Begin Reading

  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

  Thank you for buying this

  St. Martin’s Publishing Group ebook.

  To receive special offers, bonus content,

  and info on new releases and other great reads,

  sign up for our newsletters.

  Or visit us online at

  us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup

  For email updates on the author, click here.

  The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.

  In Waiting

  Anna didn’t see him appear. He was just there all of a sudden, walking around, looking disoriented.

  “Hey,” she said. “You’re new.”

  “Yeah.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I guess so.” He laughed. Nervously. Like he wasn’t sure he was supposed to. He’d probably never laughed before.

  “Hey,” she said, more gently. “It’s okay. Sit down.” She scooted over on her bench. “Get your bearings.”

  He sat down next to her. He was older than usual. Solidly built. With broad shoulders and a wide face. His hair fell soft and strawberry blond over his forehead.

  Everything about him was carefully rendered. Even his sweater had a pattern—a Fair Isle knit.

  He pushed his hair off his face again and swallowed. “Am I … Is this … the story?”

  “No. Not yet. This is like … the waiting room. You haven’t been written yet.”

  “Okay …” He nodded. Then winced, shaking his head. “But I feel written.”

  “I know. It’s weird. You’ll get used to it—or maybe you won’t. You might get drafted right away. That happens all the time.”

  “It does?”

  “Oh, yeah. Usually, even.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  She smiled at him and shrugged. “A while.”

  The man—he really was a full-grown man—kept looking at her. He was looking at her clothes. Her shoes. Her hair. He was trying to figure her out. He was frightened.

  “We haven’t had a redhead for a while,” she said.

  “Yeah?” He breathed out another nervous laugh. “I think I look like someone on a TV show she likes …” He shook his head. “But less handsome. Why would she make me less handsome?”

  “Ah, don’t worry.” Anna nudged her shoulder into his. “You look very nice. I think if you were any handsomer, you’d be too handsome.”

  “You’re being kind.”

  “No, I’m serious. ‘Too handsome’ isn’t any good at all. If anything, it’s creepy.”

  The man laughed. More naturally.

  She went on—“When I see the aggressively handsome ones coming, I know they aren’t meant for anything interesting. They can barely hold a conversation.”

  He was smiling at her. “You’ve really got the lay of the land here, huh?”

  Anna smiled back at him and decided to be honest. She could tell this one was built for conversation—for banter, probably. His eyes were thoughtful, and he had a little smile constantly tucked in the corner of his mouth. It was disarming. Inviting. She should enjoy it while she could. “I’ve been here years. Since high school, if you can believe it.”

  “Since you were in high school?”

  “Since she was in high school.”

  “That long …” He gave her a sad look. He’d been alive for three minutes, and he already pitied her.

  “There’ve been a few close calls,” Anna said. “She’s gotten me ready a few times. Like, all wrapped up and ready to go. I’ve got incredible substructure—I even have parents.”

  “You have parents?”

  She nodded. “They’re kicking around here somewhere. I’ll introduce you.”

  “But you’ve never …” He waved his hand out and vaguely down. “… gone in? Not all the way?”

  “No,” she said, and because she knew what the next question would be, she added, “I’m not sure why.” She looked away from him. At the park they were sitting in. It was a lovely spring day. The trees were in bloom. The irises were up. There were people everywhere, if you looked for them. “It’s been all teenagers and magicians around here for the last few years. She’s hardly thought of me.”

  “Ah,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

  Anna looked back at him, smiling broadly. She had small, even teeth and shallow dimples. Her eyes were a specific shade of blue, and her hair parted on the right. “Don’t be. It’s not a bad life. I mean—it could be worse. It’s not like she writes horror stories. She doesn’t even write villains, really.”

  “No villains?”

  “Nope. Every once in a while we get what my dad calls a ‘complicated character’ …”

  The man’s eyebrows pulled up a bit in the middle. It was an advanced expression. Disbelief plus compassion. “I still can’t believe you have parents.”

  “I have a best friend, too! And a career—I even have a cat!”

  He grinned. “You’re like Barbie.”

  “Ha!” She elbowed him. “That’s something you’ll like about this place. We all get each other’s jokes.”

  He looked away from her. At the park. The pathways. The figures moving in the trees. “It never even occurred to me that I’d be here long—certainly not for years.”

  “Well. Not much has occurred to you, right?”

  He turned back to her and settled against the bench, folding his ankle over his knee. “I guess you’re right. Still … I sort of took shape feeling like I was about to go straight in.” He held his hand flat and pushed forward.

  “Right into battle.”

  “Yeah …”

  “Well, maybe you are!” Anna didn’t want to drag him down into the weeds with her. “She’s always on deadline. There could be something brewing. You don’t seem to be a teenager …”

  “I’m thirty-two,” he said.

  “Oh yeah?” She turned toward him, sitting sideways on the bench. “I’m thirty-four. Do you have a birthday?”

