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

by Carissa Andrews

  Stumbling backward, I toss the photo onto the table. It clatters loudly as the corner catches the tabletop, cracking the glass upon impact.

  I spin around, searching for the source of the voice, but the goose bumps flashing across my skin already tell me I'm not dealing with someone corporeal. Standing beside the base of the stairs, Abigail takes form as if manifesting herself from the dusty floor. Her green eyes are piercing, as they stare right through me.

  “The truth shall set you free,” Abigail’s voice beckons.

  Filling my lungs with as much air as possible, I watch her as she moves to the center of the room. Suddenly, the flames from the candles on the small table expand outward, and the entire lower level is filled with the warm glow of flames flickering.

  The table in the center of the room disappears and in its place is a large pentacle drawn on the dirt floor with…white sand? Salt? From here, I’m not sure which. Along the outer edge of the circle are large platforms, perhaps repurposed tree trunks, each with a mixture of candles in varying sizes and shapes.

  Outside the circle, Abigail is dressed slightly differently, her gown is no longer white, but instead covered in a dark royal-blue floral pattern. She hovers over a lump of fabric, bound in the shape of a small human body, in the corner of the room, just beneath the stairs. Standing beside it is a young girl no more than thirteen or fourteen.

  “I could only muster but a bit of salt, darling,” Warren’s words ring out across time and space as he enters the space from the stairwell.

  He passes her a large bowl, and she nods at him.

  “This will do,” she announces. “Thank you, my love.”

  Taking the salt to the pentacle, she begins to walk around the circumference in a counterclockwise motion. She pinches the salt between her fingers, muttering something under her breath as she adds it to the outer circle. Warren stands to the side, watching her intensely. His eyes take in all that she does, as if calculating all of her movements.

  When Abigail has walked the circle three times, she kneels down at her starting point and sets the bowl aside. Next, she removes a small vial from her waist and pops open the small cork. Her words continue in fervent fashion, but from here I still can’t make out what they mean. After a moment or two, she tips the contents of the vial into the center of the pentacle, right in the main pentagon at its core.

  The sweet stench of blood wafts to my nostrils and I shudder away the images it conjures. Whose blood was it? Why was that even necessary? And who’s hidden beneath the sheet? As the blood spreads out, the pentacle itself begins to light up a bright, brilliant white until it has cast out any darkness trying to hide in the corners of the room.

  Turning to Warren, Abigail raises her left hand toward him, and as if receiving a silent command, he saunters to her in three big strides. Holding out his hand, he garnishes a small blade, barely six inches long from hilt to tip.

  “Thank you,” she whispers, taking it from him.

  Warren tips his head, but rather than returning to where he began, he stays by her side.

  “She is very much afflicted and time is of the essence. She’s beginning to fade,” he whispers.

  Nodding, Abigail’s words begin again, a little louder this time, but I only catch snippets…

  “Death … offering … breath … remnants …”

  Clutching the small dagger in her right hand, she places the blade in her left palm and pulls it through, slicing her own flesh open. Thrusting her arm out so it hovers over the pentacle, the blood rushes from her grasp, falling into the mixture puddled on the floor. Her fresh blood mixes with the old, spiraling together in a strange dance as it cyclones upward from the center of the pentagon.

  Warren steps back, his face open wide in awe. Abigail, on the other hand is stoic; holding her ground, refusing to lower her arm until every last drop of blood has fallen from her hand. When the stream has ceased, she points the dagger at the cyclone of blood. As she does so, the blood reacts, stretching toward the tip of it until it almost touches the blade.

  Flicking her wrist, she directs the blade to point toward the body in the corner. Instantly, the blood rushes out of the circle past the two of them and embeds itself into the huddled mass on the floor. The blood stains the white fabric, soaking into it until it’s nothing more than a crimson heap.

  Under her breath, Abigail continues her uttering until it gets almost loud enough to hear fully.

  “Death, taker of life … accept my offering. Bone … breath … Recover … her remnants—and return her …”

  When not even a drop is left inside the pentacle, energy begins to pulsate from the corner where the body lies. At first, it’s subtle, just a gentle push and pull, but it intensifies. Growing until the entire sub-basement room throbs with its potency.

  Then, something moves from beneath the sheet.

  Without thinking, I open my mouth and squelch a scream.

  The young girl is gone.

  Everything abruptly switches. I’m no longer watching Warren and Abigail. Instead, I’m back in the here and now, staring at the small table in the center of the room. Beyond, standing in the space the body was once located, Abigail’s ghost looks up at me.

  “I don’t understand. What in the hell is all of this? What are you showing me?” I say, shaking my head.

  At first, Abigail doesn’t move. The candle flames from the table reflect in her green eyes as she moves toward me at an unearthly speed.

  “It is your birthright to wield the power I displaced. You must understand from where it is you come from in order to understand where you are beckoned to,” she says in a soft Colonial accent. “You must break this curse.”

  “Okay,” I say, blinking wildly.

  “It has been but centuries that I have been bound here, unable to escape. I am going to avail of your assistance. You are the only one who can release me from this binding.”

  I snicker.

  “And on that note,” I say, turning on my heel.

