Mid-air Book Novels & Stories

There were no more lies or betrayals around me, only loyal subordinates and like-minded friends. My phone chimed again. This time, it was a message from my best friend. "Caitlyn, want to go to the newly opened world-renowned restaurant tonight? I heard the head chef is super handsome!" I looked out the window at the azure sky. A silver-white airplane flew across the horizon, leaving a beautiful arc in its wake. I smiled and replied, "Let's go."

The jet lifted above New York and Amelia opened a book. Not a performance of reading — actually reading, her attention genuinely on the page, her body settling into the seat with the ease of someone who had done this enough times that the altitude meant nothing to her. She didn’t reach for conversation and I didn’t manufacture any. The hours opened up between us and we moved through them in the particular quiet of two people who hadn’t yet decided what they were to each other and had silently agreed not to force the question at thirty thousand feet.

Adir read the book carefully, suddenly he was startled by the sound of the book hitting the table because of its weight. "What are you doing?" asked Adir in a surprised tone. "I'm sorry, the books in your family are all very interesting," Altair replied with a cheerful face. "See! I had to fly some books around me," added Altair while showing the many books in his hand and he brought the books that floated using Altair's magic. "Are you seriously going to read all this?" asked Adir curiously. "Of course, I'll read all yours." replied Altair excitedly.

“Look, Your Highness.” Holly lifted her hands. A small whirlwind appeared overhead, drawing in all the nearby books still flying through the air. Clara watched as the books struggled against the air current Holly created. One managed to slip through, losing a page or two in the process. After taking a quick glance around, she climbed up on one of the library tables and jumped for a hefty tome as it flew overhead. Holly laughed. When she pointed a finger towards the flapping books, they froze in midair. She turned her hand towards herself and curled her fingers inward. The book gave a shudder but eventually drifted into her hands without a fight.

Lined outside the airport were taxis, figures stood by them, each one waving at people strolling out the National airport. "We're looking for a Joseph" Cameron uttered to me, eyes searching around. And before he could catch sight of the middle-aged man waving on at us, I had done so, waving back, pulling Cameron by the hands, while we made our way to him. That grin which took the young man's face, had disappeared the moment I pulled closer into view. And with those disturbed eyes, he remained peering on at me. Perhaps, wondering if the people he was to pick up, were any bit stable, seeing as to how they were still in their wedding attire.

Amelie said, snuggling into my arm. “That doesn’t bother me one single bit,” I smirked. “How are you feeling about being on the flight? I read that some pregnant women feel airsickness more.” “Where did you read that?” Amelie said, puzzled. “In What to Expect, When You’re Expecting,” I advised. “Nathaniel Carrington Michaels, did you buy a pregnancy book?” Amelie questioned. “No, I actually bought several pregnancy books,” I beamed. “Oh my gosh!” Amelie giggled.

As I finished, I opened my eyes, and my breath caught. The book hovered in the air above my open palms, suspended by an invisible force. It wavered slightly, as if testing its newfound freedom, but it stayed aloft, its pages fluttering gently in an unseen breeze. The sight of it, impossible, magical, sent a rush of exhilaration through me. I did it.

So I focused on my book until the words stopped swimming and actually made sense. The third incident was the one that really scared me. I was in the library that evening, looking through old family records. Maren had suggested it might help me understand my heritage. The books were ancient, leather-bound and filled with dust. I pulled one down from a high shelf. It was heavier than I expected. My grip slipped and the book fell, tumbling toward the floor. I reached out on instinct, not thinking, just reacting. The book stopped mid-air. I stared at it. The book was hovering about three feet off the ground, not moving. Just floating.

My breath hitched, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I’m not sure where we could go,” I whispered, my mind racing through the floor plan. “The private study rooms are all booked...” Diego scanned our surroundings. The hour was late, the library sinking into a heavy, scholarly silence. A few students were scattered at the central desks, but most were buried in noise-canceling headphones, lost in their own worlds. “The archives in the back stacks are usually abandoned this late,” Diego murmured. My pulse went into overdrive. The stacks? It was a reckless risk. “We’d have to be silent,” I breathed, knowing my own lack of control was the biggest threat to our cover.

I pushed open the doors without answering him. The library was breathtaking. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, easily four stories high, connected by spiraling staircases and narrow walkways that seemed to float in midair. Books were everywhere, thousands upon thousands of them, their spines glowing softly with different colored lights. Some books floated freely through the air, occasionally settling into empty spots on the shelves or drifting down to readers at the tables below.