Title:  Bad Moon Arising

Series: Outcasts, Book One

Author: CL Mustafic

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: July 9, 2018

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 51100

Genre: Paranormal, shifters, werewolves, mates, humor, enemies to lovers

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Synopsis

In a sleepy trailer park in the backwoods of Minnesota lake country, there lies a secret—threatened by a Grindr hookup gone bad. Clay Anderson gets more than he bargained for when, in a moment of passion, he bites his Grindr hookup hard enough to draw blood. The man’s reaction isn’t as reassuring as Clay hoped, but of all the consequences Clay considered, lycanthropy wasn’t among them. Damian Maccon leads a simple life as part of the Outcast pack. Not realizing at first that Clay swallowed his blood during their wild romp, he feels responsible when it’s evident that Clay has become infected. Worse, he now has a new werewolf on his hands until Clay learns the rules, and he has to oversee Clay’s decision to choose a mate within the pack. Damian thinks his biggest problem is that Clay hates him, but when Clay chooses Damian’s abusive ex-boyfriend, Blaine, he goes on full alert. Can he save Clay from the same fate that befell him at Blaine’s hands?

Excerpt

Bad Moon Arising CL Mustafic © 2018 All Rights Reserved Chapter One CLAY Sitting in the back booth of the Blue Moon Bar and Grill—the only openly gay-friendly spot in the small city I worked in—I ran my finger over the screen of my phone, trying to gather up enough courage to tap the picture I’d been staring at for the past ten minutes. Touching the pic brought up his profile, which I’d already memorized. The green light told me he was online and only a few miles away from my current location. I liked his pic. It wasn’t very often Grindr users in my rural area posted pictures of their faces. Previous experience had taught me most of the app’s users were closeted and/or straight guys who liked to suck the occasional cock and worried their dude bros would download the app as a joke and see them there. But this guy had no such issue, and boy, was I glad. Of course, on the heels of that thought came another: it probably wasn’t a real pic of the guy. As I stared into the mismatched eyes—one a light green, the other a pale blue—I had a feeling he was catfishing, but there was only one way to find out for sure. Tapping the picture of the shaggy, sandy-blond-haired, scruffy-faced man brought up the chat, but I hesitated a moment. His user name was MoonGazer, which made me think of a nerdy guy with a telescope. Suddenly I had a vision of the guy sitting in his room spying on the hot guy next door, which gave me the boost of confidence I needed to send a message. [hey] I sent the one word and immediately wanted to take it back. I should have said something like Hey, sexy, want to hook up? but that wasn’t me, and I couldn’t change the person I was, even on Grindr. Half a beer later, he responded. [hey urself] My palms were sweaty as I stared at the words and tried to formulate a response, but he beat me to it. [r u l%kin 2 h%k up] All the moisture left my mouth, so I picked up my beer and chugged the rest before I sent another one-word message. [yep] [whr u at] Shit, he moved fast, but this is what I wanted, and he must have liked my pic enough to give it a go. My profile pic was only my chest. Yeah, I know it’s a cliché, but I had a great body, whereas my face? Well, my face wasn’t my best feature. [you know where the blue moon is] [b thr in 10] I almost dropped my phone, but instead, I juggled it and managed to avoid it hitting the table. [I’m in the back booth, black hair, red shirt] What the hell was I doing? Oh, fuck it. I needed to get laid, and even if the guy wasn’t remotely as hot as his picture, I could turn him around and do it without having to look at him. [gotcha] Well, he wasn’t going to be much for conversation; that was for sure. After ordering a shot of vodka and another beer for courage, I sat back in my booth, eyes glued to the front door as I sipped my beer to soothe the burn from the stronger alcohol. The minutes ticked by slowly, and then the door opened and all the air in the room was sucked out when he stepped into the bar. He waved to the burly bartender before turning his head and surveying the room. It was like a god had appeared, and I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Every set of eyes followed the tall, muscular man as he sauntered across the room. I wanted to shrink down into the booth. His picture hadn’t done him justice, and I knew I was about to be rebuked in a horrible fashion when he saw what he’d come to meet. The moment he spotted me will be forever etched into my mind. His mismatched eyes settled on my face, and a predatory grin spread across his lips. Droplets of sweat rolled down my back and pooled in the crack of my ass, making me shift at the uncomfortable sensation. His gaze never left me as he made his way to my booth before dropping down on the bench across from me. “Hey there, black hair, red shirt,” he said, in a slow, sexy, Southern-tinged drawl. His voice was low and gravely, and it stirred all sorts of feelings in me—well, in my pants at least. “Hey.” God, I sounded like the nerd I’d been hoping he’d turn out to be. He chuckled, and the hairs on my arms stood up. “Want to get out of here?” Straight to the point, like his messages; at least he wasn’t at all about false advertising. Nodding, I grabbed my wallet and pulled out a twenty to leave on the table to cover my tab and tip. We stood at the same time, and he waited for me to put my jacket on before he headed for the door. We didn’t say anything more as we left the bar. I followed him out into the parking lot, but then stopped when I realized I had no clue where we were going since my car was parked in the opposite direction from the one he was heading. “Do you have someplace we can go?” I asked. I could take him back to my place, but that meant a twenty-minute drive, and I wasn’t sure I wanted him to know where I lived. He could be a serial killer for all I knew. “I got a camper on the back of my truck. That work for you?” His grin widened into a smile when he looked back over his shoulder at me and pointed to the brand-new four-door extended-box pickup that did indeed have one of those tacky campers attached to it. His wasn’t too bad, since it was a newer model, but it was still something of an atrocity. I wondered briefly if he lived in there, but then decided I didn’t care. It wasn’t as if I was looking to marry the guy. “I guess that will do.” I shrugged and went to the small door at the back, but he’d gone to the driver’s side door of the truck. “I think we should at least drive out of the city a bit. Wouldn’t want to scare the good folks when you start screaming my name,” he said, with a wink, before opening his door and climbing in without even waiting to see if I’d follow. I hesitated. Did I really want to get in the truck with this guy? My brain said it wasn’t the best idea, but my cock didn’t agree. I guess the small head won out because next thing I knew, I was sitting in the big leather seat next to him, and he was driving out of the city. There was no conversation. I didn’t expect there to be an in-depth discussion on environmental politics or anything, but a bit of chitchat would have been nice while we drove for over ten minutes looking for a place to pull off that provided us some tree cover to hide the truck from the traffic on the highway. He put the truck into park and shut off the engine before he turned to me. “You ready to do this?” “Yeah, let’s go.” I opened my door and jumped down. The sound of his door opening made the situation feel real to me in a way it hadn’t before. Something about the guy seemed off, and I wondered, if I were to start running, would he give chase or simply laugh at me? I made my feet move and met him at the back of the truck.

