Pann: A Young Adult Paranormal Dystopian Romance

By Conner Kressley and Rebecca Hamilton

There’s two rules in Neverland: Never grow up, and never surrender.
But Wendy doesn’t live in Neverland.

It’s Wendy Darling’s turn to ‘grow up,’ to find her place among the Corporation she calls home. And she’s ready to submit to the Change…until a discovery about her youngest brother Michael throws everything into chaos.

Michael is sick, which will render him ‘obsolete,’ a term Wendy has learned in her short life means death at the hands of Hook Industries. Now, days away from her transformation—an event that will rip away any care she has for protecting her little brother—Wendy must seek help from an urban legend she doesn’t believe in.

But Pann does exist. And he’s ready to show her that nothing is as it seems.

Before long, Wendy takes a leap of faith that entangles her fate with the handsome, auburn-haired man of legend. What happens, though, when it turns out he has secrets of his own?

The legendary tale of Peter Pann takes a dystopian twist that fans of Divergent are sure to love in PANN, the epic first book in the new young adult paranormal series, The Kingdom of the Lost.

Scroll up and one click to watch the legend take flight!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evershade Publishing
• Release date: Apr 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781949112146

Conner Kressley

New York Times bestselling author Rebecca Hamilton writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance for Harlequin, Baste Lübbe, and Evershade. A book addict, registered bone marrow donor, and indian food enthusiast, she often takes to fictional worlds to see what perilous situations her characters will find themselves in next. Represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA, Rebecca has been published internationally, in three languages: English, German, and Hungarian. You can follow her on twitter @InkMuse

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Chapter 1

My name is Wendy Darling. I was a kind, compassionate, brave, and loyal girl who loved her family more than anything. A stubborn girl who some said needed to learn to listen more.

My name is Wendy Darling, and in seven days, none of that would matter.

Until then, though, life would go on as usual, so I spent my time contemplating my feelings about my sister in law.

I marveled at how her gray eyes seemed dead even when she was laughing. I wasn’t sure what I expected the girl who married my brother to be like, but Mildred Tanner was certainly not it. John was smart and vibrant and a lover of life.

Or at least he had been. Before the Change.

Since late last year, though, he has simply tolerated life. Except for every now and again, when the light would catch him just right or the conversation would turn too quickly for his modifications to keep up with. That was when a glimmer of my real brother would peek through.

And yes, Mildred Tanner had gone through the Change herself, so there was no way I could have known what she was like before it. But there was nothing about that dumpy girl, standing on the coupling stage with my brother’s hand in hers, that made me think she had ever been anything other than dull.

That’ll be us in a year, Katrina said, leaning over my shoulder.

As family of the betrothed, Mother, Michael, and I got premier seating for this event, if you could even call it that.

Watching chemically altered teenagers in matching suits swear on themselves, the Maker, and the Industry to protect and provide for people didn’t constitute an event in my eyes. To me, it seemed more like a human version of the factory line where Father used to work. But I seemed to be the only one who had that view. Katrina sure didn’t.

Like me, she was seventeen. Only a few weeks away from the last step of the Change but a full year from proper coupling. Still, she couldn’t have been more excited at the prospect.

Did you hear me Wendy? I said that’ll be us in a year, she repeated, tapping me on the shoulder.

Of course I heard her. It had soured my stomach almost as quickly as watching Mildred plant a dead-eyed, open-mouthed kiss on John after they both promised to be bound by loyalty until their works were done.

It shouldn’t have been John, I muttered under my breath. Not now anyway.

Mother placed a scolding hand over mine and squeezed.

I couldn’t help the way I felt. John was a baby—fifteen years old and two whole years away from the Change, let alone coupling. And now, just because Father got sick, and the laws say that all able-bodied families have to have at least one male in the workforce at all times, John was forced to grow up too fast.

It took all I could to blink back tears while looking at him. He was a boy, and a late bloomer at that. His voice hadn’t even changed yet. And Mildred—his soon-to-be life partner—stood a full foot taller than him.

It should have been me, I muttered through clenched teeth. It was closer to my time. It should have—

Enough, Mother whispered flatly. We’ve been through this.

