Soul Legacy: A Supernatural Ghost Series (The Windhaven Witches Book 2) by Carissa Andrews (the first e reader .TXT) 📕

a bit more, feeling safer in the space. Almost instantly, I sink into the calmness and serenity reverberating around me—then past it into the next level. The vibrant colors erupt behind my closed lids. Without seeing the space in any form of light, I can tell this section is not another room. Instead, it’s a wide tunnel. Which must have been why it was hard to see anything with the flashlight.

Feeling braver, I take a few steps forward. The ground beneath my feet feels like it’s made up of the same sand as the resurrection chamber, but it’s smoother somehow; not nearly as worn. My feet practically carry themselves as I go farther. Relying only on this sight, I continue to walk ahead, a few feet at a time, until the tunnel reaches an abrupt end.

Fighting the desire to open my eyes and turn on the flashlight, I settle into the peace of the space, trying to understand it. I can’t put my finger on why, but there’s something utterly beautiful in the undercurrent of this tunnel. I practically hear music in the upper vibrations.

When I reach the end, I stop to take in as much information as these new senses can gather. The tunnel’s end is a large stone archway and from what my mind’s eye can see, there are ancient symbols—or perhaps ancient writing—that decorates the sides and across the lintel. They glow bright white, with a soft, almost mystical tint of purple that flickers like smoke around their edges.

I move closer, trying to get a better view of them.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck and arms prick up, and my body stiffens. I get the distinct impression I’m being watched.

“Abigail?” I call out, my voice quivering.

Stumbling backward from the archway, my enhanced vision drops, and I’m plunged back into the ordinary, all-encompassing darkness. Fumbling for my phone, my heart leaps into my throat when I realize it’s not there.

“Shit,” I mutter, trying to decide whether to drop to my knees and look for it, or run back the way I came.

A cold rush blows past me, rustling my hair, and my back involuntarily goes ramrod straight. My pulse pounds in my ears and I curse myself for being too curious for my own good. I should’ve responded to Wade. He could have been my backup. Now, no one knows where I am or what I’m even doing.

Stupid.

Spinning around, I try to figure out how far I’ve come. At the far end, I can barely make out the small entrance I’d created in the wall. Forcing myself to settle down, I turn counter-clockwise and close my eyes again. If there’s anything here, I should be able to see it. Right?

I reach my senses out again, trying to tap into it as quickly as possible.

A low rumbling sound, almost like a growl, echoes in the darkness, making me jump.

“Hello?” I whisper, simultaneously hoping to be answered by Abigail, or not at all.

As quickly as the sensation of being watched arose, it vanishes, dropping me again into a sense of calm and peace. I exhale in a soft gasp, as I crouch down, and push my inner vision outward.

Suddenly, as if a light switch was flipped, torches ignite along the walls of a large cylindrical space beyond the hallway’s arch.

Groping at my chest, I sit down completely on my butt, exhaling in relief.

Abigail stands in the middle of the circular room, her arms raised and spread out wide. In this light, she appears even more corporeal than I’ve ever seen her. It’s almost as if she’s really here. When our eyes connect, she drops her hands and smiles.

“You were deemed worthy,” she says, walking toward me.

“Um, sure?” I say, rising to a stand and taking a step into the cylindrical room. “That was kinda dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps,” she says, tilting her head in agreement. “But I did not make the rules.”

Along the stone walls, dozens of intricately carved stone archways adorn the space, all leading off in other directions like spokes on a wheel. From this room, each archway is adorned with more stone carvings and symbols, each different, but beautifully done. On the ground, the sand leading in from each of the the tunnels makes way for larger stone slabs, each placed in a circular pattern around the room, with a single large stone in the center. It has its own unique carving on it and pulsates with an energy that draws my eyes to and makes me want to touch it.

“What is this place?” I ask, walking in circles, trying to take it all in.

Abigail watches me intensely, but raises a knowing eyebrow. “Many years back, well before the manor came into being, this sacred space was constructed. We know not by whom. We knew only that it is a wellspring of veneration for those who have come and gone before us. Those like us, and not, at the same time. When Warren and I were summoned here, we were beckoned by something much stronger than ourselves. It was the deep, powerful longing of this place, as it desired greatly for keepers who would preserve its sanctity.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re saying this space has a mind of its own?”

Abigail tilts her head, considering. “Consciousness, yes, perhaps it does. The energies that converge here, long deeply for tranquility. Not only for itself, but for the souls who have been laid to rest in its embrace.”

“Ah,” I say, taking a step back as realization washes over me. “We’re in the catacombs.”

A smile spreads across Abigail’s features, lighting her face in a way I’ve never seen. She almost looks…alive.

I shake my head, running my hand through my hair. “I should have guessed. I mean, Wade even mentioned the entrance could be inside. It just didn’t think anyone would hide it in the house.”

Walking slowly in a counter-clockwise movement, I peer down each spoke, trying to get a better idea of what lay beyond. Unfortunately, just like