Martha Riley Library Novels & Stories

I asked after their argument was done. Miley shrugged. "Since I can't go out freely, I plan to spend it in the library. I have a project going on." The library? "Can I come with you? I haven't visited your library." Miley nodded. "Actually, there is a mini library in this packhouse, too. But the biggest one is in the main area." "It's near the center building where I held an internal meeting before," Matthew added. "I didn't know you were interested in the book. If I knew, I would have brought you there earlier."

Martha remained silent, her gaze fixed on her daughter, a hint of skepticism flickering in her eyes. Riley continued, her words tinged with annoyance. "I wish Gina and her mother would just leave the mansion. They're not even directly related to the family." Sensing her mother's reluctance to respond, Riley turned to leave, thinking she had successfully diverted the conversation. But Martha's voice stopped her in her tracks. "And what about you, Riley? What have you been up to lately?" Riley hesitated, her mind racing for a response. "Uh, nothing much," she mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

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.

, patting their backs awkwardly. “I’m… here. I’m okay.” They didn’t notice the limp. Not yet. A few yards away, Amy sauntered past with Lila and Lola flanking her like loyal shadows. Amy’s eyes slid over Riley with open contempt. “Should’ve just died,” she said loudly enough for half the yard to hear. “Weak little thing. Only survived because she got lucky.” Lila snickered. Lola echoed it with a mean little laugh. They kept walking, heads high. Riley’s jaw clenched. She didn’t respond. She’d learned long ago that words with Amy were wasted breath. She turned back to Skylar and Quinn. “Where’s Martha now? I need to talk to her.” Quinn’s face fell. She exchanged a glance with Skylar. “She… did

It would be really hard to work with this guy; Mara knew it, but she would not show it. She took notice of the ones following them even as they started for the library. It would be tough to make an ample amount of communication. They made straight for the library still without further hesitations. It was not long before they got there. Inside were a whole lot of scrolls and records—stories as well as artifacts. Mara did not want to believe that this was just a library. Statues at each corner and corners that seemed to hold secret rooms. It was really large, and she continued feeling amazed as she wondered how much Grimshaw loved reading that he would have such a big establishment for reading

"I need to know who we're fighting for." Martha was quiet for a long moment. Then she started talking. "She was born in the winter," Martha said. "January. The coldest night of the year. I named her Lily because the woman in the bed next to mine had lilies on her nightstand. They were dying too. But they were beautiful." "Where were you?" "A shelter in Vermont. Run by nuns. They didn't ask questions. They just held my hand and told me everything was going to be okay."

So I nodded and was preparing to step out with her when someone came up from behind us. Aunt Ryan—and she did not look pleased. “Hello, Martha. Good morning,” she greeted bluntly. “Oh! Ryan! I had no idea you were in town!” Martha said with the most strained smile I had ever seen her wear. “I just got in a couple of days ago,” Aunt Ryan said. She sounded stern but had a smile on her face. “Are you here to see us?” “No, I just came in to see Rory. I want to have a word with her,” Martha said, giving me a fake smile. “I would like for her to just step outside….”

“Come in.” Martha stepped inside, her expression gentle but serious. “Ma’am,” she said. “There’s someone here to see you.” My brows furrowed. “Someone?” She nodded. “Yes. She’s waiting downstairs.” Curiosity prickled through me, and with a little sigh, I rose to my feet. Martha fell into step beside me as I followed her down the staircase. At the bottom of the stairs, I stopped. There, standing in the middle of the living room, was Aunt Althea—Raymond’s aunt.

Riley's side neat and quiet, her desk lamp off, her bed made with the kind of precision that always makes me feel vaguely guilty about the state of my own. I sat on my bed for approximately four minutes, coat still buttoned, staring at nothing in particular. Then I picked up my bag and walked back out into the snow. Sterling Memorial Library at nine on a January night during the early stages of a storm has the specific quality of a space that has decided to belong only to the people dedicated enough to be inside it. The few students scattered through the reading room look like survivors of something, hunched over laptops, refusing to acknowledge the weather building outside.