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Meet the Author

CL Mustafic is a born and bred American mid-westerner who mysteriously ended up living in one of those countries nobody can ever find on the map of Europe. Left with too much time on her hands—let’s be honest here: it was the lack of television channels in her native language–and too many voices in her head trying to fill the silence, she decided to give her life-long dream of writing a novel a shot. So now, between shuttling kids back and forth from various activities and risking her life on the insanely narrow, busy streets of her new hometown, she loses herself in her own made-up world where love always wins.

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Title:  Once Upon a Rainbow, Volume Three

Author: A. E. Ross, Elna Holst, Mark Lesney, N.J. Romaine, Sam Burns, Valentine Wheeler, W.M. Fawkes

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: July 2, 2018

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: No Romance, Male/Female, Male/Male, Female/Female

Length: 121800

Genre: Paranormal, Fantasy, bisexual, coming out, dragons, fae, family drama, Fantasy, gay, kidnapping, knights, lesbian, royalty, sexual, trans, warriors, witches

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Synopsis

Your favorite stories from childhood have a new twist. Seven fairy tales of old with characters across the LGBTQIA+ spectrum. Green Things Grow from Cinders by A.E. Ross – Glass slippers aren't for everyone. Gretel on Her Own by Elna Holst – This time around, Gretel Kindermann is on her own. Or is she? Bremen Town Musicians by Mark Lesney – Loss and love on the road to Bremen Town. The Scent of Magic by N.J. Romaine – Who can win a hunt against the Big Bad Wolf? The Rescue by Sam Burns – Saving princesses is hard work. Getting out of marrying them is harder. Loose in the Heel, Tight in the Toe by Valentine Wheeler – The shoe fits, the prince is won: now what? Baile de la Marioneta by W.M. Fawkes – No one else can pull his strings.

