Haunted Legacy: The Windhaven Witches Series

by Carissa Andrews

  I sigh deeply and nod. I don’t know what the best move is right now. I just feel so…numb. The anger I felt moments ago has already begun to drain my energy and even if I wanted to stay up, I can feel my edges fraying and sleep beckoning me into its embrace.

  “All right. Let’s try to sleep a couple of hours. Then we can decide what to do from there,” I say, unable to fight off the fatigue any longer.

  Wade pulls back the blankets and we curl in together. After a few minutes, the gentle rhythm of Wade’s breathing helps me to relax and I submit to the darkness.

  Once again, I walk the dark tunnels of the catacombs in anticipation. There’s something very important I need to do. Everything is pitch black, but somehow I know my way around and the direction I’m heading, as if a compass has been embedded inside my mind.

  Suddenly no longer alone, I can feel Abigail’s presence walking beside me. Though the tunnel remains dark, I’m acutely aware of her, as if I can see her in my mind’s eye. We walk in silence for a few moments. It’s not entirely uncomfortable, but there’s an agitated energy lingering in the air between us.

  I’m here for a reason.

  Abigail takes my hand, pressing her cool, unearthly palm against mine. Suddenly, we’re no longer in the catacombs, but somewhere outside.

  “There is much I should have been truthful about,” Abigail says, her voice soft.

  I’m oddly aware of my state—a strange sort of lucid dream. While I’m sure this place exists, I’m also aware it’s all happening inside my mind. The only thing I don’t know is whether I’m in control, or if Abigail is.

  I stare down at the scattered evidence of a circle—one that vaguely tugs at my memories, though I can’t place why. It’s off in the recesses of the dreamworld and no matter how I try to focus on it, it slips through the cracks of my mind.

  While the circle is evident, it has seen the seasons come and go. How many is hard to distinguish. Inside are the remnants of a ritual—salt, water, candles—as well as a tattered red string. It’s almost exactly like the ones I’ve been finding, but this one has been faded in time’s weathering gaze.

  Abigail stares down at the circle, her eyebrows tugging inward as she frowns at the contents within. Then she turns slightly to the left, her eyes landing on a small pile of leaves and brambles. No words are necessary as I instinctively follow her gaze.

  At first, it appears like any other part of the forest. But there, slightly obscured by nature and time itself, are the remains of a human body.

  Chapter 19

  Answers Within

  No matter what I do, I can’t stop staring at the tufts of clothing and bone jutting out from under the brambles. As much as I want to deny what I’m seeing, I know this is no ordinary dream.

  “The void is far easier to cross in the space between sleep and wakefulness,” Abigail says, somehow reading my mind. “I must do what I can to reserve my energy. It isn’t easy to contain…” she eyes me with a hint of sympathy. “Your father has grown very strong.”

  At first, her words fall on a hazy mind. I stare at her, trying to pull them into cohesion. Then, I look from her to the body of bones and decay, and the truth comes rushing up at me.

  I stare with wide eyes. “Is this—?” I can’t seem to find the strength to finish the question.

  “I am so grievously sorry, Autumn. I should have warned you from the moment you arrived. But I was selfish. I could sense upon you the strength you possess and I wanted to encourage its growth,” Abigail whispers, her sorrowful eyes falling to the circle. “I had hoped…”

  “This whole time? He’s been gone this whole time?“ I sputter, biting back tears.

  Abigail swallows hard and nods. “When it happened, it wasn’t evident at first that there was anything amiss. I had no way of knowing how his death came upon him, but when he remained, I had assumed it was a choice he’d made to stay behind. That there was unfinished business he wanted to attend to. When you arrived—that reinforced those assumptions. But when things started to become more…hostile, I began to look for other answers.”

  “Didn’t you ask him what happened?” I say, trying to hold back the agitation building inside me.

  “At first, I tried. However, he barely acknowledged my existence. It was as though, even in death, his diluted abilities somehow refused to open up. It happens at times when departed do not wish to believe they have passed and they close off all that would challenge this belief,” she says, beginning to walk the circle, counterclockwise.

  I follow her, leaving behind the remains of my father. “What happened to him? Was it some sort of ritual gone wrong?” I ask, pointing at the evidence in front of us.

  Abigail’s eyebrows tug in. “Perhaps? I have tried to piece together what it was he may have been attempting with this ritual, but I am not certain what his intentions were.”

  “So, why are you showing me this?”

  Abigail stops walking and turns to me. Her dress floats across the leaves, scattering them in a colorful array in the movement. I stare at them, mesmerized by it.

  “You must find this circle and bring his remains to the catacombs. His unrest and active violence is because he has not had a proper burial. Spirits, no matter how benevolent in life, will deteriorate into a Lemure if they are not properly interred,” she says, raising a hand and suggesting the bones beyond.

  I shudder. The idea of moving my father’s body makes me feel sick.

  “What about the authorities? Shouldn’t I let the police handle—”

  “We have run out of time for that. Had I known his body was not handled, I never…” Her voice trails off. “He must be dealt with as soon as possible. He’s far too strong and I fear that if this is not dealt with in haste—”

  “You won’t be able to keep him under control,” I say, nodding to myself.

