Journal 3 Cover Novels & Stories

My mind flits back to all of the magazine covers with Arthur and Selina—the perfect poses, the pretty smiles, the flawless makeup. Arthur nods. “Alpha Monthly. It’s the most respected werewolf publication in the country. We’ll get some good pictures, answer some questions. It’ll be easy, and it’ll boost your image. Controlling the narrative is extremely important this early on. We have to get ahead of the rumor mill.”

“I wonder what this is.” When I was on the floor again, I carefully wiped away the thick layer of dust covering the leather. There was a faint embossment of a tree on the cover, but nothing else. I knit my eyebrows together and flipped open the pages, coughing as a plume of dust puffed up around me. “What the…” I narrowed my eyes, wondering for a moment if my mind was playing tricks on me. I didn’t recognize this language; no, upon further inspection, the ‘words’ that were written in the journal were hardly even a language at all.

The assistant just stands there, staring at me with big eyes and fumbling with his tie. "What is it?" I ask, averting my eyes to him. "Did you perhaps read the article yet? It's awful isn’t it?" he says, rolling his thumbs shyly. "Article?" He points to the plastic wrapped magazine next to my desktop. It is the magazine I and Elijah had to interview for. It is their newest edition and would you look at that. On the cover Elijah and I are staring back at me, looking like happily-ever-after personified. "Oh? I didn’t even know that it was out already", I say, reaching for the magazine and taking off the plastic wrap, "you say the article is awful? How is that?"

"Sir, the first issue of 'Talkie Jolly' magazine containing your written interview has arrived. Would you like to check it out?" Joana held up a new magazine still wrapped in plastic. "Of course. Have you seen it?" Joana shook her head. "No, you can see it first." She tore off the plastic wrapper before placing the scented magazine on Oriaga's work surface. The man smiles as he sees his face back on the magazine cover. Several magazines have had him on the cover after working together. Feeling proud, he opened the page to the place where his written interview was located.

Like it had been used not long ago. I slipped inside and closed the door behind me. The room smelled like old paper and dust. I turned on the small lamp on the reading table, low light, enough to see by. Third shelf from the bottom. I ran my fingers along the spines until I felt it, a thin journal. No title on the spine, tucked between two larger books like it had been placed there carefully rather than shelved. I pulled it out. The cover was dark green leather, worn soft at the corners. Someone had held this a lot. I carried it to the reading table and sat down and opened it.

The person at the table beside me was reading something, a magazine, her face down as she turned the pages slowly, the cover not visible from where I was sitting. I took a sip of my coffee. The person turned another page. Then she set the magazine flat on the table and slid it toward me without looking up. The cover faced me now. It was from this morning, a glossy weekly that covered pack society and territory news, the kind that appeared on every waiting room table in the pack district. The cover photograph was from last night. Aurelian and me on the dance floor, his hand at my waist, both of us mid-turn, the gold lights above us catching everything perfectly, Diane visible in the backgroun

The romance was being squeezed out. "The journal" Elara shouted, her bare knees hurt as she fell flat onto the asphalt to pick up the black leather book that was lying between them. The moment her fingers touched the leather, the blank white pages inside the journal did not just move they started bleeding. A lot of midnight-blue fluid came out of the journal mixed with the cold rain water and formed a swirling indigo circle around her ankles. The gold letters on the cover of the journal; THE MASTER LEDGER: VOLUME TWO ​flared with a white-hot, blinding radiation that scorched the skin of her palm, the unique, un-templated human syntax of her blood-infused veins screaming in protest against th

He hid his embarrassment and asked in a lower voice, "When are you planning to shoot?" "Next Wednesday," Jessica said decisively. Mr. Howard's laughter was even louder. "Don't kid me, Ms. Bush. Have you scheduled it? I have to check the schedule of our magazine first…" There was a rustle on the phone. After a while, Mr. Howard said, "I'm so sorry, Ms. Bush. You know our magazine has been very hot, and its cover is even more sought-after. All the major agencies and celebrities are fighting for a chance to cooperate with us… Our cover is already arranged in the next three months! I can't get you to jump the queue in such a short time even for your sake."

he encouraged, taking a seat across from me at the kitchen island. I carefully untied the twine and peeled back the paper. Inside was a stack of worn leather journals, their pages yellowed with age. On the cover of the topmost journal was a familiar symbol—a snowflake-like design that made my heart skip a beat. "These are..." My voice trailed off as I gently opened the first journal. Inside, written in a flowing script I somehow recognized despite never having seen it before, were detailed formulations for healing herbs combinations. At the top of the first page was a heading: "Winter's Remedy – Primary Formulations."

I say, frowning, “who else is noticing?” “The press,” Juniper says, whipping a skinny tabloid magazine out of her bag and holding it out for all of us to see. I gasp, grabbing the paper out of her hands, my mouth falling open with shock and a little bit of delight when I see that the cover is pasted with pictures of Jackson – Jackson walking with our group out of the train station, Jackson standing with mom on one of the palace balconies, Jackson helping Jesse and Rafe haul in yule logs from the truck outside, even one of me and Jackson standing close, chatting, laughing with each other. God, when had the press gotten that? And more. “Oh my god!” I whisper, reverent, staring at them. But I b