Anita Archer Books Novels & Stories

"Most people run *from*. You feel like you're running *to*. A destination you haven't quite seen yet. An itch you can't scratch." She was describing the feeling I'd had in the guesthouse, the nameless yearning. The sense of a story waiting to be written. "How could you possibly know that?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Anya placed her mug on the table with a soft click. "Because I've spent my life reading stories written in the margins. In the footnotes. In the things people leave behind." She tapped her briefcase. "I'm an archivist for a private collection. We deal in lost histories. Forgotten artifacts. The debris of other people's lives. And you, Alex, have the look of someone who h

” Anita demands. “First of all it's Queen Elara to you. Secondly, over my dead body will I hand over these letters. I'll rather fight you here for it.” But then Anita steps back, straightening her posture. Her smile returns, sharp as broken glass. “Run along, Elara,” she whispers. “Keep your letter. See how far it gets you. Just remember, you can’t watch your back forever.” ‎