Witchcraft Owl Novels & Stories

Amarantha said. "We were hoping that we could offer patrol assistance, and added security. In a manner of speaking, we would join forces to help secure the area entirely," I told her. She nodded her head and thought for a second. She had a snow owl on a perch next to her and, as she thought, she stroked its head. I knew that the owl was her familiar. All elementals and witches had them.

This was more than a piece of jewelry; it was a relic, a key to a past deeply tied to Violet's enigmatic bloodline. The weight of discovery was momentarily forgotten when a sudden, piercing cry from outside shattered the cabin's fragile cocoon of silence. An owl, its large, round eyes gleaming with an almost unnatural luminance, perched momentarily on the windowsill, its cry echoing the urgency of a warning, a call to action. Just as quickly as it appeared, it took flight, its wings casting ghostly shadows upon the moonlit ground, leaving a chill in its wake.

I stopped for a while to put my thoughts in words but he had already understood my intentions as he said "You want the sacred potion to remove all your traces and so that not even your scent will be left behind." "Yes" I replied timidly knowing how difficult that task would be. He roared from the other end "You dare ask me do it, I will be killed by the master and you know it how rare that possession is if they find out you were here and instead of bringing you to them, I helped you escape, they will kill me." I listened to him then said softly "Alright, the other one would do to, I just want to remove my scent temporarily and I promise I won't let anyone find out just do that for me."

An invasion of the mind was common to wolves, telepathic links were what bound packs together but the Mente Compartida was a much more dangerous ritual. She looked to her father and nodded her head, he nodded back in understanding before turning. She faced the Alpha’s, equal looks of anger and fear in their eyes at the forgotten challenge. She ignored them and turned back to the male who kneeled before her. “I have shown you mercy. More than your father ever gave to my people,” She said to him. He met her eyes and sucked in a breath as their gazes connected. Silver and sapphire blue. Her beast locked tightly away under her skin, pushed to the back of her mind. She walked past him and let her

Dappled brown and red body with a white belly splattered with copper red and brown feathers. The barn owl had more of a shriek than a hoot, raspy and cutting, swooping silently in the dead of night. Their white bodies gliding like spirits and ghouls, swallowing their prey whole. Some believe that these owls are demons that swallow your soul. Hearing the owl screeching is an omen of your death. I like to think of them as beautiful nighttime creatures. Graceful but strong. Elusive and solitary. “Ceres!” Dmitry exclaimed, running towards us. “Where have you been? I expected that you would have been here much earlier.” He asks while tightly embracing me, his little arms tightly clasping my waist

Sofux was the face of order, Mar, the face of fertility and so on. Aelfric was interested to learn that, contrary to his original notions, witches are not creatures of ritual, sacrifice, and potion. Their powers are of the mind. They can move objects with their minds, pick up on the thoughts and feelings of others, and even imbue inanimate objects with certain minor forms of consciousness. The spells that Davis concocts, are largely colaborations with his three comrades. Though he seemed to always get the credit, and praise for the group's magical feats.

Those are my last thoughts as the main propeller breaks free and the cabin of the copter shoots forward, sailing directionless through the air towards a wall of stone. And we drop. And drop. There are two main power avenues for witches--nature based and energy based. A rare wolf, like my great-grandmother, is born with both abilities. I’m a potion brewer, a nature witch, not a spell caster. My twin, Hawthorne, has the opposite gifts--he couldn't keep a plant alive to save himself, but he can create a ball of lightning between his fingertips faster than others can think. And there's never been a spell or enchantment he couldn't learn.

“Though I noticed something while drawing the magic circle, it will require much more aura than one that will be in Old Saneil. These spells are twice as powerful.” The curiosity in the witches eyes shined and they were about to ask her further on the subject when Esmer’s familiar barged and chirped endlessly then huffed and slumped down. That was when the little bird’s eye met the hungry predator salivating at him. ‘CRIIIIIIIP!’ The bushtit quickly flew up and hid in Esmer’s hair. The Mountain Eagle's sharp eyes narrowed on the clever bird. It would have been comical if not for Esmer's paling face.

We burst into the corridor together, my mind racing. The pack is already in chaos. Warriors pour from their quarters, half-shifted, weapons drawn. Fires blaze at the borders, lighting up the treeline in flickering orange. Then I see them. Creatures crawl out of the shadows with enlongated claws, bodies alien like, shaped like wolves but warped, their bodies too long, eyes glowing an unnatural violet. Dark symbols burn into their fur, pulsing with magic. Witchcraft. My stomach drops. “They’re not attacking randomly,” Antonio shouts from afar, eyes wide with terror. “They’re moving toward the Alpha’s wing!”

The door creaked open. Then a whisper of cloth, a shuffle of moccasins over snow. The old witch had returned. She was small and stooped, wrapped in layers of tattered wool and raven feathers. Frost hung in her long white hair like beads of glass. She stopped just inside the doorway, her eyes clouded but far from blind, sweeping the room. “I told you not to bring trouble here, little runt,” she rasped. Her voice carried the weight of centuries. Her gaze landed on Sarah.