BLOG TOUR: THE NEW WORLD (THE NEW WORLDS TRILOGY BOOK 1) BY JAYE C WATTS + EXCERPT

The New Worlds - Jaye C. Watts

Jaye C. Watts has a new queer sci-fi book out (transgender, poly, non-binary, pansexual, lesbian): The New Worlds.

The year is 2293 and the Truth no longer exists. In the future there are many truths, giving rise to many worlds, but each must be kept separate.

Born to protect these truths, Axton Bryce patrols the New Worlds Star System—to observe, participate, and gather information. But as she learns the ways of each world, she must also hunt for those who defy their world’s truth: the Outliers.

While stationed on a nearby planet, Axton meets the charming Ambassador Bray Wilde. As the two become close, Axton reveals a painful secret—the loss of her first love, exiled as an Outlier.

Longing to see beyond their own world, the ambassador proposes a rescue mission—one that will bring both friends and foes, and ultimately a fight for freedom. But first, Axton must make a choice: between a life-long allegiance… and the chance to claim a truth of her own.

Warnings: indoctrination, brainwashing, threatening with a weapon (guns & a bomb)

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Excerpt

The New Worlds banner - Jaye C. Watts

I clenched my fists. “Focus,” I told myself. Grabbing my communication cuff, I fastened it around my wrist. “INS communications, activate.” I opened my wardrobe and reached for a freshly pressed uniform. “Aurelia, give me today’s briefing.”

It lit up and responded. “Your next assignment will be on the Amorous World for a standard duration of three months. You are scheduled to depart today at zero six hundred Geo Time and arrive at zero eight-forty Geo Time. The latest reports on the Amorous World are available for your review. Do you wish to accept, Mediator Axton Bryce?”

I crouched to lace up my boots. “I accept.”

“On behalf of Chairman West and the Individual Nations Secretariat, we thank you, Mediator Axton Bryce, for your work in protecting the Truth of many truths.”

I rose to my feet, skin prickling at the back of my neck. Though I couldn’t see it, I could feel it: two lowercase t’s under one capital T, branded at the top of my spine—a permanent part of me ever since my Veneration five long years ago.

I reached back, digging my nails in, tempted to tear the tattoo right from my skin. “She should have been there,” I whispered. If only she’d kept those thoughts to herself.

I grabbed my utility belt and wrapped it around my waist, ensuring the gun was secure. Staring at myself in the mirror, I straightened the collar of my shirt. I’d never been to the Amorous World before. Perfect, I thought. Some fresh scenery was just what I needed.

* * *

I checked my cuff—zero five fifty-five, right on schedule. Marching across the launch deck, I carried one efficiently packed piece of luggage. I never glanced back when boarding my ship; Brokazaria’s endless acres of skyscrapers would still be here when I returned. Instead, I looked up. The early-morning sky was just waking. Aside from Primus B—the Middle World’s secondary, and thus miniature, sun—not a star was in sight. As I approached my ship, the roar of its engine reminded me that soon the stars would be all around me.

I turned and gave the official salute to a line of NI Security standing at attention. In unison, the humanlike Machines returned the gesture, crossing their arms to form a lowercase letter t. Sergeant L43 pumped his eyebrows, prompting me to raise one of mine in response. Hard to believe they were once called “AI.” New Intelligence, we were told, was a much more appropriate term.

L43 stepped forward. “Afternoon, miss.” He grabbed my bag, allowing me to ascend the ladder.

“Thanks,” I said. I climbed to the top and crawled through the hatch.

“Catch!” the NI yelled, tossing up my luggage.

With a reflex just quick enough, I caught the bag. “Sergeant!” I scolded. “What if there was something fragile in there?”

“You humans,” he replied. “Always afraid something’s gonna break. Your luggage, your bones, your bodies… not to mention your hearts and minds.”

I rolled my eyes at the cheeky Machine. “Watch it, L, or I’ll get them to reboot you.”

Unperturbed, the Machine grinned and waved. “I’ll miss you, too. Bon voyage!”

“See you in three months,” I muttered, closing the hatch behind me. I immediately got busy flicking switches and hitting buttons. Muscle memory took over as I continued the launch prep with complete focus. Not a moment later, a blue light illuminated my cuff, drawing my attention. Blue indicated a direct message from Chairman West himself, Secretary-General of the Individual Nations Secretariat.

“Play address,” I said, eager to hear our leader’s words.

A ghostlike image projected from my arm, transporting the man’s titanic figure into my control room. Neatly trimmed grays blended inconspicuously into the rest of his dark hair, swept back to frame a chiseled face. Salt-and-pepper stubble outlined a pair of smiling lips—the beginnings of a goatee that never quite came to fruition. As always, a perfectly pressed suit hugged every one of his bulging muscles.

“Greetings, my children!” The chairman’s voice rumbled from a gaping grin, complete with gleaming teeth. “Today is a very special day, not only for the New Worlds Star System but for some of our most dedicated Mediators.”

My ears perked up as I waited for more.

“Today marks two hundred and fifty years of living in an interplanetary alliance, free from the terrors of war, safe from the dangers of Plurality! A quarter of a millennium since the United Nations of the Old World became the Individual Nations of the New Worlds, marking humanity’s Great Dispersion!”

A swell of pride surged in my chest. I was part of something big and important.

“All of this would not be possible without you,” he declared, “our magnificent Mediators. You have been instrumental in our coordination with each world, fostering the cooperation necessary to manage the complexities of a resource-based economy spanning a system as vast as ours. And!”—the chairman raised a finger, flashing one of his many gold rings—“most importantly, you have upheld the sovereignty of every truth within it.”

I gave a humble nod, as though he could see me.

“Lastly,” the chairman said, “further congratulations to the Mediators of unit 245. Tomorrow is your quinquennium! Five years of serving as peacekeepers, saviors, Mediators! Father Chairman West and the INS commend you.” His thick forearms crossed in a salute, only to vanish as the feed cut out.

I took a moment to absorb his words, stunned by how many years had passed. Then I checked my cuff—Time to go.

I finished preparing for the launch, my movements steady and certain. We had done it. Peace among the planets for over two centuries.

I paused, letting my mind drift…

It had to be worth it.


Author Bio

Jaye C. Watts

JAYE C. WATTS (he/they) is a queer and trans sci-fi writer living on Lək̓ʷəŋən territory in Victoria, BC, Canada. He holds a bachelor’s degree in Sociology, with a minor in Technology and Society, as well as a diploma in Professional Recording Arts from the Art Institute of Vancouver.

When he isn’t writing, Jaye can be found falling down rabbit holes of all kinds thanks to an unquenchable curiosity and lust for learning – homeschooling will do that to you.

Jaye also loves classic jazz, mixing cocktails, biking all over the city, and of course, people watching.

Author Website: https://www.jayecwatts.com

Author Facebook (Personal): https://www.facebook.com/jayechristinwatts/

Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/jayecwatts/

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jayecwatts/

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/156707355-jaye-c-watts

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Jaye-C.-Watts/author/B0FVL8XMKW

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Now please enjoy this excerpt for The New Worlds

The Center loomed before us, a giant, shimmering pearl nestled in the middle of the donut-shaped university.

Trapp halted at the edge of the surrounding lawn, flicking off his headlamp. The rest of us gathered behind him, staring in awe at the breathtaking view.

I’d seen the landmark before, but only during the day. At night, the shining sphere transformed into something otherworldly. To the people of the Quantified World, the Center was akin to a giant crystal ball—all-knowing and all-powerful. I took in the dazzling show, watching its ethereal light cascade across the reflective solar panels covering the surrounding university.

“Whoa,” Bray whispered, their voice reverent.

“Good golly,” Logan uttered.

Medallia didn’t speak, only inhaled deeply through her

nose. Trapp released a satisfied exhale, his shoulders relaxing for the first time all night.

I stood silent, shaking my head in disbelief at how damn lucky we were. Lucky to have made it this far but also lucky this mesmerizing display continued through the night. Strange, given the fact that no one—aside from the occasional NI and rogue Outlier—was awake to see it.

Then again, this was more than just a machine.

I almost felt hypnotized by the swirling neon patterns, their movements dictated by aesthetic algorithms. For the first time, I understood why so many worshipped this construct. Numbers weren’t just functional; they could also be beautiful.

With the rest of the world fast asleep, the omniscient sphere drew me in. Heart rates, body temperatures, brain waves, even dream activity, all coming together in a colorful symphony of light.

“All this,” I marveled aloud, “from a bunch of ones and zeros.”

Bray turned to me, furrowing their brow. “Ones and zeros?”

I turned to meet their gaze. “Oh, um… I was referring to binary code.”

Their forehead crinkled even more.

“It’s a type of language,” I explained. “For computers. But not with words, just numbers. Ones and—” I stopped myself, and instead summarized. “It’s… technology stuff.”

Bray lifted their chin, acknowledging my poor attempt at clarification before turning back to the glowing orb. Any explanation involving the “t word,” as they called it, received little more than a placating nod from them.

Without warning, Trapp began tromping across the lawn, his patience for sightseeing all used up.

Logan and Medallia followed suit as I nudged Bray into motion before bringing up the rear.

As we walked, the sphere’s light continued to play across the grass. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the calm before the storm; a sense of peace coated the atmosphere, even as it charged with unimaginable possibilities. So close, I thought, and yet still so far. Hard to believe we were mere steps from Trapp’s door through time, while our final destination lay light-years away.

Our footsteps left faint trails in the dew-coated grass, leading us to a set of doors. Trapp pressed his thumb against a small black scanner embedded in the frame. After a brief pause, the device beeped, unlocking with a soft click.

Amused, Trapp wiggled the digits on his right hand and muttered, “Guess they should’ve taken my fingers, too.”

Once inside, Trapp reactivated his headlamp. The spot‐light beamed down the curved hallway, casting skittish shadows across classroom doors. The walls on either side displayed an array of infographics: pies, bars, bubbles, grids and graphs—statistical analyses whose end results were surprisingly artistic.

While trying to decipher some of the informative shapes, a low-pitched hum caught my attention.

I turned my head toward the sound. Emerging from the shadows was a clunky bot, its movements slow and methodical. The machine hugged the wall as it moved, resembling a lumbering mechanical rodent.

Beside me, Bray flinched, their body jolting as if startled by a wild animal. Their wide eyes darted toward me, like a child searching for guidance in their parent’s reaction.

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s just a robot”—a word I would never use on the Machine World. “It’s governed by preprogrammed instructions, which look to be nothing more than tidying up.” I lifted my boots, one after the other, hoping we hadn’t tracked in any mud.

Bray’s gaze returned to the machine, their fear giving way to tentative curiosity. While they kept a safe distance, Logan stepped closer, crouching to greet the bot.

“Well, hello there, little fella,” he said, grinning.

“Cleaning in progress,” the bot replied “flatly. “Step aside please.”

