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

by Carissa Andrews

  Blackwood Manor is residence for one of the oldest families in Windhaven, the Blackwoods. Built in the 1700s, it was thought to be erected on hallowed ground in order to work in relationship with the Blackwoods’s innate abilities. Both Warren and Abigail Blackwood were known for possessing strong powers in the postmortem realm, gifts that were rare then and even more rare now. Together, they were a formidable team. Warren could both see and hear the deceased, making it easier to communicate with the dead. Abigail, on the other hand, was born a necromancer, with the ability to summon the souls of those who had passed and, under the right circumstances, bring them back to life.

  Unfortunately, Abigail met an untimely death herself and her loss drove Warren into madness. He began creating additional rooms in the home at a feverish pitch. Those close to the family believed it was to make rooms for all of the children they would have liked to have had. However, in talking with the current descendant living in the home, Mr. Lyle Blackwood, he paints a very different picture.

  “I think it would be a special kind of hell being able to see and hear spirits, but not being able to bring them back—especially when the one who could, is the one you lost,” Mr. Blackwood said. “I’m sure being a postmortem medium in the pre-supernatural revolution wasn’t easy. On one hand, Warren had people knocking on his door all the time, trying to get him to speak to their dead relative, friend, or whatever. Or if they needed help with exorcisms and hauntings. Then, on the other, people were scared to death of what he could do. He couldn’t win.”

  When asked if he believed the rumors of why Warren built so many rooms, Mr. Blackwood had this to say: “It had nothing to do with children. He just wanted to keep himself busy. Some people in the community thought he killed Abigail. In reality, all of our family records indicate he loved Abigail deeply and was extremely distraught after her death. He couldn’t deal with all of their accusations or requests, so he threw himself into a different kind of work, hoping it would alleviate his pain. Together, they only had one son, William. So, building and remodeling became something they were able to do together as William got older. Then, it turned into an obsession that was passed down from generation to generation. My father was the same, until he passed the house on to me a couple of years ago. We’ve each added our own special touch to the house, continuing Warren’s legacy and adding our own personal mark.”

  Mr. Blackwood was more than gracious, granting a tour around the sprawling estate. He pointed out various features of the home, including the additions he, himself, has made to the manor. They include transforming what used to be Abigail’s parlor into a bedroom for his young daughter.

  “She loves the view out into the courtyard and I just can’t seem to say no to her,” he laughed.

  Other interesting aspects of the home include the expansive courtyard and view of his large pond. However, it was clear the home is where his heart is. Mr. Blackwood hinted a number of times that the home has many hidden realms to it that he hopes to one day show his daughter.

  He also described the house as having a mind of its own at times. Or, perhaps better stated, “more residents” than you’d expect. Over the centuries, it has seen many people come and go. However, not all who entered the residence left, according to Mr. Blackwood.

  “There are definitely ghosts wandering these halls. I feel them from time to time, but unfortunately, I’m unable to see them. I can only vaguely sense them. I wonder about my daughter at times, but she’s still too young to be sure what—if any—powers she may possess. Regardless, I still do my part, making sure the community is safe from harmful or unwanted unearthly energies. The catacombs on the grounds act as a final resting place for many of the early supernaturals, who were scared of persecution after their death. They needed assurances their remains wouldn’t be desecrated. My family has been entrusted to that task ever since.”

  When pressed further about this, Mr. Blackwood declined, stating, “Blackwood Manor has many secrets. It has to maintain a few of them.”

  My eyes widen and I read the last few sentences again.

  Catacombs?

  Since when do we have catacombs on the property? And where in the hell are they?

  Chapter 10

  Who's Out There?

  If there’s one thing I’ve learned about my house, it’s that its secrets unfold in their own time. If Abigail wanted to direct me to the catacombs, she could have easily told me about it. Instead, she wanted me to find this information on my own.

  Why?

  I pull up to the front of the house, parking Blue as close to the door as possible, and hop out. Once I walk around to the other side, I grab my backpack and close the door. As I turn to the manor, I scan the outside of the enormous building with more than a little suspicion, and maybe a blossoming sense of awe. I’ve lived here for nearly six months and it’s still a mystery to me. Part of me wonders if I’ll ever understand its whole history.

  Straightening my shoulders, I inhale a crisp January breath and head inside. The midafternoon sun is hanging heavy in the sky, blaring through the barren tree branches and into the windows. It won’t be long before the sun sets completely, so I need to hurry.

  “Dad? Dad, are you home?” I call out, hoping to have a word and pin him down on the information I found today. If anyone knows where the catacombs are—it’s going to be him.

  When silence greets me, I drop my backpack on the hall tree bench and make my way to the large dining room, hoping to find him in there. Instead, the enormous table is pristine. With all the time I’ve been spending at Wade’s new apartment, I’ve hardly had any time to catch up with him to see how he’s doing.

  Guilt twists through my insides and I recoil from the idea of hunting him down about this before I make a point to see how he’s doing. In fact, I really should make it more of a point to have deliberate conversations with my parents and make them more of a priority. Even if it’s just a phone call once a week or a conversation in the hall. I’d hate for either of them to think I only come to them when I need something. Even if it’s sorta the truth.

