The Book Academy Novels & Stories

A text from an unknown number. *Dear Dr. Zanetti, I'm Clara Benson, Senior Editor at Meridian Books. I read your thesis abstract online and was incredibly impressed. I'd love to discuss the possibility of publishing it as a monograph. Are you free for a coffee next week?* Keira stared at the screen, her heart hammering. Meridian Books. One of the most respected independent publishers in the UK, known for their beautifully produced academic titles and their commitment to emerging voices. They'd published books she'd cited in her thesis. Books that had shaped her thinking.

My steps fall silent occasionally as I cross large, intricately woven rugs scattered about. I head straight for the aisle Celeste pointed out, offering her a small wave before disappearing between the labyrinth of bookshelves. Each section is marked with hand-carved plaques, their inscriptions barely legible in the dim light. They guide the way to different realms of knowledge: Alchemy, Herbology, History, and more. The books themselves are bound in various shades of leather, some adorned with golden leaves, others with intricate metal clasps. Many are so ancient that their titles have worn away, leaving only the texture of the leather to hint at the secrets within.

I slipped out of bed, needing the oblivion of caffeine and a moment to piece together the incredibly reckless, unbelievably satisfying night I’d just had with a complete stranger I’d met at O’Malley’s after far too many vodka sodas following my disastrous breakup. Padding into his minimalist living room, my eyes landed on a framed photo on the sleek, dark bookshelf. Him. Looking impossibly distinguished in some kind of formal academic robe, his hand clasped with the university president. Below it, a small, silver plaque read: “Draco Thorne, Head of Literature Department.”

The Academy at night was different from the Academy during the day—quieter, more intimate, the way a building becomes when it is no longer performing for its inhabitants. She thought about what Morwen had said. I will be here tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. It was not a grand promise—not the kind of declaration that belonged in a novel, not the sweeping romance that her book club had once made her read. It was smaller than that. More ordinary. And because it was ordinary, because it was the kind of promise that could be kept without effort, it meant more than any grand gesture.

“What are you talking about?” I nervously twisted my fingers, staring them dead in the eye about to ask for something that could make this conversation end really well, or really awful. If I was a gambler, my money would be on the latter. “The book on the forbidden arts.” •••• Okay. So that didn't work. But my parents weren't aware that I had swiped it from the vault anyway. I needed this book if I wanted to survive the academy, and quite frankly I couldn't care less about the dangers it posed to my life. My life would already be endangered merely by stepping foot into that academy.

The towering structure, adorned with symbols of ancient magic, resonated with the accumulated wisdom of the council that had guided Nampa through the ages. As they entered the majestic halls, the elders, seated in a circle within a vast chamber, welcomed Luna and Alpha Burst with a nod of acknowledgement. The air within the palace seemed to hum with the energy of ancient knowledge, and Luna, with the Book of Luna in hand, approached the revered council. "Elders," Luna began with a respectful bow, "Alpha Burst and I have initiated the creation of the Book of Luna to preserve the teachings and experiences that have shaped Nampa. We seek your guidance to enrich the narrative with the profound i

Cela remains disappointed. "C'mon. It's not like they bought everything. They just thought of giving the books as Christmas presents apart from the corporate giveaways. You must know that your mother enjoyed your first book so much. Too bad that she passed before the second one is out," Nanny Rita continued. "You've always been loyal to her," Cela said.

“Yes, James, I’m sure I have the right young man. So, what do you think?” “Well, uh, it seems . . . kinda . . . crazy,” stammered James. “I suppose I would feel the same if the situation were reversed. Here.” Blakeney handed over a pamphlet. “This is some information about the academy. Take a look.” James gasped at the picture of the school on the front. “Whoa! This is a school? It looks like a huge, white stone mansion or some kind of monument or something.”

Clara read out, peering into my locker. I furrowed my brows as I stared at the book in confusion. It was a red leather-bound, large book, surely containing a lot of information, yet I hadn't seen it before, and I couldn't remember keeping it in my locker. “That's for first-year students. Why would you need such a thing to take to class?” Ruby questioned. “What's this for?” I murmured. Ruby snorted. She rolled her eyes. “It's just as it's written here. It's a lore book and a guide to survive the academy system. Still, it's for first-year students. We all had a copy. And that's probably yours.” She pointed out.

This is a school purely for rich men. This academy is built for men. It breathes men. Every corner reeks of power, of legacy, of cruel ambition handed down through generations. These halls are lined with gilded portraits of male rulers, innovators, dictators—men who shaped the world with their iron will and razor-sharp minds. The boys here are trained to follow in their footsteps. Economics. Politics. Law. International strategy. Warfare. Linguistics. Sports. Negotiation. Technology. They are handed the knowledge of the world like it's their birthright.