Page 43 of Fallen Angel

Chapter Twelve

After sending Beatrice into the water, Callan and Hannah arrived atCape Cove Campgrounds: Untouched by Time. She was able to replace her bloodied sweater with a long-sleeved polo shirt she found on the boat. It was oversized, a men’s size, but it was better than walking around damp with the irony scent of a young girl’s blood across her stomach.

Without any money for a bus or taxi, they walked along the New England backroads for about an hour, barely speaking the whole way there. Hannah could tell that Callan was wracked by guilt. Not only had he helped turn Beatrice into a dark creature, but he also killed her in order to save Hannah’s life. No amount of reassurance could ease the anguish he felt.

“The rest of the town appears entirely different. These woods, however, have not changed in the slightest,” he said. Hannah felt relief at the broken silence.

The leaves of the trees bristled with vibrant shades of yellow, orange, and red. As the sun broke through the branches, the varying colors created a warm glow to the woods.

“Why these woods? Don’t you think Mara and Nathaniel will know to look for us here?” Hannah asked.

“Perhaps, eventually. For now, they provide us distance from your school and the town. Journeying deep into the woods will bestow us privacy to destroy the grimoire once and for all.”

Hannah’s bag was slug across her chest, the spell book safely inside. Though it still attempted to lure her to its pages, it was easier for Hannah to resist since the memory spell. Destroying it would weaken Mara. After experiencing what the she-Devil was capable of, Hannah knew they needed every advantage against her.

“What was the spell I said that caused you pain?” Hannah could remember the terrifying words but was afraid to say them out loud in case her magic followed her command. “The one that Mara’s grimoire told me to say?”

“Senties dolorum. ’Tis a Latin command to feel pain.”

“Pretty on-the-nose…”

“Latin is the old tongue used to access magic. Just as any speech progresses throughout time, the way witches communicate to magic changed as well. Those old spells take great power to access, which is why the language faded within spells among witches. Only those granted with extreme tilted magic have the power to cast those spells.”

“Tilted magic?” Gravel crunched beneath Hannah’s feet.

“Do not pretend as though you do not already understand,” Callan said. “While Mara was granted with magic that slanted toward darkness, Raven converged with a power that favored the light. Magic that is now within you.”

Hannah lowered her head, feeling guilty for possessing power she didn’t even know how to use. “How did you know I knew?”

“The memory spell worked,” he said. “And though your words often sound foreign to me, I understood your meaning when you stated that Raven was inMara’s magical league.” Birds flitted from branch to branch above. Chipmunks skittered through the brown and orange leaves that coated the path.

“I’d actually read about it before even meeting you. As if fate was trying to prepare me for my destiny…or some crap like that.” Hannah cringed. Though she felt it more and more with everything she learned, it still felt unnatural to surrender to such an unknown force. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did not believe Raven could be reincarnated—no spell of Mara’s has ever failed. Therefore, I could not be certain if that kind of prodigy magic could be reincarnated. ’Twasn’t until you resisted my compulsion that I knew.”

“You could have told me then.” What other useful information could Callan have been holding back from Hannah?

“I sensed you were already overwhelmed with the discovery of magic. You had only learned about the Convergence…” He breathed a long pause. “I did not think it wise to tell you that you are one of the most powerful witches the world has ever known.”

Callan’s words hit Hannah like a cannon ball. She stopped walking and felt as though she might be sick. She wasn’t powerful. She killed her parents with this unknown magic. She was sad—tragic even—but certainly not formidable in any way. She was chasing a new life, but it felt like running away.

“I’m not powerful. I may have some sort of magic within me, but it’s useless.” She ground her shoes against the pebbles and dirt.

Callan stopped alongside Hannah and faced her. “Your magic saved your life. It protects you whenever it senses danger. And it has done this without you even knowing it existed. I would not call that useless.” Callan continued walking, but Hannah remained in place.

“If I’m so powerful, then why haven’t I cast any spells? I’ve had magic for nearly two years, and I’ve never even accidentally said a spell.”

“That is why spells rhyme and sound different from our everyday speech. Your magic must be able to differentiate and feel the intention behind your spell. Otherwise, any moment a witch wished ill feelings upon another, their magic could make it so.”

“That’s good, I suppose,” Hannah said, following Callan through the woods. They weaved through tall conifers and oak hickories off the beaten path, wrens chirping above. The scent of pine and rich soil emanated from every crunchy step they took.

“’Tis good until one’s brain goes blank and cannot think of a proper rhyme to fit the spell.”

Hannah gulped. “Maybe it’s a good thing that I don’t have access to Raven’s magic, then.”

“It is your magic, Hannah. And you do have access to it. It simply takes time to connect to it properly—to learn how to wield it.”

Hannah nodded, still doubting whether she would ever fully comprehend or connect to the unknown force that whirled within her. And why would she? It invaded her body and caused the death of her parents. What if connecting to her magic caused more harm than good? Could she really bring herself to wield the weapon that murdered her mom and dad?

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