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

stay out of the way as much as possible. However, your father may be away for a bit of time and he asked that I stock the kitchen up for you,” James says, reaching for one of the canvas bags of groceries on the counter and opening it.

“I appreciate that. Any idea where he’s going?” I ask, leaning against the counter and crossing my arms over my chest.

It’s not like I have a right to keep track of his every movement, but a little bit of warning from him would be nice. But something tells me all his years of bachelorhood are hardwired in now.

“I’m sorry, he didn’t say, and it’s not entirely my place to ask,” James says, pulling out a package of strawberries and a bunch of bananas from the bag. He tips his chin at a notepad beside the cordless phone. “He only left me that note.”

I walk over to the counter and pick up the pad. The writing is faint, like he scribbled it quickly, but still legible.

James, I’m going to be gone for a while. Look after Autumn.

“I see. Well, thank you for doing all of this. Do I—is there anything I’m supposed to do? Like tip you or something?” I ask, a little well of panic erupting in my gut.

I have absolutely no idea how this works.

James chuckles. “No, Ms. Autumn. It’s all part of the job.”

Relief floods my body because I don’t carry a scrap of cash on me. So, unless he has an ATM hiding around the corner, the chances of giving him a tip is pretty much nil anyway.

“Okay, well, I’m gonna go get some, uh…homework done,” I say, pushing myself back from the counter and heading toward the door. “It was really nice to meet you.”

James tips his head cordially. “Likewise.”

Shooting him a lopsided grin and a quick wave, I make a quick exit and head back out toward the main entry. Scooping up my backpack, I walk down the hallway to my bedroom with faster-than-normal steps. My mind twists and turns over possible areas to look for the catacombs. If Dad’s not going to be home for a while, I’m going to have to do this on my own. Or maybe press Abigail on it, if she’ll let me.

I swing open my bedroom door, dropping my backpack onto my bed, then walk over to the large windows and take a seat. My eyes scan the courtyard, trying to spot anything out of place—or something that could be an entrance to the catacombs from here.

Shaking my head, I twist around, calling out, “Abigail—are you here? I need a word with you.”

I hold my breath, waiting for her specter to arrive, but after a few minutes, it’s evident she doesn’t plan to join me. Either deliberately or she’s busy doing whatever it is ghosts do when they’re gone.

My gaze falls to the floor and I can’t help but wonder…what do ghosts do with their time?

Inhaling deeply, I stand up and pull my gloves from my jacket pockets. Tugging them on, I walk out of my bedroom and down the hallway that leads out to the backyard. If there are catacombs somewhere on the grounds, there has to be an entrance somewhere. Who knows, maybe my abilities will guide me?

When I reach the end of the hallway, I turn right and follow it again to the very end, where the wing terminates in a little sitting area and large picture window that overlooks the edge of the pond. I honestly can’t tell which area is more beautiful—my bedroom, where I can see the whole courtyard in front of the pond, or this.

The pond is frozen solid, but its location is evident by the ring of trees that arch around its circumference like they’re holding it in a comforting embrace. I unlock the large wooden side door, pulling it open. The frigid breeze blazes inward, and I prop the door open with my foot so I can zip up my coat.

I take a step outside, close the door behind me, then continue a few steps into the snow-covered yard. Sweeping my eyes across the snowy landscape, there’s a creeping suspicion this will not be an easy task. Not only because our yard is massive, but because the snow has covered everything in a thick blanket that makes it damn near impossible to see anything that may be on the ground.

Ignoring the voice in the back of my head telling me this is like looking for a needle in a haystack, I trudge out to the edge of the pond, hoping to get a better vantage point from its shore. After all, no one would build catacombs too close for fear of it getting waterlogged, so it has to be somewhere on higher ground.

By the time I make it to the shore, my toes are freezing and I curse myself for not changing into winter boots. At the water’s edge, it’s oddly quiet. Which is a stark departure from the bustling sounds in the fall when the geese and swans are still nearby.

Turning around to face the manor, I hold my breath, hoping to spot something to guide me. I start by looking closely at the left side of the house, the wing mostly designated to Dad—or at least, it feels that way because I never go that way unless it’s to see him. I sweep my gaze to the center courtyard, but the entire space seems flat, with the exception of the landscaping and trees. However, more to the right, and the way I came, the ground does begin to slope upward.

“Who in their right mind would put catacombs here?” I say out loud, shaking my head. “The whole house is practically at the waterline.”

A flash of black against the white backdrop of the snow catches my attention and I twist around to get a better look. However, as I turn, whatever it was disappears. Tugging my eyebrows in, I take a tentative