And we had. I begged her to let me see the Division leaders after Father died, to let me convince them that I would be a better fit to go to work. But those weren’t the laws, and Mother told me that trying to circumvent what had already been ruled on was wasteful and childish.

It’s okay, Katrina said. It’ll be your turn soon enough.

I groaned. For the life of me, I could never understand Katrina. We grew up together. She saw what the Change had done to John. Her own sister had gone through it not four years ago. But where I was fidgeting nervously, imagining sand spilling far too quickly from my metaphorical hourglass, Katrina had the stupid thing in her hands, pounding against the top.

Maybe I’ll marry Harold Finnish, she mused when I didn’t answer.

I rolled my eyes. He’s Division A. You’d have a better chance of marrying your dog.

There’s no law that says the Divisions can’t crossmarry, she said, glancing over at my mother. You should know that better than anyone. She leaned up in her seat, so that she was basically drooling on my shoulder. Besides, if we can’t have them, they shouldn’t tease us with them. She looked up at the couples on the center stage, a full three levels above John and Mildred. It’s like looking at the sun.

Don’t hurt your eyes, I replied.

That’s enough, girls. These couples deserve your undivided attention, Mother said in that thoroughly emotionless tone that only those who have gone through the Change were capable of.

I straightened in my seat, knowing better than to test my mother when she was wearing her good clothes. I was just in time to see John place the ring on Mildred’s finger, clasp the necklace around her throat, and get on his tiptoes so he could spread the ashes across her forehead. She was his now. My brother was a grownup—a man—and he was never coming home again.

Ninety-six minutes and forty-three couplings later, I was finally marching down the street with Katrina toward school, pulling my little brother Michael behind me. One might think that, with such a busy morning for the Divisions, school might be called off. But the Division leaders decided there was enough time for a few classes, which meant I would have to sit through Advanced Economics and History of Industry before I was to be called into the Main Hall and subjected to the start of this year’s Fall.

Have fun, I muttered to Michael, leaving the while you still can left unspoken. I ruffled his sandy hair and watched him rush toward his wing of the school. Though the schools were the only places in the entirety of the Corporation where people from all the Divisions mingled, the difference between the elementary and advanced wings could not have been starker.

For people under twelve, the elementary wing was a formless place, full of free-flowing music, fried foods, and shoes with laces—all signatures of a lifestyle that I left behind long ago. In a few years, Michael would be twelve, and he would follow suit and begin Weaning. Watching him now, toddling along with a teddy bear tucked under his right arm, the idea seemed equal parts foreign and heartbreaking.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the thought. I had already lost one brother; losing the other might be too much to bear. But what was I to do? That was the way of things, always had been. And besides, I would be well through the Change by that time, and if what they say can be believed, things would be clear to me then.

Can you believe I have to do Advanced Geometric Theory today? Katrina asked as we passed under the HOOK Industries sign that separated the school’s wings and pretty much dotted every conceivable location within the Corporation. She held her watch out in front of her, and her schedule appeared in the air, as if to offer proof. I’m just so sick of Mr. Abernathy telling me how—

Math is the universal language, I finished. I hadn’t taken his class yet, but everyone knew Mr. Abernathy’s signature phrase.

Katrina sighed. Like I’m ever going to get out of this Division, let alone have any need for a universal language.

You never know, I said, nudging her on the shoulder. You might get lucky and marry Harold Finnish. His dad’s on the arms committee. I hear they went across the ocean once.

Katrina shook her head. I was being stupid, Wendy. I know better than that. I’ll end up with a Division D boy—er, man, she corrected herself. And that’s fine. It’s how things are supposed to be.

Katrina always did this. When it was just the two of us, or when she thought she wouldn’t be heard, she would go on and on about what boys she thought were cute and daydreaming about what her life would be like once she went through the Change. But we were in school now, and if anyone heard her talk like that, they would think she was being foolish. Romance, even romantic feelings, were wasteful. They were unnecessary to coupling and procreation. So giving in to things like that, when they led to nothing, was childish. And we wouldn’t be children much longer.

