by AnonYMous
Praise for Sight Unseen: A Collection of Five Anonymous Novellas:
“A fascinating guessing game that invites us to explore the range and creativity of which some of our most beloved authors are capable.”
—Laura Florand, author of La Vie en Roses, Paris Nights, and The Chocolate Series
“Your favorite authors like you’ve never read them before! These novellas are varied and vivid, with dashes of magic or danger and an irresistible touch of romance.”
—Theresa Romain, author of Fortune Favors the Wicked
“Trying to puzzle out who wrote which novella was so much fun. It was such a treat to see some of my favorite authors work their magic on a story that’s outside their usual writing.”
—Cat Sebastian, author of The Soldier’s Scoundrel and The Lawrence Browne Affair
Praise for the experimental concept behind Sight Unseen: A Collection of Five Anonymous Novellas:
“Anthologies published by Open Ink Press are always high concept, but Sight Unseen has to be one of the edgiest and most highly anticipated projects of the year.”
—Santino Hassell, author of the Five Boroughs series, the Cyberlove series, and ICoS
“A groundbreaking approach to publishing. Frees the reader from expectation, frees the writer from fear. This can only lead to refreshing risk-taking, bold new stories, and beautifully honest writing. It strips away so many distractions that surround publishing, and gets to the heart of literature: experiencing a story. I can’t wait for the collection.”
—Adi Alsaid, author of Let’s Get Lost and Never Always Sometimes
“An innovative way to keep readers guessing and engaged the entire way through. Brilliant idea!”
—Layla Reyne, author of the Agents Irish & Whiskey series
“I love the concept of this book. It’s a reader’s version of a masked ball. The thrill of the anonymous encounter, the sense that they are both familiar and mysterious, and the rush of a secret kept or revealed. Can’t wait to join the party.”
—Roan Parrish, author of In the Middle of Somewhere series
“Author anonymity could be immensely appealing when it comes to branching out from our set track. Often our name(s) become our brand, and define what readers expect from us when they pick up a book with that name on the cover—which can leave us feeling locked on a specific path in order to meet reader expectations and remain on-brand. Stripping away that branding means there are no expectations. No confines. No idea of what one should do; just what one can do, with vast room to step outside of boundaries and comfort zones without negatively impacting existing brands or career trajectory. There’s an enticing freedom in anonymity, and sometimes when anonymous an author can be more free to explore their secret selves and certain truths than they are under a specific name.”
—Cole McCade, author of The Lost
Sight Unseen:
A Collection of Five Anonymous Novellas
Volume I
What stories would you tell if you could? Where would your mind take you, if you let it? Five of the top voices in romance dare you to explore the most distant corners of their imaginations as they test the limits of storytelling and break the boundaries of what even they thought possible, teasing and tormenting you shamelessly as they go.
But there’s a twist—the author of each story is a secret at the time of release. They’re each plumbing the depths of the human heart and mind in ways they’ve never attempted before. Taking you high, bringing you low, until you will be hardpressed to guess who wrote what. Can you tell? Want us to?
Too bad our lips are sealed . . . for now.
Lost That Feeling
Alma knew who she was, once—that is, before she erased her memory with a spell. Some, like the guards at the prison in which she’s held, say that she was a thief, a murderer.
Others say she was a hero. Like Driss, the man who rescues her. He claims to be a friend. He’s certainly handsome. And charming. And brave. In a word: perfect.
That’s the problem. If he’s perfect and she’s a hero, how did she end up in prison with a seven-year hole in her memory to begin with?
A Clear View of You
As a child, Kate had one dream: to escape her mother’s deluded hippie commune and live in the real world, where mature adults know that magic isn’t real. But the real world also has its downsides—like rent, student loans, and a cutthroat job market.
Happily, Kate is uniquely qualified for one in-demand position: psychic. Of course, she’s as fake as the rest of them, but nobody plays a fortune-teller as convincingly as a girl raised by a would-be witch. If only Kate’s newest client weren’t so perceptive . . . and attractive. If only crystal balls didn’t have the habit of lighting up in his presence.
Magic isn’t real, right? Kate is about to find out otherwise . . .
Free
Brad White would be an ordinary accountant with an unrequited crush except for two things: he works for a criminal motorcycle club, and he’s in love with the club president’s daughter. When she discovers the truth about the family business, Brad has to move beyond ordinary and put his life on the line to keep her safe.
Wren Masters, unlike everyone else in her graduating class, chose to stay in Fallow, Montana because, also unlike everyone else, she loves it. But when she finds out her father’s club is running drugs, her family and world crumble. She and Brad risk everything to uncover the truth . . . and begin a scorching affair.
