Madam Hooch Eyes Novels & Stories

She could sense someone or something watching her, it was a weird presence and she couldn't quite pinpoint the position as it came from everywhere. 'Who could it possibly be?' Katie wondered, her eyes narrowing as she looked around. Her thoughts raced to make sense of the situation. But a voice interrupted her thought. "Katie," Oprah called. “What are you doing?" "Oh it's nothing, just taking in the view," Katie replied but Oprah noticed her unease. “Hmm, I don't think so. Maybe I should just take a peek,” Oprah said and her eyes glowed silver. Oprah was a Mindflayer and could read people's minds but it required eye contact, so Katie hurried to hide her face.

Her haughty gaze was frigid, though the brilliance of her emerald-green eyes should have lent some warmth by virtue of the normally warm shade. “You were a horrible person,” whispered Madison, unable to look away from those eyes. They were compelling and arresting. Chilling…and familiar? Where had she seen them before? Was she allowing her imagination to conjure facts that weren’t real? Had she incorporated Joan’s description of the infant with the green eyes into her thoughts to produce such certainty? Or had she really seen those eyes somewhere besides in the cold, patrician face of Catherine Archer’s portrait?

the lady replied smoothly. From the corner of her eye, Emma saw Mrs. King smiling warmly at Martha, while Mr. King remained entirely focused on his phone. Deeply relieved that the master of the house wasn't paying attention to her yet, Emma took the opportunity to assess the lady's appearance. The woman was stunning. She appeared to be in her late forties, yet the flawless smoothness of her complexion and the sheer elegance of her luxury clothing gave her the appearance of being effortlessly, timelessly beautiful. Her eyes were honey-coated—easily the most stunning hazel eyes Emma had ever seen.

The air in the office was really thick and heavy. It felt like the oxygen was getting all dense and weird because of Julian Vane being Mark spun around. His jacket made a loud noise against the quiet hum of the old computers. He put his hand in his pocket. Grabbed a silver thing. He stared at Julian through the glass. His eyes were wide. He was watching Julian light his lighter. The small flame showed Julians face. It made his face look sharp and mean. He was standing really relaxed outside the glass. He looked like a man looking at something in a box.

he thundered. “There are no maidens with us,” said Hayden, “Let us through.” “You are mistaken, Alpha Prince,” bellowed Largo, “There is but one and she must be handed over. I can smell her tresses and hear her heartbeat.” Largo, still straddling the road, took a step forward and another. His footsteps made the ground quake and the forest behind him trembled. Several birds took flight, escaping the trembling trees. The Moko Jumbie bent his knees. He squatted before them, peering down at the eight men. He raised on side of his straw hat to reveal one of his eyes. The sclera of his eye was black instead of white and the iris itself was white. The strange eye swivelled around in its socket sear

Psychopathically dark. When he cornered her to his car side, telling her to behave as he’d wanted to meet with some acquaintances, he offed his black Gucci glasses and she decided eyes as dark as his glasses would fit him more than his sky blue ones. Those eyes were too good for him, she thought, it would look better in somebody normal. She saw Luna approach, decided to act like she saw nothing, staring into emptiness. "Hey." Luna sighed, resting her back on the car.

I wanna get married. I wanna have child. The girls. I crashed down with thud. My head spinning as I felt my liquid on my forehead, making it's way down to my cheeks. I open my eyes to see blur sky and a black figure above me. I heard a muffled screams of the men before black dots appear in front of me. The dots slowly grew larger in size as I slowly let it consume me. I finally close my eyes.

The kind that says I see you and I am glad and this is everything and I will not make it weird. When she pulls back her eyes are doing something. "Do not," I say. "I am not doing anything," she says. "Your eyes are doing something," I say. "They are fine," she says, blinking rapidly. "Completely fine. Dust." "Hackney dust." "Notorious for it," she says.

And there he was. Blind Eye sat in his customized wheelchair near the edge of the balcony, overlooking the city. A silver suitcase sat open on his lap, the glow of credit chips illuminating his chin. In his hand, he held a crystal glass of amber liquid—vintage whiskey, likely older than Jack himself. He was humming a tune. A soft, off-key melody. "Three minutes to extraction," Blind Eye murmured to himself, tapping his sensor visor. "Life is good." "Is it?"

Bodies slick with sweat, hair swinging with the force of their movements, eyes locked, hungry and predatory, on every man with a name, with money, with power. Then she came, gliding towards us through the haze and the bodies like a ship sailing through a storm. Madam Cha. She wore a gown made of knives and attitude, all sharp edges and glittering defiance. Her smile was wide, plastered on, but her eyes… her eyes were all venom, cold and assessing. She didn’t even speak at first, just stopped a few feet away and looked at me, her gaze dissecting, like she was replaying some memory she’d rather forget, but couldn’t.