Blurbs

Green Things Grow from Cinders by A.E. Ross What if you could walk into a party with the perfect outfit—one that matches the way you feel inside? For Ash Zermeno, the night of his best friend’s brother’s wedding reception is a hard pass: he’s certainly not going to wear the dress he ordered months ago, and he’s got no other wardrobe options. Forget about the fact that his long-time childhood crush Roman is going to be there. It just ain’t happening, no matter how hard he wishes on it. And he didn’t even wish on it…or did he? Gretel on Her Own by Elna Holst Gretel Kindermann has always lived in the little village at the lip of the Schwarzwald forest. But now, her father has moved away, her mother is indefinitely admitted to a private clinic, and her brother Hänsel, oh— And all because of Margrete Heckscher. That Lebkuchen-making, sugar rush-inducing busybody, whose enthralling niece, lately arrived from Vienna, seems set on tempting poor Gretel out of her last vestiges of sanity… Because, surely, outside of the realm of fairy tales, there can be no such thing as an actual, magic-wielding witch? Bremen Town Musicians by Mark Lesney Simon the Donkey, an orphaned peasant boy on a Medieval farm, flees cruel servitude to seek his fortune in his childhood dreams of becoming a performer in the fabled city of Bremen Town. On the road he finds true friendship and finally love in the arms of young Edwin the Hound. They join with two other accidental travelers, Cat the Thief, and Rooster the Maid, conspiring together to survive in a brutal world of robbery and murder, with only the magical saving power of their talents for make believe. The Scent of Magic by N.J. Romaine Once upon a time, in a land far far away, a lone huntswoman comes across a traveller in red, walking through an autumn forest in the shadow of a spell-trapped kingdom. Aletta moved out to the solitary woods to avoid the troubles of her past, but when she meets a young woman travelling alone with nothing but a red-hooded cloak, her sense of duty compels her to offer aid. But nothing is what it seems in the wild backwoods, and both women have secrets with far-reaching ramifications. Aletta must confront her past and learn to trust herself, lest the hunter become the hunted. The Rescue by Sam Burns Brice has come to the dragon’s lair to save poor Princess Primrose, even if he doesn’t want her hand in marriage. The beautiful young man being held captive alongside her is a surprise, and Brice may not want a prize for his chivalry, but he wouldn’t mind taking Aidan home with him. Loose in the Heel, Tight in the Toe by Valentine Wheeler Catherine’s life was different before her stepmother took charge of the family. When her father was alive, she’d been the treasured daughter and the heir to his textile empire. Now she’s just her stepmother’s servant. Prince Heinrich doesn’t want to marry, but as the only heir to the throne, he knows he must. When a mysterious woman at the ball in his honor is completely unimpressed by him, he’s intrigued. Could she be the partner he’s been looking for? And when catastrophe strikes both their lives, how can their arrangement hold together? Baile de la Marioneta by W.M. Fawkes José Velásquez has no ideas for his senior project, but when his classmate trades him a giant block of white pine for scrap metal, it’s almost too easy to carve out a fantastic sculpture. From the wood, José pulls the legendary Maya warrior Tecún Umán. It’s José’s best work, but how much credit can he take for the creation of a wooden man who steps off the block on his own? To get through his last exhibition, José must find an artistic voice uniquely his own or risk losing Tecún forever. While José worries about his senior project, Tecún longs for a chance to experience being human with the man who drew him out of his wooden shell. He’ll do whatever it takes to get a real shot at life, even if that means cutting his strings to dance on his own.

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Title:  Chance

Series: Graphene, Book One

Author: Archie Hellshire

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: July 2, 2018

Heat Level: 1 - No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 26600

Genre: Contemporary, comedy, thriller, gay

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Synopsis

Daniel has spent his life traveling down the same well-worn path, safe inside a prison of his own making, with tomorrow promising no difference from yesterday. Then, one unremarkable morning, he meets someone who throws his life completely off the rails. All he knows about Nathan when he first sees him is that he’s beautiful, but it’s enough to get him to board the wrong train instead of going to the office. This one careless step off the beaten path has unexpected consequences, as the mysterious passenger is being pursued by a cadre of mercenaries after the parcel he’s tasked with delivering safely to the other side of the city. Daniel has never considered himself brave, or strong, or fast, and he doesn’t come prepared for this fight, but at the right place, at the right time, someone can do the right thing and be a hero for a victim in distress. Together, staying just out of reach of their pursuers and narrowly escaping tight spaces, they make their way to the delivery point. And as the journey wears on, they learn more about what’s in the parcel they’re carrying, and what it means for the world if they can’t deliver it.

