The Lost Daughter: Hells Hallow Book One

by Bo Reid

  When I woke up and packed what I needed to make the short trip to the Lost Soul Lake, I had many visitors to greet me along the way. It seems that the crow was right, and most of the creatures of Hells Hallow have been waiting a long time for someone of Morass blood to reclaim this forest. They all wanted to see if the fast-spreading rumor was true. If I really was back. I don’t think I will have an issue convincing them to help me with tasks here and there. Most importantly, I have an entire small army ready to be my eyes and ears inside all parts of the town until I can make my appearance. Which might be sooner than I had originally planned.

  First, I was going to wreak a little havoc; I mean, I just want to do a little damage here and there. It’s not something I have gotten to do much of, I didn’t really get to have a rebellious magic phase. But time is of the essence, and I think the best plan is to make sure they know there’s a new witch in town, and she isn’t to be fucked with.

  The walk to the lake isn’t long, but the trees are thick, and there is no clear pathway to wind through the woods. I follow the sounds of screams and crying, knowing the pain is where I am meant to be. Fog pools under my feet as I step out of the thick of trees and look over the lake; the souls floating there are from those unable to pay the ferryman to take them to their final resting place. They’re owned by the Devil himself, never able to pay their debt and doomed to an eternity of pain. It’s a shame no one is allowed in The Forbidden Forest, the lake really is a grand sight to see. There is a constant layer of fog that hovers just above the surface of the lake and prevents you from seeing across to the other side. The banks are covered in lush green grass and thick patches of moss. Large redwood trees line the outer banks preventing anyone from being able to see the water if they were to happen to pass by. If you were to simply glance at the water, you would see a dark pool of blue-grey water, the color of a stormy ocean day. But if you look closely, past the beautiful color, you will see the light gray glowing orbs floating throughout the water, each orb representing another lost soul.

  There is a small, run-down dock just around the little bend in the lake, and attached is a tiny rickety rowboat. Honestly, I’m probably going to sink and drown out here if I try to get that pathetic thing across the lake. Not that I can’t swim, it's that the souls pull you down — misery loves company. I guess if no one is supposed to go into the forest, they’re also not supposed to go out onto the lake, so having a boat that won’t take on water isn’t high on the Devil’s list of priorities. You have to be careful to never touch the water from the lake because the souls will pull you under. They will latch onto you and drown you with their pain, almost like a siren attempting to drown sailors.

  I toss my bag into the small boat. Take a deep breath and step inside it, untying it from the dock and shoving off. Paddling into the thick fog across the lake, I attempt to drown out the painful screams from the water below me. Honestly, I don’t understand why my family put their main home near this place; the cries can get so loud, and it’s nearly impossible to sleep. Or maybe they never noticed since they didn’t have that little hearing “gift” they gave me. But as it is, the cries are a major irritation from the cabin, and they’re nearly deafening on the water.

  The fog closes around me the farther across the lake I go, and when I see the outline of a giant skull carved into the granite wall, I know I have arrived. Quickly I paddle over to the skull, tossing the boat rope around one of its large carved teeth before tossing my bag into the open mouth. I reach out, gripping the mouth and pull myself up, scrambling to get my feet into the intricate carvings, so I don’t, you know, fall and get dragged down by the very souls I will later need.

  I manage to land inside the large carved mouth with an undignified thud — upper body strength is not my forte.

  Sitting up, I look around the cave that is carved into the granite mountain, “Ignis,” I call, and a flame appears in the palm of my hand, lighting up the inside of the cave.

  I grab my bag and walk down the slick cave floor, careful not to slip; I’m clearly not going to drown here, but how embarrassing to fall right on your ass. The screams and cries from the lake get softer the farther into the cave I walk, and when they die off completely, I know I’m close. Rounding a few small corners as the walkway begins to narrow, I suddenly find myself at what appears to be a dead-end, but I know better.

  I conjure my dagger and drag it across my arms, “Patentibus,” I whisper as the blood drips onto the cave floor. I reach my hand out and watch the fire turn to lightning as it licks across the hidden door and down the cave walls. The wall in front of me shimmers as it disappears before my very eyes. I step over the threshold; looking back, I watch the wall shimmer, once more recreating the door. I can still see out, but if anyone were to come looking, all they would see is a dead-end wall.

  “Ignis,” I call back my flame and toss a small grouping of fireballs onto the ceiling creating a little pyro chandelier.

  Mother would be so proud.

  Actually, I don’t know what she would think of this; I don’t know what any of them would think, they might be extremely disappointed. Maybe I’m not even working according to whatever they had in mind.

  I shake my head, no need to think of that, they’re gone, I’m here. I’m the one that needs to finish this, and I can only do it my way. Plus, it’s not like they left an instruction book.

  The cave is full to the brim of the most dangerous magical additives known to mankind. I smile, picking up a tiny vial with black liquid.

  Lucifer’s Tears

  Just imagine what it took to make the goddamn devil cry, and then what my family had to do to collect said tears in order to bottle them up.

  I’m sure the little hex shop on the main street thinks they’re mixing up powerful potions, and curses alike. But I’m sure they also believe werewolf fur, a scale from a siren, and a vampire fang are among the most potent additives they could have.