Logan chuckled, rejoining us as we continued down the hallway. He spun slowly, taking in everything the dim light allowed. “So these were your ol’ stomping grounds, eh, Trapp?”

“If by ‘stomping grounds’ you mean where I learned how to transcend time and space,” Trapp replied, “then yes.”

Bray cast one last glance back at the retreating bot before asking, “Were you a teacher here?”

“I was primarily a researcher,” Trapp said. “I only taught to gain access to the labs. I’d much rather make new discoveries than teach others about old ones.”

Trapp came to a sudden halt, stopping so abruptly Bray nearly bumped into him. Turning his head, he lit up a windowless metal door with a sign stating its purpose:

PARTICLE PHYSICS LAB RESTRICTED ACCESS

Trapp smiled with his eyes. “We’re close now,” he said, his words laced with determination. “Just a few more steps.” He pressed his thumb against the small scanner to his right, unlocking the door to a new world… an old world, rather.

The Old World.

BLOG TOUR: THE TALKING CURE (A SEAN JOYE INVESTIGATION) BY KATHY L. BROWN

Kathy L. Brown has a new queer urban fantasy mystery out (ace, pan/bi, gay): The Talking Cure.

Sean Joye Investigations, Book 2

Haunted woman claws her way back to reality by reconnecting with her magical powers in The Talking Cure, a supernatural Yuletide follow-up to The Big Cinch.

Committed to an insane asylum, Violet Humphrey is isolated on the Illinois prairie with only her own thoughts and a persistent new voice in her head for company. When she is accused of murder, Violet suspects her road to both freedom and recovery lies through confronting her painful past and solving the crime. Magically summoned, Sean Joye skids through an ice storm to help Violet, but can they catch the killer and defy an eldritch horror before Violet loses her tenuous grasp on reality?

“The Talking Cure is a marvelous story—an Agatha Christie-style murder mystery infused with a strong sense of the Weird… and a hearty dose of magic on the side. It’s ideal for all fans of the sinister, the surprising, and the strange.” —Cherie Priest, award-winning author of Boneshaker

Warnings: suicidal ideations, references past harm to child.

About the Series

The Sean Joye Investigations series embeds readers in a magic-laced 1920s era St. Louis. The world has barely survived a brutal global war, disease pandemic, and rampant ethnic violence. The cosmic balance is off kilter, and corrupt energies seep through widening cracks in reality. That foul rot has touched Sean Joye in myriad ways. A disillusioned veteran of 1922’s Irish Civil War, he traveled to America to escape supernatural attention, forget his assassin past, and forge a clean new life. Can Sean now master the magical abilities he has rejected for so long in time to protect the innocent and save his own skin?

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Excerpt

The Talking Cure meme

Cold air invaded the room, and the flames crackled in greeting. Out in the foyer, I could hear Carrie as she passed off the arriving board members’ coats and bags to an orderly dragooned into footman duty—“Good evening, Doctor. Ah, Doctor, you remember Doctor? And here’s Doctor, right on time.”

I scooted as far away from Dr. Elsass as I could, making for the Christmas tree in front of the parlor windows. Its sharp green scent tried its best to counter the guests’ stench. As much as I avoided the director, I could still hear him chirping in the background. “We’ll talk about that, of course.” His voice dropped to a whisper, but the words flew across the room to me like bright budgies. “Do you think that wise, Emerson? She is in a most fragile state.”

I found Nurse Martin leading my other roommate, Berta, and two additional patients in tree decoration. “Ah, Violet, thanks for joining us.” She held out a sturdy cedar ornament. “Care to help?”

I took it and clung to its warm scent for protection, but despite knowing better—the men would just upset me—I couldn’t help watching their dispute. Dr. Elsass was a chess master, and we were all merely pieces in play. Even this Emerson fellow.

“Don’t you believe in your Talking Cure? She seems much better to me.” Emerson glanced down at his wife and grinned, showing lots of teeth.

The rumor among the maids and kitchen staff was that Blanche was besotted with our therapist, Dr. Ibrahim Cole. Although she was here for “female hysteria”— whatever that was—I had never met a less hysterical female.

Blanche diligently ignored her husband and Dr. Elsass, engrossed as she was in the sketchbook that was never far from her side.

“Aren’t you, darling?” Emerson said, paying no attention to her activity. “Wouldn’t you like a break from chewing off Cole’s ear? You can talk to me if you feel down in the mouth.”

Blanche looked up. “I would like to see my dog.”

Ah, I thought. She was paying attention. I bet she notices more than she lets on.

“See? She’s fine.” Emerson exclaimed to Dr. Elsass, as if he’d cured her female hysteria himself.

“Perhaps a weekend pass,” the director mused, pretending to consider the matter. “We’ll discuss it at the staff meeting. Mrs. Emerson has made remarkable progress, it is true.” He glanced around the room, caught my eye, and beamed. Damn. “And speaking of remarkable progress, you know Mrs. Humphrey, I’m sure.”

Emerson strode across the room and held out his hand. “Percy Emerson. We’ve met, but you may not remember. I knew your father from the Piasa Club.”

I made myself take his hand, briefly, despite his rotten odor. And the maggots I could see writhing about on his palm. Not real, I told myself. Not real. “Please call me Violet.”

“And you should call me Percy. I’m…Sorry for your loss.”

I nodded and made for the tea cart, aiming for a napkin to wipe his stench off my skin. My losses were many. To which did he refer?

Percy drifted back to Dr. Elsass and winked. “Nice try. As I was saying, Blanche is much more…tractable…than before.” He patted his wife on the head. “But your cure takes an awful lot of time and buckets of cash—who’s to say she wouldn’t have snapped out of it on her own?”

For her part, Blanche seemed oblivious to the conversation that was transpiring, intent as she was on sketching the Christmas tree. Percy at last noticed the sketchbook on his wife’s lap. “That’s nice, honey. Gonna puts some colors on there? Lots of green and red?”

She looked up at him, her face blank. Eventually, she said, “Do you think I should? I was interested in the pattern, you see, the way the light—”

“Oh, yes, definitely. Christmas trees are green. With red balls. That might be good enough for a holiday card, if you color it up right.” To Dr. Elsass, he said, “Nice little scam you got going here, doc.” His voice boomed over the chittering noise of the room. “Well played.”

The guests ceased their conversations and turned to the two men. Dr. Elsass and Percy stared at each other for a long minute. At last, the director laughed out loud. “Ah, Mr. Emerson. Always a kidder, as the young people say.”

The room grew darker as the afternoon faded, with just the glow of the hearth and the lights on the Christmas tree. When a fresh contingent of board members lumbered into the parlor, the parrot squawked, and the elderly tree trimmers equally took fright. Dr. Elsass approached the new arrivals, arms outstretched. “Come in, gentlemen. Have a hot drink. There will be ‘something stronger,’ and a fine meal presently.”

Suddenly, a passing shadow blocked the glow from the fireplace, a darkness that smelled of decaying fish, sulfur, and algae bloom. Then Berta, who’d been so calm, sank to her knees, her eyes darting about, and croaked in a wavering voice, “Dagon lives. Mighty Dagon. Dagon. Dagon. Dagon.”

The bird joined in as a chorus, “Dagon, Dagon, Dagon.”

Having no idea to whom or what they referenced, I was struck for a moment with total conviction that Berta, and perhaps the parrot, knew some secret of infinite portent. I utterly believed them, the words a carillon to my ears. I took a deep breath. This wouldn’t do at all. I’m sure it was just what Carrie had been worried about, one of us crazy people acting crazy at the normal-people party.


Author Bio

Kathy L. Brown writes speculative fiction with a historical twist. Her hometown— St. Louis, Missouri, USA—and its history inspires much of her fiction.

The haunted 1920s world of the Sean Joye Investigations book series was conceived in a creative writing workshop in 2004. The idea wouldn’t go away, and Kathy published two Sean Joye novellas while working on her first novel, The Big Cinch, released by the Montag Press Collective in December 2021. The Big Cinch won the 2022 Imadjinn award for best urban fantasy novel.

After spending the pandemic editing and publishing a secondary-world young adult fantasy, Wolfhearted, Kathy wrote the next Sean Joye investigation, The Talking Cure. It will be published in November 2025. A Sean Joye short story, “The Pixie Job,” appears in the 2024 Marathonarium Anthology: Volume II.

Currently she is preparing a high fantasy novella in the Wolfhearted world for publication in 2026. Learn more at kathylbrown.com.

Author Website: https://www.kathylbrown.com

Author Facebook (Personal): https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=590229717

Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/kbkathylbrown

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kathylbrownwrites/

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18298845.Kathy_L_Brown

Author Liminal Fiction (LimFic.com): https://www.limfic.com/mbm-book-author/kathy-l-brown/

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/kathylbrown

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BLOG TOUR: DOWN THE RIVER (RIVER CITY BOOK TWO) BY J. SCOTT COATSWORTH + EXCERPT

Down the River - J. Scott Coatsworth

QSFer J. Scott Coatsworth has a new queer contemporary magical realism book out, River City book 2: Down the River.

Nine years have passed since a group of strangers first met at a magical little restaurant in East Sacramento called Ragazzi. They have all been touched by its subtle magic, and have become a family.

With the tragic death of one of them, the ripples spread through the entire group, exposing secrets and revealing truths that many of them would rather not face.

Dave and Marcos are battling their own demons. Matteo seeks an embezzler at Ragazzi, while Diego struggles to hold on to his son, Gio. Carmelina fears Daniele won’t take no for an answer. And both Ben and Sam are dealing with tragic losses that have turned their lives upside down. Into the mix come a few new characters—Ainsley, a Sac State student studying to be a doctor; a mysterious strange who is stalking someone in the group; and a few new love interests who may have agendas of their own.

It’s 2024, and the cast of River City is back. What secrets will be revealed before the last page turns?

ABOUT THE SERIES:

The River City series is a heady blend of secrets, friendships, a little bit of magic, and a bunch of Italian cooking that will warm your heart.

Warnings: Death of several characters.

Get It At Amazon | Publisher | B&N | Kobo | Apple | Smashwords | Vivlio | Universal Buy Link


Excerpt

Down the River meme

Ainsley Kim stared out of the window at the cars as they passed on Folsom Boulevard in a steady row of sparkling red and white, their lights scattering and twinkling like fairy dust across the rain-splattered glass. It was mesmerizing—so much life out there… and in here, as she was rudely reminded by the diner clearing his throat behind her.

“So sorry!” She spun around, reaching for the Toast point-of-sale device that hung from a custom-made pocket in her clean white apron that said Ragazzi in neat black letters. She turned her attention back to her customers. “Are you ready to order?”

The one who’d cleared his throat was a sharply dressed man in his mid-fifties—lawyer if she’d had to guess—his neatly trimmed black hair turning silver on the sides. He glared at the menu as if it were opposing counsel, squinting through his wire-framed glasses and scowling. “Damned print is so small on these things.”

