Arcane Novels & Stories

I did as bid, raising the cup up high with my left hand and ignoring the stinging sensation as the air licked my right. There was no point in worrying about it. It would be healed soon enough. The Hekate uttered the arcane language, her tongue moving as if she was testing the word out for the first time, even though she'd said these phrases half a dozen times. I knew from my studies that the arcane language was unlike any other known language, it was temperamental, the very mood of a single word changing each time it was spoken. You coaxed the arcane and it aided you, you did not control it. Once

This had to be the spot. Using every fiber of my being, I hit the earth with the shovel, continuing to upheave the wet dirt until I finally struck flesh. "That has to hurt." With caution, I used the shovel's tip to carve a sigil to the earth. The symbol glowed, giving a dull purple glow. It meant her spirit was still bound to the mundane realm. That done, I cut my palm to draw blood and spilled droplets of the crimson red liquid on the crooked body. "Blood of my blood, Vengeful spirit, I summon thee..." I paused and waited for the usual impiccio. Necromancy was unnatural so nature was sure to put up a fight.

The grimoire turned out to be the largest book Cassandra had ever seen, with pages made of parchment illuminated with tracery, and it was open to a page thickly covered with elegant, intricate writing. To Cassandra, it was the most beautiful handwriting she had ever seen. She felt the urge to trace her fingers over the inked pages. There were pictures of herbs, flowers, roots, and seeds. There were also diagrams and drawings of astronomy. Some of them with suns, moons, and stars, or symbols for the zodiacal constellations: two fish for Pisces, a bull for Taurus, a hunter with a crossbow for Sagittarius, and so on. Each of these had female figures arranged in two or more concentric bands. Mos

It had bowed. My mind scrambled, clawing through the wreckage of my logic to make sense of the carnage. A human master? The thought was a glitch in the universe, a fundamental impossibility that shouldn't exist. The Arcanum was a creature of the old world; it didn't answer to blood or family ties. It answered to power, to a specific, ancient frequency that resonated in the soul. How could a girl with no wolf, no pack, and not a single drop of magic anchor a beast that was designed for the sole purpose of genocide against our kind?

No mortal knew what the criteria for being able to wield an artifact was as the gods deemed us unfit of possessing such knowledge. That didn't stop people from trying to acquire them though. This, the secret association known as the Arcane Collectors was born. A group of individuals who dedicated their lives and the lives of many in their bloodline to collecting as many of these artifacts as possible. Some were usually lucky enough to have someone who could wield an artifact in their team. Now, the association has a unique ranking system based on the English alphabet with Z being the top dog and A being the weak runt. To attain a rank, you needed a specific am

And now, his presence was being felt again, his power resurfacing, his vengeance awakening. Finally, she contacted Marcus, a scholar of the arcane, a man who had dedicated his life to translating ancient languages and untangling the mysteries of forgotten civilizations. Marcus was Riana’s anchor to the past, her guide through the labyrinth of history and myth. He was a walking encyclopedia of arcane knowledge, his mind a vast repository of forgotten lore and esoteric wisdom. He could decipher ancient texts, interpret cryptic symbols, and unravel the secrets of long-lost cultures. Without Marcus, Riana would be adrift in a sea of

Randy inspected our outfits. Erica, on the other hand, seemed intrigued. "Pretty trendy. How did I miss this brand's new line?" Solomon and I wore limited-edition fall gear from a well-known brand. She recognized it as she circled us. "We're not high schoolers," I said. "We're in college." "Which one?" "Arcane Academy." Randy glanced at Debra. "You've got some juniors here." She graduated from Arcane too, but beyond that, I didn't know much.

She rummaged through boxes filled with forgotten memories, her heart racing with anticipation. Her fingers brushed against a worn leather journal, its edges frayed and its cover adorned with a beautiful emblem—a symbol she recognized from the stories Aunt Cleo had told her about the coven. As she opened it, the musty scent enveloped her, and the words seemed to whisper secrets of a time long past.

Her fingers slipped under his shirt, tracing the firm lines of his chest… … After Homer, Landon, and Aria finished their breakfast the next morning, they piled into a car headed for Mount Southbore. Autumn came early to these mountains. Frost-tinged winds swept through endless stretches of crimson maples, painting the rolling peaks like a canvas splashed with rich, bold colors. The mountain road wound upward like a ribbon, its end lost somewhere in the misty green depths above. That was where the Conclave of the Arcane would be held. A black Bentley rolled to a smooth stop in a wide plaza. The door swung open, and out stepped Homer in

Get your head out of the gutter. But truth be told, he was smoldering hot. His face cut was that of a Greek God and his physique was that of a hunk. A handsome hunk. For a moment I thought I was in love with him. But the irony, I didn't even know his name. Wow, Arabella! Exactly why your love life equals zero.