Witch Coven Quotes

Everybody is something. Even the most common witch has her coven.

Your average witch is not, by nature, a social animal as far as other witches are concerned. There's a conflict of dominant personalities. There's a group of ringleaders without a ring. There's the basic unwritten rule of witchcraft, which is 'Don't do what you will, do what I say.' The natural size of a coven is one. Witches only get together when they can't avoid it.

You needed at least three witches for a coven. Two witches was just an argument.

Ancient moon priestesses were called virgins. ‘Virgin’ meant not married, not belong to a man - a woman who was ‘one-in-herself’. The very word derives from a Latin root meaning strength, force, skill; and was later applied to men: virle. Ishtar, Diana, Astarte, Isis were all all called virgin, which did not refer to sexual chasity, but sexual independence. And all great culture heroes of the past…, mythic or historic, were said to be born of virgin mothers: Marduk, Gilgamesh, Buddha, Osiris, Dionysus, Genghis Khan, Jesus - they were all affirmed as sons of the Great Mother, of the Original One, their worldly power deriving from her. When the Hebrews used the word, and in the original Aramaic, it meant ‘maiden’ or ‘young woman’, with no connotations to sexual chasity. But later Christian translators could not conceive of the ‘Virgin Mary’ as a woman of independent sexuality, needless to say; they distorted the meaning into sexually pure, chaste, never touched. When Joan of Arc, with her witch coven associations, was called La Pucelle - ‘the Maiden,’ ‘the Virgin’ - the word retained some of its original pagan sense of a strong and independent woman. The Moon Goddess was worshipped in orgiastic rites, being the divinity of matriarchal women free to take as many lovers as they choose. Women could ‘surrender’ themselves to the Goddess by making love to a stranger in her temple.

The widow’s eyebrows raised. “Ye’ve got all these nasty pooches to run around with and ye still might die?” “I’m going to go fight with a god, some demons, and a coven of witches who all want to kill me,” I said, “so it’s a distinct possibility.” “Are y’goin’ t’kill ’em back?” “I’d certainly like to.” “Attaboy,” the widow chuckled. “Off y’go, then. Kill every last one o’ the bastards and call me in the mornin’.

The Calamitous Coven.” “No.” “Eve’s Army.” “No! It ought to be about, I don’t know, sisterhood or union—” “The Ladies Union of Giving the Bastards What’s Coming to Them.

If your going to be a jackass then do it outside of your home, as your home is supposed to be a place of love and safety, it's your sanctuary from the outside world. The only place where we can truly be accepted.

Not today, Satan.

burn whoever tries to burn you.-coven rule #2.

Churches crack me up. They're like money, a conspiracy of faith. Like everyone agreed to believe that not only is there a God, but he comes down and checks on folks, so long as they hang in certain places, put up alters, burn lots of candles and incense, and perform sit-stand-kneel and other wacky rituals that'd make a coven of witches not look OCD.

Mum, you're freaking me out. You're not a witch. You shop at Next.

Internalizing pain didn’t get rid of the anguish. It only allowed it to stay locked inside the gut, in the mind, where it ate away at the soul. Breaking down exterior strength from the inside out.

there’s a fine line between daring and idiotic, and you just sailed right over it.

need for open air and an endless night sky. The sense of being small in such a vast universe was often soothing.

Truth is in the guidance of the Coven. Is it a curse or a blessing?

And to do something that helps your coven survive, even after your own death, is the greatest gift you can possibly give them…” --Angela from Angela’s Coven

Sex and dominance. It’s what modern humans think vampire relationships are all about,” I said. “Their stories are full of crazed alpha-male vampires throwing women over their shoulders before dragging them off for dinner and a date.” “Dinner and a date?” Matthew was aghast. “Do you mean . . . ?” “Uh-huh. You should see what Sarah’s friends in the Madison coven read. Vampire meets girl, vampire bites girl, girl is shocked to find out there really are vampires. The sex, blood, and overprotective behavior all come quickly thereafter. Some of it is pretty explicit.” I paused. “There’s no time for bundling, that’s for sure. I don’t remember much poetry or dancing either.” Matthew swore. “No wonder your aunt wanted to know if I was hungry.” “You really should read this stuff, if only to see what humans think. It’s a public-relations nightmare. Far worse than what witches have to overcome.

You can't fight a hurricane with half an umbrella.

Do what you want with the rest of your witches, but the next time you touch her, I will rain Hell upon you.

Follow your heart as long as your head and gut decide to stroll along with it.

Like jumping off of a cliff you knew had an eighty percent chance of having deadly spikes at the bottom. That’s what love was to her. A skewering death trap.

again. Once again,

Esk wouldn't have known what a collective noun was if it had spat in her eye, but she knew there was a herd of goats and a coven of witches.

Looking at her is like trying to see to the bottom of the ocean, fathomless and unknowable

always put yourself first. sacrifice at your own discretion.-coven rule #1.

They are going to come in here all hopped up on their latest smutty book, cackling like a coven of witches. And then they’re going to want to know everything about you.

Go for a walk outdoors. Reconnect with the feeling of the wind blowing through your hair. Listen to the birds that live in a tree in your yard. Watch the sunset. Take time to smell the flowers that bloom in the park during the summer. The natural world is just as natural as it ever was, except there's less of it than there was twenty-five years ago - and most of us don't make a point of enjoying it often enough.

I don't mess around with the men in the coven, especially my Shadowblades," she said with quiet finality. Flirting was one thing but anything more, it was a mistake of epic proportions. His eyes narrowed and he gave a slow shake of his head. "That is all right then. Because I want so much more than just to mess around.

The restroom is right out in the hall, they said. You can’t miss it, they said. Well I missed it. And now I was lost.

All girls trust their daddies,” Kylie said quietly. “The trick is finding a man who measures up.

purple was supposed to embody a sense of good judgment. On the other, it represented romance.

make no apologies; accept no apologies.-coven rule #3.

All Librarians are members of the Catalogue. That's what you call a coven when it's made up of Librarians instead of witches. Librarians have sorted and alphabetized all the magic that ever thought to put a rabbit and a hat together. Who do you think invented Special Collections?

♫ Wait a minute, baby...stay with me awhile...said you'd show me light, but you never told me 'bout the fire ♫ Steve didn't really find her voice until after she and Lindsay joined Fleetwood Mac. And that's the thing: you can't be your best self until you find your tribe. I'm still lookin' for mine.

A hospital at midnight seemed one of the quietest places on earth. The air felt ominous, heavy with the smell of worry. Empty halls were filled with nothing but the artificial light that bounced from sterile white floors and walls.

There’s my wicked little witch,

Maybe you should go down there and make sure—” “She severs the arm properly?” Devon pursed her lips and nodded. “Excellent thinking. Holler if you need anything.

We are not a coven." "Kim's a witch." "She's a vegan." "What's the difference?

I wish there was something that lingered beyond our deaths, some hint that my dad was still here, watching over me. Instead, the Middle Sister claims our souls and carries us to wherever the Mother Goddess has banished her. We're reunited with our creator in death, but she leaves nothing for those who were left behind.

He opens his mouth and I want to kill him. I've actually had fantasies of ripping of his head Savannah." The older witch looked at her a long moment. "What?" "Don't do it in front of his Dogs." "Hopefully, I won't do it at all. If things get too bad, I'll divorce him.

He preferred leaving some things to the imagination, enjoying his own stories of what the clock had witnessed over the years. He could be a patient man when need be, and the fine, intricate parts definitely required a slow hand. An appreciative touch and respect for the inner workings that had to be aligned perfectly to function. He chuckled low. Definitely like

Okay, okay, we get it. You two really like each other,” Egan says. He nudges Keller aside. “It’s my turn. I think I have a date up there somewhere.” Bit Toni doesn’t appear at the top of the stairs. “Toni?” I say. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Egan adds. “She’s, uh…I’ll go get her.” I don’t want to reveal how nervous Toni is. That will put too much importance on this date, on Egan. “Nah, I’ll go get her.” Egan bounds up the stairs.

