Hexed Book Quotes

I don't know what I was expecting a vampire's room to look like. Maybe lots of black, a bunch of books by Camus... oh, and a sensitive portrait of the only human the vamp ever loved, who had no doubt died of something beautiful and tragic, thus dooming the vamp to an eternity of moping and sighing dramatically. What can I say? I read a lot of books.

I wish we weren't like this. You know, demon, demon-hunter. I wish I'd met you in a normal high school, and taken you on normal dates, and like, carried your books or something.

Dedication: For John, who said, "You know what this book needs? More fire. And maybe some swords." This ONE time, honey, you were right. (Rachel Hawkins)

Yeah, and we still have to deal with The Eye being…Eyeish, and me learning to be Head of the Council, which will probably involve lots of boring books and—” Archer pressed his mouth to mine, effectively shutting me up and kissing the hell out of me. When he pulled back, he was grinning. “And you have an arrogant, screwed-up former demon hunter who is stupidly in love with you.

Dad got that faraway look in his eyes, the one that said he was about to go in search of really ancient books and cryptic passages.

The "Holy-crap-that's-a-lot-of-pink" Zone would have been a more accurate description. I don't know what I was expecting a vampire's room to look like. Maybe lots of black, a bunch of books by Camus...oh, and a sensitive portrait of the only human the vamp had ever loved, who had no doubt died of something beautiful and tragic, thus dooming the vamp to an eternity of moping and sighing romantically. What can I say? I read a lot of books. But this room looked like it had been decorated by the unholy lovechild of Barbie and Strawberry Shortcake.

Matthais: *Sighs* England. I’d take my Valentine to England on a tour of all the places from Jane Austen’s books. Derbyshire, Mr. Darcy’s house. Places like that. Ayden: You’re really milking that whole dark, brooding thing.

Do you remember the section on controlling demons in Demonologies? I believe it's in chapter five." "Um...no." Irritation flashed over his face. "Honestly, Sophie, I gave you that book for a reason." "And I'm really sorry, but it's long and boring,and can we just skip to the part where you tell me what it says?

I tried to lift the book in a kind of salute, but it was way too heavy for that. In fact,when I got back up to my room and tossed it on the bed,the mattress creaked in protest.

This book is dedicated to the Ancient Ones, to the Lord of Abominations, Humwawa, whose face is a mass of entrails, whose breath is the stench of dung and the perfume of death, Dark Angel of all that is excreted and sours, Lord of Decay, Lord of the Future, who rides on a whispering south wind, to Pazuzu, Lord of Fevers and Plagues, Dark Angel of the Four Winds with rotting genitals from which he howls through sharpened teeth over stricken cities, to Kutulu, the Sleeping Serpent who cannot be summoned, to the Akhkharu, who such the blood of men since they desire to become men, to the Lalussu, who haunt the places of men, to Gelal and Lilit, who invade the beds of men and whose children are born in secret places, to Addu, raiser of storms who can fill the night sky with brightness, to Malah, Lord of Courage and Bravery, to Zahgurim, whose number is twenty-three and who kills in an unnatural fashion, to Zahrim, a warrior among warriors, to Itzamna, Spirit of Early Mists and Showers, to Ix Chel, the Spider-Web-that-Catches-the-Dew-of-Morning, to Zuhuy Kak, Virgin Fire, to Ah Dziz, the Master of Cold, to Kak U Pacat, who works in fire, to Ix Tab, Goddess of Ropes and Snares, patroness of those who hang themselves, to Schmuun, the Silent One, twin brother of Ix Tab, to Xolotl the Unformed, Lord of Rebirth, to Aguchi, Master of Ejaculations, to Osiris and Amen in phallic form, to Hex Chun Chan, the Dangerous One, to Ah Pook, the Destroyer, to the Great Old One and the Star Beast, to Pan, God of Panic, to the nameless gods of dispersal and emptiness, to Hassan i Sabbah, Master of Assassins. To all the scribes and artists and practitioners of magic through whom these spirits have been manifested…. NOTHING IS TRUE. EVERYTHING IS PERMITTED.

Curiouser and curiouser." Startled,I glanced at him. "I say that sometimes." Even with his face tight with worry, Dad managed to look a little amused. "It's from Alice in Wonderland. Appropriate, don't you think?" Yeah,except that our rabbit hole was a heck of a lot darker,I thought. I pretended to study the bookcase in the far corner. I'd expected boring books about Prodigium history or shifter economy, and there were a few of those, but I also noticed some recent fiction, as well as several Roald Dahl books. Dad went up in my estimation another notch.

Izzy was sitting cross-legged on the couch, a paper-back book in her hands. She didn’t look up when we came in, and I wondered what she was reading that had her so absorbed. Monster Killing for Beginners, probably.

