Chapter Two
Rome
“No.” I snap my fingers, and his mouth is sewn shut. My best friend rolls his eyes and rubs his hand over his lips, canceling my spell.
“We’re going,” he says.
“You go. I am not.” I lounge back in my chair in front of the fire.
“You can’t stay in your dreary castle forever,” he growls.
“I like my castle,” I say, running my hand over the arm of my chair.
“I did a location spell. I know where she is,” he explains, steepling his fingers on his hips.
“You’ve never been good at those,” I say dryly. “I don’t believe you.”
“Rome, you can’t lie around in your robe all day.”
“I totally can.” I wave my arm, and the fabric sways. “I like my robes, too.”
“How do you explain what’s happening to your tattoos?” he asks, annoying me further. “I can sense the change in your magic, and I knew you wouldn’t acknowledge it.”
“I’m fine,” I grit out, denying the change.
“Don’t lie to yourself. I don’t care if you lie to me; you do it all the time.
” Archer has been my friend for a hundred and forty years.
We’ve been through a lot together. He’s agitated with me, and usually, I laugh at his frustration.
His black hair is sticking up everywhere, and his frown is deep.
“You’re going to need to do a healing spell to fix all the lines in your forehead,” I mention, pointing at his face.
“Rome,” he rumbles.
I sigh, sitting up. “Fine. Yes, my tattoos are glowing.” Some of my power is enhanced by the tattoos on my body. I have lost count of the ink in my skin, but recently, they have been glowing. It’s odd, but I have chosen to ignore the change.
“Your soul bond is out there. She needs you,” he says, and my eye twitches. He knows saying those words will affect me the most.
“Do you know her name?” I ask.
“No. I know the location.”
“Is she a witch?” I ask.
“Yes. Her power is unstable.” He relaxes, knowing he convinced me.
“I need to prepare the house,” I state, and he backs up.
“Alright. Put some clothes on before we go.”
I snarl at him as he leaves the room. Like it’s a big deal for a warlock to wear pants and a robe around the house. Or castle. I like to be comfortable.
I am a hundred-and-fifty-year-old warlock who lives in a castle I built with my spells.
There is an illusion spell on my home, so anyone who sees it doesn’t see a sprawling castle but a lovely cookie-cutter home.
My favorite pastimes are practicing my craft, fucking off, sleeping with beautiful women, and driving my friend nuts.
My power is unmatched, and I fucking love it.
Most think I am an eccentric, rich asshole.
I can’t deny I am those things, but no one except Archer knows everything I am.
Contrary to popular belief, I do many other useful things.
I own a chain of magic shops. I know, I know, but it’s fucking funny.
Even if no one else is in on the joke. I invest in struggling businesses that I think could thrive, work to rebuild them, and provide the funding to do so.
I like movies, books, decadent food, and spending time with Archer.
My power is enhanced by being around people and their energy.
It fuels me. Being in a room with others does the trick.
I soak up their excitement, love, anger, sadness, and any emotion they feel.
I recognize their feelings, but they don’t affect me.
Being in a business that creates joy, like the magic shops, or determination, like building something out of nothing, gives me all the good emotions, yet my magic neutralizes them.
I still get the energy that I need, no matter what they are feeling, yet I have to be careful.
Taking all of their energy can easily cause their death.
Without it, I would still have magic and be able to move things from across the room.
My tattoos are a part of me and ensure my power will always be with me.
I was born with magic in my veins and spells in my mind.
I have only grown stronger with the passing years, and as long as I keep practicing my spells, my magic will grow.
As I prepare to protect my house while I’m gone, I call on my stored energy.
“Darling, you're going on a trip.” My mother, Margarete, pops out of thin air.
“Fuck, you know I hate that. Call first,” I grumble. I love her. She was a great mom, loving, informative, yet suffocating. She possesses the gift of teleportation, and my dad serves as her anchor.
“Darn, I forgot.” She cringes. “Will you forgive me?”
“Yes, until next time,” I sigh. She kisses me on the cheek and holds my shoulders.
“What’s wrong?” She asks, pushing back.
“You were here a week ago. What could happen in a week?” I was hoping to leave before she found out who Archer found. Not that I want to hide it, but I would like to meet my soul bond before she does.
“Rome,” she warns, looking me up and down. “What’s up with your tattoos?”
