. St. Martley’s was very conservative. As part of that conservatism, they had built their school as far away from ‘distractions’ as possible.

I thought about the Six Nine Guys. They would probably look at me like I was one of Ballard’s harmless, annoying friends. No one to bother with. Whatever.

I decided to get ready anyway. It won’t be like they’re staring at you. I brushed my teeth and ran the brush through my hair again, and put on a pair of Levi’s brand jeans and a T-shirt. My landlady frowned at me again. She ran her finger across her throat. “Stupid ragazza,” she said.

Crossing my fingers so she could see I was optimistic about the whole endeavor, I went down the rickety stairs and descended onto the street. My Vespa was in a park a few blocks away. The last rays of light colored the sky like pale fire.

By the time I found my Vespa and started it, it was nighttime. I passed through the canopy of trees and the last-minute games of tag being played by children, and set out to go meet Ballard again. My stomach rumbled from not having eaten all day. I was going to have to do something about that. The last thing I’d eaten was the grattachecca. It took me about fifteen minutes from the park, to get to Trastevere.

I got that sense again of going from modern utilitarian poshness to authentic Rome. Trastevere was so solid. It was becoming my favorite of the areas I had seen so far. I pulled over at a store just to check the map again. My hair was probably going to look awful when I took off my helmet. I didn’t care.

The map led south, to an area just inside what looked like a giant wall. Ballard had drawn it in thick, bold, double lines, continuous and solid-looking. It went off in interesting directions, the wall. I drove according to the map, when I came to an archway suddenly.

It was made of fine white stone––not unlike my balcony, except it was so large––almost like a triumphal arch. Emperors used to build them to celebrate conquests. This one had a shield––a pair of fierce tigers, like a crest, guarding over the entrance to the small piazza.

The piazza was full of light and music and sharp sounds of laughter; it was full of Ballard’s family and friends.

* * *

He came running up to me, when he saw me. “You made it!” he said, looking on happily as I put down my kickstand. I raised the visor on my helmet. “Uh-huh,” I said, hoping he would turn around a sec, so I could take the helmet off my head. I had to run my hands through my hair; it was sure to look a mess, all knotted, etc. As if obliging my secret whim, he looked up and inhaled deeply through his nose, looking around. I took the opportunity to remove my helmet and check my reflection briefly in one of the two mirrors attached to my Vespa. I ran my hands through my hair, but there was nothing I could do about it. So I just gave it up as a bad job. He turned, and said, “Some party, huh?”

I looked around. “Yeah,” I said. They were all off mingling with each other. I saw all their bikes.


There were the really tall dudes, but there were also people my own age, some younger, and a lot older. “We get together, sometimes,” said Ballard. “Everyone in the neighborhood is invited, of course.”

“Of course,” I said, wishing I would stop feeling so uncomfortable. What was I doing here? Ballard, I had to hand it to him, did his best not to make me feel like a stranger. Before we went to meet everyone, I asked him about the wall. Now that I was here I could see it properly.

“That’s a long story,” he said. “It was built by the ancient Romans to keep out invading hordes. So I guess it’s not that long a story.” He smiled, goofily. “It’s pretty freaky, though. It goes everywhere. It circles old Rome.”

“So that’s where we are now? Old Rome?”

“Then there’s the pomerium. There’s a story, would you like to hear it? About Rome’s founders, Romulus and Remus.”

I listened, nodding for him to continue. Lia came over instead.

“Not keeping her to yourself, are you, little bro?” she said. She looked me over. I felt a part of her sizing me up. It was nice of her to speak English, though. “We were never properly introduced,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Lia.”

She waited for me to take it.

“Halsey... Rookmaaker,” I said.

“Well, Halsey Rookmaaker, what brings you all the way from––wait, where are you from?”

“I... Massachusetts,” I said. “That’s in the––”

“I know where it is. How do you know my brother so well?”

“Like I said, we wrote to one another.”

“It’s called the Internet,” said Ballard, inventing quickly. “I met her in a chat room. We have the same interests.”

“You like Manchester United, too?” She looked at me.

“Actually...”

“So it’s something secret. I have my eyes on both of you.” She poked Ballard in the stomach. “It’s nice to meet you, Halsey. Enjoy yourself tonight. Just make sure you don’t turn this one’s head, all right? I don’t think he’s ever even talked to a girl before.”

“Hey!” he said. She left us to meet some other friends.

“I think she just... cockblocked you,” I said, somewhat. He just laughed. And then he couldn’t stop.

“I told you. She’s like mother hen. Don’t let it get to you, though. Once she’s someone’s friend, it’s to the death. I know a lot of people who would go to war with Lia. Some who would go to it for her.”

He pointed.

I turned and saw the most gorgeous man I had ever seen in my life. He made the fountain that was in the center of the piazza look tiny. His arms in the pullover he wore were stunningly ripped––huge, broad shoulders. He looked like a stalking panther. His perfect bronze skin disappeared into designer clothing.

“That’s Gaven. Every girl I know wants to be with him,” said Ballard. “He chose Lia instead. Go figure.”

I sighed. “He’s...”

“You can say it.”

“Wow. I mean... Is he one of you, too?”

