Haunted Legacy: The Windhaven Witches Series

by Carissa Andrews

  “No, no, it’s not,” I sputter, unable to keep my body from trembling. I glance at Wade, and once again, tears blur my vision, making it impossible to see his features clearly. “Not okay. Nothing’s okay.”

  His eyes look so sympathetic, but he doesn’t understand. How can he? I don’t understand.

  “Talk to me. What’s happening? What do you see?” he asks, never stopping our continual rocking. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

  I chance another glance at dad. The rotting face of my father leans forward, its gaping eye sockets staring into my soul.

  “He reeks,” Dad snarls. “In league with them. They’re all in league.” The intensity of his anger make me sick to my stomach.

  I bend forward, heaving again, but nothing comes up.

  “He draws attention,” Dad continues, raising a skeletal finger at Wade. “He’s a beacon for them. Your time will be cut short. Shorter, even. He must go—”

  “What are you talking about? Who them?” I squeal, trying to force his words into something that makes sense. “This isn’t Wade’s fault.”

  “My fault?” Wade says, shock in his tone. For a moment, he stops trying to console me and sweeps his gaze around the room. “What is?”

  “He’s a beacon,” Dad says, ignoring me. “Don’t you understand, Autumn? No good…”

  He lunges his ghostly body at us, arms wide and gnarly fingers ready to attack. I squelch another scream, flinching and covering my face with my arms, anticipating his blow.

  However, nothing makes impact. After a few seconds, I pull my arms back and look up. As if an invisible wall somehow separates us, Dad slams against the air inches from my face, unable to connect beyond it. His face flits through confusion, anger, and frustration as he pounds against it.

  “What is this?” He twists around, searching for the source of whatever magic has blocked him from us. “No, it can’t be,” he fires into the room. “You were locked away. You were under control.”

  I follow his horrified gaze to Abigail, who is still standing in the shadows, muttering quietly. Her head remains bent, but as he curses at her, she slowly raises her gaze. Power emanates from her, lighting the edges of her being, and it even makes me stop in my tracks. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. For the first time since I knew I could see her, she actually looks like a ghost.

  “You knew this could not go on forever. Your time has come to an end, Lyle,” Abigail says, stepping from the shadows and into the moonlight. As if the moon itself lends her power, the edges of her dress, arms, and even her hair glows brighter. “The treachery you bring upon this house cannot endure when it is cast into the light. Autumn has seen you for what you really are. You will harm them no longer. I will not allow it.”

  “How dare you? This is my house. You can’t do this to me,“ the remains of my father fire back. What little skin clinging to his skull scrunches and peels back in odd ways as he laments her. It makes my skin crawl and my heart feel completely hollowed out.

  Abigail’s voice booms out, an unearthly sound that shakes the windows on their frames and the decorations of the room. It echoes straight through me, right down to my bones. “Do not speak of ‘to whom this house belongs.’ Child, you are but a speck in the existence of time, as we all are. Yet, even in such deliverance, this home was mine long before you were a fleeting thought upon your parents’ minds.” She takes another deliberate step forward, her eyes blazing and jaw set.

  “What’s happened to you?” I say, my words barely a whisper, as I watch my father snarl in anger.

  He turns to me, his face contorting between anger and concern—as if he’s somehow fighting with himself.

  “Do not trouble yourself searching for validation. Your father is too far gone,” Abigail says, turning to me. Her face is full concern, but the light surrounding her illuminates her hair, making it look as though she’s underwater with the way her hair flies around her.

  “I don’t understand—” I begin.

  Abigail raises a hand to me. “There will be a time to explain all. Now is not this time.”

  She no sooner says the words before my dad flies at her. However, whatever binding she put him under holds, enclosing him in a cylindrical space and preventing him from getting to her. Abigail doesn’t even blink, she stands her ground, tipping her chin in defiance of him.

  “This cage won’t hold me. I’ve grown powerful. Far more powerful than even you,” he says, writhing against the invisible wall. His fists pound the edges, rippling the air the way as stone ripples the water.

