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“I am sorry.” My apology meant more than he would know.
Marius gripped a hold of my forearms. “Do not be.”
I felt sick, as though my stomach was ready to empty its contents whilst the one revelation raced through me.
Mother had named me after the catalyst for the curse. Knowing I would one day be the Claim. The last Claim, come to end Marius and in doing so be a painful reminder. What did she want to achieve from that? To throw him off guard during my stay? To make it easier for him to fall for me to achieve our end goal?
Or was it more personal? More twisted? A name used as a weapon to slice at Marius whilst he was already down?
“I did not know,” I muttered.
“How could you know?” Marius put his finger beneath my chin and lifted my face to his. “From my knowledge the witch died years ago and with it the chance of this nightmare ending. You were not to know.”
“But…” I swallowed my words, biting down on my lip so hard the pain was what was required to silence me.
“You have served me a great deal of armistice, Jak. I cannot fully explain how your presence has given me more peace in my mind than I have felt in a long time. Do not apologise. This is not your doing.”
He was wrong. It was mine. My Mother’s, my covens.
There was not a justified reason for the curse to be cast and I understood that now. I almost took some pleasure in knowing the curse had taken the witch’s power and all those who came after her. Until me.
Magic is not taken, without something given in return.
“What did she turn you into?” I reached for his cheek, clearing the stain of a tear from his skin.
“A nameless beast.” Marius stared unwaveringly into my soul.
“Nothing is ever nameless,” I said meekly.
“Is there anything else like me out there? Tell me, Jak, for you have experienced more of the outside world than I. Have you heard tales of others that hunger for one’s life source?”
I knew the answer. Whatever twisted curse had been laid upon Marius was unique. The witch herself had grown mad trying to find a cure for her lack of power. And so did the many that followed after her. She died with the mad want for her power. Mother told me that it was only on her deathbed when she finally grasped a single slither of magic to prophesise my birth and what the child would mean for our kind.
I used to think it was some cruel play of fate, giving my ancestor her power back just before she passed. As though it dangled itself before her in reminder for what she lost.
But now, standing before Marius who was the product of her jealously, it made me feel satisfied somewhat. Knowing she died, punished in a different manner to Marius. But still punished.
By taking away from him what he desired the most, she gave up her own most treasured love.
Her magic.
“You are unique,” I told him.
“I am a demon.”
“We all are demons. Some have just learned to hide it better than others.”
Marius took my hand in his and guided me to the rugged floor. We left the book open upon the desk and laid upon the ground and looked up at the painted ceiling.
“It was Jak that helped you paint it.” It was more a statement than a question.
“He always had the steadier hand.”
His reply was short, an obvious sign that he did not want to discuss it further. But I could not cope with the silence. Every break in conversation had my mind full of guilt. Guilt for having the same name. Guilt for the role I had to play in this.
I drowned in the feeling and the silence was the ball and chain strapped to my ankle, keeping me down.
“Just tell me if you do not want to discuss it further,” I said, feeling the need to provide him with the option to escape such discomfort.
