Page 86 of A Siren Song for Christmas

It was soft. So very soft. A tune? A song?

His breath caught. His eyes snapped open.

I have to go.

He dropped the half-cleaned pot into the water. He strode towards the door.

The song called to him. Trent had to answer. He had to find the source. Nothing had ever mattered so much to Trent in his entire life.

He yanked open the door and stepped out into the snow.

“Trent, where are you going?” Ordelia shouted.

But Trent was already striding away. He didn’t have time to answer questions. The song called him!

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He had to get to the voice. He had to!

A gust of wind blew. The cold cut through his clothes. A violent shiver caught him. His teeth chattered. But he didn’t care. He kept on going, the song growing louder and louder with each step.

The melody caressed his cheeks, his forehead, and lips. Like a touch. Like gentle kisses. Like a lover’s caress. The song resonated through him until his entire being tingled. His eyes stung. From the cold or the song, he couldn’t tell.

It felt like the music had emerged from his own beating, wounded, and bleeding heart. It felt like want, yearning, and heartache.

But something else too. Something that made his feet move faster through the snow.

“Trent! What the fuck?” Grady yelled as he came up beside him.

Something heavy settled around his shoulders. Ordelia had placed a coat over him. In fact Jack, Cas, and Uzoth were also there, following after him.

Trent shook his head. He looked away. He kept walking.

But Cas gripped his hand, holding him, stopping him from reaching the voice. “Trent, what is going on?”

Frustration swelled up inside him. “Can’t you hear the song?” he yelled.

Cas frowned and glanced at the others. “What’s song?”

“I have to go to it. It’s calling me!” Trent wrenched his hand free and stumbled onwards through the snow. “It’s my song!” He ran.

He could hear them running after him. They asked him more questions. They reached out to touch him, but he knocked them away. Still, they followed and kept speaking to him. Buthe ignored them. He continued down the cobblestone streets, listening to the song that called to his soul.

The tune floated through him. He felt like his feet moved in time with the melody. He turned corners and dashed down alleys. He floated on the highs and lows of the music. It swirled within him.

The song had no words. Yet somehow Trent heard them.

Dear heart. My love. Come to me. Be mine.

He would swear that he could hear those words. But at the same time, he knew he could not. It was if they formed in his very core as the music infused his soul.

Nothing mattered but this song. Tears slid down his cheeks as the song thrummed through his veins, reaching into every nook and cranny of his being.

Then he stopped. Ahead of him, standing in the falling snow, stood the singer, the source of the song.

Everything slid into place inside him. And Trent felt complete. Whole.

Dear heart. My love. Come to me. Be mine.

Malachi sang for Trent. Trent had known it deep inside him the moment he heard the song. For a full second, Trent and Malachi stared at each other. Malachi sang to him. In the snow-filled air around Malachi, his tentacles swayed and danced.