As the conspiracy—and their feelings—deepen, Brad and Wren must choose between family and justice. And neither seems to include a future for them.
Chariot of Desire
CJ Crespo, drummer for the once wildly popular rock band Donjon, has always had a thing for frontman Donny Times. They spent the seventies getting high together, making music together, self-destructing together. But her qualms about ruining a creative partnership with sex kept them from ever hooking up. Now, Donny’s conversion to a bizarre fringe religion that won’t allow him to engage in—or even sing about—sex, drugs, or other “sins” threatens to tear Donjon apart.
As the band struggles to embrace a new decade and a new Donny, CJ must decide where she belongs: by Donny’s side, even if he can’t ever love her? Or out there making her own music, away from a man who gives and takes in equal measures?
The Heart is a Universe
On the remote planet of Pax Cara lies the greatest secret of the universe. Once every generation, the inhabitants must offer up an exceptional young person—the Chosen One—who sacrifices his or her own life for the sake of that secret, and the planet itself.
However, Vitalis, the current Chosen One, is desperate to free herself from the yoke of destiny. An unexpected invitation to an aristocratic summit seems to be the perfect opportunity for escape. But almost as soon as she arrives, the most eligible prince in existence proposes marriage.
Sparks fly, but Vitalis is wary. Eleian of Terra Illustrata can have any woman he wants. Why has he set his sight on Vitalis, who, unless she manages to flee, will die in sixteen days? Is he hiding an ulterior motive, one that could put everything in jeopardy—her plans, her life, and her heart?
Sight Unseen:
A Collection of Five Anonymous Novellas
Volume I
Introduction copyright © 2017 by Open Ink Press LLC
“Lost That Feeling” copyright © 2017 by Anonymous
“A Clear View of You” copyright © 2017 by Anonymous
“Free” copyright © 2017 by Anonymous
“Chariot of Desire” copyright © 2017 by Anonymous
“The Heart is a Universe” copyright © 2017 by Anonymous
Cover art by: Utsav Gupta | www.pattisurrey.net
Editor: May Peterson
Publ
ished by:
Open Ink Press LLC
PO Box 5138
Hoboken, NJ 07030
www.openinkpress.com
ISBN (ebook): 978-0-9972311-3-7
EPUB Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the authors. All trademarks and registered trademarks are the property of their respective owners.
Who wrote what?
Our lips are sealed . . . for now.
Table of Contents
Cover
Praise for Sight Unseen
About the Anthology
Copyright Page
Introduction
Lost That Feeling
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
A Clear View of You
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Free
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chariot of Desire
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
The Heart is a Universe
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
About the Authors
Acknowledgments
About the Publisher
Other Books by the Publisher
Introduction
We all have auto-buy authors, but what is the promise made by the name on the book cover? Is it about voice? About a certain type of story? About how reading it will make you feel?
If we took that name away, would you even still recognize it?
That question is where Sight Unseen began: gather five authors, publish an anthology in which each novella is anonymous, and see if readers can correctly connect the stories with the authors.
The concept didn’t stop there because once you remove the name from the story, it’s free in a way other writing isn’t. There’s no brand to worry about, no expectations to meet. The writing has to stand by itself.
The project took on a life of its own, becoming an experiment wrapped in a puzzle. It offered a space to play for authors and a game for readers, but it raises questions for all of us about how brand and marketing shape books, how we read, and what we think we like.
Because it would be maddening to never learn who wrote what, Sight Unseen comes with an end date. Three months after release, the authors of the stories collected here will be revealed. But in the meantime, we offer five intriguingly different stories. Each is unsigned, but also smart, sexy, offbeat, and most importantly, surprising.
Let the speculation begin.
LOST THAT FEELING
Alma knew who she was, once—that is, before she erased her memory with a spell. Some, like the guards at the prison in which she’s held, say that she was a thief, a murderer.
Others say she was a hero. Like Driss, the man who rescues her. He claims to be a friend. He’s certainly handsome. And charming. And brave. In a word: perfect.
That’s the problem. If he’s perfect and she’s a hero, how did she end up in prison with a seven-year hole in her memory to begin with?
Chapter 1
These assholes again.
Alma sighed and resettled herself on the floor, flexing haunches gone numb from extended sitting. One of the nice things about being stuck in a prison that used to be a fancy asylum—euphemistically called the Safe House in both incarnations—was that her cell had a carpet. An oval of braided silk, stained and faded but still smooth to the touch. Sometimes she sat on the carpet, sometimes on the bed. That was all the variety her life offered these days, so she tried to appreciate it.
“You ever hear about the Barstou raid?” asked Enes, the idiot night guard.
