Witchcraft Guide Novels & Stories

“It’ll start burning if I’m about to say something I shouldn’t.” Gildeon leaned back, drumming his fingers on the table. “There are two kinds of witches,” she explained. “One’s a Hedge Witch, like me. We work with old magic, drawing our power from nature.” She made a twisting motion with her other hand. “Then there’s a Savant Witch. They’ve got a special ability from tapping into cosmic magic through the Dark Plane.”

Magic, capable of destroying even a demon. In her bedroom, Sarah threw open her closet. Stripping naked, she slipped into the black robes of her old coven, robes that would protect her from weapon and magic alike. A dagger, a wand, and a bracelet ringed with gemstones. With these three items, she had toppled fortress walls, brought an army to its knees, and even slain a werewolf pack intent on taking her head.

**Winter's POV** My mind was a whirlwind of uncertainty and determination as I clutched the decoy book close. A part of me feared the witches would see through the facade and refuse to help. But I had to try—I couldn’t return to my friends empty-handed. Reaching the edge of the mystical boundary, I paused, taking a moment to ground myself. The Moonshade Lilacs greeted me like old friends, their petals shimmering softly. I inhaled deeply, the magical aroma infusing me with courage. The boundary once again parted for me, wisps of violet mist swirling in its wake, guiding my steps back into the witch realm.

Witchery involves harnessing the magic already existent throughout the world with rituals and recipes, while warlocks are those who wield the magic of creatures from beyond this world. He wrinkles his nose very delicately. ‘Not warlocks, but some witches, especially those that identify as pagans. Mystics—human practitioners who find ways to harness the magic within their mortal bodies—also tend to work, but they’re very uncommon in this city. I’ll tell you more about them next time I give you and Scintilla a lesson in sorcery.’ He doesn’t seem inclined to explain more, and I don’t want to ask, either, in case I reveal something that I’m not supposed to, so instead I just let him help me heal

My knee became weak, completely giving up beneath me and I was forced to lay on my back. Through my blurred vision, I watched as the ball of light float in the sky above me and the forest below came alive and everything was different. Couldn't tell if I was imagining things but what I am seeing looks a lot like the old picture of the legendary witch mountain- the silver mountain that I once saw in the pack's history book. For a brief moment, I was able to feel my wolf again and my father's worried voice asking about my whereabouts came through the link. I told him I am on the Silver mountain before the link went off but am sure no one will believe the tale to be true. Gently, the ball of lig

I will give him the war he cannot imagine because war with me is always quiet at first and then a hurricane that laughs. There is always a price. My men know this; we have counted coin and souls enough to know the ledger is never neat. But I am not a man who bargains with loose promises. I leave signals, contingencies, and witches’ threads strung like wires across the plan. I pay the witches in things they value: a lock of hair, a promise of sanctuary, a box of silver. The witch I use is old and dutiful. She makes a sigil that keeps a person from waking too soon—an edged lullaby stitched inside the sedative—so the taken will not cough awake into panic. I respect mercy when it's useful.

I filtered to modern cases and started skimming. The third one stopped me cold. Case study from eighteen years back. A witch using a dampening sigil for concealment. The term showed up four times in the first paragraph alone. The write-up was all dry academic language but the picture it painted was crystal clear: a witch who’d stolen a wolf scent to move around inside pack society. The whole thing was anchored to a wolf host. Needed constant close contact. Cohabitation was listed as ideal. Sigil is placed at the base of the skull.

I started with the wild scattering of books on my desk, closing some, pushing some to the side until I found it. The parchment. I held it like a trophy, reading the statement again. “I strongly believe that the key to overcoming the witches involved in sorcery is by finding the Crimson Circle. Not much has been said of this organizations, but they definitely exist. A group of men and women who have sworn to do evil.” I groaned. “Oh, Henry, you don’t expect us to figure this out, do you?” I folded the parchment. That nothing much hasn’t been said about the Crimson Circle doesn’t mean nothing hasn’t been said at all.

She could finally hear her mother call out to her. “Cherry.” “Mom.” “Listen to me please. Do you see the woman who handed you the necklace?” “Yes.” “She's a friend. I need you to go with them. They are there to bring you back home.” “Okay.” The Good Witch cast a levitation spell on the girl and she was able to get her out of the tree. Then she had Isabella's father hand her the water sack. She poured the contents over the girl's tail. Her scales stopped flaking and her wounds stop bleeding. The witch took out the shell.

Unlike the true werewolves, whose beasts were a divine gift naturally bestowed upon them by the Moon Goddess, these creatures had ripped the spirits of wolves from the wild and chained them to their own life forces through blood rituals. Deep within the vision, she found herself moving past rows of primitive mud huts. Witches clustered in small circles outside them, their hands moving in synchronized rhythms as they performed dark witchcraft rituals, the air humming with their chants. Rose kept wandering, her ethereal form searching desperately for any sign of her mother or brother. She kept going until her feet seemed to move on their own, guided by an invisible, magnetic pull. They led her