His dining partner, another man in a black suit and tie, but without a hair on his head, chuckled. “You’re just getting old, Andy. Order the tagliatelle. It’s what you always get.” Bald Head offered her a warm smile. “So sorry for my partner’s behavior. Rough day in court today.”

Ainsley hid a grin. She was good at reading people. “Not a problem. So… the tagliatelle?”

Andy nodded. “Sure. With arrabbiata sauce. And ask the chef to make it a little extra spicy.”

She tapped it into the POS, feeling more like a glorified data entry clerk than a waitress. “You got it. And you, sir?”

“Don’t let him fool you. Kel knows what he wants. He just likes to play with his prey.” Andy grimaced, then managed a weak smile. “Sorry for the foul mood. I hate losing.”

Rich, white, and a lawyer to boot? You have no idea what losing is. “Not a problem.” She flashed him her best you’re the customer so I’ll pretend I like you smile.

“I’ll have the gnocchi in a ragu sauce, and an appetizer of your delightful burrata.” Kel flipped the menu over. “Add a glass of Chateau Ciel. I, unlike my friend here, had a lovely day. Signed a new artist for the gallery, a talented Korean painter named Jun Seo Jang.” His eyes fixed on her. “Do you know him?”

Ainsley blinked, caught between the casual racism of assuming that all Koreans knew each other—maybe he didn’t mean it that way?—and the fact that she did actually know them. Or of them, anyhow. Jang was one of her idols.

Customer service won out. “Yes. They are very good. I studied them in art class.”

Kel grinned. “Then you must come see his… their pieces. Sorry, old dog, new tricks. I’ll be getting the first of them next week.” He pulled out his wallet and extracted a card. “Kelton O’Malley, Red Roof Gallery.”

She took it, staring at it. It seemed to sparkle under the restaurant’s mood lighting. She blinked and the sparkle went away. She stuffed it in her pocket.

Nobody used business cards anymore. So old school. “Thank you. I’ll try to come by. It’s a bit busy, with school and work and all…” And taking care of her mother.

“Ah, what’s your major?”

“Molecular biology.” It came out automatically. Her father had wanted her to “make something of herself,” not just be another poor immigrant like himself, working at minimum wage jobs. She’d been at it so long, doing what her parents wanted her to do, that it almost seemed like she wanted it, too.

“Impressive.” He winked. “Still, it’s good to hear that you have an appreciation for the arts as well.”

She blushed. That comment hit a little too close to home. “I’ll find some time to stop by.”

“Wonderful. Jun Seo will be there next Thursday night, if you want to meet… them.”

Ainsley touched the edge of the table to steady herself. “They’ll be here… in town?” She was already calculating how she could rearrange things to be at the gallery.

“They personally supervise the set-up at all their new galleries.” He grinned. “See, that whole pronoun thing’s not so hard.”

She suppressed a snort. Boomers were always making such a big deal about it. “Let me get those orders in for you.” She gave them a small bow—ingrained behavior from two decades growing up in the Kim household—and slipped away.

“Need anything here?” she asked her next table, a young gay couple from the looks of it, who were busy staring rapturously into each other’s eyes like a couple lovestruck teenagers.

“Just some water,” the blond said, never breaking his gaze, his hand wrapped tightly around the other man’s. A single plate of pasta sat between them.

“You got it.”

A two-for-one, or twofer, they called it—when two clients shared a dish, usually to save costs.

Matteo had needed to raise prices again last month to account for inflation. Luckily Ragazzi was doing well enough that they’d expanded into a new addition, taking over the old bar next door for Diego’s cooking classes.

She twirled through the restaurant like a ballerina, checking on tables, her footsteps lighter than they’d been in months. Jun Seo Jang was coming to town. She had so many questions for them.

How did you find your inspiration? When did you know you wanted to be an artist? How did you let your parents down gently?

Ainsley Kim had a secret.

She wanted to be an artist more than anything else in the whole wide world. She wanted to create things, pieces of art that would make people frown and smile and nod knowingly as they stood in front of them, stroking their chins. Like her father did as a hobby.

She wanted to meet Jang, but she also wanted to become them.

The thought of life as a medical researcher left her cold, but her parents had invested so much in that dream, both money and hope. How could she bear to disappoint them?

Maybe it was better if she didn’t go to the gallery on Thursday. Better for everyone involved.

Right?


Author Bio

J. Scott Coatsworth

Scott lives with his husband Mark in a yellow bungalow in Sacramento. He was indoctrinated into fantasy and sci fi by his mother at the tender age of nine. He devoured her library, but as he grew up, he wondered where all the people like him were.

He decided that if there weren’t queer characters in his favorite genres, he would remake them to his own ends.

A Rainbow Award winning author, he runs Queer Sci Fi, QueeRomance Ink, Liminal Fiction and Other Worlds Ink with Mark, sites that celebrate fiction reflecting queer reality, and was the committee chair for the Indie Authors Committee at the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA) for almost three years.

Author Website: https://www.jscottcoatsworth.com

Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jscottcoatsworth

Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jscottcoatsworthauthor/

Author Mastodon: https://mastodon.otherworldsink.com/@jscottcoatsworth

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jscottcoatsworth/

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8392709.J_Scott_Coatsworth

Author Liminal Fiction: https://www.limfic.com/mbm-book-author/j-scott-coatsworth/

Author QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/j-scott-coatsworth/

Author Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/J.-Scott-Coatsworth/e/B011AFO4OQ

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Now Enjoy this Exclusive Excerpt

Chapter Three

Cardboard Box

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Marcos Ramirez grinned. “You wanna come do it?”

“I offered.” Dave’s voice carried from the kitchen. A tantalizing aroma of chicken curry casserole emanated from the oven with it, making Marcos’s stomach growl.

“Besides, how can you tell?” He glared at the old VCR, bought off an online auction site the week before. Damned thing doesn’t even have HDMI.

“There’s a coax to HDMI converter in the wires box, in the laundry room cabinet.”

“It’s like you read my mind.” He shook his head in wonder. Nine years in, and Dave could still surprise him. “Dinner smells heavenly.”

Dave snorted. “Yeah, if you don’t mind the curry stench lingering for a day or two.”

Marcos pecked him on the cheek on the way by. “Hope this is all worth it. The VCR, not the curry.”

It had started with one of Dave’s infamous “clear out the house” projects, something he’d been doing increasingly with his free time, as their business had begun to tank the year before. No one seemed to need web designers or graphic artists anymore in the age of algorithms and artificial intelligence. Intelligence my ass.

Dave had come across a box of old VHS tapes with the labels mostly missing. Before they paid to have them converted to DVDs, he wanted to see what was on them. Which of course meant getting a VCR, which cost money, something that was in increasingly short supply as their business plummeted. But it would make Dave happy, so Marcos had acquiesced and found a cheap one on eBay.

He pulled the old Amazon box down from its perch above the washer and rummaged through it. Sure enough, there was the adapter.

Something glittered, catching his eye. A worn envelope sat at the back of the box, held in place by an assorted clump of cords—lightning, USB, USB2, USB-c. Why are there so many kinds of USB cords?

Curious, he plucked it out.

Inside, he found a variety of papers… tickets from the Sacramento Zoo, from that time they fed the giraffes. A playbill for Tribes, the first play they’d ever seen together at Cap Stage, and a coffee-stained napkin from the Everyday Grind just down the street. Mementoes from their early days. He saved them, all these years.

And at the back…

Marcos’s breath caught.

It was a photo of Dave and his ex-partner, John, who’d passed away some fourteen years before. The same photo that had sent Dave into shock one fateful night, not long after they met.

“Find it?” Dave’s voice floated in from the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Yup. Got it!” He hurriedly stuffed the keepsakes back into the envelope and put it where he’d found it. He eased the box back up into its cabinet and closed the door almost reverently.

He’d always known Dave loved him. But seeing how he’d saved all those little pieces of their courtship? It was the first time he understood that his husband loved him as much as he’d loved John.

The slow decline of their business had taken its toll on both of them. They fought more often, and had less of a buffer—Dave’s word—for the idiocy and ignorance of the world. But in a strange way, it had also brought them closer. Two warriors fighting a common enemy.

He slipped back into the kitchen and put his arms around Dave from behind, pulling his warm body close. “I love you, you know.”

Dave paused chopping cucumbers for the salad. “What’s that for?”

Marcos shrugged. “Just realized I don’t tell you often enough.” He kissed the back of Dave’s neck, then headed for his nemesis again, across the living room. “Give me two minutes and I’ll have this hooked up.” Hopefully the old beast still worked.

“Perfect. Then we can test it out after dinner.”

#

Dave grinned as Marcos sat back and patted his ample tummy. He’d grown more comfortable with himself over the years, seemingly no longer afraid that Dave would leave him if he didn’t keep himself always trim and in shape.

Not that he wasn’t still a handsome man. The extra weight suited him, and Dave loved to grab a hold of it when they made love, kneading it like putty. Or bread dough. “Good?”

“Fantastic.” Marcos grinned. “Where’d you get that recipe again?”

“Friend of my mother’s. Mom passed it along. You sure you don’t mind them coming for Thanksgiving?”

“Not even a little. Especially if your mom will make us a batch of her famous calabacitas.” The tomato, cheese, and zucchini dish was one of his favorites.

“I think she could be convinced.” His parents were getting older. Dad had a pacemaker, and Mom couldn’t play the piano anymore with her arthritis. He was looking forward to seeing them both. “Let’s clean up, and then we’ll see what’s on those tapes?”

Fifteen minutes later the moment of truth arrived. “Which one?” Hopefully none of them had anything too embarrassing.

Marcos picked up a black VHS tape at random. “This one?”

“Sure. Pop it in.” It was strange to see one of those again, after years of DVDs and now streaming for almost everything.

The tape started, and music blared through the speaker’s TV.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe you recorded Three’s Company.” Marcos stared at him, eyes dancing with merriment.

“It was the closest thing to something gay I could find at the time.” He’d mooned over John Ritter as a kid.

 “Uh huh. Keep?” Marcos sounded doubtful.

“Nah. Toss. Next?” He didn’t need an old seventies actor now. He had Marcos.

His husband cued up another. Grunts and moans filled their little apartment. “Closest thing to gay, huh?” Marcos grinned.

Dave grabbed the remote and put it on mute, his face on fire. “In mainstream television, yes.” He’d forgotten about that one.

“Wait… how many arms does that guy have?” Marcos cocked his head. “Oh, I see. It’s a three-way. Kinky.”

Dave snorted. “Like you didn’t do anything like that when you were younger… or worse.” Marcos had shared some of his tales of sexual conquest, and submission.

“Touché. Keep?”

Dave nodded sagely. “For old time’s sake.”

Marcos wrinkled his nose. “Of course.” He set it in a second pile, and tried the next one. “I think this one is one of mine.”

