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

  I saw the way her expression shuttered closed, a smooth transition from so much practice.

  "Farah," she started firmly, "there's nothing we can do. You know that."

  I opened my mouth, ready to argue, but the look in her eyes stopped me. She was tired. Of course. I didn't blame her. There was no joy left for us. Not in this life. Not the way it had been all these years.

  "Maybe we can go for a walk," I suggested.

  She blinked at the sudden change in topic, a frown touching her brows.

  "We haven’t both felt okay at the same time in..."

  I trailed off, unable to remember.

  Her lips pursed softly, and she glanced around, looking worried, almost as though Lucien was about to appear, watching us intently from the corner.

  Despite myself, I followed her gaze, surprised to realize that was a real fear for me too. and even more surprised to realize I was conditioned to only do things that he would agree with.

  "He... he doesn't like it when we go out, does he?" I asked, quietly.

  Instead of answering, mom pursed her lips and pushed to her feet.

  "It's just a walk," she said, firmly. "Let's go."

  3

  A Harsh Wind

  T

  he autumn wind whipped against us, moving freshly fallen leaves around our feet.

  Despite the afternoon sun, Mom pulled her jacket closer around her shoulders, clearly unused to the chill of fresh air.

  I was much the same, chilly and not used to the feeling of the wind stroking my face, but it was invigorating somehow and the sight of my mom's cheeks growing rosy, so full of life, nearly made me giddy.

  "Why are you smiling?" she asked, her tone, curious.

  "Because, you look like you're ready to get up and go to work. Or, even better, to rake the leaves for scarecrows, and spend the rest of the day carving jack o’lanterns with me."

  A smile pulled at her lips and she shook her head.

  "We used to have a lot of fun this time of year, didn't we?"

  The smile faded from both of our lips.

  How long had it been since we'd done anything fun at all? It was a sad thing to admit, but this walk was the first thing in a long time that we were doing together.

  It all seemed so stupidly obvious now. Surely, it had crossed her mind that Lucien was the reason for all of this...

  "Mom..."

  She glanced at me, waiting, but my thoughts tangled around each other as I struggled to think of what to say.

  "The other night," I finally started, "I was perfectly fine and you—you were not."

  "I'm feeling so much better now," she reassured. "It was a bad moment but I'm glad it's passed."

  I reached out, squeezed her hand firmly as I remembered the look in her eyes.

  "It wasn't just a bad moment? Mom, you—" I swallowed and tried again. "You were dying."

  She frowned.

  "I... No, I wasn't. I—I was just tired. I had a bad headache."

  I shook my head, furiously.

  "No, mom, I saw you. You were barely there. I wanted to call an ambulance. Lucien even agreed."

  She was frowning, now.

  "What? ...no. That can't be right."

  She wasn't looking at me. Her gaze was far away but there was something in it that told me she knew the truth.

  "It's Lucien," I said. The strength in my voice shocked even me. There was no hesitation. No arguing.

  Mom's entire body stiffened and she stopped dead in her tracks, fear streaking across her features.

  As though sensing our discussion, the breeze picked up, whipping strands free from my braid.

  "You already know, don't you?" I asked, a strange feeling of betrayal descending on me.

  "Why?" I demanded. "Why haven’t you done anything? Why didn’t you tell me? We have to do something. We have to get away!"

  My voice rose with urgency, energy building in me as the truth came out. She lifted her hands up, trying to calm me.

  "Farah, please. Listen to me—"

  “It’s not too late. We’re both okay. Right now. We can get away.”

  I was filled with so much buzzing energy, I wanted to run. Where I would go didn't matter. I would keep going and going until I was too far away for Lucien to ever reach me again.

  I grabbed her by the hand, ready to pull her away—where though? The train station? Before I could decide, she yanked her hand free, her eyes wide, like she was watching a wild animal and I realized I was breathing hard, my body was shaking from a surge of adrenaline.

  "It's not Lucien," she hissed. "Farah, get it together. This isn't about him."

  Shocked, I stared at her. When she turned back in the direction of our house, for a moment it truly felt like the world was closing in around me.

  She paused and whipped back around to face me, pressing a hand to her chest as though I'd really upset her.

  "I know you two have never gotten along," she said, her voice trembling. "But to suggest that he did this to us... that he's keeping us sick..."

  She swallowed, blinking furiously.

  "Why would he even do that?" she asked, looking hurt that I'd even suggest it, but I couldn't back down, not now that it was out in the open.

  "When I fell the other night," I started and then suddenly I didn't know what to say. He gave me a look. That was all. And the timing of it... how could I explain how sure I was with nothing but that?

  "Please," I finally said. "You have to believe me."

  For a moment, it looked like she might, just to appease me.

  "Aurora!"

  The familiar, voice drew both of our gazes to the house next to us, where a soft figured woman with salt and pepper hair, pulled into a loose bun atop her head, strode toward us from the front step of her house.

  "Oh, my goodness, Aurora, it's been so long!"

  She glanced at me and pressed her palm to her chest with a gasp.

