Witchcraft Ideas Novels & Stories

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.

It was a witches ritual that Tibet had learned about from his witch friend, and it was supposed to expel malevolent spirits, ghosts, lingering souls, those kind of things. None of those beings even came close to what I was carrying. This wasn’t a lost soul haunting me, this was a demon who was bound to me with no intention of letting me go. I was going to reject the idea, but then Tibet had said something, and it stuck. “What if we did it ten times, or even a hundred times? What would happen then? Would pieces of Xercer be kicked out until there was nothing left?” What if. It was a stupid idea, probably, but I was desperate enough to lean into it.

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.

"Apparently, in a past life, Wrath was the one who spearheaded the ban on witchcraft and sorcery. He's — I'm — basically the reason why witches have to live the way they do." Max was silent for a long moment as he thought about what I'd said. Finally, he shook his head and whistled. "Bro. That's rough." Tell me about it.

Sarah explained, her voice tinged with a hint of reverence for the ancient practice. "Are they holding a wolf captive?" Rosette asked, a wave of horror washing over her. The thought of someone powerful enough to restrain a wolf filled her with a primal fear. "No, no," Sarah shook her head, her expression a mixture of concern and frustration. "A source must be willing, completely willing. The witches believe that any restraint on the wolf's part would shatter the spell. There can be no coercion, no trickery involved when dealing with source magic. It requires absolute consent."

But as the day drew to a close and the darkness settled over the mansion, there were no results to show for it. Frustrated and anxious, I leaned back against my mattress. I closed my eyes, taking in deep, calming breaths to clear my mind. Suddenly, an idea came to me. If I couldn't find a potion, perhaps I could create a completely new one? The thought only crossed my mind briefly before I shook it away. My mama had made me swear to never use witchcraft for malicious purposes. Even though working for the Luna Mother was already difficult, making a potion or casting a spell with the intention of harming others was not an option for me.

Caroline nodded with a wide smile. “Soul anchor?” I asked and Brianna nodded. “Yes,” she said. “When my people did the sacrifices of the potential Divine Warriors, they used a method to push the souls of the witch into the Neverplain. Remember how they all were there.” I saw a sadness cross her face as she spoke.

We hung there together in a vortex of possibility, floating in a balance of possible futures and worlds seen and unseen. I held him in my hand, exquisitely aware of ancient secrets. Yin and yang, sunlight and shadow - brave knight, fair damsel. As well, strength of arms dashed against crafty witchery - succubi and night walkers, brave men ravished by night spirits for their own amusement. The Witch of the Wind quested the points of the compass, poised in that instant between intent and action. The summer wind swirled, and my blood answered - another instant, and I would have been swept away by my own red tide. My mind swirled with possibilities, with personalities - every aspect of the Mothe

Baking cookies with Scarlett definitely helped me to come back to my reality. I have been all witch for a while now so the simple act of baking cookies with a friend helps to ground me into remembering that I am both witch and werewolf. It feels weird to think that being a witch is starting to feel normal to me now but as I learn more about the craft, the more I feel like I am finding another part of myself. A part that I did not know I was missing in the first place.

I knew him well. And he knows me. He’ll know it’s true. But after I’d confided everything, clutching my arms across my chest and rubbing my biceps to work some heat back into them, Adrian launched to his feet. “This is blasphemy! Everyone knows the magistrate is an upstanding citizen! What you’re saying is utter falsehood. Stuff that could get someone killed!” He scoffed. Beginning to pace. “A warlock. They don’t exist!” Adrian tossed his hands in agitation. “Everyone knows they’re a myth conjured by witches in vengeance! Only women can foster the dark arts!”