Hey, guys! Silver and I had an awesome time in New Orleans. The vampire tour? Oh, yeah! Lots of fodder for the imagination there! The architecture, the street car ride and pretending to know what’s going on behind the doors of those big ol’ houses or the façades of the buildings huddled together in the French Quarter? I had to leave my scissors at home, but dang! Oh, yeah. Silver and I are going to be busy!!! In the meantime, though, FAERIE FIRE has been sighted at Wild Rose Press, Amazon.com, and B&N.com in the print version. And today, we are very lucky to have a visit from Moira O’Connor, the heroine.

Oh, please. The heroine? That sounds like such a cliché in some way. I’m lucky enough Silver wanted to tell stories and that one of them happened to be about Duncan and me.

You work for your father, right?

I do yes. I’m his chief of staff. I write his speeches, deal with constituents, run interference…things like that. Da is a good man with a good heart. He stands up for what he believes in and sometimes, he has to make hard decisions.

Do you date anyone on The Hill?

Hardly. I spend my time dealing with one crisis after another. Aunt Margaret keeps trying to fix me up, though. Or did. I don’t think she expected Duncan and I to…get together.

What about Agent Yazkowski?

*laughter* Ski? I’m not sure I would have considered us much more than friends and more likely acquaintances. *frowns* As it turned out, I couldn’t trust him.

What about your childhood?

*shakes head* I’d rather not go there. Everyone has issues. Mine are there.

Does that mean talking about your Gift is off limits? And will you explain how it works?

Gift? I’m not sure I would classify it as a gift. It sometimes comes in handy, but it most often leads to disappointment. I’m not psychic or anything. Sometimes, I get a sense about a person. I know whether or not they are lying, if they are sincere, if they have…a good heart or a black one.

What about Duncan?

*gentle smile* Duncan. Duncan set off fireworks in my head the first time our hands met. And in my heart, as well.

I hope you’ll get your happy ever after with him, Moira. If anyone has questions, Moira will check in periodically. In the meantime, here’s the first moment they met from Moira’s POV.

Thank you for having me, Iffy.

Still in the senator’s shadow, Moira watched, her attention focused on the by-play. Bradford Williams did not like this man, and in Moira’s book, that counted as a plus on stranger’s side. She stared at Duncan, deciding she liked the way the short hairs at the nape of his neck curled away from his ponytail. Were they as soft as they looked? What am I thinking? She shook such thoughts out of her head.

When Duncan blatantly ignored Deirdre’s play for his attention, Moira relished her sister’s discomfiture. Was it possible there actually lived a man immune to Deirdre’s charms? Moira looked up. He stared at her and she was pulled into his warm gaze. Some small part of her brain, the only part that seemed to be working on autopilot, noted his amber eyes were flecked with gold.

“Duncan Ross,” he said, extending his hand to her.

The sound of his voice broke the spell. He was just being kind to the plain sister in order to tweak the beauty. Moira understood this game. She’d been recruited to play it often enough growing up. At some point, the Celtic Connection had resumed playing, the music a soft hum in the background. The melody was sad and haunting, and eerily discordant. One part of her mind recognized the sounds of the bowed psaltery and the Uillean pipes. With some reluctance, she took Duncan’s hand.

Hey, guys. It’s me, Iffy, again. You know my interview yesterday? Well, I just wanted to share another picture of Professor Michael Shannahan. I think there’s more to him that what he let on yesterday! A friend of a friend of a friend emailed this undercover picture of Michael to Silver. He looks…not so friendly or scholarly in this picture. What do you guys think?

Silver and I are on the road today! Yippee! New Orleans here we come! Feel free to talk among yourselves, especially about FAERIE FIRE, but NO SPOILERS! Silver promises to check in as she can! It might be from her iPhone so replies will be short and sweet. Don’t forget Saturday! Semi-finals for the Mr. Summer contest. And comments all this week go in the random drawing for cool swag. Catch you guys later!

