Hierophant Green Requiem Novels & Stories

I murmur. He nods. "This is going to hurt like hell, Rhett." He looks up to me, eyes golden, pleading. I begin the chant, each word cutting deeper than the last. The forest groans, the air thickens. Power coils around us like serpents. “In the name of the old veins that feed the earth, I, Lucien Bloodworth, bind my life to thine, Isadora Gravelle.” I say. “No reaper shall touch thee, no curse unmake thee, while my being yet lives.”

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

​We crested the final ridge, our paws skidding on the loose shale. ​At the summit, a natural stone altar sat under the open sky. Isabella was there, draped in a tattered red cloak that whipped in the unnatural wind. The High Priest’s grimoire lay open on the altar, its pages glowing with a dark, violet light that seemed to suck the color out of the world. ​In her hand was a silver bowl. She was chanting in a language that sounded like dry leaves scraping on a tombstone. ​"Isabella! Stop!" Liam shifted mid-leap, landing in his human form at the edge of the circle. He was naked, but his Alpha aura was so thick it was almost a physical suit of armor.

I didn’t need to look to know she was glaring at him. “I’m not yours,” she said quietly. “I never was.” “You are,” he said. “You always were.” Greg stepped forward, pulling the relic from his pack. “You want her? Then deal with all of us.” Kieran’s smile faltered for half a second. Just long enough to give me hope. But then the altar hummed. Low. Deep. A note that seemed to vibrate in my bones. Lightning forked through the blood-red sky above.

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!

[Gia's POV] Death then proceeded with setting up a small ritual around the altar and began chanting words that were foreign and unintelligible to me. As he chanted his voice began to grow louder and take on an ethereal quality. His body seemed illuminated by an unseen light source and his eyes were momentarily drawn into two bright golden orbs before shifting back again into the deep red that they were prior. The two reapers had begun chanting in unison with him without pause while standing motionless at either side of the altar—staring straight ahead with vacant expressions on their faces.

Amber went all out and set up a special ritual for Leah’s birthday. It would be a celebration of her life and a spiritual rite of passage to her future. She had saged one of the rooms in the back of her store and laid out an altar in it. The altar sat upon a low black wooden table. The red silk cloth hung over the edges and upon it lay crystals, sage, moon water, and a scrying bowl.