  “Precisely.”

  “Shit,” I mutter, walking away. “I don’t even know where this place is. How will I find it?”

  When I turn around, Abigail is already beside me. “Within the catacombs, there is a location spell. It is best to utilize the innate talents of others for it, though. Lean on the Gilbert family, they are strong in elemental magick.”

  I shake my head. “They’re not even in town.”

  “Call upon them to return,” she fires back, indignance flashing through her features. “It matters not what they have done in the past. This is of vital importance.”

  “I—okay. Yeah.” I nod, suddenly feeling so foolish.

  “There is one final thing to attend to…” Abigail says, walking up to me.

  “Great,” I mutter. “What is it?”

  Abigail’s face falters, but she straightens her shoulders. “I feel whatever your father was attending to—it may be tied back to our family. Although he may have been dreadfully wrong in his approach.” She eyes his remains.

  “What do you mean?”

  She inhales softly. “Within the study, there is a journal hidden amongst the many books. Your father would often write in it and before he…” She blinks at me with wide, green eyes. “Before he deteriorated, he had planned on showing it to you. I would often hear him arguing with himself about the matter in his early stages.”

  “What’s in it? What does it say?” I ask, trying to ignore the strange, unsettling feeling suddenly making a home in my midsection.

  “Of that, I do not know. But I am certain it held great significance. I am hopeful it may explain his odd behavior before his demise—or perhaps the ritual he had been attempting,” she whispers. “Knowing this could help us to understand how he met his untimely death and, more importantly, how we can protect you.”

  My eyes flicker open and I exhale slowly, staring at the ceiling of my bedroom. The room vibrates with the high energy of midday, and I roll over. I pick up my phone from the nightstand and groan.

  12:13 p.m.

  Despite obviously having fallen asleep, I don’t feel any more rested than I did before. Beside me
, Wade continues to breathe in a soft rhythm, clearly getting better sleep than me. I close my eyes, trying to will myself back to sleep, but no matter how long I lay there, I can’t seem to find my way back to a restful state.

  I slip my legs over the side of the bed, easing myself out as gently as possible. Wade needs his rest as much as I do and if he’s actually able to get some sleep, I’ll be damned if I’m gonna wake him up.

  Besides, I need answers.

  I remember every moment of my dream with Abigail as though it happened moments ago. There’s no hazy confusion or feeling like I’m grasping onto something that wasn’t real. There were very real, very specific directions she laid out.

  Lucid dreaming isn’t something I’ve really studied much, but if I had to take a guess on what just happened, I’d wager that’s what it was. But if I’m to really know for sure—I need to find that journal Abigail was talking about. If the journal is real, I’m almost a hundred percent sure the rest will be as well.

  I walk over to my dresser, opening a drawer as quietly as possible. I reach for a fresh pair of jeans and tug them on. Then I tiptoe out of my bedroom and into the hallway.

  My heart is heavy and my head feels as though it’s gone through a pressure cooker. Everything is a strange blur of unwanted events—from what happened outside, to the revelation about my dad… As much as I want it all to be a horrible nightmare, I know better.

  I walk the long hallway, slowly making my way to the grand staircase. The delicate carpet tickles at my bare feet, and it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. I feel like I could float away—detaching entirely from this crazy, mixed-up world. As I approach the staircase, I reach out, floating my fingertips above the railing’s intricate woodworking. I stare at it a moment, not quite ready to ascend the stairs and face things.

  They certainly don’t put the same level of craftsmanship into things like this anymore. For the briefest of moments, I stand there, half-admiring the newly fixed staircase and half saddened by the lapse of artistry in modern architecture. I don’t know why it matters—maybe because it’s something my dad loved, and now…

  I close my eyes, refusing to give in to the emotions playing at the edges of my mind. If I do, I’ll succumb and I won’t be any good to anyone. Taking a deep breath, I hold it in my lungs and exhale slowly.

  “Come on, Autumn. It’s now or never,” I whisper. Opening my eyes, I head up the steps, keeping my eyes locked on the door of the study.

  When I make it to the second story landing, I head straight to the study doors and push them open. The room is bright and airy—nowhere near the dark and oppressive space I remember from the last visit to this room. All of the shattered lightbulbs and glass have been cleaned up and the space is utterly pristine.

  My gaze flits over the countless bookshelves. There are hundreds—if not thousands of books here.

  I walk over to them, running my fingertips along the books’ spines as I read their titles aloud. With the sheer number of them here, the last thing I want to do is go through each and every single one of them. But if I can’t find what I’m looking for, I may not have a choice.

  After I’ve gone through the entire left-hand side of the room and come up completely empty-handed, I sigh and walk over to the window. From this vantage point, the view of the courtyard and pond is truly unparalleled. Even from the ends of the house, there is so much beauty to behold from the autumn trees and flowers bursting with color.

  Halloween is just a couple of weeks away—typically my favorite holiday—and all I can think about is how this day of the dead will never be the same for me.

  Turning back around, I stare at the shelves, letting my gaze take it all in.