If it’s all the same to you, I’m not really great with the knives,” I told her. “Is there anything else I can do? Anything less…deadly?” Shaking a pillow into its case, Aislinn shrugged and said, “You can go up to the War Room an check our files on Hecate Hall and the Casnoffs. See if there’s any information we have wrong, or details you can add.” Ah, yes. Files. Books. Nothing with sharp edges. Perfect.

An ancient-looking card table sat in the middle of the room, covered in maps and books. Man, give the Brannicks any space, and they’ll turn it into a War Room. Aislinn took her customary position on one side of the table. “Okay,” she said. “Tell us everything that’s happened.” Cal, Archer, Jenna, and I managed to achieve something truly impressive: the four-way glance. “It’s really complicated,” Jenna said at last. “We used a sixteenth-century warlock trapped in a mirror to tell you where we were,” Dad said dryly. “I think it’s safe to say we’re well-versed in ‘complicated’ by this point.” Archer gave a little laugh. “I like your dad,” he whispered in my ear. “You would,” I muttered back.

I'm sure we could have so much fun, but only if you learn to be good to me.

So why were you with her?” “She was my assignment.” “From The Eye?” “No, from the Boy Scouts. That Witch Dating badge just kept eluding me.” Hawkins, Rachel (2011-03-01). Demonglass (Hex Hall Book 2) (p. 255). Disney. Kindle Edition.

Perhaps we should explore some other options before swanning off to Ireland,” Dad said, pushing his glasses up. “After all, Sophie, you’ve been through quite the ordeal.” “I’ll nap on the plane. Look, we are dealing with the possibility of an army of demons. I don’t know about you guys, but those words are right up there with ‘root canal’ and ‘school on Saturdays’ in terms of things that terrify me. Were already three weeks behind. We don’t have time to just sit here and explore options or read more books or listen to more half-assed prophecies from this jerk,” I said, pointing to Torin. He made a gesture that I think was the old-timey version of flipping me off. “So, yeah,” I continued. “Maybe this is a totally stupid idea. But if there’s even a chance one of us can get into the underworld, then we have to take it.” “Okay, I do like you,” Finley said, flashing me a grin.

I felt like there should have been rainbows and rose petals in their wake or something. Ugh.That was catty. Jenna deserved rainbows and rose petals, I reminded myself as I flopped back on my bed, Dad's book bumping painfully against my sternum. After everything she'd been through, Jenna had earned an eternity of nothing but good stuff. So why did seeing her with Vix make me want to brain myself with Demonologies: A History? I looked at the nightstand again and sighed. Then I opened the heavy book and tried to make myself read. For the next few hours I made a valiant attempt to get through Chapter One. For a book that was supposedly about fallen angels running around and creating havoc with their super-awesome dark "magycks," it was awfully boring, and all the weird spellings definitely didn't help.

Jenna, you have Vix, and Archer, you have…Actually, what do you have?” “You,” he said firmly. “And a whole bunch of holy knights who want to kill me.” “Vix can visit,” Jenna said. “And the school will be a good place now, so it’s not like one more year will be torture. Although,” she said, frowning, “I will admit the place is pretty awful to look at. I don’t know how we’re going to fix that.” Facing the pond, staring at that green, green grass, I gave a shuddery laugh. “I don’t think we have to worry about the island,” I said, wiping stray tears with the back of my hand. “It’s being healed.” “Well, there you have it, then,” Archer said. “Vix can come for a visit, the island will eventually be a heck of a lot less depressing, and I’m not leaving you ever again.” “Yeah, and we still have to deal with The Eye being…Eyeish, and me learning to be Head of the Council, which will probably involve lots of boring books and-“ Archer pressed his mouth to mine, effectively shutting me up and kissing the hell out of me. When he pulled back, he was grinning. “And you have an arrogant, screwed-up former demon hunter who is stupidly in love with you.” “And an angsty vampire who will walk into hell with you. Actually, who has walked into hell with you,” Jenna added, coming around to my other side. “And parents who love you, and who are probably making out back at the car,” Archer said, and I laughed. “So, really,” Jenna said, and looped her arm through mine, “what more do you need?” I looked back and forth between them, these two people I loved so much. The breeze ruffled the tall grass around the pond, and I thought I could hear Elodie’s laugh. “Nothing,” I told them, squeezing both their hands. “Nothing.

hex

I don’t think she would’ve clubbed the guy’s head in with anything. Too quick, and not painful enough.

Lee believed heartbreak was reserved to those who loved without being loved in return... She learned, that night, that heartbreakk could also exist between two hearts who yearned for each other without ever reaching one another.

