Page 31 of I Will Always Find You
How I used to love to twist my fingers around your silver hair, bisnonna, as we—no, no, no! Stop! You did not do that. You are not him!
The Romani witch found he had difficulty separating himself from Pietro’s experiences; this had never happened before with any other pre-existing consciousness.
Breathe, it will pass.The Romani witch took several large breaths. It did help settle him.Why are you wrapped in that cocoon of heavy wool on such a stifling night, woman?
The Romani witch was deeply concerned about Abriana, even though it felt like he had just met her that morning. It was always a disconcerting experience to finally be himself while still feeling overwhelmed by the memories of another’s life, no matter how short that life had been. This uncomfortableness was why healways left as quickly as possible from any family or situation he found himself in upon awakening.
Something is wrong with her, though I sense nothing physical, no ailment of the body. Her aura shows no turmoil, but she is a powerful witch and could be masking it. Yes, leaving now, before she can sense anything amiss about me, is the sound action.
That morning, when the Romani witch opened Pietro’s eyes— now his eyes—and knew immediately who he was, he had noticed the older woman was also awake and staring intently at him from her bed. She held such a pained expression, with tears in her eyes.
As he got out of bed and came toward her to offer some solace, still led by a haunting sense of familial concern and connection, Abriana had turned away from him and sobbed into her blanket.
She had remained in that state all day until finally falling asleep at dusk.
I recall your remarkable ability to lift people’s spirits with your contagious laughter. I am truly sorry, great lady, but I do not know how to help you, and time is not on my side to figure it out. I must leave. I hope you find yourself with a merrier spirit in the morning.
After the Romani witch collected a few articles of clothing, he went down the creaky wooden stairs to the main living area.
Upon reaching the bottom, he scolded himself for not thinking to use his gifts. He could have cast a simple levitation spell or summoned his will to move matter—his own body, in this case—to glide silently above the stairs as he willed himself downward.
Luckily, it appeared no one had awakened from the noise.
Grateful for the moonlight streaming through the windows, illuminating the space, the Romani witch quickly gathered enough food from the cupboards to last him a week.
He placed his clothes and the foodstuffs into the leather satchel Pietro kept hanging on a peg next to the front door, alongside his coat. He intended to take both items, along with Pietro’s sturdiest boots, with him on his long journey.
Finally, feeling prepared enough to start his adventure, the Romani witch moved toward the oak door.
“Do we mean so little to you that you would leave like a thief in the night? Not even a brief letter explaining your departure? Do you care nothing for our feelings of loss nor the crushing pain in our hearts that will follow your disappearance?”
The Romani witch turned to see Abriana at the foot of the stairs, holding a lit candle and staring at him. The flickering flames illuminated her heavily-lined face as she gazed at him with eyes full of sorrow.
“Bisnonna, I can explain, I—”
“You may cease your performance,” Abriana declared boldly, interrupting the Romani witch. “I know who you are, Romani. I am quite aware of what has transpired.”
The Romani witch shot a bewildered glance at the old woman. However, his stunned demeanour lingered only momentarily before realizing he was silly to seem so surprised by this revelation. “Your gift of foresight. Of course. I want you to know that I mean you no harm. I understand how difficult it must be for you to accept that Pietro is gone, and for this I am deeply sorry.”
Abriana shifted her gaze away from the Romani witch, fighting to keep her tears at bay. Though a mixture of grief and anguish clawed at her very soul, she managed to press her despair down into the dark recesses of her heart.
Clenching her fists, Abriana gathered the strength to voice the words that weighed heavily on her tongue before the enigmatic stranger, draped in the shadows of her home, left forever, taking the body of her beloved Pietro with him.
“I know he is dead and that you have killed him, though without malice or evil intent. I discovered and accepted my beloved Pietro’s fate long ago. There was nothing I could do to change it. Make no mistake, Romani, I did try to destroy you! How I tried.”
A few tears slipped down Abriana’s cheeks.
“You are of The Craft, like me, great lady, though not of Romani witch-blood. I take no offence at your attempt to change Pietro’s fate. In truth, I respect it more than you realize. For I, too, once did something similar for myself. You could never have changed this outcome, so do not burden yourself with the thought that you have failed Pietro. When I altered my own fate, it was through a potent magic, one that defies the very Wheel of Destiny.”
The Romani witch kept Hecate’s name and her direct involvement to himself.
Abriana took some solace in the confirmation that it had been something far beyond her power that thwarted her magic. It still did nothing to assuage her pain of defeat and the loss of her beloved Pietro.
“There is something I cannot get my head around,” the Romani witch stated plainly. “You trained Pietro in the ways of your magic from a young age. You must have seen in your visions that I would come to possess this power, all the knowledge of your witchcraft and Pietro’s skill in utilizing it, though I am not of your people or your coven. Why would you do this? Am I not the usurper to be hated, not empowered?”
As silent as a phantom, Abriana approached her chair, where she did her needlepoint and reading; she was one of the few women in the area who could read. She sat down, taking her time, and when she was comfortable, she placed the candleholder on the small table next to the chair.
With a heavy heart, she folded her hands, took a deep breath, and recounted to the Romani witch what had occurred in her vision, the one given to her the day Pietro turned nine.