Hi, guys, Iffy here. Silver is off packing and otherwise getting ready for our trip to New Orleans. *happy dances* I can’t wait to head out tomorrow! However, we have somebody special to visit with today. But…before I introduce our guest, I want ya’ll to go back to Deirdre’s interview. Read the comments…especially that last one! *squeee* Yes! You read that right!!!! *swoon*

Okay. Back to business. Today, my guest is Professor Michael Shannahan. You met him briefly last week in Deirdre’s excerpt. He is a professor of Irish Literature at Georgetown University and is quite the musician. He performs with the Irish band, Celtic Connection, when he isn’t being all scholarly. Welcome to Penumbra, Michael. Can I get you something to drink?

A bit of tea would hit the spot, thank yee. And thank yee for invitin’ me here t’day. *glances at the title* Though I’m wonderin’ what yee’d be meanin’ by that bit up there?

I have it on good authority that there’s more to you than you admit.

*chuckle* I’m a professor, cailín . Nothing more. Ah, well, beside the bit of music and singin’ on the side.

So, it was just a “slip of the tongue” when you admitted to Moira that Seamus O’Roarke was a member of the IRA?

O’Roarke is scum and gives all Irishmen a bad name.

So how did you know about his…affliations?

I have friends at the British embassy, luv. Nothing nefarious, I assure you.

If you say so. How about Brian Boru? Do you know who he is?

*spits on floor* That bloody terrorist is nothing more than a killer of children and is worse than the very scum of the earth.

Wow. You really don’t like him much. But do you know who he is? MI6 and the CIA both know that’s an alias.

*shakes his head* Do you have a nip of Irish I could put in my tea? And if I knew who he was, I’d do my best to see him come to justice.

Yeah, you and Duncan both.

I’ll admit there are times I wish Ross the best of luck in his hunt.

Well, how about I share the excerpt of the first time you and Moira met while we wait for questions from our readers. You’ll stay around to answer, yes?

‘Twould be happy t’stay an’ visit, cailín .

****
Moira waded into the sea of motley greens swirling through the hotel lobby. An inebriated young man stumbled up to her, a bright green button proclaiming “Kiss me, I’m Irish” dangling from his lapel. Weaving drunkenly, the man tried to plant a kiss on Moira’s lips.

From a vantage point across the room, a slender man watched as she politely steered the drunk away. He wondered if everything he’d heard about the senator’s daughter was true. She had her thick blonde hair twisted into a business-like knot at the nape of her neck. Small, tasteful emeralds, her only ornamentation, glimmered at her ears and throat. The long-sleeved, high-necked black velvet cocktail dress she wore looked almost chaste, even though the fitted bodice and flared skirt showed off a good figure, though one more curvaceous than the current fashion. A Kelly green rose, the same color as the satin shawl draped over her arm, accented the flounced skirt. The colorful touches did little to alleviate the austere picture she presented. The girl probably was all business and no play, as he’d heard through the grapevine.

A laughing couple pushed through the door behind her. He shared her wince at their use of theatrical Irish brogues. In a hurry and paying no attention, they brushed past. The man stumbled into her and Moira teetered on her high heels, fighting to regain her balance.

He arrived beside her in moment, his hands steadying her as he whispered conspiratorially in her ear, “At least they’re only Irish once a year, cailín.” Moira pulled away and turned sharply to face him. “Michael Shanahan.” He extended his hand in introduction.

“Moira O’Connor,” she replied, taking his hand. Moira smiled as their fingers touched.

“Am I that amusin’, then?” His voice came out gruffer than he’d intended, but something about her knowing smile put his guard up.

“Not at all,” Moira assured. “In fact, I think you are a most studious man.”

Michael looked askance, puzzled by her statement. “I guess me secret’s out then, but how did yee know?”

“Know what?” Moira looked perplexed.

“That I’m a professor.”

She smiled again as she shook her head slightly. “I didn’t know,” she admitted. “How interesting.”

Michael watched her for a long moment before finally smiling back at her, even though his suspicions weren’t allayed. “You must be very intuitive, Miss O’Connor.” His voice carried a slight edge, and he’d dropped his broader accent. Though a true Irishman, he could wear his accent as needed. “I see your father hasn’t arrived yet,” he continued. “I was sent to fetch the two of you and escort you to the dinner.”

****
So, readers, any questions for our professor?

Today, I get to interview the vivacious Deirdre O’Connor. Deirdre, thanks for coming.

