The final in my "Believe" series is out March 2007, and below is a very small sampling of that book. I hope you will enjoy!

Sayblee Safipour appeared out of swirling gray matter and blinked into the warm, dark glow of a living room that smelled like coconut, pineapple, and a soft ocean breeze. She breathed in something spicy, sweet, the scent of desire floating in the air. As her eyes adjusted to the light that pulsed with yellow heat, she pushed away her hood and flicked her long blond hair behind her shoulders. A slight, warm breeze moved in through the open windows, the sounds of night bugs and frogs a buzzing song coming from the wet foliage outside. She unbuttoned her robe and took it off, letting it drop into a pool of blue velvet softness on the couch, and smoothed out her blouse and skirt, until she realized that neither were at all wrinkled from her journey from London, matter an unbroken flow of energy tonight.

Traveling through matter wasn’t usually hard, though sometimes waves of energy made things a bit bumpy, space bunching up in rough, uneven pockets, sometimes due to someone’s bad magic or simply mischief, the gray like a roller coaster rather than a brisk walk on a flat escalator. However, what would have made this journey difficult, though, was her reluctance to arrive at Hilo at all. Sayblee rubbed her forehead. She didn’t even need to look around the room to know what she would find. But she couldn’t resist. She took her hand away from her head and looked around. Yes, it was predictable. Pathetic, even. Basically male. Basically him. Look at this place! she thought to herself, gazing first at the creamy beige couch with the pink lace bra dangling on one arm. She looked around on the thick white carpet sure she’d find a tiny matching thong somewhere, but there were no other undergarments to be found. Probably, Sayblee thought, the woman didn’t even wear any, knowing what Felix was like and not wanting to impede his progress. And clearly, Felix had made progress. On the bleached wood coffee table were two crystal drink glasses, a quarter inch of pale yellow liquid still in each.

His damn concoction, she thought. Couldn’t even wait to finish his drink before pushing the poor woman into the bedroom. Soft music that he undoubtedly thought would sooth the jumbled nerves of his date filled the room, a tremble of light guitar riffs, flute solos, and some kind of indigenous instruments. A didgeridoo? A rainstick? Sayblee thought, shutting off the annoying sounds with a flick of her mind. The stereo lights blinked and the room fell silent. An unbuttoned white linen shirt lay on the floor by the hallway. As she stared at it, she heard a soft giggle float under the bedroom door and then a smooth, seductive laugh followed it, the sound that somehow reminded her of caramel.

Pig, she thought. No, that’s too harsh. Dog. Goat, maybe. No a goat is too cute. Skunk then. Or just pig. Sayblee walked to the bookcase, picked up photo frames full of happy people she knew well, his brothers and sisters-in-law, his mother Zosime. She stared into their eyes, and soon, she felt the impressions of their warm feelings for him as she held the images in her hands. Funny guy, she heard, or really pulled into her mind as she moved her fingers over the photos. Why doesn’t he settle down? So handsome. All he needs is a good woman. If he wasn’t so adorable, I’d kill him. Can he ever be serious? What a charmer. Those eyes would do anyone in. That smile! Sayblee’s shoulders dropped. She breathed in and took her hands away from his photos.

When she accepted this mission, she agreed to work with him, and work with Felix Valasay she would, even if it killed her. But it was hard to deal with someone who could live like this, who probably did a seduction scene like this every night of the week in this so-called post. Who could he possibly find here— in Hilo, Hawaii—that would lead any member of Les Croyant des Trois to Quain Dalzeil, the sorcier who was determined to destroy the Croyant way of life? The sorcier who had managed in recent years to affect all of Croyant life, creating fear, enchanting the best and brightest, leaving people to live in fear. Sure Felix managed to come to the aid of people needing him now and again. He’d been there with her just a year ago when a group of Croyant had fought Quain and Kallisto in the English countryside. But the Big Island? This house that smelled like tacky perfume and was filled with enough sexual energy to make the very floor vibrate? Sayblee shook her head and turned toward the hallway. Why did Adalbert Baird, the Armiger of the Croyant Council, insist that Sayblee was the only sorcière who could go on this mission? So what that she had her particular skill of being able to burn anything she wanted: steel, concrete, quartz, titanium. But from what Adalbert said, there would be no magic for a while as they blended in with the Moyenne, setting up the trap so slowly and ordinarily they would attract no attention from Quain or his followers. Her special powers weren’t needed at all, or at least until the very end of the mission. So why did she have to end up with this particular sorcier?

Another annoying giggle and then a lazy laugh slipped into the living room. The very air seemed to pulse with gardenias and hyacinth and rum. This was horrible! Intolerable. How was she supposed to interrupt that? She sat down on a beautifully carved wooden chair and sighed, staring at the rows and rows of hardback books, most of them probably uncracked since Felix graduated from the Bampton Academy. What to do? She’d never known how to engage Felix, to move smoothly into conversation with him. Since their days together at Bampton, she’d steered clear of him, even though Sayblee was very fond of his older brothers Sariel and Rufus, boys who turned into solid, reliable men. Married men. Committed men. Men! But there was something about Felix that was just plain dangerous, and Sayblee had recognized that when she was twelve. She’d turned a corner one afternoon after a long class on levitation, and there stood Felix, smiling at her with that smooth, slightly crooked smile, his almost green eyes full of a fire so unique, Sayblee herself didn’t have a clue how to kindle it. Even back then, his black hair was long, held back for classes with a leather string, strands always coming loose and falling in front of his face. Hair she’d wanted to touch, push away, tuck back into place. She’d barely managed to hold onto her textbooks and keep walking, ignoring his taunt of, “Baby, can I light your fire?”