The Street Book Novels & Stories

Morvane wasn’t a safe city for people to associate with strangers. After a few minutes, the streets fell quiet. She was standing by a corner of the road, still thinking about a way out, when a group of men moved past her, tall and broad-shoulders, their presence exuding danger. Cold shivers ran down her spine. It wasn’t safe for her to stay there, on the streets. Her mind raced, searching for someone she could call. Roselyn, her best friend from way back, instantly surfaced in her thoughts, but she doubted whether she still remembered her after many years of silence on her part.

“Because I had a look in Herb’s book. And I think you’ll be interested to find out what I read.” “How intriguing,” Skye hummed. “I’ve got something to share with you guys, too.” We stepped back in sync, bringing Kathrena back into the conversation. I shifted the weight of Herb’s book in my arms, worried about it getting wet in the drizzle. “What is it?” Kathrena asked, and we fell into step, all three of us, as we turned off the main street and onto one of the smaller, cobbled lanes that rounded towards the Hawthorn Central Library.

She snatched it up quickly, her heart racing. Unknown Number: Meet me at the old bookstore on Elm Street. You want the truth? It’s time to see it for yourself. Isabelle's breath hitched. She showed Carla the message. "This could be dangerous," Carla warned. "It could also be the breakthrough we've been waiting for," Isabelle countered. Carla hesitated, then nodded. "Then we go together." The Bookstore on Elm Street The bookstore was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of old paper and ink. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with books that looked like they hadn't been touched in years. The bell above the door jingled softly as Isabelle and Carla stepped inside.

Just sneakers and a light jacket. The city was unusually quiet. I ended up at a small antique bookstore tucked between a florist and a tailor. It had no flashy signage, just a brass bell on the door and a handwritten welcome note in cursive. Inside, the scent of old paper and cedar wrapped around me like a story waiting to be told. I let myself drift between the aisles until a book caught my eye—Letters Never Sent. It was a collection of real, unsent letters from women over the last century. To lost loves, estranged mothers, unborn children.

"Let us go meet her." Chicago was a five hour drive. Liam drove. Anna sat in the back. I navigated. The rain followed us the whole way. Grey skies. Grey roads. Grey everything. The bookstore was called "Pages." It sat on a corner between a coffee shop and a flower store. The windows were full of bestsellers. A sign on the door said "Open." We walked in. Bells jingled. The smell of paper and old wood wrapped around me. Shelves stretched to the ceiling. A cat slept on a pile of romance novels.

Watch out for “Striking Blow.” (Strike Zone Book #2) This is Pearl and Antonio’s story. Filled with international intrigue and subterfuge. Striking Blow Colombo. Sri Lanka. Pearl needed directions—a map—a freaking GPS back to herself. Finding her worth again meant starting with a physical transformation. For starters, the blonde princess staring back at her in the mirror wasn’t real, and it was time to pack “socialite barbie” away in a dark drawer; time to step away from the two-hundred-dollar haircut and her designer lifestyle.

I laugh at the clever word play. "Can we go in there?" I plead. Jack looks to where I'm pointing, "Of course." He smiles at me. I smile super hard and stare at the adventure ahead of me. We walk in and I look at a ton of cooking books, dog calendars and more. There's a book there called, Dear Nobody. It's a true story about a girl named, Mary Rose, who has to deal with her drug addiction and boys. The book interests me. I show Jack. "Out of every book in this store, you choose the one about an addict?" Jack raises his eyebrows. I shrug.

Turning, I don't see what attracted my attention, but something in my head is shouting, jumping in the air and waving arms at me. What was it...? Ahhh.... Across the street is a small second-hand bookshop; the kind with tiny windows and a narrow entrance which only opens on the second Sunday of the month. The door stands open, seeming to lead no-where except dark shelf-stacks that a Victorian explorer would lose himself in. And through the entrance, just visible, a head of copper-red hair. I find myself smiling. Tossing the dregs of the soup into a bin, I follow my feet across the road and into the store.

I stated, “You really need it, I guess you'll have to reheat the only thing you eat in this house… anyway since you're going into the streets, do you mind grabbing me the second volume of a novel?” “What novel?” “New moon, Stephanie Mayer. You can find it at the bookstore just down the street. And please be careful out there.” “Alright Mrs Lyra Moon.” “I dare you to repeat that.” She gritted. “I wouldn't want to see your wrath ma!” I teased more, knowing she hated anything ma. “And that's it!” She sprang up, but before she could catch up with me, I had already taken a run for it. Jogging around the Streets by this time of the night was really beautiful, I could feel the cold airbrushed my fa

Chapter 1: New Obsession Ethan's P.O.V: "Imphal Bookies." I read the glowing neon sign on top of the book store. "Could've been worse." It was only 7.30 in the evening but the streets were almost deserted. This is one of the downsides of a small town. I've been here two months already but I haven't gotten used to it. But on the plus side, I can go for long runs right in the middle of the road without worrying about someone running me over.