Soul Legacy: A Supernatural Ghost Series (The Windhaven Witches Book 2)

by Carissa Andrews

  “Cat has nothing to do with any of this. I haven’t done anything wrong. This wasn’t me—”

  However, a seed of doubt blossoms in my abdomen.

  Could I have done this? I’ve even had my own doubts about her…

  Diana’s eyebrow arches upward, as if she hears every word in my mind. Then, she leans in close to me. “Autumn, you’re gifted—naturally so, in fact. I’ll give you that. Your powers have a greater capacity than you’ve even begun to test. It’s almost as if you’re afraid to. Why?”

  I blink back in surprise.

  I’d never even looked at it that way. Instead, I sorta feel like I don’t have control of what happens. Abigail, the resurrection chamber, the revenants… I’m in reaction mode without a chance to be proactive.

  Diana’s tongue flicks across her lower lip and she turns to Wade. “So, you’re also in the epicenter of all of this, Mr. Hoffman. What about you? Anything on your mind?”

  His face again drains of color and he shakes his head. “No, Autumn’s right. We have no idea what’s causing any of this. We just want it all to be over.”

  Silence expands between the three of us as Diana watches every movement Wade makes with rapt attention. “I’m not entirely certain why you’re shrouding yourself with so much…mystery. But I’d be careful if I were you. It could be your undoing. I should know.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” I say.

  “Nothing you need to worry your sweet little head about,” she says in the same kind of tone a grandmother uses when trying to appease a young child. “All right, let me be frank with you guys. You are both adorably oblivious to what’s actually happening. It was clear from the moment I walked in this epicenter of hormones and magic, but even more so now that I’ve had some time in your energy. The problem is, the real world likes tangible proof. It’s a bummer, I know. And so far, I can’t offer them anything yet. I don’t know who the real culprit is. For whatever reason, they’re seriously shrouded. Like there’s another energy blocking my way.”

  I lean back, breathing a sigh of relief. She doesn’t think either of us did it.

  “What do you need from us?” I say, tapping the edge of the table.

  “I need you to cooperate with whatever comes your way. I can’t protect the two of you if you’re not willing to work with me,” she says. “I need total honesty among everyone. But right now, you both clearly have some secrets and, while it’s none of my business, I’m gettin’ the vibe they’re at the heart of the matter here. So, I’m going to give you a couple of days to communicate and clear the air. In the meantime, I’ll do more digging. See ya around, kiddos.”

  I turn my gaze to Wade, my eyebrows tugging in.

  What secrets does she mean?

  My eyes widen and I turn back to her. Did she pick up on Colton’s kiss? Oh, god…

  “Needless to say, don’t go anywhere. We’re not done here, not by a long shot. Mkay?” Diana says, grinning like a mad woman as she stands up.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I say, jutting out my chin.

  “That’s good. But I mean both of you.” Turning on her heel, she walks away from the table. Her blond ponytail swings around, bobbing along as she walks.

  Wade and I exchange a significant glance.

  “Oh, and by the way,” Diana says, turning back around, “you might wanna ignore that. It’s not good news.”

  Wade’s eyebrows tug in. “Ignore what?”

  Suddenly, the sound of ringtones erupt across the cafeteria.

  Chapter 17

  Speak Your Truths

  It’s amazing how quickly tides can turn. I’m starting to get whiplash from it all, to be honest.

  If I thought things couldn’t be worse, I was certainly fooling myself. It was better when Wade was more upbeat and I had become the magnet for rumors. We’d almost forgotten about the video at the cemetery in Mistwood. After his confession to the police, we were both kinda hoping it would go away—or wouldn’t be as bad at the very least. But, as promised, the video was released to the whole school and went viral in minutes.

  Sitting on my bed, I glance down at my phone, watching the video of Wade toppling the tombstone for the umpteenth time. It was cut close in such a way that it looks like he was just there to damage property or desecrate bodies. Of course, that’s pretty much what everyone has assumed, too.

