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

“So, when did you move here?” I finally ask.

He sighs heavily. “Last week.”

“Happy move, then?”

Shrugging, he takes the flask back and has a sip. “Depends. I’d say it’s looking up.”

He catches my eye, holding my gaze for a few extra beats. My face flushes and I glance down at the unexpected eruption of butterflies in my stomach.

“What about you? I assume this is home turf. So, will I catch ya around town?” he asks.

“Yeah, I work over at the—” I stop myself, realizing this could be an added layer of complexity I’m not sure I need right at this moment.

“At the…?”

Standing up quickly, I brush off my jeans and slowly back away.

“Yeah, you know, I better get going. My mom and I didn’t leave on the best of terms and I think I should go have a word with her. Besides, if I don’t make it back soon, she’ll have the cops out looking for me,” I say, pointing toward the way I came in.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he starts, standing up and gaping at me.

Shaking my head, I say, “No, it’s not you. Just gotta run. It was nice to meet you, Angel.”

Without another word, I half walk, half run my way out of the older part of the cemetery.

In the distance I hear, “Catch ya around, Dru.”

Anxiety blossoms through me and I sprint through the rest of the cemetery. I slip past the opening, and when I’ve reached the safety of the street, I lean against the gate and run my hands over my face.

Nothing exciting has happened to me for weeks—months, even. Making the decision whether or not to go to the Windhaven Academy isn’t easy as it is. Why would the universe curse me with meeting a guy now? And not just any guy, either. One who gets my dorky television references and feels drawn to hang out in the cemetery, too.

Forget fate. The universe is just cruel.

Chapter 3

The Winds of Change Are Coming

After the worst night of sleep I’ve had in a long time, I reach over and cease the annoying buzz of my phone’s alarm clock.

Instantly, memories of last night rush at me like a raging bull and I bolt upright in bed.

I’m nowhere closer to making a decision about Windhaven Academy, and the run-in at the cemetery certainly isn’t helping. It’s been nearly two years since my best friend moved to England for college. While we both promised to talk often, the time difference has pretty much dampened our communication. A deep part of me longs for someone who just…gets me.

Even if they believe in something as ridiculous as ghosts.

I brush my hands over my face, then throw the covers back.

By the time I got back home, my mom was fast asleep, so there was no resolution there. She’s never been the type of parent who would wait up in a dark room, ready to pounce. She values her sleep too much and knows waiting wouldn’t make a difference anyway. If anything, it would mean a big blow-out with no joy at the end. Instead, it would just keep everyone awake and pissed off. I suppose morning makes as good a time as any to pounce.

Dressing as quickly as I can, I throw on a pair of ripped-up skinny jeans, a form-fitting t-shirt that says Be the Change, and my dark-gray Vans. Pulling my thick auburn locks into a haphazard ponytail, I give myself a quick glance in the mirror and rush out the door.

I don’t need to be gobbed in makeup or have my eyebrows drawn on like I’m paying homage to Groucho Marx. Other girls in town have that covered, anyway. I’d rather stand out by being the opposite of all of that insanity.

Tiptoeing down the stairs, I make my way to the kitchen as quietly as possible. As I reach the heart of our home, I’m surprised to find it devoid of the usual activity. Not only is Mom not waiting to dive into a conversation, she isn’t even rushing around trying to make a healthy breakfast before she bolts out the door to her office.

“Mmmkay, this isn’t good,” I say aloud. I walk over to the kitchen window, leaning over far enough to see if her Subaru is still in the driveway.

Its shiny black paint glistens in the early-morning sun and its windows are still fogged over with a hint of frost.

A lightbulb goes off in my head and I spin around, racing to the kitchen cupboards. If Mom’s overslept, she’s going to be freaking about not having a decent breakfast to start the day off right.

Yanking the fridge door open, I grab the eggs, bacon, spinach, garlic, and those weird tiny tomatoes she loves. I chuck them all at the counter and spin around for an avocado and her gluten-free toast.

My eyes flit to the clock on the stove: 7:11 a.m. Plenty of time for me to get this thing rockin’ before I have to bolt out the door, too.

“May as well make some for both of us. Nothing like totally surprising her by eating healthy along with her,” I chuckle, grabbing the whisk and going to town. “She’ll be totally convinced.”

I dice up the garlic and onions the way I’ve seen her do almost every single morning of my teenage years, and throw them into a frying pan of olive oil.

And she thinks I never pay attention to her. Pft.

I turn the burner on high and walk back to the spinach, tomatoes, and avocado. Scratching the back of my head, I realize I have no idea what she does with those. I must have tuned her out at that point as I engaged on Insta.

I cut up the tomatoes into fours and wash the spinach. I assume it’s a salad, right?

Before I realize it, the garlic and onions are smoking and I race back to the stovetop, fanning the noxious odor as the beginnings of the eggs