Selene," Cheney cupped my face, "if this is the beginning of a confession, let me assure you I am not naive. You're a beautiful woman, and I have little doubt you have had a lot of boyfriends during our time apart. Please feel free to NEVER tell me about any of them. And if you never utter the name Michael again, it would be much appreciated." His eyes flashed at his name.

To practice in a group requires both a loosening of self-consciousness and a tightening grip on the rudder of sincerity. You have to care, and you have to let others see you caring. And you have to bear witness to their caring in turn.

Yes, daddy.

Beauty isn't just something you have; it's something you do.

For you, a witch is any woman who understands she has power even when the world insists she doesn't

At its best, a coven is a spiritual community or a mutual aid society of witches who hang out.

Girl, if that’s the way you react to pizza, then we were destined to be besties.

He preferred leaving some things to the imagination, enjoying his own stories of what the clock had witnessed over the years. He could be a patient man when need be, and the fine, intricate parts definitely required a slow hand. An appreciative touch and respect for the inner workings that had to be aligned perfectly to function. He chuckled low. Definitely like a woman.

Means I'm half-Ever, though' Dot said, looking tense. 'Not exactly a witch.' She eyed Hester and Anadil nervously, as if she might be expelled from the coven. 'Well...' said Hester. 'Nobody's perfect.

When Julia was in middle school, a girl had accused her and her sisters of being a coven of witches. Julia hadn’t known what a coven was and had to look the word up. The definition had delighted her, and she’d hoped the girl was correct.

Do I at least get to keep the toothbrush?” “Sure. Unless you can get it back in that wrapper and seal it up all nice and new. Well, that’s what the last girl did. See, you can hardly tell it’s been opened!” --Reggie Sinclair from Angela's Coven

Oberon’s been kidnapped along with one of the werewolves, and that’s why we’re all so upset. We’ll talk more tomorrow, and I promise to answer all your questions if I survive the night,” I said. The widow’s eyebrows raised. “Ye’ve got all these nasty pooches to run around with and ye still might die?” “I’m going to go fight with a god, some demons, and a coven of witches who all want to kill me,” I said, “so it’s a distinct possibility.” “Are y’goin’ t’kill ’em back?” “I’d certainly like to.” “Attaboy,” the widow chuckled. “Off y’go, then. Kill every last one o’ the bastards and call me in the mornin’.

What was the bug that got into me? My covenanting forebears had one answer, and the state-subsidised mindbenders and witch doctors have another. Let's ay that whateverer it was, it's got this world through some tricky situations to the present point, and without it we perish.

A belief system usually evolves over time. It's something that we grow into, as our needs and goals develop and change. Even when we find a system of beliefs that works for us, we hone and fine-tune it, working our way deeper and deeper into its essential truth. Everything we experience, every thought we have, every desire, need, action, and reaction - everything we perceive with our senses goes into our personal databank and helps to create the belief systems that we hold now. Nothing is lost or forgotten in our lives. You don't have to remain a victim of your conditioning, however. You can choose for yourself what you believe or don't believe, what you desire and don't desire. You can define your own parameters. Once you do that, you can start consciously creating your destiny according to your own vision.

Some people think that “coven” is a word for a group of witches, and it’s true that’s what the dictionary says. But the real word for a group of witches is an “argument.

I hadn’t been talking to myself…I’d been talking to a…a…ghost.

need someone to put out a fire at the coven’s training house.’ There was a beat of silence. ‘Again?

Wicked little witch,

I was declaring war on the black coven; they just didn’t know it yet.

Oh, Lady Emma… I like to think there’s a little bit of witch in all of us. Don’t you agree?” --Andrea from Angela's Coven #covenbooks

You're a witch. Don't you think Bible quotes are a bit hypocritical?

Alanna Carrington, head witch of the Philadelphia Coven, hurtled his way, and with her, trouble was a guarantee.

I like my scars, they show I fight back.

People who buy the little jars and boxes aren’t staying. They only want enough to last them while they’re here.” --Ginger the Checkout girl from The Great Northern Coven

Your life right now is a reflection of your past thoughts.

into black dust just like the wolf demon. Cooper stood

I know... that's why you're down here and not enjoying some picnic in a golden meadow amongst the harps and puffy clouds." --Lucifer from Angela's Coven

You can't blame yourself for the decisions others make.

There are people who walk this Earth who truly belong in Hell. Sometimes, we have to move ‘em along a little… point the way.” --Vernon Kraft, Avenging Angel from The Ragtime Coven

The woman is like a glow stick. I want to snap her and then shake the hell out of her until the light comes on.

Witches are people.

They are going to come in here all hopped up on their latest smutty book, cackling like a coven of witches.

The Three isn’t a person, they’re a coven of witches; Glinda the Good Witch of the North, Morgan Le Fay, and the gingerbread house witch, Frau Pfefferkuchenhaus.

Inside every witch there are two crows: one saying you can’t use your powers to fix the world to your liking, and another cawing, why not?

In theory, a coven is just a group of witches working together.”  Jamie looked pained. “In practice?” “In practice, it tends to be really heavy on ritual, really light on actual magic.

The front door of the Flippant Witch gave a series of loud clicks and swung inward. Renard Lambert, his blue-and-purple finery resembling a plum in the twitching lanterns, practically hurled himself through the open doorway “Widdershins!” he called loudly, cape flowing behind him, “I—gaaack!” He ducked, barely in time to avoid the carafe that shattered loudly against the wall just behind his head. The tinkling of broken glass, a dangerous entry chime indeed, sounded around him. “Oh,” Genevieve said, her tone only vaguely contrite. “It's just your friend. Sorry, Renard.” “Sorry? Sorry?! What the hell were you—ah. Um, hello, ah, Widdershins." Widdershins, who had lurched to her feet as the door opened, was suddenly and forcibly reminded by Renard's stunned stare that Genevieve had disrobed her in order to get at the rapier wound. Blushing as furiously as a nun in a brothel, she ducked behind her blonde-haired friend and groped desperately for her shirt. “Didn't mean to take your head off, Renard,” Genevieve said, mainly to distract him. “But you rather startled us.” “Quite understandable,” the popinjay responded absently, his eyes flickering madly as he fought to locate some safe place to put them.

A whisper, a soul that once was. While the majority of her magic is returned to her coven on passing, the witch requests that a small trace be permitted to linger. To provide guidance, reminders of love. The feeling that one is not alone.

The Girauds' child was looking more and more like a problem. Luke pressed his lips into a thin line. When she'd leaned in the stagecoach blazing with fervor over what was in the arcane books, it had taken all his willpower not to throw a bolt of magic to stop her heart.

Churces crack me up. They're like money, a conspiracy of faith. Like everyone agreed to believe not only is there a God, but he comes down and checks on folks, so long as they hang in certain places, put up altars, burn lots of candles and incense, and perform sit-stand-kneel and other wacky rituals that'd make a coven of witches look not OCD. Then to further complicate it, some folks perform rituals, subset A, and others folks perform rituals, subset B, C,or D, and so on into an infinity of denominations, and call themselves different things then deny everyone's elses right to heaven if they're not performing the same rituals. Dude. Weird. I figure if there is a God, he or she isn't paying attention to what we build or if follow some elaborate rules, but copping a ride on our shoulders, watching what we do every day.Seing if we took this great big adventure called life and did anything interesting with it. I figure that the folks that are the most interesting get to go to heaven. I mean, if I was God, that's who I would want there with me. I also figure being eternally happy would be eternally boring so I try not to be too interesting, even though it's hard for me. I would rather be a superhero in hell, kicking all kinds of demon ass, than an angel in heaven, waiting around with a beatific smile on my face, playing a pansy harp all day.

Remember where thy forsaken, a ruse we now must awaken. To play with rules that can’t be broken, for only one can claim the spoken. But drop thy sword, flee the scene, this quest becomes evergreen. For upon the dawn my word shall come, The Angel of Tides must ring his drum.

