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Snuggled within the warm embrace of marital bliss, biologically altered army Captain Drake Devilin and his supernatural bride Sienna face their biggest challenge to date. Called back for duty in World War II, Drake must leave his amazing life behind and join his troop to fight the Nazis. Although he’s certain his new mission is merely a rouse to obtain his most precious commodity, his wife, Drake leaves, but not before giving Sienna a magical necklace in the hope it will protect her against unknown enemies.
Lured from her prosperous island by a sorcerer who is convinced she was always meant to be his bride. Sienna is challenged to play three magical games to ensure her husband’s safe return. In each game, a limited time is given to Sienna to immerse herself into a new world, situation, and persona; find Drake; and have him acknowledge her by name. And she can’t use her powers to make it happen.
Everything dear to Sienna’s heart is put in jeopardy. Willing to fight for the love of her life and her happiness, Sienna takes on the sorcerer in his own game of cat and mouse.
The wonderful world of Harry Potter
Growing up, my generation had a collection of good feeling children’s books. A Light in the Attic and Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein, or Beezus and Ramona by Beverly Clearly. The more serious but adventurous titles, which were classics handed down from previous eras, included Black Beauty, The Hobbit, Little Women, and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. I could go on and on, but the point I’m trying to make is where the hell was Harry Potter?
That was the first thing I thought once I finished reading the soon-to-be children’s classic by J.K. Rowling. At first I didn’t want to give these books a try; I thought everyone was being ridiculous about their love for this small wizard. But one day I was super bored—at a job that can still kiss it and suck it until this very day—and there was a bookshelf filled with books that were pretty to look at but never touched. Of course I put my hands all over them, and the violation of those unbroken spines paid off big time.
My favorite thing about a book is taking a trip within this carefully crafted world. Some books are character driven and some are plot driven, but Harry Potter is a whole new world. For me, not many authors can capture this; it takes a lot of talent and a lot of pages. Publishers don’t want to waste the ink on all those damn pages, but after eight installments those die-hard Potter fans knew about every nook and cranny of Hogswarts.
For instance, we would all need to get our permission slip signed to go to Hogsmead. Oh hell, what would my wand be, unicorn dust, feather of some weird bird, or icky gunk from a bug? We would all know which bathroom to avoid. And don’t forget the biggest question, which is what would the hat say when it was on my head. In my heart I know I would be part of Gryffindor, but shit let’s face it, the stupid ratty thing would pick Slytherin instead.
My point to all this is how wonderful these deep and intrinsically crafted books would have been when I was a kid. I often share books with my dad to read; it’s only right, he shared all of his Dean R Koontz and Stephen King with me. I gave him the whole Harry Potter Series and I thought how cool it would have been to be a kid and read them with him. Oh well, we have still have Salem’s Lot, Monkey Shine, and Insomnia. I know, not exactly kid friendly but yes I read all of these aloud to my mom when we drove on long trips. How amazing would it have been for her to ask, “WTF is butter beer?” What can I say? My parents were strange hippies who I love dearly.