Excerpt

Chance Archie Hellshire © 2018 All Rights Reserved The progress of the human race has not been pioneered by individuals overly preoccupied with safety. All the advancements of our people can be attributed to a ragtag assortment of gamblers with more courage than sense, diving headfirst into danger, compelled by the faintest chance of a payout, armed only with a devil-may-care attitude and maniacal laughter. Somewhere in the world today, in a lab dimly lit by a pile of burning grant money, a madcap physicist is working into the wee hours of the morning, trying to turn a lump of coal into unlimited energy. Though we may scoff at his wishful thinking, it was not so long ago that our disdain was aimed at a pair of bike-shop owners who branched out into making the first aeroplane. Before that, it was a hobbyist who decided to use new-fangled electricity to send messages across whole countries in the mere twinkling of an eye. But it was before that, it was a sailor who tried to sail to the world’s edge and found North America instead. But it was before even that, it was an apothecary who wondered if mucking about with a corpse might yield medical insight. But it was far before even that, it was one of the nomads of old who decided to try planting crops instead of chasing mastodon across the continent to ward off starvation. But it was before all of them, it was an ancient ancestor who made the controversial decision to play with fire. Inspiring as their achievements are, for every success story, there are hundreds of gambles that met with total flaming failure. Understanding this, the bulk of humanity has, throughout history, chosen to build on the progress of others, well insulated from any risk to themselves. These people are comforted by the predictability of their lives. They benefit from the way things are and fear what they might lose if the rules of the game were to change. They have created for themselves a system of numerical precision, wherein all carefully selected actions lead inevitably to a foregone conclusion, and reaching your goal is only a matter of time and planning. These people are gamblers of a different kind; they have a system, but no matter how carefully they play the game, something can still come along to flip the board. This story is about how the board was flipped, the gambler who played with fire, the orthodoxy who built their empire on the status quo, and the innocent people who got swept up in the tide and had to decide which side they were on. Daniel Wyn opened his eyes at 6:30 a.m., mere seconds before his alarm went off. He had been getting up at the same time every morning for years and his biology had fallen into the steady rhythm. He reached his hand out from under the covers and tapped the screen of his phone to silence his alarm as it started. While the thoughts of his waking mind were, as yet, unformed, he took in his bedroom around him. Sunlight filtered in through the sheer curtains illuminating four walls, bare of any pictures and with one flat-screen mounted opposite his bed. An orderly desk sat in one corner. On it lay his briefcase, packed and ready for work. A two-piece suit hung on the door of his closet, set out from the night before. Comforted by the familiar surroundings of his bedroom, his mind gradually ramped into higher gear and queued up his morning tasks. He swung his legs out of bed to deal with the most pressing matter on the list. After flushing the loo, he divested himself of his pajamas and stepped into his shower stall. The warm water cascading down his slim, toned body brought further clarity. As he worked the shampoo through his wavy brown hair, the different parts of his consciousness whirred into action after a night’s rest and began the work of assembling his schedule for today. Every duty, every task, every errand was carefully examined, tagged with a magnitude of importance, and weighed against all the other demands with each risk and reward noticed and noted. The steady dance of numbers that constituted Daniel’s worldview, a complex and harmonious rhythm, like the delicate inner workings of a clock, had fully powered up. Wiping the layer of steam off his bathroom mirror, he shaved himself clean and appraised his appearance. Brown eyes stared back at him from his pale face. He reached up and gave a small swipe at a mole on his cheekbone with his fingertips, wondering, as he did every morning, if it looked like skin cancer. Once back in his bedroom, he took his suit off the hook and dressed himself. This suit was one of three identical suits he had, indistinguishable right down to his underwear. He buttoned his top collar button, neglecting to put on his tie, since he didn’t own one; he felt that was inviting strangulation. He grabbed his briefcase, but before leaving his bedroom, straightened up his bed. He repositioned his pillow and pulled up the comforter on the side he slept. He cast a fleeting glance at the other side of his mattress, unmolested and empty, as it was every morning. Once in the kitchen, he made himself breakfast, the exact contents of which he had decided at the beginning of the month as part of the regimen that insured he had all the necessary vitamins, minerals, and nutrients suggested by his dietician, who really wished that Daniel would stop calling him every month. He turned on the morning news as he prepared his oatmeal and was greeted with validation of his constant paranoia. “Late last evening,” the anchorwoman began to a backdrop of a smoking building, “an unknown number of assailants broke in to the Physics Building at the University of Northumberland. According to initial reports by the FBI, they planted and detonated a number of incendiary devices. “No one has, as yet, taken credit for this attack, which the FBI is hesitant