  Now, no matter what we say or do, Wade and I are both the center of suspicion with the entire student body. Even with this psychic chick, Diana, supposedly on our side, it hasn’t saved us at all. In fact, I haven’t heard a word from her since.

  So much for her protection.

  On the other hand, though, I’m beginning to think Diana’s right about one thing. Maybe I don’t really want these powers of life and death. When I was a kid, I wanted to fly, or turn invisible, walk through walls, or maybe have the ability to conjure portals. Hell, Cat’s ability to summon fire would be better. Not necromancy. Not the ability to talk to the dead and stop them from crossing over. As much as I hate to admit it, I don’t really think anyone should have the power to decide who lives and who dies.

  Fighting the urge to be sick, I can’t even begin to imagine who could possibly believe Wade and I would desecrate graves or damage headstones on purpose. Especially for the fun of it.

  The video comes to an end and I tap out, staring at my phone’s home screen.

  Suddenly, a text message comes in from Mom, making me jump. I tap the message out of reflex, but regret it instantly.

  Hey, sweetie. Hope your new semester is going good. Give me a call when you get a sec. I’d love to catch up. <3 Love, Mom. xxx

  Besides the normal guilt, from not texting or calling as often as I should, I feel a stab of anxiety about responding. Do I lie and say it’s going great? Or do I ghost her and hope she just thinks I’m busy? Neither are great options, but telling her the truth is completely out of the question.

  Deciding for the lesser of two evils, I type a quick response back.

  Hi Mom! Definitely. <3 I’m busy right now, but I’ll call you later this week. Okay?

  Tossing my phone behind me on the bed, I flop down on my back and stare at the ceiling.

  This is definitely not how I envisioned my time at Windhaven Academy would go. Maybe Mom was right to be dubious about everything. So far, having abilities has brought me nothing but suspicion, pain, and heartache. If she knew, she’d probably be begging me to come back to Mistwood Point.

  My phone buzzes, making the fabric beside my head vibrate, and I close my eyes, unable to deal with anything more right now. Instead, I sit up, staring at the familiar, handsome face of Wade as he tries to reach me on a call. But no matter how much I love him, I can’t bring myself to answer the phone and I’m not really sure why.

  He’s the one person who knows better than anyone how this feels, but I need a break from thinking about it all.

  My eyes sweep to the big picture window overlooking the courtyard. Snow flitters from the overcast sky, as if the clouds haven’t quite decided whether or not to truly release their haul. It’s still beautiful, anyway. Standing up, I walk over to the window, wishing I could be as carefree as one of the snowflakes.

  Suddenly, a cold shiver courses through me and I pull my arms in tight, unable to get warm. Looking over my shoulder, I search for the source of the draft and there, standing a few feet behind me, is Abigail.

  Her face is forlorn, but her lips curve upward when I lock eyes with her.

  “I apologize for my intrusion. I did not mean to disturb you,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “You seemed burdened.”

  I attempt a smile. “That’s an understatement.”

  Abigail moves toward me, her dress barely touching the ground. At first, she doesn’t say a word, but her forehead wrinkles, betraying her own thoughts.

  Nervous energy rolls through my torso and I can’t help but worry about what’s on her mind.

  “Autumn, I am quite certain you
don’t always understand my delivery of things with utmost importance. I wish I could be more forthright, but certain wisdom requires a more delicate approach,” she says, rubbing the top side of her right hand with her fingertips. “Our family, our legacy…and it is more fickle than it appears to the casual observer. At times, it comes at great cost.”

  Shaking my head, I sit down on the window seat. “I’m beginning to understand that.”

  “There’s still so much you do not yet know and so much I wish I could tell you…”

  I narrow my gaze, confused. “Then what’s stopping you?”

  Her lips press into a thin line and her gaze falls to the ground.

  “So, you can’t say?”

  Narrowing her eyes, she tilts her head toward the doorway to the resurrection chamber. “Follow me, would you?”

