Excerpt from Invisible:

“Promise.” Birger’s normally robust voice was reduced to a whisper, barely audible over the hum of the oxygen concentrator-compressor combo.

Maeve couldn’t hear the weakness, she wouldn’t hear it. This was Birger, strong, invincible, going-to-live forever Birger.

“No need. The reading doesn’t happen ’til you’re dead and you’re not dying anytime soon, so give it a rest. ” Maeve paced the master bedroom, her heels clicking decisively against the hardwood floor, her hands gripped tightly behind her back.

Blue eyes flicked back and forth, watching her.


Englebarn, he always called her that. He was the only person who did. She didn’t even know what that blasted endearment meant because he wouldn’t tell her.

‘Course she didn’t really have to know. The caring in the word was powerful enough to sway decisions. It wasn’t fair of him to use it now.

“I’m not listening.” She gave him her best glare, one that would have incinerated any other man into a heap of ash. The old fart merely smiled.

“Englebarn.” He straightened his frail body, preventing himself from sliding off the bed.

Her lips twisted. Stubborn fool. “Let me do that.” She grabbed the stark white pillow and gave the stuffing a few angry thumps before slipping it back behind Birger’s gray head.

“Don’t thank me yet. I’m not done with you.” She sat back down on the side of the bed, trying not to notice that there was plenty of space, and picked up the small plastic jar on the antique bedside table.

“Not.” Birger feigned a grimace.

“Yeah, the ointment.” Maeve smoothed the lotion onto her palms, rubbing her hands together, the friction raising the temperature. “It might stink but it works. Deal with it.” Though the doctor had doubts about its powers, she was convinced the massages made a difference.

There was only the sound of the machines and her friend’s ragged breathing as Maeve rubbed her lubricated fingers over his chest. Blast it, he was getting thin, disappearing right in front of her.

“You have to eat more,” she grumbled. “Tomorrow I’ll make you some fish cakes, the family recipe, just the way you taught me with warm potato salad and remoulade sauce. You know you’ll like that.”


Maeve’s eyes narrowed. “Not another word, Birger Rayner. I don’t want to hear about it.”

Her obstinate friend wasn’t giving up. “Must accept.”

She fought the urge to pinch him, hard. “I don’t have to accept anything; especially not you talking nonsense ’til my ears bleed.”


Maeve, my heroine in Invisible, is one of the most fascinating characters I’ve ever met. When I say that, usually non-writing buddies look at me strange. The thing is, for me, writing is like dreaming. The characters may come from my brain, but I have no control over them. I don’t know what will happen next or whom else I’ll meet as I follow them around. I try to steer them in the ‘right’ direction but often they’ll do their own thing.

And sometimes they’ll keep secrets.

Maeve is one of those characters. I’ve received a lot of reader emails asking about her past. Unfortunately, I don’t know the answers. I know. I know. It is frustrating for me also. She doesn’t talk, keeping herself in shadows.

I was hoping when I wrote Tavos’ story, Maeve’s knife wielding vigilante friend, this past summer, some of those mysteries would be solved. Nope. If anything, I have even more questions.

Ahhh well, there’s always Nikolay’s book.


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