Maeve Glass Novels & Stories

That was, until one ring, in particular, caught my eye. It was small… a mere fragment compared to that which Isabelle wore, but it wasn’t the size that stood out to me. It was the iridescent gemstone attached to the simple silver band. The same shade of blue that swirled deep in Maeve’s eyes shone from one angel, interwoven with the same violet that glowed in her mother’s one-of-a-kind crystal at another angel. I saw Maeve in this ring, and I was… mystified.

Mauve is hysterically sobbing, unable to notice what she just made. “Miss! If you could hear me, Please calm down! Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.” Sephie screams as she looks around and scans trying to pinpoint where Mauve is. She lets go of Nicholas and runs towards the circulating force. She notices that there is a warm orange light in the middle of it. That must be Mauve, confused and unable to control her emotions. The longer the time passes, the darker the color gets and as it turns red, one of the glass windows shatters.

It hurts, so fucking much and I was surprised that I didn't faint. “The child's aura is fusing with yours” Ardan said, “If we don't seal it by the next full moon, it might rupture or merge together forever” Ardan left us, gone for a few minutes only to come back with a suppressant elixir. “That's?” Maverick asked. “Glassveil Brew. It's what you need” he said, and my gaze lingered on the item. “We need bloodroot and shadowstem, but those are hard to get,” he added.

As they approached each booth, they found glass display cases, each one showcasing an array of captivating crystals in all shapes and sizes. One stall, in particular, drew Joe's attention. Inside the glass case were rows of flat, clear glass rectangular tiles, appearing like delicate and transparent laptops. Each tile consisted of two layers: a solid glass front and a mosaic of smaller tiles behind it, creating a mesmerizing play of colors and patterns. The tiles came in various sizes, ranging from small ones measuring 6 inches long, 4 inches wide, and 1 inch thick to larger ones measuring 16 inches long, 12 inches wide, and 2 inches thick. Every tile bore the same color, yet each held a uni

Maeve grabbed two red cups and handed one to me, her grin back up. I took one suspicious look inside, “What’s in it?” “Punch.” She turned to the woman guarding the drinks. “Right?” The woman pursed her lips. “It’s…diluted.” “With what?” “Vodka.” Maeve blinked, then took a sip like she was some food judge. Then she turned back to me. “It’s not terrible.” I looked down into the cup, the red liquid suddenly looking much darker. But before I could place it back on the table, Maeve grabbed my wrist. “You’ll live, Sydney. Let’s find somewhere to sit.”

"Maeve, look." ​Maeve didn't look. She was staring at the horizon, her smile fixed and unmoving. "The sunset is beautiful today, isn't it?" ​"The flower," I pointed, my voice rising. "It’s bleeding." ​"It’s just the light, Aria," Maeve said, her voice sounding slightly distorted, as if she were speaking from the bottom of a well. "The sun plays tricks on the eyes. Stay here. Don't look at the shadows."

I had never imagined how good her anger would smell. My wolf clawed at me again. Hunt. “It has not begun.” Ours. “She is not ours.” The lie barely left my mouth before the mirror shattered. My reflection disappeared beneath a web of cracks. I stared at the fist embedded in the glass. Blood ran between my fingers and dripped onto the dressing table. Behind the fractured reflection, my eyes burned gold. Not amber. Not human. Gold. The same eyes Maeve had stared into without lowering her own. I pulled my hand free. Shards of glass fell across the floor.

The gold flecks in her irises danced brilliantly in the firelight. "The guard recruits are busy on the western wall, Valarian," Kiarra replied, her voice remarkably steady, carrying a playful, challenging tilt he had never heard from her before. "And Maeve needs the honey for the venison glaze right now. Since you’re just standing there guarding the door frame... do you think you could actually step inside and give me a hand?"

Of course, they did. The hall outside Salle C opened onto a long arcade of stained-glass windows. The late afternoon had slipped toward evening, the light fading from washed-out gray to bruised color. Sun slanted through the glass in bands of red, gold, and blue that painted the stone walls and the polished floor in shards of borrowed fire. Her muscles hummed from the fight, a pleasant ache in her arm where the foil had bitten into her grip. She could still feel the ghost of Noah’s shoulder against her chest. The sharp, ugly sound he’d made when she’d turned him.

Inside, the fluorescent bulb hummed; chalk circles overlapped on the concrete; jars sat on cheap shelves—some with leaves, some with shimmering dust I didn’t want to name, some with nothing but the suggestion of having once held something dangerous enough to stain glass. Maeve was younger than my idea of a witch and older than anyone who’d never needed to be one. Dark hair in a braid, forearms inked with lines that looked like music notation and rules. She didn’t smile. That helped. “You came fast,” she said, like a man had texted her up? at 2 a.m. and she had better things to do. “I’ve been coming for weeks,” I said. “I just didn’t know where to knock.”