Book Title: Avalon’s Last Knight
Author: Jackson C. Garton
Publisher: Pride Publishing
Cover Artist: Louisa Maggio
Release Date: April 28, 2020
Genre/s: Paranormal M/M Romance
Trope/s: Friends to lovers
Themes: Forgiveness, loyalty, enduring love
Length: 80 000 words/ 291 pages
It is a standalone story.
Buy Links
Pride Publishing/First for Romance
Universal Amazon Link | Amazon US | Amazon UK
Lance has loved Arthur for nearly a thousand years but has never had the courage to act on it—‘til now.
Blurb
After being away at college for a year, Lance Lotte returns to Avalon, Kentucky for the summer. Due to self-imposed isolation, he hasn’t seen anyone in months, but all that changes when Arthur–his closest friend, and the love of his life–shows up to his new job with a big toothy grin. The last time Lance saw Arthur, the two had not parted on the best of terms–with Arthur’s father finding them asleep on his bed, and physically wrenching Lance away from Arthur. The incident put a strain on their relationship, and convinced Lance that they will never be allowed to be together.
But then Arthur sends Lance a text one night, telling him that he’s in love with him–a text Lance rereads at least a hundred times, but isn’t brave enough to mention when they’re alone. Lance has fought his attraction to Arthur for the past five years because as a budding brujo, he believes in magick, destiny, and fate–that everything happens for a reason–that nothing good will come of an Arthur Pendragon-Lance A. Lotte pairing.
With the help of his sister, Gwen Lotte, Arthur, and two twins visiting their uncle for the summer, Mordy and Morgan Lafayette, Lance learns the true meaning of friendship, and just how far he will go to save the people he loves.
“Hey!” a voice calls out from across the street, and I whip my head around, only to see Morgan and Mordy standing on the other side of the road, bags of candy in each hand.
“I’ll be damned,” I say to myself and get up from the concrete ground. “Hey, y’all! What’s up?”
The two clad-in-white siblings cross the street and greet me with smiles and waves. I envy the way they look cool without even trying—Mordy’s dreads are pulled into a single knot, and his sister’s are fashioned into buns, one on each side of her head. It’s not even so much the way they dress or how they look, but rather how they carry themselves. Tall and proud, completely oblivious to the outside world. A string of baby’s breath in a bouquet full of black hydrangeas.
“Mordy, right?” I ask, extending my hand cautiously, hoping that a handshake is not a personal affront to Morgan. “And Morgan, was it?”
Morgan laughs and takes my hand with vigor. “Yeah, Morgan Lafayette. We’re siblings. And I’d like to apologize for the other night!” she says. “I wasn’t really feeling being around so many white witches, if you get my drift.” Her eyebrow rises when she says the word ‘white’. “This place is wild, though.” Morgan gestures to the block with her hand. “I don’t see how you remain sane. Everyone just—”
“Stares at you,” all three of us say, simultaneously. Boisterous laughter follows, and I immediately feel completely at ease with these outsiders. Maybe it’s because I’ve always felt like an outsider myself, or maybe it’s something else, I can’t tell.
“So what do you do around here other than hang out at loud parties with terrible music and shitty weed?” Mordy asks. He holds out his bag of candy and I stick my hand inside, grabbing a few pieces. “Are you a witch?” He gestures to the black jewel and Magic 8-Ball charm hanging from my neck.
The way he’s looking at me with enormous green eyes full of curiosity reminds me of Arthur, and it doesn’t make me uncomfortable necessarily, but it does make me self-aware of how I’m put together this morning. I didn’t expect to run into anyone other than Gwen. I bet I look like a walking pile of wrinkled denim and black leather.
“Yeah,” I reply. “I’ve been practicing witchcraft since I was a small child. How about you two?”
Mordy puts his arm around his sister and says, “Santería, which is why we’re dressed like ghosts.”
“Santería?” Last year I took an anthropology class on world religions, and while most of it had been whitewashed, ethnocentric bullshit, some of it had been
interesting, like brujería. I recall liking aspects of Santería, too. “Like Cuban witchcraft, or whatever?” I say.
“Afro-Cuban witchcraft,” Morgan corrects me politely. “Spiritual aspects from both of our peoples, you feel me?”
“Does that freak you out?” Mordy asks, his tone playful and airy.
I look up at him. His silver tooth glitters in the sunlight, adding to his unyielding composure, and I shift my sunglasses down ever so slightly, revealing my golden irises.
“Are you cool with curses and evil eyes, that kinda shit?” I ask.
Mordy and Morgan exchange looks. “We are totally cool with that kinda shit,” Morgan replies. “And then some.” She winks at me.
Black magick. Dark magick. Forbidden magick.
I look down at my phone and see that I have four missed texts from Arthur. One text apologizing for Tammy’s behavior, another regarding hanging out tonight. I don’t read the other two because I need to sort through my feelings and put a cap on them before I end up doing something really stupid, or saying something I regret.
“Why don’t you text me your number?” Mordy asks. Morgan is already halfway across the road when I realize that it’s just the two of us.
“Really?” I say, surprised that he would want anything to do with me.
“Yeah, really.” Mordy pulls out his phone and taps mine with it. “Unless you’re scared, that is.”
“Scared of what?”
“Practicin’ magick with a couple of weirdos from out west.”
Much like Arthur, Mordy commands your attention when he’s speaking, so much that you don’t want him to stop, and I like his accent, his manner of speaking. He’s a really cool dude.
A dimple forms in each cheek and he beams at me. I think he’s flirting with me, but I don’t know why, not when my hair is sticking to my face and I’m covered in sweat from the heat.
“I ain’t scared of nothin’,” I say. “You’re the one who’s messin’ with Brown holler magick.”
Mordy grins and replies, “Brown holler magick. Now that’s the kinda shit I’m looking for.”
Equal parts dandy and disaster, Jackson C. Garton is a writer and LGBTQ activist hailing from the hills of Appalachia. He currently resides in Central Kentucky with his husband, child, and four cats. When Jackson isn’t reading or writing, you can find him examining people’s natal charts, researching queer history, planning his next ghost hunt, or milling about the supernatural section of his local bookstore.
Social Media Links
Blog/Website | Facebook | Twitter @jacksoncgarton | Instagram
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