Santa Muerte Prayer Book Novels & Stories

No longer powerless. "Yeah… just nervous," I admit. Elijah’s lips curl into a soft smile. "You’ll be fine, my Luna." His voice drops to a low, melodic hum as he begins to chant, the ancient words rolling off his tongue like a song only wolves understand. "Na'vethar ka vethril, se'reythar ka mor'zhil dharani." (Open the gate, reveal the path to the mortal realm.) The moment the words leave his lips, the painting in front of us trembles, the canvas rippling like water disturbed by a stone. The frame glows, molten gold spreading like veins of light. Slowly, it expands, stretching into a massive, swirling doorway.

I think that's another bath time for this little miss. "With a bit of luck, it might make her sleep." He ran water into the baby bath "I'm not sure either of us will get much sleep tonight, Katie will be up at some godawful hour yelling her head off telling us that Santa has been." Gabriel couldn't help smiling this Christmas was a first for all of them.

"Who are you? And why are you here?" Jericho held his book and looked at it "Do you know what this is ?" He asked as he pointed at the book. "A book that writes the names of those who are about to die?" "It's more than that" He said as he opened the book "This is called an antabulam, or what mortals would call 'A black note' something which God gave me when he made me. He made life, he made fate and then he made Death." Lucus said as he looked at his book.

On the verge of death, Martha Horton gripped her rosary harder and prayed, ‘May the Lord in heaven give me the strength to purify all evils and to protect the innocents. ***

The priest stood on the top step reading from a black leather-bound book. From other articles I read on my laptop, vampires cannot stand anything holy which means the Storms should be writhing in pain and begging the priest to stop his ministrations but none of that happened. “From dust, we come and unto dust shall we return. It was Tessa’s time. We mourn her death but we hope to join her someday in our heavenly Father’s breast.” His assistant started a new hymn which the people echoed. I looked back to satisfy my curiosity and there was Silver singing passionately. Surely a vampire would not endanger herself by singing holy hymns?

The joke is on him. I pray for forgiveness as I sink my claws into the mortals flesh. The only way to save this mortal's soul now is to kill him. I'm ready to sink my claws further into his chest and rip out his heart. I thank all that is holy, as I recite the prayer Blaze starts reciting inside my head. I repeat the words until the mortal's body begins to buck and shake. I squeeze my legs tights around his throat holding him in place. A black mist pours from his nose and mouth. I keep reciting the prayer until the black mist has evaporated.

The only way to reclaim the De Santis power was through the unification of bloodlines — Varela and De Santis, joined through ritual, through sacrifice. And Amara was the final key. “Begin,” I ordered. One of my priests — a man who’d once been excommunicated for practicing necromancy — began the chant. The walls shuddered as ancient words filled the air, calling upon the spirits of those buried beneath Palermo’s soil. A gust of wind burst from the altar, extinguishing half the torches. The bone chalice trembled. And from its depths, black liquid began to rise — not wine, not oil. Blood.

All magic had a signature, even dark magic. As I continued to scan the room, moving through it carefully, I found a single book resting upon an old stone pedestal. The leather was thicker than the others, held together with ebony stitching that looked as dark as the shadows slithering about. Scratched onto the front were the words, “Liber Sanguinis.” Book of Blood... My gut told me this was the book I was looking for. The one that held the spell Kimberly used to bind herself to Jude. It was coated in a thick layer of that tar-like substance.

“Do you understand what I’m saying? They could’ve killed you!” Was I supposed to be grateful they didn’t? “And? I mean it’s not like my life is worth living anymore,” I yelled, then took two steps back. “You can still do it now.” I raised my two hands. “Please shoot me and put me out of my misery. Please…” Salvatore looked at me with a blank expression before it morphed into something that had an uncanny resemblance with regret. “Let’s go in, the night is chilly. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

For a moment, there was only silence—until something glimmered in the corner of her eye. A faint sparkle. Light flickered against her vision. Serra froze, blinking rapidly, wondering if she was imagining it. But the glow remained—dancing faintly near her desk. She approached slowly. There it was. A book, its cover glimmering with golden dust and streaked with crimson lettering. Sharp spikes framed around the edges. “Bruja,” Serra breathed softly, the Spanish word rolling off her tongue. Meaning "Witch." She reached out, but the spikes pricked her finger. She hissed, pulling back quickly. The book refused to open. Its presence shimmered—alive, forbidden.