A Picture is Worth...

Can't have any wrinkles of fabric bunching up between his thighs and the motorcycle, and if it makes him nice to look at, well, let's look! If anyone has an excerpt or wants to write 100-1000 words for him, send them along! (full directions on the Thousand Word Thursday page).

Birthdays Suck--A Free Read from Angela Benedetti

Angela Benedetti has a story about birthday misadventures to share, even if it's not exactly a faceplant into the cake.

Birthdays Suck

by Angela Benedetti

Every year since he hit eleven, Paul MacAllister had waited for the magic to show up. For the magic to literally show up, because he knew it was out there; he just couldn't see it yet.

Any time, it was due, it had to show up. When he was twelve and thirteen, it was disappointing, but plenty of people got their magic when they were older than that. Eleven had been wishful thinking -- not impossible, but not very likely. Twelve and thirteen were sort of early, kinda.

He'd been focusing his attention on other boys all along too, because if he had magic then he had to be gay. Well, not had to be, but it was like ninety-nine percent, right? Or even more. So he'd ignored the girls in his classes (easy to do when he was a kid) and told himself he was into boys. When he was twelve, he got solid -- as it were -- evidence that he really was into boys, so that got checked off the list. See? He came from a magegifted family, he was gay, he was going to be a mage.


Except fourteen went by, and fifteen, and sixteen....

It was January 7th and Paul was seventeen years old and he still hadn't seen anything magic-blind normals couldn't see. Paul’s life was pretty much over, he knew that. Or, no, it wasn’t over, he just wished it was ‘cause he was doomed to live the rest of it in boring mundanity, with all the cool parts passing him by without his even being aware. No, that wasn’t right either -- he’d be better off if he didn't know the magic was out there. What good was it knowing this excellent world was right there within reach when he couldn't have it or touch it or even see it, ever?

His parents wanted to go out to a movie for his birthday, and his cousin Tom -- who was a year younger than Paul and who'd gotten his magic when he was fourteen, the bastard -- said they should go see Scent of a Woman, since Paul'd probably be into it, right?

Paul had controlled himself, but he had fantasies of pounding Tom into hamburger. Instead he'd just said, "Sure, Chris O'Donnell's hot."

His dad just snorted and they went to see Only the Strong instead, a martial arts movie Paul had only vaguely heard of. Mark Dacascos, the star, was also hot -- even if in a different way than O'Donnell, all lean and martial-arts bad-ass instead of cute blond -- and the movie was pretty good. Or it would've been if he hadn't been sure his life was over. Who could enjoy a movie, even one full of hot guys, when all your plans for your life, all your assumptions about who you were, had just come crashing down?

All right, that was a cliché. But that didn't mean it wasn't true.

Aunt Dora and Uncle Jose said goodnight and went home from the theater after the movie. They took Tom with them, which made Paul even happier than the WordPerfect software they'd given him earlier, and that'd almost made him forget his depressing mundanity for a few minutes. His big sister Holly -- who'd cheerfully steered the birthday dinner at Friday's so everyone else had a good time, while ignoring Paul's mopes -- said goodnight next. Paul's little niece Megan gave him a hug around the thighs and said happy birthday one more time. His other niece, Amanda, was asleep in a sling across Holly's chest, and hadn't learned to say "happy birthday," or even "nighty" yet. At least there was hope for the rugrats.

Holly headed off across the parking lot with her kids, and then it was just Paul and his parents.

They walked to their car, huddled in their jackets against the cold. Even in California, January got pretty chilly at night. While the car warmed up, Paul's mom said, "Aunt Wilma couldn't come to dinner, but she wanted to talk to you. We'll drop you off and you can stay the night at her place." That wasn't unusual -- Paul was close to his great-aunt, and he had clothes and stuff at her place. He really didn't want to see her that night, though.

Aunt Wilma had always come for his birthday and done some magic -- written some words in the air using her magic, while he watched -- and every year he'd hoped that that year he'd be able to see it, be able to read what she wrote for him. That year, though, she hadn't come. There hadn't been any explanation, no one had even mentioned her absence until just then. Paul had figured she'd given up on him, which wasn't a surprise because at seventeen there was no way he was just a late bloomer and he'd given up too, so why shouldn't she?

"I'm kinda tired..." he started to say, but his mother interrupted him. "She's expecting you, Paul. You're not tired, you're just moping. You can put all the feeling sorry for yourself crap on hold for a few hours and visit with your aunt."

