Books Set In London Novels & Stories

My first day in London was cold enough to be forgotten. The weather was horrible, and my legs were shaking like a pair of noodles. Things in London are so different from my hometown. Everyone is from top to bottom and no one stays still, while there are so many lights around the city, that sometimes I am blinded by them. Before this change in my life, I lived in a town called Bunbury, a town where nothing at all ever happens. So I was very lucky to be sent to cold London.

In 1930, London became an international trading center. The crowds enveloped the city this spring, with flowers and fallen leaves on the roadside made everything look so beautiful. At this very moment, it was the first day Larissa visited London that was far more crowded than Newquay. She tightened her grip on Lake's hand, and they stood in front of the station facing the crowd in the daytime. "This is London," whispered Lake right in Larissa's ear. "This city's gonna be my new home?" asked Larissa with her face shining.

London nodded his head and started reading his book. Everyone focused on what they were doing for the next hour. The smell of freshly fried chicken steak pervaded the kitchen and into the living room. Caleb and London locked their eyes when they both turned to the kitchen at the same time. Caleb was done moving in the boxes while London was almost finished with his book. “Now I’m famished,” Caleb mumbled with a warm smile as he rubbed his stomach. “Aren’t you a mafia boss? You should have at least something to eat at your place, don’t you?” London faked a smile and focused his eyes back on the page he was reading.

Madam Pince looked at it with a shocked expression. "If I'm not wrong, it was founded in the year 1841 and has a collection of over one million books. Most of them are in english. If you want to visit it one day, it is located near the Charing Cross Station, not far from the Leaky Cauldron non-magical entrance. Just ask any non-magical that he would know about it, or take the Knight Bus." Madam Pince slowly nodded her head, still fixated on the magical illusion of the great library. Susan waved her hand again and the illusion slowly faded, waking up Madam Pince.

CHAPTER NINE POV: Damian Cross It’s strange how silence can feel heavier than noise. The house is still, except for the faint hum of the city beyond the glass walls. London is alive out there: restless, pulsing, untamed, but in here, the air feels stagnant, like it’s holding its breath with me. Lydia’s laughter used to fill this space; tonight, it’s gone.

That would be emotional suicide. I moved away from the romance section quickly, like it might contaminate me somehow. Crime thriller. I'd read a crime thriller. Something with murder and investigations and absolutely zero sexual tension. That was safer. Much safer. I browsed the mystery section and pulled out a book I'd heard good things about. A detective novel set in London. Dark, gritty, complex. Perfect. I carried it to one of the comfortable chairs by the window and settled in. The chair was incredibly comfortable—soft leather that seemed to mold around me. There was a small side table with a reading lamp. A footstool I could put my feet up on.

The London library of twenty years ago did not smell of ozone or digital decay; it smelled of damp wool, old paper, and the sweet, lingering scent of the lavender soap Clara used before she ever knew what a "Thorne" was. Hope stood paralyzed behind the mahogany shelf of the History & Law section, her fingers digging into the spines of books that hadn't been touched in decades. She was a ghost in a rose-quartz dress, a futuristic anomaly in a world of analog heartbeats. Across the room, the younger version of her father—a Julian Thorne who was all sharp edges and predatory ambition—stood at the mahogany desk.

We’d planned our next path more wisely and carefully, tracking the path from one town to another so to ensure we had enough time to walk during the day and find somewhere to eat and rest for the nights. We’d ended up staying at The old lantern in for just over a week, more because of the weather forecast, it had said the snow would completely stop and the sun would be out meaning spring was definitely on its way. The day before we leave I remember Flos book in my bag and take the opportunity to have a look through it. It was a book inside a book, it looked as though she’d already filled one so had bought another to carry on her story. The fist part of the book brought me to tears, with the w

Chapter 32 Black Symphony of the Bank The financial district of London, known to locals as the City, was a dense labyrinth of towering glass skyscrapers and narrow, medieval alleyways that had survived the Great Fire. Tonight, the modern office buildings stood dark and empty, their reflective windows showing the flickering orange glow of the distant Tower fires. The streets below were completely deserted, the human population having fled toward the western suburbs, leaving the stone lanes to the silence and the growing weight of the mist.

But the unrelenting contagion spreads. While the dead seek only blood, another army takes advantage of the chaos. Boiling out of their warrens of poverty and rookeries of crime, the rabble of Whitechapel, Seven Dials, Shoreditch, Spitalfields, St. Giles, Limehouse and Clerkenwell swarm through London’s affluent neighborhoods and shopping districts looting and burning. The Queen’s Guard and Household Cavalry defend Buckingham Palace and St. James. At the Tower, the Yeoman Warders stand ready. The 9th Regiment of Foot flank the Bank of England and Royal Exchange. Ten thousand hastily recruited special constables bolster the police force. By moonshine from a distance, the city appears a hellsca