  The room quakes, rattling the new window and dropping a picture frame from the wall. It crashes to the floor, shattering the glass in tiny shards across the carpet. A fleeting moment of concern flashes through Abigail’s face.

  “Autumn, we should leave. Get somewhere safe,” Wade mutters, trying to pull me from the bed.

  I shake my head, fighting off his groping hands. “No, I can’t. I need to—”

  Abigail throws her shoulders back, widening her stance. Then, she raises her right arm out in front of her body. “I think you shall find this to be a fallacy you cling to.” She turns her gaze to me momentarily. When we lock eyes, she frowns apologetically.

  Then, in a swift movement, she turns back to my father and closes her fist.

  Dad’s arms tighten in on himself, as if bound by some sort of invisible rope. He writhes against the energy, fighting for all he’s worth. “Impossible,” he spits. “What are you doing to me?”

  “Something I should have done long ago,” she says, cutting him off. Her arm remains out in front of her, and she turns back to me. “This is not how you should have learned of the truth. I am grievously sorry, Autumn. Truly, I am. His spirit must be contained, and then I will be back. There is much to discuss so he can be laid to rest.”

  “No—” Dad screeches, flailing against his invisible restraints. However, he’s no match for whatever Abigail has done to him.

  I cover my mouth, holding back another scream at his tormented cries.

  Then, with a final glance, my direction and true sorrow hidden in the depths of her features, Abigail inhales a deep breath and closes her eyes. Before I can even blink, they both vanish, leaving a gaping wound in the center of my heart and soul.

  Chapter 18

  Stages of Grief

  I crumble into a ball on the bed, unable to stay upright anymore. Pulling my pillow in close, I bury my face into its soft fabric. The subtle scent of fabric softener lingers from the last time James must have washed the bedding. I focus on it, rather than anything I’ve witnessed in the past twenty-four hours. I can’t. I won’t.

  None of it can be real. Because if it is…

  Wade positions himself right beside me and drapes a strong arm over my shoulder. He doesn’t try to console me with words anymore. Instead, he just stays next to me, smoothing out my hair and kissing the top of my shoulder.

  Every part of me is numb—even the places Wade tries to revive with his kisses.

  For a while, my mind goes completely blank, devoid of any and all thoughts, as I stare out into the darkness of the bedroom. Not even the moon dares enter the space anymore. It’s moved on through the night sky, illuminating the courtyard instead. I stare at the edges of the trees and the way the moonlight makes them look like they’re glowing.

  As soon as the thought of her name appears in my mind, it opens the floodgates waiting to release their deluge. Where is Abigail now? Shouldn’t she have come back? Explained herself to me? She promised me more answers.

  Fear grips me in the middle of my stomach and I’m suddenly not so sure I want her to come back. If she does, it means…

  My dad’s dead.

  The thought doesn’t make sense, no matter how many times it pops into my mind.

  How can he be dead? What happened? When did it happen?

  Abigail told him she was doing something she should have done long ago…

  My eyes widen as a new
terrifying thought emerges.

  If he’s…dead…how long has it been?

  Dad’s mysterious “trips” and time away from the manor start to make more sense when put in this new light. All of his interactions have been to me directly or through messages. Until tonight, he was never in the same room with Wade. I never even got to introduce the two of them.

  I swallow hard, unable to shake this horrible ring of truth.

  Oh my god, if my dad’s dead…if he’s been dead—how did I not know?

  You’re a postmortem medium, Autumn. You see dead people.

  My heart constricts and my face crumples.

  Stupid voice inside my head. What does she know?

  But it’s true. Ghosts look as real to me as any other person. Who knows just how many ghosts I’ve seen and interacted with, thinking they were alive. It’s no wonder I didn’t believe in them. Hell, until Abigail walked through my dad’s bedroom door, I didn’t even truly believe she was one—regardless of her dated clothing and hairstyle.

