Chapter 1: The Bookstore’s Secret
The bookstore smelled of dust and secrets. I had been there a hundred times before, but today, something felt different. Maybe it was the rain outside, drumming on the windowpanes like fingers tapping a message I couldn’t quite understand. Maybe it was the cat—an elusive, coal-black creature that seemed to haunt the place—slipping between the shadows of the bookshelves. Or maybe it was just me. I wasn’t sure.
I was restless. Too many regrets had piled up like unread books in the corner of my mind, threatening to tumble down if I didn’t do something about them soon. The bookstore had always been my escape, a place where I could lose myself in the worlds of others and forget my own mistakes. But today, as I wandered the aisles, it felt less like an escape and more like a maze, as if I were being led somewhere.
The cat darted past me again, a blur of shadow, and I found myself following it. I don’t know why. Maybe I thought it would lead me to something I needed, or maybe I just wanted to avoid the silence inside my head. Either way, it slinked around a corner, disappearing behind a tall shelf crammed with leather-bound volumes.
And that’s when I saw it.
A small nook, tucked away in the back of the store, so hidden that I could have walked past it a dozen times without noticing. The air around it shimmered faintly, like heat rising from pavement on a summer day, but the temperature here was cool. Too cool, almost, sending a shiver down my spine.
Curious, I stepped inside.
It was dimly lit, with only a single oil lamp hanging from the ceiling, casting long shadows over the dusty books. The shelves here were different—older, somehow, as if they hadn’t been touched in centuries. I ran my fingers along the spines of the books, each one bound in rich, dark leather, their titles faded to near illegibility.
And then I found the book.
It was small, tucked away on the bottom shelf, half-hidden by cobwebs. The leather binding was cracked, the pages yellowed with age. But something about it called to me. I knelt down, brushing away the dust, and picked it up.
The moment I opened it, the air shifted.
A soft, almost imperceptible hum filled the room, like a distant echo of forgotten voices. The pages fluttered, though there was no breeze. My heart quickened, a strange sense of anticipation flooding my veins. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the words—words I didn’t recognize, written in an elegant, flowing script.
Suddenly, the cat appeared again, sitting quietly beside me, its green eyes glowing in the dim light. It stared at me with an intensity that made me feel as if it were seeing right through me, into the very core of who I was. For a moment, I felt exposed, vulnerable, as if all the guilt and regrets I carried were laid bare before this silent, watching creature.
But then the moment passed, and I was left with the book in my hands.
I turned another page, and that’s when it happened.
The room around me began to dissolve. The shelves, the books, even the floor beneath my feet—everything blurred and rippled, like the surface of a pond disturbed by a stone. I gasped, stumbling backward, but there was no escaping it. The air was thick with the sound of whispers, growing louder, closer, until I couldn’t hear anything else.
And then, with a soft whoosh, the world went black.
***
I awoke to the sound of horse hooves clattering on cobblestone.
Blinking, I sat up, my head spinning. The first thing I noticed was the air—it was crisp, colder than I remembered. And the smell… Gone was the musty scent of old paper. Instead, there was the sharp tang of fresh bread, mixed with the earthy aroma of wet stone and wood smoke.
I was no longer in the bookstore.
I was lying on a street, the cobblestones hard beneath me, surrounded by buildings that looked like they belonged in a period drama. Tall, narrow houses with peaked roofs, shop signs swinging gently in the breeze. A carriage rumbled by, the driver giving me a strange look as he passed.
I scrambled to my feet, my mind racing. Where was I?
My clothes were different too—gone were my jeans and sweater, replaced by a simple dress in pale blue, with long sleeves and a high waist. The material felt rough against my skin, unfamiliar. I tugged at the hem, trying to make sense of it all, but nothing made sense.
Was I dreaming?
The street bustled with people, all dressed in fashions that seemed straight out of the Regency era. Women in bonnets and flowing gowns, men in waistcoats and tailcoats. I watched in stunned silence as they went about their business, chatting, laughing, completely unaware of the woman standing in the middle of the street, utterly lost.
Just as I was beginning to panic, I heard footsteps approaching. I turned, and my breath caught in my throat.
A man stood before me—tall, with dark hair that curled just above his collar. His eyes, deep and piercing, were the color of storm clouds, and his jawline was sharp enough to cut glass. He was dressed in a black tailcoat and waistcoat, a cravat tied neatly at his throat. There was something about him, something commanding and magnetic, that made it impossible to look away.
“Are you quite alright, miss?” he asked, his voice smooth, rich with an accent that sent shivers down my spine.
“I—” My throat was dry. “I don’t know.”
He studied me for a moment, his brow furrowed in concern. “You seem… disoriented.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
He extended his hand. “Allow me to assist you. You appear to be in need of some guidance.”
I hesitated for only a second before placing my hand in his. His grip was warm and firm, grounding me in a way that made the chaos swirling in my head fade, if only for a moment. He helped me to my feet, his touch lingering longer than necessary, and I felt a warmth bloom in my chest.
“What is your name?” he asked, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Eliza,” I replied, my voice barely a whisper.
“Eliza,” he repeated, as if testing the sound of it. “I am Lord Nathaniel Westwood.”
There was something in the way he said my name, something that sent a thrill through me. His gaze held mine for a moment longer than it should have, and the air between us seemed to hum with unspoken tension.
But just as quickly as the moment came, it was shattered by the sound of approaching footsteps. I turned to see a figure in the distance, cloaked in shadow, watching us.
A chill ran down my spine. Something wasn’t right.
Nathaniel followed my gaze, his expression darkening. “We should go,” he said, his voice suddenly urgent. “Now.”
Before I could protest, he pulled me along, his grip tightening on my hand as we hurried down the street. I glanced over my shoulder, but the shadowy figure was gone.
“What’s happening?” I asked, breathless.
“There are forces at work here you wouldn’t understand,” Nathaniel said, his jaw set. “And you’re in far more danger than you realize.”
My heart pounded in my chest as we rounded a corner, the sense of danger pressing in on me from all sides.
And that’s when I realized: This wasn’t a dream.
Whatever was happening, it was real.
And I was trapped in it.
***
As Nathaniel leads Eliza through the narrow streets, the shadows deepen, and an ominous figure steps out from the darkness, blocking their path.