Booktok Atlas Novels & Stories

I regret it a little. I picked up my book and moved closer to Atlas, resting my head on his shoulder. "Then I will be very hopeful today." The blowing wind brought Atlas' body fragrance and swirled around. I liked the scent that was thinly drifting up to my nostrils. I don't know what Atlas' face looks like right now, but I feel his touch on my head warmly. I enjoyed my time in that position for quite a while until I finished my book. Then Atlas takes turns leaning against me as the clouds begin to darken.

What?” I answer, working my way through the stacks of papers to rejoin him at the work area. “Did you discover something?” Atlas gestures, still incapable to pry his eyes absent from the paper, and that alarms me more than anything. Struggling to fight off a sudden wave of unease, I peer over his bear at the record. It’s small more than an office reminder, scribbled in a untidy hand—or paw—by somebody as well apathetic to record it accurately. It looks like Map book has pulled it from a stack of comparative messages, and by all appearances, there’s nothing uncommon almost it. On it is written:

And he still affects you, even after what he did. There was a lump in her throat by the time she stood in front of the bookcase in her room. She found the atlas easily. Bound in leather with gold embossing on the spine, it stood out amid her collection of ratty paperbacks and well-read travel books. The atlas was designed to look like an antique, but inside, it was quite modern. While there were a handful of prints of gorgeous, hand-drawn maps like the one in her kitchen, most of the images were contemporary and up-to-date. She'd spent hours poring through the pages.

As the sails drew nearer and nearer towards the shore of Satilant Island, Matthew raced past the trees as June followed. He ran back to the tree with the carved symbols. "This could be leading us to Atlantis. Look! There's another tree with the symbol," Matthew said as he followed. There was a trail of trees with the symbols carved on them, leading the two all the way to the other side of the island. They stopped by a tree, which was the last one with the symbol; beyond that was just a huge stone wall.

Atlas remarked, turning his head as one of the attendants came into the cabin. The middle aged she-wolf announced that we’d be landing in just a few minutes. She turned and left the way she came, the navy curtain fluttering behind her. I grimaced at Atlas’s smirk, shoving the poetry book into my duffel bag. “I do not.” I snapped, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.

But with him being left in charge, I suppose I have no choice. “I can summon him, if you’d like.” Nellie looks a bit reluctant to do so, and I imagine the only other time she’s spoken to Lex telepathically is when I was being killed. The two of them probably had to discuss their plans silently so that Opal and Jacob wouldn’t know. “Please do,” I tell her, and then I go to Kane’s bookshelf and begin looking for a volume that might help me. I find it quickly enough. An atlas. I pull it off of the shelf and carry it over to the desk, opening it up to a page that shows a recent map of the border between Moonraker pack lands and Crimson Peak.

I don’t have to look very far before I see something that I don’t have to be able to read the native language to understand. It’s a map. Flipping through the pages, I see that there are actually several maps in this book. Some of them are of the actual island itself, but this one is a map of the Sea of Moritzka. It’s not that large of a body of water, unlike some of the other oceans around us. I see my current location and trace a path to the port closest to Maatua. Port Westerly. I wonder if that’s the port my family used to come here or if they took a roundabout route.

In the car, Atlas advised me, "When we get back to the Pleca Park, keep it low-key. Ask your mom what they brought back. I don't think they meant a laptop when they said notebook. It's most likely a handwritten book." I nodded, perhaps due to not having rested well in over a day. My heart was racing, and I had a splitting headache. Seeing my condition, Atlas pulled me into his arms, whispering gently, "Relax. I'm here. Don't worry." The car returned to Pleca Park. Before getting out, I took a deep breath. I exited the car with Atlas. Before entering the house, he squeezed my hand. "Relax. I'll be waiting for you in the study."

He had learned, over seven years, to recognize Don's beginnings without requiring them to be announced. The atlas was the same one they had used for Portugal and Greece—a large, detailed atlas of Europe, the pages soft from use, the binding cracked in several places. Don had bought it in the second year, before the Portugal trip, and it had traveled with them to both countries. Now it was open to Scandinavia. Don had placed a paperweight on the page—a small stone from the beach in Portugal, the one they had brought back as a souvenir, the one that lived on Don's desk and held down maps and papers that needed holding.

She whipped her head around to dart me one last angry glare before disappearing around the corner. ​I shut the door securely behind me when I got back to the suite. I practically ran to the safe, my fingers moving quickly over the dial. I remembered the combination perfectly, and the lock gave a satisfying click before swinging open. ​Reaching inside, I pulled out the three books buried at the back. One was an ancient manuscript, another was a volume on healing potions, and the third was an atlas detailing secret passages to various townships. I flipped through the pages frantically, searching for Waterman Bay, and as if by magic, I found it right in the center of the book.