to label as terrorism, and they have not yet released numbers for any injuries or fatalities. We could not reach Physics Chair, Professor Geim, for comment. Now for the weather…” At 6:45 a.m., food successfully ingested and dishes cleaned, he left his apartment, locked the door behind him, and headed to the neighborhood subway station. On the subway car, he diligently avoided making eye contact with any of his fellow commuters and touching any surface more than was absolutely necessary. By 7:30 a.m., he was at his desk at work, half an hour early, just as he had done every workday going back several years to when he had slid seamlessly out of college into his job doing risk analysis at an insurance company. There, Daniel was completely in his element. The cogs of his mind wound through the numerical data related to all the ways things could go horribly wrong and indexed them appropriately. It was work that was, for Daniel, both rewarding and life affirming. “Hey, Dan,” said his neighbor, as he poked his head over the cubicle wall. Daniel looked up from the report he was reading on space debris. “You won the office pool.” He reached over the wall to hand Daniel a small wad of bills. “The new intern lasted exactly four months. I don’t know how you do it.” “I noticed he had specialized in game theory rather than economics…” started Daniel in a quiet baritone. But his coworker had already walked on. Daniel turned back to the report he was reading, relieved he wouldn’t have to carry on a conversation. Daniel was making up a spreadsheet to display the relative risk of being hit by space debris as they fell out of orbit when he was interrupted by the department manager. “Mr. Wyn,” said a lady carrying a thin file folder, “We’ve been given a high-priority case from upstairs.” She handed him the folder. He opened it to find a single sheet with a heading and several bullets. “We need you to document the risks of electric cars.” She summarized for him. He looked up from the folder, brow furrowed in confusion. “The risk wouldn’t be any different from standard gas-powered cars,” he said. “You could actually remove all the risk factors associated with combustible fuels.” It was something an intern could do…if they still had one. She stared at him for a beat, then looked around to see if there was anyone within range. She leaned in and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “One of the directors on the board also sits on the board of Texas Petroleum,” she explained. “He wants the company to charge higher premiums for electric cars, so we have to make them seem dangerous to justify it.” Daniel gave a nod of understanding, and she left. Shrugging off the feeling that he was prostituting himself, he looked up information on electric cars and electrocutions. Two hours later, the scariest thing he could find about electric cars was that they were going to cost him his job. He was pouring over a report on the toxicity of lithium batteries when one of the cogs of his consciousness gave an unsettling vibration. He looked up from his monitor and focused on the sensation; the intuitive feeling that something disruptive had just entered his orderly existence. He peeked over the edge of his cubicle to find the source of his discomfort. A shock of white hair, just barely clearing the other cubicles, made its way over to him. He sat back down and leaned close to his monitor, not reading the words on the screen but staring very deliberately. “Tryin’ to look busy isn’t gonna fool me.” The voice was feminine but with rough edges from being used for a lifetime. “Even if I thought you were busy, it wouldn’t stop me.” He stared resolutely at his screen, unblinking, holding his breath. “Ignorin’ me won’t work either,” the voice continued. At the same time, a massive handbag was plopped down on his keyboard. All his strategies thwarted, he finally looked up to see the woman with coiffed white hair. Wrinkles on her face spoke of a lifetime of grinning mischievously. Two dark eyes that had seen a lot of hardship and sorrow, mostly of her own making, looked him over. “Hello, Mildred,” said Daniel in his low voice, which now had a hint of a smile. “Hey, Danny Boy,” she said. “What are you doin’?” “Researching the dangers of—” “I was just at the mailroom.” She cut him off. “The guy says they don’t mail things any more. What’s the deal with that?” “They farmed mailing service out to a third party,” said Daniel, reaching into one of his drawers and pulling out a business card. He gave it a cursory look and handed it to her. “We started a business account with a specialty courier service to save money.” “Trans-Commute,” she said, reading the card. “So, I have to walk all the way to their office downtown. Why is it every time they save money I do more work? And get paid less?” Daniel shrugged, hoping not to get too involved in the subject. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Mildred, but meeting her was always a bit jarring, even for an adventurous person. Mildred was a resident investigator for the company. She had a long successful career tracking down information, stolen property, and people in hiding. Her continued employment was guaranteed by her high success rate and the mysterious disappearance of the HR manager who insisted that eighty-seven was well passed mandatory retirement age. “Well, thanks for this,” she said, holding up the card before she slipped it in her handbag. “Now, take me to lunch.” “It’s only eleven thirty,” he said, following her anyway as she made her way to the elevators. “Lunch is scheduled for twelve.” “That’s a whole thirty minutes away,” she said. “At my age, you can’t be sure if you have that much time.” “If you don’t have that much time, does it matter if you’re full?” asked Daniel. “Yes,” she quipped, “it does.”