*smiles* In answer to your question, oh quite. Bad girls are often…good.

Somehow, I just knew you were going to say that. You do have that reputation. Is it deserved?

Father took me to a Broadway musical once. You might have heard of it? “Damn Yankees.” Anyway, there’s a song in the show. “Whatever Lola Wants.” *hums* *blinks slowly* *offers cat-and-cream smile* *sings* “Whatever Deirdre wants, Deirdre gets.” What do you think? Does the song fit me?

I think Moira should watch out for you. Is it true the Senator had an affair with your mother?

*yawn* That’s old news, if it was ever news at all. Yes. Father never married dear old mummy. She is an actress, semi-retired now, but I was raised in Father’s house with Moira.

And you’re the oldest?

*harrumphs* Only by a year.

Have you always considered yourself Moira’s rival?

What? Oh, please. Really? You’re joking, right? Me jealous of Moria? Not in this lifetime!

Oh? Sounds like you are protesting a little too much there.

*rolls her eyes* *sips her chocolitini* Well, I have to admit, once Moira met Duncan, she did seem to bloom a little. But it doesn’t matter. I’m still the beautiful one.

I think Duncan might disagree with you there. However, is there one part of the book that is really *you*? I’ll let you pick the excerpt and then we can drink our chocolitinis and wait for questions from the readers.

I rather like the description of me right before the cocktail party that first night at Aunt Margaret’s. And then later, when we went downstairs.

Deirdre smiled at her reflection in the antique cheval mirror. Aunt Margaret knew her so well. Pulling a lock of her bright hair over her forehead, she studied the result. She rather liked the coy effect created when she peeked out from behind the curl. She’d spent the last hour achieving the studied wildness of her magnificent mane. She’d finally gotten it just right. Smoothing the emerald green satin gown over her hips, she posed once again for the mirror. She pasted a coquettish pout on her face, delighted with the whole image.

Strapless, gold sequins encrusted the bodice, which showed daring décolleté. The gown’s
sensuous, satin skirt hugged her slim body all the way to her ankles. When she moved, the satin whispered seductively, like a lover’s sigh in the dark. Deirdre cocked her left knee slightly, parting the sheath to reveal a slit running well up her shapely thigh. Gold-sequined stiletto heels completed the outfit.

Along with my gold and emerald jewelry, of course. And this is the effect that outfit had. *coy smile*

“Oh, jolly.” Her bored voice dripped sarcasm.

“My sister, Deirdre,” Moira introduced the other woman, her voice apologetic.

Michael and Kevin stared, both trying to keep their mouths from gaping open. Michael couldn’t believe these two were sisters. Deirdre was magnificent. He heard Kevin gulp. Forget youthful hormones, his middle-aged ones were rampaging as well. All thoughts of Moira had fled from his brain.

Margaret Steele, resplendent in red silk, swept through the doorway. “So this is where you’ve been hiding,” she scolded. Her sweet smile belied the reproach, though. “Deirdre, I’ve got a room full of attractive men just dying to meet you.” She linked her arm through the redhead’s and led her away.

“Come along, Moira,” she called over her shoulder.

So, there you have it. Deirdre is going to stay as long as the pitcher of chocolitinis last. Do you guys have any questions for her?

OH! And before I forget, Silver wanted me to pass this along, just in case you guys haven’t heard. FAERIE FIRE IS AVAILABLE FOR PREORDER! Go now and get your copy ordered! There will be contests soon with FAERIE FIRE swag.

Good morning, everyone! Iffy here. I’ve made Silver take the day off to get caught up on other stuff. Today, we’re waiting for Gemma Todd. Gemma is an interior designer hired by Margaret Steele to decorate the house at Faerie Glen Farms. She also thinks she’s Duncan’s girlfriend.

What do you mean think? I am!

Oops. You snuck up on me there, Gemma. Sorry. When you called to say you were running late, I believed you. I guess I should know by now that I shouldn’t believe everything you say, huh?

What’s that supposed to mean?

Wait a minute. I’m the one who is supposed to be asking questions. Here, have some of Paula’s chocolate and take a chill. Let’s get down to you, okay?