  The truth? They don’t know shit. I could walk into that shop, and with a simple wave of my hand, set loose a string of curses that would decimate them.

  The Morass Coven used to run all the witchcraft in Hells Hallow, but what they never thought to mention to… well anyone, was that what they all considered to be the most potent stuff, didn’t even come close to what my coven could do. They kept those secrets to themselves all the way up to the very end.

  Honestly, that’s more than a little scary, considering they couldn’t take down the thing I’m meant to defeat. They were the best of the best, and there was an entire coven of twelve members; I would have made lucky number thirteen.

  But they couldn’t bond with the other leaders. The Devil rejected their plans; the vampires and werewolves hid in their dens and coffins. The sirens wouldn’t come up from their underwater Hell, and the dragons couldn’t be bothered to do more than throw a little weather around.

  Because the original council members refused to do what they should have, my coven stripped their powers and gave them to me; an act that killed them — an act that could have killed me. Instead, I was sent away to be raised in the one place no one would think to look for me; a white witch coven. Now I’m back, and I’m a little bit pissed off… No, let’s be honest. I’m fucking livid.

  I lost my parents, my coven, my childhood, and my home. While the other heirs were here living it up, coming into their powers, and learning how to be as evil as they could be. I have more than made up for my missed learning years. That doesn’t change the fact that if I could do this on my own, I would gut each of them without a second thought.

  Unfortunately for me, murder is apparently out of the question here, at least for now. Don’t think for a second I didn’t spend any waking moment of free time in the last seven years trying to configure a plan to do this without them. The truth, however, is, I have yet to be able to figure something out. In the end, I realized I am going to need them; that doesn’t mean I am required to trust them.

  I move around the space, eyeing more
of the vials, canisters, and bagged items. The entire room is full of a dark witch’s most valuable treasures. As I finger each item, wiping away the dust to read the old handwritten labels, I come across one I didn’t actually believe they could have.

  Blood of a Dark Unicorn

  I gently pick up the vial, using my shirt to clean off the dust from it, “interesting,” I mumble. This is so rare that it’s not even believed to exist anymore. It’s more of an urban legend, something no one believes to be real because they don’t know anyone who has seen one.

  There are items here that I could only dream of owning, but it’s just one more thing I realize my coven had, and they still didn’t think it would be enough without… them.

  I stow the small vial back on the shelf, taking a moment to stare at it. Funny how something so little can do so much damage.

  “Ahh,” I growl as pain shoots through my abdomen. Reaching out, I steady myself with the shelf to avoid collapsing to the ground. My lightning flicks up my arms as my fire lights up under my palms. I quickly remove my hands from the shelf, promptly losing my balance and falling to my knees.

  “Fuck!” I yell as I ball my hands into fists to force the fire away, then slam my fists repeatedly into the hard ground until my lightning stops acting up. I’m breathing heavily, my chest rising and falling as I sit on my knees until the pain stops radiating through me.

  I thought I had more time. Clearly, I was wrong.

  Taking a deep breath, I push myself to stand, grabbing a few small vials that I will need sooner rather than later. I have a feeling I’m going to have to make my grand entrance as soon as possible. If I don’t get this shit quickly handled, I might not be around long enough to finish it. It’s not at all how I planned things, and I hate when my plans don’t go how I wanted them to. Being forced to move up my timeline is an inconvenience, but not one that I didn’t account for being a possibility. I’m prepared to take on the council, whether they like it or not. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll just have to take on the whole damn town.

  “Condeliquesco,” (Dissolve) I call and move my hand towards the ceiling, watching the fire break down into tiny embers that fall over me and turn to ash on the ground.

  I touch an electrically charged hand to the false door and watch it shimmer before me, stepping through it. I turn and whisper, “Obfirmo,” (Lock) and watch my lightning flick across the wall until it stops glowing and solidifies. I knock my knuckles on the false wall just to be sure, and it’s as solid as the rest of the cave, at least it appears to be.

  I haul my bag over my shoulder and make my way back down the small granite corridor. When I reach the opening of the carved skull, I take a moment to look around, opening my ears to listen for signs of life beyond the screams of pain from the lake waters. When I don’t hear anything, I toss my bag into the small rowboat and steadily climb down the carved skull. Unhooking the rope from the mouth, I open my bag and pull out two large gallon jars. Opening the tops, I carefully lean over the side, making sure I don’t touch the water as I collect souls.

  I smile as I steal from the Devil himself.

  Placing the lid on one, I move to fill the other, then secure them within my bag. Using one oar to push off the carved rock, I begin to paddle back to the opposite shore.

  “I’ll be back,” I whisper as the fog closes in around me, and I lose sight of the place my family kept most of their dark secrets.

  The darkest of them all, however, they hid away long ago… Me.

  Unfortunately for the men that claim to run Hells Hallow, I’m back. And they’re going to do as they’re told, or I will burn this fucking town to the ground with them trapped inside it.

