All For Nothing
A Roane Publishing Free Read
by Laurie Treacy
www.RoanePublishing.com
© Copyright 2014 Laurie Treacy
Editor: Rebecca Hart
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Entry into diary app
Being different used to be cool. I loved my colored hair, my piercings, sporting temporary tattoos—until I was old enough to get the real thing—and hanging with the cosplay kids at school. I experimented and expressed myself by embracing whatever wasn’t the norm. Then, I was tossed into some crazy new” life, sorta like what happened to Dorothy when her house dropped on the wicked witch with the cool tights and fancy shoes.
Big bang. Cool new place to hang.
Radical, right?
Oh, wait, I can’t use that example. I am a witch, and who knows, maybe there’s an actual Wicked Witch of the East somewhere in the Silva-Corbett family tree.
I found out I was a witch on Halloween.
Go ahead, laugh.
Then, two weeks before Thanksgiving, my psycho neighbor, Erich, kidnapped me and wanted to trap me in a magical snow globe so he could drain my so-called powers.
Get this—he was really my uncle, Thomas Corbett.
My mom and aunt, along with their coven, rescued me, releasing the other trapped snow globe people. They discovered my supposedly deceased Dad among them.
Some crazy family issues, huh?
My mom decided to keep this ‘other life hidden away from me for almost eighteen years. Aunt Rhea, and even my boyfriend, Remy knew.
They all kept it from me.
I’m literally caught in the crosshairs of my messed up family’s actions. Their lies. Their half-truths. Their secrets.
I’ve been thrown into their world filled with magic, paranormal beings, and ‘other things’ (see psycho uncle above). But, the problem is, they forgot to clue me in.
Yeah, I know I seemed okay with it when Mom and Rhea broke the news to me that night. I think it’s called shock.
After the incident with Erich/Thomas, and my dad suddenly returning home, there’s been this black-out. We’re a couple days away from turkey day and there hasn’t been any communication between me and those in the know—Mom and Rhea.
Why? Don’t they know what’s going inside my head? The emotions, the fear? All of the questions are taking up so much space, I can’t concentrate on school.
Mom is always working and hasn’t said one word to me. Not one apology. Not one honest reason for why she kept me in the dark.
I have feelings.
Dad’s been teaching me every day, but I can’t ask him questions about the past. He wasn’t around, and I can’t even speak to my aunt since she’s always with her boyfriend, Roald.
New life, long-lost dad, a neighborhood coven—this so-called ‘new world’ stinks. Being a witch sucks. For once, I’d like to be able to embrace normalcy. Or, look up and wish for a cottage to come barreling down to rescue me.
Chapter One
“Concentrate, honey,” Dad murmurs for the fiftieth time today, his eyes super glued on my every move.
“I’m trying,” I reply through gritted teeth, staring down at the long-stemmed white carnation. Sweat drops cling to my forehead. Every time some slip down the sides of my face, new ones bead up to take their place. My index fingers have turned into window wipers to keep the droplets out of my eyes.
Dad stands in front of me, dressed in a royal blue tunic—the color of a grand wizard in training—his hands poised beside his family’s grimoire on top of the gray counter. “Imagine it different.”
The variance spell is a beginner’s spell. Stare at something and want it changed. Turn the brown book cover into a pink one. Simple. Pour your intent into making something happen. Easy. So they say.
I’m not making anything happen. Ten seconds fixated on the flower. I picture the petals red, like Mom’s new lipstick, Death’s Kiss. Then what?
Nothing happens, besides eye strain and the slight tinkling of another headache.
I exhale loudly. Frustration fills an invisible backpack hanging off my shoulder blades. Its weight stoops me over like the ancient hags I learned about yesterday. “Face it, Dad. I’ve been trying to accomplish one simple skill and haven’t been able to for the past week. Hashtag, I suck.”
“You don’t suck, Ames. You’re just starting out.” Remy rubs the back of my yellow tunic—color translation, newbie—until my father throws him a look. He sits back down on the stool beside me, and busies himself with straightening the belt of his maroon tunic.
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