I felt bad for Katrina sometimes. She would have been considered beautiful—if that sort of thing mattered—with her bright blue eyes, naturally dark skin, and hair that looked amazing regardless of how it was worn. But beauty was frivolous and, if anything, a deterrent. Because she looked the way she did, she got more attention from boys—boys who took their maturation less seriously than they should have. And naturally, because they were boys, it was overlooked quicker than it would have been for any girl. So, she was always caught up in this juggling act of what she wanted to do and what she needed to do, all the while trying to make up for something she never had any control over in the first place. Then again, maybe that was what growing up was.

Luckily for me, I didn’t have that problem. Sure, I had seen more than a couple of boys through the years who made my heart speed up, but I never saw the sense in lingering on it. Why start something you couldn’t finish? Besides, I was no Katrina. My looks were plainer and much easier to hide behind. I was shorter than her, for one. My eyes, while blue, weren’t nearly as bright, and my sandy hair was more a nuisance than anything else. Perhaps I should have been happy about that.

We made our way into the mouth of the gathering room. When we were younger, they made us sit in alphabetical order, so Katrina Raspers and Wendy Darling were always very far apart. But as we went through the Weaning, the reasons for keeping friends separated during class hours melted away. It seemed that, when everyone was trying to be more mature than the last person, talking in class wasn’t much of an issue. So Katrina and I were free to sit by each other whenever we pleased.

I held my palms up under the turnstile, letting the disinfectant pour down over them. Only then, once I had rubbed it into my hands, did the door open.

Katrina was a few seconds behind me. She had never liked the feel of the disinfectant—too cold, she always said. But if you wanted to get anywhere where people gathered inside the Corporation, you had to use it. So, regardless of how she felt about it, Katrina would have to brave the cold.

I went over to the canteen and extended my right hand. It pricked my finger to analyze my blood. Sugar was a little low and my brain would need to be on its best behavior for Advanced Eco, so it issued me a cup of plain yogurt (for the sugar) and a cut of grilled chicken (for the protein) along with the customary water bottle.

I settled beside Katrina, who had scored a cup of vegetable soup and two pieces of toast—with butter. Glaring at my dry chicken, I silently promised to figure out what set of circumstances I needed to duplicate in order to get my own butter, and placed the educ-specs over my eyes.

Already? Katrina asked. You haven’t even cut into your chicken, and classes don’t start for three more minutes.

I’m not hungry, I answered.

Which was true, even if it wasn’t the point.

The truth was, I couldn’t stand to look at these people right now. All the boys, sitting in straight rows and talking about the daily earnings output, would just remind me of John and of all the time fate and laws had robbed him off. And all the girls, preening silently as each pretended to be more unaffected than the one next to her—they would just make me think of something worse. So no, I wouldn’t look at them. I would just stare into the darkness of my educ-specs until Advanced Eco started. And, if I was lucky, I wouldn’t think of anything.

Okay. Well, have a good class then, Katrina said, and I could hear her sliding the glasses on herself.

You, too, I muttered, just as Dr. Hebron appeared before me, welcoming me to another interesting installment in the journey that is economics.

I didn’t want to be rude, and I didn’t want to shut her out, but she was more like the rest of them than I cared for. Even if she was slower to reach the emotionless peak that everyone else in our year seemed to be obsessed with, her goals were the same. She wanted the Switch to happen. She wanted to go through the Change.

And me?

I just wanted everything, and everyone, to go back to the way they were.

The difference, of course, was that Katrina’s goal was a certainty, while mine was an impossibility.

Beside me, Katrina groaned. Mr. Abernathy must have started his class with his ‘universal language’ speech. I stifled a chuckle and settled in, trying very hard to think of neither the past nor the future.

The Fall would happen today. Me and every person in this room, regardless of Division, would gather in the Main Hall where we would be surveyed. Our brain patterns would be studied, our physical capabilities would be calculated, and the rest of our lives would be mapped out with the precision fitting of HOOK Industries.

It was fate.

Chapter 2

By the time Professor Tennenbaum thanked us for our participation in Advanced Economics, wishing us the most productive of days, I was sure I learned next to nothing.

I slid my educ-specs off to find that Katrina was already gone. Several students’ seats were empty, which likely meant that Katrina’s second class of the day had been cancelled.

Ugh. I shouldn’t have shut her out like that earlier. What was going on with me wasn’t her fault. I definitely owed her an apology when I caught up with her at the Fall.