  Wade continues to stroke my hair or my arm, refusing to let sleep consume him. We have that in common. Nighttime slowly changes into the inklings of morning as we both lie there, staring out the window. My mind, as much as I try to ignore it, continues to spiral into dissent as it does its own thing—trying to fathom how any of this could be happening.

  The memory of following Abigail into Dad’s bedroom sweeps past the screen of my mind and again, I stop to consider. Any time I have been in his room, it’s never looked slept in—or lived in. Not really. Thick dust blanketed the flat surfaces and the room felt almost shuttered in.

  Why?

  Surely James would have noticed as well? I mean, he even washes my sheets, for crying out loud.

  Suddenly, I sit up in bed, making Wade jump in surprise.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” he says, instantly alarmed. His eyes scan the room quickly, as if he’ll somehow be able to see anything.

  “Why would James lie to me?” I say, unable to hide my irritation.

  Anger swirls into clarity and I hold onto it, letting it burn brighter. It sears away some of the emotions I don’t want to deal with, helping me to think more clearly.

  I seethe with a deep loathing for a man who’s done his best to seem kind and understanding. But it’s all been a lie. He’s been keeping things from me—from everyone. The only question is…why?

  “How dare he?” I say through gritted teeth.

  Wade lifts an eyebrow, gazing at me inquisitively. “Autumn, talk to me. What are you talking about?”

  My face tightens and flushes with agitation. “James—this is all his fault.”

  “Hold up, what’s his fault?” Wade says, his silver irises flashing in the dawn’s rising light. “You haven’t explained what the hell is going on. Did you have a bad dream? Or—?”

  I turn to him, his face full of confusion and concern. I open my mouth to say the words, but I can’t seem to spit them out.

  Shaking my head, I say, “I don’t know what the hell happened. I just know I need to talk to James. He has to be in on this.”

  Wade sighs, running a hand across his face. “Autumn, you’re not making any damn sense. Maybe we should bring you into the hospital. I’m concerned about your head injury.” He raises a hand, reaching out to touch the spot where the tree branch hit, but I swipe his hand away.

  “I’m not crazy,” I say, indignantly.

  “That’s not what I—”

  I throw back the blankets of the bed and stand up. “My dad’s dead and it’s all James’ fault. He—”

  Wade jumps out of bed after me. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up there. What did you just say?”

  “You heard me,” I spit back.

  His eyes survey me carefully, and he takes a tentative step forward. “How do you know your dad is dead?”

  “Because…” I swallow hard, unable to believe I’m saying any of this out loud, “he’s the one who’s been haunting the manor.”

  “He—wait. What?” Wade says, pulling up short and shaking his head as if it will dislodge something that makes sense. He stares at me with the most confused expression I’ve ever seen on his face. I definitely know the feeling.

  My gaze falls to the space between us and I let out a sigh. “He…came to me last night. I don’t know why, but he was watching us sleep. When I saw him, he started spouting off things,” I say, running my hands through my hair and taking a step back. Pacing back and forth, I try to push back the memories, but they’re embedded in my mind now. “The more I think about it, the more I think he’s been gone a while. Maybe this whole time.”

  “Holy shit.” Wade steps forward, reaching out for my arm. “That’s intense. What did he say, Dru?”

  I look up, fighting back the tears that are threatening to emerge. “He said I need to leave the manor. That he’s been trying to protect me, but they will find me… and…” I cut off, fighting back the sob caught in my throat, “and you’re like a beacon. Whatever the hell that means.”

  Wade’s face crumples. “What in the hell do I have to do with this?”

  I shake my head, crying out, “I don’t know. I don’t understand any of this. It’s all completely fucked and I’m just—”

  “Okay, okay…” Wade interjects, reaching out and pulling me into his arms. “We’ll figure this out together. There has to be an explanation for all of this. Maybe you were just dreaming?”

  I shake my head, fighting the tears blurring my vision. “I keep trying to convince myself of that.”

