Halloween: The Book Novels & Stories

And find out if there was any way to fix it. As she drove, Caitlin thought again of the rare books she had found in her library. Most of all, she that of that one rare volume, and its torn page. She thought of its ancient ceremony, the one in Latin, with its cure for vampirism. She wondered again if it was real. Was that just passed down from folklore? An old wives’ tale?

She walked towards where her daughter was and she stared at her for a while before moving her eyes to Hazel. “Thank you, Hazel,” she said it like she meant it and she moved her eyes back to fall on the book of prophecy before gripping it tightly. “Caitlin! No,” Hazel expressed shock when she suddenly realized and she quickly made to save the book but she was too late as the book turned to ashes as soon as the flames engulfed it.

Yesterday had gone well, but there’d been a moment where it was touch and go and my blood runs cold every time I think about what could have happened if I lost control and the mages got their powers back. “What’s wrong?” Soren finally asks with a small frown. I’ve been pacing like a caged tiger and he’s been very patiently trying to ignore me while attempting to read. Hilda found the book in the huge library Arlo’s pack has tucked away in an underground fortress and tasked him with checking whether it contains anything useful. Apparently we’re not the first werewolves to have a run-in with mages. The book is titled: Illusions and How to Dispel them. So far it hasn’t offered up anything of pr

The Book didn’t whisper that night; it screamed through the stillness of the house. Autumn jolted awake at precisely 3:33 a.m., her heart racing as she blinked at the sight before her. The Book pulsed with a ghostly light at the foot of her bed, its pages fluttering violently like trapped birds, despite the windows being securely shut against the autumn chill. The pendant that hung around her neck, an ornate piece of silver filigree, felt uncomfortably cold against her collarbone, as if it were absorbing the warmth from her skin.

Holy. Lena closed the door, her hand skimming the edge as if shutting a holy vessel. She did not rush to turn off the lights. Rather, she walked between the shelves, letting her fingertips trace worn spines and whitened covers, breathing in the scent of paper and years. The bookstore was her sanctuary. Her cathedral.

Damien drove the rogue down, one knee in its chest, claws at its throat. “Say another word to her,” he growled, “and I will remove your tongue.” The rogue smiled up at him. “You cannot stop a door once it knows her blood.” The journal fluttered in my hand. Pages snapping hard enough to sting. Words appeared. THE HOLLOW CALLS WHAT THE HOUSE WAKES. My mouth went dry. “Damien.” “I’m busy.” “The haunted book has an update.” “Not ideal timing.” “Shockingly, the book did not ask.”

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Slowly, reverently, he pulled out an ancient tome, and placed it gently on the table next to the pumpkin. The library was deserted, but I still looked around warily as he showed me the book. The Hawthorn Central Library was split over two floors, and the only other person I’d seen so far was the librarian, sat by the door downstairs, a shrivelled old man wearing a spotty tie and a striped suit. He’d given us a rheumy-eyed smile and a little wave, his thin hand almost see-through in the musty light. His eyes had brushed over Skye, lugging around a huge pumpkin, but he hadn’t questioned it. I’d asked him politely if there was a section for folklore, or old myths, and he’d pointed me upstairs.

The vampires were arriving a week earlier than expected and the preparations still weren’t completed. I suddenly remembered the story of “The Wizard of Oz”. It was one of my favorites. My mother read it to me regularly and, when I was old enough I read it on my own, I did so over and over again. I loved the way Dorothy was able to click her heels and return to the safety of her home. How I longed to be Dorothy just then.

I looked back at the pages of the book, wrapping myself more closely in the gray scarf Oliver had given me for Christmas. However, I was not allowed to return to the land depicted in the story from my book, because I sensed a strangely familiar aura that was getting closer and closer to our property. My first thought was mother, because the structure of the aura was very similar, but a few details did not match. I put the book on the table and lifted the blanket from my lap, setting it aside, before giving Oliver a meaningful look. He must have sensed the aura as well, as was already taking Alex in his arms and then walking towards the gazebo, where Oliver sat him down on the bench next to m