Marple: The Body In The Library Novels & Stories

owned by the Aethel-Group. And we were standing in the middle of the floor, the "Draft" of our world lying like a crumpled piece of paper at our feet. --- ### The Library of Lost Souls Rowan, Selene, and the survivors stood on the polished marble floor of the Library. They looked tiny amidst the towering shelves. The air here was still and smelled of ancient leather and cold electricity. In the distance, we heard the sound of alarms. Red lights began to pulse at the end of the aisles.

Stood up. "Where are you going?" Martha asked. "To find a library," I said. "That's allowed, right? Or do I need written permission?" Martha just smiled. "Enjoy your reading, Mrs. Romano." The library wasn't hard to find. I just walked down the second floor hallway until I found a door that was slightly different from the others. Darker wood. Fancy handle. I opened it. Holy shit. It was huge. Two stories of floor to ceiling bookshelves. A spiral staircase leading to the upper level. Big windows overlooking the ocean. Leather chairs that looked older than me. It smelled like old paper and wood polish and secrets.

Marcus stood there, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the rug. "I remembered you mentioned the library back at your old pack house," Marcus said, his voice low and gravelly. "Julian said it was a waste of space, but I figured you might be bored out of your mind staring at the walls." I didn't answer. I couldn't find my tongue. It felt like a lead weight in my mouth. My gaze drifted to the pile. In the middle of the stack was a small, weathered volume bound in dark teal leather. The edges were frayed, and the spine was cracked. It looked like a book that had been loved, not just stored.

Vincent knocked once, then opened them without waiting for a response. "Miss Marcellus, sir." The library was vast, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that stretched up to a second level accessible by rolling ladders. Leather-bound volumes filled every inch of space, their spines catching the light from crystal chandeliers. It was the kind of room that belonged to a man who collected knowledge the way others collected stamps. And there, seated behind a desk that looked like it had been carved from a single piece of dark wood, was Caspian Santoro.

I had stood my ground, and the sky had not fallen. ​AMARA'S POV ​Late that evening, the library had grown dark, the fire in the hearth burning down to a pile of glowing red embers. I was packing up my notes when Martha slipped quietly into the room, ensuring the hallway behind her was completely empty before she closed the door. ​She walked toward me with quick, hushed steps, her hands tucked anxiously into the folds of her apron. ​"My lady," Martha whispered, her voice laced with a strange, nervous energy.

The Morgan Library was quiet when Marcus pulled the car around the corner. Inside, the main court sat washed in soft daylight falling through the glass ceiling three stories up. Pale marble underfoot swallowed the sound of heels, turning two hundred guests into something hushed, almost reverent, closer to a private viewing than a benefit. Along the walls, glass cases held illuminated manuscripts from centuries ago, gold leaf catching the light. We hadn't been in the room five minutes before Killian got pulled away. Two men from the harbor authority and an older banker who sat on some maritime trade board caught him near the entrance to the historic reading rooms. He glanced back at me, his h

Some books looked older than countries. Then movement caught my attention Not far away, near one of the windows. Someone was sitting in a leather armchair, a phone resting in one hand. My mood immediately worsened. Marcello Hayes. Of course. Because apparently nowhere was safe. Carissa brightened. “Oh.” Marcello looked up, Unlike me, he didn’t seem surprised. This suggested he already knew this room existed. Imagine that. “Good,” Carissa said. “You found the library.” Marcello closed his book.

Marie could not understand why she still had the nerve to say those words out of the blue. “Which way are we going?” Marie asked as the stranger checked the walls, windows, and floors of the room full of paintings and books. Although it wasn't an average library, it was a bit like one. The paintings again seemed to belong to the prince, she thought. Would you mind telling me who you are? What is this place? Marie asked as if the stranger didn't hear her. Everything in the room was captured by her camera. She couldn't see what was inside because it was dark. Only a Victorian lamp shade, placed near the study table on the east side of the room near the right window, gave life to the room. It w

With a shared nod, they stepped inside, the air shifting to a musty blend of old parchment and incense. The library was a labyrinth of towering shelves, each laden with dusty tomes and peculiar artifacts—a glass orb swirling with mist, a dagger etched with runes, a chalice that hummed faintly. The only sound was the soft rustle of pages turning somewhere deep within, as if the books themselves were alive. Aria’s grip tightened on Rollan, her heart thudding as they ventured further.

But just as quickly, it was gone. “Then act like it,” he said coldly, and walked out. --- Thirty Minutes Later I was still in the library, sweeping broken glass into a pile with a broom I’d forced from a maid’s hand, when Marco walked in. He glanced at the wreckage. At my bruised mouth. At my shirt hanging off my shoulder like a war flag. “Rough day?” he asked mildly. I didn’t answer. He walked over, picking up a book from the floor. War and Peace. The irony was not lost on either of us.