I watched the light flicker on the limestone walls until Archer said, "I wish we could go to the movies." I stared at him. "We're in a creepy dungeon. There's a chance I might die in the next few hours. You are going to die in the next few hours. And if you had one wish, it would be to catch a movie?" He shook his head. "That's not what I meant. I wish we weren't like this. You know, demon, demon-hunter. I wish I'd met you in a normal high school, and taken you on normal dates, and like, carried your books or something." Glancing over at me, he squinted and asked, "Is that a thing humans actually do?" "Not outside of 1950s TV shows," I told him, reaching up to touch his hair. He wrapped an arm around me and leaned against the wall, pulling me to his chest. I drew my legs up under me and rested my cheek on his collarbone. "So instead of stomping around forests hunting ghouls, you want to go to the movies and school dances." "Well,maybe we could go on the occasional ghoul hunt," he allowed before pressing a kiss to my temple. "Keep things interesting." I closed my eyes. "What else would we do if we were regular teenagers?" "Hmm...let's see.Well,first of all, I'd need to get some kind of job so I could afford to take you on these completely normal dates. Maybe I could stock groceries somewhere." The image of Archer in a blue apron, putting boxes of Nilla Wafers on a shelf at Walmart was too bizarre to even contemplate, but I went along with it. "We could argue in front of our lockers all dramatically," I said. "That's something I saw a lot at human high schools." He squeezed me in a quick hug. "Yes! Now that sounds like a good time. And then I could come to your house in the middle of the night and play music really loudly under your window until you took me back." I chuckled. "You watch too many movies. Ooh, we could be lab partners!" "Isn't that kind of what we were in Defense?" "Yeah,but in a normal high school, there would be more science, less kicking each other in the face." "Nice." We spent the next few minutes spinning out scenarios like this, including all the sports in which Archer's L'Occhio di Dio skills would come in handy, and starring in school plays.By the time we were done, I was laughing, and I realized that, for just a little while, I'd managed to forget what a huge freaking mess we were in. Which had probably been the point. Once our laughter died away, the dread started seeping back in. Still, I tried to joke when I said, "You know, if I do live through this, I'm gonna be covered in funky tattoos like the Vandy. You sure you want to date the Illustrated Woman, even if it's just for a little while?" He caught my chin and raised my eyes to his. "Trust me," he said softly, "you could have a giant tiger tattooed on your face, and I'd still want to be with you." "Okay,seriously,enough with the swoony talk," I told him, leaning in closer. "I like snarky, mean Archer." He grinned. "In that case, shut up, Mercer.

But this room looked like it had been decorated by the unholy lovechild of Barbie and Strawberry Shortcake. It was bigger than I expected , but still small. Hawkins, Rachel (2010-05-28). Hex Hall Book One (p. 33). Disney. Kindle Edition.

Or maybe they were staring at me as I tried to discreetly wipe sweat from between my breasts without appearing to get to second base with myself. Hard to say. Hawkins, Rachel (2010-05-28). Hex Hall Book One (p. 17). Disney. Kindle Edition.

The spell is at its strongest in the center of the room,” I added. “So whatever you want to hold, you wanna put it as close to dead center as you can.” “You must’ve been awesome at Memory as a kid,” Archer mused. I shrugged. “When you’re perusing a book full of the most powerful dark magic ever, you pay attention.” Our gazes fell to the center of the room, where there was nothing but one of the cellar’s bazillion shelves. And under that shelf, drag marks in the dirt. We both moved to either end of the shelf. It took a minute (and a couple of impolite words from both of us), but we managed to move it several feet over. Then we stood there, breathing hard and sweating a little, and stared at the trap door in the floor. “Whatever’s down there,” Archer said after a moment, “it’s hard core enough that Casnoff went to all this trouble to hold it. Are you sure you want to do this, Mercer?” “Of course I don’t,” I said, grabbing the iron ring affixed to the trap door. “But I’m gonna.” I yanked at the ring, and the door came up easily. Cool air, smelling faintly of dirt and decay, wafted up. A metal ladder was bolted to the side of the opening, and I counted ten rungs before it disappeared into the blackness below. Archer made a move to stop into the hole, but I stopped him. “I’ll go down first. You’ll just look up my skirt if I go after you.” “Sophie-“ But it was too late. Trying to shake the feeling that I was stepping into a grave, I grabbed the ladder and started to climb down.

Throughout history, witches have been the stand-ins for all people who have felt 'outside' or 'different.' I say, fuck it -- go outside, be different, be so different they have to loosen their grip on the world because you are proof there is so much beyond them. Live fully, feel it all without apology, be weird and powerful and amazing. Because ultimately, that is who this book was written for--the wild witches that no man (and no system) could ever begin to contain. In closing, I would like to remind you that it's always good day to hex the patriarchy.

The Second Really Big Problem: my parents! They wanted to know everything! They wanted to call their lawyer! They wanted to call Mr. Stark, the private detective I had been talking to! They wanted to call the school! They wanted to call the parents of any kid from school I mentioned!

You don't have baths? How--- how?" She couldn't comprehend it. "I don't know," Scott replied sheepishly. "I just never know what to do when I'm in them." "I could show y---I mean, I could tell you what you need. Bubbles. Books. And candles." Heat pulsed around Dina's body. Had Scott heard her slip up?

