Franklin's Books Novels & Stories

Lysaa snapped, yanking away the moment she was seated. Franklin smirked but ignored her, kicking the car into reverse and flooring it. As the vehicle sped down the road, I turned to him, my grip still firm around the twins. “What the hell did you do?” Franklin grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “I took a page out of Lysaa’s book.” I frowned. “Meaning?” “I started a fire.” My brows shot up. “I climbed over the wall, snuck into the palace grounds, and set a bush on fire,” Franklin explained. “Figured it’d buy you enough time to get out.”

He says pointing to Mrs Boston who brought her hand to the air muttering a hi and the rest of the Bostons ignored her. They had hated her the wrong day Mr Boston had introduced her to them and had requested not to see her attend the meeting till now and what they had feared was, if she attended any day it would be about the problem she had caused and true to their words it was because of her problem and rumors she was seen in the meeting hall. Franklin made a right speech he had studied from his dad as a true gang leader and he passed it to everyone present in the hall, Mrs Boston was to stand up and narrate her ordeals with late John Sidney and she had muttered, the dead ones still leave un

It was Franklin’s cologne, stale coffee, and something cold, like resentment. Every muscle in my body locked. The smile died on my lips. Ice flooded my veins. I jerked forward, spinning around on the window seat, the book tumbling from my hands to the floor with a dull thud. Franklin stood there, backlit by the dim hall light, his face carved in shadow. But I could see his eyes. They were sharp, analyzing, capturing every flicker of my shock. “Franklin.” His name came out as a breath, stripped of all warmth.

"No, no, no, we all have our specialties. Actually, I was hoping you could teach me a few things. Would you be willing to come over to my place sometime?" We exchanged a look, both of us sharing an unspoken understanding. "Percy, have you ever heard of a close, private circle that focuses on nurturing women's tractability?" Franklin led me to his house, and we sat in his bedroom as he asked me this question. I couldn't help but smile. He was a literature professor, all right. The way he talked about things made them sound almost glamorous, as if he was presenting the fetish in a much grander way.

“Quiet doesn’t mean unbothered. Just good at hiding it.” We fell into silence. The only sound was distant thunder rumbling above ground. I wondered how long we’d be down here. Minutes stretched. My mind wandered to how close he was. How alone we were. “Tell me something,” I said finally. “Why’d you become a librarian? You don’t seem like the type who likes being stuck behind a desk all day.” Mr. Kane exhaled softly. “Books don’t talk back. They don’t expect small talk. I like the order. And the stories. What about you? History major with a focus on obscure trade? That’s not common.”

In the end I resorted to contacting Franklin, that was six days ago and he has only just got back to me. Franklin wasn’t a friend so much as a work acquaintance of my parents. He is a vampire who specialised in hunting down other supernaturals who had lost control of their powers. He used to work with an organisation of other supernaturals until he worked out he could earn a lot more by going freelance. That was how my parents met him, they had worked with him on a few of their assignments and they would throw each other work from time to time. He seemed nice enough but he was always very serious. Then again, this way of life had a way of doing that to you.