Static filled the screen, and when it cleared, a ten-year-old boy in a purple princess costume, complete with conical hat and matching lilac nails, stared solemnly at the camera. “I swear to protect the kingdom of Narnia, to rid the world of the One Ring, and to make all the boys kiss.”

Dave blinked. Here was a side of Marcos he’d never seen before. “Wow. Just… wow.”

It was Marcos’s turn to blush. “We can, um, dump that one…”

“Are you kidding? This is priceless. I want to take screenshots and share it will all of our friends.”

Marcos stuck his tongue out at him.

Dave watched it a moment more, mesmerized, then leaned forward and popped out the tape, setting it as far away from Marcos as he could without leaving the couch. “Wait, did they have VHS cameras back then?”

“My mom shot that on reel-to-reel tape. She had it converted to VHS later.” He sighed. “When my Dad saw that, he almost threw me out of the house.”

And he had done so later, when Marcos was older. Dave was glad they’d patched things up before his father had passed away. He gave Marcos a kiss on the cheek. “Next.”

The tape popped into the player with that familiar mechanical loading sound, and as soon as it started to play, Dave knew what it was.

So did Marcos. “Maybe I should go to the next one…”

“No. Let it play.” It was John’s thirtieth birthday. Dave had surprised him with breakfast in bed, filming the whole thing, which had been… awkward. Those old cameras were bulky, and holding a plate full of breakfast, syrup, and the camera had put his ballerina abilities to the test.

“Wake up, sleepy head.”

John lay on his back, eyes closed, his hands behind his head, his beautiful chest half-hidden under the sheets. Those blue eyes fluttered open. “What’s this?”

“It’s your birthday. I made you eggs and pancakes.” The camera jiggled as he set down the tray.

“Oooh, those smell amazing, D.” He reached up and his hand pulled down the camera for a kiss for the chef.

“Sweet for my sweet—”

Dave hit the pause button, and closed his eyes.

“You okay?” Marcos sounded worried.

With good reason. Reminders of John had sent him spiraling before.

He took a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m… okay.” John was his past. Sometimes painful, sometimes uplifting. More of the latter lately. He squeezed Marcos’ hand. Whatever they were going through, however difficult it became, they would get through it. I’d live in a cardboard box with you, if it came to that, and still be happy. “He would have liked you, I think.”

“Keep it?” Marcos raised an eyebrow.

Dave nodded. “Keep it. It was a good time in my life. But so is this, with you. Even better, actually.”

And as soon as he said it, he knew it was true.

BLOG TOUR: CAPTAINS OF OARTHECA: THE OARTHECAN STAR SAGA BY JAMES SIEWERT

Captains of Oartheca - James SiewertJames Siewert has a new MM sci-fantasy romance out, Oarthecan Star Saga book 3: Captains of Oartheca.

Welcome to Oartheca—a world of shattered beauty and stolen futures.

Where noble Barons rule with ironclad grace, and loyal drones unquestionably obey. A wounded world, rich with history and pride, struggling to heal… while war still smoulders at its edges.

Hoping to change the fate of all Oarthecans, Captain Rowland Hale II and Toar Grithrawrscion embark on a mission as herculean as it is perilous: to bring Oartheca under the aegis of the Coalition of Allied Planets, and in doing so, usher in a new era of strength, stability, and peace.

But nothing on Oartheca is so easily won. Not peace. Not unity. And certainly not the truth.

In Captains of Oartheca, James Siewert sees our heroes challenge empires, defy impossible odds, and confront the terrible cost of hope. But when victory demands everything they are—and all they have—can they pay the price?

Warnings: Explicit sex scenes between consenting adult males

About the Series

An action-oriented, sci-fi extravaganza staring heroes who battle vicious foes, overcome galactic obstacles, find true love, all while just happening to be men-who-love-men. For adults only, the Oarthecan Star Saga will thrill readers with cinematic battles, daring romances and authentic, one-of-a-kind characters that rise to face challenges through bravery, courage and loyalty.

Amazon | Universal Buy Link


Excerpt

Captains of Oartheca meme

Get the hell off me!’ I shout angrily, futilely pushing at the rhino of a man smothering me. Goddamn he’s heavy but I’m giving it everything I’ve got, trying to wriggle free. I manage to get my head out from under the behemoth and turn to try and see what the hell is going on.

‘Stay down, Baron!’ the security guard overtop of me orders, his voice hard and urgent. There’s another bright green flash, and this time I see a plasma shot streak harmlessly into the skies, followed soon by more yelling and the sounds of intense struggle.

Annoyingly, cyan telemetry floods my cybernetic ocular display—suit’s integrity is down to ninety-two percent, but no injuries, and my shields are regenerating. That shot was a point-blank, direct hit. Thank God for top-tier CAPS engineering—anything less, and I’d be dead.

‘No!’ I hear a man yell. ‘No, he killed my brother!’

What?

‘Evacuate, evacuate!’ a stronger voice booms, and the man over top of me begins to ease up slightly; I immediately scoot out from under him and try to get a decent look around.

There’s a pile of security guards clustered together—it looks like there are three of them surrounding a fourth, having driven him to his knees. One is wrenching the kneeling man’s rifle from his hands, but the man is not letting go anytime soon. It takes the butt of another security guard’s rifle being driven into the side of his head before his grip finally weakens, and the gun is wrenched free.

The rhino then steps in front of me, blocking my view of the struggling men. I scowl and try to push him out of the way, but this guy’s a stormcoat, maybe a snowcoat, and I don’t even budge him a centimetre.

‘This way, Baron. Now,’ He pushes into me, using his superior bulk to knock me back. With one hand on my shoulder, he spins me around so that I’m facing away from the scene.

‘Where is Ton?’ I demand, trying to slip this guy’s grasp but his grip on my shoulder is firm—not painful, thanks to my exosuit’s kinetic absorption—but I’m not getting free unless I put up a serious struggle, which I don’t think is the wisest of things to do right now.

‘We’ll meet at the safe-point. Hurry, Baron, straight ahead,’ the rhino orders, and I follow as he steers me deeper into the docking bay. He sets a brisk pace—nearly a jog—we’re moving fast. A tug on my shoulder turns me left toward an open corridor, where two guards stand ready, rifles raised and scanning.

‘Inside, Baron.’ I’m not used to being manhandled like this, but I know if this dude wanted to, he could pick me up like an infant. He’s at least letting me move under my own power, so I do as I’m told, and head into the corridor.

We head down a gently sloping, well-lit cement tunnel—hopefully toward the safe-point rhino-guy mentioned. He’s stopped steering me, but with only one path ahead, we keep moving. After about thirty seconds, a circular portal sealed by sliding doors appears and opens as we approach.

‘Through the doors, Baron,’ my escort says. I step into the next tunnel, and he follows, tapping commands into a wall-mounted keypad. The doors slide shut behind us, leaving me to figure out what comes next.

The security guard then turns to face me, placing his hand over his heart, his fingers splayed, and gives me a deep bow. ‘We are secured now, Baron. The safe-point is just down this hall.’

‘Thank you,’ I reply genuinely. ‘I prefer Captain Hale, however. What’s your name, officer?’

‘Second Lieutenant Crahlstran Grithrawrclan, OSS Navy, Captain Hale,’ the man answers. ‘I’ve been assigned to you as your personal security representative. Are you injured?’

I immediately shake my head. ‘No, my suit took the damage. I’m fine. Where is m’Ton? Or the High Baron Grithrawr?’

‘At or en route to the safe-point. Please, if you will follow me, Captain,’ Crahl offers, extending his hand down the new corridor. With him leading the way, I follow as we descend further, until we reach another set of closed sliding doors. Crahl enters a command on the keypad, and they open. He stands aside to allow me to enter first.


Author Bio

James Siewert

James and his husband live in beautiful British Columbia, Canada. Part-time office drone, part-time storyteller, full-time sci-fi and fantasy enthusiast (and some spooky ghost tales), James couldn’t find enough stories involving guys like him and his hubby are: big men with big hearts, full of big ideas!

Taking matters into his own hand, James seeks to share high adventure, low-angst stories where the heroes are solid blokes who take centre stage. Come join the adventure and explore bold new worlds full of authentic characters, gripping scenes, lush imagination and a touch of mushy stuff – there’s a whole galaxy waiting for you to discover!

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21531168.James_Siewert

Author Liminal Fiction (LimFic.com): https://www.limfic.com/mbm-book-author/james-siewert/

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/James-Siewert/author/B095T25ZSB

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Captains of Oartheca Interview Questions

For Anthony Avina

What inspired you to write Captains of Oartheca?

As the next instalment of the Oarthecan Star Saga, Captains asks whether two people can remain true to each other in the face of ideological conflict, cultural clashes and all-out war. And not just war with a cannibalistic race of slavers, but war between yourself and the man you love. Captains of Oartheca seeks to answer that question.

How did your experience writing Allure of Oartheca influence Captains of Oartheca?

Allure was my first published novel and laid the foundations for brand spanking new universe that’s seen through the eyes of two unique men: a highly intelligent cyber-human wrestling with his morals, and a soft-hearted alien werebear from the other side of the galaxy. 

Those are two highly distinct lenses, and that meant having to step deep into their radically different ways of thinking. Yes, Rowland’s thoughts bounces around in his head—and so naturally, his inner monologue is going to reflect that. Toar loves to ramble on, so yes, he’s heavy-handed with his verbiage. It’s part of their character and part of what makes them more than just typical protagonists who act rather than think.

After Allure, there was a lot to feedback, especially around the topic of depth and detail. It seems that some folks crave the straightforward approach to novel writing, while others enjoy being so completely immersed in detail that the world feels alive enough to breathe on its own. Seems that while deep in a thick forest, some readers will feel lost, while others will feel found.

With Captains, I’ve tried to meet both groups halfway, despite Allure teaching me that some readers prefer their sci-fi served with a healthy dose of comfortable predictability and a ‘by-the-book’ story approach. 

Some readers found Allure heavy on world-building. How did you approach that balance in Captains?

In Allure, I established a universe from scratch, complete with its history, politics, biology, and languages. That necessitated focusing on the detail of my ‘rules’ for how my universe worked. Everything from a realistic system of faster-than-light travel to bringing authenticity and uniqueness to the cultures of never-seen-before species. No easy feat, but without these rules, science-fiction risks spilling into the world of magical fantasy.

But having put in the work, by Captains, I can trust the reader will know how to walk the surface of Oartheca without needing a hand to hold on to. The story’s streamlined, but I’ve not skimped on the lavish detail when there’s a call for it. True, not every reader will want to decode the important nuances of a high denning, but for those that do? Captain’s got you covered.

What do you want readers to take away from Captains of Oartheca?

That men-who-love men are more than just a genre or trope—we’re real people that exist, and our voices have a place in the universe. That men can be strong without needing a heart of stone. That empathy isn’t supposed to be easy. That love isn’t a blindfold. That sometimes, the cost is too high. That war changes everything, but war itself? War never changes.