  Without walking to the door and opening it like a live person would, she fades from the room as she turns to face the door leading down to the resurrection chamber. It’s almost as if her body is sucked through the entryway one particle at a time, floating away like those snowflakes falling from the sky.

  Taking a deep breath, I stand up and walk over to the bed to grab my phone so I have a flashlight with me. It’s been months since I last went into the resurrection chamber. In fact, not since the night we brought Cat back. I just haven’t been able to bring myself to go back down there.

  I pull the door open and walk down the wooden steps, suddenly consumed by the feelings and sensations I was consumed with that night. The panic and fear…and power. That’s something I haven’t felt since. If anything, I’ve felt pretty powerless lately.

  When my feet hit the sandy floor of the resurrection chamber, the room is already lit dimly by the magical torches around the room. I cram my phone into my pocket.

  Abigail hovers in the center of the drawn pentacle, still left in the middle of the room. My gaze is drawn to the dark stains in the sand; remnants of the ritual. As I get closer to Abigail, the energy in the room shifts, vibrating at a level that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  “Come,” Abigail urges, rolling her fingers and beckoning me forth.

  Somewhat reluctantly, I walk forward until I’m standing in the center of the pentagram with her.

  “Behold this space. What do your examinations yield?” she asks quietly.

  Swallowing hard, I turn around and inspect the room.

  “Well, it’s old,” I begin, eyeing the haphazardly built stone walls and dirt floor. “There are no windows other than the ones in the stairwell…”

  “Good. What else?” she urges.

  I scratch my temple, feeling utterly silly doing this with a ghost. “I see the pentacle of salt, the blood, and other items from the ritual we performed for Cat.”

  “Veritably. Go on.”

  I straighten my shoulders, shooting her a sideways glance. “There are torches—like the ones that you’d see inside tunnels or outside old buildings. Only they’re not real.”

  She chuckles and the smile cracking her face brings a certain beauty to her features. “Be not dissuaded. They are utterly real. Your perception of reality has yet to be adjusted to what truly is,” she says, taking a step outside the circle. “Regard this space with a critical eye. What more do you detect?”

  Pressing my lips tightly, I do as she asks. My awareness expands outward, focusing on the sensations of the room, and I involuntarily shudder. “There’s an energy to the room I guess I haven’t really taken notice of before. It’s like walking into a walk-in freezer, only I’m not really cold.”

  “Ah, now your senses are beginning to swell,” she grins. “Press onward. What else?”

  Shaking my head, I turn to Abigail. “There isn’t a whole lot more in this room. I’m not sure what else you’re—”

  “Close your eyes. Forego sight in the typical fashion and tell me what you witness,” Abigail says, her face lighting up from some kind of excitement, or maybe amusement at my attempts.

  “I don’t—”

  She raises a ghostly hand. “Humor me and do as I request, Autumn. Please.”

  Stretching my neck and relaxing my shoulders, I close my eyes. I feel somewhat ridiculous standing in the middle of the room with my eyes shut, but after a moment, the feeling dissipates. Instead, it’s replaced with a strange sense of calm. The anxiety and high-voltage energy washes away, as if I were suddenly plunged into a cool spring. I can’t help but hold my breath, curious to whatever may come next.

  “You have been grievously tainted by the sights of your modern era. I have found it to be a most dreadful affliction at times. Instead of residing in your gifts, allowing them to become a part of you, you lose your ability to be drawn into the eternal laws of magic. I suspect this is through much conditioning outside our inner sanctum, but regardless…” Her voice drifts off. When she speaks again, she is closer. “Keeping your eyes closed, cast a wider ken. Tell me, what feelings arise in you first?”

  “A sense of calm, for starters,” I say, raising my eyebrows, but keeping my eyes shut.

  “That is but a side effect of turning inward, calming the mind to embark into stillness. Being what we are requires a certain amount of strength and concentration. It also demands our intentional efforts to be but one with our gifts. Necromancy is not simply the resurrection of another. It is about immersion beyond the veil—to the heart from where all energy springs. We cannot do this properly without learning how to calm the storm raging within our own minds,” she says, circling around me. “You will be your own worst enemy if you cannot quell its beckoning. You must not allow yourself to be tormented by it.”