You have another rose at the door.""And another note… but this time I was naked in the shower while he watched…""Damn… It’s bad, Neo…"I fill my pumpkin-shaped mug with hot coffee. "Do I have to kill him?"Zilla laughs. "Oh Coven help me… You won’t feel sorry after he is dead-dead.

But Mather's smile faded as he thought of what other provisions the charter contained. What would the godly say when they learned that the electorate was no longer to be limited to members of the Covenant but broadened to include propertied members of every Christian sect this side of papistry? This was a revolutionary innovation, whose consequences would be incalculable. Hitherto the limitation of the privilege of voting to the elect had been the very corner-stone of theocracy. It had been a wise and human provision designed to keep the faithful in control even when, as had long ago become the case, they were heavily outnumbered by lesser men without the Covenant. God who had not designated the majority of men to salvation surely never intended for the damned to rule. Yet now, under the new charter, it very much looked as if they might.

And so, with their first public action on Halloween of 1968, the feminist activist group called W.I.T.C.H. was born. Its members donned witch costumes, replete with brooms and pointy black hats, and did a public ritual performance of hexing the New York Stock Exchange. Did it work? Well, as Gloria Steinem wrote about the incident in New York magazine, “A coven of 13 members of W.I.T.C.H. demonstrates against that bastion of white supremacy: Wall Street. The next day, the market falls five points.” (The glue that the witches added to the locks of the NYSE doors also added a bit of whammy, no doubt.)

I have come to serve you with a warning, Diana Bishop. Relationships between witches and vampires are forbidden. You must leave this house and no longer associate with Matthew de Clermont or any of his family. If you don’t, the Congregation will take whatever steps are necessary to preserve the covenant.

Let me get this straight: You want to poison me nearly to death, put me out to the side of the road and then set me on fire, right?" "...It sounded a lot better when we were out in the mushroom patch." "Those must have been SOME mushrooms!" --Reggie Sinclair and The Witches in Training from Angela's Coven.

had to look the word up. The definition had delighted her, and she’d hoped the girl was correct. The four Padavano sisters dressed up as witches for Halloween that year, and Charlie gleefully quoted Macbeth at them. Julia, in the height of her girlhood, with a pointed black hat on her head, knew that they were a coven of witches,

Churches crack me up. They’re like money, a conspiracy of faith. Like everyone agreed to believe that not only is there a God, but he comes down and checks on folks, so long as they hang in certain places, put up altars, burn lots of candles and incense, and perform sit-stand-kneel and other wacky rituals that’d make a coven of witches look not OCD.

Dearest daughter of Storm & Sea, The time is now, return to me. A tide to wash away his greedy bones, On your wings, follow your stones. Thy arrow first will lead you home, A trusted face for a page in the tome. Then let him leave on wings of fire, For your quest is now for the choir. In Leyka’s old house by the river, Seek the door that will deliver.

The Coven of Witches, however, believed only in the natural forces of the world. Everyone was free to seek their own path to wisdom and to worship in whatever way they pleased. If they prayed, it was to Eà, who encompassed both light and darkness, life and death, the creative and the destructive. Eà was neither good nor evil, male nor female. Eà was both and neither.

The Devil marks the start, She must fall to set the chart. Seek within thy Empress heart, for in his blood he is the part. With this Mark and the heirs unfrozen, the Court will claim their promotion. Now sides of fate must be chosen, for the bonds of peace are unwoven. Seek the one who paid the price, change the name, she won’t play nice. Release the son, betray the vice, deep in the Lore they’ll feel his bite. When the Angel of Tides rings his drum, beware the time has finally come. One for glory, one must succumb, in Heaven’s shine or Evil’s thumb. Raise arms together, make your stand, gather thy army to guard your land. Last, summon thy magic to Power’s hand, unleash Aether’s Spirit upon command. Earth’s final war to settle the brawl, a long fated fight you cannot stall. But we do not yield, we will not fall, for Coven or Lilith to rule us all.

Hypaxia seemed to debate whether to answer, but finally said, “You want to know what delayed me these days? What I feared this fall has come to pass. Morganthia Dragas and her coven have staged a coup in the name of what they consider the preservation of witchkind’s old ways. I am Queen of the Valbaran Witches no longer.” She touched her breast, where her usual golden pin of Cthona was broken in two. “To escape their executioners, I have sworn fealty to the House of Flame and Shadow.

On this dawn my word is here, in Aether’s hand it will read clear. Seek the words from centuries before, or ask kings and angels if need more. Schemes and truths must be awoken, words of war, fates have been spoken. Fear thee not, ‘tis not too soon, thy final battle lies in many a moon. To best the dark that comes to call, knowledge will serve to defeat them all. Take thy rest to soothe thy scars, for when I’ll call watch the stars. But fasten thy rope of will and deed, for changes are swift in speed.

Manon stalked through the ranks of the assembled Blackbeak coven leaders. They were the most numerous—twenty coven leaders, over which Manon ruled with her Thirteen. Each leader touched two fingers to her brow in deference. She ignored them and took up a spot at the front of the crowd, where her grandmother gave her an acknowledging glance. An honor, for any High Witch to acknowledge an individual. Manon bowed her head, pressing two fingers to her brow. Obedience, discipline, and brutality were the most beloved words in the Blackbeak Clan.

Just reason it out. What are the pros and cons with her?” “Reason! Always with your bloody reason. Do you know what I’m going to enjoy? When you meet your demoness and she shakes to tell your unflappable demeanor. I’m going to laugh when you turn enraged, horns flaring ramrod straight every time she saunters by.” “Noted. Now, begin with the pros.” “Verra well. She’s clever, she’s brave, and, by all the gods, she’s graced in form. And I’m no’ going to apologize for being a typical male—I do want the sexiest female I’ve ever laid eyes on to be mine. I’ll admit that I want her on my arm and in my bed. And I want to be smug over having her desire me, too.” “The cons . . .” “Right back to the witchery. Would you no’ be a tad unnerved if your female could unleash the force of an atomic bomb whenever she got nettled with you?” Rydstrom nodded in commiseration, then said, “Take away the fact that she’s a witch—” “I will be taking away that fact,” Bowe interrupted. “Practicing witchcraft is voluntary. I could see to it that she never—” Out of the blue, a bee stung him. “Damn it,” he muttered, slapping it away, then continued, “If I snatched her away from her coven and immersed her with the Lykae—” Another sting. “Son of a bitch!” When the odd breeze blew once more, Bowe narrowed his eyes. “The witch.” He gazed up at the sky and all around him. “Playing with me again! I’ll turn her over my knee for this.

Little Marjorie was born an only child some forty years ago. She had lost her mother at a young age and her father never remarried. All her life she had been cursed with the need for her ‘coke-bottle’ glasses with the practical over-sized frames. And then there was the unfortunate appearance of her protruding front teeth. She had always been a slight child, but when children begin to grow into young men and women, slight becomes scrawny and her lack of fashion-sense and self-worth had sealed her social fate. Marjorie had never gone to Prom, nor any dance for that matter, and when the boys chose mates and began the next phase of the great circle of life…little Marjorie Morningstar had not been included. --From The Great Northern Coven

IF W.I.T.C.H. IS an example of feminist politics borrowing from the realm of mythos, then it should come as no surprise that feminist spirituality began to get more civic-minded in turn. Though there is evidence that some American Pagan covens existed as early as the 1930s, and Gardnerian Wicca had reached the States by the 1960s, the 1970s brought about a new style of witchcraft that was intent on “combining political and spiritual concerns as if they were two streams of a single river,” as Margot Adler put it. It took the framework of Wicca but gave it a much fuller emphasis on worshipping goddesses and honoring the female body. It also more blatantly reclaimed the witch as an icon of resistance against the patriarchy, following the sentiments of earlier pro-witch thinkers like Matilda Joslyn Gage and Margaret Murray, and the writings of radical feminists like Mary Daly and Andrea Dworkin.