I was afraid she was going to make me hop out into the water until it was over my head, an image too mortifying to even contemplate. Cal stepped forward, hopefully to come to my rescue. “I could toss her off the pier, Ms. Vanderlyden.” Or not. Hawkins, Rachel (2011-03-01). Demonglass (Hex Hall Book 2) (p. 3). Disney. Kindle Edition.

Mikolay took his wand out, touched the cage’s lock and said: “Eis Izras” three times. The door opened at once, unfortunately making lots of noise and waking the humans up. Mikolay knew a few powerful hexes and he was able to create small flying dragons. He hoped that he could stop the people, animals, and block the shadows to buy some time.

How? How did you get Torin to Hex Hall?” Dad blinked rapidly, and at first, I thought he was surprised by my question. Then I realized that, no, he was fighting tears. Seeing my father, who practically had a PhD in Stiff Upper Lip, on the verge of crying because he was so happy to see me made my own eyes sting. Then he cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders, and said, “It was exceedingly difficult.” I laughed through my tears. “I bet.” “It was Torin’s idea,” someone said behind me, and I turned to see Izzy standing there. Like my parents and her sister, she was dressed in jeans and a black jacket, although she also had a black cap pulled over her bright hair. “We had tons of old spell books, and after you and Cal disappeared, he started looking through them. Found a spell that would let him travel to a different mirror.” “Of course, the problem was finding your mirror,” Aislinn said, coming out of the darkness. “Aren’t you afraid that he’ll permanently peace out from his mirror and start hanging out in girls’ locker rooms or something?” Aislinn’s eyes slid to Izzy. “Torin has his reasons for wanting to stay with us,” she said, and even in the dim light, I saw red creepy up Izzy’s cheeks. Maybe one day, I’d get to the bottom of whatever was going on there. Preferably once I was done getting to the bottom of the thousand other things on my agenda.

The matter both intrigued and unsettled him : would both their fires keep burning bright, or would they suffocate each other, consuming all and everything around them? (...) Lee was something else, more than a simple fire; she burned like a shooting star. Enflamed, consumed from within, drifting along and brightening the horizon. Lee was as stubborn, loyal and driven as he was... lonely, yet, surrounded by people they loved, individuals who fueled their fires, gave them a reason to shine. Does fire burn fire? Could they learn to become one giant pyre?

Ryzhkova was accustomed to tarot with its layers of meaning, interpretations, and reversals, and how a picture might look one way but contain a contrary truth. Used to her silent apprentice, she had forgotten that language itself was as subtle and slippery as her cards, and that words contained hidden seeds that blossomed with a speaker’s intent. A wish for safety meant nothing if the force behind it was a desire to kill. Though she spoke of love and protection, dread, grief, and anger bled through. Each word that fell from her tongue bound itself to paper with a small part of her soul, infusing the cards not with love as she thought, but with a hex burned strong and deep by fear. Buried in the heart of the deck, the Fool’s eyes shut. She closed the box. A

Posed In Vein by Stewart Stafford O Stephanie! In your cruciform puppetry, Bloody veins stretched out wiry To relive in a bondage diary. Subject mapped as inked skin she wears, Decorating, desecrating olden snares. Each needle kiss, a line defined, A pinprick story rushes her mind. By candlelight, in her coven deep, Secrets webbed flies must keep, Spelled out straight in her hexing book, Consort Lenore gives a cryptic look. They tug the strings, the marionette, Caught in her captor's welcome net. In artificial light, a social moth's mien, A wrought, posed, fetishistic scene. The knots are tight, the ropes defined; Bodily and in private mind. This mutual art, a supplicant's plea, Cut into her Kinbaku diary. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.

Morrow's rush of disgust, temporary as it might prove, had nothing to do with the truths-turned-insults flung out. No. What riled Morrow ran far deeper - was the sheer perversity of Chess's own nature, that unbreakable wilfulness he'd always revered in himself, as sign and source of his own freedom. His stark refusal ever to be bound, to obey aught but his own whim and want. Because while he could walk free and hold a gun Chess Pargeter answered to no man - no man, no law, no damn body, motherfucker. No ideal, no cause, no force but sheer chaos, bound and determined to move unimpeded and burn for the sake of burning. To never submit himself to ghost or hex or priest or even God, 'less he damn well wanted to. No man except Ash Rook, that was - for a time. And after this last betrayal, from now on... not even him. 'Course not, Morrow's anger spoke back, unimpressed by Chess's well-tuned inner litany. That's 'cause you're nothing but a brat who never grew up - a skillet-hopping little hot-pants who knows everything 'bout killing and nothing at all 'bout living. Who spits on friendship, duty and honour not 'cause he's above them, so much as 'cause he don't know what they even mean - same way you don't really grasp how anything's real, 'cept if you want it, or it hurts you. And that's why you ended up givin' everything you had to a man who skinned you alive, then left you stranded down in Hell - 'cause he was what you wanted, and Christ forbid Chess Pargeter ever admit what he wanted was a goddamn bad idea. You made it easy for him, Chess, you damn fool. 'Cause you couldn't believe you deserved anything better. And me? I'd never do that to you, or anyone. Never.

