Book Title: Tongues
Author: Clancy Nacht & Thursday Euclid
Publisher: Eine Kleine Press
Cover Artist: Clancy Nacht
Release Date: May 17, 2022
Genre: LGBTQ+ horror fiction, Lovecraftian horror
Tropes: Forced proximity, fate
Themes: Saving the world, Interracial mc, black mc, lgbt, horror, adult, cosmic horror, occult horror, paranormal suspense, occult fiction
Length: 51 000 words/170 pages
It a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger, but a HFN.
Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited
Cosmically tormented FBI linguist investigates famous actor’s unspeakable past and discovers an eldritch power the government seeks to exploit
Blurb
Cosmically tormented FBI linguist Ekon is the only one B-list heartthrob Chris will talk to about the Farm, a horrifying cult of which he’s the only known survivor. As they bond over mysterious pasts and their unsettling attraction, Ekon discovers an eldritch power his government bosses would love to exploit, one that could spell the end of everything.
While there are queer and romantic elements, this is a horror novel.
Content Warning: Violence, gore, horror, mentions of CSA
“We can’t keep Daimon here if he wants to leave,” she muttered. “And he only seems interested in talking to you.”
Daimon’s blue gaze moved unerringly to focus on Ekon, as if he could see him. As if he knew what Moreno was asking of him.
The blond smiled.
“Agent Adams,” Moreno said irritably, as if she’d been repeating herself trying to get his attention. She snapped her fingers in front of his face until he turned away from Daimon to meet her concerned glare. “Either you get something, or we scrap this. Think you can handle him?”
“I have to try.” Ekon sighed even as he steeled himself. “I don’t know what he thinks he’s pulling. He told me there were others, like I said in my report. Maybe he’s just crazy, but we can’t take that chance.”
There was no budget for a goose chase. If Ekon took this on, there wouldn’t be psychologists listening in and feeding tactics into an earpiece. There’d be no major strategic backing. It’d just be Ekon trying to talk to a damaged young man without getting sucked into his seductive song and dance.
Lately, he didn’t even have a partner to ease the burden. He hadn’t needed one as a linguistics agent who mainly stayed in the office. Now, with Daimon refusing to talk to anyone but him, there was no chance to assign one.
Ekon was in this alone.
Agent Moreno nodded, and Ekon slipped away. They had one gambit; he had to complete the play.
Entering the interrogation room, Ekon smiled. “Chris,” he greeted, as if they were friends. “It’s good to see you again. It’s been a while. I apologize for that. I’ve been very busy making arrangements to further pursue this case. Now…you can say no—what I’m about to ask is very big—but if you agree, it might lead to a massive break in the case. It could really help.”
Daimon cocked his head to the side. His counsel shifted his chair closer to Daimon as if he’d protect him with his life. Both sets of eyes watched Ekon warily, waiting.
Forcing his Teflon smile to stay in place, Ekon asked, “Would you be willing to travel to the compound with me? It might jog your memory. Any small detail might prove crucial to solving this one.”
In lieu of answering, Daimon peered at the upper corners of the room as if giving each closed-circuit camera eye contact. He knew his angles like any performer, flattering his pretty face with the best light and shadow even here, under the unforgiving overhead.
There was something lonely and beautiful about him, something beyond his obvious good looks. He was a survivor, and stubborn, both admirable traits, but he was feral too, without regard for boundaries.
Then, brow furrowed, Daimon met Ekon’s stare. “The Farm? Why would we go there? No one’s there yet.”
Yet.
Ekon smiled, measured and pleasant, and spread his hands in an inviting gesture as if that hadn’t creeped him the fuck out. “It might illuminate some of the more confusing corners of the puzzle we’re trying to complete. I need you for this, Chris. Nothing matters more to me than getting to those who might be suffering.”
He stepped a pace closer and tilted his head to the side, inquisitive. “Will you help me understand the cult? I can’t walk away from this. I can’t avert my eyes. I’m willing to go into the dark on this, but I need you to go with me.”
The staticky hum of recording equipment pulsed at the edges of Ekon’s awareness, and it seemed for a moment the shadows reshaped into that old, half-familiar profane geometry. Under the glaring overhead bulb, the steel table gleamed yellow like the side of a school bus.
Then he shook it off, refocusing on his witness.
Daimon wasn’t any less unsettling.
The blond eyed Ekon skeptically. Next to him, his counsel, a thirtysomething giving Ekon typical WeHo queer professional vibes, cleared his throat.
“We would need to be clear that Chris Daimon is under no suspicion of wrongdoing, nor would his presence admit anything beyond his long-ago victimhood.”
Then the lawyer squeezed Daimon’s thigh, a curiously intimate gesture, and leaned too close into the actor’s personal space to whisper something. Whatever he said brought a smirk to Daimon’s rosy mouth.
“I’ll be fine, Brad. I appreciate you looking out for me.”
Daimon returned his attention to Ekon as if they were the only two people in the room. “I understand what you want me to do, but why? What will you get out of it?”
“Answers. And maybe, if I’m lucky, the ability to keep living with myself.”
What did Daimon even think Ekon did for a living?
Frustration colored his voice as he added, “I’m an investigator. I investigate. I joined the FBI to serve my country, to protect its citizens.”
He could practically feel Moreno thinking he needed to calm down. Taking a deep breath, he looked away, up at the ceiling, the cameras, and then back to the witness.
“What I get out of it is the satisfaction of succeeding at being the man I set out to be.”
“Why wouldn’t you be able to live with yourself? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Daimon rose suddenly, invading Ekon’s personal space. Rather than meeting Ekon’s alarmed gaze, Daimon seemed to peer into the spaces around him.
“You want to know about the others. The survivors, right?”
Ekon reached out slowly to rest his hand on Daimon’s shoulder, companionable, nonsexual, and tried to catch his eye. “If there are survivors, then yes, I want to know. I want to do whatever I can.”
Closing those bright eyes, Daimon rested his cheek against Ekon’s hand, more affectionate than seductive.
“They’ll die. The darkness is coming.” He opened his eyes, pupils blown like in the video. Then he blinked and they returned to the intense blue. “It will devour us whole.”
The words echoed Sister Leticia’s long-ago warning, but Ekon tried not to remember. For years, he’d discounted all these strange experiences as artifacts of a childhood bugaboo. Even Professor Tanaka’s disappearance could be rationalized somehow with the notion she’d fallen afoul of this revolting, deadly cult.
Daimon’s smile was strangely serene. “But I will go with you.”
Ekon’s heart thumped double-time, at odds with Daimon’s surreal tranquility.
He nodded. “Thank you. When can you leave?”
Together, Texans and platonic life partners Thursday Euclid and Clancy Nacht write queer novels that span genres, with intense romances and a seamless shared narrative voice.
They published their first co-written novel, the m/m rock star romance Black Gold, in 2010, and now have over a decade of award-winning collaborations under their exquisite belts. Recent titles include the twisted romance His Fake Prison Daddy and the Phisher King series, in which an uptight federal agent and a bratty hacker go from enemies to lovers while solving a hate crime.
Though Elder Millennial trans man Thursday and Gen X gender outlaw Clancy live three hours apart, they are inseparable. Their friendship is a perfect example of the Grumpy/Sunshine trope, which makes Thursday very happy. Clancy thinks it’s all right.
Social Media Links
Blog/Website | Twitter | Twitter | Instagram
