Scrooge Novels & Stories

"Didn't know she would murder my parents? Didn't know she would steal my entire legacy? Or didn't know she would humiliate me in front of the world?" Clark was speechless. "Or," I continued, "did you know all along and just chose to look the other way?" "No! I really didn't know—" "Then what about this?" I turned my back to him and unfastened the top of my tunic. A gruesome scar ran from my left shoulder to my right hip. The eclipse curse had turned it a sickly silver-black, and it still seemed to writhe slowly, eating away at my life force. Clark's breath hitched.

This big, burly, viking god of a biker blushes. “Oh, when I saw you, when you were brought in. Your knuckles were scraped and bleeding. I knew you hit back. Hence the name Scrapper. But if you don’t like it, I can …” “Oh no, no, Scrapper is fine. Kind of like a cool nickname.” I say with a giggle. I fucking giggled. What is wrong with me? I never giggle. This man is making me turn into a sap.

“Johnny get your wrinkly self over here, your stupid bell is not working again!” Icahbod frowed. “Is a woman bearing the name Johnny in this century?” “No, why would you ask that?” “You said we were coming to meet a woman.” “Oh yea, he is the one who will bring her to us, she is his daughter but you have to see the father first.” “Oh, ok.” Minutes later, Ichabod could hear a swift movement behind the shelves and out came a short man in a black tail coat and a large hat which made him look like all those wizards you see in movies like Harry Potter.

He’s the thing that smells like pine shavings in the best possible way. Well, isn’t that a kick in the head? It’s not enough he rules the world, he’s somehow upped his scent game from pleasant to damn near magical. I’ve never been so disappointed in something in my life. I sigh. The Scurlock, in a last-minute bid to avoid the inevitable, goes full deadweight on me. Just before I hoist him up under my arm, in the moment when my sleep-deprived brain is making the ponderous leap from mystery smell to problem child, I accidentally raise my eyes. They meet Cadoc’s.

Immediately, the pain dissipates as Roscoe steps back and I pant, watching him. “Now we know how far away to keep him,” He says and I look at him confused. “I don’t understand.” “I know this asshole,” “As in, you are friends?” I clip out and he shakes his head with a frown. “There is no being friends with rogues.” He says. “This idiot is what the other rogues call a scavenger.” “They have titles amongst them?” I ask, surprised. Roscoe shrugs. “They live a life out here, not a good one, but they are still living beings with a life outside of their hunger for killing. I have seen this one around a lot over the years. He steals, he doesn’t kill, he is too weak.”

It was in an open circle in front of a huge tree trunk that was covered in vines shaped like hands reaching out hungrily toward them. Scar tried not to look around at the faces of the goblins gathered there, instead keeping her head high and staring straight ahead. She refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her fear or her sadness. The gentle morning breeze carried the scent of flowers, and she breathed it in, trying to keep her heart from running out of her chest.

" Welcome home, Skye" ..

"Scarlett." ******

Come get me. Long moments passed with only Liora’s soft chanting and their fast heartbeats. Then the air grew cold and the hair on Liora’s arms bristled. Silver signs flickered. It was here. No shadows. No whispers. The air in front of Ash tore, and a figure stepped through. The Scourge, in its purest form, is a being of swirling void with two sharp green lights for eyes. It was the cancer they fought, made real.

I made my way through the crowd as the stench of sweat and something worse assaulted my nose. In my thousand-dollar suit and Italian loafers, I wasn't exactly dressed for a fight club, but it didn't seem to matter. People were screaming and calling out Lennox's name. Not Lennox, but Nox, some asinine stage name he'd assumed.