Haunted Legacy: The Windhaven Witches Series by Carissa Andrews (classic books for 10 year olds txt) 📕

now is that Wade has run me a tepid bath and has demanded I get in. His hands run across my hair as he slowly pours the water over it. As he does, the cool liquid slowly turns rust-colored, tainted by the blood from my scalp.

“That branch really did a number on your head,” Wade whispers, worry bleeding into his tone. “I’m so sorry, Autumn. I should have protected you. I should have done more…”

I flit my gaze from the plume of red spreading in the water to his torn expression. Small cuts criss-cross his face, but they’re all superficial. Still, they tarnish his beautiful face.

I raise my hand, tracing one of the cuts on his chin. “It wasn’t your fault,” I say, trying not to let the dizziness spiraling in my brain pull me under. “That…creature was…” I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose in the hopes it will help me stay focused.

“I know,” he says, taking my hand in his and kissing my knuckles. “That was intense. What matters is you were able to cast it out.” He lets my hands drop back into the water as he continues the soothing motion of rinsing out my hair.

I close my eyes, focusing on the way the water trickles through my hair, making my scalp tingle with coolness.

“You’re lucky, though. It doesn’t look like you’ll need stitches. But we’ll need to keep an eye on you to make sure you don’t have a concussion,” he murmurs in my ear.

“Mmmm,” I nod, unable to form any more words.

“I’m nearly done here and we can get you in bed to rest. The first twenty-four hours are pretty critical after a head injury,” he says, going into medic-mode.

“Yes, Doctor Hoffman,” I say, grinning up at him sleepily.

He chuckles, bending in and kissing my temple. “That’s the spirit.”

After what seems like forever, Wade finishes rinsing the blood from my head and body and helps me to step out of the bath. His hands are sturdy and comforting, and I can see why he makes such a good PCA for the elderly. He’d make a fantastic doctor, too, if he ever wanted to pretend he was human.

Once I dry off and get dressed in my pajamas, he helps me climb in bed. My body’s starting to accentuate the pain from all of the bumps and bruises, and it’s pretty clear I’m going to be in a world of hurt tomorrow.

I pull the blanket up close, tucking it under my chin and laying on my side.

Wade drops down beside me, resting on the top of the covers as he faces my direction. His discerning silver eyes sweep my face as he traces the side of my cheek with the side of his index finger.

“You know, it’s a good thing you thought to throw the stone into the water. I’d lost our saltwater in all the commotion. That pond must be sacred water,” Wade whispers.

My eyebrows tug in. His words only halfway make sense in my brain. “Huh, I hadn’t even thought about that. I just followed my instincts.”

“Good instincts, if you ask me,” he says, grinning. “Are you hungry? Do you need anything?”

I wiggle my head into the pillow. “No, I’m just sleepy.”

Wade props himself up on his elbow and kisses my forehead. “Okay, get some rest. We’ll stay here tonight, since it looks like the wards worked. But I’m going to hop into the shower super-fast so I can clean myself up. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Okay,” I whisper, closing my eyes.

He kisses me on my forehead, his breath warm against my skin. The bed groans as he exits it, but he runs his warm hand down the side of my arm before he leaves the room. I sigh into the motion and drift into the darkness beyond.

The inflexible one?

The words permeate the recesses of my mind and for some reason, I can’t quite shake them away.

Who said them? What do they mean?

Suddenly, the cylindrical room in the center of the catacombs comes into view, as if it’s the center stage of a play and the curtain was just pulled back. I squint into the darkness, trying to make something else—anything—out.

Just when I think I’m all alone, Abigail emerges from one of the tunnels. Her dress sways heavily against the dirt floor, drawing my eyes with the trails it leaves behind.

“I apologize for my absence. My energy has been very much afflicted by the presence lingering in the manor. I had hoped to bind him long enough to relay my concerns to you. Alas, it was I who was bound in his stead. Please forgive me,” she says, her Colonial accent tinging her words as she walks up beside me.

I look at her, confused. Her words tumble at me like a dust devil, spiraling around, but never quite gaining enough impact to be effective.

“I’m not sure I—” I begin.

“There is much we need to discuss, and in great haste. You see, I have been grievously distressed. I am afraid my words have fallen upon deaf ears and there is much I need to relay. Your body is in need of repairs, allowing your mind to slip beyond the veil. I am hopeful this will be the most effective means to communicate at present. My wish is that our communication will linger after you awaken,” she says, her expression sorrowful.

Apprehension spreads through my solar plexus and I hold my breath, waiting for what might come from her lips next.

“I had yearned for a better way to express this most dreadful news,” she says, wringing her hands and taking a few steps from me. “Yet, I find myself without the means to do so. I must press upon you the difficult decision you will soon be presented. It will not be a task undertaken lightly, but it is most important it be dealt with without delay.”

My shoulders tighten and I’m certain I don’t want to know what’s on the other side of this