My stomach lurched. The Fall would change everything. My capabilities, my strengths, and my weaknesses would be put on display for the entire Corporation to see. The Division leaders would gather, along with all the partners of HOOK Industries—save, of course, the Captain—and read over my results. They would formulate a plan for me: what job I was best suited for, how many children I could have based upon my physical and economic limitations, and what activities would best nurture me in my free time.

Then, after the standard adjustment time had passed, they would inject me with the Switch.

The thought of that bright green sludge pouring into my veins chased a shiver down my spine. If I were facing that part of it today—the actual injection—no way could I make it. Thankfully, it would take time for them to assess our results and even more time to set up the labs, affording us a cushy space of about three months to anticipate (or dread) what the Switch was about to do to us.

Beyond that, in one year, after I had grown accustomed to life as a full-fledged adult, they would re-examine my results, along with the results of all those in my year, and place me with a spouse that best fit my particular situation. Of course, I wouldn’t care then. I would be a grownup, just like dead-eyed Mildred.

I placed myself outside of the elementary wing and waited for Michael. A few ‘A’ kids came shuffling past, and I leaned against the wall, trying not to be seen. Not that they would’ve bothered to talk to me even if they had noticed.

I can’t believe that, said a boy with dark hair, shaking his head. She just coughed like that, right in front of you?

The other guy, a meaty looking sort with short blond hair answered. Well, I mean, she wasn’t technically in front of me. But she was close enough so that I could hear it.

Maybe she had something in her throat, said a shorter girl who was having trouble keeping up.

Nah, said the first boy. We were all hoping that, but she coughed a couple of times in a row, and then something green started coming out of her nose.

What’d you do? Meaty asked.

What do you think I did? I prayed to the Maker and ran like Cellar out of there, just like everybody else.

The girl wrinkled her nose. You think you need to go to the infirmary?

I don’t think so, answered the first boy. I reapplied disinfectant, so I should be good. But seriously, what was she thinking coming to school like that? And on Fall day, no less!

Who was it again? Meaty asked.

I don’t know. The first boy shrugged. Some Downstairs bitch. Carmen somethin’.

Carmen Dapollis. It had to be. She was the only Division D girl in our year with that name. Since her name was so close to mine alphabetically, she was also someone I had sat next to on more occasions than I could count.

We weren’t friends, exactly, but we’d shared more than one conversation, and the thought of her being sick tugged at my heart, especially knowing how bad that could get. Sickness is the scourge of productivity. It’s the bane of progress. Everyone knew that. And those were the words that people who were too sick to work had to say right before…

Thoughts of my father crashed into my head, and I flinched. No. I couldn’t do this. Not now, not today. I closed my eyes and counted to three, the way Father taught me, pushing the bad feelings aside and replacing them with something I could use.

A few minutes later, Michael came running out, his cheeks painted and wearing a band of feathers on his head. The genuine smile on his face gave me the sweetest ache.

It was so much fun, Wendy! He wrapped his arms around my waist and squeezed me tight. We got to dress up, and we got to name our bears! He held his up for me to see. It was painted similarly to him and wore the same headdress. I named him Great Big Little Panther. Sorta fits, don’t you think?

I think so, Michael, I said, taking his hand and guiding him through the mass of children who were pouring out in search of parents, siblings, or Industry-appointed guardians.

He turned back to his bear, beaming at it with pride.

Was it fair, I wondered, to give them this time only to take it away? Wouldn’t they be better off if the Switch happened at birth? That way, they would never know what they were losing, what they were being made to give up. Then again, they would never know what it was like to be young, either, to really be alive—the way alive is supposed to be, at least. And, if they never had that, it meant I would never have this: watching Michael be happy, if only for a while. I wouldn’t have my memories of John, of knowing who he really was as a person, before the Change got in the way.

It didn’t matter anyway. I would go through it soon, and then—for better or worse—I would understand.

The schoolhouses were all located in the heart of Division A, because Maker forbid that those pampered corporate lawmakers’ kids ever had to set foot in one of the lesser areas of the Corporation. That meant Michael and I would have the farthest to walk, between the brick houses and freshly mowed lawns of Division B, where doctors’ and enforcers’ families resided; past Division C, to the modular units where teachers, builders, and utility workers lived; and all the way to our home in Division D.

