Haunted Legacy: The Windhaven Witches Series Carissa Andrews (short novels to read txt) 📖

Forgetting I lack form, I walk around the small entry table and eye the shadows as they undulate with anticipation. As I move deeper into the entry, his energy pools together, like a terminator who’s been melted down and is starting to reform.

My father isn’t the only one I sense, though. Abigail is also here, but her energy is scattered. It’s as though the frequency of her spirit has been put slightly out of phase, or she’s tuned into the wrong spirit channel.

I don’t know how close the others are to the catacombs, but I do know I need to act quickly.

“Dad?” I call out.

My voice echoes in the large space and I pause, looking around at the walls and wondering if my voice can be heard in the real world, too? Or if it’s all happening on the astral plane.

“Autumn?” a voice calls from the staircase. My dad suddenly appears in mid-stride, as if he was walking down the stairs the whole time. “What are you doing here? It’s not safe,” he says.

“I came to talk to you,” I say, taking a few steps toward him before I stop.

There’s nothing about him that would suggest he’s the entity causing so much pain and damage. Yet, there’s an undercurrent of anger, ready to burst out and it makes me step back.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Dad says, confusion and concern clouding his features. “Things aren’t safe here.”

“I know,” I say, nodding. “That’s why I came here to talk to you. I needed to know you were okay.”

Dad chuckles softly. It’s a strange, feral sound and nothing like the heartfelt laughter I remember.

My pulse begins to race and I take another step back. He edges forward, following me like a predator stalking its prey.

“As you can see, I’m fine,” Dad says, holding his hands out wide. “But I’m sure that’s not all you needed, now was it?” His face contorts into a grimace and he stretches his neck, clicking it back and forth like his features are a glove he’s just tried on.

“Well, I—”

I no sooner start to speak than Dad’s specter is within inches of my face. His blue eyes lock with my own and there’s a panic unlike anything I’ve ever seen hidden within them. The Lemure is winning the fight inside him and he’s utterly terrified.

A visceral snarl erupts from his mouth and I squelch a scream. Flaring my nostrils and standing my ground, I say, “Don’t do this, Dad. This isn’t you.”

“How would you know what is me? You’ve barely said two words to me for a decade,” he spits back. The venom in his words hit their mark, making my heart hurt and my soul ache.

He’s not wrong, and I know somewhere, even within the truest parts of him, this is a thought that’s plagued him. Even when he was trying to protect me.

“I know. I’m so sorry. I should have been better at reaching out,” I sputter, shaking away the despair welling up inside me. “But I love you. You have to know that.”

He scoffs, circling around me. “You know nothing of love. You think you do, but you don’t.”

If I were in my body, tears would be welling in my eyes at such a frontal attack. I came here to distract him, to keep him occupied so the others could deliver his remains—but I never anticipated a psychological attack.

Even his Lemure fury would be better than this.

“Dad, what have you done to Abigail?” I ask, hoping the switch in tactic will soften his energy. “I feel her here.”

As if suddenly appalled, he recoils. “It’s all her fault. None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for her.”

“But what did you do to her?” I press, this time reaching out for him.

He recoils, pulling his hand back as if touching me would burn him. The blue in his eyes deepens, darkening to the point of turning purple as he stares at my hand.

“You should stay away from me,” he warns, his face tilting away from mine. “This is not the place for you.”

“I know what happened. I’m here to help you,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm and steady. “I read your journal.”

A flash of insight sweeps across his features, but fades away before it can take root.

“There’s nothing left for us. The Blackwood family will end with us,” he hisses. “You should have stayed away. I never should have summoned you…” Dad tugs at his hair, pulling large tufts of his strawberry blond strands out. He stares down at his clenched fists, his eyes wide with horror.

“Dad, you’re stronger than this. Don’t let the Lemure win,” I whisper, watching his every move.

His dark eyes tip upward, taking me in for a moment.

I hold my breath, unsure what’s going on in his mind. He’s so unpredictable, and without knowing what he’s truly capable of in this form, worry begins to gnaw at my reserve.

Maybe Wade was right. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea after all.

“Dad, please stay calm. I’m trying to help you,” I say, holding out my hands. “You can fight this.”

An absurd laugh erupts from his lips. “Fight fate? You truly are out of your league.”

His fingers fly to his mouth, as if saying the word fate suddenly reminded him about the Moirai. His features writhe in agony, and all at once, his skin melts away from his face. He arches backward at an odd angle, contorting into something dark and grotesque. The shape of his eyes elongates and his skin is replaced by an inky-black film. The joints in his arms and legs twist and grow until he looms over me.

“No, you’re mine. I won’t let them have you…” the Lemure wails. “They can’t have you if they can’t find you.”

Holding gnarly black hands out in front of him, a ball of red energy grows between his palms. The Lemure mutters under his breath as his focus turns solely on the growing ball