Showing results for "WICKED" in Gothic

Charlie Wolfe jumps at the chance to help his uncle renovate a tumbledown cottage overlooking Nomansland Common. Number One Constable’s Cottages was once the home of the man charged with ridding the common of the highwaymen who terrorised travellers. But it’s the story of The Wicked Lady, the notorious female highway robber, that captures Charlie’s imagination, and some long winters’ nights he’s sure he can the hoofbeats of her horse echoing across time.

Carmen Ronaldo is my enemy and my obsession. I'll conquer her and make her mine. For years, Carmen has hated me. I seduced her to learn her family's secrets, and then I used those secrets to fracture the Ronaldo cartel, taking half of their territory for myself. I made myself a king, but I've never been fully satisfied in my victory. I've never experienced regret. The emotions that rule weaker men don't affect me. Until her. I've waited far too long to claim Carmen for myself.

Elizabeth Canham accepts a position at Burndale Academy, an isolated girl's school where she meets mysterious widower Griffin Fairfax, a man dogged by dark rumors who both frightens and fascinates her. Soon, a woman is found dead in the nearby woods - the victim of a brutal murder...a murder that bears terrifying similarity to others. Then Beth discovers all the victims were intimately connected to Griffin. Beth’s heart tells her Griffin cannot be the charming, seductive killer stalking the night, stealing women’s hearts...and lives.

Marie Corelli, the Victorian novelist beloved of Gladstone, Churchill and Victoria herself, topped the bestseller charts through her whole career. This tale of romance, mystery, and foolish tourism was published in 1897, the same year in which Bram Stoker wrote Dracula. In her inimitable style, she weaves together dark romance, the paranormal, savage social commentary, ridiculous but entirely believable characters, and more in an energetic ride through the 'Society Set' as they take the season in Cairo.

Dark winds howl over the cornfields, but even three years after the pyres have burnt out, the cries of innocents still haunt the air. Tonight, the magic conjured by my blood will breathe life into a scarecrow carved of pumpkin and bone, binding a damned soul to return and avenge those burned by pious men, drunk on their own corruption.

You’ve heard of these groups–the secretive ones that only the crème de la crème are invited into, the ones outsiders speculate about for centuries–I’m the second in my family invited to attend, but to them, I’m fresh meat. New blood. New money, too. They think they’ll elbow past me, that I’m here for their amusement, for them to walk all over, they’ll find out soon enough that I’m not. I may look like one of them, with my designer bags and clothes straight from the Parisian runways, but I’m not.

When someone tells you who you are, do you believe them? The first question the cops asked me was if anything out of the ordinary happened to me lately. When I woke up this morning in the room of a mental institution I couldn’t remember a thing – not my name nor how I got there. Not how I left or how I ended up in that interrogation room.