Romans & histoires Ichor: Book

Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously Copyright © 2021 Josie Frank Copy Editing and Formatting by Josie Frank Cover Design by JosieFrank Photography by Depositphotos Cover and photo from Depositphotos All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously

Terribly wrong. "He's changed," Siron whispered, more to himself. "Since the tomb... he's fighting something inside him." Kit took a deep breath. "You said your mother told you to look for records. We brought this book." He produced a thick book he had managed to grab from the shelf before fleeing. Its cover was worn brown, inscribed with Gothic letters: Die Verlorenen Chroniken von Aethelford (The Lost Chronicles of Aethelford). The Self-Falling Book. When the hands chased them, this book had slid from the high shelf and fallen right in front of Siron's feet, as if pointing to itself.

They or we? The other party that threw our world into chaos was the self-proclaimed animal welfare organization Live for Animals. In an act of charity they broke into Doctor Christopher Krynick's research laboratory to bring the animals to safety. Unfortunately they had no idea what was going on and a well-meaning rescue operation turned into a global catastrophe. The proles first killed their rescuers and then escaped from the research facility to bring a plague of unprecedented proportions to the world. When a hand came to rest on my shoulder and slowly brushed the back of my neck, I tried to ignore the tingling sensation. "You can leave that nice. I'm still mad at you. "

I dump my bag on the floor and read through the shelf while pulling books out and mumble as I go. ‘Even a book can be dangerous in the wrong hands.’ ‘Ignite.’ ‘Hell is empty and all the devils are here.’ ‘You’ll make bad choices. Sometimes you’ll choose the best of bad ones.’ ‘Tuesday is Fucked.’ ‘Everything’s a game. And now it’s your turn.’ I have a stack of about 10 books before I abruptly stop. "Next isle." I say and we walk up and down the library isles. I climb and jump to get books off of shelves and Aidan has to catch me a couple of times when I fell.

I asked because I had never heard anything like it before. “It’s the name the Crone gave me many years ago. Ichor is kind of her way of teasing me for being a vampire. Ichor is the fluid that flows like blood in the veins of gods. Since the gods are immortal and vampires are immortal, given my diet consists mostly of blood it just stuck. Agatha and all of her children have all called me Ichor,” he explained.

she murmured, tilting her head. Drawn by fascination, she found the rolling ladder attached to the bookshelf and climbed carefully. Her fingers trailed over several thick volumes—Blood Oaths and Moonlight, Fangs of Fire, The Treaty of Shadows. The illustrations on the covers were beautiful yet chilling, with fanged creatures, glowing eyes, and moons stained crimson. With great care, she pulled down four books and descended, arms full. She found the oversized reading chair near the window and curled into it, flipping open the first book.

Before finding the chiabin to hopefully find the solitude to check myself and survive the night. When I came back to the room she was sitting up with her orb lighting a worn leather book in her hands. She glanced up, giving me a languid once-over and a soft smile. She sighed contentedly going back to her book. I slid in next to her. "That doesn't look like the trashy romance novels my mom used to read. What is it?" I asked, remembering Beau said she liked books, as I fluffed the dead pillow I pilfered from the linen closet. "A boring ritual concept book from 1800 Bulgaria," she said like it was nothing. I leaned over glancing at the page. A completely different language staring back at me. M

"What do you mean?" Dr. Percy walks over to a hidden compartment in the wall and retrieves a worn, leather-bound book. Its pages are yellowed with age, and strange symbols are etched into its cover. "This is the Grimoire of Shadows," he says, holding it out to Chloe. "It contains spells and rituals of immense power—power that comes at a great cost. If we are to stand any chance against the creature, we must be willing to use it." Chloe hesitates, eyeing the book warily. "You’re asking me to embrace the very thing that created that monster?"

“Not just magic. A presence.” She led us into her study, a cramped room packed with scrolls, bones, and bottles full of moonlight and dried herbs. The air smelled like age and dust and secrets. Lira handed me a book wrapped in black velvet. “This was forbidden long ago. But now, it’s your only chance.” I opened it carefully. Inside were pages written in blood ink, symbols that flickered and changed when I looked too long. At the top of the first page: "The Witch Who Was."