Page 47 of I Will Always Find You
The Romani witch heard several ribs crack.
Baba Yaga spat a thick, viscous phlegm onto the floor of her hut before trudging forward. She kicked aside all sorts of debris, driven by her relentless desire to punish the Romani witch. When she reached her prey, she lifted him effortlessly as if he weighed no more than parchment, bringing him up to her eye level.
“Nok,” Baba Yaga uttered with little flourish and even less passion.
The Romani witch had no idea what language she spoke, but he discovered he could not move again.
“That power works both ways, little Romani witch,” the Cannibal Hag sneered. “I peeked into your mind and sawwhat you did. I know what you are! All for true love. How deliciously tragic. I saw so many lives lived. So much love and an equal amount of heartache. No, perhaps more of that savoury emotion! And you thought that any of this forged you into a witch my equal, possibly my better!?
“Foolish arrogance mixed with disrespect is an unforgivable offence. I will feast upon your magic slowly, tear into your soul piece by piece until you are nothing more than lifeless skin and bones, which I will consume at my leisure. And I shall do the same to your lover and all his family.
“What amuses me greatly is that just like the immortal Titan who easily dispatched you in Britannia—yes, I witnessed that, too—you are once again too weak and pathetic to do anything to prevent it.”
Baba Yaga squawked fiendishly as she tossed the Romani witch back upon the floor, discarded like trash. She immediately went about setting things in order. More ancient magical words were spoken, with large sweeps of her monstrous arms accompanying them, and every upturned item she possessed, from heavy furniture to the most trifling thing, righted itself, returning to its home location.
Amazingly, everything that was broken, smashed or shattered mended itself until it looked as it did before the Cannibal Hag’s great tantrum.
The worst part for the Romani witch was that he believed Baba Yaga was entirely correct; there was nothing he could do, not against such powerful sorcery. And now he and Aeneas would be parted again, having been given so little time together. A stabbing pain settled in his chest; his heart was breaking.
“I am sorry, my love, I have failed us—failed you—again,” the Romani witch lamented, tears welling in his eyes.
But then—!
A soft whisper emerged from the depths of his being, resonating like an echo inside his head and within his aching heart, as if a piece of his soul was reaching out, stirring with an urgent need to be heard.
“The ring.”
The Romani witch knew instantly that this was not his inner voice. Though it mimicked his own timbre and tone perfectly, it carried a foreign personality, as if someone else entirely had woven their words into his being. And the Romani witch could hardly believe that the name he was about to speak aloud in his mind was the only possible answer.
Pietro?
“Yes. Use the ring.”
The Romani witch understood that he did not have the luxury of time to consider the natural power Pietro must have possessed in life. To remain connected, even in the smallest way, to the soul he shared with another, when all others had faded away upon the Romani witch’s awakening, was a remarkable feat. To defy Hecate’s witchcraft, even slightly, indicated that Pietro had tremendous magical potential.Didhave.
However, time did not permit wandering thoughts.
He felt the simple band on his baby finger, as it was the only digit the ring would fit, and wondered how he could have forgotten it.
Believing wholeheartedly, as Abriana had instructed him, that the magic within the ring—or the magic that the ring could access—was his last resort, the only chance to save his and Damek’s life, the Romani witch clutched the ring tightly to his chest and recited the words of power.
“Che la Grande Oscurità li reclami!” he cried out, his voice reverberating throughout the hut.
At that moment, far away, in the Bianchi olive groves, Abriana felt her ring finger burn as she walked among the trees.
“The Romani has invoked the ring’s power,” she whispered into the wind.
Only, it was not the ring he wore she meant. Abriana’s wedding band held no power other than an enchantment linking it to the ring she currently wore upon her finger. This was a stunning piece: two black pearls united in a circle of pure silver, bejewelled with feldspar, which created a soft, flowing sheen that moved across the stone’s surface, and reinforced with Adamant, a metal of the gods, much like Celestial Bronze.
This was a special ring, magically empowered, one gifted to the Titaness Phoebe, the Lady of the Bright Moon, by her twin brother, the Titan Coeus, Lord of the Starry Firmament.
Abriana had received this ring from her mother, who had, in turn, received it from her mother, and so on down a long line of witches. It was found centuries ago along the shore of the Tyrrhenian Sea by one of Abriana’s maternal ancestors. Why it was no longer on the Titaness’ finger was a mystery never solved.
When the ancestral coven unearthed the ring’s origins and learned what it could do, a discovery that had taken the life of the one who wore it then, the Tuscan witches became the keepers of the precious bauble.
Tossing the piece back into the sea was too dangerous a proposal to ever consider; the wise women feared it might find its way back to shore and end up in unscrupulous hands.
The ring was imbued with a portion of both Titans’ power, unified—a symbol of their connection. It could also open a door to the Shadow Realm, where the living darkness dwelt.
