Let It Flow: A witch's coming of age (Letting Go Book 1) Read online

  Let It Flow

  Elements Unleashed - part one

  H. Kinani

  Let It Flow © copyright 2020 H. Kinani

  Published by Blue Crescent Books

  102-3788 Norfolk st. Burnaby, BC, Canada

  © 2021 H. Kinani

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by copyright law. For permissions contact:

  [email protected]

  Cover by Averi Hope Designs

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-7774048-8-8

  Contents

  Let It Flow

  Author Note

  1. Living in Hell

  2. Waking Up

  3. A Harsh Wind

  4. The Forbidden Library

  About the Author

  Also by H. Kinani

  Let It Flow

  Some people die to go to Hell, but I’m already living in it…

  Plagued by an unknown illness, my mother and I have become shadows of who we once were. She used to be a proud and powerful witch and I was a bright-eyed young girl, excited to face the world.

  But that was before my mother married Lucien.

  My stepfather is ice cold and filled with darkness and we haven’t been right since he entered the picture.

  Could he be responsible for our suffering? Even though I have no magic, could I somehow be the key to setting things right again?

  Author Note

  Let It Flow is part one in Elements Unleashed, a story that follows a young woman as she takes her power back, both literally and figuratively.

  There are mentions of physical and emotional abuse, but overall, this story should be safe for readers of any age group.

  For Hiba, thank you for being the best friend that anyone could ask for. You are so loved.

  1

  Living in Hell

  I

  hit the light switch with my elbow automatically, pitching the living room into darkness as I walked back into it, a bowl of tomato soup and plain toast balanced on a tray in my hands.

  From the couch, my mother made a soft sound of appreciation.

  "You read my mind. That light was killing me," she groaned.

  "I know mom," I said. "Migraines are the worst."

  I set the tray on the coffee table next to her. When she lifted her arm and peaked at the simple meal, I'd made her, I could pretty much see her stomach turning.

  "You have to eat," I insisted.

  Instead of arguing, she rolled over, turning her back toward me. A moment later, she let out a muffled sigh.

  "I'll eat in a minute," she lied.

  I watched her laying there for a long moment, an ache pulling at my chest. I was used to this game. I was used to trying to help her on the days I could, trying to force her to keep going. She had to, because the truth of the matter was that I wouldn't be able to. Not on my own. I needed my mother to take care of me on my bad days but more than that, I needed her with me. Even if she was a shell of the person she had once been.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat.

  "Okay, mom."

  I didn't know if she heard me.

  Either way, it was nearly four o’clock, so I quietly crept up the large, sweeping stairs of the home that had been in our family for over two hundred years.

  I didn’t spare a glance at the old paintings on the walls of family members long gone, or the door that loomed at the end of the hall—the library that I was no longer allowed to enter.

  Lucien would be home soon. He didn’t like me in the way, and I didn't like to be in the way. So, I quickly locked myself in my bedroom.

  My stepfather was everything I'd wished he wouldn't be when my mom first met him.

  I was only nine when she remarried. Once upon a time, my mother had been vibrant, vivacious, so outgoing that she had friends everywhere. Being her child had been like being under the light of the sun. Her and my dad had run the occult shop downtown and for those who knew she really was a witch, she would give them the real deals—true readings, blessed gemstones, personalized sigils. Dad would do the paperwork while she had all the fun. That’s what he used to say.

  "That was a long time ago," I reminded myself out loud, shaking the thought away.

  Now, fifteen years later, I'd already accepted that this hell was my life.

  I laid down in bed, stared blankly up at the ceiling and waited.

  When the front door opened nearly a half hour later, the house was so silent that I could hear it. As usual, he shut it too hard, making disgruntled noises as he pulled off his boots.

  A moment later, the sound of voices carried up to me. The quiet murmur of mom's, the sharp tone of Lucien's as he spat his words.

  I didn't need to guess what he was saying. I'd heard it all before. Why are you laying here? What did you do all day? How can you be such a waste of space?

  His voice rose as his irritation escalated and then it was time for my reappearance.

  "Farah!" he bellowed.

  His voice echoed up the staircase.

  He didn’t bother calling twice. He knew I would come as quickly as possible. I moved calmly, but my heart was racing by the time I reached the bottom of the stairs.

  Lucien Black stood in the threshold of the living room. The lights had all been turned back on, illuminating his long, thin frame from behind. Fury was written across his thin face as he looked at me.

  "Do you not see the state of your mother?" he demanded with calm fury. " Go take care of her, you useless, drain."

  I nodded and went to my mother's side while he passed into the kitchen.

  Mom was sitting up now, her face pale from the harsh lights and the shouting.

  True fear struck me as I looked at her. She looked even more ill than I could remember seeing her. Her skin had an unnatural tinge of green, her once lustrous chocolate brown hair was a dusty, dead colour. Her eyes were dull.