You're going to the ball?" Luc asked. "Need an escort?" "I appreciate the offer, but I hear it's all the rage to go stag." He raised his eyebrows. "Besides, I think your brother might take it amiss." "I thought you two were... taking a break?" "I'd like to wait and see. He's only gone for a couple of weeks." "I'll take you," Aidan interrupted again. "I was planning on going, myself." "Dude, I'll take you," echoed Conrad from his seat at the counter. "Thanks guys." I had to smile. This for a witch who was quite literally banned from any and all high school dances. "But, really, I sort of like the idea of going solo." Just then we all looked around as the bell on the front door tinkled again, this time announcing the arrival of Inspector Carlos Romero. "Blessed goddess!" Bronwyn exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "Don't tell me you're here to ask Lily out as well? I'm beginning to feel like a dueña." "No," Carlos said, looking puzzled.

A quest of old must be taken, to seek the page now forsaken. If these words don’t find thee well, take the tunnel where Seelie dwell. By his hand time can be taken, her journey back must now awaken. But for this quest she walks alone, the Tower seeks the frozen throne. To play with rules that can’t be broken, for only one can claim the spoken. Cross the dark between the lines, roll the dice to read the signs. Seek the one who paid the price, change the name, she won’t play nice. But first a soul to seek in dire need, relieve the hole then take his lead. The road you walk is bleak and grim, when in doubt head back to him. But before thee go a ruse to make, by heir and Aether a perfect fake. Will of magic, strength in deed, to replace in kind for which you need. Once thee find the page in question, the Tower makes the last impression. So take her bag that holds it all, trust thy heart for what to haul. Upon thy arm my word shall come, to find the page crumb by crumb.

Your mother was a fool to give you away,” Hilde grumbled. Lidia arched a brow. “Is that a compliment?” “Take it as you will.” The hag flashed her rotting teeth in a nightmare of a smile. “You’re a born killer—like any true witch. That girl on the throne is as softhearted as your mother. She’ll bring down the entire Valbaran witch-dynasty.” “Alas, my father was a smart negotiator,” Lidia said, making a good show of admiring the ruby ring on her finger, the stone as red as Irithys’s flame. “But enough about me.” She gestured to the hag, then to the sprite. “Irithys, Queen of the Sprites. Hilde, Grand Hag of the Imperial Coven.” “I know who you are,” Irithys said, her voice quiet with leashed rage. She now floated in the center of the orb, her body bloodred. “You put this collar on me.” Hilde again smiled, wide enough to reveal her blackened gums. A lesser person would have cowered at that smile. “I had the honor of doing it to the little bitch who bore the crown before you, too.” Hilde didn’t mean Irithys’s mother, who had never been queen at all. No, when the last Sprite Queen had died, the line had passed to a different branch of the family, with Irithys first to inherit.

Mom, how are we originem? How are they not all gone?" I asked. "One lived," Mom said. "You several-times-great-grandmother. There was a nasty feud, but Rowena made her escape from the final, horrendous battle. She vowed to dilute the blood. Live as a normal witch, conceal our origin. We couldn't let ourselves have children with another witch or a warlock or any other being of power for that matter. In theory, we would eventually be safe enough to live our lives without the fear once the magic was diluted." "But it didn't, did it?" Ryker asked from behind me. Mom turned Eliza's head to study Ryker. She nodded and looked back down at me. "No, it didn't work. You don't have much power on your own, my heart. If you've been trying spellwork it probably went awry, didn't it?" I nodded. "How did you do it? I watched your work for hours and it never went wrong." "Blood, my heart. The only spellwork I did was what I had to mix and add and brew, and as it finished I would add blood. Even a drop will do. That is the way of our power." "The smell of originem on Dani is as strong as it was before your coven died out," Ryker said. "A mistake that we each found out too late. Once I became one with The Book of Sisters, it became clear. The power could in theory be diluted, but not the blood. Never our blood.

Matthew Hopkins: Witchfinder General (1645 – 1647) by Stewart Stafford ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live’ – Exodus, Nor allow legalised killing too cheaply, Twenty shillings of blood money per witch, A charlatan’s extortion for ‘cleansing.’ Witchcraft, the capital crime of the age, Lawyer Hopkins, parasitising laws, Self-appointed Witchfinder General, A reign of terror brought to God-fearing doors. Evildoing’s hunter was its embodiment; A Judas purse wed brutality’s handmaiden, With Stearne, stoked Essex witch hunt mania, Puritanical zeal’s sadistic cruelty. His victims were cast into dungeon pits; Bloodied and broken in outcast desperation; Disease helped some cheat the hangman; The only fortune anyone deemed fair. Extracting confessions through torture’s pain; Their skin pricked to find Satan’s mark, Victims, forced to run until collapse, Sleepless starvation hastened their bleak end. Then to the wicked ducking stool gauntlet, Lowered into muddy ditches or icy water, A survivor’s noose or drowned exoneration? None met the Witchfinder’s imperious eyes. “I, John Lowes, a minister of God, Was martyred so. Hopkins, thou pestilent knave! Bade me to run, held aloft by mocking hands, Funeral rites as I dug mine own grave.” Sensing his gaslit flames turn back on him, Hopkins went to ground with his ill-gotten gains, Slowly he faded, from infamous to obscure, Scars linger on 300 unmarked graves. Some say that Hopkins was executed as a witch, Or faced a tubercular end in his village, Where he is buried, no one knows or cares, Hexed in a barren field for karmic tillage. Rat-catcher to an imagined pestilence, Communities, not covens, he did churn, A toxic chalice for New World lips, Fanning Salem’s pernicious turn. © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.

Damn, Mari, it’s cold!” Carrow chafed her arms. “I dig the whole Narnian vibe you’ve got going on, I do. And I’ve been dutifully keeping an eye out for talking beavers wearing armor—but come on, this is getting ridiculous! If you miss the Scot so much, then just break free.” Elianna said, “Do you know he’s bought the property just next door to Andoain so he can scent you the minute you come home. And, well, because his house got blown up.” “Look, Mari, you have to come out of this and do something,” Carrow said. “Put him out of his misery—or—allow me to make him fall in love with dryer lint. You decide.” She shrugged. “I know you’d worried about Bowen not wanting to come near the coven, but we can’t get him to leave. Apparently, some of the witches admitted to him that you’re on a different plane—he can be really dogged with the questions—and now he’s determined to reach you here. Interestingly, he believes the information about the plane’s existence—but not about the fact that he can’t travel to it.” “He returns to Adoain daily, sometimes hourly, researching witchery,” Elianna said. Carrow glared, “Well, maybe if you and the others would stop sneakily setting out food for him, he wouldn’t keep coming back!” Crossing her arms over her chest, Elianna said in a mulish tone, “He wouldn’t eat otherwise.” “Whatever. But seriously, Mari, he’s having such a hard time with all this that even Regin feels sorry for what he’s been through.” Elianna added, “He’s watched your graduation video so many times, I’m sure he’s memorized your school’s alma mater.” “I don’t know what he does with the videos of your college cheerleading he brings back to his place”—Carrow waggled her eyebrows—“but I have suspicions.” Elianna coughed delicately. “Now that you’ve done what you were Awaited to do—well, part one at least—everyone’s grasping about for a new name for you,” Carrow said. “If you don’t kick this enthrallment, then I’m going to campaign for Mariketa the Glass Witch, or ‘Glitch.’ Come kick my ass if you don’t like it, otherwise . . .” Elianna squinted at Mari and sighed. “I think she wants to be called Mariketa MacRieve.

