Title: Cursed
Series: Magus Malefica—The Coven Series, Book Two
Author: J.P. Jackson
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 05/24/2022
Pairing: Male/Male, Male/Male Menage
Length: 96600
Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, fantasy, gay, magic, fae, werewolf, shifter, witches, coven, gods, polyamory
Add to Goodreads
Description
Cam Habersham is having a hell of a time keeping up with his fae studies in the Ancestral Lands because a certain werewolf constantly interrupts his thoughts. Everton Lilch is the wolfen beast who follows Cam around, but he pushes Cam away every time things get steamy.
The queen of the fae has had enough and tasks Cam with an impossible feat, an undertaking only Everton can help him accomplish.
Without his coven, Sparks Gemmell is a lost witch. In desperation, he casts a spell, hoping to reunite his brothers. But he doesn’t count on the wayward route magic often takes. He finds himself wrapped up in a mandate of the horned god and inserted into his Shadow Brothers’ relationship in order to protect his city from the darkest elements of the Shadow Realm.
As the darkness of the Shadow Realm descends, Cam and his werewolf, along with Sparks and his coven brothers, confront wraiths, mutant werewolves, and witch law enforcement. Chaos erupts in an effort to please queens and gods.
After all, it comes down to the ley of the land.
Cursed
J.P. Jackson © 2022
All Rights Reserved
Sparks Gemmell picked up a bottle of wine from the end of the counter and twisted the magnum one way and then the other, trying desperately to find something that would be the perfect accompaniment for his rendezvous dinner. He stared at the label hoping an image, spur, or trigger would tell him this bottle was the best possible choice.
“All you had to do was ask for help rather than manhandling every damn bottle.”
Sparks jumped at the sound of another’s voice. He almost dropped the wine he held.
Spinning on his heels, Sparks found himself staring at the top of a shaggy head of hair. Naggen, the owner of Spirited, stood directly behind him. He never respected personal space, a characteristic typical for the Clurichaun. Sparks took a step away, which allowed him to take in the shop owner. His frizzy black beard neared the centre of his chest, but he kept the facial hair meticulously well-tailored. Sparks couldn’t help but notice his reddish nose, which told of Naggen’s nightly indulgence of the store’s contents. If someone would ever corner him, though, he’d have told you the vibrant red veins were rosacea, inherited from his mother’s side of the family. Naggen, or Naggy, as his more regular patrons called him, smirked at Sparks, noting the blue bolts of electricity still erupting and travelling up the witch’s arm.
“You take too much delight in scaring the shit out of me.” Sparks placed the bottle he held back on the shelf, then rubbed his bare arms, trying to disperse his wayward magic.
“True, but I enjoy the light show. It entertains me.”
“You can be horrible, you know that, right?”
“I do. Again, it’s amusing. Now, stop picking up everything in sight. You’re ruining my displays. What exactly are you looking for?” Naggy didn’t win the height prize. Sparks had referred to him on more than one occasion as an alcoholic pocket bear, which wasn’t too far from the truth. Clurichauns were related to leprechauns—distant cousins of some sort—and the man loved to play pranks on those he considered friends.
“I’m going over to Dev and Tully’s tonight for dinner. I haven’t seen them in forever—you know, since the incident?” Sparks spoke the last few words in a hushed whisper. There were others in the store, although none of them were paying him or Naggy any attention.
“Everyone has been talking about that although you still haven’t given me the deets. I also know the Guardians haven’t met for a while, and at first, I expected to see the wraiths and demons emerge, you know, without the Night Grove’s witches protecting the ley lines and all, but I haven’t seen a thing.” Naggy shrugged. “Makes me wonder what the hell they’ve been doing for the last hundred years. Here, you might want this.” Naggy turned, scanned the shelf in front of him, crouched down, his knee joints popping as he did, and pulled out a bottle of merlot from the shelf nearest the floor. He blew the dust off the glass and stood. He handed the bottle to Sparks. “This is from a special winery, run by our kind. See the triangle on the bottle?” Naggy pointed to an embossed diamond at the juncture of the neck and the body. “The blank spot is an augmentation receptacle. You put any witch rune in there with the right focused intention and whoever drinks the wine will be spelled.”
“Who says I wanted to spell them? They’re friends! I wanted a nice bottle of wine to take over for dinner. Jeez, Naggy, what gives? Enchanting my buddies? That’s a little dubious.”
“Oh, please, don’t lecture me.” Naggy waved a gnarled, fat finger in Sparks’s general direction. “I can smell the desperation on you from here.”
Sparks could count on one hand the number of folks who were either full fae or admitted to having fae in their bloodline. Witch families tended not to talk about the hybrid children in their family trees, but almost every family had some relative who had participated in questionable romances.
Naggy was full fae. And the fae had the ability to read a room and sense the emotions of those around them.
“What do you mean, desperation?” Sparks’s cheeks flushed hot. Of course, Naggy’s summation described his emotional needs accurately—desperate for the coven to start up again. He couldn’t wait to get over to Dev and Tully’s place and subtly suggest as much. But after cleaning up two dead bodies and taking their coven’s high priest to the hospital with near mortal wounds, there hadn’t been any meaningful contact from his blood brothers. Awkward and random texts didn’t count. Sparks needed the contact, the face to face visits, the group spellworking. He longed for the deeper connection to the Shadow Realm the coven provided. A sense of community which had been yanked away from him after the incident.
Naggy had hit the proverbial nail on the head on his current emotional state.
“Just spell the bottle for unity. That’s what you want, right? For your witch boys to get together again? Tell me—I’ve heard rumours—is it true you do all your coven gatherings naked?” Naggy leered at Sparks with a lewd grin plastered on his face.
“Oh my Gods, Naggy, you’re incorrigible. No. I mean…just…how much for the bottle?” The heat from Sparks’s face raced to the top of his scalp. He would have sworn his hair had been lit on fire.
“Fifty-six dollars, eighty-nine cents.”
“What?” Sparks’s jaw dropped.
“I told you the wine comes from a special winery.”
“You’re the worst.” Sparks handed over three twenties, snatched the bottle, stuffed his purchase into his backpack, and walked out of the store. As he glanced back, Naggy, already ringing up another customer, peeked at Sparks, smiled, and winked.
Purchase
NineStar Press | Books2Read
Amazon
J.P. Jackson is an award-winning author of dark urban fantasy, paranormal, and even paranormal romance stories, but regardless of the genre, they always feature LGBTQ main characters.
J.P. works as an IT analyst in health care during the day, where if cornered he’d confess to casting spells to ensure clinicians actually use the electronic medical charting system he configures and implements.
At night, the writing happens, where demons, witches and shapeshifters congregate around the kitchen table and general chaos ensues. His husband of 22 years has very firmly put his foot down on any further wraith summonings and regularly lines the doorway with iron shavings and salt crystals. Imps are most definitely not house-trainable. Ghosts appear at the most inopportune times, and the Fae are known for regular visits where a glass of wine is exchanged for a good ole story or two. Although the husband doesn’t know it, Canela and Jalisco, the two Chihuahuas, are in cahoots with the spell casting.
J.P.’s other hobbies include hybridizing African Violets (thanks to grandma), extensive traveling and believe it or not, knitting.
Facebook | Twitter
