Page 73 of I Will Always Find You
One week after Marshall’s death, the Romani witch also passed away, his demise more a result of a broken heart than anything the doctors could pinpoint. Though they ultimately listed the reason as “natural causes,” it was clear that inconsolable grief was what truly claimed him.
Cassian, though he still hated airplanes, had travelled the world with Marshall, who continued his career in the film industry until his early retirement at fifty. The decision to retire was largely influenced by Cassian’s wish to spend their time together, free from the demands of outside obligations. They settled in Toronto, a metropolis they had come to love, though they visited Québec City every year, always in late August, spending a week at the Château Frontenac, the place where they first met.
Because Marshall lacked mystical abilities, Cassian concealed his magical nature throughout their life together, not out of shame or fear of being discovered, but because it made life easier. After centuries of the chaos and complications magic had brought him, especially the darker side of magic, he craved a simpler, more ordinary existence, at least for one life.
In his sixties, Cassian had created a false identity for his future self under his own name: a grandson. Upon his death, which would follow the death of Aeneas’ host body, as it always did, all their wealth, investments, properties, and accumulated possessions would be held in trust, maintained by the law firm of Castle Dunning and Briggs, for this wayward relative who would one day, at his convenience, claim the inheritance.
Of course, this man was destined to be the Romani witch himself, reborn.
Cassian’s karmic rebirth took place in 2001, and when his memories resurfaced at sixteen, he eagerly shed his former life: that of a lonely foster child with no family to call his own. At eighteen, he left Italy and flew to Toronto, Canada, where he claimed the inheritance, having taken on the identity of Cassian Collingsworth to solidify his new life and begin his search for Aeneas’ soul.
In an unprecedented span of less than a month, he found the man who was the reincarnation of his beloved: Aric Priestly. Cassian discovered that not only was the man a Canadian resident living in Halifax, but he had also been born in 2001. They were the same age, a striking coincidence—and another unprecedented event. Aeneas had always been the older one, a constant across their lifetimes, until now.
What was truly remarkable was how exactly Aric resembled Aeneas from his first life in Pompeii. When Cassian first set eyes on the man in late November of 2019, he felt as though time had merged, bringing his beloved back to life. A resurrection rather than a reincarnation.
Aric’s skin was a rich, sun-kissed bronze, and his eyes were a piercing jade green. His hair was the perfect shade of red, neither too bright nor too dull, but just the right mix of warmth and vibrancy, as if the gods had weaved it from the light of a sunset. His stature and build mirrored that of the adult Aeneas.
Aric carried an air of both myth and reality, as though Aeneas himself had stepped out of history and into the present, looking like someone from Gen Z and notSpartacus.
At just eighteen, Aric was already charting an ambitious path as a second-year Honour Roll student in the Architecture and Planning Department at Dalhousie University, specializing in urban design. But his brilliance did not end there. A self-published OwnVoices author, he had penned five queer fantasy novels by the time he started his first year of University.
Yet, what truly set Aric apart from the mundane world was the magic in his blood: he was a practicing witch, a member of a small local coven. His abilities were passed down from his Egyptian mother, Neith, a formidable mystic in her own right who had recently returned to Cairo after a painful divorce from Aric’s father.
Mark Priestly was a kind man who loved and supported his son in almost every way, including his sexuality. But witchcraft was something he did not understand, and it frightened him. His disdain was not religiously motivated; he was a man of science, a professor, and magic held no place in his worldview. Aric had learned to keep that facet of his life away from his dad.
When Cassian discovered these parts of Aric’s life, along with his appearance, he felt the unmistakable pull of providence. How could he not? There were too many coincidences, threads binding them not just to each other in this modern era, but to lives long past.
The most haunting of all was this: Cassian’s newest body was a mirror of his original form, the one he had in Pompeii.
Some unseen power was on their side, an invisible hand turning against the enigmatic and obstinate Wheel of Destiny. Cassian did not know who or what it was, only that it had tilted the scales in their favour. And so he offered silent thanks to all who might be weaving luck on their side: The Fates, the goddess Fortuna, ancient Terra, and most of all, Hecate—the shadowed witch-goddess who saved him from an eternity spent without his beloved and to whom he would always show gratitude.
Cassian first met Aric at a book signing event for him at a local independent coffeehouse; their eyes connected across the room as the Romani witch got in line to have a book signed, even though he had never read any of Aric’s novels.
Before Cassian could whisper an enchantment or cast a single spell to aid his cause, including the Spell of Recollection, Aric had stepped forward and approached him, saying to him with quiet conviction that the minute they locked eyes, he knew he was gifted, like him, and that the universe meant for them to meet that day and to be in each other’s lives forever.
It was a heavy declaration, but Cassian had replied that he felt the same way and that magic binds together those who had been and were always meant to be. Aric had understood completely without anything more needing to be said. Their auras, perhaps their very souls, had instantly recognized one another and connected.
Cassian had relocated from Toronto to Halifax, moved in with Aric, and, after six months together, proposed. They were married later that same year. Shortly after Aric graduated from Dalhousie, the two returned to Toronto and settled into the grand Victorian home in Rosedale where Cassian had once lived with Marshall. Aric had secured a job with the city while continuing to pursue his writing career.
The Romani witch, meanwhile, was content to live off their wealth, unburdened by mundane responsibilities. His passion had always been magical study and other esoteric pursuits.
“I can’t believe we’re finally seeing this on the big screen,” Aric said with a grin, standing beside his husband as he paid for their tickets. The theatre’s small but welcoming lobby was quiet as they were the only ones at the box office. Most people had preordered online, as they usually did, but this outing had been a spontaneous decision.
“Plus, it’s a queer classic, right? Even though Pitt and Banderas don’t kiss. What’s that about? I’ve watched this film a dozen times on TV, but there’s something about watching it here that makes it feel more impactful, you know?”
Cassian’s lips curled into a half-smile. “Sure, my love.”
“Oh, stop, I know you aren’t a huge vampire fan, but you love me, so it evens out,” Aric laughed. “I do appreciate you coming.” Getting close to his husband’s ear, he whispered, “I’ll show you how much I appreciate it later tonight.”
Smacking his husband’s ass with a mischievous grin, Aric turned toward the restrooms. “Grab our seats, hon!” he called over his shoulder, already moving through the soft glow of the lobby lights. “Back in a sec!”
Cassian got their popcorn and drinks and went into the theatre to search for their seats.
Inside, the subtle chatter of fellow moviegoers filled the air, the collective excitement for the film almost tangible. Cassian appreciated how The Revue retained much of its historic character, with a single-screen auditorium featuring sloped floors, a balcony, and a high ceiling with original architectural details. Plush red seats and heavy velvet curtains framed the screen, preserving the atmosphere of a bygone era. Cassian appreciated history; he sometimes felt like a relic himself.
The Romani witch scanned the crowd, noting people of all ages in attendance—but when he turned to his left, the true extent of that range struck him like a jolt. His breath caught. He blinked twice, unsure if his eyes were playing tricks on him.
They were not.
