Ethel Hallow Novels & Stories

The fire crackled softly in Morwenna’s hearth, casting long shadows across the walls of her cottage. The air inside was thick with the scent of burning sage, meant to ward off dark forces—though I wasn’t sure if anything could keep the darkness at bay now. Ethan sat at the far end of the room, silent and tense, while Kael leaned against the doorframe, his face still pale from his ordeal. Ava remained unconscious in the next room, her breathing shallow but steady.

The room was still, unnervingly so, as the synthesizer powered down, its steady hum fading into silence. I stood frozen, my hands gripping the edge of the control panel, my breath caught somewhere between relief and dread. The cure—glowing faintly in the containment vial—was complete. But all I could see was Ethan. He was slumped against the floor of the chamber, his usually strong, commanding presence now reduced to something fragile, almost unrecognizable. His skin was pale, his breaths shallow, and his body utterly still.

"All this assumes you even make it through the journey." I frowned at her. "What do you mean?" "The place you're going is called Ember Hallow. People have sought answers there, but only a handful have returned. Those who do are often changed, not themselves anymore. Some go mad, others are forever silent. Ember Hallow isn't for the faint of heart. The answers you find might break you, or they might make you. " She shrugged. "You can't know." "I see," I said, turning back to the men and offering them a smile. "And that's what you guys were arguing about, yes?" I asked, the smile still on my face.

The storm outside had reached a fever pitch, shaking the very foundations of Haverstone Manor. Lightning illuminated the corridors in blinding flashes, casting distorted shadows that seemed to stretch and writhe along the walls. Emma led the group through the labyrinthine hallways, her flashlight flickering with each step as if protesting their relentless advance.

The estate felt different that morning. Too quiet. Too heavy. Too still, like the house itself was holding its breath. Ethan walked through the west wing without blinking, eyes unfocused, steps unsteady. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t even changed his blood stained shirt. He didn’t care. All he cared about was one thing. “Where is she?” Ethan asked the guards stationed by the ruined ritual room. They looked terrified. “She, she’s inside, sir. But you shouldn’t,”

He found himself wondering what it would be like to see Noah and Sterling in their own space, another two people who had somehow managed to find something solid together. When they pulled up, Milo blinked at the sight of the sprawling mansion looming behind wrought-iron gates that looked like something out of a supervillain’s lair. The manicured lawns stretched forever, a fountain glittered near the front drive, and glass walls caught the sun in sharp reflections. Ethan rolled his window down and pressed the intercom button with a wry look. “You think the underground lair's just as big?” Milo muttered. “Probably,” Ethan deadpanned.

He worked the crowbar under the first board. Wood groaned. Gave. He removed another. Then another. The trapdoor opened. Darkness poured down. Thicker than before. He shone the flashlight up. The beam caught dust motes. Then something else. A shape in the far corner. Hooded. Bent. Holding something small. Black. Lens pointed downward. The shutter clicked again. Ethan stepped onto the floorboards. Veronica followed. The attic smelled of salt. Of wet stone. Of old film.

I really wasn’t good with teenagers, being an only child myself. I watch until they disappear from sight. Then I turn back to Micheal. “Where is Ethan being held?” “Havelock’s estates,” he replies. “His main house. Upper East Side. Seventy Eighty Fifth Street.” My phone is already in my hand as I send the address to Mike with a single word. *Now* “But I don’t think they’re still there by now, I left as they were packing up.” I look back at Micheal. “Why are you telling me this?”

Andres was up early the next morning, preparing for the day. He had just arrived at Quaint Hotel and finished tidying up when Cohen burst in, pale and clutching at his phone. "Andres! Something terrible has happened!" Before Cohen could continue, Andres' phone rang. He held up a finger to silence him and answered the call. As he listened, his gaze shifted to Cohen's phone, where an image stopped him cold. The once-familiar pink Cullinan was now charred black, surrounded by the smoldering remains of Eterna Haven. Smoke billowed from the scene, and a stretcher held a body covered by a white sheet nearby.

Now, I was awake. When we neared the Compound, Elias headed toward one of the outbuildings. It was small in comparison, resembling a cabin. But when we walked through the enormous double doors, it was one big room. "What is this place?" I asked, pacing back and forth along the wooden planks of the floor, looking through the enormous plate-glass windows. "This is a cabin for new wolves," Elias said mentally, "a place they can wait until they gain control and can morph back into their human form."