Resultado narrado por "Diana Croft" em Todas as categorias

Overnight, just before Yule, everything changes in White Haven. A huge snowstorm seals the town, and no one can leave or enter. The witches feel that nothing seems quite right – but they don’t know why. For those that are trapped outside the town, the risks are all too real. There are inexplicable deaths, an unnatural amount of snow, fantastical ice sculptures, and a magical wall around White Haven.

November, 1967, Iceland. Fourteen-year-old Marsi has a secret penpal – a boy who lives on the other side of the country – but she has been writing to him in her older sister's name. Now she is excited to meet him for the first time. But when the date arrives, Marsi is prevented from going, and during the night her sister Stína goes missing – her bloodstained anorak later found at the place where Marsibil and her penpal had agreed to meet. November, 1977. Stína's disappearance remains unsolved.

Samhain is approaching. The past draws closer. A reckoning is coming. Avery and her coven are looking forward to celebrating Samhain, and the townsfolk are preparing to honour their ancestors with the Walk of the Spirits. But then Ben disappears from Old Haven Church, leaving no clue as to where he has gone. Panic-stricken, the witches and their friends widen their search, but when they can’t find him, they have to accept that he’s somewhere else—somewhere their spells can’t reach. When part of the town vanishes, they realise that their lives and the town’s future are in danger.

When librarian Ginny Cole discovers a body in Little Shaw’s beloved haberdashery shop, she finds herself embroiled in a murder investigation. The victim? Arrogant shop owner and spring fete judge, Timothy Harlow, found with a pair of sewing scissors plunged into his back. While the police are quick to arrest Milos, a charming young upholsterer, Ginny thinks the case has been sewn up too neatly. Together with her friends – no-nonsense JM, craft-obsessed Hen, and irrepressible Tuppence – Ginny delves into the village’s secrets.

Ginny Cole doesn’t want to be a widow. She’d rather not be forcibly adopted by an opinionated black cat. And she’d give anything not to have just found the murdered body of her rude and dislikeable new boss… So she’s as surprised as anyone to realise that she doesn’t hate being on the wrong side of the law, searching a graveyard for evidence in the company of three fellow widows, and doing a whole host of un-Ginny-like things in order to solve a fiendish mystery.

The Nephilim have a new enemy. Belial, the Fallen Angel who brings destruction and madness, has a foothold in the present, and he refuses to leave without a fight. However, the Nephilim are determined to root him and his agents out and destroy his influence for good. As his malevolent presence casts a sinister shadow, Gabe and the team embark on a perilous quest. Their journey uncovers more of his powerful jewels, hidden temples, and ancient lineages, and threatens to unleash supernatural chaos.

White Haven is full of visitors making the most of the summer holidays, but when two die in inexplicable circumstances, and unearthly screams resound across the moors, fear descends on the town. The excitement surrounding the upcoming Lughnasadh festival turns to dread as more deaths follow. The witches and Newton scramble to discover the cause, but unfortunately, they have more than just the recent deaths to deal with.

Have you been to Castle Chansany? Perhaps you’ve heard of it, or somewhere like it. It’s that airy castle in the clouds, straight out of a dream. A place where wizards spin marvels from their finger-tips, and the Queen holds banquets deep into the night. A place of mystery and curiosity, finery and fancy, where even the furniture might talk to you (if you’re polite enough to it). A place of magic and enchantment, where anything could happen... Come meet the flamboyant Wizard Garstang and his draconic apprentice, Jessamine.

Somebody thought it would be a great idea to send us to the Troll Court. Because somebody imagined I might be the perfect person to help with a certain wild and crazy plan of Their Majesties' concoction. They want to restore the lost city of Farringale. I can only say that I heartily approve. There is the tiny problem of how, of course; but who better to dig up the truth than the Society’s most colourful agents? Off questing we go, armed with a long list of questions, two winning smiles (well, three, if you count the Baron’s — and who wouldn’t?) and a certain Dappledok pup.

Four years ago, somebody pinched perhaps the most valuable book in existence. Merlin’s personal grimoire. And the price they’re offering for its return is the kind we can’t refuse, so it’s Ves and Jay on the case. Except that there aren’t any clues. Seriously, not even a little one. Nothing’s going to solve this case but a Vesper-patented Crazy Plan, and it had better be a good one, for complications are sprouting like daisies. At least it’s a straightforward mission. There’s no earthly way this one’s going to turn my entire life upside down... right?