  "Mom," I whispered, crouching down to her level. "Are you okay?"

  After a long moment, she shook her head.

  Tears sprang to my eyes.

  Instantly, my hands were trembling so hard I wouldn't touch her for fear of rattling her.

  "I'm calling an ambulance," I said.

  I jumped to my feet, swivelled toward the kitchen where the landline—the only phone we were allowed in the house—was hanging on the wall.

  I stumbled to a stop, finding Lucien watching us both with a thoughtful look in his sharp gaze.

  "She is looking quite ill," he said, tilting his head, like a bird watching their prey. "That's not good."

  I frowned, watching Lucien in shock as genuine anger suddenly bubbled inside me.

  "Not good," I repeated in a low, trembling voice. "Of course, it's not good. I've been saying something's wrong for a long time. She needs help. We both do."

  He slowly raised a brow at my outburst, irritation clear in his gaze. I couldn't believe he hadn't already punished me.

  Normally, one wrong sound from me and he would send me crashing into the wall with a single glance. I swallowed.

  "I'm s—sorry," I stuttered.

  His expression didn't shift.

  "No need," he said, coldly. "You're right. Your mother isn't doing too well, is she? Maybe it's time for her to go to a doctor. Unless she suddenly starts feeling better, of course."

  For a moment I didn't know what to do.

  I glanced back at mom. She was exactly as I'd left her, stooped upright on the couch, lips parted, eyes blank. I could see her breathing, otherwise, I'd be sure she was already dead.

  I turned
back to Lucien, trepidation filling me as I opened my mouth to speak again. I was already playing with fire, but I just couldn't leave her like this.

  "Please," I started, carefully. "May I call an ambulance?"

  I knew he would say no. He always said no to unnecessary medical bills. I knew it and I didn't know what would happen. I couldn't leave her like that.

  Lucien stepped out of my way, gesturing toward the kitchen, generously.

  "By all means," he said, lightly.

  Shocked, I stood stunned for a moment and then suddenly rushed forward, eager to get to the phone before he changed his mind.

  I made it into the kitchen, my hand even touched the smooth back of the phone before the pain started.

  It was a sharp stab, straight through the brain, stronger than anything I'd ever felt.

  I dropped like a sack of potatoes. Hit the hard marble tiles as the phone clattered to the floor next to me.

  Slowly, the pain receded, and the world slowly came back into focus.

  I was lying on the floor, the cool tiles offering some relief from the pain. Next to me, the dial tone was an unrelenting, uncomfortable sound, reverberating in my eardrums.

  When I could finally open my eyes against the sharp lights nearly blinding me, Lucien stepped over me, looking down on me.

  “Oh dear,” he said in a low, easy, voice. “Are you feeling unwell too?”

  Looking up at his ominous silhouette, his dangerous, shadowy figure… For the first time, I finally realized it was him.

  The illness—my mother and I, taking turns suffering for days at a time, crippled by pain, unable to live normal lives…

  He was doing this to both of us. The only question was, why?

  2

  Waking Up

  I

  made it into bed that night and passed in and out of consciousness. Sometimes, my own pained mewling sounds woke me, other times it was the overwhelming pounding of my head. The blankets felt like they were bruising my skin, yet the air felt frigid and the rattling of my bones too hard to bear.

  When morning light began to filter through the window, I nearly started to cry from the pain. My eyes were too sensitive. The pain too intense. I couldn’t take it.

  That was when my mom arrived, with her hair pulled back in a bun and a worried look on her face.

  I was so relieved to see her, looking pale and worn, but a million times better than she’d been the night before.

  “Don’t worry,” she whispered, and then bent over me and placed a warm kiss to my forehead, followed by a cool compress.

  It took four days for me to get back to normal—normal enough to think, anyway. After days spent in bed, vomiting, sweating, shaking, and with a migraine more intense than anything I’d ever felt, I was left with the equivalent of a hangover. I was aching all over, groggy and exhausted—but I could think.

  When Lucien had first moved in with us, mom still worked in her shop. She went in every morning after dropping me off at school. It wasn't long after that that she started to get bad headaches.

  I forced myself out of bed, wincing at the familiar ache in my body. I felt worn out, hungover, drained, as though I'd run a marathon. Not that I ever had. I didn't have the health for that. No, shortly after mom got sick, I started to get sick too.

  After losing my dad, watching my mom remarry and then our bodies be taken over by illness... it had felt like a curse.

  Dad is mad at us.

  The old familiar thought struck me hard, guilt twisted in me now for a different reason. I used to think he was mad at us for moving on. I hated Lucien before I even had a reason to.

  Now, I felt guilty for blaming my father, for tarnishing the memory of the happy man who had loved us so dearly when it suddenly seemed so clear that there was another culprit.

  I glanced at myself in the mirror as I entered the washroom, taking in the long, frizzy brown hair, dull, tired eyes and grey skin.