*breaks off a delicate bite and nibbles* I’m ready.

How did you and Duncan first meet?

*sultry smile* In a coffee shop. I was sitting at a table by the window and watched him come up the street. When he came in, I…arranged to meet him.

What happened then?

We had coffee. And lunch. Dinner. And then…breakfast. By the end of the week, he’d moved in with me. *satisfied smile*

Uh…huh. Well…I suppose that’s always subject to change. *ahem* Now…

What do you mean? What’s subject to change? I intend to marry Duncan.

Well, you know what they say…best laid plans of mice and…conniving women?

I. Beg. Your. Pardon! I refuse to sit here and listen to your insults. I have better things to do with my time. Beside, you’d be better served talking to that red-headed bitch, Deirdre. *stomps off*

Jeez. Was it something I said? Maybe I need to brush up on my social skills. Anyway, here’s an excerpt that’s all about Gemma because…well…GEMMA is all about Gemma.

Excerpt:

She smiled. Even though Margaret Steele’s taste annoyed her and even if Margaret insisted the house be decorated in English Country Castle, thereby resplendent with paisleys, plaids and chintz, Gemma actually looked forward to the upcoming weekend. Margaret was positively famous in Washington circles for her parties. The social events the Steele’s hosted were always attended by the rich and powerful—the very people she hoped to attract as clients. Upon discovering she had a live-in, Margaret had been gracious enough to include Duncan.

Her indulgent smile changed to a seductive leer at the thought of him. Duncan Ross was the most fascinating man she’d ever met. A surge of thwarted passion made her stomach flutter. Dark, mysterious, with a hint of danger, he could be a poster boy for Sexy Bad Boy. Since his peculiar dream several nights ago, he hadn’t touched her and she planned to change things this weekend. She would see to it. She knew firsthand just how romantic Faerie Glen could be. Before Duncan entered her life, she’d tried out the Laura Ashley bedroom with the willing assistance of one of the painters. A smug cat-and-cream smirk curled her lips. She’d made up her mind she would be the one to tame the wild Scotsman. Pushing thirty, it was time to settle down. She’d never wanted a man like she wanted Duncan. He could do things to her body, make her feel things no man ever had. Her smile grew wider. Yes, this weekend would be lovely.

If y’all have questions for her, I know I can entice her back. She took all of the chocolate leftover from Paula’s gift last week and she didn’t even touch the wine I put out. I bet I could bribe her with more chocolate, especially since she looked a little stressed when she left. Hrmmmm. I wonder why?

And don’t forget, FAERIE FIRE comes out in a month!

Contest? What contest? Ohhhhh, THAAAAT contest! Who wants to win a .pdf ARC of FAERIE FIRE? The first person who correctly guesses my real name (Iffy is a diminutive!) wins. And no, it’s not Rumplestiltskin! *rolls eyes* To give you a hint, someone did call me by my real name…. Now, start guessing!

Yay! It’s Wednesday again. All day! And I get to be in charge!!!! First, though, while we’re waiting for Mr. O’Roarke to show up, Silver asked me to let you guys know that she has a special announcement to make tomorrow so be sure to come back! And if you are here for the Anniversary Party, the Nook icon is hidden so look around. If you want to learn about winning the Nook from The Long and Short of It, click on that blue button over there on the side bar. This commercial announcement was brought to you by the makers of…books!

And here’s our special guest fianally arriving. Hi, Seamus. C’mon in and have a seat. Shadow peeps, this is Seamus O’Roarke. Say hi to the folks.

*grumble* There’s places I’ve to be, girlie, so let’s be gettin’ this show on the road.

You’re from Ireland, right?

I am. Dublin, in fact. What’s it to ya?

Back up there, Seamus. The readers just want to get a sense of your personality and background. In FAERIE FIRE, you’re described as being black Irish. Want to tell us what that means?

And what do ya think it means? I’ve the colorin’–black hair and blue eyes that link me to the very Tuatha de Danaan themselves.

*glances over her shoulder at Abhean and rolls her eyes* Oh? Rly? Let’s move on. You have an antiques shop in Bethesda, right?

In fact I do, though I doubt such as yerself could ever afford m’wares.