How would you describe your evolution as a writer between Allure and Captains?

That I don’t need to apologise for being my authentic self. In Allure, I built the house. In Captains, I moved in. If someone wants to walk through the front door and join me, they’re very welcome. I’ve laid out a feast that will satiate a hungry soul. But if they’d rather stay outside and just critique the paint colour? That’s fine too. 

BLOG TOUR: THE SPELLBINDING MAGIC OF YOU AND ME (THE MAGICALS ALLIANCE BOOK 3) BY TIMOTEO TONG

New Release / Giveaway: Resurrecting My Magic - Timoteo Tong

Timoteo Tong has a new fantasy/sci-fi book out, The Magicals Alliance book 3: The Spellbinding Magic of You and Me.

Magic, monsters, and a boy who never asked to be chosen.

Sixteen-year-old Santangelo Lo Geffo is drowning in grief. After his mother’s sudden death and his father’s emotional disappearance, he’s convinced the world has forgotten him—until his childhood best friend, Joshua “Neeky” Tang, shows up out of nowhere, charming, bold, and full of secrets. Their reunion reignites buried feelings and a bond stronger than fate.

But something darker stirs in the magical underworld known as the Gloom. A cursed sword has chosen Santangelo, and with it, the wrath of the ancient queen Máu Rabetica, who will stop at nothing to reclaim her power. With monsters closing in and war looming, Santangelo must train under the brutal God of War, survive attacks from rival covens, and navigate a tangled web of family secrets.

Worse, his heart’s a mess. He’s caught between his feelings for Neeky—the boy who’s always been there—and Daccio Scala, a flirtatious magical fighter who makes his pulse race. As the walls close in, a glam-pop sorceress with a hidden agenda sets her sights on Santangelo and the blade, forcing him to choose between destiny and desire… or risk losing both.

Warnings: Grief, violence, monsters, emotional trauma, light romantic tension

Universal Buy Link | Amazon

About the Series:

What if your wealthy, glamorous family was secretly saving the world?

Welcome to the world of The Magicals Alliance, a spellbinding YA fantasy series that follows the powerful—and complicated—Delomary family. By day, they’re media moguls, philanthropists, and the faces of a global empire. But behind closed doors, they’re something much more dangerous: the last line of defense against monsters, magic, and total annihilation.

In a hidden war where Vampires, Werewolves, and dark forces threaten to tip the balance between worlds, the Delomarys stand at the center of it all—armed with secrets, ancient power, and a whole lot of emotional baggage.

Dive into a world of romance, rebellion, queer joy, and jaw-dropping magic as each book follows teens on the front lines of a battle that could destroy everything.

The Spellbinding Magic of You and Me trilogy - Timoteo Tong

Universal Links For All Three Books:

Magic, Monsters & Me | Resurrecting My Magic | The Spellbinding Magic of You and Me


Excerpt

The Spellbinding Magic of You and Me meme - Timoteo Tong

“Dammit, Bello!” Pops shouted from the front of the house.

I blinked awake. The drapes hung limp. The air in my room was warm and stale. My door stood open a crack. Che was gone.

“You have a visitor! Come downstairs—I’m making breakfast.”

I sat up, rubbed sleep from my eyes. The clock blinked 9:15. Pops was an early riser; I took after Mom and liked to sleep in.

“Coming!” I yelled back in Italian. I hated being woken before eleven.

I threw on a T-shirt and shorts, padded down the hall, and swung around the banister. At the bottom of the stairs, I froze. A shadow stood framed in the screen door to the verandah.

A tall boy with long black hair and glasses shifted from foot to foot, holding a cake like it might explode. He looked anxious and impossibly familiar.

“Open the door!” Pops barked. “Senlàpso!”

I opened the screen and stopped breathing. Joshua Tang—Josh—only not the kid I remembered. Taller now. Stronger. His smile hit me like a hammer.

“Santangelo!” he said. “Guess what? I just moved back to Burbank.”

We weren’t really friends anymore. So why was he acting like we were?

“Bello! Don’t be rude.” Pops’ voice snapped me awake.

“Oh. Hi, Josh.”

“Josh?” He tilted his head, eyes bright through his glasses. “That’s not my name.”

“Neeky,” he said.

The name clanged through me. I looked up—he towered over me now.

“Gosh,” he said, grinning, “you’re short. No growth spurt yet?”

“Yeah, well, you’re a giant.”

“Ah, yes,” Neeky said, blazing like midday sun, “that I am.”

“Come in. Let me take that cake.”

“Mom made it. It’s one of three things she can cook—scrambled eggs, soufflé, and carrot cake. Your favorite, Santy.” He handed it to Pops.

I stared. Three years gone, and suddenly he was here, filling our kitchen with noise and light.

“We moved back to the City of Angels,” Neeky said, sliding onto a stool while Pops poured juice. “Mom got a job at JPL.”

Pops’ eyebrows lifted. “Is that so? I didn’t know Susannah was a scientist.”

“She went back for her degree after… well, anyway. Now she’s a scientist.” Neeky bit into an apple like he’d never left.

He always made himself at home—shoes off, elbows out, comfortable like the world was his.

“That’s great, Josh,” I said automatically.

“Neeky, Mister Lo Geffo.” They shook hands like executives.

“Pops.”

Neeky turned to me. “Aren’t you going to sit?”

I climbed onto a stool across from him. Not too close. Not yet.

“I missed this place,” he said. “Always so homey. Our new house isn’t. Mom hates rugs and knick-knacks. Says they collect dust. She’s clueless.”

He talked like he’d been gone a day, not years. I wasn’t ready to pick up where we’d left off. Too much gnawed at me—things I couldn’t explain. Maybe he’d forgotten. That was like him. Pops and Neeky were both Leos: loud, sunny, terrible memories. I remembered everything—a curse.

“I’m taking Che for a run,” I muttered.

“We have a guest!” Pops shot me a glare sharp enough to petrify.

Neeky stood. “It’s fine, Pops. I have to help Mom decorate. She can’t do that alone.” He grinned, glowing like he carried his own weather. “Let’s hang out. I’m right across the street—the other old house on the block.”

He bounded down the porch steps, taking the golden light and jasmine air with him. Pops tucked the cake in the fridge. I called for Che.

“Time for a walk, Growlvara!”

Paws on wood, then Che trotted up, leash in his mouth. I knelt to rub his fur, grounding myself in his steady warmth.

Outside, a breeze stirred.

“Why did Josh move back?” I asked the air.

The wind ruffled my hair. “Neeky is his name.”

I frowned. “How do you know that?”

“I know everything.”

“You should be friends with him again,” it whispered.

“I don’t need friends. I have my cousins. And you. And Che.”

“Best friends are important,” the wind said. “Human friends.”

“I don’t want a best friend. It’s dangerous.”

“Why?”

“When you love someone, they leave.”

“Your mom didn’t leave you—not intentionally.”

“Shut up.”

“You held Neeky’s hand in kindergarten when he was scared. You were a good friend.”

And suddenly I was there again: first day of school. A small boy clung to his mother, sobbing. She left him, and he collapsed into the seat beside me, eyes red. I reached for his hand.

“You’ll be okay,” I’d said.

“You do?” he’d sniffled when I told him I liked building blocks too.

“Sure. I’ll hold your hand until you feel better.”

He had smiled through tears. “Best friends?”

“Sure,” I said.

Years later, under the olive trees, he kissed my cheek. I’d liked him back, though I had no words for it. Maybe that was why I ended things. Fear.

Now he was across the street again, and I felt a small, stupid happiness I didn’t want to admit.

Stop it, I told myself. I’m a loner. I don’t need friends. I have Che and Pops, even if Pops felt half-ghost most days.

Neeky paused on the sidewalk, looking back. Our eyes met, and the air stretched thin between us.

“Later?” he called.

My throat betrayed me. “Later.”

The wind laughed softly, and the house held its breath.


Author Bio

Timoteo Tong grew up in Burbank, CA, imagining epic battles against vampires and witches inside creaky old mansions—and hasn’t stopped dreaming since. He wrote his first book at age eight (a chaotic romance between a stuffed cocker spaniel and a duck) and never looked back. Inspired by the magic of L. Frank Baum, C.S. Lewis, and J.R.R. Tolkien, Timoteo now lives in San Francisco with his husband, where he writes stories full of queer magic, found family, and monsters that don’t play fair. When he’s not reading, writing, or daydreaming about flying, you can find him surrounded by houseplants, doing pushups between chapters, and always down for donuts.

Author Website: https://www.magicalsalliance.com

Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/timoteo.tong

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/timoteoktong/

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/34837913.Timoteo_Tong

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Timoteo-Tong/author/B0C7JVD1H7

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Building Magic in the Real World

By Timoteo Tong, Author of The Magicals Alliance Series


When most people picture Los Angeles, they think of Hollywood, palm trees, and endless sunshine. For me, though, Los Angeles has always shimmered with something more—something unseen, humming just beneath the pavement and echoing through the canyons. When I set out to write *The Magicals Alliance Series*, I wanted to take that “something more” and bring it to life.

Urban fantasy often asks: *What if magic exists right here, in the places we know best?* My answer was to build a universe where freeways double as ley lines, storm drains hide crypts of forgotten gods, and a drizzle of rain in the middle of summer might just signal divine intervention.

But why LA? Because it’s personal. I grew up wandering through Burbank, hiking in the Santa Monica Mountains, and staring out over the Griffith Observatory at the city lights. Those were the places where I daydreamed as a teen, and in my books, they become battlefields, sanctuaries, and portals to other realms. Every landmark holds a secret: MacArthur Park once turned to ink during a magical breach; the Sixth Street Bridge cracked open to reveal a curse-tree; and in *The Spellbinding Magic of You and Me*, Santangelo Lo Geffo finds himself running the very same streets I once did.

Blending real geography with fantasy lore means readers can feel grounded even as they encounter the impossible. It’s one thing to imagine a dragon’s den—but what if that den is hidden beneath downtown? What if your local park is also the site of a forgotten covenant? That interplay between the ordinary and extraordinary creates a world that feels alive, like magic could be hiding just around the corner.

Another key to my worldbuilding is history. *The Last Battle*, fought in Los Angeles 120 years before the events of the books, was my way of giving the city a magical “past life.” I asked myself: what if the clashes of gods and monsters weren’t just myths, but part of modern history erased from memory? That decision means LA isn’t just a backdrop—it’s a character with scars, secrets, and stories of its own.

Of course, worldbuilding is only half the story. It’s the *people* in this magical LA who bring it to life. Characters like Santangelo struggle not just against monsters, but against grief, identity, and the weight of expectation. To me, that’s what makes the magic believable: no matter how dazzling or terrifying, it’s always tied to human emotion. A golden sword forged on Mount Olympus isn’t just a weapon; it’s also a symbol of Santy’s courage, his mother’s love, and his destiny.