The rose is a symbol of the inner mysteries of Witchcraft. A red rose symbolizes the mysteries as they reside in Nature, within the living things. The white rose symbolizes the Otherworld and the mysteries hidden in secret places. When a single rose appears with white petals in the center of red petals, this represents the mysteries joined together within one reality. Thorns appearing with the rose represent challenges and the dedication required to fully grasp the enlightenment of the rose. One of the symbolisms associated with the rose reveals the covenant between the Witch and the Faery. In this, we find that both are stewards of the portal that opens to the inner mysteries. The Faery holds the celestial key, and the Witch bears the terrestrial key. When the two are joined together, they form an X—the sign of the crossroads. In this formation, where the keys cross we find a third point, the in-between place at the center. This is where the portal exists, and this is where it opens between the worlds. Look at the shape of the X and you can see four pointed tip markers (the V shapes). The upper half of the X points down, and the lower half points up. On the sides of the X, you can see that the left and right halves point to the center. This shows us that when the celestial and terrestrial realms join, they pull together the left ways and the right ways. These are occult terms for esoteric and exoteric modes of consciousness. In the fusion, everything briefly loses its distinction, its ability to mask the opposite reality, and in doing so, the secret third reality emerges in the center of it all. If this sounds confusing or nonsensical, then the guardian of that portal is doing its job well. The material in this book will connect you with an entity connected to the rose and its mystery. This is the previously mentioned She of the Thorn-Blooded Rose. With her guidance, you can be directed to the portal, and through it you can meet a variety of beings and entities. However, her primary task is to connect you with the Greenwood Realm and the plant spirits within it. In your journey to encounter these spirits, you will pass through the organic memory of the earth. You'll walk upon roads of mystical concepts and be accompanied by the Old Ones of

Or, in your case, as wide. Wait. Did you just say Gandalf?” “He is the founder of our order, and the first of the Five Warlocks. He comes from afar across the Western Ocean, from Easter Island, or perhaps from Japan.” “No, I think he comes from the mind of a story writer. An old-fashioned Roman Catholic from the days just before First Space Age. Unless I am confusing him with the guy who wrote about Talking Animal Land? With the Cowardly Lion who gets killed by a Wicked White Witch? I never read the text, I watched the comic.” “Oh, you err so! The Witches, we have preserved this lore since the time of the Fall of the Giants, whom we overthrew and destroyed. The tale is this: C. S. Lewis and Arthur C. Clarke were led by the Indian Maiden Sacagawea to the Pacific Ocean and back, stealing the land from the Red Man and selling them blankets impregnated with smallpox. It was called the Lewis and Clarke Expedition. When they reached the Pacific, they set out in the Dawn Treader to find the sea route to India, where the sacred river Alph runs through caverns measureless to man down to a sunless sea. They came to the Last Island, called Ramandu or Selidor, where the World Serpent guards the gateway to the Land of the Dead, and there they found Gandalf, returned alive from the underworld, and stripped of all his powers. He came again to mortal lands in North America to teach the Simon Families. The Chronicle is a symbolic retelling of their journey. It is one of our Holy Books.” “Your Holy Books were written for children by Englishmen.” “The gods wear many masks! If the Continuum chooses the lips of a White Man to be the lips through which the Continuum speaks, who are we to question? Tolkien was not Roman. He was of a race called the hobbits, Homo floresiensis, discovered on an isle in Indonesia, and he would have lived in happiness, had not the White Man killed him with DDT. So there were no Roman Catholics involved. May the Earth curse their memory forever! May they be forgotten forever!” “Hm. Earth is big. Maybe it can do both. You know about Rome? It perished in the Ecpyrosis, somewhat before your time.” “How could we not? The Pope in Rome created the Giants, whom the Witches rose up against and overthrew. Theirs was the masculine religion, aggressive, intolerant, and forbidding abortion. Ours is the feminine religion, peaceful and life-affirming and all-loving, and we offer the firstborn child to perish on our sacred fires. The First Coven was organized to destroy them like rats! When Rome was burned, we danced, and their one god was cast down and fled weeping on his pierced feet, and our many gods rose up. My ancestors hunted the Christians like stoats, and when we caught them, we burned them slowly, as they once did of us in Salem. What ill you do is returned to you tenfold!” “Hm. Are you willing to work with a Giant? I saw one in the pit, and saw the jumbo-sized coffin they pried him out from. What if he is a baptized Christian? Most of them were, since they were created by my pet pope and raised by nuns.” “All Christians must perish! Such is our code.” “Your code is miscoded.” “What of the Unforgettable Hate?” “Forget about it.

Only Tim can unravel a group of teenagers so easily.

A panoramic view of Chestnut Street—sometimes called the most architecturally perfect street in America

How about an ostentation of peacocks? A parliament of owls. A knot of frogs or a skulk of foxes?

Tabitha Trumbull, Aunt Ibby, and Pete’s Mother’s Ambrosia Fruit Salad (updated)

Aunt Ibby’s Peanut Butter Banana Smoothie (Aunt Ibby calls it “The Elvis”)

But that is not what causes me to join. When I finally take those steps to the strings, to complete the circle of the Coven slinking along them, it is because I feel drawn to belong. Belong in this moment of time. Belong with my Sisters. To no longer stand aside but be a note in the music. To be more than a receptacle holding on while life rushes through. To not be the Witch’s Harp…but the Witch.

His directive was to come to the witches and dance with them skyclad under the moonlight, then allow the demon possessing him to have intercourse with the coven. Part of the directive he understood, but since he couldn’t get out of the house, Maggie represented the closest thing to a witch that he could find. So in his simple mind, he had to make love to her before he expired at midnight.

Em, just chillax. Breathe.

She well knew how impossibly cruel life could be. She knew exactly how many people were walking around in flat despair. A state so natural to them, they showed no outward sign of their inner hopelessness or even noticed it themselves.

Guilt and remorse threatened to swamp me but he’d been trying to kill me.

A glimmer is the opposite of a trigger. A glimmer is a moment in your day that sparks a sense of joy and wellbeing.

We’re a decent country coven, we are, and we want merely to practice our dark arts in peace.

Everybody is somebody. Even the most common witch has her coven.

As soon as I walked through the door I was hit by a wall of smells that smelled so good my stomach growled like a bear. Everyone turned to look at me. Jackson shook his head. “How does a person so small make that noise?

Bears stuck in dumpsters

I let out a sardonic laugh. “Looks like the witches of Coven Pointe are

I took two steps and stopped. “Wait. Now that you’re whole again, can I transfer the coven leadership back to you?” “Oh, no,” she said. “Why do you think I pressed so hard to get you to train? I needed a replacement if I was going to retire. And who better than a white witch?

What have you forbidden yourself? ​— ​MAIA TOLL, THE ILLUSTRATED HERBIARY

Accused Witch Isobel Gowdie and her coven began each of their Sabbath meetings by recounting their various acts of magic while the Devil recorded them in his Black Book.72 At this time, the Devil would also instruct Witches on the use of different magical techniques. Moreover, Witches would work new spells and rituals with the assistance of their covenmates.

We know women were accused of performing magic and consorting with the devil, but all we can truly know is that they pissed off someone in power, whether for performing an abortion or refusing to be Christian or saying “no” to a man.

For our purposes, witchcraft means the kind of mundane pursuits that might once have resulted in accusation: enjoying sex, controlling reproductive health, hanging out with other women, not caring what men think, disagreeing, and just knowing stuff.

Ambition, assertiveness, nonconformity, high standards, the ability to say no, control over your own body: all witchcraft, by our definition. Our witchcraft also means practicing arts that may be devalued because they’re too feminine: listening, supporting your friends, choosing clothes, applying makeup, crafts and cooking, taking care of people or animals, making and keeping friends, allowing yourself space. If you speak when you’re told to be quiet, take pride when you’re told to feel shame, love what and who you love whether or not others approve, you’re practicing witchcraft.

Even if you know on some level that you can access and experience self-confidence, inner calm, and emotional acceptance, you might find doing so intimidating, embarrassing, or just plain difficult.

Our version of modern magic is a means for navigating any mental obstacles that crop up—essentially, magic is a set of tricks to outwit yourself outwitting yourself.

