“Thank you,” I say. “I just wish he’d be here more often, too.”
“Oh, I do agree with you on that,” he chuckles, adding in some cut up sausages into the egg mixture. “He’s always been very busy. Trying to occupy his time and keep his mind away from his worries.”
“He was lucky to have found you,” I say. “Where did you two meet?”
James looks up, his eyes distant for a moment. “Well, I’ve known your father for a very long time. In fact, your grandfather and I were childhood friends.”
“Really?” I say, surprised I hadn’t thought to learn more about James sooner.
“Oh, indeed,” he says, nodding. “Charles and I got into plenty of mischief. Granted, he more than I.”
I drop my gaze to my knees and grin.
“It’s always a bit strange to be the mundane human in the mix of very gifted individuals. But your grandfather never made me feel less-than. I suppose, this was passed down to your father,” he says shutting off the burner and readying the tortilla shells. “When my wife Beverly died, I was at a bit of a loss. Your father gave me purpose again. Even if it was only merging our loneliness so neither were truly alone. Besides, once you’re taken in by the mystery of Blackwood Manor, any chance to come back is a second chance at unraveling it.”
“I guess I can attest to that,” I say, nodding. I pause for a moment, thinking about his life and how it must have been for him, being friends with my grandpa, being around this world, but not having any special powers of your own. “Well, I need to get some homework done. Thank you for doing this and talking with me. We should do it more often.”
“No trouble at all. Have a lovely evening, Ms. Blackwood.”
I hop off the counter and walk to the door, but turn back and say, “Call me Autumn.”
James smiles in return. “Goodnight, Autumn.”
Smiling to myself, I walk out into the hallway. When I get into the main entry, I walk past the large staircase and down the hallway that leads to my bedroom.
If James has felt the energy of the manor shift, too, then it must be more of a problem than I thought. There’s a good chance when Dad gets home, we’ll have to perform a banishing or summoning to learn why it’s here and what it wants.
In the meantime, maybe I can get Abigail to communicate with me.
As I reach my bedroom door, the hallway is flooded with a strange chill. Spinning around, I search the space, but nothing is evident.
Once inside my bedroom, I pull up short. There, on my bed, is my backpack.
The memory of setting it by the staircase rushes back to me and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Whoever, or whatever, must have moved it.
“Abigail?” I call out, my voice quivering.
Without waiting for an answer, I run over to the small door leading to the resurrection chamber and throw it open. Racing down the stairs, I close my eyes and summon the torches to ignite.
“Abigail, are you here?” I demand, my heart pounding.
She doesn’t answer, but I can feel her presence all around me.
I’m suddenly consumed with a vision of something outside of myself—something not my own.
As if stepping into an augmented reality, I’m in this same space, but I’m no longer alone.
Along the outer edge of the resurrection chamber, a man—Warren, my great-great-grandfather—walks the circle in a counterclockwise fashion, saying something I can’t hear or make out. Yet, without a question, there’s a knowing inside of me. It’s almost like a cellular memory. He’s attempting a resurrection.
Peering around the space, I search for the source of his attempt, trying to understand why it’s him and not Abigail who is casting this spell. In the corner of the room, a pile of sheets rests on the floor, bound in the shape of a woman.
Swallowing hard, I continue to watch as Warren kneels down, still muttering to himself. He takes out a small bottle and pours it into the center of the pentacle.
Setting the bottle aside, he takes out a small dagger, barely larger than six inches, and he slices open his left hand. As the blood runs free and uninhibited from his palm, it mixes with the blood already making its way to the outer edges of the internal pentagon. As it swirls and spirals together, a blast of energy releases, blasting Warren and all of the contents—candles, sand, salt, blood—across the room. All light is extinguished, and we’re suddenly plunged into darkness.
I hold my breath, unsure what it is I’ve just witnessed—and why.
As expected, knowing what I know about him, it didn’t work the way it should have.
However, slowly, from the corner of the room, light arises out of the pile of white sheets. Warren scrambles over to it, ripping away its bindings and unfurling Abigail’s body. He clutches her form close to his chest, tears streaming down his face as he rocks back and forth on his knees.
I don’t know how long she’d been dead at this point, but the bloating and distortion to her otherwise-beautiful features is startling. The stench released from unwrapping her enclosure reaches even to me, and I throw my elbow over my face to stop myself from gagging.
The light continues to grow, first emanating from Abigail’s abdomen, then expanding outward across her skin, until she’s nothing but a glowing orb of bright white-blue light.
“Abigail, my darling, my love. Please, tell me thou art with me? I am here—” Warren murmurs, groping at her arms.
Silence greets him, growing ever louder as the light pulls from her body and thrusts itself outside. The ghostly echo of the woman herself hovers inches above her body, then rights itself.
“Warren… What have you done?” Her words reverberate off the stone walls, an accusation hidden in their depths.
Scrambling to his feet, Warren’s face is contorted in anguish.
“Why are you displaced, my love? I followed the ritual, as you have done.”
Recognition flashes across her face and she sighs. She places a spectral hand alongside his jaw, her eyebrows tugging in.