Words that would've gotten him grounded till he was thirty hovered at the back of Paul's throat, but he managed to swallow them down. He just looked out the window and fumed.

Of course she didn't understand. She was magic-blind too -- both his parents were -- so they thought it was normal. They probably didn't see anything wrong with him having to just sleepwalk through the world, missing half of what was out there, oblivious to what was going on around him. They did it every day, so they'd figure he could too, and just shut up about being blind and crippled. Just because you could get along and do stuff and have a "normal" life anyway didn't make it suck any less.

So when they dropped him off in front of Aunt Wilma's house, a battered single-story on a half acre just outside of town, next to a garlic field (everything outside of town was next to a garlic field -- Gilroy wouldn't exist without garlic) he just climbed out and walked up to the front door without saying goodnight or anything. He knew it was a dumb, little-kid thing to do, but he was pissed off and didn't care.

He stalked up the cracked concrete path and around to the kitchen door. His fist banged twice out of habit on the frame between the six glass panes, before he opened the door and went in.

Aunt Wilma was sitting at the square wooden table filling the center of the large kitchen. She had a mug of coffee in front of her and a book in one hand. In the center of the table was a plastic case the size of a shoebox, ivory colored with cartoony looking fairies painted on the cover.

"Paul," she said, setting down her book. "Happy birthday, dear."

"No it's not," he muttered. He headed over to the corner of the kitchen where the coffee pot sat, got himself a mug and poured.

"No, I don't imagine it is," she said. "But it's still the polite thing to say."

Paul scowled at the wall, but said, "Sorry. Thanks. Whatever. Sorry."

"I know you're disappointed, and probably angry. I think I can help a little."

"Can you cast a spell that'll give me magic?" Paul managed to flop down into one of the kitchen chairs without spilling his coffee. He'd been practicing and was pretty proud of having perfected the skill.

Aunt Wilma ignored his incredibly cool maneuver and said, "No one can 'give' you magic, not in the way you're thinking. But I have something for you that I think you'll like." She opened the plastic box, which was full of junky jewelry. She pulled out a short, heavy-looking gold chain, one of the kinds with links that were sort of twisted so they'd lay flat. "This has been in the family for a long time," she said, holding it up. "My great-great-great-grandmother was given it by her father, a master mage. She turned seventeen with no magic."

"Like me. Great," said Paul. "What, does it project a magical field around whoever wears it, signaling to anyone with magesight that you're unclean? Or just pathetic?"

"At your age an occasional episode of bratness is still to be expected. And I have some idea of the depth of your disappointment, so I'll ignore the fact that you're behaving like an egocentric little asshole who's determined to let the whole world know it should feel sorry for him. Here, try this on." She tossed the chain in his direction; it crashed to the wooden tabletop and slid. Paul caught it with one hand just before it hit his lap.

It was heavy, with an old-fashioned clasp that took him a minute and both hands to figure out how to open. He glanced up at Aunt Wilma, but she just sipped her coffee and watched him.

The chain was cold against his throat when he wrapped it around, and not quite too tight, almost like a choker; it took him another ten seconds to figure out how to close the clasp and click it shut.

Glaring yellow light suddenly appeared all across the room. Paul yelped, startled, and jerked backward hard enough to knock his chair over. He hit the floor with an impact that stunned him for a moment, but even when he could move again, he didn't. Not right away.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY PAUL! was scrawled across the... well, across the air in the room in what had to be slashes of magic light four feet tall. The message Aunt Wilma must've written for him on his birthday every year since he was eleven, the message he'd never been able to see before -- there it was.

"Holy shit."

Paul stared at it for however long, then scrambled to his feet and wrapped himself around his aunt, who'd put her coffee down and was sitting there with her arms open for a hug.

"Thank you," he murmured into her hair.

"You're welcome, dear. I'm sorry you need it, but I'm glad I have it to give you."

He nodded. That was it exactly -- it completely sucked that he needed it, he was still pissed off about that, but at least he wasn't completely cut off from the magic things in the world the way he'd expected to be. It was something, and right then that tiny sliver of something seemed pretty damn huge.

Soon enough he disentangled himself from his aunt, since the joyful shock was wearing off and it was suddenly kind of embarrassing to be all hugging and stuff for more than a second or two. He sat back down and took a long slug of coffee, staring around at the glowing letters that still hovered in the air. He knew they'd fade eventually, or at least he was pretty sure they would, but he felt like he could just look at them for however long they lasted, without ever getting tired of it.

