Once More Bookstore Novels & Stories

"You think locking me in a room or sending guards to throw me around changes what we are?" Marcus chuckled, a dry, dismissive sound. He leaned down, placing both palms on the edge of the coffee table, bringing his face inches from Adrian's. "We are nothing, Adrian," Marcus whispered, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. "You were a chapter in Noah's past that he is currently editing out. The ink is dry, the pages are torn, and tomorrow night, the book goes to print. If you step foot inside that ballroom, you won't just be humiliated in front of the city's elite. You will be arrested for violating a federal restraining order."

Katherine quickly left and ran out the store. Emily still confused followed her out but she was gone. "What the fuck was that about" She mumbled. ______________________________________ The Kent Estate. Jackson arrived home in a good humor. The contract with the Anderson Family is done and dusted work can start on Black Mountain. "Tonight we shall have the good stuff" he went to the wine seller and grabbed a bottle of wine. "Domaine de la Romanee-Conti Romanee-Conti Grand Cru 1972" Jackson kissed the bottle and made his way back to his study.

"Sure, no problem." Leah obediently nodded. As Colin's figure disappeared around the corner of the staircase, Leah's smile instantly crumbled, revealing a cold and calculating expression. Holy cow, that was a close call. Almost blew my cover. She shoved the comic book into her bag, placing it at the very bottom before finally feeling relieved. The bookstore appeared small from the outside, but the interior space was quite spacious, filled with an abundance of vintage books, particularly focused on technology and astronomy. Leah roamed around downstairs and by the counter, she noticed an old-fashioned piano.

“Do you think the bookstore next to Wixon still has it?” Valencia leaned on the kitchen counter near the sink, tapping her fingers on the ceramic surface. “Yeah, trust me the last time I visited that bookstore down on 2nd street was 2 days ago. it was a recent visit so I’m sure they still have a few left in the Non-fiction section.” The voice on the phone said.

She gives me a kind smile and sets my thick file down in front of her as she begins to explain the conditions of my parole. Back on the T, I follow my PO’s directions written down on a Post-it note. She’s sending me to a dank bookstore in a small town about twenty minutes from Brockton in search of a specific book about the twelve-step program that I’ll need for my mandatory weekly meetings. I’ve gone through all of this shit before, and it never seemed to stick. There’s no use thinking this time will be any fucking different. I spot the flickering “OPEN” sign hanging above the door to the bookstore, swaying in the heavy wind that whips the cold rain against my body, making me break out with

Well I can already have the information I want to know. But of course I don’t want to go home already so I continue to walk and search for the bookstore. While walking I saw a man that is giving flyers. He gave me one flyer and I read the contents. It is about the new café opening. Well this is not what I looking for, I was about to walk again when I heard the front shop opens its door and someone shouted. “Thank you for coming in Novela Bookstore! Come again!” Then someone came out. I was stunned it’s here!

He hangs up, and I look at the dead man on the floor. I turn my back and get into the car. - To the headquarters. The car stops on a busy street full of Macdonals and Starbucks stores, but I enter the old bookstore that no one gives a fuck about. The last book that the bookstore sold must have been in 1990, but all the shelves were full of old books without a speck of dust. I look at the man behind the counter, who greets me with a nod. Moving between the shelves, I reach the end of the hall. A bookshelf slides out of its place as if by magic, and I open the steel door that becomes visible using a retina reader and a code.

If this was a trap, better one of us fall than both. He'd argued. Of course he'd argued. But in the end, he understood. Some doors only open for one person. The bookstore was called "Between the Pages." A narrow storefront on a quiet street, windows fogged with salt air, a hand-painted sign creaking in the wind. I stood across the street for ten minutes, watching. Trying to see if this was real or another layer of the game. Then I crossed and pushed open the door. --- The bell above the door chimed softly.