The Windhaven Witches Omnibus Edition : Complete Paranormal Suspense Series, Books 1-4

by Carissa Andrews

  Wade grins as he answers the video call. “Hey, beautiful. I was just thinking of you.”

  Guilt coils through my insides, and I suddenly feel traitorous for entertaining any ideas Wade might not have my best interests in mind.

  It must show on my face because he asks, “Everything okay?”

  I set my phone on the stand. “Can I ask you something?”

  Wade’s silver eyes widen, and he takes a seat. “Anything. You know that.”

  I clear my throat, trying to decide on the best way to put things into words.

  “What is it, Autumn? You’re worrying me,” he says, his skin crinkling in the space between his eyebrows.

  “I’m not quite sure how to put this, so I’m just going to lay it out there. Are you—do you have any nefarious plans going on that involve me?” I say, scrunching my face.

  I sound utterly ridiculous.

  Wade blinks wildly, shaking his head. “What?” he snorts. “Is this a joke? Did I miss a punchline? Tell me this is a show reference I just happened to miss.”

  I pull my legs up, crossing them in front of me. Sighing, I shake my head. “It’s not. I wish it were. Believe me, it sounds stupid to ask. It’s just—”

  “Who’s filling your head with such nonsense?” Wade says, a hint of anger flashing through his silver eyes.

  I wish I’d thought of an answer to this question before it presented itself.

  “It was that Colt guy, wasn’t it?” Wade says, taking the leap.

  I flinch.

  “Shit, it was,” he says, dropping the phone on whatever flat surface it was up on. I’m suddenly staring at the ceiling of the room.

  The silence that floods the space is deafening until a loud thud breaks the stillness.

  “Wade, I need to talk to you about this. Please, come back,” I call out, hoping he’s still in the room.

  A few moments later, Wade picks the phone up and props it against something. His face is a blank slate, completely guarded, but he cradles his right hand in his left.

  “Is that blood? Did you—?” My mouth drops open and I lean forward, grabbing the phone. “Did you punch the wall?”

  Wade’s jaw clenches.

  “Look, it doesn’t matter that he’s the one who told me. He’s not the one who originally said it. He was just passing on the information,” I say, trying to reason with him.

  His distant eyes flicker a bit, but he doesn’t say anything at first.

  “Wade…”

  “And who is this mysterious other person?” he says through clenched teeth.

  “Well, I don’t know who specifically, but they’re one of the psychics on campus.”

  Wade snickers. “Convenient, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe? Regardless, he warned me to be careful. That’s all,” I say softly. “I just need to know if that’s true.”

  “What do you think?” Wade says, his dark eyebrows blocking out anything but his black pupils.

  “Of course I want to believe he’s wrong. I just—why would he say that?”

  “You know why, Autumn,” Wade retorts. “He has a thing for you.”

  “Not the other guy. And even if that were true about Colton, we’ve never…”

  Wade’s eyes open wide. “Never what?”

  “No, nothing about Colt. It’s just…you’ve never told me what kind of supernatural powers you have, or are going to have. You’re always so interested in discovering my powers, but we’ve never really talked about yours.”

  Wade shrugs. “That’s because there’s nothing to tell. My powers, if I actually do have any, none of it will reveal itself until certain events are triggered, and who knows? Maybe I’ll never get the chance to be supernatural. My family skips generations sometimes. I might get powers, I might not. Why do you think I’m so interested in helping you uncover yours?”

  I sigh. “I’m sorry, it’s just…”

  “Look, I get it. People are filling your head with nonsense and it’s easy to let that infiltrate your mind. I was worried about that before you left. Especially if I’m not there to defend myself. I wish you knew you could trust me, but I guess I’m not that lucky.”

  “Wade, that’s not fair…”

  “I gotta go. Grandpa’s not doing well today. We’ll talk about this later,” Wade says, glancing over his shoulder.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s not life or death. This is. So, I guess I’ll talk to you later, Autumn.”

  With that, the call ends and I’m left staring at my phone’s background picture of the two of us in happier times. Clicking off my phone, I flop backward onto the bed.

  Am I ruining a good thing here by entertaining what Colt said? Wade has been nothing but supportive and sweet. He’s damn-near perfect and I’m questioning him? God, I’m so stupid.

  “Hey, sweetie. Are you okay?” Dad says from the open doorway.

  I sit up, fighting back the urge to cry. “I’m—everything’s fine.”

  “Yeah, you look the spitting image of fine. I hope you don’t think I was spying. I was coming to see if you wanted anything for supper. But I kinda overheard some of that…” he says, wincing slightly. “May I come in?”

  “It’s your house,” I say, splaying my arm out in offering.

  “But it’s your space now, and I respect that,” he says taking a step inside.

  “Well, thanks,” I mutter.

  “Wanna tell me what’s going on?” Dad asks, stopping in the middle of the room and eyeing me expectantly.

  I sigh. “Everything’s just…getting so confusing.”

  “Welcome to the land of the living, sweet girl,” Dad chuckles.

