Miranda Books Novels & Stories

As we hung up, I then put a call into my dear friend, and witch, Miranda. Miranda was a childhood friend of mine. She is a witch with various powers that exceed the traditional witches doing spells. She can identify if magic has been used in a situation, what spells or potions might have been used and a bunch of other things, even I can’t fully understand. I needed to talk to her about what was going on and get her here as fast as possible.

“Esmerelda is not responsible for what happened to Melanie. Nor is she a police officer who is required to investigate what happened. She’s a guest in this house just like the rest of you. I would appreciate your consideration in this matter.” Ignoring the open glowering and snide remarks that were being whispered about me and my association with the very coveted Lance Northrup, I closed my eyes to see if I could get an impression from the house as to what happened. All I could get were the words, ‘The other side of the mirror.’ They made absolutely no sense to me, even though they sounded in my head over and over again. Frustrated and irritated, I walked to the far side of the room, a

’ And then I heard it. A low, groaning scrape from the stairwell. I darted up the steps, taking them three at a time, stumbling over debris. The door to the west wing was ajar—splintered. Inside books scattered. Mirrors cracked. Tapestries shredded. And in the middle of it all— Miranda. Our beloved head maid. Pinned beneath a fallen shelf. Her arms bled. Her face was bruised. But her eyes, oh her eyes—they were still fire. “Thank the devils, you are fine..”

Damien’s research couldn’t be continued by anyone. Then, Mira stopped when she spotted a brown leather journal on the desk. It had a name written on the bottom left of the book. “Mirabelle...” she said, tracing her fingers on the engraved name. She opened the journal and her legs buckled when she saw a picture of her mother with her baby bump, presumably before she told her father about the child. “Mira,” Winston called her. “She looked so happy,” Mira sobbed. The doors swung open and a guard entered. He stared back and forth between Mira who was holding onto the journal and Winston who was holding explosives.

“I’m listening.” Mirrie smiled. “Well, first and most obviously, to hide.” “From me?” he asked quietly, and with no anger. He understood her choices now, he really did. “Partly, yeah. Partly I was trying to hide from the MC. But really, I was trying to disguise myself from everyone who may have known me before.” “Before you were Miranda Campbell.” “Right. I mean, like I told you, I left Denver when I was eleven, but I came back and worked here after I finished high school, so some people did know me from my office job.”

the spirit mused then invited, "come over to the bookshelf. It's time we conducted a little research." Miranda rose her eyebrows in bewilderment and shook her head, "I guess." She sighed out, then she approached the bookshelf where the ghost started to point out which books Miranda needed to read. By the time Miranda sat at the small table, she had up to ten books piled on the wooden surface. "Now, let's start with The Legends of the Wolfe, then we'll read Creatures of the Moon, Myths Versus Facts, then we can go from there." The ghost coached.

My mind wasn’t really on studying. I turned a corner and nearly bumped into someone. Professor Kane stood there, holding a thick book. He looked tired but still handsome in his button-down shirt. His eyes widened when he saw me. “Lila,” he said softly. I froze. “Professor. I… I should go.” I turned to leave, but his hand gently caught my arm. “Wait. Please.” The library was silent around us. No one else seemed to be in this section. The smell of old books and quiet air made everything feel intimate again.