In the end, building magic into the real world is about wonder—but it’s also about connection. I want readers to finish my books and look at their own streets, parks, and neighborhoods differently. Maybe the shadows really do stretch too long at dusk. Maybe the rain is whispering secrets. Maybe, just maybe, there’s more to the world than what we see.

That’s the heart of *The Magicals Alliance Series*: ordinary teens navigating extraordinary magic in the places we know best. Because magic, like love and grief, isn’t something far away—it’s right here, waiting to be found.


Timoteo Tong is the author of The Magicals Alliance Series, a YA queer fantasy saga set in modern-day California.
When not writing about magical battles and golden swords, Timoteo enjoys exploring local coffee shops, spending time with family,
and dreaming up new ways to bring enchantment into everyday life.

OWI Cover Reveal: Captains of Oartheca by James Siewert

Captains of Oartheca - James SiewertJames Siewert has a new MM sci-fantasy romance coming out on November 9th, Oarthecan Star Saga book 3: Captains of Oartheca – and we have the cover reveal.

Welcome to Oartheca—a world of shattered beauty and stolen futures.

Where noble Barons rule with ironclad grace, and loyal drones unquestionably obey. A wounded world, rich with history and pride, struggling to heal… while war still smoulders at its edges.

Hoping to change the fate of all Oarthecans, Captain Rowland Hale II and Toar Grithrawrscion embark on a mission as herculean as it is perilous: to bring Oartheca under the aegis of the Coalition of Allied Planets, and in doing so, usher in a new era of strength, stability, and peace.

But nothing on Oartheca is so easily won. Not peace. Not unity. And certainly not the truth.

In Captains of Oartheca, James Siewert sees our heroes challenge empires, defy impossible odds, and confront the terrible cost of hope. But when victory demands everything they are—and all they have—can they pay the price?

Warnings: Explicit sex scenes between consenting adult males

About the Series

An action-oriented, sci-fi extravaganza staring heroes who battle vicious foes, overcome galactic obstacles, find true love, all while just happening to be men-who-love-men. For adults only, the Oarthecan Star Saga will thrill readers with cinematic battles, daring romances and authentic, one-of-a-kind characters that rise to face challenges through bravery, courage and loyalty.

Preorder on Amazon | Universal Buy Link


Excerpt

Captains of Oartheca - James Siewert

Get the hell off me!’ I shout angrily, futilely pushing at the rhino of a man smothering me. Goddamn he’s heavy but I’m giving it everything I’ve got, trying to wriggle free. I manage to get my head out from under the behemoth and turn to try and see what the hell is going on.

‘Stay down, Baron!’ the security guard overtop of me orders, his voice hard and urgent. There’s another bright green flash, and this time I see a plasma shot streak harmlessly into the skies, followed soon by more yelling and the sounds of intense struggle.

Annoyingly, cyan telemetry floods my cybernetic ocular display—suit’s integrity is down to ninety-two percent, but no injuries, and my shields are regenerating. That shot was a point-blank, direct hit. Thank God for top-tier CAPS engineering—anything less, and I’d be dead.

‘No!’ I hear a man yell. ‘No, he killed my brother!’

What?

‘Evacuate, evacuate!’ a stronger voice booms, and the man over top of me begins to ease up slightly; I immediately scoot out from under him and try to get a decent look around.

There’s a pile of security guards clustered together—it looks like there are three of them surrounding a fourth, having driven him to his knees. One is wrenching the kneeling man’s rifle from his hands, but the man is not letting go anytime soon. It takes the butt of another security guard’s rifle being driven into the side of his head before his grip finally weakens, and the gun is wrenched free.

The rhino then steps in front of me, blocking my view of the struggling men. I scowl and try to push him out of the way, but this guy’s a stormcoat, maybe a snowcoat, and I don’t even budge him a centimetre.

‘This way, Baron. Now,’ He pushes into me, using his superior bulk to knock me back. With one hand on my shoulder, he spins me around so that I’m facing away from the scene.

‘Where is Ton?’ I demand, trying to slip this guy’s grasp but his grip on my shoulder is firm—not painful, thanks to my exosuit’s kinetic absorption—but I’m not getting free unless I put up a serious struggle, which I don’t think is the wisest of things to do right now.

‘We’ll meet at the safe-point. Hurry, Baron, straight ahead,’ the rhino orders, and I follow as he steers me deeper into the docking bay. He sets a brisk pace—nearly a jog—we’re moving fast. A tug on my shoulder turns me left toward an open corridor, where two guards stand ready, rifles raised and scanning.

‘Inside, Baron.’ I’m not used to being manhandled like this, but I know if this dude wanted to, he could pick me up like an infant. He’s at least letting me move under my own power, so I do as I’m told, and head into the corridor.

We head down a gently sloping, well-lit cement tunnel—hopefully toward the safe-point rhino-guy mentioned. He’s stopped steering me, but with only one path ahead, we keep moving. After about thirty seconds, a circular portal sealed by sliding doors appears and opens as we approach.

‘Through the doors, Baron,’ my escort says. I step into the next tunnel, and he follows, tapping commands into a wall-mounted keypad. The doors slide shut behind us, leaving me to figure out what comes next.

The security guard then turns to face me, placing his hand over his heart, his fingers splayed, and gives me a deep bow. ‘We are secured now, Baron. The safe-point is just down this hall.’

‘Thank you,’ I reply genuinely. ‘I prefer Captain Hale, however. What’s your name, officer?’

‘Second Lieutenant Crahlstran Grithrawrclan, OSS Navy, Captain Hale,’ the man answers. ‘I’ve been assigned to you as your personal security representative. Are you injured?’

I immediately shake my head. ‘No, my suit took the damage. I’m fine. Where is m’Ton? Or the High Baron Grithrawr?’

‘At or en route to the safe-point. Please, if you will follow me, Captain,’ Crahl offers, extending his hand down the new corridor. With him leading the way, I follow as we descend further, until we reach another set of closed sliding doors. Crahl enters a command on the keypad, and they open. He stands aside to allow me to enter first.


Author Bio

James Siewert

James and his husband live in beautiful British Columbia, Canada. Part-time office drone, part-time storyteller, full-time sci-fi and fantasy enthusiast (and some spooky ghost tales), James couldn’t find enough stories involving guys like him and his hubby are: big men with big hearts, full of big ideas!

Taking matters into his own hand, James seeks to share high adventure, low-angst stories where the heroes are solid blokes who take centre stage. Come join the adventure and explore bold new worlds full of authentic characters, gripping scenes, lush imagination and a touch of mushy stuff – there’s a whole galaxy waiting for you to discover!

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21531168.James_Siewert

Author Liminal Fiction (LimFic.com): https://www.limfic.com/mbm-book-author/james-siewert/

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/James-Siewert/author/B095T25ZSB

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BLOG TOUR: GEAR BOX 1: GEAR CHILD BY MARK DAVID CAMPBELL

Gear Child - Mark David Campbell

Mark David Campbell has a new queer YA sci-fantasy book out (gay, lesbian, homonormative) Gear Box book 1: Gear Child.

From our beloved teddy bear to our cherished first car, we form deep emotional bonds with inanimate objects. Will AI machines inevitably develop the capacity to love us in return?

In a post-apocalyptic world that survives on garbage left over from the Gawd Wars eight generations ago, Sunny Boy, a semi-organic machine initially made to emulate a thirteen-year-old, and later modified as an eighteen-year-old, longs to be loved. His quest to find a family takes him from a farm in Winnipeg to the far reaches of the known galaxy. When Sunny Boy becomes embroiled in an ancient battle between a collective intelligence and a parasitic alien crystal, the boundaries between organic and inorganic life are called into question.

Warnings: Very low sex and violence (no gun play)

Series Blurb

The Gear Box Trilogy, which includes: Gear Child, The Arena of Mayhem, and The Wayward Star, is a journey of the heart that takes you from a devastated post-Gawd Wars Earth, across the Solar System to the far reaches of the galaxy, and explores the line between inanimate machine and animate life form.

Told from the perspectives of Sunny Boy, Fancy Larry, and Loofah—three AI machines—who understand the world around them through symbols, metaphors, and allegories. Along with their capacity for creative thought, empathy, and growth, they likewise struggle with issues of self-identity and self-esteem. Most of all, Sunny Boy, Fancy Larry, and Loofah, like any intelligent being, crave acceptance and long to be loved.

Gear Box Trilogy

Buy Links:

Gear Child: Universal Buy Link | Goodreads

The Arena of Mayhem: The Arena of Mayhem | Goodreads

The Wayward Star: The Wayward Star | Goodreads

Find All Three Books Here (Click on the Cover for More Details)


Excerpt

Gear Child meme

From Chapter Thirteen

I unlatched the glass, and a salty, humid breeze blew into the cabin like it was saying welcome. In no time, the burnt land below us gave way to water, and the Captain veered the airship southward.

In the distance, I made out the silhouettes of broken and battered glass and steel towers all jutting out of the ocean like fingers of drowning men reaching up to be saved. I watched as the shadow of our airship glided along the surface of the water, silently sliding over the towers.

“Is that a city?”

“Once was.” The Captain nodded. “Greatest in the world. But that’s all that’s left of it.”

“Why is it underwater?”

“Ha!” the Captain snorted. “It happened a long time ago, during the Gawd Wars and the Great Flood, when my great-great-great-granddaddy was a boy.” The Captain scratched his head. “See, way back then, everybody had their own books full of old stories about Gawd. Most of the stories were the same, but everybody told them in a different way.” He furrowed his brow. “People started fighting and killing one another to prove their way of telling the stories was right, and the way other people told the stories was wrong.”

I looked at him with my mouth hanging open, trying hard to understand why people wanted to kill each other over a bunch of old stories.

“Was Gawd bad?”

“No, I don’t think so.” He shook his head. “But by the time everybody got tired of killing one another and blaming it on Gawd…” The Captain cleared his throat. “They’d already blown up all the big cities and poisoned the land. And as if that weren’t enough, they’d also melted the polar ice caps and flooded everything remaining along the coast.” Taking his beard in his hand, he stroked it a couple of times. “People don’t talk much about Gawd anymore.”

“Is that the hand of Gawd?” I pointed to a giant green hand sticking up above the surface of the water, holding what looked like a torch.

“No. That’s the hand of a giant woman. She was one of the idols they used to worship a long time ago.” He eased the throttle and floated the ship in closer so I could get a better look.

“What happened to her?” I tried to make out her body and head below the surface of the water, but all I saw was a cluster of barnacles and algae.

“I guess she got old and tired, and people had no use for her anymore.” The Captain veered the ship southward and pulled on the big wheel. Leaving the city of dead fingers behind, we continued on down the coast, rising slowly toward the jet stream, again.

“Oh, please! Who do you think designed robos in the first place—the military! And it wasn’t only for cleaning and sex.”

“Only those who get caught are sorry.”

