Book Rescued Novels & Stories

When my eyes finally flutter open, I find an old copy of Our Story in the bag. I set the T-shirt aside and reach for the book. It’s worn and well-loved. Like it had been read cover to cover many times. I open to the first page. Stamped neatly is a line that says Sutten Mountain Book Exchange If Lost Please Return To… My fingers run over the neatly printed name on the line. Linda Jennings.

The healer glanced up, her brow furrowed. “An old book,” Lucas said, holding it out. It looked ancient, bound in cracked leather, its pages yellowed and brittle. “It mentioned a resurrection potion. An… ancient formula that’s meant to revive a dead person.” Resurrection? But Elena wasn’t dead. The thought of it made my stomach churn. My breath hitched. “Is it…can it work?”

Fuck I miss them too, I hope they don't hate me. "Well I'm back to work now. I'm actually in Paris, first time that I've been back since we were here together, and my god the whole fucking town reminds me of you. I even went to that little bookstore that I took you to, trying to find a little piece of you to keep with me. I found a book that reminded me of you. It's called 'Finding the joy in the smallest things'. That's what you do, you're grateful for the little things in life, you made me grateful for the small things. I found joy in your laugh, your smile, your presence, even finding this stupid little book. But now that I've started reading it I've realised it's one of those self help b

When they were out of the main drinking area, where the nightclubs and bars were located, Lucas allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. Ema would be pleased. After weeks of failure, they were positive that they would receive exactly what they had been looking for. Astor followed the smell to a little, independent bookshop nestled in between a thrift store and a vegan café. Over the door was a sign that proclaimed ‘Bookmark Haven’ in finely chipped gold paint. Indeed, the bookstore was closed, and all the windows in it were blind, but Lucas was convinced the individuals were still alive in the building.

With a mix of fear and determination, I carefully inspected every nook and cranny, searching for clues. To my utter horror, I discovered a heinous act that sent shivers down my spine: the toilet tissue had been turned the wrong way around on the roll! I needed to immediately scour the bathroom and I reached into the cupboard for my rubber gloves and disinfectant. Oh, the audacity! In my bedroom, the meticulously organized books on my bookshelf had been rearranged into an entirely different order. It was a literary crime scene! And let's not forget the cushions on the sofa in the sitting room—all neatly laid flat, as if they had been pressed by some unseen but meticulous visitor.

the woman nodded before fixing her glasses, “Yes! That young handsome man asked me a moment ago before I got here, he was looking for the same book as well. He said that it was for his cousin.” Valencia wanted to scream all of her frustration simmering in her chest after wasting her time walking around in the maze-like store looking for the Non-fiction section only to know that a particular someone took it. “Ah, that’s too bad.” She replied dryly, standing motionless like a lifeless mannequin “Don’t worry dear, the store will have another batch of those books again.” Valencia’s dim and lifeless pair were now glimmering with hope, “You just have to wait for 3 months for the re-stock.” She bec

It was the only one she ever gave to me. It was a small, cream-coloured hardback book called Tropical Birds by Clive Roots . It was an ex-library book, the official stamp of Hackney Central Library just inside the front cover and a SOLD stamp underneath it in faded red. A clearly unloved book from the very few date stamps on the borrowing record, it had been sold for just twenty pence, whether to Claire or to someone else who then gifted it to her, I never knew. All I knew is that I loved it for two reasons.

Astrid asked, while secretly she slipped her hand into her backpack and quietly preparing the boomerang. “I want you to return the ancient book that you just took. It is not yours, and I will take it back," said Sir Edmund Brighton with a menacing smile. "I can't leave it to you, Sir Brighton. My lord needs this thing to find clues. I can return it to you as long as you allow us to borrow it a few days," said Astrid trying to persuade. "Your words are lovely, Miss Lewis. Apparently, you are very good at persuading. Unfortunately, I won't let you go away with the book. Give me the book back! Now!" said Sir Brighton in an oppressive tone.

Autumn grabbed the book, flipping it upside down and shaking it, hoping another paper might fall out. When nothing did, she opened it and realized it was a chequebook—the original one. Her suspicion was confirmed when she saw the most recent transaction: the one addressed to Leads Orphanage.

Afterward we walked to a bookstore a few doors down, no plan beyond wandering, and I found myself in the restoration section out of habit while he wandered off somewhere unrelated, probably annoying an employee with questions about first editions he had no intention of buying. A woman a few shelves over glanced at me twice before finally speaking. "You're Tessa Marlowe. You did the reliquary restoration last year, the one that was in the journal." I confirmed it, surprised, and she launched into an enthusiastic string of questions about technique and materials that I answered happily, the kind of conversation I could have had for an hour without noticing the time. Roman drifted back partway