  “Sometime in February.”

  She leaned forward. “That’s a really good sign! I mean, if you’re hoping to be a main character.”

  He cocked a reddish-blond eyebrow. “Don’t most people want that?”

  “God, no.” Anna laughed. “Not even the ones who get chosen. Lots of nervous types around here.”

  He frowned. “I don’t feel very nervous … I mean, not constitutionally.”

  “Really? Hmm. You might not be a main character, then. You could be a romantic lead. Would you like that?”

  He seemed to think about it. His chin got all rumply. “Maybe. I mean … I’m not against it. Everyone needs a little romance, don’t they?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  His eyes jumped back up to her. “Oh God, sorry.”

  “Ha.” She poked his arm. “I’m just teasing.”

  “Oh.” He looked relieved. “Good. I mean. You know … you don’t seem very nervous either.”

  “It’s funny you say that.” Anna folded her legs, crisscross applesauce. “I was once. I was really high-strung. But I’ve been here so long that there isn’t much to be nervous about anymore. Plus I think I’ve sort of drifted …”

  He lowered his eyebrows. “From what?”

  “From who I was meant to be.”

  “Out of character?” He sounded shocked.

  “I suppose. My mom says I’ve kind of taken on a life of my own.”

  “Is that even possible?”

  “I mean—” She shrugged. “—who’s going to stop me?” She held out her hand. “I’m Anna, by the way.”

  He took her hand. His had heft. It was warm. “I’m James.”

  “You’ve got a name!” she exclaimed, shaking his hand. “I didn’t want to ask. That’s an extremely good sign.”

  “Are there people here without names?”

  “Loads! Some of us don’t even have faces. There’s a guy walking around who’s barely a haircut.”

  James frowned again. “That sounds gruesome.”

  “Oh no—it isn’t. It’s a really great haircut. But, still … a name. That’s the last thing she gets to. You’re ready to go, buddy. You’re the complete package.”

  “I wonder where I’m headed …” He looked around him, then down at his open hands. “It’s strange, not knowing.”

  “Hmm.” Anna narrowed her eyes at him. She wanted to help. “Let’s think about this. You’re thirty-two … Can you do magic?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Are you a vampire?”

  “No,” James said, affronted. “I’m a sociologist.”

  “You could be both.”

  He laughed. “I appreciate the encouragement. But I’m just a red-haired man with an overbearing mother and a Scion xB.”

  “James! You have a mother? You have a car?”

  “I guess I do …” he said, surprised.

  “You are not long for our world, friend—I shouldn’t even bother getting to know you!”

  His face fell. Compassionate again. “Anna, I’m sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing,” she groaned. “I’m still just teasing. I’m happy to get to know you. I mean, I don’t mind teenagers—or vampires, for that matter. But it ’s nice to talk to someone my own age.”

  She smiled at him. He smiled back.

  His eyes were a very specific blue. Pale. Almost icy.

  “Are you feeling any better?” she asked. “We could take a walk.”

  “Don’t I need to stick around? In case she …”

  “She won’t call your number or anything. She’ll just take you.”

  He was concerned, careful. “And she’ll be able to find me? Even if I walk around?”

  “Oh yeah, this is all the same place. You can’t really hide from her.”

  “Okay, then, yeah. Let’s walk.”

  Anna hopped off the bench, and James followed her. She led him along one of the paths, through oak trees. There was water flowing somewhere, but Anna had never been able to find it. It must belong to someone else.

  James was quite a bit taller than her. He walked with his hands in his pockets. He was wearing faded green cotton pants and sensible leather shoes. He could be in any sort of story. He was stolid and reassuring. His face was freckled, and there were laugh lines around his eyes and his mouth.

  “Do you usually stay around here?” he asked. “On the bench?”

  “Oh no, I get around. I have a house.”

  “You have a house? I don’t think I have a house …”

  “At first, I just had a room,” Anna said, “but there’s a whole house now. Do you want to see it?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Do you mind?”

  “No, not at all. Come on.”

  She led him along the path. She could get to the house by deciding to get there, and it only took as long as she wanted it to.

  She decided to give it a few minutes. She liked walking with James. She wasn’t in any hurry. There was only so much she could show him anyway. There was only so much here.

  The farmhouse appeared in the distance. They turned down the gravel driveway.

  “You live on a farm,” he said.

  “Yeah, I think it’s one of the places she lived when she was a little girl. I was a little girl when I first got here.”

  He stopped to look at her. “Wait, you grew up here?”

  “Sorrrt of …” she said, cocking her head. “It’s more like she grew me up. Revised me up. Over the years.”

  James smiled gently. His eyebrows were raised in the middle again. “Anna, that’s so weird.”

  She goggled her eyes. “I know.”

  “How long have you been thirty-four?”

  “A decade at least.” She reached out and tugged on his forearm. “Come on.”