I’ve heard rumors you run other things back and forth to Ireland, too.

Is that a question then? Neither you nor the effing be eye can be provin’ it.

Don’t like the FBI much, huh? So tell us about Bradford Williams?

What about the man? He collects antiques. I sell them. There’s nothing more to tell.

Why do you have it in for Moira O’Connor?

Bloody, effing bitseach. Thinks she to the manor born what with her holier than thou airs. She’ll get hers. And get it the hard way she will. That’s a promise.

Oh? You don’t think Duncan Ross will have something to say about that?

*spits on the floor* Yeah. Well, Duncan bloody Ross will get his, too. And that’s all I’ll be sayin’ about it.

Ewwww! Gross, dude! Go on. Get out of here. Especially since I have a juicy bit of excerpt to share! FYI, Moira and her father, the senator, are attending a St. Patrick’s Day celebration where the senator is the guest of honor. Michael Shannahan is a dapper little fella who teaches Irish Literature and he is their escort for the evening. Dinner’s over and the band is playing jigs.

Looking determined, Michael appeared at Moira’s side. “May I have a dance with the loveliest cailín in the room?” he asked, complete with a gallant bow.

Moira studied him for a moment. A slight man in his forties, he stood only an inch or two taller. Ruddy cheeks complimented his curly brown hair while clear, blue eyes met her own with a steady gaze. She stood up and offered her hand to the little scholar. “And when did you last kiss the Blarney Stone, Professor?” she teased.

On the dance floor, Michael, quite nimble on his feet, led her through the intricate steps of a traditional Irish jig. She had no trouble keeping up with him. He looked both surprised and impressed. The jig ended and the band began a more sedate tune. Michael never missed a beat as he continued dancing with her. He twirled her away, but before he could reclaim her, a new pair of hands grabbed her shoulders.

“Time yee danced with a real man, m’darlin’,” a husky voice growled in her ear.

Moira crinkled her nose at the smell of stale whiskey on the man’s breath. Before she could pull away, he grabbed her around the waist, his strong fingers brutally biting into the soft flesh of her sides. She couldn’t stifle the shudder running through her as the man whisked her away between other dancers. Her new partner led her in a dizzying dance across the floor, and she quickly lost sight of Michael. She stumbled and the brute pulled her up against him, molding his fleshy body to hers. Fear stabbed through her middle and she gagged.

“Let me go,” Moira demanded through clenched teeth.

“What? An’ let the prize of the evenin’ slip through me fingers?” the man growled. “Yer daft, girl, if yee think I’m lettin’ yee get away.”

She glared up at him, assessing her opponent. The man had to be over six feet tall with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. His body was thick and she guessed he weighed more than two hundred and fifty pounds. Some women might have considered him handsome, with his jet-black hair and blazing blue eyes. Black Irish and in more ways than one.

Enough was enough. She pressed her palms against his chest, and leveraged as much distance between them as his rough grip on her waist would allow. With a little room to maneuver now, she brought the spike of her left shoe down sharply on the man’s right instep. His eyes widened with the sudden pain, but before he could react further, Moira shoved her left knee high between the man’s legs. He immediately released his hold on her waist, and she stumbled back, as much from the malevolence radiating from him as from her sudden freedom.

Michael caught up to her seconds later. “Are you all right?” Panting from his mad dash through the other dancers, he could barely get the words out.

“Who is that man?”

“Seamus O’Rourke.” Michael almost spat the name out as he steered her across the floor away from the other man.

She glanced over her shoulder. O’Rourke hobbled over to a chair on the edge of the dance floor. Turning back to Michael, she asked, “What do you know about him?” She glared at the little Irishman in front of her.

Michael shrugged. “Not much. He came over from Belfast about six months ago.”

“IRA?”

Her question caught Michael off guard and he answered without thinking, “We can’t prove it for sure.”

Moira flashed him a knowing smile. “There’s definitely more to you than meets the eye, Michael Shanahan.” She kept her voice low and touched him on the arm. “Thank you for the dance.”

So…what do you guys think? If you have any questions for Seamus, I’ll email him.

