Library Volume Novels & Stories

"Cooking is lots of fun." "I was always a book boy, myself." He gives a dramatic bow, bouncing back up and sauntering into the room. He studies the shelves and many seating options. One book seems to grab his attention in the historical section. I've read a decent deal of that section for my studies but the one he grabs I'd only ever passed over. Deep blue but faded with lettering that may have once been metallic on the spine. "'History of Lycans, Vampires, and Magi, Volume One.' Seems a little small to cover the importance of all three species." "It is only volume one," I offer.

“Dougal’s Herbs and Wildlife?” “Check.” “Volume 2?” “Check check.” “Misegevit’s Natural Remedies?” I scanned the shelf. “Um…. yes, it’s here. Just out of place, hang on.” “It should be before the Anatomy section.” “Yup, it’s here. Ok next?” “Nyllan’s Theoretical Text, Volume 1?” “Yes.” “Volume 2?” “Yes.” “Volume 3?” “Yes–” “Volume 4?” “Yes– wait.” My brain on auto-pilot had already missed it. I silently brushed the breadcrumbs from my hands and dusted off the bindings of the dark green books in front of me. “Volume three is missing,” I said. “Volume four is here.”

I explained while keeping the antique tome in his table. "It's a book about mates but this is the first volume of it's collection, and it doesn't have provided any potential information so far." Alpha Brian leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning my face and to the book as he listened intently. "Hmm, I see. This book is part of a collection, you say?" I nodded, my fingers pointing at the back page, showing where it shows its collection. "Yes, Alpha. There are five more volumes to it, but the first one seemed more like an introduction. I couldn't find anything useful in it."

Her fingers curled once against the surface before she pulled them back. The catacombs opened at the bottom. Shelf after shelf after shelf, disappearing into the dark beyond the reach of the light, the volumes packed tight. Some bound in leather so old it had gone almost black. Some wrapped in cloth. Some laid flat under glass. The ceiling was low and arched, the stone damp at the edges. The silence was absolute — not the silence of emptiness but of weight, of accumulated presence, of a place that had been holding its breath for a very long time.