Cursed Legacy: The Windhaven Witches Series Carissa Andrews (read along books txt) 📖

I snicker. “Oh, hell, no. Get packed up,” I say, pressing my lips tight. “We’re going to spend Christmas in Mistwood Point.”

My mother might be a lot of things, but I hope lying to a point-blank question isn’t one of them. I need answers—answers only she can give me. If she kept her ongoing marriage a secret, what else is she hiding?

Chapter 6

For Your Sins

Christmas in Mistwood Point is likely to be an interesting one, at the very least. Despite my original hesitation, I’m absolutely certain I need to talk to Mom about all of this face to face. I doubt she’ll see my questions coming, but at this point, who knows?

Plus, now might be a good time to give her the note I found in Dad’s journal and ask her what she knows about the Moirai. And anything else, for that matter.

Abigail’s insistence that my mom has more secrets has put me on edge and the last thing I want is to be caught off guard or put into a dangerous position because of my ignorance. I’ve dealt with enough of that and I’m so over it.

Shifting my thoughts from what’s to come, I focus on the notepad in front of me. I haven’t seen much of James since everything went down with my dad. But I’d hate for him to worry when we’re not here. He’s been like a grandpa almost, always checking in and making sure things are okay. Even now he refuses to talk to me about changing the arrangements until things are finalized with the estate. Who knows how long that will be?

“Okay, bags are in the trunk. Are you sure you don’t want anything else? Snacks? Pillows?” Wade asks as he enters the kitchen.

Looking up from the note, I stop and think. “Yeah, maybe pillows would be smart.”

With a tip of his head, Wade spins around, walking back the way he came. “On it,” he calls out.

Smiling softly, I return my thoughts to the note, scribbling down the details of our trip so James knows he doesn’t have to worry about us for a week or so. As I finish the note, I stare at the pad, remembering all the times my dad had found a way to communicate with James, even though he was dead. This notepad, for better or worse, was one item on this earthly plane that he had access to, and used frequently, to make it seem like he was alive. He definitely fooled me—and obviously fooled James, too.

Sighing to myself, I set the pen down and follow Wade. My stomach is tied in knots as I anticipate what my mom might say—or what she might try to avoid talking about. Regardless, all I know is there is too much at stake now to be vague, and I’m done being the one constantly left in the dark.

By the time I make it to the grand staircase, Wade walks out of the hallway, heading toward me with pillows in hand.

He smiles brightly—the kind that lights his face, evaporating any of the worry he’s lingering onto—and it makes me pull up short and catch my breath. Sometimes I forget how handsome he is. Things have been so heavy…so dark.

“Thanks for grabbing those,” I say, reaching for his hand. “I’m all done.”

“Then let’s hit the road, beautiful,” he says, sliding his free hand in mind.

As I lock up the house, Wade makes his way to Blue and places the pillows in the back seat.

“Would you like me to drive?” he asks as the door slams shut.

I finish locking the door and twist around to him. “No, it might be a nice distraction to drive, actually.”

Winking at me, he opens the passenger door and takes a seat. I follow him, shaking my head in amazement. He can still pull off winking and make it look so natural.

Slipping into the driver’s side, I turn on Blue and shift into gear.

The drive to Mistwood Point is surprisingly pleasant. Despite the cooler temperatures, the sun shines brightly, casting its warm glow across the snow. It makes the powder sparkle across the landscape—the ground, the trees. Even the naked branches sparkle, as if the snow has somehow managed to cling to its surface. The roads, on the other hand, are clear and free of ice, making it a mindless trip in terms of driving.

Yet, somehow, despite this, I can’t shake the sense of foreboding looming over me the closer we get. It’s as though a cloud of oppression is edging in and the closer to my old hometown, the heavier it feels.

“You look a little better today. How has your anxiety been?” Wade asks, breaking the silence for the first time in twenty minutes.

I clutch the steering wheel, thinking it over. “Okay, I guess. It comes and goes, depending on how much I overthink, I guess.”

“Doesn’t seem like it’s as bad as it was,” he says, shifting in his seat to place his silver gaze on me.

I shake my head. “No, not as bad.”

“Good. I was beginning to worry,” he says squinting at me as he rubs his temple.

“What about you?” I ask, narrowing my gaze between glances at the road.

His eyes widen. “What about me?”

“Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks, dropping his hand to his lap.

I scrunch my face and quirk an eyebrow. “Do you have a headache?”

“A little. I should have brought my sunglasses. It’s bright out here,” Wade says, leaning back in his seat and reaching for my hand. “I forget sometimes just how bright the snow can be when it’s sunny.”

“We could stop and get you a pair in the next town. I don’t think we’re far from Winchester,” I say, squeezing his hand.

“Nah, it’ll be okay,” he says, his eyes drifting shut. “We’re nearly there. I’ll just close my eyes for a bit. That’ll help.”

“Okay, but if you change your mind, let me know.”

“Of course,” he says, grinning with his eyes still closed.

My