“That the one where Alma got lost on the way to the Barstou villa?” asked Hoph, the other idiot night guard.
They were all idiots, actually.
“Can’t storytime wait for the break?” Alma asked, idly sucking at the scar tissue where one of her thumbnails used to be.
She had no memory of her capture, but the stuff that’d come after was fresher than most of the meat they served here. Like, for example, having all of her fingernails pulled out. They’d healed well enough; sucking and biting eased the occasional lingering ache.
“You’re getting the stories mixed up.” Hoph propped an elbow against the wall, where the fading primrose-pink paint was peeling away to reveal a layer of buttercup yellow. This had been a cheerful place once.
Hoph was a tall man, big-boned, heavily muscled. Even in a remote outpost like the Safe House, with a handful of prisoners to guard and not much else to do, the soldiers were prime specimens in peak condition. “What happened is the Barstous were caught passing supplies to the rebels. Bad news for the rebels, eh? Rebelling doesn’t exactly pay well. It’s not honest work, is it? So Driss takes some of his people to raid the Barstou villa before Ozias can reach it. While he cleaned out the treasury, Alma here got the job of killing the family so they couldn’t spill any rebel secrets. She slit their throats ear to ear. Even the kid.”
Alma sighed. Probably a lie. Probably. She couldn’t be sure because, ha ha, wasn’t it hilarious, she couldn’t remember seven years of her life. Who could blame these two idiots for seeing a little humor in her predicament? Having a little fun at her expense?
“I hope you both drown in barrels full of snot,” she said flatly.
“Shut up or I’ll shut you up,” snarled Enes.
“Hear that?” Hoph smacked the bars of her cell, making them rattle. Then he laughed. “Look at her. I thought witches were supposed to be scary.”
“You gotta wonder why they bother keeping her here,” agreed Enes. “Ought to put her out of her misery.”
“Come on.” Hoph jerked his chin toward the stairs leading to the floor below, where another magician waited in another cell. “Leave this one to rot.”
“That does seem to be the plan,” Alma muttered.
The two guards thunked down the creaky stairwell, passing out of view.
And so concluded the night’s entertainment.
Alma eyed the bed. Tempting, but if she tried to sleep too early, she ended up with insomnia. Then she tossed and turned until dawn, when a new set of guards would rouse her. She stood to look out the window for a bit, her usual default. She couldn’t see much of the island in the dark, just lines of white foam cresting the waves as they broke on the black sand beach. The scent of the magic-dampening perfume trees rose when the breezes dwindled, tickling her throat.
Right now, somewhere far away, someone was limping home from a long day of hard labor and wishing they could live out the rest of their days on a tropical paradise just like this one, in a state of forced idleness just like hers.
A faint squeak caught her attention. Not that she cared what went on here—or, more precisely, so long as she couldn’t do anything, she tried not to think about it—but she knew the routines by heart, the guards’ schedules, the creaks and groans of the villa settling on its foundations.
That squeak did not belong. It came from the hatch that opened onto the roof, and the two guards stationed up there weren’t supposed to come down during their shifts.
A light scuffing noise. Carefully controlled breathing.
Alma approached the bars of her cell, curious in spite of herself.
Two men stepped into view. One was big and strapping—a great muscular hulk of a man. The other was tall but lean. Both had the burnished gold skin, thick black hair, and hooked noses common in Tenem.
Neither wore uniforms and they were both soaking wet.
“Who are you?” she asked.
They gaped in proper trying-to-catch-flies fashion. Mouths open, slack-jawed.
“Great. Another pair of idiots.” Alma sighed. “Only the best for King Ozias.”
“We’re here to free you,” said the lean one.
“Sure you are.” She gestured expansively at the barred door. “Have at it.”
The giant shook his companion’s shoulder and pointed to the stairs Enes and Hoph had just descended.
“Shit,” hissed the slim one, pulling a set of lockpicks from a pocket sewn into his belt.
Lockpicks?
The big guy moved to guard his friend’s back, settling into a loose battle stance.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he repeated, though he attacked the lock with wonderfully steady hands.
“Who are you?” Alma asked again.
He flashed her a wide, charming smile. “Is this your way of telling me I took too long getting here?”
“It’s my way of asking who you are.”
His brows notched together. “Driss.”
“Driss,” she repeated, and a little flame of hope ignited in her heart.
Her first memories, after the gap, were of Ozias’s torturers asking about Driss. Where had Driss gone? Where would Driss hide? How could they find Driss? He’d been their favorite subject.
The guards talked about him, too. Often enough that, even though they lied constantly, she’d been convinced of a few basic facts: she and Driss had led a rebellion. They had tried to overthrow King Ozias. They had failed.