Metaphysical Bookstores Near Me Novels & Stories

It felt good to imagine being one of them again. I pulled up a list of nearby shops that were hiring. Nothing fancy. A bookstore. A small bakery. A florist. I decided to start with the bookstore. It was tucked between a laundromat and a pawn shop, the kind of place where time moved slowly. The sign read HARROW & SONS BOOKS, letters fading at the edges. I pushed open the door, and a bell chimed softly above me. Inside, it smelled of dust and old paper. A man behind the counter looked up, his glasses sliding down his nose.

Everett I yawn loudly, scrubbing my hand down my face as I wipe down the counters and wait for the machines to warm up. The smell of coffee and baked bread wafts through the small coffee shop I work in. It's connected to a book store so it's always quiet this early in the morning, peaceful in a way that I rarely get anywhere else in my life. I turn my head to the sound of the door that connects the shop to the store opening, little Mrs. Brainerd shuffling through. I smile at her fluffy white hair and cardigan as she makes her way over to me slowly.

Now she’s bouncing around, excited to get books. What’s going on? “Where is this bookstore, anyway?” I ask as I look around. “I didn’t think there was one around here. Why not Waterstones?” “They’re expensive. Besides, I like the smaller bookstores.” “Since when?” Regina huffs. “Since always. Keep up, Dad.” We turn a corner, and she points. “There it is! I knew it would be here!” I see a smart-looking shop between a hairdressing salon and a quaint-looking café across the street. Its bright red front is hard to miss, along with ‘The Little Red Bookshop’ printed in gold above the door.

“That place is much more my style. There were a lot of hipsters and hippies in my early years of taking archeology classes, writing essays postulating the location of Atlantis and having lectures with discussions about whether aliens really built the pyramids. I find it all quite ridiculous. "You're dating a werewolf." Isn't this ridiculous? - Perhaps. I smiled back at him. “Depends on whether we're really dating. He squeezed my hand. "I am if you are." - I did not decide yet. I pushed open the store door. It must have been a poor day for the crystals and the DownMoor ghost tour brochures, because the shop was completely deserted. From somewhere behind, a small bell rang. The place looked ex

“Thanks. Gonna need brain-bleach to get rid of that image.” Cassie chuckles and takes a half-bow. “My pleasure.” I sigh, doing my best to repress images of Martha Wilkins (all three-hundred pounds of her) enjoying the latest Mills & Boon novel, say Midnight in the Desert, Midnight in the Summer, or, predictably, Midnight in the Harem. “All right, then. You’re free. Nothing coming until Monday morning. Got a shipment of comic books due. The York Book Emporium from Pennsylvania is sending us some of their overstock.”

Genesis "I've been here before," I blurted when Ethan pulled up to a downtown book shop around fifteen minutes from his house. It was one of my favorites. It had the best scones in the world, and the coffee was well-known in the area. "It's called Wolf's." "Funny, right?" Ethan smirked. I rolled my eyes and got out of the car. Did that mean I'd met the owner before? The bookstore wasn't huge like a Barnes and Noble, but it was big enough that it had two levels and multiple employees.

She stopped at the corner of a street she didn't have a specific reason to be on. There was a bookshop at the end of the block. Used, by the look of it — the kind of place that had stopped organizing itself by any system other than accumulation, books stacked in windows and spilling onto a rack outside, a handwritten sign in the door that said OPEN in letters that leaned slightly to the left. Above the bookshop, basement windows glowed with warm light. Ilyra stood on the corner and looked at it. She didn't have her tablet. She couldn't report it even if she'd wanted to. She had walked here without a route, without a purpose, without the apparatus of the thing she was in the process of stoppi

he said. I looked out the window. “There’s a bookshop,” I said. “Two streets from the market. So small you have to turn sideways in the aisles. I bought two books I didn’t need.” “What kind.” “One about a woman who builds boats. One about a city that doesn’t exist.” He made a sound that was almost a laugh. “Of course.” “Of course what.” “You’d find the one bookshop,” he said. “In the whole city. First month.”

I snap out of my thoughts and turn to face Cal and nod before I look back at the building across the street from me. Cal pulls me to follow him and so I put it down to Déjà vu. following behind him, I focus on where we are going. Long forgetting about that building. I mean, this is my first time in this place. “We’re here.” I look at where he has brought me and I’m blown away. It’s a bookstore with a little coffee shop inside. The smell of freshly ground coffee makes me take a deep breath in as we enter the shop. The little bell dings and something flashes in my head of a bell dinging above a door. The surroundings melt away and in it’s place I see a counter and two women working together.

Their explanation of tantra was truthful, if a little oversimplified. I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my temples. I need coffee, and by now the kids might have something for me, so I head back down to Chinatown, taking a detour into The Magickal Childe bookshop on West 33rd on the way. Of the stack of books I’ve spent my morning with at the library, the one title I’m fascinated by is the infamous Tibetan Book of the Dead, and now I wanta copy I can mark up. The shop is a cramped little hole in the wall that reeks of voodoo oils and herbs. Ceremonial swords and shelves of dusty glass jars cover the walls. A leather-bound copy of the Necronomicon takes pride of place in the display window and a