  I’ve seen plenty of horror movies, and let me tell you, they never end well when a ghost wants to be set free. Especially after what I just witnessed.

  What does she want? A new body or something?

  I’m terrified to find out.

  Chapter 22

  Careful What You Wish For

  The following morning, I put out my feelers, trying to find Dominic. After last night’s chat with Abigail, it’s more important than ever to find out why he carved veritas vos liberabit on my car. It’s the exact phrase Abigail used and I’m sure it’s no coincidence. I need to understand more about my situation and what Abigail wants. Preferably without having to have another chat with her, because that was creepy as fuck.

  Besides, the whole thing is on my mind anyway, since I had to drop my car off at the body shop to be repainted and I won’t have it back for days. Instead, I’m at the mercy of other people, which mostly means riding with Cat and Colt.

  It’s difficult, though, because there’s only a handful of people who I trust that have a clue about what’s going on at my house, or with my family legacy. Wade…and Cat and Colt. But this whole thing with adding Dominic into the mix makes me feel weird. Like the twins are secretly judging me about talking with him, but I don’t know why. The one thing I do know is, he’s the one who kicked all of this off, and Abigail’s apparition continues to reinforce his sentiment.

  Unfortunately, no one has seen hide nor hair of him lately.

  Not good.

  Alas, the day drags on with little to break up the monotony of learning the basics of magic. Not even lunch seems to take away the weird edge of jittery energy I feel. By the time the last class of the day rolls around, I’m so ready for the day to be over and to just get on with things.

  “I’m so sorry, Autumn, I won’t be able to walk you to Grimoire Crafting today. I have to go chat with Mr. Magnuson about the missing girls. Evidently, he thinks I’m showing signs of being able to hone in on the life force energy of o
thers. Something about how the element of fire is more powerful than just burning stuff down. Apparently, it’s pretty rare, so he wants me to give it a try to see if I can get a read on the girls,” Cat says, shooting me a look of apology.

  “Really? That’s amazing, Cat,” I say, trying not to let the surprise flush my face.

  She shrugs.

  “Well,” I say, brushing my hand out in front of me, “don’t worry about me. That’s way more important. I’m pretty sure I can find my way at this point.”

  “All right, well, gotta go. See ya after school,” she says, walking backward down the hall.

  “You got it.”

  A broad, goofy grin spreads across her ebony cheeks and despite the admonishment of the Gilberts from my dad, I can’t help but smile back.

  “Go. You’re gonna be late,” I say, shooing her with my hands.

  Cat holds up both hands, “Going—yeesh.”

  Sighing to myself, I drop my backpack from my shoulder and dig around. After much longer than expected, I pull out the crumpled-up piece of paper formerly known as my map. Staring at the tattered layout of the school, I orient myself and finally figure out which way I need to go. It’s amazing how little you really take in when someone else leads the way for you.

  “See? You got this, Autumn. Easy peasy,” I say aloud as I start moving. As I make my way, the twists and turns look familiar and I can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction for having maneuvered this journey on my own.

  With my head buried in the piece of paper, I take the final turn toward my last class of the day and accidentally slam into the back of a guy standing still in the middle of the walkway.

  “Oh, jeez. I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you,” I begin.

  It takes me a moment to recognize the white-blond hair and broad shoulders.

  “Dominic,” I say, my mouth dropping open.

  He grins slowly. “Hey, there. I hear you’ve been looking for me. I figured we’d bump into each other at some point.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I have, actually,” I mutter, dropping the map and sighing.

  “What can I help you with?” he asks, his grin sliding into more of a smirk.

  “Dominic,” I begin, “weird stuff has been happening to me lately and I think you might know something about it.”

  Slowly, he cocks a blond eyebrow.

  “I mean, you were the first one telling me I need to seek out the truth. And I’ll tell you, after the weeks I’ve had, I could really use some truth,” I continue.

  He watches me for a moment, his face flipping through a couple of conflicting expressions. “Here’s the thing… I don’t know if you’re ready for the entire truth just yet.”

  I snort. “I’m so sick of the runaround I keep getting. I’m not some small kid who needs to be coddled. I’ve seen shit, okay? I know things. I wish you’d just be straight with me.”

  “Fine, you’re a damn necromancer,” he spits.

  My eyes pop open wide and I can’t help but snicker. “What? First of all, how would you know that?”

  “Because I do. You come from a long line of witches with that legacy,” he says.

  “That’s absurd,” I say, narrowing my eyes. Without a doubt, I now know I have Warren’s ability to see the dead. But necromancy? It’s not possible to have both…is it?

  He takes a step back, running his hand through his white-blond hair. “I see things, too. Things that don’t always make sense. Sometimes I can move things without touching them. I technically don’t know how it’s manifesting in you, but I figure, if I had to lay money on it, you’re more like Abigail…”

  It’s my turn to take a step back. My mind instantly recalls my last interaction with her. “Abigail?”

  “Yeah, she’s your—”

  “I know who she is,” I say, goose bumps flashing up and down my back and arms. “She was my uber great-grandmother.”

  His mouth slides into a silent ‘o’ and he blinks away his surprise. “Yeah.”

