Page 65 of Fallen Angel

She dug in deeper. “If you stay like this, you will hurt people. Remember Beatrice? Only sixteen years old and you took the rest of her life away from her. You helped Mara turn her into a beast whose only purpose was to kill on Mara’s behalf.”

“Stop it,” he said.

“And then you killed her when she tried to hurt me. Do you remember the guilt you felt after doing so? Even though you did it to protect me, it still consumed you.”

“I saidstop it,” he shouted.

“I’ll only stop once you remember that this isn’t you.” Hannah took another step closer. “Come back to me, Callan. Fight it.” She placed her hands on the sides of his face. She believed she was getting through to him. “You’re stronger than you think. And you care about people more than dark magic. You care about me.” Without thinking, she pressed her lips against his. If she could make him feel again, then she knew he’d return to her.

Callan pushed her off. All hope disappeared. He gripped her upper arm and yanked her close to his face. “The Callan you knew is gone. I do not care for you at all. You are simply a means to an end.” His words deflated her. “And thankfully, I shan’t have to endure you much longer.” His words were a knife in Hannah’s heart—cold and sharp.

Callan released her arm, bruises forming where his fingers dug into her muscles. He shoved her toward the edge of the cliff. “Sing your song, or I shall push you over for good this time.” His voice was low and threatening. Though she thought she caught a glimpse of the old, caring Callan, she realized that it would take more than some captivating words to free him from evil’s seduction.

Hannah tried to think of a spell that would keep her from having to go through with this, but her mind was too frazzled to piece rhymes together. She knew that she was more powerful than Callan, and that she could defeat him if she really needed to. But she had to remember that Callan wasn’t her enemy. He needed to be saved.

“Let us speed this along, shall we?”

Though Hannah tried to ignore Callan’s impatience, soon it was impossible.

He hummed a low, sweet tone that soaked into her mind. It was similar to the song she heard when she was first turned into a Siren. It felt like soft silk against Hannah’s skin and wrapped her in a warmth she never wanted to be without. Furthermore, it made her want to sing her own song—to create a duet of beauty and bliss.

Singing to each other felt wonderful. It was like an intimate dance that made her feel close to Callan. Hannah was powerful enough, however, to realize that Callan only wanted her to sing. Nothing else. And in this moment, Hannah really didn’t see any other option. She had to call to the witches. She only hoped she could somehow intervene before Mara destroyed them with the evil she wielded.

Hannah allowed her melody to swarm her mind. It was so beautiful and enchanting, that tears brewed behind her eyes. She opened her mouth and allowed the song to slip through her parted lips. She never considered herself a great singer before, but the voice she heard emitting from herself now was far more appealing than she ever could have imagined. It was higher in tone than Callan’s song, like a clear, sweet note that would mesmerize anyone who heard it. And Hannah knew how to use it.

“Think of all the awakened witches,” Callan said. Hannah projected her voice across the ocean and surrounding lands. “Call them to Mara’s location.”

Hannah imagined the waves carrying her alluring melody far and wide. The expanse of her magic within her song was both amazing and troubling. She was filled with a confidence and certainty that witches would hear her and follow the song back to the cave beneath Bellcliff Library. But maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to save them.

After a few more long moments of singing her enchanting song, she felt Callan’s touch on her shoulder. “That should do,” he said.

Hannah swallowed her song and shoved it back to the depths of her mind. Tears fell from her eyes, and she couldn’t hide the sadness on her face. She very well may have just destroyed the lives of witches who were reawakened from Callan’s spell, taking away their second chance at living.

“What now?” Hannah asked. This wasn’t the end. There was still a chance she could save them—save Callan. Therefore, Hannah tried to overwhelm her self-doubt and sorrow with determination and courage.

“We return to the library and wait. We shan’t only be greeting our new recruits, but shall also be welcoming back our old coven members.” Callan smirked as if he had pulled one over on Hannah.

Her entire body tensed. “More of Mara’s creatures?”

“They are of the re-awakened witches, are they not?” Callan paced away from the ledge with a brash smile. “You have now given them the map back to their master.”

Sparks sizzled over Hannah’s palms.

“Do not look so cross, Hannah. You too are one of Mara’s creatures. I promise you shall feel a sense of…camaraderie amongst them.”

“She may have turned me into a Siren, but she is not my master.” Her voice thundered from deep within her chest.

“Ah, yes. I wonder how Mara shall feel about that.”

Hannah gulped. She knew that when she saw Mara again, she’d either have to submit to her punishment, or fight her to the death. A fight with Mara could only end with one of them breathing. “You don’t need to threaten me, Callan. I know I can’t defeat her,” Hannah said, lulling him into a false sense of security. She had no other choice but to end Mara’s reign of evil once and for all. Perhaps she could use her sense of defeat to her advantage. “I just called all the witches to her. Clearly, I am falling in line.”

“So you desire that I do not tell her? Is that it?” He spoke to Hannah as if she were a small child—slow and patronizing.

“Do whatever you want, Callan. It’s not like I’m going to live long anyway.” Hannah pushed past Callan and returned to the dirt path that lined the cliffs. While she hoped her performance convinced him that she would no longer resist, it wasn’t difficult to portray. He didn’t say anything as he followed after her. As she pounded her feet against the dusty gravel, she wracked her brain for ways to stall—ways to evade Callan and get to the Occult and Mysticism room in the library. As she walked, her stomach growled. She turned to Callan, keeping her failed demeanor intact.

“Can I at least change my clothes before we return? And maybe get some food. I stink and I’m starving.”

Callan surveyed her with suspicion. “You do not stink,” he said. “Sirens always smell incredible to others.”

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