Graves Hume Public Library の小説・ストーリー

"It’s in the land. The Crescent Estate sits on six thousand acres of 'protected' forest. But three years ago, I re-zoned the western perimeter for 'Sustainable Human Development' under a shell company. I told him it was for tax breaks. He believed me because he thinks humans are too small to dream of anything bigger than a checkbook." I hit the 'Execute' key. "I just sold the development rights to a Northern conglomerate. Your conglomerate, Silas. Tomorrow morning, a fleet of human bulldozers is scheduled to begin clearing the ancient 'Sacred Grove' to make way for a data centre." Silas went still. Even a Northern Alpha knew what the Sacred Grove meant to the Crescent wolves. It was their he

They found things even my betas didn't and I am forever grateful for your dedication and unbelievable eagle eyes! To my dear friend and author, Paige Weaver - I look forward to many more lunches, brainstorming over Mexican food as we plot out demise and destruction in future books. Your friendship means the world to me and I thank you for your insight on always knowing which of my characters should become irrevocably evil. ;) To all the ladies in my Graveyard Watchman Reader Group - your support, comments and constant pimping have been beyond incredible and I thank and appreciate each of you so very much!

I turned around and headed deeper into the house, my stomach giving a sharp, hungry growl. ***** The Graves estate was a labyrinth of cold marble, dark wood, and floor-to-ceiling glass. It was beautiful, but it felt like a museum—untouched and silent. I was halfway down the grand staircase, heading toward the scent of fresh coffee and toasted bread, when I saw her.

“Thanks for meeting us, Greg,” I shake the hand of Crystal Lake’s lead guard. He’s an intimidating guy with light blue eyes and a buzz cut. His long sleeve shirt is an attempt to look professional, but he can’t hide the tattoos on his oversized hands and thick neck. “Anytime, Marshall. The human library is an odd choice, but I get it. Neutral ground, like you were saying.” He shrugs and looks around. Behind him, a mother is ushering her child, who is pointing at Greg, into the library. “I’m glad to hear you’re okay.”

It would be really hard to work with this guy; Mara knew it, but she would not show it. She took notice of the ones following them even as they started for the library. It would be tough to make an ample amount of communication. They made straight for the library still without further hesitations. It was not long before they got there. Inside were a whole lot of scrolls and records—stories as well as artifacts. Mara did not want to believe that this was just a library. Statues at each corner and corners that seemed to hold secret rooms. It was really large, and she continued feeling amazed as she wondered how much Grimshaw loved reading that he would have such a big establishment for reading

He had always treated me with unconditional kindness, yet I had never returned it equally. Standing before my grave, I finally felt a sense of peace and acceptance. But then, Ryan pushed over my tombstone and began digging into my grave with his transformed claws. What was he doing? Someone needed to stop him! I was furious and anxious. He had never let me rest when I was alive, and even in death, he wouldn't leave me in peace. He should have been the one to give me a home, a safe place to belong. But it was Leo who had given me a tombstone, and now Ryan wanted to destroy even that.

The evening began to stretch and soon enough it was 7:00pm. The house , usually silent and cavernous, felt warmer when Mrs. Graves finally arrived. She looked as elegant as ever, her presence a whirlwind of maternal affection and expensive perfume. “My favorite two people!” She exclaimed, pulling Zion and I into a tight, shared hug. She squeezed us so hard I could feel the thrum of Zion’s heart against my shoulder. “Congratulations on the Harvard admission, darlings. I couldn’t be prouder of the two of you.”

The Harlow County Archive was on the second floor of the public library, which was itself a modest building on the east end of Main Street that had been expanded twice and maintained well and smelled, on the inside, like the specific combination of old paper and institutional carpet that Eli associated with every library he had ever been in.

Half-buried in weeds. I turned, walked back to the car, and popped the trunk. A sledgehammer sat inside. Gift from a renovation company. Ribbon still tied on. Bright. Almost a joke. I grabbed it, walked back, and stopped in front of the headstone. Taking a breath, I tightened my grip around the cold metal. Then I swung. All in. Smashed it down. Crash. The sound ripped through the empty grounds. Bang. Again. And again. Until it was nothing but broken rubble.

Kathrena asked, and we fell into step, all three of us, as we turned off the main street and onto one of the smaller, cobbled lanes that rounded towards the Hawthorn Central Library. “Let’s speak to Herb first. I’ll tell you when we’re settled inside.” The library was quiet as we filed in, and dust rose thick in the air, motes spinning through the slanted, grey light. There was an aura of ancient eyes watching us, today: something mystical, something magical, and it was curious, too.