  I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and set a reminder to call Mom and another one to talk with Dad. At least technology should be able to pull me outta my own head once in a while. Sighing to myself, I return the phone to my pocket and walk into the kitchen.

  “Ah, Ms. Autumn,” says a man with peppered grey hair and a warm smile. He finishes putting some meat into the freezer and closes the door. “It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Your father has spoken very highly of you.”

  He wipes off his hands with the kitchen towel, then extends one. “I’m James.”

  I walk up, shaking his hand, and narrow my gaze.

  “The housekeeper,” he says, apparently sensing my confusion.

  “Oh, right,” I say, shaking away the cobwebs. “Sorry, it’s just it’s been so long since Dad told me about you. I forgot…”

  “It’s to be expected. I try to stay out of the way as much as possible. However, your father may be away for a bit of time and he asked that I stock the kitchen up for you,” James says, reaching for one of the canvas bags of groceries on the counter and opening it.

  “I appreciate that. Any idea where he’s going?” I ask, leaning against the counter and crossing my arms over my chest.

  It’s not like I have a right to keep track of his every movement, but a little bit of warning from him would be nice. But something tells me all his years of bachelorhood are hardwired in now.

  “I’m sorry, he didn’t say, and it’s not entirely my place to ask,” James says, pulling out a package of strawberries and a bunch of bananas from the bag. He tips his chin at a notepad beside the cordless phone. “He only left me that note.”

  I walk over to the counter and pick up the pad. The writing is faint, like he scribbled it quickly, but still legible.

  James, I’m going to be gone for a while. Look after Autumn.

  “I see. Well, thank you for doing all of th
is. Do I—is there anything I’m supposed to do? Like tip you or something?” I ask, a little well of panic erupting in my gut.

  I have absolutely no idea how this works.

  James chuckles. “No, Ms. Autumn. It’s all part of the job.”

  Relief floods my body because I don’t carry a scrap of cash on me. So, unless he has an ATM hiding around the corner, the chances of giving him a tip is pretty much nil anyway.

  “Okay, well, I’m gonna go get some, uh…homework done,” I say, pushing myself back from the counter and heading toward the door. “It was really nice to meet you.”

  James tips his head cordially. “Likewise.”

  Shooting him a lopsided grin and a quick wave, I make a quick exit and head back out toward the main entry. Scooping up my backpack, I walk down the hallway to my bedroom with faster-than-normal steps. My mind twists and turns over possible areas to look for the catacombs. If Dad’s not going to be home for a while, I’m going to have to do this on my own. Or maybe press Abigail on it, if she’ll let me.

  I swing open my bedroom door, dropping my backpack onto my bed, then walk over to the large windows and take a seat. My eyes scan the courtyard, trying to spot anything out of place—or something that could be an entrance to the catacombs from here.

  Shaking my head, I twist around, calling out, “Abigail—are you here? I need a word with you.”

  I hold my breath, waiting for her specter to arrive, but after a few minutes, it’s evident she doesn’t plan to join me. Either deliberately or she’s busy doing whatever it is ghosts do when they’re gone.

  My gaze falls to the floor and I can’t help but wonder…what do ghosts do with their time?

  Inhaling deeply, I stand up and pull my gloves from my jacket pockets. Tugging them on, I walk out of my bedroom and down the hallway that leads out to the backyard. If there are catacombs somewhere on the grounds, there has to be an entrance somewhere. Who knows, maybe my abilities will guide me?

  When I reach the end of the hallway, I turn right and follow it again to the very end, where the wing terminates in a little sitting area and large picture window that overlooks the edge of the pond. I honestly can’t tell which area is more beautiful—my bedroom, where I can see the whole courtyard in front of the pond, or this.

  The pond is frozen solid, but its location is evident by the ring of trees that arch around its circumference like they’re holding it in a comforting embrace. I unlock the large wooden side door, pulling it open. The frigid breeze blazes inward, and I prop the door open with my foot so I can zip up my coat.

  I take a step outside, close the door behind me, then continue a few steps into the snow-covered yard. Sweeping my eyes across the snowy landscape, there’s a creeping suspicion this will not be an easy task. Not only because our yard is massive, but because the snow has covered everything in a thick blanket that makes it damn near impossible to see anything that may be on the ground.

  Ignoring the voice in the back of my head telling me this is like looking for a needle in a haystack, I trudge out to the edge of the pond, hoping to get a better vantage point from its shore. After all, no one would build catacombs too close for fear of it getting waterlogged, so it has to be somewhere on higher ground.

  By the time I make it to the shore, my toes are freezing and I curse myself for not changing into winter boots. At the water’s edge, it’s oddly quiet. Which is a stark departure from the bustling sounds in the fall when the geese and swans are still nearby.

  Turning around to face the manor, I hold my breath, hoping to spot something to guide me. I start by looking closely at the left side of the house, the wing mostly designated to Dad—or at least, it feels that way because I never go that way unless it’s to see him. I sweep my gaze to the center courtyard, but the entire space seems flat, with the exception of the landscaping and trees. However, more to the right, and the way I came, the ground does begin to slope upward.