Aunt Wilma got up to refill her coffee. "So," she said while replacing the pot, "how's the rest of life going?"

"Huh?" Paul had to change gears for that. "Umm, the usual stuff. Dad's nagging me to start looking at colleges and all, but I'm not even done with junior year yet. I don't know, I always thought I'd, you know, be a Sentinel." He didn't say "like you" but it was there anyway, hanging in the air between them, just not quite as glowingly obvious as the happy birthday message.

"You know being a Sentinel doesn't pay the bills, right?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, sure. But that's all you need, just something to pay the bills, right? It's not like a major career or anything. You couldn't really deal with a regular job, having to run out to fight elves and stuff at any time, right?"

"That's true enough," she said. "But still, you need to do something, and there aren't many casual jobs that let you take time off whenever you want, but pay enough to live on."

"I know, I thought about that." Paul sat up and leaned forward a little, as if he could will her to take him seriously, because he knew his parents wouldn't and he needed somebody on his side. "I've been kind of writing for a while. You know, stories? I haven't sold any yet, but that just means I need to practice more. If I can get good enough to sell things then I could make a living that way, and that's something you can do any time, so whenever I had to drop everything and run off to save the world or something, I could...."

And right there he ran down, because it hit him that it was all pointless, that he could never be a Sentinel, for real. Seeing magic was great and all, but he couldn't actually defend himself from some elf casting magic at him unless he had magic of his own. And he didn't. So... there, it was all trashed.

He sat back and stared down at the floor. Life was back to sucking.

"Do you still want to be a writer?" asked Aunt Wilma.

"Huh? I mean, it doesn't matter anymore."

"Plenty of people who aren't mages are writers," she pointed out, slowly, like he might need the extra time to understand the words. "If that's what you want to do, there's no reason you shouldn't do it."

Did he? He liked writing -- not all of it, sometimes it kind of sucked when he got stuck on something, but finishing a story was great, and coming up with ideas and characters and all. He even liked sending stuff out, and not getting a rejection slip would be excellent, the first time it happened.

"Or let's put it this way," she said, when he went a few moments without answering. "If we assume you can have a regular day job now, with office hours, is there anything else you'd rather do?"

Paul thought, but nothing came to mind. "No."

"Well, then, there you go. You have a life goal. What should you major in at college to be a writer? What kind of stories do you write?"

"Mostly science fiction, some fantasy. There are magazines that publish only eff-and-ess-eff, and some others that take it occasionally. The library has copies of this annual writer's market guide, and you can find places to send stories. I wish-- I mean, I'm kind of into horror, not really scary stuff, but like...." He trailed off, trying to figure out how to explain it.

"You mean like sexy vampires?"

"Umm. Kinda?" Paul could feel himself blushing and stared down at his coffee mug. "There's really no place to sell that stuff, though."

"They sell pretty well on the romance side," she pointed out. "Romances are a big market, and fantasy and science fiction and vampire-type romances are getting pretty popular."

Of course, he knew Aunt Wilma read romances, but he hadn't thought about writing actual romances. "But there aren't many paying markets that take short stories like that, and I haven't been able to finish a novel yet; I keep getting stuck. And I'm not really writing romances anyway, but kind of like a fantasy, with mages and elves? But not like Tolkien, sort of historical but not just making up something sort of medieval--"

"Have you ever read anything by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro?" she asked, interrupting his rambling. "She's got a historical vampire series that's sort of like what you're talking about."

"Yes! The Saint Germain books? Like that, kinda, but with mages and all instead of vampires."

Paul was sitting up again and bouncing in his chair a little. If Aunt Wilma was a Yarbro fan then she knew exactly what he meant, and it sounded like she wasn't going to laugh at him or tell him it was a stupid idea or anything. Before he could start explaining the ideas he'd had for historical-mage stories, though, the kitchen door suddenly glowed bright green and exploded into a storm of splinters and shattered glass.

A guy Paul had never seen before was standing there in the wrecked doorway. He looked like he was in his twenties, tall and lean, with blond hair and a nasty grimace. Paul thought he might be kind of hot if he didn't look like he was about to punch somebody. That and the wrecked door.