It’s all very well deciding to build the means to save British magick. Top marks for ambitious goals! ...But there are one or two obstacles in the way. For one, said means does not yet exist, and it’ll take a genius to sort that one out. Luckily, we’ve got one of those. We call him Orlando. For another, nothing at all can be built without materials, and no common-or-garden commodities will do. It’s got to be silver. The impossibly rare, virtually extinct kind. This one’s on me, Val and Jay.

I haven't heard from my mother in six years—which is why I was surprised to receive a summons from her. The peremptory kind. With nothing but a set of map coordinates to guide me, what exactly was I to expect? The short answer? Trouble, for Mother Dearest is in rather a lot of it. And like daughter, like mother, for there’s a shiny artefact in the offing, and only a few gigantic lindworms in the way. Who isn’t up for a minor little challenge like that?

Cast away from the Society (sort of) and out on our own, we've got a big problem on our hands - and an exciting prospect, too. They call it time travel on TV. Is this the big, fat secret the Hidden Ministry's been keeping? What's the real truth behind that wandering tower? Answers must be found — in the face of severe opposition from the Ministry, from Ancestria Magicka, and from every Fae Court in existence. Simple. If only everything wouldn’t keep going wrong.

As an agent of the Society for Magickal Heritage, I, Cordelia Vesper, have an important job: rescue endangered creatures, artefacts, books and spells wherever they are to be found. It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to keep British magick alive. So we rescued a valuable book from a long-lost library, only it proved to be unusually... chatty. And it's got a foul mouth, too. What manner of weird magick is this? Somebody else thinks it's pretty interesting, too. Ancestria Magicka, they call themselves. Brand new. Big trouble.

Fresh from an involuntary crash course in the Stranger Arts, I've a new mystery on my plate: the inexplicable reappearance of a particularly fantastic magickal species. Which is great, don't get me wrong. Rescuing magickal beasts is what we do around here. But the Dappledok Pup hasn't been seen since the seventeen hundreds; so how did we find one, alive and kicking, over two hundred years later? And this beast has a talent for sniffing out treasure, no less. Happenstance? Maybe not.

Dispatched overseas — far, far overseas — we're in hot water. Again. Following in the footsteps of a long-lost king, we're on the road to the mysterious Vales of Wonder. The upside? It's a hot-bed of magickal marvels, the likes of which we've literally never seen before. The downside? Danger. Because who ever said adventure would be easy? Fortunately, we have help. One reviled but aggravatingly handy beast specialist: check. One world-famous, awe-inspiring, purple-clad troll scholar: check. One perambulatory, half-mad house with a crush on Jay: check.

Stranded far from home, and unable to return, I am in bigger trouble than ever. I know I say that a lot, but this time it's really true. Not that there aren’t advantages to my particular predicament. If one must put up with a dangerous degree of magickal potency, one is duty-bound to… put it to use, no? Certainly nothing insane, irresponsible and potentially life-threatening. As if. But we'll need every possible advantage in the Hyndorin Mountains. For there, hidden behind layers of secrets, could be the answers we are looking for.

Rumour’s got a lot to say for itself, and the message is clear: the regulator’s ready. You know. The magickal regulator. The bright and shiny thing with which we, Team Improbable, propose to restore magick to a fading Britain. Somebody’s got to test it, and that somebody is us. Which means wading into the depths of a long-dead realm that nobody’s entered in centuries. And I may have had some practice at that, but this time it’s different. This time, somebody’s still home. And they really aren’t happy about trespassers. Looks like disaster’s on the agenda. Again.

Things have been quiet at the Society lately. Too quiet. It couldn’t possibly last. When a griffin appeared in the Yorkshire skies, it could only mean bad news. There’s only one place in Britain it could have come from and that’s the lost kingdom of Farringale. It’s a dire warning, and there’s worse to come. Turns out we aren’t the only people with an interest in the age-old city of the trolls. Farringale lies under attack—and these people will stop at nothing to take control of its treasures. It’s time for a showdown—the deathly serious kind.

Imagine modern Britain without magick. No fae enclaves. No flying chairs. No magick wands. Giddy gods, no unicorns. Who wants to live in that world? Me neither. But with magick on the decline, that's the world we're ending up with. Meet the Society for Magickal Heritage. Our boss is a disembodied voice. Our headquarters is a sentient house. You could say we've a vested interest in keeping magick alive. Can a ragtag bunch of magicians, necromancers and fae prevail against inevitable ruin and decline? Hell yes. Try and stop us.