  "Farah, is that really you? It's been so long, I barely recognized you. You're a woman now."

  My brain finally caught up to me and I shook my head in wonder, suddenly remembering my neighbour.

  We'd been friendly with her. She used to bring mom coffees to her shop and get regular crystal ball readings. She'd invited us to her solstice parties every year and we'd often gone.

  "Mariah," I breathed. "It’s so good to see you."

  She beamed at me and then turned her gaze to my mother.

  "Lucien says you've been unwell," she said, frowning. "It's nothing serious, I hope. I knocked your door a few times, but no one answered."

  Odd. I didn't think anyone ever tried to pay us a visit.

  "Oh..."

  For a moment, mom seemed dumb founded, unsure what to say.

  "You still go to the shop..."

  A wistful look fell over her face for a moment and then she shook her head as though a fly was bothering her and straightened.

  "Thank you," she said, briskly. “Your business means a lot.”

  "Of course," Mariah said, surprised. "I still want to support you and your family, not to mention that you still make the best sage and lavender bundles."

  She approached the thin fence separating us and rested her arms on the metal, just looking us over for a moment.

  I could see the concern in her eyes and shifted uncomfortably.

  "Is everything okay?" she asked. She glanced around the quiet street and then lowered her voice and went on. "I've been worried about you. To be honest, a few of the coven have been."

  The coven. There was a big one in town. I knew that much. Both of my parents had been in one before but never joined a new one when we moved to town, into the family home that my great aunt had left us. Mom always said we were our own coven. Me her and dad. But dad was dead, and I had no magic. You couldn't exactly have a coven for one.

  The fact that some of the other witches had noticed that something was wrong made my stomach twist.

  "I'm afraid we're in a rush," Mom suddenly said.<
br />
  Shocked, I let her take me by the arm and drag me away, back toward the house.

  "Mom!"

  I stuck my feet down, using my weight to fight her.

  When she turned to look at me, she was beyond exasperated. Normally so calm and loving, the strain in the lines on her face, the tension in her shoulders, made her look like a different type of person entirely.

  "Everything is fine, Farah!" she insisted. "Stop being so paranoid."

  "Paranoid?" I demanded. "Mom, even the neighbours have noticed it! Something is wrong here and it’s not us. I know it's not."

  She grit her teeth, leaning toward me.

  "Lucien has nothing to do with our illness," she hissed. "It's genetics and bad luck. Constant migraines suck but there's nothing we can do about it."

  "Mom—"

  "No, I'm done."

  I couldn't believe my ears.

  "Are you serious?" I asked, slowly. "You told me you looked into the magic side of all this. Are you telling me it never once crossed your mind to look into Lucien too? To see if he was involved in any way?"

  "He's not," she insisted, looking like the conversation was making her ill.

  "But how do you know?"

  She looked at me then, her gaze going distant once more, wistful like before but unnaturally so, like someone alien had overtaken her features.

  A shiver ran through me before she even opened her mouth.

  "He wouldn't hurt me, he loves me," she said, sweetly. "And I love him.”

  Before I could respond, her body sagged. She would have hit the sidewalk if I didn’t catch her.

  I helped her stand still for a moment, but she was gasping and clutching her head before she even made it upright and I knew what that meant.

  “I don’t feel so good,” she groaned. “Get me home.”

  Luckily, we’d only made it a few blocks away, but the wind had picked up again, turbulent, just like my mood and it was a struggle to get back while trying to hold her straight.

  My mind raced, fear building with every step we took toward home, and the wind built with my fear, buffeting against us from all sides until finally, we sealed the door behind us, and it howled and howled through the cracks in the walls, rattling the windows.

  “What is happening?” Mom gasped.

  I listened to the wind, feeling more trapped in this place I called home than I had outside, even with a storm brewing.

  If I didn’t know any better, I would think it was happening because of me.

  4

  The Forbidden Library

  M

  y mom was a wreck, vomiting so strongly into the toilet that the blood vessels around her eyes had already broken, leaving her looking as tired and ill as she was probably feeling.

  I helped her tie her hair away from her face and then stroked her back until she was done.

  When she finally collapsed on the couch, ready to sleep through the worst of it, I remembered the last time.

  Lucien had been so disgusted to find her useless on the living room couch. But he would be angrier to see her in bed, sleeping the day away while he worked. The injustice of it made my stomach hurt.

  When I glanced at the ticking grandfather clock, it showed half-passed-three. Less than an hour until he was home.

  My lip curled in distaste at the thought of facing him.

  Normally, I would supress the angry feelings I had toward the warlock, but this time, when they came, I accepted them. I allowed them to course through me, to fill me until I felt like I might burst.

  He'd done something to my mother, all these years. I was sure. He’d done something to make her stay with him. Maybe to make her be with him from the start. Usually, when I thought of how fast mother remarried, tears came to my eyes. Now, fury bubbled under my skin. I wanted to make him pay for what he had done. But how? I wasn't able to fight him; I never would be. Mother though... at her full strength, she might be strong enough.

