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Saffron has a genius for creative living, but ever since her judgmental older sister interfered in her love life, Saffron and Elinor haven’t spoken. When death brings them together at their father’s funeral in Rome, the battle re-ignites. It continues as they travel up the Italian coast to take possession of their cottage. Both secretly wish to mend fences, but they have opposite views about the best way to live.
Saffron has always sensed the “Invisibles”, people lingering after their demise. When the spirit who lives in the house predicts one sister might die, she takes it seriously, but can’t convince her practical-minded sister.
As they prepare the house for sale, Italy infuses its magic in food, festivals, and local love interests — until a shocking night changes everything for the sisters and their friends.
A tale of sisterhood and the supernatural, perfect for fans of Mary Ellen Taylor and Barbara O’Neal.
PRAISE FOR THE INVISIBLES
Author Dacus does a superb job bringing the village of Lerici to life, from the smells of the sea to the pungency of the local olive oil, and showing how the Italian way of life changes both women. An enjoyable, romantic read. — Suanne Schafer, author of HUNTING THE DEVIL
Read an Excerpt
Saffron startled awake in a dark room. Where was she? She remembered this was the cottage in Lerici. Her chosen bedroom.
A strip of light glowed under the door. The window, which she had left cracked open before she went to sleep, let in gusts of chilly, damp air.
She was about to fall back asleep when, despite the coolness, electric prickles sizzled up her arms and the dark came unmistakably alive.
“I know you,” she said aloud, sitting up and turning on the light. “You can’t hide.”
But of course, he could. Any Invisible could hide, though most wanted her help, so what was the point of hiding?
She fumbled around on the bedside table. Trying to remember the lamp and where the switch was, she touched the leather cover of the book of Shelley’s poems. The last verse she had read before falling asleep now came to mind.
In the golden lightning of the sunken sun, o’er which clouds are bright’ning, thou dost float and run; like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
I am an unbodied joy.
She whispered back, finishing the line. “. . . whose race is just begun?”
Shelley had been dead for more than a century. Why hadn’t he moved on to The Room Over There? Invisibles had to move on, didn’t they? Yet she felt him here, breathing, as if his breath blew gently on her forehead. She couldn’t see him in the dark, but maybe if she could turn on the light.
Her skin crawled. She reached farther over and found the light switch. In the suddenly bright room, she saw a misty form in midair. Sitting up now, she waited to see what he’d do.
The poet’s pale, round face became clear.
She spoke again. “A Poet hidden in the light of thought, singing hymns unbidden.”
But you are bidding me to come.
“Am I?” How was she calling Shelley to come to her?
Shake your chains to earth like dew.
“But they’re not mine. Ellie’s the one with chains!” She felt a subtle weight join her on the bed. She gasped.
“What do you want?”
Peace between my girls.
Peace. My girls. The word grated on her wounds. She winced, feeling the many criticisms from her sister over the years, the scars that never quite healed.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Ellie doesn’t want peace. She wishes I’d never come to this family. That you’d never sent me to them.”
The voice, melodious, deep, and familiar rang out.
“Saffron dear, I had to send you somewhere. I couldn’t care for you, and you never forgave me for that.”
“Dad?” she called. “You’re breaking my heart all over again!”
No reply. Then, “Your heart must become unbreakable like mine.
About the Author:
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