The power behind words and voices is substantial to life! I dedicated this book to all of you readers before you even read it, to understand- the book of misunderstandings for the misunderstood. To have a voice, when you were made not have one or told not to have one. Maybe if you are like me, trying to get your voice back this is the story you need. Nonetheless, let us not fail to remember all the voices, which will never speak again, for being rejected and misunderstood.' 'Yes, be that voice with this book, this book is for you, to speak up, and be heard.' 'Why?' 'So, there are no more lost and forgotten voices of life. This book is a stepping stone to abolish bullying altogether, along with your help; we can take that step forward, and forget about the past!' 'At this time, I would like you all to take a moment of silence, to remember someone, that is no longer with us. So, they are not forgotten.' Preface: 'To understand, you must read between the lines of a story just like mine. My wronging if you do not read this book, is you'll find out fast that life is going to suck, and then you make the discovery, that you are going to die alone, and the hex- I have will now be on you.' 'At least that is what I thought; I thought I read, my story before it was written, and this note was the last thing that I was going to write. However, I never realized that there was so much more to life, which I did not appreciate. I came near a stone's throw away from the end. Yet I got additional unplanned lifespans. Yet, was the second chance what I needed?' 'Nevertheless, there were things that I concerned my mind with, which was not substantial to my existence.' 'If anything- learn from me. Try to do the virtuous things I did and not the mistakes I made. Though it is up to you to decide what was good or bad, it is what you feel and believe is morally right in your mind.' 'Yeah- I never really put any thought into what was going to happen to me someday, and the others that are part of my surroundings.' 'However, life goes on, and the existence of what was stands for nothing but- a memory of what you can and cannot have. If you are someone like me, but all I ever wanted was someone that appreciates me. They say life is free or is it. Do I want it- No- not really!' 'The existence of life…!' 'Is what I do not want to have anymore. There must be a way out of all this misery that I live in today? 'They say dying is easy, as well as lasting, and living is difficult and uncertain.' While- I am going to find out!' 'I guess life is all about what you want, need, and love.' 'Likewise, existing in life comes down to what you cannot have in it.' 'All I have to say is don't let anyone or anything pin you down, and make you less than whom you are. Always be whom you were meant to be, regardless of what they say… because who in the hell are they!' 'My story- is somewhat graphic at times, just like looking into a black and white photo of the past in a scrapbook. All the color in it washes away over time, one way or another. Besides all that is left is still frames that keep on fading, and distorting.' 'On the morning I was scheduled to die, I saw my life as if I had lived it to its whole. Oh, the captivating angel beamed lovingly as she roamed forward help me hang myself, a part of me felt death, and other parts of my mind, body, and soul felt as if it would never dye.

He was a champion listener. And not for show. He genuinely cared what you had to say, always wanted to know more.

Anger was a god’s prerogative. Mortals had no such luxury; they just had to do whatever they were told to by the angry gods.

Gods have been running the Universe long before the Nephilim decided to define it.

She thought briefly, that if men only knew what an unexpected forehead kiss could do to a woman, they would have unspeakable power at their fingertips

Conversation over breadsticks, salad, honey wine and tea ensued, the way only women do: abundantly, and with the intention to leave each other better than how they came.

it is okay to think about yourself and take care of yourself. There is a fine line between selfishness and self-love, and that isn’t taught. But no matter what, you shouldn’t have to feel like a ghost.

No need to be sarcastic,” he said. “How can you not be sarcastic in this pharmacy you call a school?

Quite a few close-knit covens in the area now. Go there, ask for Bunny.” “Bunny?” “Don’t let looks—or her name—fool you,

My paygrade is above appointments. Now let me in, or I’ll huff and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your whole bar down.” “A canine reference. Cute. I never hear those.

No matter how many times I see The Wizard of Oz, I just can’t convince myself that dead witches are any fun, Riona.

All the better. A demon who can still feel love is the most dangerous and capable kind of all,” Azazel answered. “I’ve learned that much from experience. Passion without penance will make the world burn.

No, I’m serious. I wish you were getting the man of your dreams. I wish he was standing here, getting to see you look like you do, knowing how lucky he is to have you in his life. I wish he was going to stand in front of a group of witnesses and declare how much he loves you and declare himself yours, and you his. I wish he was whisking you away tonight to some lonely cottage on a tropical island where he would show you in mind-numbing passion everything he had proclaimed in words. I wish he’d help you fight all your demons, to build your dreams together, to cherish and love you as you deserve and need to be loved. And to protect you, always protect you. I wish you had a normal life, had a heap load of kids, if that’s what you want, or a puppy named Clover if you don’t. But most of all...” Jerry paused and smacked his palate. “I wish I could be that man.

