Books Ink Novels & Stories

Gold—my mother’s signature color. I rushed over, ripping the envelope open. There were two letters inside. The first one, in my mother’s familiar handwriting, sent a shiver down my spine. "My dearest Bai, I cannot believe the trouble you’ve landed yourself in. Perhaps our nosy neighbor was right, but that is a topic for another time. I will do what I can from here to ensure no one discovers your involvement. But, if the king has not yet sent out news of the incident, that’s a good sign for now.

When my shift ended, I found myself walking toward the corner table where Kael sat, his laptop closed now, a book in his hands. I stopped short when I saw the cover. ‘Knot We Cannot Untie.’ That was the book he was holding. I can't believe that Kael would be reading one of Linda Lively’s books. “You read… this?” I said, the surprise evidently in my voice. Kael looked up, one brow raised. “Why? You think I only read racing magazines and bank statements?” I gave a small laugh. “Chill bro. It’s just… not what I was expecting ”

"How did you do this? What exactly is that reaction?" I simply smirked, tilting my head back to meet his intense, golden gaze. "It is a basic botanical reduction reaction, Alpha Blackwood. The sap of this specific leaf remains entirely neutral against cured, historic ink that has sat and dried for days. However, it violently reacts with active, unevaporated moisture. The fact that this text just turned a vivid purple proves a definitive, irrefutable chemical truth... this specific ink was brewed, handled, and written within the last twenty-four hours."

Gazing back towards the book, it felt as if something was pushing me towards it. I got up and walked towards the book. Placing it on my lap I noticed that the cover was filled with complicated detailing. The material felt rough, it felt old but well-taken care of. The colors were a mixture of ash grey, gold, and specks of white, the title was written in crimson red. Taking a bite from my food, I opened the first page of the book. ---------- [Chapter Quote: "Her soul belongs to words and books. Every time she reads, she is home ."]

I pay him for his costs and shipping, and I bind him and bend him over my knee whenever he comes into town. I like the ones on spools, with nylon ribbons. Black. No lift-off tape or colored ink. And they have to be truly old. Not just replicas. A bit of ink gets on my fingers as I find the one I want. The boy is back. I shake loose the rest of my curls with ink-smudged fingers. His eyes follow the movement. I take the typewriter ribbon in one hand and the book he’s chosen in the other. “C’mon back,” I say.

or was he not. • ...and we are many...many too identical... Red ink. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • RED INK EP 32: Where two roads shall meet and pieces begin to form. • • When Hither walked her to the elevator, he stopped and told her, "When you go downstairs, do not speak to anyone that you were at the top floor. No one. Not even to people outside of the hospital work force. Are we in accord?"

She had never seen the book in her life. "I don't—" But Maeven stopped her with an upraised hand. I see," she said. "Ink in this book is a ritual for temple rituals. It's only something a high-ranking witch would be allowed to use. The same ink that disappeared three nights before." The onlookers started murmuring. Mark and Lark exchanged glances across the yard. Maeven slowly turned the book over, presenting the eyes gathered there to rest upon the heavy ceremonial ink and jagged markings within.

The ink was different now; it was a deep, natural sepia that looked like it had been mixed from walnuts and river-water, free from the synthetic polymers of the High Treasury. Xander stepped over the rusted zinc tread of the dead press unit, his shadow-woven coat trailing through the white chalk-paste. He reached down, his broad, calloused fingers pinching the edge of the paper. As he lifted it, the vellum felt heavy and thick between his knuckles, carrying the physical texture of a real object rather than a digital asset.

She replied, "The red ink pen in the office." I started laughing harder. "You mean the indelible red ink pen in the office that will not come off." She looked horrified and then started laughing hysterically. "Just please fuck me good for my attempt to be creative." I did. Brittney's personality always kept me off balance. Most people have a business face and a personal face. Brittney's was more than that. One day I bought three yellow roses from a peddler at a stoplight. When Brittney came home the roses were in a small crystal vase on the kitchen table.

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