Sigils Witch Novels & Stories

I end the call without leaving a message and call Naomi next. “You better have a good reason for calling at five in the morning,” Naomi growls when she answers. “The best reason.” I lay my sketch of the sigil on the floor so I can take a picture and send it. “I have the sigil of the demon who’s killing the witches.” “What?” she breathes. “A demon is killing witches? Are you sure?” “Yes. I need you to show it to your grandmother and see if she knows the demon’s name. If I get a name—”

This obnoxious feeling he has towards her, that he thought had long since faded, is coming back to him. 'My aunt? She's gentle and kind, believe me. There's nothing to be scared about!' he recalled Anne's voice out of the blue. "To put it simply, I . . am the living vessel of the four Witches' blessings combined." *** Love, Charity, Courage, Humility, Pledge, Baptismal and Justice, the Gods of heavenly principles each gave birth to the uprising of the Seven Witches. There were no preserved record of the Seven's identity. And as for Serina, she was only introduced into four of them — including her late master.

Benita turned slowly to Lan, tilting her head, “Why are you in such a rush, Lan? We have all the time in the world.No one can stop us.” Lan’s eyes flicked back to me, "You underestimate her, Benita." She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “So dramatic.” Then, without a word, she lifted her hand and signaled to the witches. The four witches stepped closer, forming a perfect circle around the swirling dark sigil carved into the floor. Their lips moved in unison as they lifted their hands and started to chant. Dark mist began to seep from the ground, spiraling upward like smoke from hell itself. The air turned heavy and cold. The witches’ eyes rolled back as their eyeballs turned black as an unseen f

Morgana nodded, and I wondered when they became on a first name basis. "I want to find the magical signature on it." I told her, and she knitted her eyebrows together. "This won't be helpful unless we have something to compare it to." "What's a magical signature exactly?" Sheila asked with intrigue. "It's like a fingerprint of sorts. Each witch has her own signature and trace." Morgana explained. "And if two witches are related, then the magical signature will show it." I added with a knowing look. "You want to know if it's your mother." Cain concluded, and I nodded my head in conformation. "I don't think it's safe for you to use magic, perhaps Morgana should do it." He looked at my aunt for

"The test is simple. The girl will stand in the circle. If she is a half-griffin, half-wolf...as she has claimed, the silver will do nothing. Her griffin blood will protect her." He paused. Let the silence stretch. "If she is a witch... the silver will burn." The crowd murmured. Wolves shifted in their seats. I saw Sha near the front, her face pale, her hands clasped. She wouldn't look at me. Couldn't even meet my eyes. Cressida stood at the edge of the ice. Raven beside her. Their hands were linked. "You don't have to do this," I said quietly. "Yes," Cressida said. "I do."

Selene’s scream echoed through the ruins, raw and guttural. Then—silence. The candles guttered, and the obsidian bowl shattered with a sound like glass breaking underwater. Selene collapsed, trembling, her breath ragged. When she looked down, faint crimson sigils glowed briefly on her stomach before fading into her skin. The witch stepped closer, her eyes gleaming. “It is done. For all eyes—human or wolf—you now carry life. The Alpha will sense it. He will feel the illusion in his bond, smell it on your skin.”

And Serena realized—if she didn’t act, they would tear everything apart. Her chest burned with the war inside her. Elias’s desperate eyes. Lucian’s fire. The throne’s whisper. The Onyx wolf pounding against her ribs. And then—Selene moved. The witch’s pale hands slashed through the air, crimson blood dripping from her fingertips as she chanted in a tongue older than the moon. A sigil blazed to life beneath her feet, black fire crawling outward like roots. The wolves paused. Their heads turned as one, eyes drawn to her. Selene’s lips twisted in triumph.

After a few moments of her carefully studying her, she took in a sharp breath. “She’s writing something!” She nearly shouted. “What do you mean?” Benji asked as both he and Cyrus joined us at the cell. “Look!” She pointed at Reigns feet. “The pattern she’s looping. It’s a sigil. An old one.” She now had the attention of us all. “I’ve read about it in study. It’s used during war to keep one from talking. Only a high ranking witch can cast it.” “Is there anything you can do to reverse it?” I asked.

“And yours. Should keep the vamp scum down for long enough to stake them. It’s spell work, essentially – the sigils, once inside the body, will hold them frozen in place, unable to fight back.” “The sigils?” I asked, eyebrows raised. The crowd parted enough for me to slip through, eager to inspect the detailed work. Lines and shapes had been scored into each tiny bullet, circles and crosses and arches interlinking to create archaic shapes. Beside me, Sierra hummed her quiet approval. “An old friend of mine up in Lywnedd has a particular talent for carving. I gave her the notes you two shared with us, and she managed to create these.”

into the search bar. After falling down a rabbit hole of lore, myths, and one particularly disturbing amateur witchcraft blog, I finally stumbled upon an obscure forum dedicated to breaking witch spells. “Finally, some useful information,” I muttered under my breath. Scrolling through the posts, my eyes widened as I found exactly what Edward had talked about. There were even pictures of the sigils needed to trap a witch and strip her of her powers. With a feeling of both relief and urgency, I grabbed a notebook and began sketching out the complex designs. My hand shook slightly; was it nerves or just the intensity of focus?