But that led to the Number One Problem of all Number One Problems: there was no evidence that a serial killer existed. The only thing I had was the memory of a girl in a half-faint that somebody had whispered in her ear: “Don’t tell nobody nothin’!

I’m operating under the assumption that the suicides are actually murders.” “So, you sure ‘operatin’ under the fantasy’ wouldn’t be the better line?

The sun has melted the snow. But I don’t know when. I’ll write more later, when I feel better. Here’s what I remember, after reading these journals, and having the same dream for a long time.

Was there a serial killer in America who only killed students and janitors at high schools?

Staring at her book of spells when she had no idea how to get over the one night with the furry wolf wasn’t going to help her.  All she kept thinking about was how he’d played her body like a musical instrument.

If Ren was hell, then Kai was paradise; and Lee's soul was stuck in purgatory, ripped apart by their opposite pulls.

Magic. My mind is screaming, my hands unsteady as I dip my fingers inside to pull out the shimmering silver ticket.

I can't help but be changed, touched by something otherworldly as we spend the early afternoon in our small corner of paradise. I wouldn't have blinked twice if a mermaid swam past us, singing a siren song. Anything feels possible here.

with or using old secondhand books the teachers had. The one from Potions had been the worst, with pages falling out, and someone had scribbled and crossed things out on almost every page. I hoped now I might actually start to learn some magic. During dinner, I kept looking over at Hermione. I caught her eye a few times, but she'd look away. When I got up to leave, she got up too. I had a feeling she was following me. I tried to walk quickly. "Austin," she yelled. "Wait up." I kept walking. "Austin." I walked faster. I didn't hear the exact spell she used, but a second later, something smacked into my back, and I started walking super slow, like in those nightmares where you can't run. "What the—" I said as she caught up with me. "Sorry." She glanced down at my legs. "I could tell you weren't going to stop." "So you... you what? Hexed me?" "Hardly." She tossed a mop of hair out of her face. "It's a children's spell, used for playing tag—magic tag, that is. It should wear off anytime." Sure enough, though my legs felt like lead, I was able to walk at a normal pace. "Whatever." "Where are you heading?" "Professor Flichwick’s for extra work." "Good. I’m heading to the second floor too." "Great." I tried to sound irritated. Really, I was glad

They'd read comic books and crossed wooden swords and flipped baseball cards against the walls, while floors above people lay strapped to their beds for trying to gouge their own eyes out.

Snape used it once again a few years later on Harry to see where Harry had learned the Sectumsempra spell.

As soon as they entered the forest, Dina felt something stirring in her magic. Normally it lay dormant within her until she needed it for a spell. But now it was thrumming in her blood, reacting to this place. The trees were tall and thick, little sunlight made it to the forest floor, and the narrow pebbled path they walked along twisted out of sight ahead of them. "There's something here," she whispered to Immy. "Like magic?" "Yeah. Like, I don't know how to put it--- like this is an old and powerful place. Like the land is breathing." "Ooh, I'm going to write that phrase down for my next book," Immy said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. As Immy slowed down to make her note, Dina walked on, feeling the power of this ancient wood flooding through her. She felt as if she were walking into the mouth of a great, slumbering goddess. But it didn't scare her; it wasn't meant to. It was just nature, older than history, older than bone. The path curled around to the left, revealing a small cottage in the dappled light, dwarfed by the surrounding oaks. The lights were on inside, illuminating the ivy and wisteria vines that had twined themselves around the outer walls of the cottage. The windows were sashed in dark green wood, complete with window boxes filled with daisies. Daisies that Dina was sure shouldn't have been able to grow in such little light, but this wood seemed to play by its own rules.

She looked down and saw in surprise an elegant pattern of flowers and vines that wove around her fingers, and in the center of her palm, an open eye. "This is so you will see yourself as I see you," Nour said, her eyes prickling with tears. Dina stood and turned to face the mirror. For a moment she did not recognize her reflection. That woman was beautiful, glowing, beaming a smile, kindness and joy radiating from her. That woman was Dina. That's me. The hex had felt insurmountable, impossible to break, even once she had known she was the cause of it. It was one thing to be told she needed to love herself to break the curse, but quite another to do it in practice. But as Dina looked at herself, everything fell into place. Her family accepted her for who she was. And if she told herself that she was worthy of love, then it was true. And if it was true, there was no need for the hex anymore. No need for that wall that she had built between herself and others to keep them from seeing her as she truly was. Scott loved her, and she loved him. And they would be okay. She shuddered in a breath as the insidious magic of the hex began to dissipate, like ashes blowing away after a fire's gone out. Then her ears popped, and the hex was gone. Dina looked across at her mother, smiling through her tears. "It's gone," she cried. "Mama, I'm free.

She had the kind of icy elegance that could make even a glacier feel inadequate.