  His scrutiny is intense, and he finally whispers, “But it wasn’t, was it?”

  There’s no way I can bring myself to say it out loud, so I simply shake my head.

  “Dammit, Dru. I’m so sorry,” he says, pulling me to him.

  I lean my head against his chest, wishing I could take back the past twenty-four hours. Erase it all, like it never existed.

  “I just can’t believe James would lie to me about all of this. The next time I see him…”

  Wade pulls us apart. His eyes shine with a new level of empathy, but skepticism filters into their edges. “Autumn, you have to realize none of this is James’ fault. Whatever this is, it’s something much bigger than him. Unless, of course, he was involved, but I somehow doubt that.”

  “But he had to have known. How could he not? He’s been lying to me—” I say, still trying to hold onto the anger. It’s the only thing right now that feels real.

  “How did you not know?” Wade asks, cutting me off. “You’re the postmortem medium, after all. And if he’s been gone a while…”

  I bite back my initial response.

  He’s right. And it’s not like I hadn’t thought the same thing earlier.

  ”It doesn’t matter. I need to know how much James knows. I need to know how my dad’s been communicating with him,” I say, clenching my teeth.

  “Fair enough,” Wade nods. “And I’ll be right beside you when you question him. But, you gotta keep in mind, there is some next-level crazy shit happening in this house. I mean, even crazy for us. You know? If your dad is dead, then it means something is seriously wrong. We need to find out what it is and how to fix it.”

  “What do you mean?” I say, gawking at him.

  “Well, I’m no expert, not yet—but this isn’t a typical haunting. How long have you been interacting with him? A year? More?”

  I nod. “I guess. So what?”

  “The dead typically go two ways—they get reaped, or they stick around. If they stick around, they’re usually echoes of the person they were. Like Abigail—she’s been here for centuries and still has some semblance of herself.”

  “Yeah, but we thought she was the one who was doing all of this at first, remember? I thought she was angry and was starting to take it out on me for not helping her.“

  Wade raises his eyebrows. “True. But I have to admit, that didn’t really make a helluva lot of sense to me. Especially after…”

  I gl
ance up at his narrow eyes. “After what?”

  “That day in the study. Whatever tried to strangle me—it felt masculine. But it didn’t make sense at all. I guess it makes more sense now,” he says, frowning.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I say, covering my mouth.

  Wade shrugs. “I didn’t think it made sense. Besides, it’s not like I could see who or what was doing it.”

  Agony courses through me and hot tears slip from my eyelids. “I couldn’t even see him. It’s like—” I pause, thinking back. “—It’s like he didn’t want me to know.”

  “Or maybe there’s a different answer,” Wade says, reaching out for me. He pulls my hands into his. “If it was your dad, maybe it took a lot of energy to manifest so forcefully. I’ll bet he had to choose. Or maybe there was no choice at all.”

  “What do you mean? No choice?” I say, swiping at my cheek.

  “Maybe he’s been running solely on instinct. You said he thinks I’m a beacon, right? He’s obviously trying to protect you from something. The question is—what?”

  “Do you think it’s your dad?” I ask, widening my eyes. “I mean, that he’s protecting me from.”

  Wade shakes his head. “I don’t think so. The Angels of Death have strict rules. They don’t come for anyone until they’ve died. Part of the reason we’re not supposed to—” He looks down, screwing his face up. “The reason I’m not supposed to be with you has to do with what Angels of Death perceive as a circumventing of Natural Law. At least, as far as I understand it.”

  My head is swimming with everything I’ve learned today. Exhaustion threatens to consume me, so I sit down on the edge of the bed, staring blankly out the window.

  “Autumn, you look like you could pass out any second. It’s been a long night and neither one of us has slept at all. Let me hold you. You need rest so we can face whatever’s next,” Wade says, sitting down beside me and placing his left hand on my thigh. “It’s barely six o’clock. There’s not much you can do unless Abigail comes back—or the police station opens up. I mean, if you plan on contacting them. You know?”