Of all the elements of a successful spell, your intention and desire for change are the only essential parts.

Of course, the marriage is unorthodox, considering your bride’s family and bloodline.” Ruhn stiffened. “You’ve got some shit to spew about Hypaxia, then let’s hear it.” But Cormac said to the Autumn King, “He doesn’t know?” His father, damn him, seemed bored as he said, “It didn’t seem necessary. My order is law.” Ruhn glanced between them. “What is this?” His father, features tightening with distaste—as if disappointed that Ruhn hadn’t learned it himself—said, “The late Queen Hecuba had two daughters, from different sires. Hypaxia’s sire, Hecuba’s coven learned afterward, was a powerful necromancer from the House of Flame and Shadow. Hypaxia seems to have inherited his gifts alongside her mother’s.” Ruhn blinked. Slowly. Hypaxia could raise and speak to the dead. All right. He could live with that. “Cool.” Flames danced along his father’s hair, dancing over his shoulders. “Her older sister, however, was sired by a shape-shifting male. A stag.” “So?” Cormac snorted. “Hypaxia’s half sister is better known as the Hind.” Ruhn gaped at him. How had he not known this? “She didn’t inherit any witch gifts,” Cormac continued, “and was handed over to her father’s kin. The crown naturally went to Hypaxia. But it seems that since your bride has been crowned queen, the question of her necromancy has become … an issue for the witches.

sometimes witchcraft is just a fancy word for keeping your house in order and caring for your own.

Sometimes you’re genuinely uncertain, and no amount of digging into your psyche will reveal one clear, life-changing direction to pursue.

Doubtless. But only if the first be truly won—if the Kirk attend to the work of salvation and does not expend her toil in barren fields. Her sovereign must be King Jesus. Take heed that instead it be not King Covenant.

Akela whined as I felt him take a deep breath. “Holy shit,” Hunt said, staring at me wide eyed. “That is not witch magic. What the fuck are you, Red?

To the right of the table stood the Habrick Coven. At least ten male and female witches were in attendance, all arranged perfectly around their leader, Santiago.

It’s very handy, having a reference librarian for an aunt. My own live-in, human Google.

With this much background, the reader should now be able to grasp that the "extravagant metaphors" in love poets like Vidal, Sordello, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Donne, etc., are often not a matter of flattering the lady but serious statements of a philosophy which runs directly counter to the basic assumptions of our anal-patriarchal culture. Specifically, the repeated, perfectly clear identifications of the poet's mistress with a goddess are part of the mental set, or ritual, connected with this cult. Tibetan teachers train disciples of Tantra to think of the female partner as being literally, not metaphorically, the goddess Shakti, divine partner of Shiva. The Sufis, working within the monotheistic patriarchy of Islam, could not emulate this, but made her an angel communicating between Allah and man. The witch covens made her the great mother goddess. Aleister Crowley's secret teachings, in our own century, instructed his pupils to envision her as the Egyptian star-goddess, Nuit.

We’re witches,” he said. “Every day is Halloween for us.

Whenever you form an objective in your mind, then fuel it with willpower, you’re doing magick.

Well, if it makes you feel better, Mum wishes I wasn't a witch either, and Dad is scared of me.

know.” She glanced with a quick smile at his brother and his mate and their baby.

The Nurse clan breached the covenant. They set an evil example. They were disorderly, accusatory, uncharitable. They reproached the community at home and defamed it abroad. They libeled their minister and harassed him in his own home, spreading word—to the governor, the court, and the Boston ministers—that Parris was “unpeacable.” They claimed that he had made prayer impossible for over a year when they had been in their pews long after “the breaking forth of the late horrid witchcraft.” The meeting consumed an afternoon. Two weeks later Parris informed the Nurses that the church had rejected their demand for a council. They might care to consider what Scripture had to say about making peace. He suggested a few texts. A full year went by.

What will you call it?” Into Laura’s memory came a picture she had seen long ago in one of the books at Lady Place. The book was about the persecution of the witches, and the picture was a woodcut of Matthew Hopkins the witch-finder. Wearing a large hat he stood among a coven of witches, bound cross-legged upon their stools. Their confessions came out of their mouths upon scrolls. “My imp’s name is Ilemauzar,” said one; and another imp at the bottom of the page, an alert, ill-favored cat, so lean and muscular that it looked like a skinned hare, was called Vinegar Tom. “I shall call it Vinegar,” she answered.

Ally Pyx is a writer from Tijuana, México. A place for brave people who are full of passion. To survive these lands, you must live beyond the heart. And this author is an expert at that. Ally can navigate the most fantastic universes, while depicting the most human emotions. A beautiful portrait of our inner self through magic and unexplored worlds. She has many talents that identify her as a visual artist, writer, photographer, journalist and creative director. And is always urging us to open our hearts, senses and spirits. Because above all, Ally’s mission is to connect with something deep. And to show how the world looks through her eyes.” -Paul Martín del Campo.

Moonstone Circle, an organization that served a combination of civic and social functions while providing a safe space for the coven to meet on the sly.

I want you for you, the sound of your voice, the turn of your mouth, the fall of your hair, the storm in your eyes - my good witch, there isn’t a single thing about you that I don’t find superior in every way, and it confounds me that a woman of your caliber, your intelligence, your aptitude, hasn’t figured that out already on her own. It is because of those things that I find your blood appealing. Didn’t the way we ended last night tell you this already? Your kiss was all I needed. It was never my intent to create another mystery for you.

King James is more famous today for his version of the Bible than for his belief in diabolical practices. But in 1597, more than a decade before the King James Bible was published, he wrote a treatise on demons and sorcery called Daemonologie, In Forme of a Dialogue. The king was obsessed with the occult, and with witches in particular, having flushed out a coven of at least 70 in 1590, when he was still known as King James VI of Scotland. The witches were tortured using devices like the “breast ripper”—which is exactly as horrific as it sounds—until they confessed. Eventually, some 4,000 people were burned at the stake in Scotland’s witch trials. In Daemonologie, the king wrote of his belief in cruentation as a way to mete out justice: In a secret murther, if the deade carcase be at any time thereafter handled by the murtherer, it will gush out of bloud, as if the bloud were crying out to the heaven for revenge of the murtherer, God having appoynted that secret super-naturall signe for tryall of that secret unnatural crime.*

I owe you a thousand sorrys. I am guilty of ambition, and love. I truly saw, on the crest of tomorrow, a world where I could be me, and you could be you, and we could be together, just as we are. Was I naive?

It isn’t that I don’t wish to attend. It’s that I don’t do crowds. I don’t attend coven meetings. The only time I see others is when they visit me for dating advice or matchmaking. One at a time I can handle, but an entire wedding…” She grimaced. “I’ll break out in hives just imagining it.

When the covenant was sworn, it bound all vampires, daemons, and witches—past, present, and future. This is not a path you can follow or not as you please.

If any creature breaks the covenant, it is the responsibility of the Congregation to see that the misconduct is stopped and the oath is upheld.

bound by a covenant that prohibited close relationships between different orders of creatures, as well as any meddling in human religion and politics.

But there was something extra special about the fall in Pleasant Grove. This town had always been a secret haven for witches, a cozy little town full of covens, where magic was ordinary.

To remove oneself from the community was voluntary exile from the binding covenant that kept it together. King James I himself, the author of a treatise on witches fifty years earlier, had alerted his subjects to the witch’s “natural melancholic humor,” signs of which included “desire of solitude.”[18]

Maybe Paula was even Eileen's mùirn beatha dàn

ponce

Glinda was changed. She knew it herself. She had come to Shiz a vain, silly thing, and she now found herself in a coven of vipers. Maybe it was her own fault.

He let out a low chuckle. “Fifteen minutes? We are going to need a hell of a lot longer than that when I finally get my hands on your body again. I am going to treat you so right that you won’t remember anything that happened in your life before you moaned my name. And that doesn’t take fifteen minutes, baby.

your ideal beloved should be more than just a warm body who isn’t too mean to you.

