Vanishing Half Book Novels & Stories

The air drifting out was wrong. I pushed it wider and froze. Gone. The carved pup-bed I'd sanded with my own claws. The stuffed creatures sewn from shed fur. The midnight-blue drapes woven from my winter coat—all vanished. Above the new cradle, carved in script I didn't recognize: Young Luca. My heart cracked down the center, sound audible only to me. I stepped inside. My pup's first image—captured in moonstone, only record of his perfect form—lay on the floorboards. The crystal frame lay in shards around it.

One by one, the lights blinked out. “Where will you go?” I asked. She smiled faintly. “I don’t exist anymore.” Then she vanished through the far exit, no footsteps, no trace. By the time I reached the hall, her file was gone. Deleted from every known system. Dr. Celene didn’t vanish. She evaporated. Hours later, I found myself in the data vault. Alone. The air here always smelled like metal and static. The ceiling flickered, struggling to keep up with failing energy grids.

Ophelia shook her head. “Barely.” “That’s strange.” “Very.” She opened the first book. “Spring Court. Summer Court. Autumn Court. High Fae Court.” Her finger stopped. “Then there’s this.” I leaned closer. A section of pages had been removed. Not torn. Cut. Carefully. “What was there?” “No idea.” Sam opened another book. “Same thing.” More missing pages. Kazan’s expression hardened. “Someone removed Winter.” “From your own library?” I asked.

Victoria uttered . “ Its possible that he might act strange, our enemy is a werewolves-sorcerers. They practiced witchcrafts.” Victoria added. “ Do you really think that Devon would be easily affected with that crafty works? It would take fifty exposure of wolf banes, before his body weakens.” Jacob chuckled. Luna sighed, Jacob had a point. “ Then what’s with his weird actions?” Luna asked. “ We haven’t finished treating his wounds and he just walked -out and went into his room?” Luna added, she thought of sneaking in, but Victoria stopped her.

They emerged into the Half-Market. It was a cavernous sprawl that defied every law of human architecture. Above them, the "ceiling" was a swirling vortex of deep indigos and shimmering greens, an internal aurora borealis that Sophie couldn't stop staring at. Flittering lights,small, trapped spirits or perhaps just pockets of concentrated mana,danced like fireflies against the impossible height. "Keep your eyes forward, Soph," Anna warned, her voice barely a whisper. "The Half-Market isn't a place for tourists. People here don't care about the law, but they’re very interested in debt."

“Then you've doomed her. A draft without an ending will rot. Survival is not living, fox; you've condemned her to fade away.” Camela shook her head fiercely as she covered her ears. “Don’t listen! She’s just a shadow…a lie!” But her father's whisper seeped from her scar, heavy with approval. “A choice has been made. Half a book. Half a bride. Half a soul. Let’s see how long it lasts.” The circle of foxes did not scatter; they moved closer, their eyes shining brighter and their teeth bared. Vincent growled at them, “Back off.”

“We don’t serve half-lings.” “I just need a book and then I’ll be out of your hair.”, I answered. “You don’t get it do you.”, they snap. Breathing, I state, “You only serve light creatures.”, then turn around and walk out. Wanting to growl but hold it, as I continue my search for a bookstore; having gone there the whole town and not a single bookstore that serves half-lings so I head for a witch store, it’s the last option I have because I doubt the institution would have the book I’m looking for. Witches sometimes don’t like half-lings, I haven’t asked a witch who hates half-ling since I’ve only met one witch; hesitantly, I knock on the door. You never know when they put a spell on it.

"The Vance family built a world where every breath was an advance on a debt you couldn't see. But out here, the air doesn't keep a tally." I looked down at my hands. The stain from the printer's ink was fading, turning into a faint, gray shadow along the creases of my palms. The phantom in the silk suit, the Faceless Author, the iron pens—they were all sinking into the deep, dark reservoir of the unwritten past. We had torn the book in half, and in doing so, we had finally broken the sequence. The Geography of the Unwritten

--- For the first time, they didn't have to solve anything. --- Save anything. --- Understanding nothing. --- They could simply be. --- In the afternoon, they sat in the library. --- Between the shelves. --- Where the years had once stood. --- Most of the books were still there. --- But one was missing. --- Just one. --- The book titled: --- Those Who Stayed --- It had vanished. --- Months ago. --- No one knew where it had gone. --- And somehow, that didn't bother anyone. --- For some stories wanted to wander on.

When my father died, he left me with two prospective husbands. I was supposed to marry one of them, Nolan Mercer. But on our wedding day, he ran off with a housekeeper's daughter. So his younger brother, James Mercer, married me instead. On our wedding night, I slipped out onto the balcony and cried because I missed my father. James kicked the door open, mockery in his eyes and a sneer on his lips. "Are you really that heartbroken just because you had to marry me instead of Nolan?" For the next five years, he brought a different woman home every week. I swallowed the pain and did everything I could to be a good wife. But this time was different. Four months had passed, and the woman by his s