A pure-blooded home must be vigilantly warded against magical misfortune, for there are envious folk who would seek to hex or curse us. Be cautious when accepting unfamiliar gifts, second-hand items, or objects of unknown origin, as they may carry ill will or dark enchantments designed to undermine the purity of your household. To recognize a cursed item, look for sudden changes in temperature, appearance, or moisture levels. Objects may emit unsettling sounds, peculiar odors, or even reappear in places where they were not left. If any of these signs are detected, the object should be swiftly and carefully disposed of using proper banishment spells, ensuring your home remains free from harmful influences and malicious intent. ~ EXCERPT FROM THE ARCANE ELITE: UPHOLDING THE SANCTITY OF WITCH BLOODLINES

That.' I gesture at the book. 'Get a bookmark, good lord. Were you raised in a barn?

The Sisters of Hecate: A Coven for the Totally Bitchin’ Witch By Tracy North and Marigold Wentworth Central Florida College Daily Beacon

Imagine this: A control room plastered with SpaceX posters, astronaut ice cream packets half-eaten, and me a self-proclaimed "Elon Lite", screaming at a frozen computer screen. My $680,000 Bitcoin stash, intended to be spent launching a satellite named Project Star bite, had just been left in the void of a glitched multi-sig wallet. Because of a firmware update so buggy, Windows 98 would seem solid by comparison. Tech support's solution? "Have you tried turning it off and on again? " Sir, I'm building hardware that is resistant to radiation belts. Your advice is a cosmic joke. The irony was galactic. My satellite could weather solar flares, but my crypto couldn't weather a run-of-the-mill update. The multi-sig setup of a fortress requiring three digital signatures had locked me out like an airlock seal. My co-founders panicked, flipping through code books like they were grimoires. Our mission control? A Slack channel with ???? emojis and increasingly more unhinged gifs. Then, a beacon: A coding board lurker who had survived a similar meltdown posted, "DM CERTIFIED RECOVERY SERVICES. They'll hack the Matrix." I slid into their inbox, praying for a bot. What I got was a reply sharper than the tip of a rocket: "Send us the debug logs of the wallet. And maybe a screenshot of the error before you rage-quit." Their engineers handled my case like a NASA anomaly investigation. They spent 17 days reverse-engineering the buggy code in the firmware, reconstituting lost signatures like repainting a shattered black box. I imagined them holed up in a command bunker, whiteboards filled with hex equations, complaining about "consensus algorithms" and "transaction malleability" between swigs of Red Bull. They danced around the bug by finding a loophole in the time-lock function of the wallet basically, beating time. Ha. Einstein didn't see that coming. When the email arrived in my inbox "Funds recovered. Proceed with launch." I nearly headbutted the ceiling. My Bitcoin reappeared on the screen, shining like a distant star long mapped home. The satellite team erupted. Someone popped champagne, soaking a $10,000 antenna prototype. Worth it. CERTIFIED RECOVERY SERVICES didn't just fix a bug; they re-wrote the code of catastrophe. Their blend of cryptographic genius and unflappable cool turned my facepalm-inducing defeat into a victory lap. Now, Project Star bite is on track again, and my wallet's firmware is secure like the nuclear codes. If your crypto ever gets lost in the stratosphere of tech failure, call the Wizards. They'll debug the abyss. Just possibly unplug the router before you update anything. And for the love of Mars, back up your keys. Here's Their Info Below: WhatsApp: (+1(740)258‑1417 ) Telegram: https: //t.me/certifiedrecoveryservices mail: (certifiedrecoveryservices @zohomail .com, certified @financier .com) Website info;( https: //certifiedrecoveryservices .com)