There is only one success—to be able to spend your life in your own way.

The people who think witches are dangerous were never bullied in high school.

Sabine dear, you behaved so wonderfully, so poised and mature. I was very proud of you." Huh? Was I hearing right? My mother-proud of me? "You looked lovely and I was very impressed with your young man," she continued. "Has Josh ever considered modeling? I could put him in contact with some key people if he's interested." "I don't think so. But I'll tell him." "Also be sure to tell him he's welcome to visit anytime." "Should I come, too?" "Don't make jokes, Sabine. I'm being sincere." "Well ... thanks. I'll tell josh and we'll plan a visit." "Excellent. He's exactly the sort of young man I'd hoped you'd find, and clearly a very good influence to help you overcome your past problems." "You don't have to worry about me." "I'm not-but I'm concerned about Amy." "Why?" I asked cautiously. "She's at an impressionable age, and I don't want her to experience anything unnatural. I wouldn't have allowed her to stay with you if I hadn't thought you'd outgrown all the woo-woo nonsense." Yeah, like I'm going to take Amy to a coven meeting where we'll dance naked with spirits in the moonlight. Mom hadn't changed at all-my abilities still freaked her out. She'd only called to make sure I didn't corrupt my little sister. Her sugary compliments were as fake as artificial sweetener. Arguing would just bring a quick end to Amy's visit. So I said what Mom wanted to hear-lying through my clenched teeth for Amy's sake. Then I slammed the phone down.

I walk to the car, full of everything. Being a witch without being a vampire or a halfling is amazing. I am full, just being me. When

The freak show was about to begin. Spotlights flooded the musicians powered by solar panels near a massive amplifier. The guitarist continued playing and the others joined in, playing a raucous crossover between hard rock and heavy metal. The one with long blond hair grabbed hold of the microphone and belted out a shattering cry that sounded like a call to battle. The crowd went pin drop silent to listen and then cheered in unison as the band played on. The front man sang piercing growls and low croons about the Knights in Stone, the protectors of the ancient forests, battling against the evil tree witches... Kayla's coven.

The tree witches kept to themselves, a self-sufficient coven specializing in certain skills. The witches sang, played music, and danced at the gatherings around the fire, but nothing like what she'd experienced when the gargoyles transformed. After the first night, she was hooked.It was a risk to return but one she was willing to take. She'd ventured to that different world to hear the unique groups, especially to watch the guitarist with hair as black as midnight.

Wachawi hivi ndivyo wanavyoapishwa na kuikana imani ya Kikristo: Mwanafunzi hupelekwa kilingeni katika siku maalumu kuonana na Shetani, pamoja na jopo la wachawi. Shetani hutokea katika mwili wa hewa, mwili uliochanganyikana na hewa na mvuke mzito, wa mwanamume na kuwasihi waishikilie imani yao kwake kwa mioyo yao yote, huku akiwaahidi utajiri na maisha marefu kama hawatamkana. Kisha wachawi wanampendekeza mwanafunzi kwa Shetani. Shetani humuuliza mwanafunzi kama yuko tayari kuikana imani yake, kuachana na Ukristo na kutokumwabudu Mwanamke Aliyebarikiwa Kuliko Wanawake Wote Duniani Maria Magdalena, na kutoziheshimu sakaramenti za aina zote. Mwanafunzi atakapokubaliana na masharti hayo, Shetani atanyoosha mkono wake na kumsihi mwanafunzi anyooshe wa kwake. Kwa mkono wake mwenyewe, mwanafunzi ataapa na kuweka agano na Shetani mbele ya jopo la wachawi. Baada ya hapo bila kuchelewa Shetani ataendelea na kusema kuwa hicho kiapo hakitoshi. Lakini mwanafunzi atakapouliza afanye kitu gani cha ziada, Shetani atahitaji kiapo kifuatacho kwa heshima yake na kwa heshima ya mashetani wote: Mwanafunzi ajikabidhi kwa Shetani kwa mwili na kwa roho yake yote daima dawamu, na afanye kila awezalo kuleta wanafunzi wengine wa kike na wa kiume katika ufalme wake. Kama hiyo haitoshi Shetani ataongeza kuwa lazima mwanafunzi atengeneze mafuta fulani kutokana na mifupa na viungo vya miili ya watoto, hasa watoto waliobatizwa, kwani kwa kufanya hivyo atamtimizia kila kitu atakachokitaka hapa duniani. Hiyo ni njia mojawapo ya kiapo. Njia nyingine ya kiapo ni kwa wale ambao hawajiamini au wana hofu ya kuonana na Shetani uso kwa uso kilingeni, akiwa na mwili wa kimazingaombwe na sauti ya kutisha kwani Shetani hana mapafu wala hana ulimi. Badala ya kilingeni mwanafunzi hupelekwa kanisani na jopo la wachawi ambapo mbele ya jopo atalazimishwa kuikana imani yake, kumkana Yesu Kristo, kuukana ubatizo na kulikana kanisa zima kwa ujumla wake. Mwanafunzi baada ya hapo atalazimishwa kutoa heshima kuu kwa Mfalme Mdogo, kwani hivyo ndivyo wanavyomwita Shetani ili kumwondolea mwanafunzi hofu, kisha atalazimishwa kunywa supu ya mtoto mchanga waliyemuua akazikwa kisha wakamfukua na kupika viungo vya mwili wake; na dakika hiyo mwanafunzi atapata maarifa, maarifa ya kichawi, kama walimu wake na watarudi nyumbani.

I nod up at the sky above us swirling with the ghosts of the witches. “Lord thundering fuck, what is that?” “Your prior victims, I would imagine. I’ve freed the witches.” He looks at the gate under me

Remy had moved to England to spend his time avoiding having his head removed by the rest of his countrymen, while drinking himself into a steady oblivion. Unfortunately, he’d met a lovely young lady whom he proceeded to cheat on. She caught him and punished him. Witches have funny ideas when it comes to punishment. They tend to be creative. Her coven decided that if Remy was going to behave like an animal, they’d turn him into one. The idea was, according to Remy, they were going to turn him into a red fox, hand him over to a huntsman so he could be torn apart by their hounds at some point in the near future. The spell didn’t exactly work. The twelve members of the coven were using magic well beyond their capabilities and it ended up killing all of them and feeding their souls into Remy. Remy kept his intellect, his human nature and personality, while adding the life force of twelve young women to his newly changed body. Remy was now part man, part red fox. He was about three and a half feet tall, and covered in the fur of a red fox, from his fox muzzle to the tip of his bushy tail. He walked upright on legs that were more human in shape than animal, and had fingers, although each of them was tipped with a sharp claw. And he could talk, which allowed him to express his pissed-off-with-the-world nature on a regular basis.

The incubi had sensed great power in her, and believed she could destroy them, but if she could speak their language, she’d tell them they had the wrong girl. Mari was what was known as an underachiever, which even an underachiever knew was sociology code for “overfailer.” She was famous in the Lore for the simple fact that one day she might be worth being famous. All hype—no substance. That was Mari. Everyone in the covens expected her to do something epic and always kept an eye on her. They wanted her to be worth “awaiting.” Even other factions in the Lore monitored her with anticipation because, while most witches possessed the strength of one, two, or very rarely, three of the five castes of witches, Mari was the only witch ever to possess the strengths of all of them. In theory, Mari was a witch warrior, healer, conjurer, seeress, and an enchantress. In reality, Mari had lost her college scholarship, couldn’t manage even the simplest spells, and kept blowing things up. She couldn’t even balance her checkbook.