  I shift awkwardly, unsure what to say to something like that.

  “Move beyond the serenity. What senses entice you forth?”

  Inhaling slowly, I allow the stillness to overcome me until everything else is completely tuned out. The room falls deafeningly silent and it’s as if the whole world falls completely away. Then, almost like a single candle was lit inside the darkness, behind my eyelids, I can make out the entire room. Only, rather than seeing it in three dimensions, it’s more like looking through thermal imaging or an infrared camera. Some areas around the room are a cool blue, all the way up to a deeper cyan. Then there are areas around the room that are red, orange, and even yellow. Turning my head to face the ground, the salt glows a bright, crystal white, but the blood splatter shows up as an intense, fluorescent yellow.

  Curious, keeping my eyes closed, I bend down and touch it.

  “Speak your truths. What observations do you witness?” Abigail says softly.

  “Colors—everything is bright,” I say, standing back up.

  “Exemplary.” There’s a hint of satisfaction hidden in the tone of her voice. “Your gifts have returned with haste. Manifold objects require that you must be in alignment with their essence before they reveal themselves. I am quite sure you can appreciate there is much in this world that hath not yet shown themselves unto you.”

  I open my eyes, glancing over at Abigail. After realizing I can see spirits who are trapped, it’s definitely occurred to me once or twice that there are many levels to reality.

  “I do,” I say, nodding.

  Abigail clasps her hands in front of her body and smiles. “Dimensions overlap each other repeatedly. Sometimes, the only way to detect a rift is by honing our abilities. Other times, we require tools to be one with the universal energies. I am certain you have calculated that you have been miraculously gifted with both my ability for resurrection and Warren’s ability to behold the unseen. I believed this to be true from very early on, but I had no way of being certain. It was not a proven theory until your successful reinsertion of the Gilbert girl’s soul.”

  “That’s a good thing, though. Right?” I say, quirking an eyebrow.

  Abigail tilts her head to the side, considering. “It may have its benefits.”

  “Well, super,” I say, making a face.

  “Direct your attention
inward yet again and tell me what it is you sense about this chamber. From whence did it arise?”

  “Why?” I ask, wondering what she’s trying to get at.

  “We shall see,” she says, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

  “Fine,” I mutter under my breath. Again, I close my eyes and turn inward. I shut down all of my other senses until the calm returns and the strange colors flicker to life inside my inner sight.

  “Have you regained the clarity of sight?” Abigail says from somewhere behind me.

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “Good. Now, turn widdershins very slowly with a watchful eye. Tell me what impressions you get of this chamber from this sacred level.”

  “Widdershins? What does that even mean?” I say, shaking my head.

  “Anti-clockwise.”

  “You mean counter-clockwise,” I mumble.

  Swallowing hard, I use my internal sight to look around the room. The stones on the wall vibrate in varying degrees of colors, some brighter than others. As I rotate a little more to my left, I can make out the stairwell and the dimming light from the window. It appears as a greyish radiance, bursting out from the edge of the stone wall. Continuing counter-clockwise, I view the back wall and the myriad stones and mortar work. Flashes of centuries’ worth of memories begin to flicker through my mind’s eye, flooding past more quickly than I can keep up.

  Shaking my head, I turn again to my left. The memories continue to flood in, and I raise my hands to my head, trying to stop the dizzying sensation.

  “There’s so much residual energy. It’s almost…too much,” I say, trying to tune it out.

  “Many lives have come and gone in this chamber. Its echo can certainly be deafening for someone unfamiliar to its pull,” Abigail agrees. “Allow your senses to dive deeper. Their calling will cease.”

  Nodding, I try to submerge myself through the energy to find a sense of calm. When the images and information slow, I turn again, sweeping my internal gaze across the remaining wall, and the memories and visions abruptly cease. Instead, the energy is replaced by an intense level of tranquility—more potent than anything I’ve ever felt.