“Warren, you know this magic is beyond you. Your gifts—they are very different from my own. You should not be meddling with such things.” She drops her hand, her gaze drifting to her still body.
“But you are here now. You can help me to—”
Abigail’s eyebrows knit together and her lips slowly tug downward.
Reaching for her, Warren’s hands go through her arms, and he stumbles slightly.
“What is it, darling? What are you not telling me?” he asks. “Why are you not re-inhabiting your body?”
If ghosts could shed tears, Abigail looks as though she might actually cry. “Do you remember the first time I realized my calling?”
“Of course, how could I not?” he says, eyeing her every movement.
She drops her hands to her sides and turns from him. “I knew the power I beheld must not be taken lightly. It was magic with devastating power,” she whispers.
Warren shakes his head, “I do not understand.”
“Wielding the power of life and death…it is but pulling the strings meant for the gods. When one string is pulled out of its sequence, the universe will respond in kind. A life for a life…”
Her words yield their own power and sense of caution—yet I can already tell there’s more she’s not telling him. And he knows it.
“Darling,” he repeats softly.
“You should not have dabbled in magic you do not have the power to wield, my love.”
“I do not understand,” he says, practically pleading. “You are here. You are with me. Why will you not simply re-inhabit—”
“Because I cannot,” she whispers.
He stares at her indignantly. “What do you mean you cannot? You are here; your body is there.” He points to her corpse, as if it’s simply a vehicle she needs to step into.
The apparition of Abigail kneels beside her body. Her ghostly hand runs along her semi-bloated arm, and she slowly shakes her head.
“It has be
en too long. Even for an experienced necromancer, the time has come and gone.”
“But,” he begins, dropping down by her side, “I cannot lose you. You cannot leave me here alone.” Tears emerge and he blinks them away, wildly clawing at his cheeks. “We were meant to carry on our legacy together.”
“It appears being without me is a concern you will no longer be tormented with,” she whispers, forcing a smile.
Confusion blossoms across his features and Abigail ignores it. Instead, she points at the body before her. “You must find a way to get my body into the catacombs. Once inside, I will walk you through my entombment.”
He blinks away the tears still falling. “But if I am to bury you, how will you be able to—”
Rage suddenly blossoms in her essence and she quivers violently. “I will never return. Do you not see? I have been damned, Warren. Cursed, by you, to remain as I am before you. Now, do as I ask, or we shall suffer a worse fate.”
The vision ends abruptly, and I bend over, gasping for air.
Why did she show me this? Is she trying to tell me she’s losing control? That she is the entity going rogue?
If so, what in the hell am I meant to do about it?
Chapter 9
Seeking Answers
After last night’s revelations, I barely manage to pay attention to classes. Even the presentation with Wade goes by in sort of a blur. Until now, it never really occurred to me to wonder if Abigail should still be here. Once I got past the initial disruption of her being a part of this house in the first place, it all just sorta felt…normal. It didn’t even cross my mind that maybe she never got the chance to cross over. Or that she might still want to.
I vaguely remember her saying something to me when I first entered the resurrection chamber. She wanted my help releasing some sort of binding, but I couldn’t deal at the time. Everything was too new.
Could she be growing restless because I haven’t helped her yet?
“Well, that went considerably better than I expected,” Wade says, sliding his backpack over his shoulder and walking over to me.
I blink up at him. “Huh?”
“You know, the presentation we just did not more than fifteen minutes ago. On the Fates…” he says, chuckling. “Ring any bells?”
“Oh, yeah. Right?” I say, nodding and scooting out from my desk. “Sorry, I was just so relieved to be done, I kinda zoned out the rest.”
That part is true. At least now my forced togetherness with him has come to a close. Maybe now I can spend some time trying to sort out my brain.
“Funnily enough, I did notice you were off in another land.” He grins, then winks in one of his trademark moves that still sends my heart racing. “Where were you just now, anyway?”
I sigh heavily, walking out of the classroom with him in tow. “I don’t know. Home stuff, I guess.”
“Everything okay? You haven’t had any more ghost attacks or anything, have you?” he says, alarm flushing his features.
“No, not really…”
He arches an eyebrow.
“Well, I mean, my backpack did a disappearing act last night. Then reappeared in my bedroom. So, I guess there’s that,” I say, making a face.
“Nothing else, though? No more explosions or…”
I shake my head. “No, nothing like that.”
“Good,” he says, exhaling loudly.
“It’s just been…tense. My dad’s supposed to be back sometime today, though. So, I’m going to drill him about what’s been going on. With any luck, I’ll finally get some answers.”
“Need any backup?” Wade says, his eyebrows knitting together.
I shoot him a sideways glance as we turn down the hallway leading to the commons area. “No, I’m pretty sure I can handle my dad.”
With everything going on, part of me wishes I could just give in to what he wants and say screw it all. As much as I love him, and I really do—I don’t want him throwing his life away for me.
Walking up to one of the large, plush chairs, I set my backpack down and take a seat.
“I bet it will be a relief to finally get some answers,” Wade says, dropping into the chair beside me.
I scratch at my temple. “It all depends on how many answers I can actually get out of him.”
