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

do what I can to reserve my energy. It isn’t easy to contain…” she eyes me with a hint of sympathy. “Your father has grown very strong.”

At first, her words fall on a hazy mind. I stare at her, trying to pull them into cohesion. Then, I look from her to the body of bones and decay, and the truth comes rushing up at me.

I stare with wide eyes. “Is this—?” I can’t seem to find the strength to finish the question.

“I am so grievously sorry, Autumn. I should have warned you from the moment you arrived. But I was selfish. I could sense upon you the strength you possess and I wanted to encourage its growth,” Abigail whispers, her sorrowful eyes falling to the circle. “I had hoped…”

“This whole time? He’s been gone this whole time?“ I sputter, biting back tears.

Abigail swallows hard and nods. “When it happened, it wasn’t evident at first that there was anything amiss. I had no way of knowing how his death came upon him, but when he remained, I had assumed it was a choice he’d made to stay behind. That there was unfinished business he wanted to attend to. When you arrived—that reinforced those assumptions. But when things started to become more…hostile, I began to look for other answers.”

“Didn’t you ask him what happened?” I say, trying to hold back the agitation building inside me.

“At first, I tried. However, he barely acknowledged my existence. It was as though, even in death, his diluted abilities somehow refused to open up. It happens at times when departed do not wish to believe they have passed and they close off all that would challenge this belief,” she says, beginning to walk the circle, counterclockwise.

I follow her, leaving behind the remains of my father. “What happened to him? Was it some sort of ritual gone wrong?” I ask, pointing at the evidence in front of us.

Abigail’s eyebrows tug in. “Perhaps? I have tried to piece together what it was he may have been attempting with this ritual, but I am not certain what his intentions were.”

“So, why are you showing me this?”

Abigail stops walking and turns to me. Her dress floats across the leaves, scattering them in a colorful array in the movement. I stare at them, mesmerized by it.

“You must find this circle and bring his remains to the catacombs. His unrest and active violence is because he has not had a proper burial. Spirits, no matter how benevolent in life, will deteriorate into a Lemure if they are not properly interred,” she says, raising a hand and suggesting the bones beyond.

I shudder. The idea of moving my father’s body makes me feel sick.

“What about the authorities? Shouldn’t I let the police handle—”

“We have run out of time for that. Had I known his body was not handled, I never…” Her voice trails off. “He must be dealt with as soon as possible. He’s far too strong and I fear that if this is not dealt with in haste—”

“You won’t be able to keep him under control,” I say, nodding to myself.

“Precisely.”

“Shit,” I mutter, walking away. “I don’t even know where this place is. How will I find it?”

When I turn around, Abigail is already beside me. “Within the catacombs, there is a location spell. It is best to utilize the innate talents of others for it, though. Lean on the Gilbert family, they are strong in elemental magick.”

I shake my head. “They’re not even in town.”

“Call upon them to return,” she fires back, indignance flashing through her features. “It matters not what they have done in the past. This is of vital importance.”

“I—okay. Yeah.” I nod, suddenly feeling so foolish.

“There is one final thing to attend to…” Abigail says, walking up to me.

“Great,” I mutter. “What is it?”

Abigail’s face falters, but she straightens her shoulders. “I feel whatever your father was attending to—it may be tied back to our family. Although he may have been dreadfully wrong in his approach.” She eyes his remains.

“What do you mean?”

She inhales softly. “Within the study, there is a journal hidden amongst the many books. Your father would often write in it and before he…” She blinks at me with wide, green eyes. “Before he deteriorated, he had planned on showing it to you. I would often hear him arguing with himself about the matter in his early stages.”

“What’s in it? What does it say?” I ask, trying to ignore the strange, unsettling feeling suddenly making a home in my midsection.

“Of that, I do not know. But I am certain it held great significance. I am hopeful it may explain his odd behavior before his demise—or perhaps the ritual he had been attempting,” she whispers. “Knowing this could help us to understand how he met his untimely death and, more importantly, how we can protect you.”

My eyes flicker open and I exhale slowly, staring at the ceiling of my bedroom. The room vibrates with the high energy of midday, and I roll over. I pick up my phone from the nightstand and groan.

12:13 p.m.

Despite obviously having fallen asleep, I don’t feel any more rested than I did before. Beside me, Wade continues to breathe in a soft rhythm, clearly getting better sleep than me. I close my eyes, trying to will myself back to sleep, but no matter how long I lay there, I can’t seem to find my way back to a restful state.

I slip my legs over the side of the bed, easing myself out as gently as possible. Wade needs his rest as much as I do and if he’s actually able to get some sleep, I’ll be damned if I’m gonna wake him up.

Besides, I need answers.

I remember every moment of my dream with Abigail as though it happened moments ago. There’s no hazy confusion or feeling like I’m grasping onto something that wasn’t real. There were very real, very specific directions she laid out.

Lucid dreaming isn’t something I’ve really studied much, but if