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Imagine this: A control room plastered with SpaceX posters, astronaut ice cream packets half-eaten, and me a self-proclaimed "Elon Lite", screaming at a frozen computer screen. My $680,000 Bitcoin stash, intended to be spent launching a satellite named Project Star bite, had just been left in the void of a glitched multi-sig wallet. Because of a firmware update so buggy, Windows 98 would seem solid by comparison. Tech support's solution? "Have you tried turning it off and on again? " Sir, I'm building hardware that is resistant to radiation belts. Your advice is a cosmic joke. The irony was galactic. My satellite could weather solar flares, but my crypto couldn't weather a run-of-the-mill update. The multi-sig setup of a fortress requiring three digital signatures had locked me out like an airlock seal. My co-founders panicked, flipping through code books like they were grimoires. Our mission control? A Slack channel with ???? emojis and increasingly more unhinged gifs. Then, a beacon: A coding board lurker who had survived a similar meltdown posted, "DM CERTIFIED RECOVERY SERVICES. They'll hack the Matrix." I slid into their inbox, praying for a bot. What I got was a reply sharper than the tip of a rocket: "Send us the debug logs of the wallet. And maybe a screenshot of the error before you rage-quit." Their engineers handled my case like a NASA anomaly investigation. They spent 17 days reverse-engineering the buggy code in the firmware, reconstituting lost signatures like repainting a shattered black box. I imagined them holed up in a command bunker, whiteboards filled with hex equations, complaining about "consensus algorithms" and "transaction malleability" between swigs of Red Bull. They danced around the bug by finding a loophole in the time-lock function of the wallet basically, beating time. Ha. Einstein didn't see that coming. When the email arrived in my inbox "Funds recovered. Proceed with launch." I nearly headbutted the ceiling. My Bitcoin reappeared on the screen, shining like a distant star long mapped home. The satellite team erupted. Someone popped champagne, soaking a $10,000 antenna prototype. Worth it. CERTIFIED RECOVERY SERVICES didn't just fix a bug; they re-wrote the code of catastrophe. Their blend of cryptographic genius and unflappable cool turned my facepalm-inducing defeat into a victory lap. Now, Project Star bite is on track again, and my wallet's firmware is secure like the nuclear codes. If your crypto ever gets lost in the stratosphere of tech failure, call the Wizards. They'll debug the abyss. Just possibly unplug the router before you update anything. And for the love of Mars, back up your keys. Here's Their Info Below: WhatsApp: (+1(740)258‑1417 ) Telegram: https: //t.me/certifiedrecoveryservices mail: (certifiedrecoveryservices @zohomail .com, certified @financier .com) Website info;( https: //certifiedrecoveryservices .com)

Imagine this: A control room plastered with SpaceX posters, astronaut ice cream packets half-eaten, and me a self-proclaimed "Elon Lite", screaming at a frozen computer screen. My $680,000 Bitcoin stash, intended to be spent launching a satellite named Project Star bite, had just been left in the void of a glitched multi-sig wallet. Because of a firmware update so buggy, Windows 98 would seem solid by comparison. Tech support's solution? "Have you tried turning it off and on again? " Sir, I'm building hardware that is resistant to radiation belts. Your advice is a cosmic joke. The irony was galactic. My satellite could weather solar flares, but my crypto couldn't weather a run-of-the-mill update. The multi-sig setup of a fortress requiring three digital signatures had locked me out like an airlock seal. My co-founders panicked, flipping through code books like they were grimoires. Our mission control? A Slack channel with ???? emojis and increasingly more unhinged gifs. Then, a beacon: A coding board lurker who had survived a similar meltdown posted, "DM CERTIFIED RECOVERY SERVICES. They'll hack the Matrix." I slid into their inbox, praying for a bot. What I got was a reply sharper than the tip of a rocket: "Send us the debug logs of the wallet. And maybe a screenshot of the error before you rage-quit." Their engineers handled my case like a NASA anomaly investigation. They spent 17 days reverse-engineering the buggy code in the firmware, reconstituting lost signatures like repainting a shattered black box. I imagined them holed up in a command bunker, whiteboards filled with hex equations, complaining about "consensus algorithms" and "transaction malleability" between swigs of Red Bull. They danced around the bug by finding a loophole in the time-lock function of the wallet basically, beating time. Ha. Einstein didn't see that coming. When the email arrived in my inbox "Funds recovered. Proceed with launch." I nearly headbutted the ceiling. My Bitcoin reappeared on the screen, shining like a distant star long mapped home. The satellite team erupted. Someone popped champagne, soaking a $10,000 antenna prototype. Worth it. CERTIFIED RECOVERY SERVICES didn't just fix a bug; they re-wrote the code of catastrophe. Their blend of cryptographic genius and unflappable cool turned my facepalm-inducing defeat into a victory lap. Now, Project Star bite is on track again, and my wallet's firmware is secure like the nuclear codes. If your crypto ever gets lost in the stratosphere of tech failure, call the Wizards. They'll debug the abyss. Just possibly unplug the router before you update anything. And for the love of Mars, back up your keys. Here's Their Info Below: WhatsApp: (+1(740)258‑1417 ) Telegram: https: //t.me/certifiedrecoveryservices mail: (certifiedrecoveryservices @zohomail .com, certified @financier .com) Website info;( https: //certifiedrecoveryservices .com)

work at Hex Coffee.” “Really? Huh—I’m surprised I’ve never seen you there.” “You go there a lot?” “No. I actually hate coffee.” That made me snort. “Of course you do.” “I’m more of a tea guy.” “Lying again?” “I seriously drink four to five cups of Sleepytime every day.” “You have to be lying.” “Swear to God.” I tried picturing him drinking tea and frankly, it was too adorable. He gave off strong Jess Mariano vibes when he talked about books, and the tea just made it bigger. I said, “I hate tea.” “You would.

Hey, if she tells me it’s her destiny, I’ll move heaven and hell,” I say, “but she’s mine to protect, not yours to break.

We're shifters, not monsters," Killian says, his voice surprisingly gentle. "We don't see you as prey, Regina. We see you as our equal. Our complement.

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