  I raise my gaze to him and nod. “Yeah, I suppose. It’s just—on one hand, I have Wade. Dad, I really wish you’d meet him. He’s amazing and I know you’ll love him as much as I do,” I bite my lip to keep it from quivering. Taking another cleansing breath, I continue. “On the other hand, I have these friends…they’re helping me to make sense of some things. But Wade thinks Colt is—”

  “Your friends are the Gilbert twins?” Dad interjects.

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  His eyebrows tug downward and his jaw sets. His lack of words is deafening.

  “Something wrong?” I finally say to break the silence.

  Shaking his head, he walks over to my desk. My eyes flit to the dresser, which is haphazardly hiding the hidden door. My pulse races as I flit through my options.

  I stand up, walking over to the door to the hallway and lean against it, hoping to draw his eyes away from the dresser.

  “Not wrong so much…” he says, looking over his shoulder at me. “It’s just, you should be cautious with them.”

  “Cautious? How?”

  “It’s hard to explain, but their family and ours have a long history,” he says, taking a step away from the desk and toward me.

  “They told me that. They’ve been helping me understand the history of Windhaven a bit better.”

  Dad’s eyebrows fly upward, and he takes another step forward. “They have? What else have they been doing?”

  My mouth goes dry at the sudden interrogation and I’m acutely aware of the fact that everyone in my life has their own secrets—my dad being one of them. I’m not entirely certain how much information I want to divulge until I piece out which ones I can trust.

  “N-nothing. Mostly, they’ve been helping me with my studies. They’re good people,” I stammer.

  Dad watches me closely, but his head tips in acknowledgement.

  “Dad, do you have any powers?” I ask. It’s never seemed like a good time to ask him, but it’s obvious any supernatural abilities I may have stem from his side of the family.

  His blue eyes sparkle, and he runs a hand through his strawberry-blond hair. “If you count being able to move around this house like a ninja, then sure—”

  “Not what I meant,” I say, shaking my head.

  Dad chuckles. “I know.
Well, I have always gotten feelings—vibrations of energies. Sometimes they’d make sense and other times, not so much. I always wished I had a more powerful ability.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. “What do you know about Abigail and Warren?”

  Again, surprise flashes across Dad’s face. “That’s a pretty specific question. Where did you learn about them?”

  I fiddle with the doorknob, gazing at the floor. “We were at the library. I wanted to learn more about our family history and the town. Plus…”—I pause, trying to decide what to tell him—“I think I’ve been seeing Abigail.”

  Surprisingly, Dad smiles. “I thought you might.”

  “You did?” I say, practically squeaking.

  Dad’s face scrunches and he says, “Yeah, that day on the landing, I could sense her energy, but I didn’t want her to upset you in case you felt things the same way I do. But it seemed like there was more with you. I was hoping you’d trust me enough to open up. I hate prying.”

  Guilt rushes through me and I suddenly feel so stupid for even thinking my dad was hiding things, like the Vodník or the little door.

  “It’s been a long time since someone in our family could see the dead. But you, you’ve always been…”

  “Does Mom know? About you and the Blackwood family? Is this why she hates all things to do with supernatural beings?” I ask, unable to help myself.

  Dad scratches at the sides of his forehead. “No, your mom’s distain stems from other places. She wasn’t always that way.”

  I snicker. “You’re kidding me. For as long as I can remember, she’s hated anything and everything to do with powers and the people who have them. She practically flipped her lid when I first got my acceptance letter to the Windhaven Academy.”

  “I can imagine,” he chuckles.

  “You don’t…do you know how I got the acceptance letter? Because I never applied,” I say, shaking my head. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad. But it was surprising, to say the least.”

  Dad clears his throat. “There has always been a fund here for you when you went to college. Whether or not you attended Windhaven Academy. But I may have…set a few things into motion.”

  I look up into his sheepish gaze.

  “Dad, it was you? You sent them my application?” I gape.

  “Something like that,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s just—”

  “No, it’s fine. I just wish I would have known about all of this family stuff earlier. I feel like I’m at a total loss about everything. Hell, Cat and Colt know more about my family than I do. It feels weird.”

  “I can imagine. But there was good reason to keep you sheltered, Autumn. You must always remember that your mother and I did what we thought was best for you,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

  “How? By separating and leaving me completely in the dark? Do you know how many times I wished I had supernatural abilities and Mom made me feel like a complete freak for even wishing it?”

  Dad’s face drains of color. “That was never… I’m sure your mother was doing what she thought was best for you.”

  I snicker, balling my hands into fists. It seems like everyone around me keeps doing what’s best for me, but not a single one of them wants to do the one thing that really matters.

  Dad stares at me with wide eyes but doesn’t say anything.

  “Tell the truth, Dad. Why is it so damn hard to just be honest with me?” I say, walking out the door and into the hallway. I don’t know where I’m going or why, and at this point, I kind of hope Dad sees the hidden door. Maybe then we’ll have an honest conversation about that, too.

  My anger isn’t really for Dad. It’s aimed at no one in particular and everyone at the same time. It’s like every single person in my life has an agenda, and I can’t fully trust a single one of them.

  I guess I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands.

  Chapter 21

  Remnants

  It’s taken three days of diligently watching and waiting for Dad to be out of the house. As it turns out, it’s harder to keep track of him than I’d expected.