Ballard considered. “By one of me, do you mean all of them? They have this whole thing, Halls. They get up to weird stuff. I wake up sometimes at night and hear them all zipping around. I swear to god, they have motorcycles on the brain. Not one of them works.”

“How do they afford all... that?” I swept my arm across the vista of shining racing bikes. “I mean, all those bikes must cost a fortune.”

“That’s just it. I don’t know what they get up to. I tried asking Lia, but she tells me to mind my own business, like I’m getting on her nerves or something. It gets pretty tiring fixing all of them, too. Lia just says it’s helping them out. Like I should just spend all my time doing them favors. I swear, my two older brothers had it right. They just got out. I think they live in some place called Fresno, wherever that is.” He shrugged. “Let’s go get some grub. You look like you’re malnourished or something.”

I held my hands up to my hair. No wonder Lia was looking at me like that.

“So are you going to tell me about Romulus and Remus?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said, and then made a moaning sound. “Mmm... spare ribs...” He grabbed a paper plate and unstuck a bunch. “Help yourself,” he said.

“They were twin brothers who founded Rome.”

“Okay,” I said, dishing up. The moon and stars were out early tonight. I watched them wheel overhead.

“So it’s a really big deal, especially for us.”

I listened on, intrigued. “Why is it a big deal for you?”

He ate his grub. “Before that there were a lot of so-called ‘outlaws.’ They were the ancestors of our people. They roamed the countryside, the campagna, around Rome and elsewhere, homeless savages looking for a place to call their own. Lia and I––all of us––we are what’s left of them.”

“Savages?” I said, holding up a spare rib with my fingers. The meat melted right off the bone; it was absolutely delicious. I think we both licked our fingers a lot. Ballard was a natural storyteller. I could tell he kept so much in reserve, doling it out. I listened for more.

“They were called the feral children,” he said, “they seemed to be all our age. Them, I mean––” he pointed to Gaven and all his hangers-on. “No one older than thirty. It was so bad, the people wondered, ‘Who are these savages? And why are there no old men and women?’ They figured the feral children must eat them. It’s good, no?”

“Sì, Signor Ballard.”

“They figured the feral children were savages and must feed on the blood of their own kind. The land was full of blood drinkers. No laws. Outlaws. Romulus became the first ‘King,’ so-called. I don’t want to jump ahead of myself. Have you tried one of these?”

He put down his plate, and wiped off his hands with a paper napkin. In a big barrel filled with ice was enough Succo del Gatto to last the summer! I smiled in spite of myself. “I love those!” I said. He nodded his approval. Soon we were both drinking them and eating the spare ribs. Everywhere people had the red with gold foil. It gave a kick to the back of the throat, like a wake-up call. I listened astutely. He started to talk about how they did not get along.

“Romulus and Remus were at each other’s throats,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “It’s a foundation myth. Every culture has them.”

“They unified the tribes?” I asked.

“Basically... yes,” said Ballard. “Until then, the countryside was filled with wanderers. As soon as the two brothers established Rome––where, basically, it has been kept all of these millennia––there was no resting place for the fuorilegge, the outlaws. But it’s more interesting than that.

“They were royal, these two brothers. The offspring of the highest. It is the old story. There was a prophecy.”

“Isn’t there always?” I said.

“The wannabe ruler, who thought himself so high, well, when he heard the prophecy about these two, and how they would someday overthrow him, he plotted, he thought and he planned. How to eliminate a threat to us, he wondered? For So-and-So was destined to bear special children; they would be the ruin of him.”


I think we were both enjoying the Succo del Gatto a little too much. Ballard had a manic light in his eyes.

“Rhea Silvia gave birth to them, and behold, they were mighty––plump and squirmy, but mighty. Their uncle saw their little fingers grasping for him and he thought they grasped for his crown. So, in a jerk move, he ordered them left to the elements. Death by exposure.”

I listened on, awestricken. “Oh no,” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “Those poor little infants were to be thrown to the wolves. Except everything went wrong. As you know, prophecies are tricky things. A she-wolf found them and suckled them. They fed at the many strong teats of the she-wolf. In time, they grew mighty and strong.

“And then they started bickering about where such-and-such should be built, and Romulus punked his brother. Yea.”

He nourished himself on his Succo del Gatto, and laughed. “So what do you think about our story?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Definitely,” he said.

“Okay, don’t get mad, but I think you’re the worst storyteller of all times.”

“Naturally.” He beamed with a certain pride.

I ate my spare rib, making a pile of them. And worked some more on my Succo del Gatto. “What you’re describing is like, I dunno, carving for one’s self. Do you know what that means?” I said.

“Uh-uh.”

“Well, you have these two twins. I mean, obviously they were young and everything. It sounds like they came from a kingdom that was already established, Ballard. And there were two of them, right?” I held up my fingers like I was making a point. “Double trouble. It’s like, How can I be anything, if I have to fight with my brother?”

“Exactly,” said Ballard.

“So they decide to wander the earth. Searching. Until they finally find this place, but now they can’t agree on what they should do, because there are two of them.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” said Ballard.

“I’m fine.” I held up my two fingers. “Where was I?”

“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.