I thought about all the people who had died, and I felt sad, but mostly I felt sad because my name would never be recorded there or anywhere else.

“Hey, kid, don’t feel bad. It’s not about you. That boy’s head’s so full of crap, he wouldn’t know a ray of sunshine even if it was beaming up his butt hole.”

He swept the scanner across the pilot’s groin, looked at it, and laughed. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Your sperm look like a bowl full of goldfish somebody forgot to feed.”

“I thought I was dead.” He grasped both my hands. “Who are you? Some kind of a superhero?”

I felt my face flush. “No, I’m only a robo.”

He took my hand and kissed it. “Not to me.”

“Something tells me we’ve just met the resistance.”

Spinner frowned. “Beyond those doors, there’s nothing for me. I’m not like you.”

“I’m a robo, like you.”

“No, you’re not!” Spinner practically spat out the words. “You can grow, adapt, and evolve. I can’t. This is all I can ever be.”

“We’ll go to the opera and art galleries. You’ll learn about second-hand stores and how to shop for bargains, we’ll create and redecorate, dance the night away, and sit in cafes trashing the latest clothing trends until the sun comes up.”


Author Bio

Mark David Campbell

I have a passion for science/speculative fiction that is socially and culturally driven. Maybe that’s why I studied anthropology and archaeology.

My recent publications include: Eating the Moon (NineStar Press, 2021), a dystopic story of an elderly anthropologist who stumbles across a hidden society where homosexuality is the norm and heterosexuals are marginalized. Secrets of Ishtabay (Ninestar Press, 2023) is the story of a Maya village in Belize, which struggles with its transition to globalization after the completion of a highway linking it to the outside world. The Homework Assignment (Polar Borealis Magazine of Canadian Speculative Fiction, March 2025) is a short story about an anthropology professor who asks his students to imagine first contact with an alien intelligence with whom they share only one sense.

Currently, I live in Milan, Italy, with my husband. When I’m not writing, I work with Italian sociologists, biologists, and psychoanalysts, assisting them with their English academic publications. I enjoy reading both classic and newer books, immersing myself in steampunk and futurism. I love adventure stories, and most of all, I want to fall in love with a great MC. I am dyslexic, which means I can’t spell, and I have a love/hate relationship with computers and the internet.

Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/markdavid.campbell.9

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/list/14116939.Mark_David_Campbell

Author Liminal Fiction: https://www.limfic.com/mbm-book-author/mark-david-campbell/

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Gear Child by Mark David Campbell Exclusive Excerpt Chapter Nine

“Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for has arrived!” Fancy Larry stood on a bale of hay with his arms stretched outward, his ball of fleece carefully arranged on his head, and his face all chalky white.

Both Grease Spot and I looked around, but there were no ladies or gentlemen in the barn.

“What moment?” Grease Spot asked.

“The farm is upgrading with newer task-specific robos.” Whenever he was excited, Fancy Larry spoke in an alto tone.

“Are they going to terminate us?” Grease Spot said.

“Well, I overheard the guards this morning. They are sending the older robos to the toxic dumps, and the higher-end robos, like us, are going to be shipped to Winnipeg City and reprogrammed for urban cleaning and sanitation duty.” Fancy Larry clasped his face in his hands. “All my dreams have finally come true.”

I looked at Grease Spot. “I don’t know anything about the city.”

Grease Spot patted my head. “Don’t worry,” he said, even though he had a dreadful expression on his face.

On the night before we left the farm Grease Spot and I sat on the worktable, as usual, while Old Gus finished his dinner.

“Things in New Winnipeg City are a mite different than things here on the farm,” Old Gus kept sniffing like he had a cold.

“You boys promise me you’ll do exactly what you’re told to do and don’t look them gots directly in the eyes.”

“We promise,” we said in unison.

“You won’t have me no more to come running to when you got a problem.” Old Gus’s eyes filled with tears, and he dropped his head.

Grease Spot slid himself off the table, went over to the bed, and flopped down with his head on Old Gus’ lap. Old Gus bent over, wrapped his arms around him, and buried his face in Grease Spot’s fiery red hair. “My boy, my beautiful, mechanical boy,” Old Gus cooed while he cuddled and rocked Grease Spot.

As I sat there and studied them, I pictured my lambs all alone in the barn, and I wanted to cradle and rock them, one last time. I slid off the table and, without saying a word, went to the sheep shed.

All night long, as I hugged my lambs, I thought about Old Gus and Grease Spot over in the mechanics shed without me, the two of them huddled together in the dark on that steel cot. I couldn’t understand why Old Gus had never cradled me that way.

Grease Spot was only a machine, like me, wasn’t he?

BLOG TOUR: THE GREAT FOREST AND OTHER LOVE STORIES BY WARREN ROCHELLE + GUEST POST

The Great Forest and Other Love Stories - Warren Rochelle

Warren Rochelle has a new FF/MM romance fantasy/sci-fi short story collection out: The Great Forest and Other Love Stories. And there’s a giveaway!

“The course of true love never did run smooth” might be a cliché, but for the lovers in these stories, it’s an understatement. Consider: having to rescue your beloved from seven years of service to sentient trees, or your lover wants you to curse an entire town, or your husband is sure aliens are calling to him from a comet. Find out what happens in these and other stories in The Great Forest and Other Love Stories.

Warnings: neglectful parents, end of the world

Universal Buy Link


Giveaway

Warren is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour:

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Direct link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47324/


Excerpt

The Great Forest And Other Stories - Warren Rochelle

Chesapeake Air and Spaceport, North Terminal, Interplanetary Concourse A

The sun shimmered on the water, as the train pulled into the Chesapeake Air and Spaceport RR station. He gathered his things and walked out onto a winding path, into a garden of dwarf sugar maples and ash trees. The path led him over a little bridge and a stream, and lavender star-shaped flowers. He stopped there to collect himself, to remember what his therapists had taught him, Alana on Avalon, and Gavin and Julia, at Blue Ridge. Deep breaths, center and focus on the safe, on the gurgle of the stream below his feet, the star-shaped flowers, blooming by the water. Interrupt his fear-talk looping, be present now. The main building of the spaceport was straight ahead. The building seemed almost made of sunlight and water. Sea turtles, eels, dolphins, and sea horses seemed to be swimming inside its walls.

Inside, the spaceport would be filled with people from all across Terra, from who knew how many HC planets. And aliens. Strangers, all of them. Breathe in for three, hold for four, release for five. Center. Through the sliding glassteel doors, follow the signs to the ticket kiosks. Everybody was busy, going, coming. Edvard was just one more young human.

He could do this, and he had done it. He could do it again. He could hear Luc telling him that, as he touched him, kissed him.

I’m coming.

No answer.

Scattered trees inside, fountains and pools. Whoever designed the spaceport must have wanted it to look as if it was part of the bay itself. Water currents and tree-shapes in the metal and glassteel, the beams, and the afternoon sun visible in a great skylight over the departure lobby. Were those real birds flying overhead? Edvard caught the off-world accents he knew as he walked—Avalonian, Jardinero, New Scandinavian. A trio of enhanced chimpanzees, clearly traveling on business. He tried to stare at the nest of Kalsons traveling together, with their pointed ears, white-gold hair, and skin. Like Luc and his father. There were a few Kalsons like Manon with skin a darker gold, hair, a deep brown. He stepped back, as did everyone around him, at who he saw next coming down the concourse. Even though the Second Interstellar War had ended thirty-three standard years ago, clearly not enough time had passed for any Zoki to walk through the one of the largest spaceports on the North American east coast without armed HC security. No one had forgotten how many thousands of Wertyngeris had either died or were put in hibernacula for years, or how many of the frozen had been thawed and eaten. No one had forgotten how many HC soldiers died in the war. Yes, the war had ended with a palace coup, led by the Zoki crown princess. She had immediately offered reparations for the atrocities on Wertynger, and they had been paid, and were still being paid.

Edvard watched as the reptilian Zoki, all dressed in white, with ashes on their forehead, walked silently through the spaceport, staring at the floor. According to the treaty ending the war, the Zoki had to publicly atone for eating sentient life. The crown princess, now empress, had suggested fifty Terran standard years of shame and public penance. She had acknowledged that not all Zoki had known or participated, but the government she had overthrown had known, and it had had wide popular support.

Never again.

Someone spat on the floor as the Zoki and their guards walked past. He wondered if fifty Terran standard would be enough penance.

Edvard stepped in front of a ticket kiosk beside a family which was clearly emigrating. Everybody seemed to be carrying some sort of luggage, the three kids, the two dads. He inserted his passport and Universal ID into the kiosk, and selected shuttle to the station, star service to Wertynger, Next available ship, leaving Union Station. An option for stasis for the three week trip in hyperspace? Maybe after week one. Micro-cabin, no, too claustrophobic. Single double, Family? Single. It felt like forever for funds verification. Ding! Transaction complete. Please proceed to Concourse B, Gate 29, shuttle already boarding. Proceed to gate, please have ID and passport ready.

He had done it.


Author Bio

Warren Rochelle

Warren Rochelle lives in Crozet, Virginia, with his husband, and their little dog, Gypsy. He retired from teaching English and Creative Writing at the University of Mary Washington in 2020. His short fiction and poetry have been published in such journals and anthologies as Icarus, North Carolina Literary Review, Forbidden Lines, Aboriginal Science Fiction, Collective Fallout, Queer Fish 2, Empty Oaks, Quantum Fairy Tales, Migration, Clarity, Innovation, The Silver Gryphon, Jaelle Her Book, Colonnades, and Graffiti, as well as the Asheville Poetry Review, GW Magazine, Crucible, The Charlotte Poetry Review, and Romance and Beyond. His short story, “The Golden Boy,” was a finalist for the 2004 Spectrum Award for Short Fiction.

Rochelle is the author of five novels, including The Wild Boy (2001), Harvest of Changelings (2007), and The Called (2010), all published by Golden Gryphon Press. The Werewolf and His Boy, originally published by Samhain Publishing in September 2016, was re-released from JMS Books in August 2020. In Light’s Shadow: A Fairy Tale was published by JMS Books in 2022.

Author Website: https://kingdomofjoria.com/

Author Facebook (Personal): https://www.facebook.com/warren.rochelle

Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/warrenwriter/

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/38355.Warren_Rochelle

Author Liminal Fiction (LimFic.com): https://www.limfic.com/mbm-book-author/warren-rochelle/

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The Great Forest and Other Love Stories

When did I know I wanted to write? I first  read The Chronicles of Narnia in the third grade, and I fell in love. I decided then and there I wanted to be a writer. I wrote an awful rip-off of  Narnia in homage, but with a High Queen, not a High King. Somewhere in her realm was the Plain of Fire and the Plain of the Moon, so named for the color of the grass growing on each plain. Instead of centaurs, I had bucentaurs, who have bovine  (or ox bodies). To be honest, I think I discovered this chimera sometime after third grade.  Mercifully, more specific memories are hazy and the manuscript (in a three-ring binder) has been lost.