  Standing outside his bedroom door, I take a deep breath and reach for the handle. Without hesitation, I push it open. I know exactly where I need to go and what I need. The sooner I get it, the sooner I can get out of his room and back to my own.

  I walk to the small desk and reach for the drawer handle to pull it open. But to my horror, the handle isn’t there.

  My heart leaps into my throat, and I stare at the empty space, completely dumbfounded.

  What do I do now?

  Stumbling backward, I make for the doorway. I’ll need to regroup or…

  Suddenly, there’s movement to my left and Abigail has returned. Her white-laced arm points to a nightstand on the far side of the room. Without hesitation, I leap the bed and pull open the drawer. Shuffling papers and trinkets out of the way, I find the handle has been shoved to the back.

  “Thanks,” I say, looking over my shoulder, but Abigail is gone.

  I shove the drawer closed and race out of the room, closing the door behind me. Just in case, I shove the handle under my shirt and beeline toward my bedroom. Luckily, getting to my bedroom is far less exciting. When I’m safely inside, I close my bedroom door and lock it.

  My eyes flit to the dresser. My apprehension about going beyond the doorway alone has all but vanished. It’s been replaced by a determination to take control of something that’s all my own.

  “Now or never,” I whisper under my breath.

  Walking to the dresser, I place the handle on top and give the whole thing a shove to the right. Adrenaline rushes through my veins, but I grab the handle and place it in the small hole until it clicks into place.

  I take a step back, viewing the doorway in its entirety for the first time. There is something so familiar about it, but I can’t figure out why.

  Trembling, I reach for the door handle, knowing without a doubt this act could change things. I’ve always been one to love a good mystery, but this is different. The air is charged with energy and anticipation and I don’t know if that’s a good thing.

  As my hand touches the cold metal, I bite my lip.

  Should I really be doing this alone? Probably not.

  Despite myself, I twist hard and pull the door open before I can talk myself out of it.

  Frigid air rushes up at me, encircling me in its chilling embrace. I shudder away the imagery of cold, bony fingers and suck in a deep, cleansing breath. Grabbing my cell phone out of my pocket, I flip on the flashlight and exhale.

  “All right, Autumn, time to see what you’re made of,” I whisper, straightening my shoulders. “Nothing to worry about. There’s nothing down there in the dark that wasn’t already there in the light.”

  I leave the door open behind me, just in case, and start my descent.

  The wooden steps creak and groan as they release years of dormancy. Dust scatters into the air, fluttering about in the low rays of sunlight coming in through the small beveled-glass window. It cascades in sideways before the autumn night snuffs it out entirely.

  With every creaking step, my heart slams against my chest, but I push myself forward anyway, forcing myself through the fear so I can come out on the other side. There are answers in here. There has to be.

  Reaching the bottom of the rickety stairs, my feet hit the combination of stone and sand in what appears to be a small sub-basement room. I raise my phone, shining as much light around the space as the LED will allow, which isn’t much.

  I curse myself for not bringing a proper flashlight.

  The only sound in this tomb-like environment is my own shallow breathing, and I stop—deliberately taking a full inhalation to calm my nerves.

  Following the space to the right, the sub-basement is fairly small—no larger than a twenty-by-twenty-square-foot room built out of stones and clay mortar. The air is musty, with a hint of something herbal lingering behind. There a
re no windows in the tiny room, but dim light still permeates the space from the stairwell, as well as from the two large pillar candles resting in the middle of a tiny table that looks like it’s meant for a little girl’s tea party.

  The flames flicker ominously, making me both curious and apprehensive.

  Narrowing my eyes, I don’t dare take another step closer.

  Casting my gaze around the dimly lit space, I’m acutely aware candles don’t burn forever. So, somehow, someone was able to get down here before I got the door handle in place. I shine the light into all four corners of the room, under the stairs, and even under the table, but there is literally nothing else in here. No doors, no passageways, nothing except the one way in and out.

  Was the shadow beneath the door real?

  Shuddering away the trepidation rising up my spine, I take a step closer to the little table. It’s about the size of a small coffee table, and the large white candles reside on either end. In the center is a bundle of sage, lavender, and rosemary, a large pentacle, and a framed photograph…

  Of me.

  Snatching the frame from the table, I shine the light from my phone onto the photo and gawk at it.

  The photo is weathered, like it’s been exposed to the air and elements for years, and based on the age I am in the photo, it very well could have been. I can’t be more than seven or eight years old. Basically, the same age I was the last time I was here in Windhaven.

  Sitting on a small bench with an enormous willow tree behind me, my smile is broad and authentic, albeit slightly off.

  There’s just one problem. I don’t recognize any of it. When was this photo even taken?

  Rubbing my thumb across the dusty bottom of the frame, I kneel down next to the candles to get a better look.

  Something isn't right. I’m wearing clothes I've never worn before and something about my smile doesn’t feel right. Like I was sleepy that day, or maybe had a cold.

  Shuddering away the completely new level of the creeps, I swallow hard.

  I really shouldn't be down here alone…

  “Yes, you should…” a voice echoes off the stone walls, answering the thought in my head.