  “Who in their right mind would put catacombs here?” I say out loud, shaking my head. “The whole house is practically at the waterline.”

  A flash of black against the white backdrop of the snow catches my attention and I twist around to get a better look. However, as I turn, whatever it was disappears. Tugging my eyebrows in, I take a tentative step forward, trying to see if I can spot it again.

  Farther along the tree line, I catch the darkness again, but this time, it looks like a hooded figure is moving away from me. Picking up speed, I rush forward trying to gain on whatever—or whoever—it is.

  “Hello?” I call out, hoping my voice will make them stop. “Who’s out there?”

  I push my way past low brambles and mid-height branches, trying to get closer. Again, the flash of darkness moves through the trees and this time, I know it’s a person. The movements and height are all too familiar.

  “Cat? Is that you?” I call out.

  If it is, that would be spectacular. Cat’s family has been in Windhaven for nearly as long as my own. Plus, the Gilberts definitely know about some of the strange things that have gone on in my house. Maybe, just maybe, she’ll know about the catacombs.

  “Hey, Cat—come back, please,” I call out again, hoping to get her attention so she’ll stop.

  Slowly, the hooded figure turns around and drops their hood.

  Cat’s dark hair flies wildly in the winter breeze. Remnants of her exhalation swirl around her nonexistent expression. I take a step closer and her lips press into a thin line, but she doesn’t make another move.

  “Cat? Is everything okay?” I say, rushing forward as I push my way past a few more branches and trees to make it to her. “What are you doing out here?”

  She looks directly at me, but doesn’t say anything, and it instantly puts me on guard. It reminds me of the strange vision of her I had after Wade’s grandpa’s funeral. I’d nearly forgotten all about that. Goosebumps flash across my skin and I pull up short, not sure I want to get any closer.

  The two of us stand facing each other in a virtual stare-off, until finally, Cat’s demeanor shifts.

  “Autumn—I, uh… sorry. Did you say something?” she says, clearing her throat and wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

  I take a tentative step forward and nod. “Yeah, I was just wondering if you’re okay. You’re on my property.”

  She glances over her shoulder, as if completely out of sorts. “I’m—I guess I lost track of how far I was walking.”

  “Is everything all right?” I say, taking another step toward her.

  “Yeah, yeah…of course. I just wanted to get some fresh air,” she says, her voice gruff and scratchy. Almost as if it’s the first time she’s used it for the day. “Wha—what about you?”

  I glance around and nod, unsure how much I really want to discuss with Cat now. “Yeah, me too, I guess. It seemed like a nice afternoon to get outside for a bit. It’s chilly, but not too cold.”

  “Yeah…” she nods, again glancing over her shoulder.

  “Well, I guess I better get back. It’s starting to get dark and I’m not entirely sure I want to be roaming the woods when the sun goes down. I bet it gets a lot colder,” I say, jabbing a thumb over my shoulder and taking a step back. “Are you good to get home? Or…”

  “I’ll be fine. I know these woods like the back of my hand,” she says, twisting toward her family’s property.

  “Okay, well…guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?” I say, narrowing my gaze and trying to smile, though I’m pretty certain, if she’s paying any attention to my face, it looks more like a grimace.

  “Yep,” she mutters, turning all the way around and trudging through the snow.

  I watch her deliberate steps as she meanders away. She veers around trees and small mounds of snow, but with the way she moves, if I didn’t know better, I’d think she’d been drinking.

  When she’s far enough away that I can barely make out her form, I turn back the way I came and start walking to my house.

  Cat and I
haven’t been as close this semester, partly because of the amount of time I’m spending with Wade. There’s been so much crazy and he’s needed some grounding to help him adjust. Just like with my parents, I should do a better job checking in and being a good friend.

  God, I suck.

  But Cat’s been good. She’s been herself and normal.

  I shoot another glance over my shoulder, unable to shake away the uneasy feeling settling in my stomach.

  At least, I think she has been?

  Then again, what if there is something off about Cat—what would that mean?

  A terrifying thought pops into my head and I shiver.

  What if her resurrection didn’t go as well as we thought?

  Chapter 11

  Maybe It Was Fate

  If something isn’t right with Cat, how would anyone know for sure? Is there some sort of supernatural test we could do to figure it out? Like a magical blood test or scan?

  Even if there was, would I be able to get her to agree to it?

  I kick at the snow mound at my feet, wishing this gnawing feeling at the pit of my stomach would go away. I flit my gaze to the area in the woods where I saw her yesterday.

  What if there’s nothing wrong and I’m just imagining something that isn’t there? Worse yet, what if it’s all me—in my head?

  “Hey, where are you? You seem pretty far away,” Wade says, reaching out and placing a hand on my upper arm, then tugging me close.

  I shake away my trepidation and look up at his concerned face. With everything that’s been going on, the last thing I want to do is worry him more. “I was just thinking about the catacombs. I have no idea where the entrance could be, but I know we need to figure it out. Abigail wouldn’t have led me to the information if it wasn’t important to the questions I was asking.”