The Book Of Black Magic And Of Pacts Novels & Stories

Equivale Finding His Heart : Book 2 in the Chronicles of Zodia. click now for the preview Normal 0 false false false EN-GB X-NONE X-NONE /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;

It is lit only by the 13 red candles that surround the offering table. "Let's begin." Barend was shirtless. He handed the black-bound magic book in his hand to Abelard, and approached the offering table. In his right hand was a sharp dagger ready to rip the woman's skin. Abelard watched the ritual from the other end of the room. Every now and then he frowned in disgust at the ritual procession which he thought was strange and unreasonable. From the moment he received the black book from Leon, he had read it to the end before giving it to Barend. The contents of the so-called demon-summoning book were astonishing.

Once registered the deity's name, a pact was automatically agreed. The owner of the system deity was called MAGICIAN. Right, every person who owned a system deity was called a magician. "Oh, maybe he's making an arrow again." Miss Pai said. Sistela asked unconsciously. Yman was currently walking towards the apartment. On the street, he saw many people running everywhere. Commotions? He asked himself. "Monsters were attacking at the east gate!" A pale person shouted while running. Monsters at the east gate? He thought.

He only had a general impression of it. He said, "According to what I know, black magic is a type of witchcraft. Black magic can be defined in a variety of ways, according to pagan teachings. One of the uses is to have insects grow in stomachs. They serve as parasites that infest the human body through the use of vessels.”

With forbidden knowledge. It was almost indecently thrilling. I pulled the nearest volume toward me and opened it. The pages were brittle, edges browned with age. The script was cramped but surprisingly elegant, some sections in fading ink, others in more recent, sharper strokes where later scribes had added notes. I scanned headings. “Pact of the Seven Rivers—Alpha Thorne of Redclaw and the Water‑Binder Witches.” “Blood Price of the Crescent War.” “On the Folly of Binding Wolves to Moon Sorcerers.”

It was wrapped deep around Rylan’s wolf soul, coiled tightly like a venomous snake. “This is the source of what’s affecting Echo,” I realized with a shock. But what shocked me more was that this dark magic wasn’t just twisting Echo… It was bound directly to Rylan’s life force. “Leo,” my voice trembled. “Come look at this.” Leo placed his hand on Rylan’s chest, feeling the same strange magical energy. His face grew pale. “This is… a Life-Pact,” he breathed, his voice tight with horror. “It’s forbidden magic. The darkest kind.”

Each glass only sharpened the guilt until it carved me hollow. I reached for another bottle, and in my clumsy grief I knocked over a book. It fell open with a heavy thud. I froze. The pages described how to summon a wish granting entity. In my drunken haze, the thought felt obvious. Of course I’d sell my soul for Jamie. Who wouldn’t? I drew the circle with shaking hands, hope filing my chest, my every word filled with desperation as I slurred through the chants scrawled on the battered pages. Nothing at first, I sat there on the floor panting, my eyes slowly filling up with tears, unable to accept the outcome.

This man would have to come first. She laid him on the floor as soon as they entered. The air around him shimmered with black magic. She wondered who he had crossed to end up cursed like this. Black magic was forbidden in the realm — hated, because it always demanded something in return. But she pushed the thought aside. He was dying, and she had to save him. She walked to her worktable and flipped open her sorceress book — a thick, time-worn book filled with spells and potions. “Wear off,” she murmured, a small smile curving her lips.

The word burned in his mind like a brand. He stalked past the familiar sections—Werewolf Histories, Lunar Cycles, Pack Law—until he reached the dimly lit alcove marked "Supernatural Relations." His claws pricked his palms as he yanked out the first relevant tome: The Bewitched & The Beastly: Supernatural Attractions. The wooden chair protested as he threw himself into it, the lamplight casting jagged shadows across the pages. Dust motes swirled around him as he flipped to the chapter on witches.

The air was thick with damp earth and old magic—magic that hadn’t seen the light in generations. Below, the chamber had been partially collapsed—but within the wreckage, a heavy iron chest remained miraculously intact. Runes along its surface glowed faintly with warding sigils, resisting time and fire. Maxim knelt, brushed the ash from its lid, and forced it open. Inside were relics: ancient oaths etched in dried blood, binding contracts between supernatural houses, and a tattered book bearing the Blood Pact seal. Its leather cover was cracked but pulsing faintly, like something inside it still breathed.