A smee flew overhead, recording our movements as we crossed the threshold into our native district. Michael squeezed my hand.

It’s okay, I told him. It’s not gonna hurt you. It’s here to make sure we’re safe.

It was probably closer to the truth to say that it was here to make sure that we (and the rest of the Division D kids) didn’t linger too long on our way back home, but Michael didn’t need to hear that.

HOOK Industries marketed the smees as guardians: ‘flying high to make sure that you and yours are safe.’ At least, that was what the posters said.

But if that was true, why did they all but cut off as soon as we entered Division D? Even after curfew, it was odd to see more than one or two of them pass by during the night. Something told me that the Division A kids got more than their fair share of floating metal protection.

As soon as we crossed into our Division, the bulbous black machine turned tail and floated off, taking its red sentinel eye with it.

Home was a lot less cushy than the other Divisions. We were the drones: a community of factory workers, wait staff, and sanitation officials deemed fit only to do the lesser jobs that our higher Division counterparts were too qualified to be bothered with. So it only made sense that our surroundings were more utilitarian. It was the Downstairs—at least, that seemed to be what everybody called it. The lowest you could go.

Lines of brick buildings marked only by graffiti that Corporation officials never seemed concerned enough to actually clean housed rows and rows of identical apartments. They were cramped, and two bedrooms regardless of how many children a family was instructed to have. But it was ours. It was home. And that meant something.

In the distance, the factories and mills where most of our people busied themselves emitted enough smoke to effectively gray the sky. It always seemed strange to me, how the other Divisions managed to free themselves of the effects of their own work, while Division D had disintegrated into a broken, smog-filled mess.

I held Michael’s hand a little tighter as we neared the heart of the Division, and we picked up the pace. Just because it was our home didn’t mean we felt safe here. On the contrary. It meant that we knew better than to think we could ever let our guard down.

I stole a glimpse to the left. As always, the only thing you could see through the smog was the Captain’s Tower—the largest building in the Corporation and the epicenter of everything that mattered. It was where the Captain of HOOK and his family lived, where the Partners held meetings, and most importantly to me, where the Fall results were sent and sorted.

It was also the only thing you could see no matter where you were standing in the Corporation. Like an unblinking eye, it watched everything we did, no matter where we did it.

I never liked that tower.

Today, the streets were predictably empty. Though school and work had been cut short for those going through the Fall and their families, it was business as usual for everyone else. Meaning that everyone had a place they were supposed to be and that, since carrying Michael made me a bit slower than all my other Division mates, the only people left out here were me, my little brother, and people who were doing things they weren’t supposed to.

When any of the kids from the other Divisions heard us talking about the Downstairs gangs, they would always roll their eyes and call us liars.

The smees would never allow that. The Corporation would never allow it, they would say.

The level of delusion was staggering. But when things are good for you, you want to believe they’re good all over. They would never understand that the Corporation didn’t care about people like us.

Faster Michael, I said as we rounded the corner.

This part of Downstairs—the part right before you get into the units—was the worst. They called the clock tower that we were passing The Dead Shadow, and the darkened alleyway that stretched out into lines and lines of gang turf were called the Barrows.

No one ever went into the Barrows unless they had to. Luckily for us, today we didn’t.

I was halfway past the Shadow, looking up at the tower’s useless hands stuck on three and six, and wondering if the time it told (when it did tell time) was the same as what we kept now, when I heard the scream.

Chapter 3

Michael pulled close to me, clutching my leg with one hand and Great Big Little Panther with the other.

Before I had the chance to offer a single comforting word, the scream returned. It was a woman—no, a girl.

These gangs were obviously made up of young people. No one who had gone through the Change would ever use their time so wastefully or do anything that was so blatantly against the wishes of the Corporation. But these kids were young and knew full-well all their future held was decades of struggle and hardships. They didn’t see much need to toe the line.

Usually, the gangs stuck to targeting grownups—or drones, as we called them here. If you worked for the Corporation, you were fair game. That was how they saw it. But a few of them were just lunatics who liked to hurt people just to hurt them. Those were the ones that went after the kids. I’d seen boys as young as Michael get killed by these idiots, and boys as young as John doing it. It was insane. How many credits could a kid that young have on him anyway?

The scream shattered the air again, and something inside me broke. They were going