Title: The Spellbinding Magic of You and Me
Series: The Magicals’ Alliance, Book Three
Author: Timoteo Tong
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 09/16/2025
Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 120800
Genre: Paranormal, Young adult, magic/magic users, high school, first love, supernatural war
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Description
In a world where ancient magic is real and monsters roam, Santangelo Lo Geffo’s life is about to change forever.
After the mysterious death of his mother, Santangelo is thrust into a world of magic he never believed in. He struggles with his own powers, with a father who insists magic only brings destruction, and with the weight of the loss that haunts him.
When his former friend Neeky reappears, everything shifts. Neeky’s return ignites long-buried feelings, and together they discover they are connected by more than just magic. They’re caught in a destiny neither can escape.
But a deadly rivalry brews in the Gloom—a realm where monsters roam and enemies seek to tear their world apart. As secrets about Santangelo’s past are revealed, he is faced with a devastating choice: protect the people he loves or embrace a future of darkness.
Love, magic, and monsters collide in this thrilling adventure as Santangelo must face his greatest fears and unlock the mysteries of his bloodline. But time is running out, and if he can’t make the right choice, everything—and everyone—he holds dear could be lost forever.
The Spellbinding Magic of You and Me
Timoteo Tong © 2025
All Rights Reserved
Later that night, I woke with a start, lifting my head off the soft pillows of the sectional in the den. I wiped drool off my face, then glanced around the room. A lemon verbena-scented candle burned low in a green-glass holder on the coffee table. The TV was dark. Sheers danced on the casement windows on either side of the fireplace.
Che was snoring on the far end of the sofa. I rubbed sleep out of my eyes and stood to get some water. I drank a glass in the kitchen and headed back to the den.. The hallway was dark. Had I turned out the lights? I crossed to the wall and pressed the switches. Nothing.
Light shone behind the frosted panels of the front doors. I fumbled with the tiffany lamp on a credenza by the den. Nothing.
“Che? Here boy.”
Nothing. I peered in the den. Che was knocked out.
“Great, thanks, Che.”
I glanced at the stairs, dread pooling in my stomach. At the top of the stairs, something flickered.
“Hello? Pops, are you pranking me?”
The flickering light vanished. I crossed the hall to the service porch and grabbed the rechargeable flashlight. I made my way to Pops’s library, bathed in light from the streetlight. I opened the glass cabinet containing various weapons Pops had used when he was a Coaugelo: knives, daggers, numb chucks, three pistolêros, and several small metallic boxes resembling lighters. His PlasmXs. I tucked one into my pocket and made my way back to the hallway.
“Che!” I hissed. He stirred, barked, and slinked into the hallway.
“Good boy!”
Wind lifted the sheers covering the windows that opened onto the street at the landing.
“Be careful, Santangelo!” the wind called.
I gulped. The hair on the back of my neck was standing at attention. I was scared like crazy.
A voice called to me from above. I paused and gripped the bannister, peering up at the third floor.
“Hello! Pops?”
Floorboards creaked overhead. Che barked, then growled, lowering onto his haunches.
“I’m going to the attic, boy. You can stay here.”
Che barked and stood.
“Thank you.”
We mounted the creaking stairs, winding our way to the third floor, a maze of small bedrooms from when servants lived in the house, a small ballroom, a fancy room for parties, a music room containing my drum set, Pops’s collections of guitars, a harpsicord, and a baby grand piano. At the far end of the hallway was a door leading to the attic. Moaning sounded from behind the door.
“Fuck, this is like some horror picture!”
Che growled.
We advanced down the hallway. I played the beam of the flashlight on the paneling, the faded silk wallpaper, and the stained plaster ceiling. Mabel had said household services planned to renovate the third floor: fix the plaster, repaint it, rehang historically appropriate wallpaper. Why was I thinking about this?
My heart was in my throat. I wanted to pee, cry, and fling myself down the stairs. The doors to the attic were ajar. Laughter emanated from behind the door.
I felt for the PlasmX in my pocket—reassuring, but useless, since I had no idea how to use it.
We entered that ominous doorway. At the top of the steep steps, I panned the light around the room, noting a cracked mirror in a corner, stacks of old hat boxes, a broken upright piano, a headless mannequin, old suitcases, and a woman dressed in a tattered ivory ballgown. Her white face was streaked with black veins, hollow eyes, and hair swirling around her head.
“Welcome to hell!” she shouted.
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Timoteo K. Tong grew up in the San Fernando Valley of Los Angeles dreaming of living in a rambling Victorian mansion. He currently lives with his husband and way too many plants in San Francisco. He is obsessed with cheese pizza, drinking cola, and daydreaming about magic. He sold his first book when he was age eight, a story about his beloved stuffed animal named Crocker Spaniel. He is a member of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators International.
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