Black Candle Women Novels & Stories

The board members—six men and women in suits that cost more than most people earned in a lifetime—were frozen in the moonlight, their faces illuminated only by the emergency red glow of the backup life-support. "The lights are out, ladies and gentlemen," Sloane said, stepping out of her harness. The "Killer Wife" was back in her element. She held her Beretta with a casual, terrifying grace. "And in the dark, the Black Rose is the only thing that grows." The Chairwoman, a woman with silver hair and eyes like frozen coins, stood up. "You think a blackout stops us? We are an algorithm, Mrs. Vane. We exist in the cloud. You cannot kill a ghost."

The dead candle will never relight. One (soft, almost wondering): “Then the world may yet survive her.” Rowan turns to leave, pausing only to add: Rowan: “Tell the Council the storm has a family. And the family just won its first war.” He steps back into the mirror that isn’t there. In Shambhala, twelve candles burn on. In Hot Springs, Arkansas, a very tired storm queen sleeps in her coyote’s arms while dawn paints the valley gold. The Hollow Choir is gone.

Candles, White Chalk, bones, a werewolf skeleton, and a bowl of clean water that reflected her face. She knelt to do her prayers, waved her hand, and the candles lit themselves. She whispered incantations, and the air around her felt like danger was lurking. Her hand trembled. The clean water darkened, and she saw a vision through the bowl of water. She stumbled back, holding her chest. “A baby" She murmured. “Something has awakened.” she chanted more and deeper, and she saw more vision. The bowl of water caught fire. Then came a flash – a woman carrying a baby in her womb, glowing faintly with fire. Wolves burning, witches falling to their knees, supernaturals burning and screaming as they

Karmina gritted her teeth as her vision cleared. Five candles, positioned at each point of the star she sat in, flickered and dimmed to lowlight. The stale stench of blood from where she formed her circle lingered still. "Woman was useless, after all." She seethed. Karmina rose to her feet and swept her hand out from beside her. The flames of the candles went out at once and darkness swarmed her vision. She snapped her fingers and the light from the hanging chandelier high above her flickered on. Lying around her circle were animal carcasses. Wildlife from outside her new home. "Weak. All of them are weak!" She swung her hand around and a spray of ichor shot out from her hand and splattered

I followed his gaze and saw Mitchl standing next to a woman dressed in all black and with nails like a tree root. Her black hair runs streight at either side if her face down to her waist and her long black gown flows at her heel like a wedding dress. She is obviously the blood witch, one of the most dangerous witchs in the face of the earth. Mitchl glares straight back at Noah and mokes him with a smirk. "Save ypu energy, little pup. You will need it." Mitchl flashes Noah his teeth and howls a hidious laugh. "What the hell do you get from doing this.."

Director Pakorn himself looked horrified after finally seeing the young woman standing weakly in Phil’s arms. “Madame...?” Dr. Holly whispered in disbelief while clutching her burning cheek. Dr. Stan immediately rushed to her side, equally stunned. No one had expected the refined and composed woman to suddenly explode into violence. They could hardly comprehend what had provoked such terrifying fury from her. “It’s Belle Perez?” The woman’s voice trembled with rage as she stared down at Dr. Holly. “You abused an intern...” she breathed out shakily. “And that intern is Belle Perez?”

The rhythmic thrumming intensified, a deep, resonant hum that seemed to echo from the core of the earth. When I reached the bottom, the staircase dissolving behind me, I found myself in a vast, cavernous chamber. It was lit by an unearthly red glow, pulsating from the very stone. Before me stood a ring of women, cloaked in robes of deep crimson and shadow-black, their forms indistinct in the flickering light. Their eyes, when they turned to me, were like embers—burning, ancient, and filled with a profound sorrow mixed with fierce determination. Each one bore a distinct mark on her throat—a subtle, shimmering scar, like a brand of silence, a testament to a shared suffering. One woman stepped

she commanded, her voice echoing with an icy impatience. The robed women rushed forward in a flurry of white fabric, grabbing my weak arms and legs. They laid me straight down on my back against the freezing concrete, my eyes staring blankly at the dark ceiling. Instantly, the women began pulling thick, dark candles from their deep pockets. They surrounded my helpless body, lighting them one by one with small wooden matches. They placed many candles around my head, many candles along my sides, and many candles around my feet until a heavy, flickering glow illuminated the entire underground room.

There she was. The witch stood inside a circle of black candles, arms raised, lips moving in a language that tasted wrong even from a distance. Behind her, bones and feathers hung from crude frames, charms strung between them like spiderwebs. The fire at the center of the circle wasn’t wood-fed; it burned from the ground itself, a pit of glowing cracks in the earth. And she wasn’t alone. Half a dozen wolves ringed the clearing, their eyes glinting in the firelight. Not Jaxson’s warriors, these were leaner, darker, like they’d been carved down to muscle and bone by hunger and rage.

Still stunned and kind of loopy with the adrenaline and epinephrine coursing through my veins, I rush forward in time to see the bird land gracefully in the packhouse courtyard, the glossy black feathers melting into the long shining locks of thick black hair that drapes like Lady Godiva’s below the rounded posterior of an attractive athletic woman. “Whoa. It’s a woman.” I smile approvingly, my tongue scraping over my fang teeth as she snatches her clothes from patio chair and goes inside. “I have got to get me one of those.” I have to admit, albeit begrudgingly, the Candlewood alpha has some exceptionally good taste in magically-endowed women.