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Meet the Author

Archie Hellshire is an author with aspirations of being able to write. He was born in the Caribbean where he developed a love of nature, the metric system, and high temperatures. In school, lacking any athletic or social ability, he became a very bookish person, indulging in the works of Douglas Adams, Terry Pratchett, JK Rowling, and Charles Dodgson. Despite being well read, he struggled with dyslexia and would forever remain horrible at spelling. The advent of Spell Checker reignited his dreams of becoming an author. Archie grew up in a family and culture that was not tolerant of homosexuals, and he spent his entire young life in the closet, retreating into his books and a rich fantasy life. In the theater of his mind, the romances he read could be edited to be male couples. He dreamed of one day writing his own stories and living his own happy ending. Find the author on Twitter.

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Title:  Magic or Die

Series: Inner Demons, Book One

Author: J.P. Jackson

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: July 2, 2018

Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 87300

Genre: Paranormal, Fantasy, paranormal, demons, witches, magic

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Synopsis

James Martin is a teacher, a powerful Psychic, and an alcoholic. He used to work for the Center for Magical Research and Development, a facility that houses people who can’t control their supernatural abilities, but left after one of his students was killed, turning to vodka to soothe his emotional pain. The problem is he still has one year left on his contract. When James is forced to return to the CMRD, he finds himself confronting the demons of his past and attempting to protect his new class from a possible death sentence, because if they don’t pass their final exams, they’ll be euthanized. James also discovers that his class isn’t bringing in enough sponsors, the agencies and world governments who supply grants and ultimately purchase graduates of the CMRD, and that means no profit for the facility. James and his students face impossible odds—measure up to the facility’s unreachable standards or escape.