  If I were my dad, writing in an important journal, where would I have kept it? Stepping forward, I take a seat at his large mahogany desk. There are no books on the desk at all, only a small calendar, clock, and a few pictures—of me and Mom.

  I pick up the one of Mom, holding it close.

  God, I’ll have to tell Mom about all of this… Swallowing hard, I put the picture down and shudder. I’m so not ready for that conversation.

  Shifting back in the chair, I pull out the drawers, but each is filled with files of various papers and documents. Nothing that looks like a journal. I tug open the thin drawer in the middle of the desk, just above my legs. Inside, there is an assortment of pens, paper—and a small leather-bound journal.

  “So, not with the books, then,” I whisper to myself, pulling it out of the drawer.

  My pulse thunders in my ears and I can’t help but feel that going through this journal would be an invasion of privacy. Especially if this is all just a big mistake. What if my dad isn’t—

  I can’t bring myself to think the final word. Instead, I flip it open to the first page and all of my worries vanish. On the very first page is a dedication.

  To my dearest Autumn.

  May this guide you to the answers within.

  I pull my chair in closer, exhaling slowly. This is it. If the dream with Abigail is true, if it was really a lucid dream, there should be some important details in here. Things that should help me fit the pieces together and hopefully make sense out of all this senselessness.

  I turn to the first page, hopeful there will be some enlightenment coming my way. Yet, no matter what lies in these pages, there’s just two questions I need answered above all others.

  If everything is true, what was my father doing with that ritual in the woods?

  And most importantly, how did he die?

  Chapter 20

  A Cursed Legacy

  I clutch at the pages of the journal, unable to loosen my grip for fear the book will vanish before my eyes. I hope like hell it will clue me in on what Dad was doing and where I can find his remains. The last thing I want to do is bring Cat and Colton into all of this. Especially if I don’t have to.

  Taking a deep breath, I read the first few entries. They’re all pretty simple and there’s nothing of value in terms of information about his whereabouts or plans. But they’re still sweet and make my heart hurt. Most of them revolve around wishing me well, missing me and my mom, and hoping one day I will understand why they did what they did. The idea of him sitting down to write these pages brings tears to my eyes, but I know I can’t linger on them right now. I need more to go on so I can put him to rest.

  Further in, his words begin to tighten, finding a purpose and resonating with me on a deeper level. The hairs on my arms stand on end and I know I’m on the right track.

  Autumn,

  If you’ve been reading the pages before now, I’m sure at this point, it’s pretty damn clear our family has a messed-up past. We have a lot to be thankful for, but in my opinion, even more to atone for. After your accident, I had hoped to save you from this life. I never knew just how bad it could be until then. Always looking over your shoulder, always wondering when your time would come due. Even without the kind of powers you and other family members possess, I know the day will come when the Inflexible One will require another sacrifice and it will have to come from me. When I’m gone, I worry about what will happen to you. Your memories may or may not come back and I know even if they do, you’re still not prepared to take on what lies ahead. The protections we had put in place are only bound to you as long as I’m alive. What happens if they come calling sooner rather than later? Your mother doesn’t want to hear it, but I need assurances you’ll be protected—be taught to protect yourself when I no longer can. In all honesty, I worry that there’s no way around this. Only time will tell. At least I can take solace in the fact that should it happen, you will be called home. Windhaven Academy is prepared to do what it must to teach you and keep you safe. It’s the best I can do for now.

  Dad

  Atone for? Sacrifice?

  My eyebrows tug in and my heartbeat thumps loudly in my ears. I clearly skipped ahead a bit too far. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I try to calm my nerves. I need to find information about w
hat Dad was doing. Even in his lucid, human state, he’s brought up the Inflexible One. I don’t know who this person is, but I’m getting the distinct impression if I don’t figure it out, there are far worse things coming for me.

  Turning the page, I read the next entry.

  Autumn,

  I’ve begun to see the signs again. For the longest time, I had hoped that perhaps the Moirai had forgotten us. Or perhaps they had been sated by our desire to bind your gifts. But today, I found a red thread outside my bedroom door. At first, I didn’t think much of it, but it caught my eye. The moment I picked it up, I knew exactly what it was. There was power emanating from it that even I could feel and it was exactly like the ones I’d seen before your accident. I hope you never have to go through this sort of terror, my sweet girl. It’s time I put an end to this. The only question is…how?

  I promise you, I’ll find a way.

  Dad

  I stare at the entry, my eyes locked on one word. Moirai.

  Goosebumps flash across my skin and a creepy sense of deja vu envelops me. Wade and I were so close when we did our presentation weeks ago, practically tiptoeing around information tied directly to my own life.

  The Moirai are the Three Fates—supernatural sisters who choose a person’s lifespan and, more importantly, when and how they die. One sister spins the thread of life, one measures it, and the final sister cuts the thread.

  But why would they be after my family?

  Shaking my head, I read it again and this time, something different stands out. Suddenly, images of my own findings tumble through my mind. Red threads have been following me since I moved to Windhaven—at grave sites and other locations. I had no idea they were really tied to something more. Something far bigger…

  But what?

  A terrible feeling twists in the pit of my being. This is what my dad was doing when he died. He was trying to appease the Fates somehow. And lost.