Hierophant Green Requiem Novels & Stories

family heirloom, why?” He asks. “We need it! Don’t leave the circle, though.” I continue laying the stones in a grid pattern, first along the outer circle, then more inward and as I am laying the last one Sean appears with the pendant wrapped in an old handkerchief with the letter “M’ embroidered in a beautiful script. “I take them both graciously and he smiles “You can keep it if you need it, you are family now and I have the feeling that it was waiting for you, no one else has worn it in a very long time, not even her daughter.” I place the pendant around my neck and Damian blinks. He and Sean exchange a look and he whispers “It glowed as you clasped it, just briefly.” Awe was clear in hi

I could give her jewelry every day if it gave me the perfect excuse to be able to touch her. Merda. (Shit*) Lucia turns and plays with the pendant, a soft smile on her lips. She does not realize it, but she is only a step away from me, and I can smell her perfume and see every detail of her skin. "Why a sun, Don Elio?" she asks me. "Because you are Lucia (light*). Go and join your friends. You have no business hanging out here with an adult." The bullshit I feed people, I swear!

“You will handle it carefully. I want her to believe it. Every scream. Every memory.” Andrew bowed deeply. “As you command, my lord.” I stepped aside as he moved forward, pulling out blackened herbs, silver needles, and a bowl filled with dark liquid that smelled of ash, rot, and decay. Andrew knelt beside the tomb and began chanting, his voice low, rhythmic, and hypnotic. “Vel’thara minu, vel’thara kai… strip the mind of truth, strip the heart of light…” Pearl’s body jerked violently.

The box looked like it was made of precious material and densely covered in fiend scripture carvings. "Ancient Ancestor!" Archfiend Antigonus was filled with glee then. "This holds the treasured Soul Requiem Stone of the fiend race, able to devour and hold anything captive. Your fairy spirit may be too powerful to be destroyed, but this thing can hold it down." Then, Archfiend Antigonus focused all his fiend energy on the Soul Requiem Stone. At once, a ray of light shot from the stone that enveloped the Ancient Ancestor completely.

The attic of the old Victorian in Salem smelled of cedar, dried sage, and the sharp metallic bite of charged mercury. Moonlight poured through the tall, arched window in pale shafts, catching on the salt-and-chalk circle etched into the wide-plank floorboards. At its center stood Rowan Hale, twenty-nine, barefoot, wearing only a sheer black slip that clung to her full breasts and wide hips, the silk so thin her dark nipples showed through. Her locs hung loose down her back, threaded with tiny silver beads that glinted like stars. In her left hand she held an obsidian athame; in her right, a small copper bowl filled with her own blood, crushed night-blooming jasmine, and powdered star-anise.

The door swung inward on silent hinges. Inside: a circular chamber no larger than their bedroom. Stone sarcophagi lined the walls, six in total, lids carved with wolf heads in repose. In the center stood a low altar of black obsidian, and on it: a single leather-bound tome, sealed with a silver chain and a lock shaped like a crescent moon. Seraphine’s resting place. Elara’s breath caught. The air here was colder, heavier, scented with faint jasmine, the same perfume that had clung to Seraphine’s ghostly form.

But the witches didn’t flinch. Their leader, high Priestess Morwenna, stood near the stone altar in the center, her silver hair falling loose from her hood. Her eyes glowed faintly violet as she arranged small silver bowls of herbs, bloodstones, and shards of quartz in a perfect circle. “Let her cry,” Morwenna said coolly, voice cutting through the noise. “Her cries will summon the ancestors sooner. The blood of a god and the howl of a wolf, even the heavens will listen tonight.”

As the chant crescendos, the heat started becoming more pronounced and a red glow that resembles that of a heating volcano could be seen revolving around the central lock-like compartment on the casket ceramics. "Oh, mother of all living creatures, the birth of the rose and thorns. We of your most noble descent swimming in thy blessing of the power of the blade and chalice, go down on our unworthy knees to proclaim the wonder of your majesty. As you have once again delivered to us your humble servants the hope of the world to come. That on Mount Moriah, your city will be rebuilt and the glory of the kingdoms be delivered to you in the chargers of human souls. Your son has come again. The man