By the time he descended back into the world via the center doors (he wasn’t going near the grinning, moron bus driver again), his mood had reverted to miserable. Darkness and despair returned like an incoming tide. He much preferred this feeling to that lightness. He couldn’t be happy while she lived the life that should have been his.

When he realized where his body had brought him, he understood that this was a message just for him. By coincidence—although there are no coincidences in dark fairy tales—he stood outside the very bookstore where he had met Orelia.

Bountiful Books had, until his career had left for the South Pole, held only good memories for William. The manager, Diane-something (he wasn’t great with names), had been effusive every time he visited. During the promotional weeks of Suffer Them to Come to Light, he’d given his first talk and signing here.

Diane had sprung for wine and cheese platters for the guests and some wonderful pastries filled with a delightful custard cream. Even in those early days, the buzz around books had seen the room full, with many forced to stand against the walls.

William had found that tour and talking to a crowd a heady experience. He recalled his hand shaking as he turned the pages of his own novel to read aloud to the reverent audience. The vibrato in his voice calmed minutes in, thank God. So many hands shot up at the end, Diane had said they’d be there until the next release if she didn’t limit the questions.

William had launched his first two books here, but his last, Flying Toward the Sun, was barely a fizzle launch. He turned up when nobody else did. Cookies replaced the hors d’oeuvre and water instead of wine. The eight people sitting among the empty chairs offered no questions for him, though he’d be happy to answer them.

A woman with a novel clutched to her chest approached him, and his fragile ego lifted. He recalled her name as Anne because how could you forget the person who shattered your heart in one sentence.

“I’m Anne and I’m sooo excited. You cannot believe what this means to me.”

He held out his hand to take her book with the biggest smile he owned planted on his face. That’s when she said it, even before he saw the cover and title.

“We’re the greatest fans ever of your friend Orelia Mason. I’d heard you knew her. Is there any way you might get her to sign this for me? We’re all in a book club and we’ve brought our copies with us.”

He couldn’t help himself. His whole body recoiled, and his fist clenched as he yanked the extended arm tight to his body. She laid the offensive mass before him. On the table. Next to his hand, which now gripped his pen as if he held a knife. The only thing stopping him from using it like a blade was that you can’t kill people with pens.