Haunted Legacy: The Windhaven Witches Series

by Carissa Andrews

  Terror washes over me and I drop my gaze to the journal. I can only hope he explains why. I flip to the last entry, searching for anything to help me illuminate the path ahead or give me an idea of the whereabouts his body. The final entry is longer than the rest and I hold my breath, reading his final words.

  Autumn,

  This could very well be my last entry. If it is, you should know there are certain things in this world that have been stacked against our family for generations. Our family’s powers aren’t normal. Conventional supernatural wisdom believes necromancy to simply be another ability, like shapeshifting or turning water into wine. Only, far more unique and rare. However, when you look closely at the lineage of necromancers, you will find they are all tied back to a single bloodline. Ours.

  In our family grimoire, you will find family history if you ask it to reveal those secrets. The grimoire is more than a simple spellbook; it’s also an account of our legacy. But in case you have not discovered it, I will paraphrase here, because you need to know. Necromancy was a gift from the old gods. It was given to our family as a means to resurrect Apollo’s son, Asclepius. Before then, the ability didn’t exist. Originally, it was meant only for this purpose. It was never meant to continue onward. But once touched by a god, the effects can linger. Through the ages, the gift remained. At first, it was under the strict rule that it only be wielded by our family. So, no one else was allowed to attempt the magick of resurrection—at least, not without great cost—and, of course, it could only be used at the discretion of the Moirai.

  Then, more rules were established. We could only perform resurrections when the loss of the soul was sudden and unexpected—and when it would put the balance of things in peril. Then finally, and most importantly, we could never try to circumvent our own deaths.

  The Moirai allowed our family to wield this power of life and death, under the pretense that we were to maintain the natural order of things. In essence, we were relegated to keepers of the dead. It became our job to protect the souls of the supernatural, entombing them in the catacombs within our grounds.

  For centuries, everything went as planned. All of that changed with our ancestors, Abigail and Warren. Now, we have all been paying the price for their transgressions.

  I stop reading, shaken by this revelation. What on earth did Abigail and Warren do?

  Irritation rises through me like a pot beginning to boil.

  Clearly, she must have known this. Has she been using me all along?

  I drop my gaze back to the page.

  Abigail was asked to perform a resurrection on a child who was dying of cancer. Rather than refuse the request, because the death was neither sudden nor unexpected, she went ahead and did it anyway. Abigail allowed her personal feelings for the child to cloud her vision, probably because the girl was a close family friend—a Gilbert. I wish I had the gift to speak to Abigail so I could know for sure why she did it.

  What I do know is, regardless, the action triggered a series of horrible events that have rocked our family tree ever since. Angered, the Inflexible One, also known as Aisa, cut Abigail’s cord in penance for this transgression. She died instantly and fell from the second-floor landing of our home. Accounts in newspapers say that she committed suicide because beside her body, they found tattered red rope. But Warren’s personal testimonies on record say she was in mid-sentence with him when she suddenly went blank. Then, before her body even hit the ground, her ghost was beside him.

  Distraught and confused, he did the unthinkable. He tried to resurrect her.

  He’d seen her perform the ritual enough times and evidently, he thought he could do it. Of course, he ignored all of the rules.

  This was ultimately a mistake on two counts. He was not a necromancer, for starters. Secondly, in the attempt, he was breaking one of the sacred rules. He was trying to circumvent her death. A death determined by none other than one of the Fates.

  The rest has been etched into family lore. Repeated from generation to generation—so we all know what is coming for us. This is what your mother and I hoped to save you from…

  From that point forward, Abigail was cursed—never being allowed the relief of being delivered by the Angel of Death and crossing into the light. A statue was erected in the center of our driveway, hoping to encourage the Angel of Death to return for her. But I believe her presence still haunts this manor. Warren, on the other hand, was destined to deteriorate into madness; living and dying alone, despite having children to care for.

  From then on, each generation of Blackwoods must pay a price to the Moirai. A price that is only paid with their life. When there are multiple children in a generation, it could be any one of them. The Moirai don’t care—men, women, necromancer, medium, or mundane human… They accept them all. We don’t know when it will come. For some, it’s middle age. For others, it’s in childhood. It’s all at the discretion of the Inflexible One. We only know none of our family lives beyond the age of forty-seven.

  We also know the time for one of us is coming when red threads appear. The more frayed they are, the more we have to worry. When I saw them during your childhood, I thought the Moirai was coming for me. I never dreamt they would come for you first. Before then, it was unheard of.

  I’ve spent the last decade searching for a way to make amends. To break the family’s cursed legacy and appease the Moirai so they will relinquish their vendetta on our family. Finally, after years hunting, I believe I may have found what I’ve been searching for. There is an obscure ritual from the Temple of Apollo that is supposed to allow me to open a gateway to the Moirai’s realm.

  I’m going to beg for forgiveness and, if that fails, I have a backup plan. I will offer up my own life then and there, in order to save yours. To save any other descendants from a life of fear.

  But if it goes wrong, and it might, it could be up to you to carry the torch and end this curse.

  However, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

  I love you, Autumn. With all of my heart.

