Louise Carmen Notebook Novels & Stories

“Then you must have proof.” “Of course, I got proof with me,” Percy replied. He gestured, and an attendant stepped forward, carrying a sealed wooden case. The click as it opened sounded unnaturally loud in the hall. Inside lay a worn notebook. It contained my researches on every thing related mutated wolves. Its leather cover was cracked at the corners, darkened by years of use. On the inside cover, faint but unmistakable, was my handwriting. Percy lifted it with care. “This,” he said, “is Rue’s original research notebook.”

Then she unlocked her door and went inside and put the flower in a glass of water on the kitchen counter and sat down at the table and looked at it for a long time without taking her coat off. The notebook was still on the counter too. The cream paged one he had left without a note the first time. She had been using it since the day it arrived. Her Markov notes were in it. Scene breakdowns. Elena's notes transcribed in her own shorthand. Her thoughts about the documentary and what Sione had said on the rooftop about becoming. Three lines she had written at two in the morning that she was not sure were for the notebook or for herself or for no one at all.

Adrian laughed, and the sound of it filled the study the way it always filled rooms, and Cassian noted it the way he always noted it, which was with his whole attention, and somewhere in one of the twelve notebooks that truth was also written down. Author's note: THE NOTEBOOKS. I've been waiting to write this chapter since Chapter 3. Cassian has been keeping these for TWENTY THREE YEARS. He wrote down the laugh. He wrote down the grey hair. He wrote down all of it. I'm going to need a moment.

**Caleb's POV** * I showed the notebook I found in High Altar to everyone, but I did not open it for anyone to see the contents. This notebook was definitely left by that special girl. The handwriting was not faded, so it was written just in the last few days. If anyone could tell me what was written in this notebook, that person would be my MATE. **Elizabeth's POV** * While I was making mushroom soup, I realized that I had lost my notebook.

Morland stepped outside to get the car, Hazel sidled up to me, her eyes full of contempt. "Enjoy your new life, Carmen," she whispered. "This time, you're the one who will suffer." I didn't even bother to reply. Her gloating was nothing more than a clown's performance. She thought she had secured a fresh start. But the joke was on her. She hadn't escaped a fire; she had just jumped headfirst into a hell far more brutal than she could ever imagine. … After I arrived at the Morland estate, Mrs. Morland gave me a private suite and hired a small army of tutors for piano, dance, and etiquette.

I could never tell whether it was from pain or ecstasy. Half an hour later, Jasmine emerged, her face flushed a sickly red, yet her eyes frighteningly bright. Her weariness seemed to have been drained from her and replaced with something energetic. During a thorough cleaning, I accidentally triggered a hidden latch and discovered a secret compartment deep within the counter. I found a notebook with a rough cover. My heart skipped a beat as my fingertips touched it. It was the thrill of uncovering the forbidden, but also the fear of the unknown truth. It was not an account ledger. Strange honeycomb symbols were drawn on it, recording dates and men's names. Next to it, words like ‘Honey extrac

Stores. Times I usually went. What I usually ordered. Information about Jasper too. His schedule. His preferences. His family members. Names. Addresses. Phone numbers. "She knows everything about us," I said. Every detail of our lives. Catalogued. Studied. Weaponized. I picked up a notebook from the desk. Worn. Well-used. Pages dog-eared. Opened it carefully. A journal. Vivienne's handwriting. Distinctive. Neat. The first entry was dated two years ago.

The old wood splintered with a loud CRACK, ripping away from the rusty nails holding it down. Beneath the floorboard, nestled in a tight, dark crawlspace between the floor joists, sat a small object. It was a simple, cheap notebook bound in faded blue cloth. It was covered in a thin layer of sawdust, but it was perfectly preserved from the damp air. Duncan’s heart began to hammer violently against his ribs. He reached his large, trembling hand into the darkness and lifted the notebook out into the dim light of the bedroom. He blew the dust off the cover. On the very first page, written in neat, elegant cursive handwriting that he recognized instantly, was a single name: Amora.

Lillian in the back, which had been her decision, quiet and present, the forward-facing anticipation she had described doing its steady work. The city moved past the windows in the Sunday morning way, lighter traffic, a different quality of movement, the specific tempo of a day that was not a weekday. I held the notebook in my lap. Not open. Just present. The notebook with the names in it, Mirabel and Elena and Sophia Reyes, and the photograph of Victor and Sophia at the restaurant table, and the photograph of Elena laughing outside the Albuquerque building. All the pieces of the story that had been assembling itself since I had woken up in this life and smelled lavender.

" And the one after that, and ones after that. Margaret sat back. Looked at the notebook. She'd come to the penthouse expecting nothing. She'd found a contract. She'd also found a notebook full of small careful observations written by a man who catalogued everything and had apparently been cataloguing her, Liora. She closed the notebook. Looked at the laptop on the desk. The screen was dark. She touched the trackpad and it woke up to an open document. No title. Just text. She read it.