Graveyard Keeper Silk Novels & Stories

It had only been a few days since Ricky’s death anniversary—of course, the weight of memories must still be suffocating him. My eyes drifted toward the forgotten collection. Midnight blues, deep purples, and shimmering silvers—all meticulously crafted pieces that had been hidden away for too long. My fingers brushed over the delicate embroidery of the key piece—a gown that at first glance appeared black but, under the light, revealed the breathtaking illusion of a starry night sky, its surface adorned with tiny diamonds that twinkled like constellations. It was mesmerizing, the kind of dress that told a story before a word was spoken.

He patted my cheek and left me grinning. The moment the door shut, I rushed to the bedroom and pulled out the box inside. Black and gold, with RK engraved. My hands trembled as I opened it. Grey satin spilled into my lap. A long gown, delicate, sophisticated, and impossibly sensual. The fabric shimmered like shifting light—like his eyes when they caught silver. I didn’t waste time. I carefully lifted the gown aside, and froze. The box wasn’t empty. A velvet case. And something wrapped in tissue.

“Come on, Dom, that guy creeps me out real bad. His tower is always damp for some reason and the place smells like grave moss. Don’t even get me started on the fucking eyeball jars. “I don’t care if it smells like the inside of a rotting crypt.” I met his eyes with a glare. “Allen's the best there is. If anyone can find something, it’s him.” “I swear if I step on another talking skull I’ll lose it.” Ryker muttered. I knelt once more and stared at the crest, it was embedded deep into the corpse’s chest. I ripped it out from the corpse’s chest and closed my hand around it, “No one must know,” I said, crushing it into dust.

The Zeus Forest Works filed contained copies of invoices and work schedules, photos of trucks coming and going… Talen would know what it meant, but that would also mean being upfront with Talen. “F-k,” she groaned resting her forehead on her hands and digging her fingers into her hair. The Secret Keeper was exposing the secrets of Havermouth whilst keeping her own. That wouldn’t do at all. She would learn from her mistakes with the Triquetra and tell her vampire daddy the truth.

The guard led the way through a cramped back hallway hidden right inside the Keep’s walls. The air was stale, smelling of damp earth and old rusty iron. The guard led me into a tiny, poorly lit room that looked like a makeshift archive. The place was crammed to the ceiling with shelves full of old account books, regional maps, and the family trees of all the different packs. ​"My name is Silas," he said, his voice as rough as grinding stones. He didn't look at me as he spoke; he was busy pulling a heavy, dust-covered book from a shelf.

Valkyrie examined the inscription beneath the carving. "I can read some of it." "You can?" Zara asked. "Just a little." She brushed dust away from it with her sleeve. "The translation isn't perfect, but..." She frowned. "It says..." She paused then continued. "...The First Keeper." "The first what?" Rynese asked. "Keeper." Silence settled over the chamber then Zara noticed something else. At the foot of the carving was a small stone pedestal, on top of it rested a dagger. The blade still shined silver despite the dust that had covered it.

The moment I looked up, I saw Chelsea lounging lazily on the couch in my nightgown, watching TV like she owned the place. Her daughter, Sadie Miller, was running barefoot all over my white carpet. Mom had stayed up night after night making that carpet for me, her eyes bloodshot from exhaustion. Now, it was covered in dirty black footprints from Sadie's feet. What made my blood boil was seeing my carefully collected figurines scattered all over the floor. Several of them had their arms and legs snapped off. Furious, I snatched one of the figurines back from Sadie's hands and questioned, "What are you people doing in my house?"

"Sloane! What's wrong with you? Say something!" He shook my shoulders, but my body just swayed mechanically. A pack elder suddenly appeared at the garden gate. He wore a black ceremonial robe, holding a bouquet of white memorial flowers. "The moonlight is upon us! Prepare the silver pyre! Let us send our warrior home to the Goddess!" the pack elder proclaimed. Killian snapped his head up. The wreaths of laurel flowers hanging all around the courtyard fell with a crash. They revealed the mourning decorations hidden beneath, woven from silver-blue moon grass and the shed fur of our pack.

There was kindness in his gaze, but it felt worn down—shaped by experience and often pushed aside by what was necessary. “Miss Wynn,” he said with a polite bow. “I am Silas Thorn, steward to Lord Avel Morcant.” My throat tightened. “His steward?” “Yes.” He offered a velvet box. “His Lordship sends a gift. He asks that you wear it tomorrow.” A gift. My fingers trembled as I opened the box. Inside lay a choker made of black metal, with roses winding around a deep crimson stone that seemed too bright for its setting. Heat rushed to my cheeks.

"And right now, you look like a corpse fished out of the Hudson." I left him there and took the service stairs. The third floor was dark and silent. I navigated by memory to the Special Collections storage. The air here smelled of mothballs and old velvet. I scanned the racks. I needed something classic. Nothing flashy. I found a garment bag labeled "1950s Tuxedo - Black." I unzipped it. It was heavy wool, immaculate. I grabbed another bag for myself. A deep midnight-blue silk gown. It was simple, elegant, and dark enough to hide bloodstains.