Cursed Legacy: The Windhaven Witches Series, Carissa Andrews [korean ebook reader .TXT] 📗

opens the door and we walk out into the blustery cold. Large snowflakes drift through the air, blanketing the ground as they sparkle in the sunlight trying to peek through in places. I zip my coat up to my chin and shove my hands into my pockets.

We walk down the sidewalk in silence, just watching the snow fall.

After a few minutes, Mom turns to me and says, “Autumn, there were so many times I wanted to tell you everything. I miss how things were with us before.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Before?”

She nods. “Before your accident. Everything was out in the open. You were in training with your dad. Abigail was there, too. Though your dad couldn’t be certain. You talked about a woman being there.”

I face my gaze forward, concentrating on the snow-covered sidewalk. “I don’t remember any of that.”

“I know,” she sighs. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. The memories, they may come back. I just don’t know for sure.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” I say, biting the side of my lip.

She tips her chin in acknowledgment. “I suppose you’re right.”

“So, Hecate, huh?” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t remember all the details about the mythologies. Had I known, I would have paid closer attention.”

Mom chuckles. “Mythologies don’t always get things right.”

“But you’re immortal?” I say, shooting her a sideways glance.

Her forehead creases and she shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t know. The longer I’ve been around, the more I notice signs of aging.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I’m finally getting gray hair?” she laughs. “Pretty sure that’s all you.”

I roll my eyes and she nudges me with her shoulder.

My head still can’t wrap around the idea of my mother being so old. Or supernatural.

“If you’re immor—really, really old,” I say, narrowing my gaze and smirking at her, “could I have inherited that gene? Would that explain how I didn’t drown? Maybe that’s what really happened. Maybe I didn’t resurrect myself at all?”

The idea that maybe I would have a longer-than-normal life suddenly flares against my imagination. Would that protect me against the Moirai?

But if it was the case, would I want to live so long? Or would that be painful to watch those you love continue to leave you? Had Wade still been next in line to become an Angel of Death, perhaps…

Mom’s expression turns thoughtful and she shakes her head. “I don’t think so, sweetie. It took me half a century to reach what looked like age ten. Your aging process has been pretty typical.”

I can’t help but frown. For a brief moment, the idea had balanced on the edge of being appealing.

“We do share some commonalities, though,” Mom says, her forehead furrowing.

“Like what?”

“Well, for starters, I can also communicate with the dead. And I love graveyards, too. But I can see them for what they are—gateways into the realm of the eternal,” she says, keeping her voice low as we approach a family building a snowman in their yard.

We’re closer now to the drugstore and I need to find a way to break away from her for a moment to get what I need inside.

My eyebrows flick upward and I exhale slowly. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“It’s why your father and I were attracted to one another, I think. We shared so much in common—so much I didn’t think I’d ever share with anyone. The gifts we share aren’t very common. In fact, I’d wager…” she pauses, as if choosing her words carefully. After a moment, she sighs and says, “Wade is special, too, isn’t he?”

I stop walking and twist to look at her, unsure what to tell her. “He used to be,” I finally admit.

“Used to be?” Mom asks, her eyes narrowing.

“Yeah, it’s complicated.”

“Try me. I’m pretty sure I can keep up,” Mom says, reaching out and touching my elbow.

I swallow hard, turning from her for a moment. Do I tell her everything? That he was expelled for loving me? That it’s my fault he’ll never be supernatural, never have powers…

Sighing, I say, “The powers he would have gained were stripped from him. But you’re right. He was meant to be an Angel of Death.”

Mom takes a step back, eyes wide. It clearly wasn’t what she had been anticipating.

“An Angel of Death? Are you certain?” she whispers.

“Very.” I nod.

She shakes her head, stepping away and pacing. “And he was stripped of his birthright, you say? How did this happen?”

“His father. He was given a mark that expelled him from the club, I guess.” I shift uncomfortably to one foot, eyeing the drug store a block away.

Her eyebrows tug in and she taps her lips with the tip of her finger.

“What is it?” I ask.

Mom’s hazel gaze switches to me and she says, “Maybe nothing. But I’d like to look at this mark. Do you think he’d let me see it?”

I shrug. “Probably.”

She nods, clearly lost in her own thoughts.

“Mom, I—uh, forgot my toothbrush. I’m going to run into the drugstore quick and pick up a new one. I’ll be right back,” I say, trying to make a quick getaway while she’s thinking.

“Oh, okay,” she says, blinking back her inner monologue. “I’ll come, too. I could use some more shampoo.”

I pull up short, shaking my head. “I can get it for you. Do you use the same stuff as always?”

Mom’s eyes narrow and she smirks. “Yes, but I can grab my own stuff.”

The suspicion in her eyes makes me shift gears. “Suit yourself,” I say, feigning nonchalance. “I was just trying to be helpful.”

“Hmmm,” she mutters, following me anyway.

My heartbeat thumps awkwardly as I pull back the door and step inside. It’s not an overly large store, so keeping things under wraps is going to be difficult. The feminine products are only an aisle over from the shampoo.

I make my way over to the small gift section, pretending to eye the knickknacks and trinkets. Predictably, Mom follows me, checking out the small rack of sweatshirts that say “Mistwood Point” on them.

“Do you need a sweatshirt to remind