Arcane Artbook Novels & Stories

“I’ll ring these up and bill Master McCabe.” “Oh, that’s not necessary. I can afford a couple of books myself.” Hana tried to stop Finch, following him to the register. “So…did we stop here for Hana to get her ancient book fix? And oo those look interesting. You’re sharing.” Pam asked, leaning on the counter to see what books Hana was getting. “This book itself is two hundred dollars.” Finch held up the first edition of Jannot: A French Rabbit by Mireille Marokvia. “And this one is five hundred twenty-five.” He held up the copy of The Birth, life, and Acts of King Arthur by Thomas Malory.

But I had no choice. Selene’s chant still echoed in my ears. It hadn’t been just any invocation. I didn't understand most of it, but I remembered one word in particular, carved into my memory like an old, ugly scar—Tenebrium. I searched through the archives for books on the forbidden arts, incantations and dark magic and werewolf curses in the hopes that I'd hit the jackpot on one of them. I found a thick, leather-bound book with stained gold letters—the book seemed to be glowing unnaturally, calling out to me. I sensed a surge, Nyra's presence and pried it open.

But it’s wrapped in the Arcane. The sharp star sigil we’ve always known is there. It is eight-pointed and etched with runes so old even our oldest witches whisper when they speak their names. Symbols coil outward in a perfect circle, with moons, pentagrams, and green-rooted glyphs, bound together by swirls of magic carved like vines into gold. It’s a marriage of sight and sorcery. The future and the past. And somehow… It feels right. Like something ancient is waking. Or being reborn.

Her expression stopped every lingering conversation cold. “I found something.” She was breathless, eyes locked on me. “In the ancient texts. Aria, you need to see this. Now.” She held the book open with shaking hands. The cover was worn leather, cracked at the spine, the pages yellowed and thick with age. On the open page was an illustration rendered in faded ink — a massive wolf, every line of it white as snow, eyes burning bright gold. Looking at it felt like looking in a mirror. Dr. Chen’s voice dropped, reverent and terrified at once.

I was running out of time and I was beginning to grow frustrated. "When you are forced to pick between two evils, you pick NEITHER of them and choose a third option instead". Aria was so carefree the way she said it, as she hovered close to a bookshelf. "A third option, what do you mean?" I inquired. I could see Aria pull out a book from the shelf and place it gently on the table. It was very heavy, considering how little she was but she managed by herself. "What book is this?" "It is the codex of 'GAIASANIA AND GAIAMANIA' - a compilation of the Annual records of the 14 werewolf kingdoms". Aria disclosed to me, as she magically flicked the pages of the book.

A book lay open, its pages made of thin sheets of copper. "These are stolen," she hissed, her finger hovering over a line of text. "This is High Elven. This is a treatise on star-navigation. They stole it when they burned the Silver Spires." "They steal everything," Tristan said, moving deeper into the room. "Keep moving. We’re looking for 'Project Apotheosis' or 'The God-Shell'. Look for the Emperor’s seal." They split up, moving down opposite sides of the narrow aisle. Saoirse scanned the spines. The Anatomy of Angels. Void Theory. The Ethics of Soul Fragmentation.

The shuffle of hangers, the low hum of a dusty radio playing soft rock in the background, the occasional exclamation from a customer who’s found a hidden gem. In the back corner, I discover a wooden crate filled with books. My fingers hover over the spines, titles half faded, pages worn. I crouch down and start flipping through them, the paper whispering under my touch. Valerie appears beside me a moment later with a woven basket in one hand and a sequined scarf slung dramatically around her neck. “Any treasure?” she asks, crouching beside me. “Not sure yet,” I murmur, pulling out a leather bound book with a cracked spine. The title is barely legible. Myths of the Forgotten Realms. My breath

"This is a sketch artist. I need you to describe that arcane seeker you saw." Corvina was about to claim she couldn't remember, but Aria continued, "If you say you can't recall how they look, my promises to you won't mean anything either. Take her away and lock her up." Corvina panicked. "Wait! I'll tell you. Let me think... The arcane seeker was very old." "What else?" The sketch artist had already prepared paper and pencil. "There were lots of wrinkles on his face. When you got close to him, there was this awful smell, like something rotting.

"Oh my God, where should I start?" 'Mine is happy,' Ash whispered, and Duncan’s lips twitched slightly—barely. "Come with me," Duncan gestured, leading her further inside. "Oh my! Is that what I think it is?" Arianna gasped at the sight of a dark green leather-bound book—one she would recognize anywhere. "You know it?" Duncan arched a brow. "Yes, of course!" She tried to reach for it, but she wasn’t tall enough, so Duncan helped her. "Thanks," she smiled at him, then looked down at the book. "The Ballads of the Ancients."

She pulled it out, sneezed once as dust motes tickled her nostrils, and lowered the book on the coffee table. The title was written in cursive gold letters, 'The Art Of The Body'. Clearly out of curiosity, she opened to the middle of the book, and her eyes nearly popped out in pure mortification. The book contained explicit diagrams of men and women in different, erotic, sexual poses.