Page 80 of I Will Always Find You
“That doesn’t sound good,” the Romani witch remarked, unease creeping into his voice.
“You need to understand what you are sacrificing for immortality. It’s easy to see what you are gaining, but when magic is involved, there’s always a cost. You already know this. For both you and Aeneas, the price of becoming immortal is the loss of your magic.”
Cassian nearly choked on his incredulity. “My magic?” he questioned as he stood up and faced the immortals. “I’m not giving up my magic! It’s who I am as a witch, as a Romani! It runs in my blood, tied to the very soil of my homeland. Even Hecate herself said so. Give up my magic?! The idea is absurd!”
“Please, calm yourself, my friend,” Coriolanus said gently, raising a hand. “Let Olympius explain.”
“Fine, but you’re wasting your time driving down this avenue. Such a thing isn’t even possible.”
Cassian recoiled as if struck. The wordsbloodanddrinkerechoed in his mind, clashing violently with everything he thought he understood about magic and immortality. He began to wonder if this whole immortality idea was just another trick of the Wheel of Destiny.
Olympius regarded the Romani witch with a calm, almost apologetic gaze. “Cassian, you must understand. Coriolanus and I are not the same kind of immortal as Hecate.” He paced slowly, choosing each word with deliberate care “Our immortality is bound to the mortal realm through our godly ichor. Not metaphorically, but literally. We consume human blood to sustain ourselves, to replenish, to strengthen the magic threaded through our veins. It isn’t a choice. It’s the nature of what we are as blood-drinkers.”
Cassian said nothing, but his silence was taut with doubt and distress.
Olympius continued, his voice steady. “Yes, our blood all originates from the same ancient source, but time, magic, and fate have shaped it into many forms. My lineage is one. Hecate is another. As far as I know, she has only bestowed her gift of immortality three times. To Circe, Medea, and the mysterious Comte de Saint Germain. If there have been others, in distant lands, I cannot say.”
He paused, letting the distinction settle.
“Hers is a purity of magic, a form of immortality drawn directly from the power within her blood that refreshes her daily. Hecate is neither a day nor a night god, but something else entirely. Unique to herself. Mine, passed down from my Makers, is something more biological and also tied to the night, to the Shadow Realm. We are not the same. Do you understand?”
Cassian wanted to say he did not, but that would be a lie. Still, he remained silent, too afraid to admit the truth.
“What Olympius is saying, my friend,” Coriolanus interjected smoothly, “is that by joining our lineage, you will forfeit your ability to wield magic. The knowledge will remain, for it will always be part of you, but the Titan blood will act as a barrier, permanently cutting you off from its use.
“In its place, however, you’ll gain powers no less wondrous! As a night god, you’ll wield dominion over darkness itself, including access to the enigmatic Shadow Realm. Your body will become something far beyond mortal flesh, for what the legends and fictions say is true, only more so. Unimaginable strength. You will be impossibly fast, and your flesh will be invulnerable to all but your own will and fang and claw. Wounds that would destroy any mortal will heal as if they never were.
“Beyond the physical, you’ll awaken psychic gifts, like telepathy, telekinesis, pyrokinesis, and more. You will be able to fly at incredible speeds! These powers will come to you as naturally as breath, woven into the very fabric of your immortal self. No spells, rituals or incantations needed.Thisis what it means to become a blood-drinker. And more than all that, you’ll share eternity with Aeneas, united in one unchanging form. Tell me, isn’t that trade more than worth the loss of your witchcraft?”
“This isn’t just about power, Gian! It’s more than that. It’s my heritage, my identity. I—I need some time to think, to process this. I can’t, I mean, I don’t know what to do.”
For the second time that day, Cassian began to unravel.
Coriolanus pulled him into a quiet embrace, resting his chin atop his friend’s head. He wished he could choose for him, take away the burden, the pain that so often comes with impossible choices.
“Before anyone does anything here, we need to loop Aric in,” Olympius declared firmly. “He must make this decisionwith a full understanding of its implications. I will collect him. Rosedale, you said?”
Coriolanus nodded. Answering for Cassian, who was still reeling from the information he had just received, he silently mouthed a house number and street address.
“You could have just sent that straight into my head, my immortal beloved.”
Olympius, amused by Coriolanus’ eye-roll, gave an exaggerated sigh, conjured a door-sized portal of inky blackness, and stepped through without another psychic word given. A few moments later, he returned with Aric in tow.
“What the hell did you do to him?” Aric sprinted toward his husband as Coriolanus instinctively backed away. The two witches embraced, and Aric shot a daggered glare at the immortals.
“It’s okay, Cass. I’m here now.”
As the witches withdrew into their private world of psychic communion, Coriolanus walked over to Olympius and slipped an arm around him. “This isn’t going well,” he whispered low enough that only an immortal’s ears could catch it. “So, what do you think we should do? I opened this Pandora’s box, and I’m not sorry. This is the right course of action. I just never thought losing the ability to cast a fucking spell would be such a deal-breaker, especially considering all the cool shit we can do. No, that’s arrogant and dismissive. Cassian’s right, this is also about his heritage. What do you think, Hon?”
Silence.
“Hon?”
Coriolanus looked down and froze. Olympius’ expression was distant, yet his eyes narrowed, and his focus seemed intense. But on what? His head twitched slightly, his neck shifting as if locked in some silent debate with himself.
“Olympius, what the hell are you doing?” Coriolanus asked, a note of alarm creeping into his voice.
The Lord of the Night pulled away from his beloved and, without answering or even acknowledging him, walked into their bedroom again and shut the door.