He looked all around the room in about half a second, then wound up with the wand in his hand and cast something bright and flashing at Aunt Wilma. She squawked in pain and flew backwards out of her chair.

Ignoring Paul, the guy took a long stride into the room, still holding his wand on Paul's aunt. "The artifacts. Give 'em here and I won't kill the kid." His wand swooped over to point at Paul, but he was still watching Aunt Wilma, probably figuring she was the dangerous one.

It was true, she was, but the thought -- true or not -- pissed Paul off royally. Who the hell was this asshole, busting in and hurting old ladies and trying to steal stuff?

Aunt Wilma threw something magical back at the guy, without even a wand. He swore and cast back at her, and she yelped again, still down on the floor with one hand clamped to her side.

Paul dove under the table, then stood up, heaving it at the guy, hard. Mugs and spoons and Aunt Wilma's plastic box crashed to the floor and he felt the table top impact the guy, who swore again and thudded against something, probably the wall.

The table was jerked out of Paul's hands and he dodged back toward the counter. A snarled, "You're gonna get it, you little shit!" made him move faster. Hah, the coffee pot! The base was still turned on, so it'd be plenty hot. Paul grabbed the pot and flung the coffee at the guy, who was winding up with his wand again. The coffee splashed against him; he barely turned away in time to take most of it against the back of his black leather jacket, shouting in surprise and what Paul hoped was at least a little fear.

The miss sucked; Paul'd been hoping to get his face, or at least his T-shirt.

The knife rack was right next to the coffee pot base; he grabbed the first knife his hand hit and jumped back across the room, intending to jab it into the asshole's kidney. But half way there, he suddenly froze, like he'd been caught in liquid glass.

The guy hadn't even cast a spell! Or not that Paul had seen, and he was pretty sure it would've been obvious. Or should've been -- maybe he was just that good? Shit! Paul tried to struggle but nothing would move. He'd made some stupid mistake and now he was caught, and the asshole was going to use him to threaten Aunt Wilma into giving him the stuff he wanted, like Paul was some stupid, helpless hostage, and the guy might end up killing them anyway because Paul hadn't been able to think of something that'd take him out right away--

"Good job, Paul," said Aunt Wilma, and Paul's brain shorted out.

Not really, but that was what it felt like. Then he could move again and he stumbled back into the counter because he'd been sort of off balance when the freeze-whatever hit him. He leaned against the formica edge and glared at the guy in the leather jacket, then at Aunt Wilma -- who was standing there on the far side of the overturned table like she'd just gotten up to answer the phone or something -- then back at the guy.

"Not bad, kid," said the guy. Nice move with the coffee -- you almost got me there." He scowled at Aunt Wilma and said, "You didn't mention having any scalding liquids around."

"I didn't think about it," said Aunt Wilma with a breezy wave of one hand. "It was an excellent move, though. I liked the table maneuver, too, although I'm glad Grandma Penny bought sturdy. One of those cheap modern kitchen tables would be in pieces on the floor. And speaking of in pieces, you owe me a door!" She waved her hand again, this time at the wreckage, and glared at him.

Paul slammed the knife down on the counter and glared at both of them. "So, what, you were just playing around? Give the magic-blind kid one fake chance to think he's a hero, Happy Birthday? Wow, thanks."

The guy snorted and shook his head. "I don't know you, and don't really care if it's your birthday or not. Trust me, I wouldn't volunteer for these bruises, or the chance of first degree burns all over my face even for a friend, much less some stranger."

"It was a test, though," said Aunt Wilma. "And you passed nicely. I thought you probably would, but I had to check. That's the point of tests."

"What was the point of tests? Of this test?" Paul actually had an idea of what the point might've been, but it sounded stupid even in his head and he didn't let himself think of it in words. He turned away so neither of the adults would see ridiculous hope in his face. He spotted a dish towel hanging from the handle of the fridge; he pulled it off and back-handed it at the guy. Up to him to catch it and mop up his leather if he wanted. He stared at the window over the sink, at his own reflection, trying to keep his face straight. Hope was just too pathetic at that point.

"The point was to see whether you have the temperament to be a Sentinel."

She just said it, right out, all short and matter-of-fact. Something like that, it seemed to Paul, should be announced, maybe with some kind of brass fanfare in the background.

"This is Derry, by the way. He just moved into the area and is joining the team, taking Doug's place. Derry, my nephew Paul."

"Hey."

