Page 18 of Fallen Angel

Hannah’s brows furrowed. Why would anyone ever seal themselves in a cave?

Callan continued. “After what Mara did to you, I knew I had to stop her. ’Twas the only way I knew how.”

“Callan,” Hannah said. She leaned in close over the table and held his gaze. “I am not this Raven person.”

“I know this is difficult for you to understand. I can hardly fathom it myself. You were not supposed to be reincarnated. Mara made sure of that. But as sure as the sun rises in the morn, you are my Raven.”

“Reincarnation?” Her heartbeat quickened. “That’s not possible.”

“You just released me from stone, experienced magic, and yet, you question reincarnation? You really do not remember a thing.”

“I think I’ve made that quite apparent,” Hannah said, her voice tight with frustration.

“’Tis a known truth among witches. At the hour a witch dies, their magic leaves their body and relocates into their reincarnated self. Magic can only exist in witches—people with the enchanted blood. Therefore, magic can only continue to exist if it finds its witch reborn.”

Hannah took a deep breath and tried to understand. She pushed aside the doubts in her mind and tried to embrace everything Callan said as truth. “Is it magic that reincarnates the witch? Or is it something in their blood? Or is there a spell? Or…”

“Raven,” Callan said, reaching across the table to hold Hannah’s hands.

She jerked them away and tensed her jaw.

“Apologies. Hannah.” He reached out again with open palms. Hannah hesitantly gave him her hands. “A truth every witch is taught from a young age—a truth that is of utmost importance to understand—is that magic is mysterious. We cannot possibly understand every element of it. We must accept that it is an unknown force. Otherwise, we shall drive ourselves mad.”

Callan’s touch calmed her. She embraced the tingles she felt.

“So, I’m just supposed to believe that witches, magic, and reincarnation are all real. No questions asked. It just is.”

“What more proof do you require?” He removed his hands from hers and sat back in his seat.

When the warmth of Callan’s hands disappeared from Hannah’s, her mind raced. But she took another deep breath and made an effort to keep calm. She collected the facts in her head: A magical spell-book led her to free Callan, who by all scientific standards should be dead. Hannah had once believed that there was something else—something inexplicable—that caused the accident the night of her sixteenth birthday. And she was finally about to find out.

“So, a witch is born with magic inside them?”

“Indeed.”

“When can a witch start using their magic?” Hannah pressed her thumb to her pointer finger, afraid to hear the answer.

“They are taught the ways of magic from childhood. However, a witch’s magic only emerges during the Convergence—the year of their sixteenth birth.”

He provided this information as a matter of fact, but he had just confirmed Hannah’s worst fear. That is what happened the night of the accident. She didn’t need Callan to explain any further what the Convergence was. She experienced it. And she had never felt the same since.

It was her fault.

Hannah killed her parents.

Chapter Six

Without thinking, Hannah stood, her chair screeching against the tile, and ran out of the food court.

“Hannah,” Callan called after her, but he was cut off by the slam of the door.

Hannah’s feet thumped against the ground as she ran across campus. Tears streamed down her face.

After all these months—hours of therapy, mourning, conjecture, isolation, anxiety, attempts to heal and move on—Hannah finally had her answer. She was responsible for her parents’ death. Magic must be how she survived, and they didn’t. And though she still didn’t quite understand it, it was enough to make her heart ache.

With the cliff’s edge in sight, Hannah slowed. Her heels dug into the earth. She stopped and balanced herself on the very edge of the cliff, gasping. She took a step back, but a familiar dark thought crept up her spine.

What if she did go over? What if she took one step too far and joined her parents? Maybe it would finally subside her survivor’s guilt—the guilt that cloaked her with heavy, unrelenting remorse.

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