  I didn't look much better—or younger—than my mother had the other night and suddenly, I knew; I didn't have much time left.

  A strange sense of calm came over me. An inexplicable peace that washed through my body.

  For years, I'd been a prisoner to my illness, to my mom's illness. I was literally unable to move away, or care for myself. I was unable to even keep a job without missing so many days that I got fired. My mother meanwhile had surrendered the shop to Lucien. She was just as trapped as I was.

  He was the healthy one, the one who supported us and resented us for it. He was the one who refused to spend money on our medical tests. He was the one who kept us sick but more than that.

  He was the one who was making us sick.

  I knew it now. I knew it so deeply in my bones that there was no denying it.

  And knowing... it was relieving. That there was a reason for my illness, a reason my life was like this...

  I turned on the shower, stepped under the hot spray of water, soothing my body and suddenly, I broke down. Tears poured from my eyes; sobs raked from my throat. My chest ached from the pressure, my knees gave out and I was on the bottom of the tub, crying like a baby.

  "Why? Why?"

  The word ripped over and over through my lips, as though Lucien was there, as though he was reasonable enough to give me an answer.

  But the answers, oh god, the answers, they were all so obvious.

  My mom was successful. She had a house. She had a business. He took over both. And now, now she was dying. He would get everything as soon as we were gone.

  I gasped, as the reality of it all hit me and the tears finally ran their course, mingling with the spray as it poured down the drain.

  Two issues glared at me as I gathered myself.

  My mom was a powerful witch. She'd done blessings, countless spells to heal and protect us from our illness. In the end, she'd been sure it wasn't magical. In the end, she'd given up looking for a magical cure. How had he hidden his part in this? How could he hide it from her for so long?

  Me, on the other hand, I was nothing to worry about. As a child, we'd briefly been sure I had powers, but in the end, nothing had manifested. I wasn't a witch. I was weak.

  If Lucien really was responsible, why did he keep my mother alive? Why had he switched the illness over to me the other day? As though he was giving her a break… What game was he playing?

  I climbed from the tub and took the time to dry and brush my long hair. It was nearly long enough to sit on, and I hadn't taken care of it in days. The long locks were a matted mess but carefully freeing the knots and braiding it made me feel a little bit more like myself again.

  A smile touched my lips at that thought. My whole world felt like it had been flipped upside down. I didn't really know who I was anymore. My whole life felt like a shamble.

  I got dressed just as slowly, aware I was prolonging the inevitable. Once I left my room, I would have to face what was happening and quite frankly, I had no idea how.

  Lucien was the strongest warlock I'd ever even heard of. He did magic without spells. He just needed to look at you and a curse could be placed.

  Last year, I’d seen a man bump into him and keep walking without so much as a glance over. Lucien had calmly dusted his shoulder and looked back at the man. When he’d fallen to the ground, Lucien had smiled, and mother dragged me away.

  A shiver ran the length of my back, but I took a deep breath and opened the door.

  The hallway was dim. The lights were off and only the light from the overcast day filtered through the dusty windows.

  A feeling of dread settled over me at the stillness in the house.

  "Mom?"

  My quiet voice rang out through the rooms. For a beat, there was nothing and I was sure when I turned the corner, I would find her on the couch, ill again, maybe even dead.

  My heart clenched.

  “In here, love,” she called.

  The sound of shifting from the kitchen and my mom's voice barely eased the pain. It was only a matter of ti
me, I realized, before my nightmare was a reality.

  When I entered the kitchen, I was surprised to see her sitting at the table, reading the paper.

  She was neat and showered, sitting upright and she smiled at me warmly when I walked in.

  "Good morning," she said. "It's so good to see you up and about. Do you want some breakfast?"

  I shook my head, mutely, soaking in the sight of her.

  She was such a beautiful woman, really, if she wasn't so tired all the time. She had a spark in her eyes that I'd always admired, a mischievous smile. lovely high cheekbones and full lips. People often said we looked like sisters and I took it as a compliment because there was no one on this earth that I would rather be compared to.

  Tears sprang to my eyes unbidden and my mother jumped up, was at my side at once, holding onto my arms.

  "Come on," she said, leading me to a chair. "Have a seat."

  She turned and poured me a glass of water grumbling as she did, her tone worried.

  "You shouldn't have gotten out of bed! I thought you were feeling better when I heard the shower start. Here."

  She handed me the glass and waited. Even though I wasn't thirsty, I took a sip to appease her.

  "Where does it hurt, today?" she asked pressing a hand to my forehead.

  "I'm fine, mom," I said, pushing her hand away and wiping the tears on the back of my sleeve. "Really."

  Somehow, that made her look even more worried.

  "What is it?" she asked, carefully.

  I could tell she already knew. We'd both said it before, but it hurt to repeat it when nothing could be done... except that now, maybe something could be.

  "I can't live like this," I choked. "You can’t. We have to do something."