Paul turned back around in time to see Derry gave him a smirk and a wave. He was mopping his jacket off with the towel. He shrugged out of it so he could reach the back. Mmm, nice tight T-shirt, which Paul felt free to notice, since he wasn't trying to burn, stab or otherwise maim the guy anymore.

"Unless you despise one another," Aunt Wilma went on, "Derry will be mentoring you for a while. I thought you'd rather have someone who's not a relative doing it, aside from the fact that I'm not really up to teaching brawling to a seventeen-year-old anymore."

Paul blinked a couple of times, like the world would shift into some more believable configuration if he could just get rid of whatever was obviously messing up his vision. Except it was his ears too, and blinking would help that. Blinking didn't help anyway, because he was still standing in Aunt Wilma's semi-trashed kitchen.

"So, wait, you want me to be a Sentinel? For real? That won't work -- I don't have any magic!"

"That makes it awkward, but not impossible," she said. "And since Christopher has informed me that he's definitely not interested and if I keep nagging him he's going to move across country, change his name and not give me his phone number, it's up to you to carry the flag for the family."

Aunt Wilma's son Christopher had been telling his mother for about as long as Paul'd been alive that he didn't want to be a Sentinel, so Paul wasn't really shocked. Paul thought he was crazy, but it still wasn't surprising.

But--

"What about Tom?" Paul didn't really want to remind her, but felt like he had to. "At least he's got magic."

Derry huffed out a laugh and shook his head. "We pulled this on him when I first got into town. He called me some names and tried to break a dish over my head. I'll give the kid credit for standing his ground and giving it a shot, but he doesn't have that killer instinct. If you're going to fight bad guys, you have to mean it, for real. You can train that into somebody, but I'm not going to do it."

"I told him that if he wanted another chance, he could join the military and serve a hitch," said Aunt Wilma. "Something like the Marines where they emphasize combat and train the right reflexes into you. If he gets through boot camp and a tour somewhere, he'll have all the killer instinct a Sentinel needs."

Paul said, "But that's--" and then stopped, because he'd been about to say something truly stupid.

"Dangerous?" Aunt Wilma gave him a sharp glare. "Of course it's dangerous. So is fighting trolls and elves and power-crazed mages. If you're afraid of getting hurt, say so now and that'll be the end of it."

"No! No, I'm not. I know being a Sentinel is dangerous, I'm not stupid. I was just about to say something dumb. It was just, like a reflex. I want to! I always have." He took a step toward Derry and held out a hand. "Umm, sorry for throwing coffee at you. No hard feelings, right?"

Derry laughed and gripped his hand, then clapped him on the shoulder. "'Course not. You did real well, we already said so."

"That's settled, then," said Aunt Wilma. "Paul, you figure out how much free time you have -- school, homework and sleep are your own, otherwise Derry owns you through at least the end of summer. I'll talk to your parents and we'll make sure everything's organized."

Derry poked Paul in the arm and said, "I suggest you work hard between now and the end of school, put on as much strength and endurance as you can, 'cause once summer vacation starts and you're mine all day, you're going to wish you'd joined the Marines instead."

Paul scowled at him, but he couldn't hold it. A huge smile broke through and he said, "Excellent. Thanks!" There was still one thing, though. He looked back and forth between them and said, "But I still don't have magic. I mean, it's great to be able to see what's coming, but a pot of coffee won't protect me from a crazy mage or an elf who's out of coffee-tossing range."

Derry raised an eyebrow at Aunt Wilma, who sort of smirked at him, then said to Paul, "Let's clean up this mess you made. Make sure you find every bit of jewelry that was in the box, then I'll show you what we've got for you."

Paul got it in about half a second. The gold chain had been in the box with... with a bunch of junk that wasn't actually junk.

Holy shit, he thought. There was loads of stuff in that box!

He dropped to his knees and started scrambling around on the floor picking up pendants and bracelets and rings and pins, while Derry set the table back on its legs and Aunt Wilma mopped coffee off the floor. Chains and charms and earrings and stick pins and buttons and necklaces -- there were dozens, maybe hundreds of them. If they were all magic, then....

...Then he'd be loaded for magical bear.

It was starting, and it was real. Paul was going to be a Sentinel.
*******************************************************

Paul is a main character in two of Angela's Sentinel universe novels: A Hidden Magic and Emerging Magic. If you want some excellent urban fantasy, these two books are for you! (My review for Emerging Magic will be up this weekend! Loved it!)