  She pulled him through the yard. There were chickens out pecking in front of the coop. There were goats, too, in the back. There’d been a horse for a while, but not anymore.

  The front door wasn’t locked. Anna took James through the old kitchen. There was a pump by the sink and a big table instead of counters.

  She showed him the living room with the antique sofa and the television …

  She never told anyone else about the television—they’d be so jealous. The house always made people jealous at first. Then, over time (it usually took longer than three minutes), they saw it as something pitiful. And then, over more time, it scared them. The older ones wouldn’t come anywhere near it. They acted like it was haunted. Like Anna was the ghost.

  But James wouldn’t be around long enough for that. She showed him her bedroom, with the homemade quilt and stuffed animals. “I don’t know why those are still here. Everything’s a bit haphazard.”

  She showed him the bathroom with the pedestal sink and the cast-iron tub. “Do you have to go to the bathroom?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “No,” she agreed. “No one ever does.”

  They ended up on the front porch, on the old wooden swing.

  “This is really lovely,” James said. He was looking out over the wheat fields and unconsciously rocking the swing with one foot on the floor.

  Anna crisscrossed her legs. “Thanks.”

  A fat orange cat ambled up the front walk. Anna held out a hand, snapping and clicking her tongue. “Here, Peaches.”

  The cat came to her, jumping up into her lap. Anna laughed, petting him.

  “Even your cat has a name,” James said.

  “Well …” she said. “Sort of.” She was blushing. “I mean—I named him.”

  “Can you do that?”

  Anna glanced up at him. “Who’s going to stop me? I’m sure she’ll rename Peaches if she ever uses us. But she might not use us. She might make Peaches a dog in the end. He may as well have a name while he’s here, right?”

  James was watching Anna, smiling just with his eyes and one side of his mouth. “Yeah.”

  “You can pet him if you want.”

  James reached out and scratched Peaches between the ears.

  “That is your first cat petting,” Anna said.

  “No,” he said. “I’ve petted plenty of cats.”

  “In your backstory,” Anna said. “But not here. It’s different—can’t you feel it?”

  He kept scratching. Peaches closed his eyes, purring. “No,” James said. “I don’t think that I can.”

  “You will,” she said, “if you try. If you have enough experiences here. You’ll feel the difference.”

  “I feel like I’m being pulled,” James said. He seemed agitated. He stopped touching Peaches and looked out over the fields. “Do you feel it, too? It’s like I’m meant to get into my book. Like I can’t be delayed.”

  “I’m not delaying you.” Anna tried not to sound defensive. “I’m not a trap.”

  “No.” James looked back at her. “I didn’t think you were. But do you feel it?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Everyone feels it. But you can’t really act on it. All you can do is wait. You’re here until she needs you.”

  “But why would she make me and then leave me here? Why would she leave you here, with all of this? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Well, she can’t use all of us,” Anna said. She tried to be practical. “Some of us are just extra.”

  “And you’re at peace with that? You’re not frustrated?”

  “I was frustrated for a while … I used to get up every morning and get ready. But … I couldn’t sustain that, you know?”

  “How do you feel now?”

  “I feel …” Anna sighed. She looked down at Peaches. She never really talked about this. Who would she tell? Her parents? Her best friend? That seemed unkind. They were only sketches compared to her. They might never get filled in.

  Anna almost never met someone like James. Someone with clearly drawn outsides and clearly drawn insides. Someone with carefully developed emotional maturity. James didn’t even realize how special he was. How lucky he was. He wouldn’t be here long—she was surprised he’d lingered at all.

  “I feel forgotten,” Anna said. “Mostly. Like … I must have been fascinating once. For her to build all this for me.” She looked around the yard. “I must have had promise. But then she just … set me aside. It’s a bit like knowing someone has fallen out of love with you.”

  James listened. Even after she’d stopped talking.

  Anna kept looking at Peaches. “I mean, not that I know how that feels …”

  “You’ve never had a love interest?” he asked.

  “No.” She looked up at him. “Which is strange. Most people around here come in pairs.”

  “Maybe it isn’t that you were forgotten,” James said carefully. “Maybe she’s saving you for something really good.”

  Anna smiled. “That’s very optimistic of you, James.”

  “I think I might be optimistic,” he said.

  “Likable,” she said. “Sympathetic. Almost creepily handsome. I have a good feeling about you.”

  He laughed and seemed to relax. He was still rocking the swing with his ankle. It was nice. Comforting.

  Anna felt for him. She could still feel the pull, too, underneath everything. But she was so used to it. It was like gravity for her.

  “Can you make friends here?” James asked.

  “Yeah. Of course.”

  “Even if you’re not meant for the same story?”

  “I mean, yeah,” Anna said. “Relationships don’t have to be eternal. People come and go from your life.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  “I’ve had a few friends here for years.”

  He rested an elbow on the back of the swing and rested his head in his hand. “Has anyone been here longer than you?”

 

1 2 3 4