Free The Wiccan Diaries by T.D. McMichael Page A

teenager
with oily jeans and a torn T-shirt appeared, carrying a rag in his hand, and
said, “What, Lia?” He had brown eyes, curly black hair, and a pair of goggles
on top of his head. He looked at each of us, waiting for somebody to talk.
    “Buon giorno,” I
said, feeling like a fool. “I got your letter.” His smile widened.

 
    Chapter 6 – Lennox

 
    I pulled into the underground parking garage thankful for
the respite from the July sun, which had been beating upon the hood of Occam’s
Charger. It was the start of the shift change at Police HQ. I had driven
because in his wisdom Occam had installed bulletproof tinted glass that kept
the sun’s rays at bay. He said it was just because he wanted to look cool, but
I knew he did it for me. He had made his ride vamp accessible, in case I ever
needed to use it. I crossed my fingers, hoping his trip was going well. Occam
never left home unless it was an absolute emergency and even then he
procrastinated until the final moment; all in the name of research, as he so
often told me. His house was awash in books and half-forgotten parchments, the
kinds with cracked leather bindings that were handwritten and illuminated.
    Some were so old the pages were spilling out. They were worn
and smelled faintly of mildew. His arcana .
I was forbidden to touch them. If one were so much as out of place....
    I sighed.
    For the last eight hours I had been hard-pressed to get her
out of my mind. I thought of nothing except what I was going to say to her, the
next time we met. It interfered with my ability to concentrate on anything
else.
    I tried looking into necromancy, but Occam’s stores of
knowledge on the subject were exhaustive. I was in no fit state to bury my head
in books. My preference was always to enlist the help of others, when at all
possible, rather than to rely on textbook explanations for
things––to press the flesh, so to speak.
    That was not to say I could not piece things together for
myself.
    I had cultivated very few close
relationships––too often that meant revealing one’s self to
someone, and letting them in on the secret existence of our kind. See rule
number one. It was absolutely forbidden.
    The only justifiable excuse in revealing yourself to a
non-vampire was if it meant the difference between the life and death of a
vampire. Humans dying was another matter. Let
them.
    The second rule was not to interfere in the affairs of
humans.
    There was only one other Law of Vampires.
    I flashed my lights at a member of the Questura who was
headed across the half-empty parking garage to a set of lifts that would take
him upstairs. He looked over.
    I saw recognition dawn upon his face. He raised his hand and
came over.
    It was a singular experience to see a human and know they knew who I was. That was a death
sentence, generally––for the human, and the vampire, unless the vampire could explain what was going
on.
    Lieutenant Moretti had ten years working Homicide. Before
that he had been a beat cop. He got a call one night and responded to a
disturbance.
    It turned out two ‘vampers’ had set upon a night watchman at
this or that museum. Moretti was the first on the scene. He managed to save the
night watchman, but drew the ire of the vampires. I happened to be there.
    He drew his pistol and stopped one vampire dead in its
tracks–– he thought . I did
not manage to get to him in time.
    When he rolled over, with part of his face hanging from his
chin, he fired. The bullet tore through the second vamper who had been about to
run me through. Time was critical and I couldn’t bother to be discreet. Both of
our lives were on the line. I ran the second vampire through.
    Moretti witnessed firsthand the destruction of two immortals, that night. It cost him
his innocence, in a way. Ordinarily, I was supposed to come up with a cover
story. Only, I could not explain away what happened to the vampires he had
helped to kill. “They disappeared into thin air!” he