  I’ll ensure I destroy all their people with them — all their loved ones, their family. I will be damned if they don’t know who is truly to blame for the destruction. After all, these aren’t my people, not anymore. Maybe in another time, in another place, I wouldn’t be such a bitter bitch. But the time is now, and the place is here, and I’m bitter. I’m pissed the fuck off. And apparently, I hold grudges, even if they should be reserved for others, but I will settle on taking it out on their blood. After all, what have they done to try and correct the history of this town? Not a fucking thing.

  I walk back through the forest with my backpack full of stolen souls, the residual pain radiating through my side as I march through the thick foliage. The pain only serves as a reminder of why I am here, and what was sacrificed to get me here. It drives me instead of slowing me down. I refuse to let this cripple me; I have come too far.

  Stepping through the tree line, I see the darkened cabin. As I approach, I notice something black on the front steps. As I get closer, I smile when I see it’s a small, black sphynx cat. Her little ears sticking straight up make her appear like a small bat. Her eyes a bright, purple hue, unnatural, but perfectly matching my own.

  “Hey there, little buddy,” I call to her softly, and she meows in return, getting up to stretch her legs before walking over to me and intertwining herself between my legs.

  I reach down and lift her into my arms, running a gentle hand over her head.

  “You staying or just visiting?” I ask, and she meows again, nuzzling her head against my chin.

  “I’ll take that as staying,” I smile, walking us to the front door.

  “You’re going to need a name,” I tell her as I push open the door, then kick it closed with my booted foot. I set her down on the back of the couch, and she walks along it with me, then jumps down and walks straight over to the locked potions closet. She paws at the door, causing me to laugh.

  “Ahh, I see you know just what is in store already, how about we get to work on a little curse, yes?” I ask, and she meows her agreements.

  I walk over, unlocking the door, and stepping inside. She follows me in and jumps on the wooden counter as I set my bag down. “How about Hex?” I ask as I pet her head, she meows and nuzzles her head into my hand, “yeah, I love a good Hex too.”

  I pull out the large jars of souls, stowing them away on the top of the shelves. Then rummage around in the bottom of my bag for the smaller vials I grabbed from the cave. Fixing my small cauldron in front of me, I grab the dusty spellbook in the corner, opening it to the final handwritten page.

  To My Dark Daughter,

  I am genuinely sorry we had to leave you with our mess to clean up, but I know you will find a way to do what we could not. There are no words that I can write here that would make up for having left you like we did. Just know that we did what we did because we love you with everything we are.

  You are a part of us, you make up the strongest parts of each of us, and we would sacrifice ourselves a thousand times over again in order to save you.

  What you will need most is here.

  See you in Hell.

  -Khalida Morass, your mother.

  I turn the page and see what I need: Protection against the Powers of Hell

  “Caw, caw…” I hear before a small tap at my window.

  Setting the spellbook down, I walk across the living room and push open the window, “Miss. Morass, as you required…” The crow from last night offers me the small bag clutched in his claws.

  I take it and motion for him to come inside; he flies overhead, landing on the rafters above the living room. Walking into the potions room, I find Hex curled up on the open spellbook snoring peacefully. I tip the small bag over onto the table and find six small items of personal value. One for each man.

  “How did you manage to get this one?” I ask, holding up a small gemstone that I suspect is from the siren.

  “You have more friends than you realize,” the crow calls to me in a creaking voice.

  I set the items out and get back to work on my potion; I have to make sure this one is perfect; it could mean the difference in life and death, namely mine.

  I pull down a canister of dried hemlock, placing it in a bowl to be ground up. I grab a glass jar and a dagger, making a slice on my forear
m and filling the pot with my blood; I bring my arm to my mouth and lick the blood clean then watch the wound stitch itself back together. That never gets old.

  I add dried siren scales to the hemlock and continue to grind them up together. Then I pour a splash of my blood into the caldron, adding the smallest drop of dragon blood to the mixture.

  “Ignis,” I call a flame to my hand, tossing it into the open fireplace just outside the room, then I pick up the caldron and move to place it on the hook inside the fireplace. As soon as the blood begins to boil, I will need to add the siren scales and hemlock that I’ve ground into powder. Then a dash of rattlesnake venom, and a drop of squid ink. The final touch is to add a sprinkle of dark unicorn horn dust as it cools. Lucky for me, my coven decided that it was worth keeping locked away in the cave so no one could get their hands on it. That is, until I came home.

  I work around the potion room, feeling the magic vibrate through my veins as the blood calls to my dark soul. Hex sleeps in the potion room curled up on the open page of my spellbook, and the crow — I should really ask him his name — sits up in the rafters and watches me work.

  When all is mixed together, I call back my fire, lifting the cauldron from the fireplace and setting it on a rack off to the side to cool. The trick is not to be impatient. If you use magic to cool the mixture faster, it won’t work right, it has to cool completely on its own; no magic, no ice, no putting it out in the snow.

  Hex meows and twines in my legs, nuzzling me and pushing me towards the couch.

  “Rest, Miss. Morass, I will wake you once the mixture is nearly ready. You cannot cause hell if you’re too tired to keep your eyes open,” the crow almost laughs as a yawn breaks from my mouth.