  Forever and infinities.

  Dad

  xxx

  Tears brim in my lids, blurring the words at the end as I try to read them.

  So, it’s what I thought. He was trying to contact the Fates—and from what I can tell, they killed him for it and left his body to rot in the woods, knowing full well he’d deteriorate into a Lemure without a proper burial.

  My anger swells, fueling a hatred for the Fates beyond anything I’ve ever known. I want to see them suffer—make them hurt as much as I do right now, in this moment.

  To top it all off, Dad knew things might go wrong and he was willing to offer himself to save the rest of us.

  Slamming the book shut, I fight back the sob clawing its way up my chest.

  Abigail and Warren are intertwined in all of this, and have been from the very beginning. If it hadn’t been for them, my dad would still be alive. But now, I have to find his body and make sure he’s finally laid to rest so he can’t do any more damage. And I still have no idea where to look.

  Guess I’ll be needing some additional help after all.

  Chapter 21

  What Kind of Choices Are These?

  I stand up, clutching the journal in my left hand as I walk toward the doorway. As much as I hate to admit it, I need to make a plan for how to find my dad’s remains. That means waking up Wade.

  Despite the impending vibe of doom, I have to admit there’s an odd sense of peace in finding out some of this information. Pieces of this strange puzzle I’ve been surrounded by are beginning to lock into place. My life and this gift of mine are starting to make more sense. All the little nuances and frayed edges.

  Before I can even reach the landing, an envelope drops from the journal and flutters to the floor. I bend down and pick it up, turning it over to have a closer look. It’s addressed to my mom and even has a stamp on it. Cramming the journal under my arm, I run my fingertips along the seam. It was never sealed properly, so I flic
k it open and peer at the contents.

  Inside is a folded piece of paper. I pause for a moment, unsure if I should even be looking over a letter that’s not meant for me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the angel on my shoulder reminds me it’s supposed to be a felony to open someone else’s mail. But the devil on the other side justifies it since it was never officially sealed—or even mailed.

  I bite my lip, fighting internally until I pull it out and gently unfold it. The letter is dated August 1 of last year—mere weeks before I got my letter from Windhaven Academy.

  My pulse races as I scan the letter meant for my mom.

  My Dearest Andrea,

  I wish I were writing you with better news. Perhaps I’m wrong, and things will go far better than I anticipate. But I’m not holding my breath.

  I know I had promised you I would do whatever I could to keep Autumn safe. Believe me, I intend to do everything in my power to keep that promise. However, you should know, the Moirai have been back, calling for a sacrifice. I don’t intend to be caught off guard this time. Especially if they were again to come for Autumn.

  I have found a spell that allows me to summon Aisa. It needs to be done on the eve of the full moon and I believe I have found ley lines on the property that will be conducive to the attempt.

  At the next full moon, I will cast the spell and beg Aisa to reconsider. If that doesn’t work, I will take more drastic measures. I truly hope it doesn’t come to that.

  However, should things fail, I want you to know that I will not leave Autumn unprotected. I’ve set a fail-safe, triggering a paid scholarship to the Windhaven Academy. If she gets an acceptance letter, it means the Moirai have taken me. It’s not the news we have longed for, but it might be what has been fated from the beginning. (Yes, pun intended. I have to keep my humor about me while I can.)

  Andrea, I know we wanted to keep Autumn away from all of this for as long as we could. But it’s possible our time is up. If this ends up being the case, she will need to understand her gifts and the legacy we hand over to her. She will need to return to the manor and I hope that you will return with her. This house needs to feel the light and love of both of you. Autumn will also need someone who can help her to understand why we did what we did. Learning how to master her gifts—learning about my family—it’s the only way she’ll be able to defend herself against the curse.

  I hope this works, Sweetheart, I really do. My deepest desire is that the Moirai will hear me and turn a blind eye to Autumn and the Blackwood Family. But if it doesn’t, this curse will end with her. One way or another.

  I love you always.

  Lyle

  My fingertips press against my mouth and I swallow hard. Regardless of the distance of time and space, it’s clear from this letter that my dad loved me—and my mother—very dearly. Even to the very end. He was trying to protect me and he wanted to keep whatever promises he’d made to my mother.

  Tears blur the page from my view as I realize this is why Mom has hated the supernatural world. It’s meant more than cool parlor tricks. It’s buried deep in family curses and a legacy entrenched in death.

  My heart breaks for my dad, knowing he lived out his last days alone—without the love and companionship of those he cared most for. And in no small part, he was doing it all for me. To protect me and give me a chance to fight off some curse against the Moirai.

  And at what cost?

  His love? His life?

  Sorrow sweeps through me, and I wish I could put an end to all of this, but I also know I can’t go in half-cocked. If the Moirai killed my dad, they’re not going to even think twice about me.

  No, first I need to help put my dad to rest. Then, I’ll find a way to end this curse, or die trying.

  “Autumn, there you are,” Wade says from the bottom of the stairs. His voice pulls me from my thoughts and I blink back in surprise. “Whatcha been doing? I was getting worried.”

