Page 56 of I Will Always Find You
“Another truth is that the Black School, should it rise again, has no interest in you, not in your rescue nor your welfare, Alejandro. They traded you for what they believed to be Baba Yaga’s grimoire faster than the blink of an eye. You’re dead to them.”
“That may be true,” Alejandro sneered, “but my heart is dead to the world and especially to you. I will never love you if that is truly what you desire. How pathetic you are. Though you insist we have met in the past and that we once meant something dear to each other, I cannot believe such a thing is true. I have told you time and time again that I was at the Black School by the age of thirteen! I have had no experiences of lust, certainly not love. You mean nothing to me, to my heart—if I even possess one. You will never make me love you.”
“Nothing is immutable when true love is involved,” the Romani witch stated with confidence. “I would never force you to love me, An—Alejandro. You would never need to, for you do have one, a heart, no matter how buried under layers of darkness and the scars of abuse and manipulation. And I dwell within there! I’ll find that sliver of love, that small piece of your true self, and I’ll ignite it like Greek fire and free your soul.”
Alejandro raised an eyebrow in profound curiosity. “You did it again,” he grinned, though it was an affectation most sinister.
“Did what, beloved?”
“You began to say a name and then quickly switched to my own. Who exactly do you think I am? Are you mad, believing I am some other man who would foolishly love a pitiful wretch like you? Is that why I am in this predicament? An absurd mistake of identity?! I shall never be this person you love, and I hope this knowledge eats away at your soul like flesh decomposing off a rotting corpse.”
The hateful words were like a sharp slap across the Romani witch’s face. He found himself at a loss for words, unsure of how to respond to accusations that had never been voiced during their time together, whether on the road or in this small room.
Am I wrong? Are you truly lost to me in this life, Aeneas?
Something unexpectedly snapped inside the Romani witch: his resolve.
What if love isn’t enough this time? Is the price of using Baba Yaga’s dark magic so high, demanding my misery throughout this entire life? What if—no, I couldn’t. This is a fleeting moment of weakness. But—what if?
The Romani witch was stunned by his own thoughts. Was he really considering this absurd idea? Was he seriously contemplating embedding his memories of Aeneas into Alejandro’s mind?
It was a ludicrous notion, but nothing else had proven effective. Not physical affection, conversation or even magic. The Romani witch was acutely aware of the lethal consequences of such an action. Yet, he wondered, what if doing something drastic was the only way to break the hold that the dark teachings of the Black School had on Alejandro.
Would spending a single night with the man he loved more than his own life—the one buried so deep within the Spaniard—be preferable to a lifetime of frustration spent battling malevolence and trying to cleanse a pure soul of such a relentless, dark taint?
The Romani witch was so confused.
And so desperate.
“Alejandro—Aen—”
Only the Romani witch was unable to complete that life-changing word, that unbelievable choice.
With a deafening roar, an iron cannonball erupted through the south wall of their cramped room, its violent impact reducingthe once-sturdy stucco and stone to a cloud of dust and debris. Wooden beams splintered like mere twigs, and the force of the blast sent Alejandro’s head flying backward, nearly snapping off.
In what felt like a horrifying, slow-motion moment, the cannonball hurtled past the former Black Monk, leaving a trail of chaos in its wake before crashing through the north wall and vanishing into the neighbouring room, bringing further destruction to the once tranquil inn. Hampered by his invisible bondage, he was lucky to have just barely evaded the deadly projectile.
The Romani witch was not so fortunate.
As a heavy pine beam came crashing down, he leaped aside and managed to escape its path. However, in the process, he accidentally hit his head hard on the corner of a walnut dresser, knocking himself unconscious. The pine beam then struck the dresser, causing it to topple over and trap the Romani witch beneath the heavy piece of furniture.
Coughing violently from the dust and debris in the air, Alejandro quickly assessed his situation. As he looked around the room, he could not see his captor. However, he immediately noticed that the devastation caused by the cannonball had destroyed most of the sigils. Those that remained, he had a strong belief, were insufficient to suppress his magic.
With a fierce determination, Alejandro cast an unweaving counterspell, shouting, “Catenae invisibiles, me liberate!” [“Invisible chains, release me!”] He took a deep breath and, with fervour, reversed the order of the words, his voice echoing thunderously. Finally, he let out a triumphant roar, “Incantatio dissoluta est!” [“The spell is undone!”]
The invisible chains of enchantment instantly vanished, granting Alejandro his liberation.
“Where are you, witch? I will find you and make sure you breathe no more!”
Then he quickly reconsidered. If his former captor were still alive, he would fight tooth and nail to get him back under his control, and Alejandro could not risk such a confrontation, at least, not yet. He realized his confinement had severely depleted his mana.
The months of magical suppression had inadvertently weakened Alejandro’s connection to his magic. Casting the spell to destroy the conjured chains and manifesting its success through his willpower had proven far more taxing on him than he had anticipated.
If the Romani witch was dead, that would be ideal; if not, Alejandro decided that revenge would have to wait for another time. He felt it prudent to be far away from his powerful tormentor, in a place where he could safely plan his next move and rebuild his magical strength. Then, when his former captor least expected it, he would return to claim his vengeance.
Death, but not before torture and torment.
As Alejandro waded through the debris, the sound of his black leather boots crunching against fallen plaster and shattered glass filled the air. He was relieved to be dressed appropriately for outdoor travel, wearing fine trousers, a black silk shirt, a velvet waistcoat, and a black silk cravat, rather than already being in his long drawers for sleeping.