  My gaze fixed on her small form. It was hard to believe that she had once been a powerful witch. We came from a long line of them and she had been so proud of her heritage. I had too, even when I'd grown to be a dud.

  Sure, I would have loved to have magic, it was disappointing to be missing a trait that everyone in my family had, but that was just how it was.

  I'd accepted it a long time ago.

  I couldn't do magic, no, but my mother could.

  If only I could find a way to free her.

  I looked toward the stairs.

  The library.

  I barely hesitated, but it still felt like I was doing something wrong as I crept quietly up the stairs, trying not to wake my mom.

  It was silly, really. She wouldn't care if I went upstairs. She would assume I was going to my room. I'd never once broken my promise to stay out of the library. I'd never seen a reason to. Until now, I had been sure that my mother was on the case of our illnesses and there was nothing I could do to help.

  Still, there was a sense of importance in the air as I crept to the end of the long hallway to the incongruous, library door, where it loomed, dark, carved wood, worn with age.

  A large lock was in plain sight above the doorknob. A spell could probably open it, but being magicless, all I could do was turn around and go into my mother and stepfather's room.

  The second the door was quietly sealed behind me, I hurried to the bedside table, searching one and then the other. The key was surprisingly easy to find, buried under a book on transformations. Clearly, no one expected me to disobey.

  I hurried quietly back to the library, avoiding the many spots on the floor that creaked as I went—not that they could be heard over the whistling of the wind. The key slid easily into the lock and the door swung open in a wide, sweeping motion, exposing the large room.

  It was dusty from disuse, the smell of mildew tinting the air. On large, ornate, wooden shelves that reached from floor to ceiling, books were stacked. In some places in an orderly fashion, and in others, they were stacked in a haphazard mess.

  For a moment I stood there, the door open behind me, looking up and down the shelves, unsure where to start.

  What kind of book would hold the information I needed? Where would it be in the endless stacks and shelves?

  Slowly, I began to walk the room, gaze raking the various dusty tombs. Many of them didn't even have titles, just worn, weathered spines.

  As I surveyed the room, the wind continued to blow, rattling the small glass window so hard I was sure it was going to break.

  The house had been in the family for so long. The idea of it falling apart now... it was like the end was near.

  Physically shaking the thought away, I stopped in the middle of the room, took a slow, deep breath and allowed my eyes to fall shut.

  It went against all of my instincts to let down my guard right in that moment, but it felt like the right thing to do.

  As a child, whenever I lost something, mom would tell me to close my eyes, allow myself to become still, clear all of my thoughts and just breathe. Not only did it make everything better, but when I opened my eyes again and mom would inevitably ask where is your pencil case, or whatever it happened to be that day, I always knew. Just like that. Back then it had seemed like magic. Like I was psychic or something.

  It was beyond silly to try that little trick now. This was different. I hadn’t lost anything, I wasn't psychic, and I didn't have the time to waste. Lucien would be here soon...

  Still, I pushed all those thoughts away until, for a moment, there was nothing.

  When I opened my eyes again, I was staring directly at a large green book.

  It was wedged into one of the shelves, on top of the other books that were lined up properly. It didn't have a title and it was coated in dust; the fabric frayed around the edges.

  A strange feeling came over me, a chill that ran deep inside.

  I almost expected something to happen when I touched it, but nothing did. Carefully, I pulled it free, aware of
its fragility.

  The book appeared to be ancient, its pages were fully brown and when I opened it, I was surprised to see that it was handwritten in a perfect, ornate scrawl that took a moment to decipher.

  Carefully, I flipped the brittle pages.

  "Come on," I muttered. I searched frantically for something to jump out at me. Something about a love spell, potion, anything that would help me free my mother or at least give me some idea of what he was doing to her.

  The clock rang from the foot of the stairs and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  Four o'clock. Lucien would be here any minute now. I had to lock up, get the key back and get into my bedroom, where he expected me to be.

  I took a step toward the shelf, ready to shove the book back where it belonged but then, something did catch my eye as I was closing it.

  I flipped back to where those words glared up at me. All the air left me, my ears started to ring, my hands to tremble as I found it.

  In large, ornate letters, Power Pulling was scrawled across the top of a page, followed by a short poem.

  If a warlock ever seeks

  To make another warlock weak

  They may use a dark technique

  To take their charges energy

  If you do so, be aware

  That black magic is never fair

  And your victim will despair

  Because you take such liberty

  Tread with caution. Also know

  That although your powers grow

  You will also take the blow

  And live in eternal misery

  A tear smacked the worn page and for a moment I was so lost in the words that I didn't realize it was from me. Shocked, I wiped my wet cheeks, swallowing back the pain that took over me.

  The meaning was clear enough. That a warlock could indeed take another’s energy—their magic too, it seemed like, and it didn’t seem like there were any repercussions at all. His powers would grow and he would… live in misery? Yeah right.

  Seeing it there, the truth of our situation—that we were weak enough to be taken advantage of for years... It hurt.