 Rory's mother took him to psychiatrists, let them circumscribe his life, let them give him drugs, while knowing all along there was nothing wrong with him. When Rory finds out, he's angry and confused and just wants to get away for a while. His mother's betrayal plus another kidnap attempt make a visit to the father he hasn't seen in ten years seem like a great idea.

When Rory, Paul and Aubrey get to Seattle, though, it's obviously not going to be just a normal family Christmas. Someone north of San Jose tried to kidnap Rory twice before they left, and to Paul, it's too much of a coincidence that Nathan, Rory's dad, has magic talented friends. While Rory tries to reconnect with his only other family, Paul is trying to figure out whether anyone in Nathan's group is after Rory. They definitely have secrets, and at least one of them has been playing around with things he doesn't understand; the local fey are after him, and elves aren't known for caring too much about collateral damage.

And there's a master wizard in the area who's up to something big and would really like to have Rory's help....
  
Available at Torquere, Amazon, and All Romance eBooks.

Almost Paradise by Caitlin Ricci

Title: Almost Paradise
Author: Caitlin Ricci
Cover Artist: Lee Tiffin
Publisher: Silver Publishing
Genre: paranormal, shifter
Length: 17,300 words



Travis will do anything to keep his daughter safe, now that he finally has custody. Financially ruined, he cannot even afford food for himself most days. Could a stranger’s offer to dogsit be the solution Travis has been hoping for?

Travis has done everything to keep his daughter safe. He's fought a long, hard battle with the courts to gain full custody and has finally found some breathing room. But that security comes at a heavy price.

Staying in a motel and living off his quickly dwindling savings is no way to raise a toddler, so when Liam steps into his life and offers him hundreds of dollars just to watch his dogs for a weekend, it almost seems too good to be true.

But when he finds out there is more to Liam than he ever thought, he has a hard decision to make. Can he and his daughter stay and be safe or will he need to leave?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I both adored this story and was frustrated, as an assortment of interesting plot points got rushed treatment. I would have gladly followed along for a slower ride. Even so, I was charmed.


Liam, who is introduced as both dominant but not the supreme alpha of his shifter group, starts out by taking his enormous, half-grown dogs on a shopping expedition for trinkets and clothing. He encounters Travis, who’s there to beg a job, any job, if it will just pay something he can use to feed his toddler daughter Hannah. Totally the center of Travis’ world, keeping Hannah has cost him his home and his prosperity, and he knows down to his bones that his baby girl is worth it. But it’s costing him meals to keep her fed.

Little scene stealer that she is, Hannah interrupts her father’s pitch for work, wanting to touch Liam’s giant dogs. The animals adore her, and her cheerful shouts of “Puppy!” punctuate the rest of the book. All her loving daddy’s goodnight stories bear strange fruit—she’s distressingly accurate about puppies.

Things happen dizzyingly fast after that—what starts as a simple offer of a much needed meal becomes an offer to dogsit while Liam takes care of Shifter business—Travis is understandingly spooked by the instant trust, a hint of charity, and maybe an exchange of favors, and if he wasn’t desperate he’d be backing away quickly. Even if Liam is so damned hot.

Travis has been fighting for Hannah since her birth—the mother is a promise breaking horror, and the relationship between her and Travis has been messy, although what each wanted from the other was never clear and has changed with time. She’s persistent, with a hint of strangeness. Travis had a child with her, but he’s never explored his true desires—a single kiss from Liam wakes more in him than he’s comfortable with.

The story resolves several elements in a very open-ended fashion; the story is marked the first of a series and there’s all sorts of issues to explore in more depth. I’m intrigued enough to read more in spite of a couple of eye-rollers like the incredible shape-shifting clothing. The structure of the shifter group has story potential, especially since a few other characters are introduced in depth but don’t play direct roles in the plot arc here, which would annoy me more if they weren’t so clearly sequel bait.

Hannah and the dogs get a little more depth than do Travis and Liam—there’s chemistry there that we don’t see consummated, but Liam is smitten with both of them—his dreams of a family are fingertip-close, if he could just gentle Travis into accepting what’s crackling between them. Liam’s frustration is one of my favorite aspects—he can dominate dogs and people into obeying his demands, but any application of pressure on Travis and he’ll be gone like smoke, Hannah with him.

