Hey, sweetie. Hope your new semester is going good. Give me a call when you get a sec. I’d love to catch up. <3 Love, Mom. xxx
Besides the normal guilt, from not texting or calling as often as I should, I feel a stab of anxiety about responding. Do I lie and say it’s going great? Or do I ghost her and hope she just thinks I’m busy? Neither are great options, but telling her the truth is completely out of the question.
Deciding for the lesser of two evils, I type a quick response back.
Hi Mom! Definitely. <3 I’m busy right now, but I’ll call you later this week. Okay?
Tossing my phone behind me on the bed, I flop down on my back and stare at the ceiling.
This is definitely not how I envisioned my time at Windhaven Academy would go. Maybe Mom was right to be dubious about everything. So far, having abilities has brought me nothing but suspicion, pain, and heartache. If she knew, she’d probably be begging me to come back to Mistwood Point.
My phone buzzes, making the fabric beside my head vibrate, and I close my eyes, unable to deal with anything more right now. Instead, I sit up, staring at the familiar, handsome face of Wade as he tries to reach me on a call. But no matter how much I love him, I can’t bring myself to answer the phone and I’m not really sure why.
He’s the one person who knows better than anyone how this feels, but I need a break from thinking about it all.
My eyes sweep to the big picture window overlooking the courtyard. Snow flitters from the overcast sky, as if the clouds haven’t quite decided whether or not to truly release their haul. It’s still beautiful, anyway. Standing up, I walk over to the window, wishing I could be as carefree as one of the snowflakes.
Suddenly, a cold shiver courses through me and I pull my arms in tight, unable to get warm. Looking over my shoulder, I search for the source of the draft and there, standing a few feet behind me, is Abigail.
Her face is forlorn, but her lips curve upward when I lock eyes with her.
“I apologize for my intrusion. I did not mean to disturb you,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “You seemed burdened.”
I attempt a smile. “That’s an understatement.”
Abigail moves toward me, her dress barely touching the ground. At first, she doesn’t say a word, but her forehead wrinkles, betraying her own thoughts.
Nervous energy rolls through my torso and I can’t help but worry about what’s on her mind.
“Autumn, I am quite certain you don’t always understand my delivery of things with utmost importance. I wish I could be more forthright, but certain wisdom requires a more delicate approach,” she says, rubbing the top side of her right hand with her fingertips. “Our family, our legacy…and it is more fickle than it appears to the casual observer. At times, it comes at great cost.”
Shaking my head, I sit down on the window seat. “I’m beginning to understand that.”
“There’s still so much you do not yet know and so much I wish I could tell you…”
I narrow my gaze, confused. “Then what’s stopping you?”
Her lips press into a thin line and her gaze falls to the ground.
“So, you can’t say?”
Narrowing her eyes, she tilts her head toward the doorway to the resurrection chamber. “Follow me, would you?”
Without walking to the door and opening it like a live person would, she fades from the room as she turns to face the door leading down to the resurrection chamber. It’s almost as if her body is sucked through the entryway one particle at a time, floating away like those snowflakes falling from the sky.
Taking a deep breath, I stand up and walk over to the bed to grab my phone so I have a flashlight with me. It’s been months since I last went into the resurrection chamber. In fact, not since the night we brought Cat back. I just haven’t been able to bring myself to go back down there.
I pull the door open and walk down the wooden steps, suddenly consumed by the feelings and sensations I was consumed with that night. The panic and fear…and power. That’s something I haven’t felt since. If anything, I’ve felt pretty powerless lately.
When my feet hit the sandy floor of the resurrection chamber, the room is already lit dimly by the magical torches around the room. I cram my phone into my pocket.
Abigail hovers in the center of the drawn pentacle, still left in the middle of the room. My gaze is drawn to the dark stains in the sand; remnants of the ritual. As I get closer to Abigail, the energy in the room shifts, vibrating at a level that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Come,” Abigail urges, rolling her fingers and beckoning me forth.
Somewhat reluctantly, I walk forward until I’m standing in the center of the pentagram with her.
“Behold this space. What do your examinations yield?” she asks quietly.
Swallowing hard, I turn around and inspect the room.
“Well, it’s old,” I begin, eyeing the haphazardly built stone walls and dirt floor. “There are no windows other than the ones in the stairwell…”
“Good. What else?” she urges.
I scratch my temple, feeling utterly silly doing this with a ghost. “I see the pentacle of salt, the blood, and other items from the ritual we performed for Cat.”
“Veritably. Go on.”
I straighten my shoulders, shooting her a sideways glance. “There are torches—like the ones that you’d see inside tunnels or outside old buildings. Only they’re not real.”
She chuckles and the smile cracking her face brings a certain beauty to her features. “Be not dissuaded. They are utterly real. Your perception of reality has yet to be adjusted to what truly is,” she says, taking a step outside the circle. “Regard this space with a critical eye. What
