The Windhaven Witches Omnibus Edition : Complete Paranormal Suspense Series, Books 1-4 by Carissa Andrews (graded readers txt) 📕

“I don’t know,” Mom whispers, shooting a sideways glance toward Wade.

An absurd laugh bursts from my chest. “You don’t know? You’re a friggin’ goddess and you don’t know?”

Mom makes a face as she turns to me. “First of all, I’m no different from you or any other supernatural being. I just live longer. That’s all. Secondly, what I do know is that the signs—the red threads—they stopped appearing when you vanished. They didn’t start back up when you reappeared, either. What you did, resurrecting yourself, it should have been impossible. So we figured perhaps the Moirai didn’t know you’d returned. We took that chance and it worked well for us while we searched for answers.”

Wade’s eyes are wide as he looks between the two of us.

“If you’ve been wiping my memory anyway, why did we have to leave? Why did you take us from Dad? Ugh, none of this makes sense,” I say, slamming my hand on the table in frustration.

“The manor is at the center of a vortex. Its energy draws in the supernatural, but also opens the veil between the dead and the living. Keeping you there—it was too obvious. They’d find you, even if I kept your memory clean,” she says, breathing heavy as she fights back tears. “God, Autumn. I wanted to stay there. You have no idea how much I wanted to stay.”

“Then why didn’t Dad come with us? You could have protected—”

“He was the cursed one, just like you. Only, he didn’t have the luxury you did,” Mom says, cutting me off.

“Luxury? You call dying a luxury?” I spit.

“Call it what you will, then. Loophole. Whatever. Your father knew the only way to stop the Moirai was to find a way to break the curse. So, that’s what we did. Both of us have spent the better part of a decade hunting for information. Searching the ends of reality for a way to stop whatever fate may come our way. Clearly, it wasn’t enough,” she whispers. Tears tumble from her cheeks and she turns away from me, wiping at her face.

“Autumn’s dad left her a small decorative box in the will. The executor didn’t seem to know what it was, just that she was meant to have it. Do you know what it’s for?” Wade asks, obviously thinking more clearly than either of us.

Mom turns back, her face full of confusion. “A box? No. What does it look like?”

“I can go grab it. We brought it with us,” Wade offers, making his way to the front door.

The two of us stand in silence, staring at each other as if it’s the first time we’ve really ever seen one another for who we are. Maybe it is.

After a moment, Wade comes back in, carrying a backpack and pulling two suitcases. He leaves the suitcases beside the stairs, but makes his way back to us with the backpack over his shoulder. When he reaches the table, he shrugs it off and opens it wide.

“Here, Autumn,” he says, handing the box to me.

I clutch the wooden artifact close, pressing my fingertips against the rounded edges of the carvings. When I look up into Mom’s curious face, I extend my arms and place the box in her hands.

She looks at it closely, twisting and turning the box from one way to the next, until she’s looked the whole thing over. “I’ve never seen this before, but it’s incredibly powerful. The sigils on here alone…”

“That’s what Abigail said,” I mutter, fighting the urge to be sick. The nausea and anxiety swirl from my stomach, up to my throat, making me feel both dizzy and queasy at the same time. “That it was powerful.”

Her eyes dart up to meet mine. “You speak to Abigail?”

I nod, refusing to go into more details with her right now. “What are the sigils?”

She blinks away her surprise, returning her gaze to the box. “See here?” Tipping the box so I can look at the corners, she taps her finger on one particular symbol. Enclosed in a circle, it looks like a model of the solar system in stick-figure form. “This one is a sigil for protection. But what it’s protecting, I’m not sure.”

Apprehension and fear consume my thoughts, and I can’t help but worry about the reasons behind willing the box to me.

“Do you think it’s dangerous?” I blurt out, looking at it with fresh wariness.

She continues to rotate the box in her hands. “I’m not certain. I’d have to research some of the writing. It’s old.”

Inhaling deeply, I suddenly feel like I’m going to be sick again. The information coming at me is too much and I need to find a way to control my anxiety in peace.

“You know, I’m not feeling…” I begin, trying to breathe through a new wave of nausea. “I think I need a few minutes to clear my head.” Without waiting for either of them to respond, I make my way from the kitchen, walking down the hallway toward the bathroom.

I press my right hand along the wall, trying to keep myself upright as I close the door behind me. Looking in the mirror, I’m horrified at my complexion. My skin is waxy, and my eyes have lost their usual luster.

Before I can admonish myself any further, I run over to the toilet, emptying the contents of my stomach. When it’s all over and I’m dry-heaving, I lean back, resting my head against the cool wall. My eyes drift to the nearly empty toilet roll and out of reflex, I reach forward, opening the cupboard under the sink. I grab the toilet paper, but my eyes rest on the feminine hygiene products sitting beside it. They were mine from before I moved—remnants of my time here.

I wipe the side of my mouth, my hand sliding from there to my abdomen. I don’t remember the last time I had my period. Things have been an intense blur these past few weeks, but the last time I remember dealing