Haunted Legacy: The Windhaven Witches Series, Carissa Andrews [classic english novels .TXT] 📗

Taking a seat at the top stop of the grand staircase, I hold my breath, waiting for her to continue.

“You need to know we never meant to hurt you,” Mom whispers.

“What do you mean? By breaking up? Or—?”

“I meant by not telling you what you were. Autumn, we knew very early on you inherited gifts from your father’s side of the family. You have to understand, I haven’t always hated the supernatural. I know it seems like it to you, but I used to be different. Just like you, I was once enamored by the idea of having powers outside of sheer humanity. When we realized you could see and talk to ghosts, at first we both thought it was a gift. But the older you got…” Her voice drifts off, and I can hear her get up from wherever she was sitting.

“Wait…you knew?” I say, unable to stop the rising resentment from building inside me. My entire childhood, she made it seem like the supernatural community was a bunch of miscreants who needed to be controlled.

Mom’s heavy sigh doesn’t make me feel any better. “When we lived at Blackwood Manor, you would often tell us about the friends you’d see in the house and on the grounds. We knew right away what was really going on. But when you went missing…” her voice chokes off.

I press my fingertips to my lips to keep them from quivering.

Her voice is a little more solid when she continues. “Autumn, I swore when we found you on that dock after weeks of being missing that I would do anything and everything in my power to protect you. The Blackwood family has trodden the line between life and death for centuries, and I wasn’t going to let you fall prey to its legacy, if I could help it. That’s why your father and I parted. We knew being in that house would only heighten your gifts and one day…if we weren’t careful, it would claim you, too.”

The oppression from this revelation is almost too much, and the air in this wide-open entry closes in around me.

“So, you’re telling me I’m the reason you and Dad broke up?” I squeak.

“Honey, it’s not like that. We wanted to keep you safe…”

“I, uh…Mom, I love you. But this is…” I say, blinking back tears as I stand up. “I gotta go.”

Without giving her a chance to respond, I click the phone off and cram it back into my pocket.

Not only did my mom know what kind of supernatural gifts I had all along—they’re the reason my parents aren’t together.

The longer I’m in this world of the supernatural, the more I understand my mother’s despise of it. Then again, maybe it’s me who’s the problem?

If I had any other ability, being with Wade wouldn’t be a problem.

I always thought having powers would make me special, or open the world up to me. Not close it in and make it impossible for those around me to have any kind of a relationship—whether with me or not.

I thought having powers would be a blessing. Not a curse.

The entryway feels far too big and oppressive as I sit here all alone. Taking the stairs two at a time, I race down the hallway to my bedroom. Before I even reach my bedroom door, I can feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. It’s likely my mom trying to call me back or Wade calling to check in on me. Either way, I can’t take any more draining conversations. I need some time to process.

I’m still no closer to understanding what’s happening in this house. Why a ghost attacked Wade and why I couldn’t even see it… or why I was led to the painting of my mother.

On one hand, it feels as though my gifts are getting stronger, but on the other… Just when I think I have a good grasp on what I’m capable of, the rules change.

As I walk into my open bedroom, I flick on the light switch and move straight to the large picture window. The landscape is a sea of dark blues and blacks, and I drop the blinds, needing to pull into my space, wrapping it around me like a safety blanket.

For the briefest of moments, I consider trying to Skype Cat, but think better of it. My laptop is still upstairs and the study is the last place I want to go until it’s daylight. While I could call her from my phone, it just doesn’t feel the same.

Eyeing the clock, I see it’s barely 9:00 p.m. While it might be a Tuesday, it’s still awfully early. Resigning myself to an early night of solitude, I head across the hall to run myself a bath. I need to calm down and if there’s one thing the big tub is good for, it’s relaxing. After grabbing a handful of lavender and sage bath salts, I hold my hand out, letting the running water release them from my grip. Instantly, the scent calms my nerves and I pick up the lighter from the top drawer of the vanity and light the candles around the room.

After an uneventful, candlelit bath, I wrap myself in towels and plod across the hall with my hairbrush and dirty clothes in hand. Dropping the brush on my desk and the clothes in my hamper, I take a seat on the edge of my bed, eyeing the doorway to the resurrection chamber.

How did things get so messed up?

Rolling my eyes, I walk over to my desk so I can brush my hair. I pull up short as I reach for a brush that’s not there.

“What the hell?” I say, staring at the desk like it’s going to magically appear.

Shaking it off, I walk over to the hamper and dig through the dirty clothes. Not there, either.

Confused, I walk out of the room and back into the bathroom. It’s not there, either.

I did