“I’m fine,” I protest, moving back. “Archer found my mate.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” she gasps, grasping the ends of her long blonde hair.
“I do tell a good joke,” I muse, lifting an eyebrow.
“Rome.” She drops her arms, glaring.
“It’s true.” I wait. Her mouth opens and closes no less than five times.
“Fuck, yes.” She spins in a circle, clapping her hands, and I shake my head.
“Mom, calm.”
“You fucking be calm,” she screeches. “Maybe you won’t be so cranky with a bond.”
“I’m not cranky,” I snarl.
“Son,” she starts patiently. “You are. If you are getting it regularly, you’ll be happier. When your father and I first met, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.”
“I don’t want to hear this.” My mom isn’t a typical mom. We have a very open relationship. I’ve heard the tales of her bonding too many times. I’m glad she’s happy, but fuck, it’s gross.
“Alright.” She sobers and cups my cheek. “I’m so happy.”
“Archer might be wrong. You know how unstable his location spells are,” I say. Yet excitement is building.
“He’s not. He’s never wrong when it’s important.”
“True,” I whisper.
“Can I go?”
“No.”
“Come on,” she whines, stomping her foot.
“No.”
“I’ll be good.” She presses her hands together.
“When have you ever been good?”
She tilts her head. “Nineteen eighty-nine.”
“If you have to think about it. No.”
“Fine.” She whirls away. “I have to tell your dad.”
“Where is he?”
He is a wonderful dad.
“In Paris. I just popped out for a visit.” She holds up her hand. “Will you at least keep me posted? I want to meet her. You know how impatient I am.”
“I am aware.” I smile softly. “I will call you.”
“Love you, Rome.”
“Love you.” She snaps her fingers, and she’s gone.
Growing up with a free spirit for a mom was fun, but she has boundary issues.
No matter how old I get, having my mom talk about desire is disturbing.
Our magic keeps us from aging once we reach our twenty-first birthday, so she looks like my sister.
She thinks it’s hilarious to call me her son in public.
The humans are not so amused. As long as we have our power protecting us and are cautious, we could live forever.
Our bodies are human, so if we don’t have our magic, we will slowly age and die.
If the magicked deny their spells and refuse to practice, it will reside inside them, waiting.
The magic knows if they truly desire to live without it, or if they are suppressing it and will eventually accept their gifts.
In that case, they will stay young, and their magic will awaken when they are ready.
As I walk through the castle, I spell the walls, ensuring a human won’t stumble upon my home.
My magic doesn’t come from the words I use, but my intentions behind them.
I don’t read obscure old spellbooks to do magic in a language I don’t understand.
The movies lie. It enhances the storyline to pull out a dusty book and try to decipher it to cast a spell.
Some things are rooted in truth. I do like cats.
They seem to understand us, and some witches and warlocks have a familiar.
An animal that warns them of danger but doesn’t necessarily have the gift of practicing spells.
If I want to use my magic, I push my will and say the words in my head.
Magic is a tool. My intention is what guides it.
I enter my bedroom and take off my robe.
We will travel as normal humans, so I pull out a suitcase from my closet.
Using magic is convenient, but we try not to abuse the power.
I didn’t inherit my mother's gift. I can’t pop in and out at will.
A few times, I’ve been able to travel short distances. It takes a lot of my magic and energy.
Finding a bond hasn’t been a priority. I’ve had relationships over the years and have loved some of them.
Perhaps, I enjoyed more the idea of love.
I’ve loved aspects of them, but have never felt the all-consuming pull to another.
I’ve never feared not finding a woman to love.
If we don’t find our soul bond, our magic could eventually lessen or become unstable, and we will start to age slowly, but it’s usually hundreds of years after birth.
I’ve seen it happen before, yet it’s something I haven’t thought about much.
For the first time, I allow myself to think about a woman who is made to complete me.
Archer did the spell, and I should have, even though it is said that trying to locate your own bond never works.
We believe in fate and the idea that things happen when they’re supposed to.
I don’t like the feeling I have. Knowing she is out there struggling with her magic.
I’ve been lying to myself. There has been a feeling in my gut for months that something is off with my magic.
My tattoos have been glowing for longer than Archer knows, as if they’re searching for a spell that isn’t there.