  “So, you’re psychic or telekinetic? That’s your ability? Can you read minds?” I say, leaning against the windowsill.

  “Er, something like that,” he nods. “It’s one of the reasons I knew who you were without talking with you.”

  “So, what am I thinking about now?” I ask, blinking expectantly. I need to know if he’s just playing with me or if he’s actually telling the truth.

  He tilts his head to the side. “Other than I’m apparently full of shit?”

  “Yeah, I guess. What else?” I chuckle.

  “Okay, when I mentioned Abigail, your mind flitted for a moment to a vision of her. Not an old black and white photo, but an in-color, moving image of her. You’ve seen her, haven’t you?” he says, his intense blue eyes burning into mine.

  “I—maybe?” I say, confusion settling around me like a fog.

  “Did you know necromancers can’t typically see the dead they’re trying to resurrect? They need a postmortem medium to guide them. Warren was—”

  “I know. Supposedly he could see ghosts,” I whisper, dropping my gaze to the floor.

  “Right.”

  “So, if I can see Abigail, wouldn’t that mean I am not a necromancer?” I say, shaking my head. “I have Warren’s gifts, not—”

  “Look, I’m just gonna lay it out there. Abigail has come to me, too.” Before I can interject, he raises a hand to stop me. “Not…not in the same way as she comes to you, but in dreams, visions. She’s the one who wanted me to give you the nudge. She senses your presence and power. Whether or not you think you have the ability doesn’t matter. She thinks you do. If that’s the case, it would make you one of the most powerful necromancers this godforsaken town has ever known. Maybe the world. She has big plans for you,” he whispers.

  I snort, unable to squash the rising panic from the night before. I swear, I will not let her take over my body, if that’s what she thinks she wants.

  “Big plans?” I squeal. “What in the hell does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just the messenger,” he says, shrugging.

  “Shit,” I mutter. I can’t wrap my brain around any of this.

  “Look, I know it’s a lot,” Dominic says, taking a step forward. “But you should know...”

  I raise my hand, backing away. “I need a little time to think. Th-thanks, Dominic.”

  Turning on my heel, I leave the hallway and keep walking. I don’t even go toward my next class. Instead, my feet carry me instinctively and I don’t even look at my map once. Before I know it, I’m out the front door and walking through the parking lot.

  Could I really have both powers? And if so, how could I be the last to know?

  I tug my jacket in tighter and cram my hands into my pockets. In practically a daze, my feet carry me to the library, and as I walk up the stone steps, I’ve never been so happy to see the familiar building.

  My fingertips sting from the brisk autumn wind and my nose won’t stop running.

  Warm air greets me as I open the door and step inside. Keeping my head down and avoiding eye contact with the librarian, I meander the shelves and pretend to peruse a bit before heading down to the basement archives room. I don’t know why, it feels like the kind of place that should require a permit or something, and I certainly don’t feel like I have the credentials all on my own.

  My footsteps echo louder in my mind than I’m sure they do in reality, but I ignore the panic arising and push myself onward. When no one races after me, telling me I’m not allowed down here, I release a slow, relieved exhalation.

  “It’s not like you’re robbing the place, Autumn. Get a grip,” I mutter, pulling out my phone. As I sit there, staring at the screen, a text pops in from Cat.

  Heard what happened in the hall. You okay?

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I sit down on the nearest chair.

  Yeah. Decided to go to the library. Needed some space.

  After a few seconds, she texts back.

  Good i
dea. Settle in. We’ll be there in a bit.

  Without texting back, I set the phone on the table. My eyes flit to the large bookshelves that extend from floor to ceiling. The stack of books Colton had taken down for me before still rest in the middle of the table—clearly not an urgent project for the librarian to put away.

  I grab the one the twins showed me before and flip to the page with my house. Despite having some blueprints of the original home, there’s nothing about hidden rooms.

  Setting that book aside, but still splayed open, I reach for another one. The next book is on local Windhaven hauntings and ghost sightings.

  Cocking my head to the side, I slide it in closer and open the book.

  At first, it reads like a philosophical textbook on the physics of ghosts and their existence. How postmortem mediums can see and sense them…and how the practice was first recognized. Just as my eyes begin to glaze over with the scientific evidence, I get to the meat of the book.

  While no one has had access to the Blackwood Estate for a number of years, it continues to be the most talked about haunted locale in Windhaven. In the 1940s, two teenagers trespassing on the property were sent into mental health treatment after reportedly tangling with the spirits inside the building. When mundane ghost hunters were called to the scene, they were turned away by family who had reclaimed the property after the incident. However, there are oral histories of ghosts, apparitions, and spectral beings at the estate dating all the way back to the mid-1800s.

  Without even reading the rest of the accounts, I already know why the sightings would date back as far as they claim. Not only because the town would have been only a few decades old, but it was also shortly after Abigail died. With each story, my anxiety actually starts to dissipate.

  The next book is on local lore and history. As it turns out, people from all over the country come to Windhaven because of the vortexes and magical energies, and have done for almost a century. It’s weird to think, because right now in the fall, it appears to be a wasteland. Not some sort of magical vacation destination.