Hi, guys! Guess what?!? It’s Wednesday again. Today, our guest is millionaire industrialist, Bradford Williams. He makes money hand over fist and sometimes, a little under the table, too.

*ahem* I resent that, young….whatever you are. Muse did you say? *harrumph* No such thing. And you’d better not ask me that inane Oprah question.

Jeez Louise, pops. Don’t get your knickers all twisted up. And there is too such a thing. I’m a living, breathing example of the finest in the Muses’ Union. But then, being a rich industrialist and all, you probably hate unions. But anyway. This is my interview. I’ll ask the questions and you’ll answer. Got it? *blink* Don’t arch that brow at me, Mister. I know all about you, so there. Unless you want me spilling secrets, you’d better sit there and be nice.

*growls* Fine. Ask your questions.

So, I hear you hang around some pretty unsavory characters. What’s the 4-1-1 on that?

The what?

The 4-1-1. You know, information. Who do you call when you need the down and dirty? 4-1-1.

*disgusted sigh* I’m going to fire my PR director. I do not need this aggravation.

Okay. Let’s try this one then. Why is it so important you talk to Senator O’Connor that you get Allen Steele to run interference for you?

You are treading on dangerously thin ice there, young wo… What is your name again?

Iffy.

Good god. What sort of name is that? *holds up hands* No. No, never mind. Let’s just get this over with. Allen and I have mutual business interests. Getting O’Connor on board with the Senate censure action would…expedite some of those interests.

How did you meet Duncan Ross?

*snort* Why would you bring him up? One of my underlings thought he was a security expert and invited him to do a site survey of my corporate headquarters. Expert? Ha! Not likely. Besides, I know what really happened in Belfast. Mr. Ross will be held accountable sooner or later.

Okay. Here’s a name for you. Seamus O’Rourke. Who’s he?

Now why would you be asking about him? He’s a nobody. A second-rate antiques dealer out of Bethesda. I bought a few things from him. That’s all.

That’s all? Are you sure? I’ve heard some interesting rumors about him…just sayin’…

Didn’t I just say that’s all? This interview is over.

*watches Bradford stalk off* Well…guess I touched a nerve there, huh? I don’t know if we’ll get him back for questions, but y’all can try. Also…Silver asked me to pass along this banner. Click on it to get all the 4-1-1 on the blog party that starts next month and all sorts of good stuffs, plus how to win the Nook from Long and Short Reviews.

Hey, guys! It’s Wednesday again. Yayayayay! Silver has been sent on errands and I have the blog to myself today. This is Senator Patrick O’Connor and his long-time friend (like from college days, even), Allen Steele. Both are from Boston originally and both from upper-crust families. Allen’s family could have been a member of the “Boston Brahmins” but Patrick, being Catholic, had different roots, though just as deep.

This scene made it quite a ways through the editing process but Silver’s Ms. Editor 1.0 asked it be cut for a variety of reasons. This version is from an early draft. I liked this scene so don’t blame my scissors! I chopped other things–especially where Deirdre was concerned. *bwahaha* So, grab something to drink, and look behind the scenes of FAERIE FIRE.

Allen poured brandy into crystal snifters, swirling the amber liquid around and around as he presented one to the senator. Easing into a wide leather chair, he took a sip, savoring the fiery trail the liquor left in its wake. He stretched out his legs and settled back, glancing over at the man occupying the matching chair on the other side of the fireplace. A small fire crackled in the grate, more for effect than warmth. Allen loved this room. He’d insisted that the paneling be lightly pickled rather than darkly stained like the rest of the house. Navajo rugs spun bright patterns across the floor. The suede-covered armchairs were the color of the Arizona desert.

Allen’s private study was an enigma. Its American Southwest décor was at complete odds with the rest of the huge house but Allen didn’t care. He liked this room and was comfortable in it. In fact, he’d chosen the furnishings and rugs himself. He glanced over at his companion again. The conversation he had to initiate wasn’t one he preferred to hold at this time, but he felt like he was caught between a rock and hard spot. He had business interests in Northern Ireland.

“We’ve been friends since college, Patrick.”

Patrick placed his brandy on the twisted twig table next to his chair. “Allen.” His voice was tinged with disappointment as he interrupted the other man. “You have more money than Midas. What do you need with a man like Bradford Williams?”