Alone with her, MacRieve paced, glancing at her repeatedly and muttering in Gaelic. She understood a bit of the language—her mother was a druid, after all—and knew enough curse words and the term for witch to pick up the general thrust of his thoughts. Over MacRieve’s muttering, she could hear the others’ conversation outside. Rydstrom began by explaining what would happen if Mari didn’t call her coven before the full moon and how MacRieve had been handed the task of escorting her back. The others decided that they would be the ones to see her home for myriad reasons. First, they planned to kill MacRieve directly and so didn’t see him available for the role of escort. Secondly, they wanted to protect “the little mortal”—the archers, because the three saw her as one among the fey, and Cade, because, as he said, “I bloody feel like it.” In that case, Rydstrom wanted them to spare the Lykae to allow him to be an extra sword. They would need him, they reasoned, to protect Mari on the journey to civilization because it was more perilous now than when she’d come on her own. The human armies were on the move and posed a real threat to her. But the others despised MacRieve, couldn’t trust him, and all agreed that “Bowen the Bitter doesn’t exactly play well with others.” Bowen the Bitter? How appropriate. They also agreed that they didn’t know a more brutal, ruthless, and underhanded immortal than Bowen MacRieve. MacRieve scowled in their direction, then turned back to her, as if he hoped she hadn’t heard that. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it. What did he want to say to her? What could he say? “Oh, my bad for setting you up for torture and terror, and I know you will never be the same again, but . . .

Some people think that ‘coven’ is a word for a group of witches, and it’s true that’s what the dictionary says. But the real word for a group of witches is ‘an argument’.

The charmlings were created by original witches thousands of years ago. They were a coven, and they saw the injustice women suffered at the hands of men, even in the witch realm. They sought to balance the power by creating three beings no man can defeat.

In general, most witches seek to improve themselves and humankind as a whole, and to live in harmony with the universe. This means working for the greater good---often through the use of magick---and harming none. It also means taking responsibility for your thoughts, words, and deeds because everything you do affects everything else.

The witch has a green face and a fleet of flying monkeys. She wears scarves and leather and lace. She lives in Africa; on the island of Aeaea; in a tower; in a chicken-leg hut; in Peoria, Illinois. She lurks in the forests of fairy tales, in the gilded frames of paintings, in the plotlines of sitcoms and YA novels, and between the bars of ghostly blues songs. She is solitary. She comes in threes. She’s a member of a coven. Sometimes she’s a he. She is stunning, she is hideous, she is insidious, she is ubiquitous. She is our downfall. She is our deliverance.

the world faiths have one thing in common: all of them are vehicles for the transmission of virtue across the centuries. Yes, humans and institutions have failed to live up to the standards of their faiths again and again, but it does not mean the faiths are themselves completely worthless.

Nothing warms the heart like a rifle and a full load of ammo,

The gods help those who help themselves.” There was also another traditional Roman saying: the gods are on the side of the stronger.

Go to him, watch him fight with himself over morality and love. See if he would deny a coven leader. Because that's the difference between him and I, Raven. I would break every fucking rule, I would burn the world down for you. I know you're worth it without needing the time to figure it out.

Most of the witches of the Coven drew their power from nature. The Greens, like my mother, from the earth; the Whites from crystals; the Yellows from fire. But the Blacks had been different.

If you can see the moon, you can gaze at her and blow her a kiss.

Some witches swore by the power of tea leaves for divination, and I was determined not to let this teacup control my love life.

The occasional tunnel shot off to the side, providing new and unexplored passageways, but she opted to get as close to the level he was on before she started branching out. How far had the Incas dug into the mountain? She couldn’t fathom the man hours it had taken

My real birthday is August fourteenth, and I was about to turn six.

Have you ever been inside of a church?” “I once took an Anusara yoga class in the house of a well-known witch coven.” “Okay.” I breathed in slowly. “That’s not the same thing at all.

Most people assume that life is like a game of chess, each decision cold, calculating and ultimately leading toward one large goal - our purpose in life, whatever that may be. I've never agreed with that idea. To me, like is like Jenga; we stack decisions on top of one another without a guide or any real idea of what we're doing. One wrong move causes it to all come crashing down, leaving you to deal with the ruins your life has become.

Anna sees visions of past, present, and future. She is the coven’s head witch and is a descendant of the three women who originally banished the demon Bastraal three centuries ago. Her ancestral home is on an island off the coast of Savannah, Georgia and now serves as coven central

Willyn is a nurse, a mother, and a Christian. Raised in Alabama, she uses her healing powers to help those in need. She came to Savannah with an additional package, her young son, Tadd

Are you sure you don’t want to come with us, Morgan? There’s going to be booze and boys enough for even this little slut to drown in.” Rachel made a face at Heidi. Rachel was usually reserved, but tonight she looked sexy in a flattering little black dress and heels. A three inch tall pointy black hat was clipped into her short brown hair at a jaunty angle, symbolizing that she was actually supposed to be a witch. In reality she would have been better suited in an angel costume.

you’ll be expecting me to forgive you like a good, well-mannered woman, when in actuality you’ll finally get to know what fire tastes like. - & no, it won’t be like whiskey. make no apologies; accept no apologies. - coven rule #3.

We have a COVENANT with WOTAN and it is the Sacred Grudge-Chore of the SubGenius to SMITE The Conspirators and Their slavish Dupes: the Mediocretins, the stupid Pink Boys, the “Hoi Polloi,” Them, the Normals, the Somnabulacs, the Great Unwashed-In-The-Baptism-Of-The-Pee-Of-“Bob,” the malignant ones who breathe down our necks and abuse their territorial urges without ever dreaming that they’re doing it, Assouls, Cage Men, Infidels, Sames, Anthropophobiacs, Conformers, Timeservers, Mole People, Proleterrorists, Philistines, Pharisees, Witch-burners, the ones who have tried to maim our self-respect down through the centuries by making SLACK and antipredictability TABOO, the Thankers and Wankers, Heilers and Smilers, Sloths and Moths, Cons and Johns, Drivellers and Snivellers, Weepers and Sleepers; CreditHeads, Cliants, Kens and Barbies, Errorists, Yes-Buts, Ordinaryans and Lick Spittles, Corpulators, Signifying Monkeys, UnderAlls, the Slackless Ones…in short, the Remnants of Man: those very False Prophets who have been holding us back and forcing Time Addiction on Themselves…and…others…

Of course, the vile monsters now thriving inside of him were partly responsible. Each of the creatures wanted nothing more than to wreak its revenge on the society that had banished it to the netherworld. To Hell and all its darkness

No shadow is going to keep me from you.

I’m thinking that I don’t even truly know you, and yet I miss you already . . . and you haven’t even left yet.

Here Isobel describes her next meeting with the Devil, calling him a “meikle blak roch man,” meaning a “great black rough man.” Throughout the confessions he is referred to as the Devil and variants of meikle blak man. In confession three, Isobel mentions that among themselves the coven members called him “blak jon.” The color black is used not only as a descriptor but as an appellation, just as with Fear Dorcha, Fear Dubh, and Donn Dubh.

On peut pardonner à toute femme ses flirts d’adolescence irréfléchis. Quand on a dix-huit ans, on peut considérer un petit ami de vingt-quatre ans comme un signe de prestige, et non comme un sale type qui fréquente des adolescentes parce qu’elles sont plus malléables que les femmes de son âge.

La plupart des adultes de son entourage étaient encore en train de résoudre tant bien que mal leurs propres énigmes personnelles. Elle trouvait un peu excessif d’exiger de Theo que tout soit en ordre dans sa vie à quinze ans simplement parce qu’elle était trans. De l’avis de Niamh, l’utilisation de pronoms différents ne faisait pas la moindre p*tain de différence pour une seule âme dans ce monde à l’exception de Theo. Et pour elle, ça semblait signifier énormément.

I sighed. He was just so nonchalant about it. “Let me guess, you’ve had worse?” Archie pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes like he was thinking about it. “I think that might depend on if I did in fact swallow the demon.

hadn’t seen this side of her before—this strong, empowered side . . . the driven and fierce side. Perhaps the other half of her bloodline wasn’t in vain. Then again, perhaps Mother’s blood wasn’t too diluted either. With a smirk, I released my magical halo, looked into her eyes— then willed us into the shadows.