Page 32 of I Will Always Find You
She dulled no detail, no matter how gory or dreadful. However, for the moment, she withheld one crucial piece of information: the location of the Romani witch’s demise.
“The man with the red hair in your vision, Abriana, is my Aeneas, my heart, my soul, my everything. I have found a way to return to him, lifetime after lifetime, for the Wheel of Destiny would have us separated for all eternity. And I will not have that.”
Abriana asked the Romani witch if he understood why she had used Pietro as a conduit to impart her witchcraft to him.
He nodded solemnly. “Despite all my power and all the wondrous magical knowledge acquired over centuries, I was still not strong enough to save us from this monster.”
This revelation cut deep. One of the reasons the Romani witch continued studying magic in each new life was to grow in power, to prepare for the inevitable day he would again face the immortal demon from Britannia, who had withstood and conquered his most powerful spell at the time. That damnable blood-drinker who had killed the lovers so brutally, ripping the beating heart from the chest of each.
The symbolism of it did not escape the Romani witch; it filled him with a seething rage. He wanted revenge.
The Romani witch had accumulated many powerful new spells in his magical arsenal over the centuries. Additionally, he had concealed several enchanted weapons imbued with potent magic throughout the land, ready to be retrieved and used against his enemies, particularly the blood-drinker. To discover that none of these had been enough to best this sorceress, immortal or not, tormented him. What more could he do? What more could he learn? How much darker must his witchcraft become?
“You wish to aid me, Abriana, the great witch of the Tuscan hills, to help my love survive this beast’s attack. But is it only about what is right, what is good? Light triumphing over darkness? Or was it seeing the body of your beloved Pietro savaged and consumed by that monster that stirred you to action?”
“Can it not be all of those things?” Abriana asked sincerely.
The Romani witch proffered the older woman a friendly smile, his dark eyes in the glow of the candlelight reflecting a deep understanding of the woman’s struggles and hopes, all that intertwined with the selfless gift of her witchcraft—the culmination of a lifetime’s magic. “Yes, it can.”
Something close to warmth flickered across Abriana’s weathered face as she returned the Romani witch’s smile. Although it appeared to lack the strength of conviction, her offering of thoughtful emotion was genuine nonetheless.
“Abriana, please know I do not take this gift or your family’s sacrifice lightly or without empathy—your pain especially. I appreciate that you bear no hatred toward me due to my fate, my resurrection, and Pietro’s role in it. Understand that I hold no power over the choice of consciousness of the individual with whom I briefly share a soul—my soul.
“And that you show no cruel judgment toward my heart’s desire, my love for Aeneas, well, you cannot know what this means to me, especially in these hateful modern times, ruled more and more by religious zealots.”
Abriana waved her hand in the air as if dismissing nonsense.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of. Nor did my Pietro. Love, like magic, is all around us, varied in appearance, understanding, and application. Like our witchcraft, it is tied to our very being, as I told Pietro not too long ago when I saw that his heart was in torment from solitariness and suppression despite his words to the contrary.
“We hugged so tightly that day, do you recall? Oh, the freedom he found, not just in knowingmyunderstanding and acceptancebut his own, seeing at last that he was perfect just as he is—was.”
Choking up, Abriana felt the sting of her fateful word choices like a dagger to her heart. More tears streamed down her cheek. She could no longer maintain her composure or hold back her heartache.
Before the Romani witch could offer solace with gentle words or a comforting embrace, Abriana pressed on, her voice trembling but with unwavering strength and conviction.
“He would have loved one like your Aeneas as you do, Romani. Through you, your life, your love, I shall experience Pietro’s passion, his affection, his tenderness—the romance that age, opportunity, and The Fates denied him. That is why you must survive this coming darkness.
“Do you see, Romani? Through you, I will remain connected to my Pietro until my time on this plane ends, even if I never glimpse your face again. I will know.I will feel him. Even when departed, we are all connected in The Craft. Blessed Hecate, praise her.”
Suddenly, the Romani witch felt a certain comfort, a warm glow expanding within his heart. It was an emotion not tied to Pietro’s memories of his great-grandmother but rather one of his own, newly formed for a stranger who had become something more.
The Romani witch walked briskly towards Abriana, knelt before her, and embraced her. He was gentle, careful not to harm the old woman’s fragile form; though her vim and vigour often masked it, her advanced age was undeniable.
In a low voice, with a most serious tone, he made a solemn pledge to Abriana and, by association, the entire Bianchi family that they would all meet again one day.
Furrowing her brow in incredulity, Abriana pushed the Romani witch off her in a remarkable feat of strength and scoffed. “Do not lie to me, boy. I am old, not gullible. Although I have made peace with this situation, as anything else would drown me in despair, I neither need your pity nor require false promises.”
The Romani witch stepped back, allowing the older woman her space; there was no anger in his heart toward her abrupt dismissal or stony disbelief. He possessed only clarity of mind, a quiet compassion for what she was going through. He understood the weight of Abriana’s skepticism, the deep-rooted grievances etched into her features, the shadows of doubt that infused her broken heart.
“Please hear me, dear lady, for I speak true. If you desire this reunion, even choose to allow it if it does not seem blasphemous to you and would bring you a modicum of peace, I will return. If it shall spare your loved ones from the pain of tragedy, loss, and death, I will come back, not forever, but to show that Pietro lives and is well. I never make promises lightly, and I always keep them.
“This is a unique situation for me, Abriana. This emotional connection to you is something that I did not expect or, to be blunt, desired, but it exists nonetheless. I have never done anything like this with any family in any of my lifetimes. Come back to see them, relive any part of a life that was never mine? No. Never. Now, however, it feels right for me to return here to this life whenever possible once I have overcome this great evil and reunited with Aeneas.
“And while it may be a performance, I will be your Pietro, holding onto his memories to connect with you and your family to the best of my ability. I shall keep him alive in whatever way I can for those who love him and for those Pietro loved with all hisbeing. I do not need an emotional connection to those memories swimming in my head to understand that truth.”
As the Romani witch stood silently, Abriana took a moment to reflect on his heartfelt words. She looked again into Pietro’s dark, expressive eyes, knowing that no matter how hard she wanted it to be him looking back at her, it was not.
But then suddenly, like a pin prick upon her fingertip, she felt something profound: a sliver of Pietro’s essence within the spirit remained, unknown even to the Romani witch. If she just dug down with all her forces, the grace of Hecate with her, Abriana could hear him, ever so faintly, her beloved Pietro.