  The letter is still clutched in my hand and I glance at it, then silently hold it out. Wade’s dark eyebrows knit together as he bounds up the stairs, two at a time.

  When he reaches the landing, he shoots me a questioning glance, but accepts the letter. Glancing down, he reads it. With each passing moment, his face darkens.

  I fiddle with my fingertips as I pace back and forth in front of him.

  “Where did you find this?” Wade asks, lifting his silver gaze to mine when he’s finished.

  “In this,” I say, pulling the journal from under my arm and handing it to him as well. “It’s my dad’s journal.”

  Wade takes it, looking up with confusion painted across his face. “How did you—?”

  “Abigail,” I say, cutting off his question. “She said the only way to help my dad is to find his body and get him to the catacombs. But she felt there was information in here that might help us find out what he was doing before he died.”

  “Well, she was right about that part,” Wade says, lifting his eyebrows high.

  “Yeah, but there’s still nothing about where. Just a vague mention about ley lines.”

  With the journal and letter clutched in his right hand, Wade steps forward, wrapping his arms around me. “Autumn, I’m so sorry. This whole thing is so fucked up.”

  I lean into him, but I can’t find it in me to relax. As much as I’d like to be a normal person, dealing with my father’s death and grieving in my own way and in my own time, I can’t. I have far bigger things to worry about. My dad’s not just dead; he’s in a progressive transformation as a Lemure and there’s only so much time before he finds a way to overcome Abigail again.

  And on top of it, I have a horrifying fight for my own life coming. One that begins with a family curse and ends in death. Either the Moirai—or my own.

  But before I can worry about any of that, I need to find my dad’s remains and let him rest in peace.

  I need to find his bones.

  There’s no more time for falling apart.

  “We need to find my dad,” I say, pulling back from Wade.

  He nods. “All right. What do we do? Do you have a plan?”

  “Abigail wants me to call the twins,” I begin.

  Wade backs up, shaking his head. “No, nu-huh. No way. We cannot bring that guy back into the mix of things. Not after what he did this winter.”

  “Wade, I really don’t think we have a choice. She said there’s a spell in the grimoire and they’re the best ones to—”

  “Ask that guy, Dominic whatever,” Wade offers, his eyes blazing.

  I snicker. “I thought you didn’t like him either.”

  “I don’t. But at least he’s not trying to steal you away from me.”

  I wince.

  Wade runs his free hand through his dark hair and steps away from me. “Look, Dominic helped us find my grandpa and the entrance to the catacombs. He’s got skills in this area and we didn’t need a spell to do it. That’s all I’m saying. Let’s see what he can do.”

  I bite on my lower lip. He has a point. If we can use Dominic’s skills to find my dad, it would be a lot faster than having to get the twins here from wherever the hell Diana Hawthorne has them.

  Besides, how would that even go down. My first call to Cat since she left is to ask for a favor of epic proportions.

  “Okay, fine,” I say. Pulling my cell phone from my pocket, I dial Dominic’s number. Wade’s right. He’s just as powerful at finding lost things and a helluva lot less complicated than the twins.

  I step away from Wade, clutching the phone to my ear as I wait.

  “Hello?” Dom says, picking up the other end of the line.

  “Hey, Dominic. It’s Autumn.”

  “Yeah, I know. What do you need this time?” he says, his voice thick with sarcasm.

  Taking a deep breath, I swallow hard. How do I put everything into words? If I say it all out loud—and to someone who didn’t see it all go down, it makes it all so real.

  “I could really use your help,” I finally say,
walking over to the railing and placing my free hand on it. My gaze sweeps the entrance space, traveling to the windows and the autumn-painted trees beyond.

  He snickers. “Oh yeah? Well, I’m shocked. What, not enough mojo to come in here, guns a blazing and—” he pauses for a beat, then audibly gasps. “Shit. I’m sorry, Autumn. I didn’t—”

  I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Why are you sorry?”

  “I just picked up on what happened. I should’ve realized before I started speaking…” he says, his voice softening. “What can I do?”

  “Look, I need you to help me find my father’s…” I close my eyes, my voice choking out. “I need to find my dad. It’s a long story and I don’t really want to get into it right now. Will you help me?”

  “Of course,” he says.

  His sudden compliance is somewhat heartening, but it’s alarming at the same time. On a typical day Dom is all about what’s good for him. To have him care about anyone else for a change feels…weird.

  “Thanks. I really appreciate it,” I say, glancing over at Wade’s expectant gaze.

  “Where do you think your, er, dad is?” Dom says, tiptoeing around the word as much as I did.

  “I’m not entirely sure. They—I mean, he—could be anywhere. I’m not even sure I know the first place to start. All I know is it has something to do with ley lines,” I say, scratching my forehead as I think.

  “All right, what do you need me to do?” Dominic says.

  “Can you come over?”

  “On my way,” he says, hanging up the phone before I have the chance to say good-bye.

  I pull the phone back, staring at the wallpaper of my phone in surprise.

  “He’s on his way,” I say, shoving my phone back into my pocket.

  Wade takes a deep breath. “This will work better. Dominic can be a bit of a dick, but he’s come through when we needed him, surprisingly enough.”