“He’s a business associate, Paddy, and has been for years. He helped me make a lot of that money you just mentioned.”

Patrick stared, his expression concerned. “Is that what this is all about? Money?”

Allen took another sip, rolling the brandy over his tongue a few seconds before swallowing. “Why are you being so pig-headed about this, Paddy? I know you’ve lost no love on the British.”

“Since when have you taken up the banner of terrorists, Allen?” Patrick’s anger radiated in his tone. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? The IRA is not a bunch of patriots trying to save their country from tyranny. Oh, they’d like you to believe they’ve modeled themselves on the founding fathers here in America. That they’re fighting a revolution every bit as important as our own. For God’s sake, Allen, remember your history. Washington’s army didn’t slaughter innocent civilians.” He paused to stare at his friend. “Allen, these people are terrorists. They don’t care who might get hurt by their bombs. They think nothing of putting the lives of women and children in jeopardy. In fact, the more innocent civilians they murder, the bigger the headlines. Why can’t you understand that Northern Ireland is just the Middle East come home to roost?”

Allen set his snifter down and leaned toward the other man, his gaze hot and fervent. “You’re a Catholic, Patrick, and there are Protestant groups in Ireland that have done the same.”

Patrick met this declaration with a sad shrug. “That doesn’t make it right, Allen. Catholic. Protestant. Jew. Muslim. It doesn’t make it right. The murder of innocents cannot be condoned.”

Allen was not about to drop the subject. He continued earnestly. “Do you think Britain should continue its rule of Northern Ireland?”

The senator pondered the question a long moment before speaking. “If the alternative is turning over Northern Ireland to any terrorist group, Catholic or Protestant, then yes. Britain should retain control.”

“Then you will vote against the Senate resolution?”

“I will.”

Now me? I’m not much into old guys. Silver is. She likes Sean Connery and Sam Elliott and other guys who have gray in their hair. But…I kinda like Patrick and Allen. What about you guys? And don’t forget your chance to win an ARC of FAERIE FIRE. Go to Sky Purington’s Blog and leave a comment. Tell Silver what you love about a Celtic hero!

Nope, not Ward Cleaver. Today I’m talking to two of the secondary characters in FAERIE FIRE, John Murray and Ward Winston. They’re at the party when all the bad stuff happens but that would be a spoiler so, SHHHHHH! Here’s my questions for these two BFFs.

So, John, have you ever been accused of being a model for GQ?

Actually, once. I was at Brooks Brothers getting fitted for a new suit. I had a court appearance the next week and decided a new suit was just the ticket. Several ladies were there, shopping for husbands or boyfriends, and one asked. I almost hated to dissuade her but I gave her one of my business cards. As it turned out, her father was in need of some legal advice.

What about you, Ward?

You’re kidding right? Me? No way. I let the clothes horse over there handle that area. I just want to be comfortable. Working in a bank is confining enough! Stuffed shirts and ties are the first thing to go when I get home.

Tell us what was your most fun scene in the book, John?

No spoilers, right? In that case, getting to sit next to Deirdre. Getting to dance with Deidre. Getting Deidre.

*rolls eyes* Man, that girl snagged you hook, line, and sinker, John!

You’re just jealous, Ward. You thought you might have a chance with her. But I noticed you certainly transferred your interest to Gemma quick enough when you had the chance.

Don’t even get me started on Gemma, John-boy!

Boys, boys! Oy! Let’s try something easier. What is your favorite color? John, you first.
That’s easy. Green. Deirdre looks terrific in green. All that red hair. And her eyes. I love her eyes.

*ahem* Enough about Deirdre. Ward? What about you?

I have to laugh, I should say green, too, since I’m in banking but I’ll say red. And no, it has nothing to with Deirdre’s hair. I like sailing and blue always reminds me of the ocean.

Where did you grow up? John?
Alexandria, Virginia. And I graduated from UVA—that’s the University of Virginia. I was lucky enough to get into Harvard Law and received my Juris Doctorate from there.

