Witch Veil Novels & Stories

Poison said as Violet slipped on Musa's shoes and collected the black wig Piggy kept in his bag. She slid the wig on and nodded, “This should be alright.” “Wait,” Musa handed her veil to Violet, “I never go anywhere without my veil, because of that, very few people know what I look like.” Violet took the veil and put it on, making Musa nod in affirmation, “Here.”Musa showed Violet her sword. “This is an important possession that has been passed to the Saintesses of Lagsu for generations, take good care of it.”

The door that had unlatched swung wider. And from the threshold beyond, in a voice that sounded like music set free, something I couldn’t see whispered: “Bride.”

he said quietly. I leaned in, voice low. “Then don’t provoke me with locked doors.” For a long moment, we stood like that. Two people in a mansion full of watchers. Then Damien spoke, slower. “That wing is closed. It is not a mystery for you to solve. It is not a game.” “What is it, then?” I demanded. His eyes narrowed. “A grave.” My breath caught. A grave. Katherine. The word slammed into my thoughts like a door.

Twists. Something unseen pressing outward from her in a wave that ripples through the space around us, reaching beyond the walls, beyond the clearing, beyond the sanctuary itself. Shielding. Masking. Redirecting. I feel it. Even without seeing it fully. The way the world outside shifts. The way the presence of the hunters— Flickers. Confuses. Misaligns. But— It costs her. I see it immediately. The way her body tenses. The way her breath catches.

Viktor bloodied but alive stood beside him. “Game over, Vale,” Darius called. “The girl for your sister. Or we take her while you watch.” Marcus raised his rifle. Pera aimed her pistol, heart pounding. But Viktor held up another detonator this one wired to Lena’s chair. “One wrong move,” Viktor warned, “and your sister becomes red mist.” Pera stepped forward slowly, the cold wind whipping the shirt around her thighs. “Take me. Let Lena go.” Marcus grabbed her arm. “Pera, no.

Rowan’s wolves howled in answer. He was testing me. Waiting for me to snap first. I almost did. Then Gwen whispered something, too low for the others, but I heard it anyway. “He said the storm will open the way.” My eyes flew to her. “What way?” She looked terrified. “He’s going to tear the veil.” I froze. The veil wasn’t just myth. It was the wall between our world and the old one—the realm of the wild spirits. No one had touched it in centuries.

He opened his mouth to speak but remained silent, instead extending his hand to Autumn, revealing a folded piece of parchment. She accepted the note with trembling fingers and unfolded it slowly. The words scrawled across the paper sent a chill straight through her: *Veilwalker, you are not alone. Spirits are vanishing. Seek the Echoing Grove. Bring the Book. Bring blood.* There was no indication of who had penned the urgent message. Instead, a mysterious emblem burned into the parchment caught her eye—a spiral with a distinct slit running down the center, a sigil that she had never encountered before.

It took a moment for either of us to realize what had happened, then Alyssa reached for her face, gasping at the empty place where her veil had been. “My veil!” she screamed, rising to her feet. “Give that back, you heathen! That is a priceless heirloom!” She staggered toward the lake where the swan hand landed, leaning over the edge to try and snatch her veil back. “You damned bird! Get over here, get!” I rose as I watched her inch more and more perilously toward the edge. When she had no room left to go, she dropped to her knees and reached, gripping onto some cattails to keep her balance.

Wrapped her arms around Victoria’s waist again—tighter this time. Victoria urged the stallion forward. The column followed—living knights first, then the thralls holding the gate. Raven looked back once. The dead stood firm—silent, resolute—violet eyes fixed on her. She whispered the final trigger: *Seal.* The rift snapped shut behind them with a sound like thunder clapping in reverse. The Veil went dark. No more crimson light. No more screams from the other side. Just silence. And the road home. Victoria slowed the stallion. Turned again.

her stylist announces. “Never seen a bride this beautiful,” I gush, taking a picture of her. “Thank you, baby, thank you Niphme for taking your time to make me look this good.” “You are welcome, ma’am; we will be on our way,” she says, placing a veil over Mother’s head before she and her team walk out. “Mother, please can you do me a favor?” “Sure. What is it?” “Can you give Chiara your flowers when it is time to throw the bouquet?”