Phantomhive Manor Novels & Stories

“The Archive is only the beginning. The real inheritance is hidden beneath Blackstone Manor. Only the true heir can enter.” My brows knitted together. “Blackstone Manor?” Alfred slowly closed his eyes. “So… he chose that place.” David looked confused. “I thought it had burned down years ago.” Alfred shook his head. “No.” “It disappeared.” Before anyone could ask another question— The entire building shook violently. BOOM! Dust poured from the ceiling. The security monitor flickered. Leon had reached the main gate. The massive stone entrance on the screen slowly began to unlock. “No…” Alfred whispered.

“If I make it through the night without getting possessed or murdered by some Victorian ghost, you all owe me a thousand dollars each. And I only accept cash.” That bold declaration was how she found herself here. It was 9:17 PM when Harper pulled her old, beat-up Civic up the long, overgrown driveway. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the imposing silhouette of Thorne Manor. The three-story mansion looked like it had been pulled straight out of a nightmare, dark wood rotting in places, ivy choking the walls, cracked stained-glass windows, and a sagging roof that seemed one strong wind away from collapse.

I stole a small boat to cross one of the bigger lakes, praying to the moon above that this was to be the end of my hunt. It wasn’t the Five Lakes wooden packhouse, nor any of the main buildings in the deserted town. I broke into an old library only to see exactly what I was looking for in a huge portrait hanging over the winding oak stairs. A huge willow tree, a centrepiece of a regal pond. In front of a white, grand building. The Manor House. /YES/ Shi crowed with joy. I found and stood by the dead tree late in the night. I watched. Waited for any sign of activity. There was nothing. Not a single candle flickered. There was no Maddox, no strange scents, no hybrids patrolling. It was safe.

"I want to show you something." The drive through the city was quiet, tension humming between us like a live wire. When we finally pulled up to ornate iron gates, I felt my breath catch. "Rosevale Manor," Luxian announced as the gates swung open. "The most exclusive venue in the region." The manor was stunning—white stone walls covered in ivy, tall windows that caught the morning light like diamonds. It looked like something from a fairy tale, the kind of place where princesses got married.

The man in the black jacket who had been with her finally made a sound, even though it was only one word. "Get out." Livy immediately obeyed without asking for anything. Likewise, when the man walked forward, Livy just followed his steps. About three hundred meters from where the car was parked, there is a fairly large house with a towering gate. Right next to the gate is the house number and a carving on the wall that says Hamington's Home. Is it possible that Hamington is this man's last name? The man opened the gate slightly; he also motioned for Livy to come inside as well. A very cold and dark house was the first impression that came to Livy's mind when she entered.

"I want them to see what crawled out of the sea." David stares at me for three agonizing seconds, a dark, unreadable amusement flickering across his hard features. "Board the craft." Three hours later, the Duskbane Shadowcraft tears through the smog-choked skies above the Condex metropolis, hovering directly over a massive, gothic estate enclosed by towering silver-tipped iron fences. "Is that the target?" David asks, leaning over the console, pointing down at the sprawling stone manor below. "That's it," I whisper, my inner wolf clawing at my chest as the familiar scent of my family's old hunting grounds reaches my nose. "Sterling Wolf Manor."

The haunted house had taken root in Greystone Manor, an aging mansion on the outskirts of Velmora’s East District, complete with towers, gables, and enough architectural drama to look really creepy even in broad daylight. “Last chance to back out,” Rohan said as they approached the entrance. “Are you kidding? I have been looking forward to seeing the unflappable Rohan Marquez jump at fake monsters.” “Who says I’m going to jump?” “Everyone jumps in haunted houses. It’s scientifically impossible not to.”

THIRD PERSON POV The old Blackwood Manor stood silhouetted against a bruised, storm-threatening sky, a hulking relic of a forgotten gothic novel. To Liam, it felt less like an inheritance and more like a prison sentence. Three days. The lawyer’s letter had been brutally specific. He and Isabelle had to reside together under this roof for seventy-two continuous hours to claim their shares of the estate from their eccentric, and recently deceased, mutual benefactor, Arthur Blackwood.

“If you could, would you go back to The Hive?” “Yes, only to find one person. There has only been one person in this world who gave me a run for my money. It’s not as important to me anymore, but for a long time all I wanted to do is find the person.” Pausing he rubbed a hand against his jaw. “They call him Phantom.” A laugh left his mouth without any humor, “And people call me Ghost. The irony with the names is not lost on me.” I took a long sip of wine. Not sure how to respond. “It does seem quite clever.”

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with your duties, I don’t care what you do.” He could still feel her eyes on the side of his face, lingering for a moment longer before she turned away, and he let out a silent breath. The rest of the drive passed in that same thick silence Soon, the city gave way to the towering gates of the Ashford mansion. Cain pulled the Phantom to a stop before the grand entrance of the manor and killed the engine. The only sound was the patter of rain on the roof. "We’re here," he said. Cain stepped out of the car, but Nora remained inside, her eyes tracing the stone pillars of the manor up to the roofline.