This week I want to talk FANTASY for just a bit. As I finish up edits on Sex and start plotting out Spy Girl 3: The Society, one of my favorite ways to get back into my characters is by dressing them, housing them, and imagining them in their world. Even though I don’t always share them, I still make Polyvore boards for a lot of the clothing that Huntley wears. Below is a Polyvore board with some of Dolce & Gabbana’s fairytale collection. I’m in love with all these pieces and am hoping we see the trickle-down effect of this look into more affordable fashions. Because if I could afford it, I would buy this entire line! Luckily, Spy Girl’s cover as the daughter of a billionaire means she does not have to wait. Expect to read about her wearing some of these amazing pieces.
And while we’re talking fantasy, I’d love to tell you about the EARTH ANGEL series from my Bandit Publishing company. If you loved the epic love story in Twilight or my Keatyn Chronicles series along with the magic of Harry Potter, I think you will love Earth Angel. (This series is appropriate for ages 15 and up.) Be sure to scroll down and read the magical excerpt!
Get book one, THE LETTER for ONLY 99¢. This price will be good for preorders and release day only, then will go back to its normal $3.99 price point. The first five books, THE LETTER, THE RING, THE COVEN, THE LIE and THE STRANGER are all released!
Quin could feel it coming—the perfect intro to an unusual subject. “There are a lot of things people don’t see,” he pointed out. “That doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”
“But that’s like saying anything’s possible,” Layla argued.
Quin’s heart skipped a few beats, his free hand flexing as nerves erupted, twitching his entire body. Everything was riding on how he handled the next few minutes. “So you need proof to believe in something,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual, but his anxiety was at an all-time high.
Layla thought for a moment then nodded. “Yeah. In order for me to say I honestly believe in something, I need proof. I could consider a theory, and find it plausible, but that doesn’t equal belief.”
“So if I told you I have a pair of jeans at home,” he teased, trying to ease his tension, “you wouldn’t believe me?”
“Very funny,” she laughed, “and completely off subject. Now, if you tell me there’s a purple alien staying in your guestroom, we’ll be back on track.”
“I don’t believe in purple aliens,” he countered.
Layla tilted her head. “How can you believe in one and not the other?”
“You believe I have jeans, yet you dismiss soul mates.”
“I’ve seen jeans, so I know they exist.”
“So it’s definite. For you, seeing is believing.”
“I would have to say, yes, it’s definite.” She paused, chewing her lip as she looked down. “That doesn’t mean I’m not open to ideas. I like to hear theories and form opinions. I just can’t support them without proof, and I won’t change my desired lifestyle based on blind faith.”
“I think that’s a strong and honest point of view,” he commended.
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s stubborn and contrary.” She stopped spinning her twig and looked him in the eye. “What else do you believe in?”
He hesitated, terrified to come right out and say it. “A lot of things. There are a lot of secrets out there.”
“But no purple aliens,” she added.
“Not that I’m aware of,” he confirmed.
She laughed and shook her head. “Okay. So what is out there?”
She’d done it again. She’d given him the perfect intro. After a deep breath, he took the plunge. “How do you feel about magic?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you believe in magic?” he rephrased, barely breathing as he searched everything about her—face, posture, hands, the air around her.
“Are you asking if I believe magicians really do possess miraculous power?” she asked.
“No,” he clarified. “I’m not talking about sleight of hand or smoke and mirrors, which is what you see at public magic shows. I’m talking about real magic. The kind the public doesn’t see.”
“You’re forgetting,” she replied, “I need to see to believe.”
“Right,” he mumbled.
“Do you believe?” she asked.
Quin maintained sober eye contact as he answered. “I do.”
“Hmm…” she mumbled, curiously searching his gaze. Then she shrugged. “I guess that’s no different than believing in soul mates, and since we can’t prove each other wrong, it’s a moot point.”
Quin took a moment to memorize her smile before risking it. “What if I told you I could prove it?”
Her lips dropped as her forehead furrowed. “I guess I’d ask you how.”
Quin filled his lungs then scooted around, sitting cross-legged in front of her. She pulled her knees from her chest, crossing her legs as well, and he took her twig, tossing it aside so he could have her hands.
“Layla,” he breathed, meeting her stare, “I’m not like most people.”
“I know,” she smirked.
“That’s not what I mean,” he continued. “I’m saying I can do things other people can’t.”
She tilted her head, biting her lip as she watched his eyes. “Like what?”
“A lot of things,” he answered, tightening his hold on her hands. He couldn’t help himself. It took a great deal of restraint not to grip her like his life depended on it.
“Like what?” she urged.
Quin sighed and got it over with. “Like magic, Layla.”
Stunned, confused and torn between laughing and backing away, Layla had to make sure she’d heard correctly. “Magic?”
“Yes,” Quin confirmed.
“You’re joking,” she assumed.
“No,” he insisted. “I’m very serious.”
“Magic,” she repeated, at a loss for something useful to say.
Quin nodded, and Layla continued to stare, unable to make heads or tails of his confession. Oh god. He was crazy. She was in the middle of nowhere with a crazy person.
Quin shifted, his fingers flexing around hers. “What are you thinking?”
“That you’re crazy,” she snapped, agitated by the whole damn situation. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering how to handle the handsome nutcase. Then she smoothed her ruffled feathers and looked back. “I’m sorry. That was mean. But . . . well, are you?”
“Am I what?”
Crazy, she thought. “Unwell,” she answered. “Do you take meds and visit with doctors about your . . . magic?”
Quin smiled and shook his head. “I’m not crazy, Layla. I’m telling the truth. I can perform genuine magic.”
Apprehensive about playing along, Layla looked down, weighing her options. She hated the thought of blowing him off—returning him to the café before walking away forever. But she couldn’t sweep the subject under the rug and pretend his delusional behavior was normal.
“So,” she whispered, trying to remain sympathetic despite her disappointment, “what kind of things can you do?”
“Just about anything,” he answered, relaxing his grip. “Do you want me to tell you or show you?”
She raised an eyebrow, wondering how far he would take it. “Both.”
“Okay, but don’t let it scare you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Okay,” she hesitantly agreed.
“Hand me that twig you were spinning,” he instructed, releasing one of her hands.
Layla reached out, blindly finding the twig and handing it over.
“Don’t be frightened,” he pressed, softly kissing her hand. Then he placed it in her lap.
Layla touched her tingling knuckles, her heart and cheeks flooding with warmth. Damn. Why’d he have to be crazy?
Quin held out a hand, and the small stick lay idle in his large palm. “I can make this twig do pretty much anything I want without touching it.”
“Show me,” she insisted.
Keeping his gaze on her face, he took a deep breath and pointed at the twig, which floated into the air! Layla gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth, and the stick fell to Quin’s palm.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“How did you do that?” she demanded.
“Magic,” he answered.
She shook her head, unable to find her lungs. “This is a joke. This has to be a joke.”
“No,” he countered, “it’s magic.”