Do you see what I have to put up with? Damn, John. You talk like you have stick up your…er… Anyway. I’m a Philadelphia boy. Main Line. TI spent summers in the Hamptons. John and I met at UVA though I went on to Yale for my MBA.

John, describe your personality with five adjectives that would make your 5th grade English teacher proud.

Tenacious, stalwart, persistent, rapacious, and diligent.

Ward?

Droll, pugnacious, amiable, buoyant, and adorable.

Oh, please. Adorable? Give me a break, Ward. That’s like me saying I’m handsome. I am…but…one hardly uses those terms to describe oneself.

John? Uhm…stick and butt? Seriously, guy.

What is your favorite food and drink? John?

Prime rib and a good chardonnay.

Ward?

Beer and nachos, but don’t tell my mother. She’ll disown me.

And our last question, why should people read FAERIE FIRE?

The story is fast-paced, well-executed, and is full of twists and turns. Right, Ward?

I think it has everything a guy could want—guns, explosions, sex… Oh…yeah…and romance. That’s for the ladies.

Silver’s off doing things again today but for anyone worried, her little writer’s brain is churning away like mad. She even got up at the butt crack of dawn to get some work in before dashing off to another Only doc appointment and other stuffs. She left me in charge, sooooo….. Do you guys have any questions for these guys?

Hi-hi! Iffy here. I have Silver chained BICHOK for SOTW so I’m hosting today’s blog, which is an interview. She promised the chance for y’all to meet the characters (at least some of them) in FAERIE FIRE between now and September 17th. I’ll start with the secondary characters and work up to Duncan and Moira.

Today, I’d like to introduce Margaret Steele to you. Most of the action occurs at her country home, Faerie Glen Farm, just outside of Charlottesville, Virginia. Margaret has been married to Allen Steele for most of her life. Really. A child bride! They get along really well and they’re Patrick O’Connor’s oldest friends and god parents to Moira and Deidre. *Pssst* Don’t tell, but Margaret comes across as a social butterfly and consummate hostess but she might just surprise you when it’s all over. So, without further adieu, heeeeere’s Margaret!

So, Miss Margie, if Oprah invited you on her show to talk about your life, what would the theme of that show be? Oh, good heavens! I…I’m speechless. Frankly, I would never appear on that woman’s show. Daytime television? I mean really now… And please. You may call me Mrs. Steele or Margaret, Iphigenia. No one calls me Miss Margie.

Ow! I don’t even want to know how you know my real name. Silver and I are going to have a serious discussion when I unchain her. But, back to you, Margi…Margaret. Tell us what was your most fun scene in the book? Well, I mustn’t give away the plot so suffice it to say, the look on the face of that FBI agent was almost worth the terrible things going on at that moment.

The most difficult? This question is a bit easier to answer–when we were all trapped in Allen’s study. I truly believed we all might die.

What is your favorite color? Did you truly just ask me that? I suppose you plan to ask me what my astrological sign is, as well? Red. I love bright, fire engine red.

Where did you grow up? Boston. I’m a Back Bay Baby, I fear. My parents were patrons of the Pops, though. We weren’t completely couth. And I did run off to London in my youth. Should I mention that I am a huge Patriots fan but I fear I can’t abide the Red Sox. Allen is far more tolerant of baseball than I.

Describe your personality with five adjectives that would make your 5th grade English teacher proud. Sanguine, pragmatic, droll, staunch, and astute.

What is your favorite food and drink? Oh my. This is quite difficult. I have so many foods I enjoy, though I’m not much of a gormund. Lobster is always delightful, in any form. Cook’s cinnamon rolls are to die for–isn’t that how young people express themselves these days? For drink, starting the morning with a cup of Irish Breakfast tea is the only way to face the day but I would never decline a glass of Dom Perignon, so long as the bottle is an acceptable vintage.

And our last question, why should people read FAERIE FIRE? As my friend, Roxanne St. Claire, mentioned some time ago, this “is an expert blend of edgy romantic suspense and captivating magic. Silver spins a tale that places the mystical heart of a paranormal into the rock-hard torso of a suspense!” You know Rocki is a best-selling author, yes? I enjoy her books so much, but discovered, after the incident at the farm with that horrid Irish terrorist, that the fiction is far more enjoyable that the reality.