Lessons In Chemistry Book Cover 소설 & 이야기

But when she pulled it free, her breath stopped. The book was unlike anything she had ever seen. Its cover was bound in leather so dark it seemed almost black, though in the right light it shimmered faintly with hues of deep crimson. Strange symbols—curved, jagged, and foreign—were etched into its surface, pressed deep into the hide like scars. No title marked its spine. A lock, thin and ancient-looking, sealed its pages.

She asked back as she took something from her bag. “Here. Another reading.” She said as she gave L a book on Chemistry. L blinked. “You expect me to read this?” He asked as if telling her that there is no way he will read that book ever. Patrice shrugged. “I don’t know. I am not expecting you to eat it though.” She spat making L start to get pissed now. “Read that. That will be our lesson later.” She said as she read the same Chemistry book she gave to him.

The place was beautiful; rows and rows of shelves reaching up toward golden pendant lights, reading corners with plush chairs, walls lined with student art, the faint sound of a piano instrumental playing overhead. Milo’s voice dropped to a teasing whisper. “Gal Rivera… are you smiling at books?” “Yes,” I said shamelessly. “Judge me.” “Never.” I swatted his arm and wandered off to the Pharmacy section: thick textbooks on organic chemistry, human anatomy, pharmacognosy, and medicinal chemistry. I selected a few essentials: Human Physiology: A Modern Approach, Principles of Pharmacology, and a slim research guide. Milo returned with a stack just as tall, Biochemistry books with intimidating ti

But I knew some hill folk—especially a hoodoo man named Clive Hartley—who could read Latin, so I put it aside for later. I looked back into the box and of course, that’s when I found it. The book that’s caused all this trouble. The Way of Ah-Tzenul. Course, that’s not what’s printed on the cover. There’s a picture of some sorta tribal man squatting down with both hands raised to the sky etched into the cover and traced in silver. Otherwise, it’s a plain-looking book, all bound in pebbly black leather.

she murmured, tilting her head. Drawn by fascination, she found the rolling ladder attached to the bookshelf and climbed carefully. Her fingers trailed over several thick volumes—Blood Oaths and Moonlight, Fangs of Fire, The Treaty of Shadows. The illustrations on the covers were beautiful yet chilling, with fanged creatures, glowing eyes, and moons stained crimson. With great care, she pulled down four books and descended, arms full. She found the oversized reading chair near the window and curled into it, flipping open the first book.

Why would anyone keep such things? As if in answer, a nearby shelf caught her attention. Titles etched in faded gold lined the spines of several books: The Alchemy of Venom. The Art of Extraction. Scorpion Toxins and Their Many Uses. She hesitated before settling on one—Venom as Cure: The Healing Properties of Toxins. Frowning, she pulled it free, running her fingertips over the worn cover. A book on healing? Here? In this place? The red glow behind her flickered, the shadows pooling just beyond her sightline.

I liked it. When he finally stepped inside and closed the door, the look on his face—irritation mixed with that reluctant spark—made my blood run hotter. We started with Chemistry like we were supposed to. He flipped open the textbook, explaining equilibrium constants and Le Chatelier’s principle in that focused, patient voice of his. I listened. Really listened. But mostly I watched his mouth move, the way his fingers tapped the page when he was trying to stay professional, how his bandaged knees shifted under the desk.