Excerpt

Magic or Die J.P. Jackson © 2018 All Rights Reserved One: Call Back “YES, MIRIAM. YES, I know. I know it’s been over a year. I’m not sure I’m ready.” The knuckles on my hand cramped from clasping my cell phone in a death grip. I glanced at my watch. This conversation had gone on too long. In the span of two minutes, Miriam had managed to exhume memories and history I wanted buried and forgotten. I sucked in a short breath as nausea surged like a tsunami of fear. Its behemoth wave washed bile against the back of my throat. I slumped down the stained and weathered wall of the coffin-sized studio apartment I reluctantly called a home. It wasn’t a bad place to live, except for the cockroaches I found on a daily basis. I’m sure they considered it a veritable paradise. Absentmindedly, I toed an old pizza box near my foot while listening to Miriam. One of the insects scampered across the matted Berber carpet. Gross. Cody. A pale ghostlike face flashed before me. His hair, the exact colour of fall fallowed fields, hung listlessly over one eye, as blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth. His chapped lips parted, asking me, “Why?” I ignored the vision. Well, ignored wasn’t the right word, more like boxed it up with a heavy rock and pitched it into the abyss of my mind with all the other terrifying nightmares. “I know. I owe you, yes. I’m just not sure—” I crawled over to the upended crate being used as a coffee table, grasping for my last pack of smokes. I lit one, enjoying the soothing crackle of the tobacco as it ignited, and then inhaled deeply. Ah, yes. Hello, nicotine, my demon friend. Miriam continued blithering while I half-heartedly listened to her soul-sucking voice. She was demanding my presence. “What? You mean, tomorrow? Miriam, I don’t think it’s a good idea.” I drew in another steady stream of the toxic smoke. It burned my lungs as the addictive chemicals flooded through my body. I really need to quit. Scraping together the smallest ounce of courage, I attempted to defy her. “No, I can’t.” A wraithlike hand, desiccated and fragile, inched its way across my shoulder and gripped my tense neck muscle. Its sharp nails dug into my flesh. Its bite, a warning. Cody’s lifeless lips brushed my ear, sending cold shivers skittering across my back. Eruptions of goose flesh covered my neck and shoulders. His voice was a memory and a sound I would never forget. “Don’t do this. You’ll kill me again.” His icy breath whispered to me. Another box, a bigger rock, another addition to the pit of despair in my head. “No,” I replied to one of Miriam’s inane questions. “There’s an Arcane too? I’ve never been good with them. They creep me out. No, I don’t think I’ve ever seen that. Shit.” Miriam had just described a scene for me. My flesh turned buggy, as if I had chiggers nesting and burrowing deep into my skin. “Oh god that’s gross. It’s also not a good sign.” I pointed uselessly at the wall, waving my finger, trying to make a point to the caller. “I never took the exam for the third class.” Miriam had asked if I’d kept up my licensing. I instantly felt guilty. I should have done it years ago. One thing was becoming evident from the conversation—she needed my help. Help only I could give. “All right, maybe, I think I can. Consult only. Do you hear me, Miriam? Just a consult.” I had tried desperately to stay the hell out of this. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to go back there. “What time? Yes. I’m pretty sure. Miriam—” A thousand reservations ran through my mind, a wild stampede, unbridled, laced with dread and fear. “How many? How many in this class?” The question sat like the world perched on my shoulders. The higher the number, the bigger the world, the more responsibility, an undeniable possibility of… “Five! Are you kidding me? I can’t do five. No. No! It’s not possible.” She was out of her mind. “Yes, my sister is still on the streets. You know that’s close to blackmail, right?” I stubbed out the cigarette. The lacquer of smoke in my mouth tasted like I had just licked the bottom of an ashtray, and it was suddenly very hard to breathe. Why do I smoke again? “Fine. Tomorrow. Yes. Ten a.m. Yes, I’ll be there. What do you mean dress appropriately?” I looked at my cell phone, disgusted as the call ended. I flipped the device onto the floor as if it had burst into flame and branded the conversation into my hand. I snorted. Like, I’d forget. Stretching around to the other side of the crate, I grabbed blindly for a bottle I hoped was there. By all the gods’ great divine gifts, it was. And it still had liquid in it. In fact, it was surprisingly half-full. I tipped the vodka bottle back, allowing its burn to strip away the cancer stick’s smoky film inside my mouth. Swaying back and forth with my eyes closed, I tried to drown out the endless voices in my head. The words inundated my impending thoughts of doom and failure, and I could feel the chaos and panic mounting. Steadying myself and regaining my mental capacities, I gazed out the window. It was dark already and only six, early evening at best. Yay for daylight-savings time and late fall in Canada. Lights from the downtown cityscape lazily twinkled and danced before me. It should have been a pretty sight, but the darkness always seemed too oppressive, like a shroud. And I knew better. Things lived in the shadows. I took another swig from the clear glass bottle. The burn hit my throat and disintegrated the bile that had crept up there. Five very gifted students. I rubbed the stubble covering my face and took yet another nip. Except it wasn’t a quick sip, it was a good one. A long one. The window acted like a mirror, and my image reflected against the backdrop of the city skyline. I looked like shit. My short brown hair had cowlicks; thank god I kept it close. But the rest? No wonder Miriam instructed me to clean it up. The shirt I was sort of wearing was only half buttoned and stained in several spots. I had no pants on, but the pair of tighty-whities, which weren’t exactly white anymore, or tight, were ripped and showed more flesh than they were supposed to. Jesus. How did my life get here? Five young people had no control of their gifts. And I had a sister who was lost out in the sparkle-light of downtown’s darkness, up to who knew what, and doing it with god only knew who, mired in her own addictions. I glanced around my shit-hole apartment, wondering what the fuck I was going to do.

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Meet the Author

J.P. Jackson works as an IT analyst in health care during the day, where if cornered he’d confess to casting spells to ensure clinicians actually use the electronic medical charting system he configures and implements. At night however, the writing happens, where demons, witches and shape shifters congregate around the kitchen table and general chaos ensues. The insurance company refuses to accept any more claims of ‘acts of the un-god’, and his husband of almost 20 years has very firmly put his foot down on any further wraith summoning’s in the basement. And apparently imps aren’t house-trainable. Occasionally the odd ghost or member of the Fae community stops in for a glass of wine and stories are exchanged. Although the husband doesn’t know it, the two Chihuahuas are in cahoots with the spell casting. J.P.’s other hobbies include hybridizing African Violets (thanks to grandma), extensive travelling and believe it or not, knitting.

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