The Bone Collector Novel Novels & Stories

“Brenda, sweetie, now is not the time for redecorating!” Another tremor rolled through the walls, followed by a burst of cold air that smelled like stone, dust, and something faintly metallic. Blood. --- “Okay,” I muttered. “Option A: wait here. Option B: die curious. Option C: both.” I picked up Brenda Classic—the crowbar, not the ghost—and headed for the basement. Because apparently I make terrible decisions under pressure. Each step creaked in complaint. The closer I got, the colder it became.

Harry then explained in a serious tone, “A few hundred years ago, a Cherny sword was stolen and ended up with a collector in Safford. Recently, the Cherny family had managed to contact the collector’s association, but they didn’t want to give it back, even when we offered a very high price. However, they changed their minds and they’d bring this sword back to Burlington. They’re attending the Collector’s Expo happening tomorrow. If you can help the Cherny family get back this sword, Mr. Cherny will be willing to give you the red wolf’s bone.”

They should have known better. Lionel had secured the meeting with the collector. Nan decided to wear her mother’s necklace. Her suspicion about the connection between Lunara wolves and her confirmed once she realized that the soft metal felt cool against the heat of her chest. They were on the right track. Someone else must have thought so too. It was not the collector that greeted them. It was an unfriendly stranger. “I suggest you stop your search. I can assure you…you will not find the answers you seek.” The stranger said in lieu of introduction.

“Emilia, Emilia. People around here don’t appreciate being asked too many questions and prying. You’re lucky it’s just me today. Brad is 18. That’s all you should know.” “It seems this town has a lot of secrets,” I commented. “Not as sleepy as it looks, is it?” Bonnie sighed and turned to Emmett. “Emmy,” Zach said. I turned to him to listen to whatever question he had. “Do you think Mr. Morgenstern was hiding a secret about those bones we found yesterday?” “What bones?” Bonnie asked. “We found human bones in the resort house,” my little brother said to her. “We’re not sure if they were human bones, actually. Mr. Morgenstern got us out of there before we could study them. We should have taken

The skull mask cracked, the green fire in his eyes flickering and dying. But this time, I did not stop. I drove my claws into his chest, tearing through bone and dead flesh. I found the core of him—the ancient spark that had sustained him for five hundred years—and I gripped it with both hands. "You wanted my son," I snarled. "You wanted my pack. You wanted everything I have." The silver fire blazed hotter. "You will get nothing." I crushed the spark. The Bone Collector screamed—a sound of such ancient fury that the ground itself trembled. The cloak of skulls shattered, the bones scattering across the mud. The skeletal body crumbled, the green fire in his eyes exploding outward and dying.

That wasn't my assumption, but hearing him say it felt like a gong was struck in my head. "Secondly, the Collectors operate differently from other organisations. We don't do interrogations and arrests like the police." He stated coldly. "No. The collectors, we hunt, we find, we steal, and we kill. It's not a dog-eat-dog world; it's a predators-eat-prey world. See, we don't just kill our enemies, Mr Richards. We feast on their flesh and bathe in their blood. Our level of brutality is second only to nature's cruel conditioning. So tell me, Mr Richards. Would you be willing to bathe in blood for the rest of your life just stand by his side?" He leaned against the tree.

blonde wood, with an emerald green canopy draped over it. The room screamed royalty. All of the furniture matched the blonde colored wood of the bed. There was a huge armoir on one wall, a vanity with a large ornate mirror behind it, once beautiful rugs adorning the stone floor, and a beautiful chandelier made of what I could only assume was crystal in the center of the ceiling. I walked over to my mother's vanity, and ran my finger over a thick layer of dust. I gasped as the room seemed to spring back to life. "Princess, the castle recognizes your blood signature. It's coming back to life." Gideon told me. I stared at him with wide eyes as the room returned to it's pre-dilapitated state. "

“Come nightfall and them body collectors do their rounds, you’ll be with the same people you loathed.” He swore her scowl deepened at the bitter irony of his words. Sinking his fingers into the obscene dark of her cavernous thorax, he gripped the ribs and spread them wide, relishing the crunch and snap of bone: a delicacy not only to an undertaker’s ears. He took his time pointing each rib to the ceiling in a parody of jagged mountain tops.

"Want to see something? Come here and open this box." I got up quietly and went to that box. The thought of what would be inside that box made my heart restless. I extended one hand and opened it within the next breath. A dead body, covered from head to foot with new white linen, was lying under the box. He slid his hands and removed the linen. Her clothes were like that of a royal queen with bloodstains over them. There was grief on her face. And a broken bangle tied around her hand with sharp edges. One end of the bangle pierced her vein, and the blood fell off. Her skin seemed colder.

He didn't have eyes; he had two glowing, violet "Barcodes." "The Collector is a 'High Roller' with no taste," the Barcode-Man said, his voice sounding like a thousand glass bells. "If you want to truly 'Heresy' the system, you need the 'Merchant of Shards'."