When did I know I was good at writing? This came slowly over the years, most often in affirmations from teachers, from junior high through college. I won an Honorable Mention in a Scholastic contest.  in the 9th Grade for a poem about a green-skinned boy, half-human, half-alien, who couldn’t handle his telepathic powers. I got published in my high school literary magazine, and again in my undergraduate literary magazine.  All of these helped me to know that I could write well.

My first publication was a short story, “Her Hands Curved Around the Cup,” in the now-defunct Graffiti, in Fall 1978. This melancholy tale is about an old, lonely woman grieving for her long-dead husband, and haunted by a childhood tragedy. She marks the days of the week by drinking different teas. She reads poetry.  She is so very sad and lonely. It was a very morose tale. 

What do I when I get writer’s block? To be honest, I can’t say I have, at least in the way I think this question is asking: not being able to write at all. Instead, for me, what happens sometimes is that I get this amazing idea, and I set down and write and write, pages, chapters even. Then, it fizzles out, and the story seems to have died, or gone to sleep.  Or maybe, it’s just not the right time for the story to be told.  What I do then is let it sit for a while—usually a good long while, or leave it be. I sometimes go back to the story—a long later—and try to resuscitate the tale. This usually works, but the revived story is often a lot of different. In this collection, the title story grew out of an alternate history I started when I was in junior high, after reading MacKinlay Kantor’s 1961 short novel, If the South Had Won the Civil War. For those who might interested, the Confederacy survives for about a hundred years before collapsing in the Black Revolution. So far, the history goes from the 1860s to 2562. Three stories have emerged, including “The Great Forest,” which is set on a planet with sentient trees, settled around 2400. I tried a story set on this planet twice.  Eventually, I found who the story was about and what was at stake for them.

How long have I been writing? In one sense, most of my life. My mother, who was a secretary in the Department of Sociology at Duke University, would bring home used typing paper for us to draw on. My brothers and I scribbled, drew, wrote, played games. Eventually, I drew stories, creating maps and royal dynasties. But stories written on paper? I think they started in 4th grade, which is about sixty-odd years ago.

What do I do when a brilliant idea comes along at a bad time? Write it down, if possible, in quick notes, hopefully enough to remind me of just what the idea was. Unfortunately, if this happens at night when I have a particularly vivid dream, my notes are too often illegible.

What books are currently on my bedside table (a stool by the bedroom door). This stack changes from time to time. At the time I wrote this, the books were:

The Deviant’s War: The Homosexual vs. The United States, by Eric Cervini

Spider Woman’s Daughter,  by Ann Hillerman

Night Watch, by Jayne Ann Phillips

What am I working on now?  I am writing “In Love’s Light,” a short story for a forthcoming anthology of JMS Books authors,, Love is Free, forthcoming from JMS Books in January 2025.

BLOG TOUR: CHAOS KIN By Sheryl R. Hayes (A Jordan Abbey Novel Book 3)

I always seen to get a question when people find out that I’m an author. “How did you start writing?”

You would think that is an easy question to answer.  I don’t know about other authors, but I have a few different answers. Which one I give depends on what is meant by ‘start writing.’

I’ve always told myself stories.  Some were about characters I saw on different characters on TV shows and books interacting.  Sometimes they were about characters I made up.  The earliest I vaguely remember had to do with me traveling to Narnia after I read C. S. Lewis when I would have been around ten years old. But I never actually wrote those stories down, so don’t have the details of my adventures with Aslan, Lucy, Edmund, Susan and Peter.

Oddly enough, I never channeled that into my English classes in school beyond the necessary creative writing assignments.  Probably because at that time I had an interest in fantasy and science fiction, and I kept hearing from teachers that no woman who wanted to write seriously would write in those genres.  So giving into a misogyny that I didn’t comprehend at the time, I kept those stories to myself as daydreams.

Then two things happened in the early nineties. I discovered the television show The X-Files, and I also got online.  My sister mentioned that she had seen an X-Files forum on America Online (yes, I was one of those people).  From there,  discovered online fandom in general, and fan fiction specifically.  I finally had a name to put to what I had been doing for years. So now my stories had a place to be shared.

Around the same time I also found an anthology titled originally enough Werewolves.  It was the first time I had come across stories about werewolves outside of the horror genre.  Mind you, the book did have short horror stories, but there was also humor and romance focused stories.  And it got me thinking.

The focus of my fanfic stories shifted from trying to stay relatively close to the canon of the series to an original creation.  A friend and I had both were complaining about being stuck on stories we were writing.  So we decided that we’d both create a character, toss them together, and see what happened.  What happened was a 200 chapter, meandering paranormal romance that pulled in aspects of some tv shows, but had mostly original characters.  I learned about world-building, creating canon for your stories universe, sticking to that canon as you go forward in the story, and how to create the structure to hang your plot on.  It still exists on our hard drives, and occasionally I go back to peek at it.  While it was an incredible effort, it was ultimately unpublishable.  

My friend and I are still writing, by the way, but we’ve shifted our focus.  We are currently working on a paranormal romance series.  The first book in it will be released later this year.

At this point, I had been going to conventions and met authors both in person and online.  It was at one of these conventions I had the seed of the idea for what would become the Jordan Abbey series. Using all I had learned over the years of writing as a hobby, and learning a lot more, I completed Chaos Wolf.  In the middle of writing what I thought would be a standalone book, I realized that there were a lot more stories in this universe that I could tell.

Chaos Kin is the most recent of these stories. I have a few more misadventures of Jordan Abbey that I hope to share, as well as a few more story seeds that I want to make bloom.

New Release: Chaos Kin - Sheryl R. Hayes

Sheryl R. Hayes has a new MMF paranormal book out (bi, poly), Jordan Abbey book 3: Chaos Kin.

In the town of Rancho Robles, can one werewolf protect the Children of the Wolf and the Bat? Chaos Wolf Jordan Abbey has made friends among the Black Oak Pack even though she refuses to join it. The same can’t be said of the vampires, but her life has taken a turn for the better.

That is until Enya Blevins, sister to the werewolf who turned Jordan, arrives in Rancho Robles. She wants to know who killed her baby brother and is less than impressed by the Chaos Wolf. Enya wants revenge, starting with Jordan and ending with the vampires infesting the area.

Jordan is prepared to flee, but a technicality makes her an Alpha Werewolf. Now she must stand her ground to protect her nascent Pack and those she loves.

The past has come back to bite her. Does she have the fangs to bite back?

About the Series:

In the Northern California town of Rancho Robles where the Children of the Wolf and the Bat share an uneasy coexistence. One werewolf woman threatens to upset that balance.

Universal Buy Link | Liminal Fiction | Goodreads


Giveaway:

Sheryl is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour:

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Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47323/


Excerpt:

MEME 2 - Chaos Kin

“You ready for this?”

Jordan nodded. She and Montgomery had pulled over three blocks from the entrance to the Black Oak Pack’s compound for one last quick discussion. “Got the Uber request programmed in to meet me here. If things go wrong, we run.”

Montgomery shook his head, hand tightening on the steering wheel. “No, you run.”

Jordan’s expression tightened. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Jordan, you have to run without me.” Montgomery stared at her until she looked away. “I know you’re afraid of what will happen to me. But they won’t harm me. To do so is to risk open conflict with Elder Marcus.”

Jordan bit back her response. Alpha Shane may have a vested interest in living in peace with the Elder of the Conclave of Rancho Robles. That didn’t mean that these strangers who came from far away would have the same desires. Add to the fact things were personal between Montgomery and Enya, and the odds were that they wouldn’t be thinking about insulting the vampires in the area.

She sighed and recited the plans they had come up with the night before. “If things go south, I run back to the Cataluña and wait for you or Thorn. If after twenty-four hours, neither of you show up, I ask Elder Marcus for help getting someplace safe. You and Thorn will join me once you’re able to.”

Montgomery smiled and nodded. She noticed a tear in the corner of his eye. “Hopefully, it won’t come to that.”

She didn’t bother to say that he didn’t sound like he believed it any more than she did.

Jordan closed her eyes but lifted her head as she and Montgomery drove up to the gate of the Black Oak Pack’s home territory. As if by mutual consent, neither of them spoke as Sentry Rodriguez waved them through. There was no point hashing out their plans further. In the next ten minutes, they would know if she would have to run and hide with her tail between her legs.

The silence continued as they walked to the front door. Angela opened the door before she had a chance to knock on it, focusing on Jordan instead of Montgomery. The blonde blond werewolf arched her eyebrows in a question.

Jordan shook her head ever so slightly.

Angela’s lips pressed together as she narrowed her eyes. Jordan could hear her thoughts. Why am I not surprised? Instead, she gestured them inside. “This way please.”

The entire pack was gathered, clumping together in little knots around the room. Pamela met her eyes and then turned her attention back to her conversation with Tran. Alpha Shane, Envoy Blevins, and Talespeakers stood by the cold, dark fireplace. Angela took her place with the rest of the younger people in the room. The tension in the room ramped up as the four highest-ranking werewolves focused on her and Montgomery. Alpha Shane dipped his head in greeting. “Chaos Wolf Abbey, Mr. Cooper.”

Enya was far less formal, not giving Montgomery and Jordan a chance to greet them. She assessed Jordan, head lifted so she stared down her nose. “Were you able to retrieve the fangs?”

Jordan drew herself up to stand straight and as tall as she could. “No.”

Everyone around her tensed, which she expected.

“This isn’t her fault,” Montgomery said. “She didn’t know—”

“Silence, vampire!” Enya snapped. Her focus was on Jordan as she paced forward. “It’s not completely your fault. I blame you as much as I blame him.” She nodded towards Alpha Shane. “And him.” Her gaze turned towards Montgomery.

Alpha Shane’s shoulders hunched. He shifted his weight but said nothing.

She felt her ears flatten, an impressive trick as she was in her human form. Jordan opened her mouth, trying to force her words through her snarl. To her surprise, Billy, Juan, Tran, and Maria surrounded her and Montgomery with Angela taking the point in front of Jordan. Jordan couldn’t see her expression, but the young woman stood stiffly, legs apart, and fists braced on her waist.

Confused, Jordan looked at Billy on her right, eyes wide. “What’s going on?” she whispered as Montgomery put a hand on her shoulder.

“We’re saving your skin,” he said. “Now, shush.”

Angela looked at Enya. “Jordan shouldn’t be treated as a chaos wolf. She is—”

“Angela!” Alpha Shane barked, glaring at her.

His daughter didn’t stop speaking. “—An alpha wolf in her own right.”


Author Bio

Sheryl R. Hayes can be found untangling plot threads or the yarn her three cats have been playing with. She is equally likely to be shooing one of them off the keyboard as she is working on her novels and short stories. In addition to writing, she is a cosplayer focusing on knit and crochet costumes.

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