Sigils Witch Novels & Stories

The street was narrow and old, cobblestones still visible beneath the tarmac at the edges, trees lining both sides and meeting overhead. "Twelve years ago," I said, "a witch from the Aldercroft Coven was fated to a wolf from the Cassin Pack. Southern territory. No previous alliance between the two families. The witch's name was Maren. She was young—late twenties—and, from what Rave described, she wasn't unlike you. Contained. Capable. Deeply invested in not being perceived as someone things happened to." Isabella said nothing. But she was listening with her whole body.

Through the window, the scent changed—metallic, sweet, laced with spellcraft. Witchwork. Kate’s voice snapped like a whip. They’re coming for us. I moved. Fast. But Stephanie was faster. From the corner of my eye, I saw the shimmer—a sigil pulsing faintly in the hearth’s glow. Old magic, stitched into the air like a spider’s web. The witches’ sedative. I turned toward her, already summoning the white heat under my skin—the wolf’s divine flare that had once broken an Alpha’s spine.

“It carries knowledge of the old ways. It is connected to blood you have yet to trace fully. Watch its markings.” I squatted low, watching as the wolf circled us cautiously, sniffing the ground, testing the air. There were sigils etched into its fur—not painted, not forced, but subtle, natural patterns formed through careful training and ritual, infused with old Blackridge magic. The lines were faint, almost invisible unless you looked closely, yet they hummed with meaning. “Blackridge sigils,” I murmured, tracing them with my mind’s eye. “They’re teaching, guiding… or warning.”

In the middle was herb garden, small glowing orbs floated around it as blue butterflies fluttered about happily. Gerwulf placed me at one of the tables and instructed me to remove my shirt. I carefully pulled my warm sweater off and awkwardly dangled my legs from the side. "A true witch is hard to kill. Hylda thought cutting her throat would do the trick, but nope," Gerwulf turned towards me with a small glass pot in his hand. He opened it and rubbed the salve onto the bite marks. "How do you kill a witch then?" "It's much more gruesome than that. You have to pierce the heart, separate the head, and burn the body. Otherwise they'll just heal. How fast depends on how much damage they take."

She continued, "Very soon, your witch which lies dormant in you would begin to show itself. You were able to hypnotize that man at your shop because it has activated only a bit. The witch is as powerful as the wolf but more cunning. "What do you mean by cunning mum?" Lucia asked with enthusiasm. "It's cunning and yes, both belong to you, but they can be manipulated if you don't learn to control them. You should learn how to. Another battle would break out and your safety and the safety of some people would depend on how well you were able to control your beasts..." She said and went mute... She began to fade with the darkness until no trace of her was seen.

His wolf stumbled as he locked eyes with me, his chest heaving. Shock. Fear. Awe. All blended together. “Aria…” he whispered through the mind-link, voice cracking. “Your aura— it’s—” But he didn’t finish. Because the shadow creature that had stalked through the hall earlier suddenly rose again, unfurling into a towering, bone-thin monster of black smoke. Its face stretched into a grin made of fractured darkness. “You awakened the sigil.” Its voice scraped the air like broken glass. I stepped backward instinctively as every witch gasped. The creature’s shadow claws rippled across the floor, reaching toward me.

It was such a laughable thought. “Vampires aren’t witches, but we hold magic inside of us. It’s a small amount, but it’s there, nonetheless. Vampires from strong ranks are able to be more in tune with it if they learned how. This sigil acts as a loyalty meter,” she explained. Then she took a clean blade and sliced her palm, holding it over his new carving. I had to push aside the ridiculous jealousy that he was anywhere near her blood. “The addition of my blood then gives him some loyalty to me. The sigil is a well-kept secret. He won’t leave here alive, so it doesn’t matter if the secret’s revealed now.”

“That whole warehouse was something else. That room with all the bodies laid out like a morgue… And that warlock and his two women… creepy.” “A magical mishap,” Sigrid told him. “They happen. With surprising frequency. Some witches and warlocks are truly irresponsible with their magics, and I say that as someone who frequently dabbles myself. Over the centuries, I have seen some f-k ups that would give you nightmares.” “Is it polite to ask…” Dan hesitated.

Bringing out the envelope from the dress pocket I hand it to him. “I’m surprised he even remembered I had this. It’s been a long time. And it’s his half sibling.” That was an interesting development. “By your half or his mothers?” I question. “Mine.” He sighs, pulling out the photo and looking at it with deep sadness. “You see I had once loved a Witch, and as kind as she was, the King at that time would not hear of it and ordered her head. She disappeared for some time after that. She was pregnant with our child at the time. Some, nearly twenty years later she reappeared, with a photograph of the child. She handed it to me and then pleaded with the King about the cause of Witches,” He sighs,