Book Pickings Novels & Stories

They all then started to make rude about that. But when they were talking about that, Neu then started thinking about something and he asks them about their idea "Hey since there were a lot of books here. Do you think that maybe we should just take the first word on each book title? Want to try it?" Maybe it was not impossible that it was the answer. So Hikari asks Neu which rack that they need to search first. It's true that there were a lot of racks there. It will be hard for them to search at every rack there. Neu then says to them that maybe they should just start it from the first rack

he advises. I thank him with a nod and watch as he bounces back behind the counter to finish his own book. I pick through a couple that have interesting covers, but after reading the jackets I put them down. It takes me forever to finally find one that sounds like it may work. The Business of Business sounds boring enough to put me to sleep. I don’t want to spend any more time digging through stacks, so I grab a random paperback that’s sitting on the edge of the table before heading to the counter. “Excellent choice!” the bookkeeper chirps as he rings me up. “This one here is a riveting read,” he says, holding up the paperback I hadn’t even glanced at.

He shifts back; putting a seat between us and truly looking horrified. Bibah simply shakes her head at our childish shenanigans and takes a sip of her iced latte, metal straw clinking in the Hydro Flask. “The Awoo Book Club’s pick for this week is H.P Lovecraft.” She pats the voluminous book atop the pile and I notice it’s the library copy of H.P Lovecraft’s Omnibus 3. “I’m so excited to roast his ass.”

Like we’d been doing this forever. First stop: the little independent bookstore tucked behind the old theater district. Floor-to-ceiling shelves, creaky wooden ladders, the smell of old paper and coffee. Chloe lit up the second we walked in. She wandered the aisles like she was in church—fingers trailing spines, pulling books out, reading first pages with this quiet, reverent focus. I followed her, content just to watch. She found a slim volume of poetry by a woman she loved and held it up like a treasure. It was a rare piece to come by.

The family King James, The Book of Mormon, Long Lost Friend, also got The Traveler’s Gate and The Witch Book of Throop. Anyhow I love books, so when I saw that box in the recycling dumpster at the landfill I couldn’t resist. I dumped my load to the side, leaned in, snagged the box’s flap, and dragged it out. Didn’t take time to look through em right then, just pretended I wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary. I needn’t have worried cause there wasn’t no one around so early anyway. I got into my truck and headed to The Skylark for my usual Saturday morning pancakes.

The librarian, a wise old man with spectacles perched on his nose, had greeted them warmly and invited them to explore the dusty shelves filled with ancient tomes. As Scarlett's fingers grazed the spines of the books, a particular leather-bound volume caught her eye. Its title, "The Prophecy of the Shifting Stars," called to her with an inexplicable pull. She plucked it from the shelf and dusted off its cover, revealing faded golden letters etched into the leather. Curiosity burned within Scarlett. She opened the book and began to read aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. The words flowed like poetry from her lips, resonating deeply within her soul.

Brandon’s POV “This is amazing,” Natalie whispered, her voice echoing just a little bit in the empty space. We wandered slowly between the aisles, our footsteps muted by the thick carpet as our fingers brushed along the spines of books. Natalie leaned in close to read titles, whispering observations as if the space itself demanded reverence. “Who names a book The Economic Implications of Seventeenth-Century Brickmaking?” she murmured. I snorted quietly. “Someone very committed to a niche audience.”

We need to learn anything we can that will help. ‘Okay, well, we better get reading then.’ I take a book from one end of the bookshelf while Pipsqueak starts at the other end. I unlock the steel clasp and carefully flick through. Each page has a symbol and a description of what each represents and does. Nothing helpful. I put it back and took the next book. I can’t read it though it appears to be in Latin. ‘Found anything yet?’ I ask. ‘No, this one seems to be about the history of witches from Salem. I’ll keep looking.’

Surely, it wouldn’t be out in the open, but he also wouldn’t tuck it away somewhere that would take years to find. Flora began pulling books from the shelves one by one, opening them carefully and flipping through the pages, hoping to find something—anything—that might give her a clue. Most of the books were old and untouched, dusty even. It was tedious work, and her patience began to wear thin as book after book yielded nothing.

Peeking around the room, I ensure no one is in sight. Climbing onto the chair next to the bookshelf, I run my fingers along the spines of the books. Jessica told me that it would be the one with no writing. Finally, I find it. An old tattered book that has clearly been looked through a thousand times. Standing on my tiptoes, I carefully pull the book off the shelf and slide down onto the chair.