The Collectors Novels & Stories

I walked to a quieter part of the waiting room, making sure there was no one watching or eavesdropping before I put the phone to my ear again. "What's up?" I whispered into the phone. "Relax, you don't have to lower your voice. And I came bearing good news." She replied, the excitement in her voice was palpable. "I believe you mean you call bearing good news, but that's negligible. What's the good news?" I replied, leaning against the wall. "Whatever, pup." She scoffed. "Anyways, the Collectors had a convention recently. The summary of the conclusion is that Charlie is no longer in danger and can now adopt his real name. The thefts may or may not stop, though.

THE COLLIN BROTHERS; Two most prominent business entrepreneurs in the entirety of Chicago. Xavier Collin and Hardy Collin; twins, but not identical. Xavier Collin, a brunette-haired man, endowed with the rarest fierce eyes, tall with a very antagonistic character. Also the owner of Fredo's inc. A fashion company. Hardy Collin on the other hand was way distinct from Xavier. With the way they acted publicly, it was easy to pinpoint that Hardy was the cheerful one, also more indulgent to work with. He owned an automobile company; RNV.

Convel’s POV This is the day every werewolf in our pack is waiting for; the festival of the red blood moon that only happens once every 10 years. Blood moon appears to be the werewolves’ source of strength during the great war centuries ago. “Convel!” I follow the voice, and it leads me to one of our dungeon guards. “Do we have any problem?” I take a quick look at the entrance of the dungeon, worrying if something happened. “Nothing happened, but the prisoner screamed so loud last night.”

—the stolen histories of a thousand fallen civilizations. ​In the center of the ship was the Collector, a being that looked like a thousand mirrors stitched together. Every mirror showed a different version of a "Failed Vane." ​"You... are... 'Un-Scripted'..." the Collector hissed, the mirrors on its body spinning. "You have no... 'Data-Value'. Why... do you... 'Resist'?" ​"Because we’re the 'Trash' of the universe," Leo said, his white eyes flaring. "And we’re tired of being collected."

We both backed away, holding the other's stare. I never took my attention off the anger that radiated from Miranda. It oozed from every pore in her body, and it had gone from sexy as hell to downright ugly. She didn't have a clue what Cross Acres was up against. None of them did. Jack hadn't seen it, Sarah had never concerned herself with the financial piece, and Miranda had been gone her entire adult life. Come to think of it, I didn't understand the need for either sister to even be in the room.

Old Fragment crouched in a chair beside them, her papery body rustling with ancient knowledge. On the south side sat six Collectors. They were all variations of Collector-Seven's mercury form, but each was subtly different. Collector-One was massive, nearly twelve feet tall, its surface carved with equations that seemed to calculate the heat death of a universe that had already died. Collector-Twelve was small, almost childlike, but its reflected images showed scenes of absolute darkness where nothing had ever existed at all. Between them sat a seventh figure. The Arbitrator. It was not a Collector. It was something older, a neutral mechanism built into the Original Contract itself. It resem

"If we get that piece, we could sell the car! Shit!" Trippy was naturally confused, and he put some distance between himself and the collectors before sending a voice message to the chat group of antique traders. "Guys, I think something's up. There are these two groups who came first thing in the morning to see Raymond Cole, and both groups drover over overnight… but what for?"

It was made of delicate, white paper, intricately folded. Lina picked it up. It unfolded itself in her hands, not into a bird, but into a geometrically perfect, silent origami of a bird. And tucked inside was a business card. The card was heavy stock, flawlessly white. In embossed, elegant font, it read: THE COLLECTORS Acquisition & Curation of Singular Moments No Moment Too Small Below, in smaller print: By Appointment Only.

"I know it hurts. But the pain is what makes you real! It’s the only thing the Architects can't simulate!" The Overseer laughed. "Emotional appeals to a legacy file? How quaint. Time is running out, Weaver. Twenty-two hours and fifty-five minutes." He snapped his fingers, and four "Collectors" appeared—massive, faceless entities made of mirrors and light. They didn't attack us; they began to circle the square, erecting a massive golden dome. They weren't keeping us in; they were keeping the mana of the city out. They were isolating the sector so the Reclamation could proceed without interference.

"You're thinking about the Collector." "I'm thinking about everyone I've lost. Everyone I could lose." "We've faced worse." "Have we? The Collector has killed three Hidden Lunas. He's patient. He's smart. And he knows our weaknesses." "Then we turn our weaknesses into strengths." Alistair turned her to face him. "You're not alone, Clara. You have me. You have Elara, Kael, AJ, Mira, Ronan. You have an entire pack." "The Collector doesn't care about packs. He cares about power."