Fenton's Open Book Novels & Stories

She pulled it out, sneezed once as dust motes tickled her nostrils, and lowered the book on the coffee table. The title was written in cursive gold letters, 'The Art Of The Body'. Clearly out of curiosity, she opened to the middle of the book, and her eyes nearly popped out in pure mortification. The book contained explicit diagrams of men and women in different, erotic, sexual poses.

If my handjob sucked, then I had to make it better, learn the best way to treat a cock, and whip him up with something he’ll never forget. “Noah”—his moans played in my head as I searched the shelf for something helpful. [The Faith of the Dragon Lair] [How to kill a dragon] [The Art of Fireflies] [An Omega’s Journal] My finger paused at the last book, “An Omega’s Journal.” It sounded intriguing and also felt like it was written from experience. I pulled the book out of the shelf, dusting it off and removing the particles in search of the author’s name. No name, no copyright claims… Who would leave something this private in a library?

The book had been put into the world with the intention of being useful, and it was travelling further than she could see from where she was standing. That was why you did the work carefully. So that when it went further than you expected, it carried what you intended rather than what you had been careless about. She put the translation on the shelf beside the box. Fenn came to her office in the spring with news that was both good and complicated, presenting it with the directness that had become his characteristic register.

Nevan was made smarter, agile, authoritative and wise. The two of them began to launch the contents of the mind. A way out with the appearance of the cunning enemy. *** The room is not too cramped. A hand that flipped through a unique book that was slightly dusty. The dark color of the book looks faded by the title. His hands were not smooth, nor did they look dull. But, the eyes are starting to look confusing. “What a strange history book,” Felix muttered glancing around the body of the book.

He frowned and pulled out one of the books that didn’t look nearly as old as the ones I had looked at before and handed it to me. “Here, this should answer all your questions about how we came to be the way we are. I have some things to take care of. I will see you later.” I couldn’t help but feel guilty at his sudden departure and hoped that I hadn’t said something wrong. I found my blanket and sat down, slowly opening the book to read whatever it was that Fynn wanted me to know this time. “February, 2nd 1803” It was yet another diary, but this one was further along than the previous ones I had read.

My mouth literally fell open. I walked in, looking like a fish out of water. It was a small library with high shelves on three walls filled with books. On the fourth wall was a small alcove with a window seat and plush cushions. My feet moved of their own accord as I sat tentatively on them. It sank pleasantly. It was almost too good for reading, I thought. There was another love seat beside the alcove though and in the middle of the room - I gasped - a baby grand!

Jamie asked rhetorically as he lifted a book from a compartment of a shelf that picked his interest. "It's not totally for your uncle but he was the one in charge." "You all stopped coming here?" Jared asked as he wiped off dust from the cover of a familiar book. The book was named "Merlinoite" and at the sight of the name, he immediately recalled that a similar book was in his room and in fact had a photograph of print of Henry and his family in it. "Yes, but I doubt if Alex did," Alfred replied but Jared wasn't listening. His attention and focus had drifted to the book.

I pushed open the door and stepped inside, my heart pounding in my chest. The room was in disarray—papers strewn across the floor, furniture overturned, and the scent of desperation clinging to the air. But it was the sight of the open trunk in the corner that stopped me in my tracks. Fiona moved past me, kneeling beside the trunk. Her fingers trembled as she lifted a small, black book from within. She opened it, her eyes scanning the pages, and I saw the moment the truth hit her. Her face went pale, her lips parting in shock.

At the marriage alliance banquet, Zachary Pendleton, the only son of General Alfred Pendleton, publicly declared that he had no interest in women. “I cannot enter such an alliance. Any young lady marrying me would be ruined by our union.” The hall lapsed into silence as all eyes turned to him at once. Still, Zachary stood there with an air of indifference, as though he saw nothing improper in his words. I studied him with curiosity and found my interest unexpectedly piqued.

The sun had long since set, and the library was now lit only by the warm glow of brass lamps. Piles of rejected books cluttered the tables like tombstones of dead theories. Fennigan reached for the very last book in the stack. It was a crumbling, nondescript tome bound in gray hide that looked like it had survived a fire. The title on the spine had worn away centuries ago. He opened it carefully, the binding cracking in protest. He flipped past pages of ancient genealogy and territory maps until he stopped near the end. His finger traced a faded illustration of a wolf surrounded by symbols of fire, water, earth, and air.