“Good point. Well, the offer still stands. I know how intimidating it can be to talk to a dad,” Wade says, smirking sheepishly. “Plus, I’d still love to finally get to meet the guy.”
My eyebrows flick upward and my lips tug down. “Oh, right. You never got to meet him…”
Instantly, my heart constricts and a wave of guilt rolls through me. For as many times as Wade’s been at the manor, my dad’s been MIA. While it would have been nice to introduce them, now it just sorta feels…awkward.
Wade shoots me a sideways grin. “So, what do ya say?”
I scrunch my face. “I dunno…”
“Come on, Autumn. You can just introduce me as a friend,” he says, frowning. His eyes reflect that aura of hurt just bubbling under the surface, but he holds it together pretty well. “I mean, that’s what’s holding you back, right?”
“Wade…” I begin, trying to sound reasonable.
He swipes away my comment with a stroke of his hand. “Nah, it is what it is right now. I get it.”
I chew on the side of my cheek. He gives me the puppy dog pout and I can’t help but crack. “Fine. But just for a little while. Okay?”
He tips his head. “Deal. Wanna head out now and see if he’s there?”
I shrug. “I suppose.”
“Okay, go home and check. If he’s there, text me and I’ll meet ya. I’m gonna swing by my place and change quick.”
My gaze follows the length of his body. He’s wearing ripped up jeans, a black Pink Floyd t-shirt and his leather jacket. Nothing too crazy.
“Why do you need to change?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow.
His dark eyebrows furrow and his silver eyes glimmer. “You let me worry about all that. I’m not gonna show up looking like a ragtag misfit or something.”
“He’s not gonna care—”
“Shhhh. Just go with it and let me do my thing,” he says, holding a hand out in front of him.
I snicker to myself and stand up. “If you say so.”
He grins broadly. “See ya in about an hour?”
I tip my head, hiking my backpack up over my shoulder. “If he’s there, yes.” I turn around and walk out, not wanting him to see the panic welling up inside me.
Butterflies tussle around in my stomach and I can’t help but curse myself under my breath. I should have said no. I should have stood my ground to keep my distance. Every time we have to get together it makes it harder to remember why we should be apart in the first place.
Why can’t I just say no to him?
The entire drive home is an escapade in testing my resolve.
I wonder whether or not I should I text Wade back, saying my dad isn’t there. Would he come over anyway? Surely he wouldn’t… Then again, would it be so wrong to have Dad meet someone who’s been a big part of my life? Besides, Wade’s sort of right. I could use another set of ears when I ask Dad about the house, the hauntings, and Abigail.
By the time I reach the manor, I’ve settled on letting Wade come over…as long as Dad is home. Nothing could go wrong there, right? Especially if I stick to the plan and get him out of the house after we find some answers.
When I open the front door, there’s nothing immediately evident, pointing me toward whether or not he’s home. The house remains as calm as ever.
“Dad?” I call out, glancing around the entryway. The large grandfather clock ticks loudly, punctuating the seconds that pass in silence.
Sighing to myself, I walk past the staircase and turn left, heading to my bedroom to drop off my backpack.
Just as I reach the door, I hear a voice call out, “Autumn? Is that you?”
I set my backpack on the floor inside the doorway and lean
out into the hallway. “Dad?”
“Hey, sweetie. I thought I heard you,” Dad says, walking down the hallway from where I just came. “How have things been?”
“Thank god, you’re home,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief. “I was beginning to worry.”
“Why? Is everything okay?” he asks, his light eyes clouding with worry. For the first time, I notice just how tired he looks. Wherever he’s been has certainly taken a toll on him. There are deep bags under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept well in a while.
“I’m—uh, are you okay? You don’t look so well,” I say, stepping toward him.
He takes a step back, shaking his head and rubbing at his eyes. “Oh, yeah. Just a little jet-lagged. I have to adjust back to our time.”
“Where have you been? I mean, one day you were here, then you were gone for weeks. James said you were called away, but he didn’t know much else,” I say, tilting my head to the side.
“Yeah, that happens sometimes. I wish I could tell you more about it, but I’m not really allowed to…” he says, his gaze falling to the ground.
I chuckle softly. “Why? Do you work for the CIA or something?”
Dad’s eyes widen, but he takes a step back and laughs. “Definitely something. What are you up to now? Did you want to catch up a bit?” He nods back toward the entryway.
“Actually, I’d love to. Let me just put all of my school stuff away quick.”
“All right. Meet you in the sitting room. I love the light this time of day,” he says, grinning.
“Sounds good. I’ll be right there.” I nod.
Walking into my bedroom, I pull my phone from my pocket and stare at the blacked-out screen. Despite my hesitation, I tap on the screen, unlock the phone, and type Wade a quick message.
Dad’s home. We’ll be in the sitting room up front, so ring the doorbell when you’re here.
Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I walk out of my bedroom. When I reach the sitting room, Dad’s sitting on one of the couches, staring out at the front yard. From the large picture window, the most prominent feature is the large oak tree just outside. Near the ground, though, is a garden full of shrubbery, with flowers that have clearly passed their prime as fall approaches.
Haunted Legacy: The Windhaven Witches Series Page 6
