Page 46 of Fallen Angel

Hannah took a deep breath and made the active decision to trust Callan. She hoped to God, or whatever supernatural forces out there, that he was strong enough to pull this off—because she was not.

Chapter Thirteen

Callan tied Hannah’s hands behind the charred post in the middle of the clearing. “How does that feel?” he asked. “You should be able to slip out of them if you must.”

“Good,” Hannah said. Her voice was dry, and she desperately tried to keep her memories of Raven burning at bay. She was just a college freshman focused on normal college things, and now, somehow, she was bait in a plot to kill an evil witch.

How had this happened? Hannah took a few deep breaths to calm herself. However, the dark clouds rolling over the forest didn’t help her anxiety. The clearing’s warm glow dissipated into a cool and eerie atmosphere. The rotting wood smelled of ash and mildew. As shadows occupied the air, Hannah felt a sinister shiver roll up her spine.

Two figures glided toward them. One was Nathaniel, his grey eyes glowing through the gloomy air. The other donned a long, black cloak with a hood that arched over most of her face. When she looked up, the hood revealed her blood-red eyes. Every muscle in Hannah’s body tensed, her nerves on fire. This wasn’t a dream or a memory spell. Hannah was face to face with Mara Eden, the Devil herself.

Callan walked away from Hannah. He rolled his shoulder back, standing straight, the grimoire at his feet.

“We meet again after all these years,” he said, conjuring a look of wonder and admiration.

Before he could continue, Mara flung out her hand and commanded, “Volant.” A gust of black wind plumed from her palm.

Callan flew through the air and hit a tree with athud.

Hannah knew that she couldn’t call out in concern. She was supposed to be his captive. Therefore, she only let a whimper escape her.

Mara held Callan against the tree, a few feet above the ground. “Suffocant.” A ring of black smoke tightened around his neck. His face twisted at the terrifying wails sounding from Mara’s magic.

“Mara,” he pleaded, scratching at his neck. “I am sorry. Prithee…stop…”

Mara held both her hands in the air toward Callan. Her expression was one of hatred and vengeance. “You cursed me to stone,” she shouted. “For over 300 years.” She closed her hands into fists. The black smoke constricted tighter around Callan’s throat.

His words came out as rasps. His face darkened to purple.

“You betrayed me,” Mara’s voice cracked. Maybe Callan was more to her than a simple puppet. Maybe she actually cared for him. But was someone so consumed by darkness capable of such emotion?

When Callan’s eyes rolled back, Mara dropped her hands. The smoke rushed back to her palms as Callan crashed to the forest floor. He coughed, over and over, unable to catch a breath.

Nathaniel stood a few paces behind Mara and laughed—probably happy to see him suffer after snapping his neck on the campus cliffs. Hannah wanted to release herself from the post and help Callan, but doing so would ruin their charade. At least the panic she felt aligned with being held captive.

“I have seen the error of my ways,” Callan said, rubbing the ashen marks against his neck. He crawled against the brush and kept his head bowed. “If I could go back in time and undo the spell I cast, I would.”

“You seem to be singing a different tune, brother.” Nathaniel marched to Mara’s side. Not only did Callan have to convince Mara of his loyalty, but he would have to persuade Nathaniel that he had changed his mind overnight. Hannah hoped that Callan could lie convincingly.

He struggled to his feet and gaped at Nathaniel, an ache in his eyes. “I apologize for resisting you, Nathaniel. I had not yet remembered the magnetism of the dark—the potential for power in submitting oneself to black magic.”

“And how did you arrive at that conclusion, my young Siren?” Mara asked, her eyes burning bright.

“Your grimoire must have sensed my inner turmoil.” Callan motioned to the spell book that sat on the ground beside him. “It connected with me. Reminded me of how I was once liberated from conventional magic by your teachings. Raven never cared for me,” he said, a bitter sorrow in his voice. “She only cared about defeating you. I was weak. I fell for her lies.”

Mara’s face softened, her lips showing the vaguest hint of satisfaction. Callan took another prudent step forward. Hannah was pleased that he was so persuasive, but she was also nervous that perhaps there was some truth to his speech. After all, she knew that he was capable of turning to the dark.

“And so, you betrayed your beloved and tied her to the very post where she burned all those years ago.” Mara puckered her lips and peered at Hannah as if she were a snack to devour at any moment.

Hannah squirmed at the ants she felt crawling up her arms, but that was nothing compared to Mara’s piercing glare.

Callan showed the slightest hint of concern. “She is not my beloved,” he said. “Hannah, unlearned in the ways of magic, is Raven reincarnate. She is my offering to you. A symbol of my remorse. To prove that I am your loyal servant once more.”

Mara took slow steps toward Hannah. Beneath her dark cloak, she wore a crimson corset and black skirt, smudged with dirt. Her frame was slight—definitely not a reflection of the power she possessed. Despite the crow’s feet etched into the corners of her eyes, the rest of her skin was smooth, unburdened by the darkness she cast. “When Nathaniel informed me that he saw Miss Raven Harlowe reborn, I did not believe him. How could one of my spells, revered by darkness, possibly have failed? But here you are, as Miss Hannah Fenwick. Offered up on a silver platter for the taking.” Mara stepped closer. Hannah could feel her own magic surging through her. It could sense Mara’s presence, and it either wanted to flee or attack. “This is not the first time we have crossed paths, though, is it?” While keeping her eyes glued to Hannah, Mara flung her hand back toward Callan and chanted, “Vinculum!”

The black smoke whipped out of Mara’s hand and wrapped Callan like a lasso. It forced him back against the tree and restrained him upon it. Piercing shrieks swallowed Callan whole. His face contorted in anguish. Even Hannah wished she could block the fearful squeals from her ears.

Nathaniel blurred to Callan’s side and dragged a rusted dagger against his throat. If Callan continued to squirm, the blade would surely slit his flesh. “You should have come with me when you had the chance,” he whispered.

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