“Big plans?” I squeal. “What in the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t know. I’m just the messenger,” he says, shrugging.
“Shit,” I mutter. I can’t wrap my brain around any of this.
“Look, I know it’s a lot,” Dominic says, taking a step forward. “But you should know...”
I raise my hand, backing away. “I need a little time to think. Th-thanks, Dominic.”
Turning on my heel, I leave the hallway and keep walking. I don’t even go toward my next class. Instead, my feet carry me instinctively and I don’t even look at my map once. Before I know it, I’m out the front door and walking through the parking lot.
Could I really have both powers? And if so, how could I be the last to know?
I tug my jacket in tighter and cram my hands into my pockets. In practically a daze, my feet carry me to the library, and as I walk up the stone steps, I’ve never been so happy to see the familiar building.
My fingertips sting from the brisk autumn wind and my nose won’t stop running.
Warm air greets me as I open the door and step inside. Keeping my head down and avoiding eye contact with the librarian, I meander the shelves and pretend to peruse a bit before heading down to the basement archives room. I don’t know why, it feels like the kind of place that should require a permit or something, and I certainly don’t feel like I have the credentials all on my own.
My footsteps echo louder in my mind than I’m sure they do in reality, but I ignore the panic arising and push myself onward. When no one races after me, telling me I’m not allowed down here, I release a slow, relieved exhalation.
“It’s not like you’re robbing the place, Autumn. Get a grip,” I mutter, pulling out my phone. As I sit there, staring at the screen, a text pops in from Cat.
Heard what happened in the hall. You okay?
Breathing a sigh of relief, I sit down on the nearest chair.
Yeah. Decided to go to the library. Needed some space.
After a few seconds, she texts back.
Good idea. Settle in. We’ll be there in a bit.
Without texting back, I set the phone on the table. My eyes flit to the large bookshelves that extend from floor to ceiling. The stack of books Colton had taken down for me before still rest in the middle of the table—clearly not an urgent project for the librarian to put away.
I grab the one the twins showed me before and flip to the page with my house. Despite having some blueprints of the original home, there’s nothing about hidden rooms.
Setting that book aside, but still splayed open, I reach for another one. The next book is on local Windhaven hauntings and ghost sightings.
Cocking my head to the side, I slide it in closer and open the book.
At first, it reads like a philosophical textbook on the physics of ghosts and their existence. How postmortem mediums can see and sense them…and how the practice was first recognized. Just as my eyes begin to glaze over with the scientific evidence, I get to the meat of the book.
While no one has had access to the Blackwood Estate for a number of years, it continues to be the most talked about haunted locale in Windhaven. In the 1940s, two teenagers trespassing on the property were sent into mental health treatment after reportedly tangling with the spirits inside the building. When mundane ghost hunters were called to the scene, they were turned away by family who had reclaimed the property after the incident. However, there are oral histories of ghosts, apparitions, and spectral beings at the estate dating all the way back to the mid-1800s.
Without even reading the rest of the accounts, I already know why the sightings would date back as far as they claim. Not only because the town would have been only a few decades old, but it was also shortly after Abigail died. With each story, my anxiety actually starts to dissipate.
The next book is on local lore and history. As it turns out, people from all over the country come to Windhaven because of the vortexes and magical energies, and have done for almost a century. It’s weird to think, because right now in the fall, it appears to be a wasteland. Not some sort of magical vacation destination.
I sit back in my chair and soften my gaze.
How could I possibly be one of the most powerful necromancers in the area, when I feel anything but powerful?
Flipping open the next book, I stare down at a set of old newspaper clippings spanning from super old—up until about a decade ago, by the looks of it.
I skim various clippings about stranger-than-normal goings-on in this town, supernatural news coming out of the academy, and I’m about to close the book when a picture catches my eye. It’s the scenery more than anything, because it’s almost the same view I was just enjoying a few days ago from my bedroom window.
POSSIBLE DROWNING AT BLACKWOOD MANOR
WINDHAVEN—October 10th, 2009
Authorities were called out to the residence of Mr. Lyle Blackwood after an urgent 911 call was made from someone inside the home claiming a seven-year old girl had fallen into the pond on the property.
No body was recovered at the scene, though divers were sent in and the pond was later dredged.
Mr. Blackwood was at the home, and reportedly retrieving lifejackets from the family boathouse when she went missing. Based on evidence collected, he is not a suspect at this time. The investigation is ongoing.
Surprised, I sit back, staring into the sea of books and shelves in front of me.
I never drowned. I never died or went missing. What on earth is going on here?
Could I have a…twin sister?
My memory of the girl in the photograph resurfaces. She looked like I did, but slightly different. And
