Sixteen Candles Novels & Stories

My mind ran through many things and it was getting difficult to get rid of them, yet I prepared for the ritual, earnestly. Pushing my bed stand towards the end of the room, I had created enough space to draw the needed circular sign, with two intertwined stars between it. At each meeting point of the stars, I placed the ten red candles. Then, surrounded the circle with fifteen black candles. The blood of the animal was next, which I sprinkled carefully around the candles, making sure to remain some of it, which I would have to use later. Clearing my smaller table, I arranged the white candles in another smaller circle and placed the inscence sticks in the middle. I would light them before st

He walked past the candles, which flickered gently as if bowing to him, then sat on a stone slab directly across from me, hands folded neatly on his knee. “Because your ancestors prevent you from using them.” My entire body went still. “My what?” He gestured lazily upward. “Take a closer look at the floating candles.” I did. I really looked. The flames were not normal. Neither were the candles themselves. Their waxy shapes were sealed in glass, and inside that glass… My breath froze. A faint red tint swirled within each one, like smoke...or liquid. “Each candle,” The Bishop said softly, “was made from the blood of your ancestors.”

The vanilla candle burns lower. And somewhere far off, past the barns and fences and fences beyond that—something is waiting too.

“Is there a store I can order something from. Lamps. Anything.” “Not in this weather.” He reached under the counter and produced a small wooden box. Inside were three thick candles, the kind that came with their own glass holder, wrapped in ribbon. “These will do. Scented. For couples.” He held them out with the satisfaction of a man solving a problem efficiently. “You and your girlfriend will enjoy the night. It will be magical.” Amanda did not correct him. I watched her not correct him and felt something warm move through my chest that I decided not to examine too closely right then.

I smiled despite myself, typing back: "Very mysterious, Mr. Carver. Should I be preparing myself for something crazy?" "Define crazy..." "Miles." "Okay okay, not crazy. Just... different. Good different. I promise you'll love it." "I'm trusting you." "You won't regret it." I pocketed my phone and grabbed the "First Snow" candle. The smell was so great. It was like pine and peppermint and something clean and cold, and brought it to the counter. It was forty-five dollar only, so I bought it.

The candle features a miniature duck that appears to be made of wax, along with small strips that resemble pool noodles. In contrast, Maximilian's bear has a light pink candle and a dark red color. A smattering of small roses and hearts may be found inside his candle. "This is all very beautiful," I say, retracing my steps a little. However, why? Gradually, their expressions fade, and they all give me a bewildered look. Sebastian asks, "Why what?" "Why all of this?" I gesture at almost everything. Even yet, I think everything is wonderful and it is quite gorgeous. It's just too much, far too demanding. especially since I didn't accomplish anything to merit it.

Thick and pristine, they shine an inky black, but the second I lift one from the basket, I realize with a start it’s not entirely black. The candles are the color of blood. “The Goddess won’t take kindly to this kind of magical manipulation,” Stella says as if in warning. “What we are about to ask is beyond Her scope, but the elements will hear our call and answer.” I set my candle down. “Now choose his candle.” Her eyes meet mine. “Whose?” “The Grand Wizard’s.”

{TW: reckless and dangerous behavior} The lights went out suddenly. "Happy birthday to you!" Damien started, his voice loud and clear. A large, extravagant three-tiered birthday cake was rolled out, illuminated by the soft glow of flickering candles. It was a masterpiece: the bottom tier a deep chocolate adorned with intricate golden swirls and rich red roses; the middle tier a classic vanilla, decorated with delicate lace-like patterns and silver pearls; and the top tier a striking strawberry, covered in a smooth white fondant with a single elegant rose at the center.

The one is a sword, and the eight is two throwing stars stacked on top of each other. I feel a warmth in my chest at the thought that went into it. The cake is very simple. It’s a rectangle with light yellow frosting, and small delicate gold swirls around the sides of each layer. There’s 18 candles in front of the figure on the top layer, with a very simple “Happy Birthday Raven” on the top of the lower tier that borders the top. “Thank you everyone. It smells delicious, but it’s almost too beautiful to eat.” The omegas that worked on it beam from my praise.

Rowan appears beside us, coffee in hand, looking like he never sleeps. Rowan: “Collect it. When you hit fifty percent, that feather becomes a leash.” He glances at the sky (clear, gold, ours). Rowan: “Shambhala just sent word. The Thirteen Candles are… unsettled. They’ve never seen the Forty-Eighth retreat before.” Celeste (dry): “First time for everything.” Mom and Dad pull up in the old Suburban, both still in pajamas, eyes wide. Mom takes one look at the circle, the feather, and me (covered in ash and victory).