The sexual tension between Liam and Travis could be cut with a knife and is not exactly resolved. I wish certain elements had received deeper treatment and that certain issues of trust hadn’t been whipped past so quickly, but this beginning has a lot of promise. 3 marbles

A Picture that Inspired Thousands of Words from Heidi Belleau and Violetta Vane

Photo taken by Heidi Belleau at Newgrange in Ireland, 2012

The triskelion, also known as a triskele.

An ancient symbol that consists of three bent arms that all radiate in rotation from a center point, it features heavily in Celtic art in one form or another. One of the most famous instances of the shape is where it is carved as a triple spiral into the huge stones that surround the Neolithic passage tomb at Newgrange, in Co. Meath, Ireland. It’s been ascribed many meanings over the years, from the Christian divine where it represents the holy trinity, to pagan meanings where the number three is held sacred, to representations of the three trimesters of pregnancy. I even hear that some consider it just a strange image dreamed up by ancient Irish carvers who’d been taking hallucinogens. Whatever its original meaning, it represents a symbol as essential to Ireland as the Celtic cross or the Claddagh.

Here are three arms of the triple spiral that shapes The Druid Stone.

They watched as the train tracks warped and bent, rearing up from the ground like the back of a snake and slapping down again. There was a horrible metallic creaking, like a car crash, and the tracks seemed to turn and curl, furling like a fiddlehead, the landscape melting and bending around them.

He recognized it immediately: the arm of a triple spiral, and they were at its outermost—and simultaneously innermost—point.

***

“Good. Do you have weapons? A horse? A bow? Are you a soldier?”

The scrutiny was cruel, but necessary. He spread his empty palms. Showed her his hands, smooth and free of calluses. It was no use lying to her; she’d see right through him, soon enough. But he needed this woman’s help. She knew the land, which this far in time was something foreign to him. He had to convince her she needed him too. He pulled up his sleeve, exposing the blue shape of the triple spiral nestled in the inside of his elbow. “I’m a druid,” he said, and it was a strange thing to say it so plainly and expect it to carry weight.

The admission seemed to set off a storm of conflicting emotions. She shrank back. Crossed herself. Took a long breath with her lips closed tight, nostrils flaring. Met his eyes again, and bowed her head deeply to him. “You still guard the old ways.”

“Longer than you know.” So much longer.

***

“There’s one, near Loughrea. And the last point is under Galway.” Sean saw the triangle now, connecting the three points.

Cormac, possessed by some fit of passion, snatched up a black marker and inked the triple spiral across the map, the innermost points of the furls located atop the three points Aoibheann had indicated. “I understand,” he said, and Sean could tell that his mind was working furiously, inexorably, to uncover the supernatural architecture. 

 ****************************

Sean never asked to be an O'Hara, and he didn't ask to be cursed by one either.

After inheriting a hexed druid stone from his great-grandfather, Sean starts reliving another man's torture and death...every single night. And only one person can help.

Cormac Kelly runs a paranormal investigation business and doesn't have time to deal with misinformed tourists like Sean. But Sean has real magic in his pocket, and even though Cormac is a descendant of legendary druids, he soon finds himself out of his depth...and not because Sean's the first man he's felt anything for in a long time.

The pair develop an unexpected and intensely sexual bond, but are threatened at every turn when Sean's case attracts the unwelcome attention of the mad sidhe lords of ancient Ireland. When Sean and Cormac are thrust backward in time to Ireland's violent history—and their own dark pasts—they must work together to escape the curse and save their fragile relationship.

Find it at Carina, Amazon, or Barnes & Noble

Policy change

Due to a recent unpleasant experience, I have updated my reviewing criteria. The changes are primarily in the realm of BDSM. and now look like this  (it's also on the If You Want a Review page);


A story that pleases me will have a couple of well developed characters, a relationship, and something plotwise outside the relationship. I like plot, that's the point of a book. I like sex, too, but sex has to drive the plot. The daily drivel of the character's lives in between sex scenes is not plot -- plot has conflict and resolution, and it needs to make sense. Logic fail will get noticed out loud and if I can't find the plot beyond "hawt guys fuck" you can call me Cryssy Crankypants.

Things that stop me in my tracks:

•  Rape, unless it's a past trauma and offstage
•  Incest, especially twincest. A survivor is fine, but current relationship -- NO
•  Non-con -- don't kid yourself, the right name is rape
•  All the squicky stuff that epublishers put in their 'don't submit to us' list
•  Most BDSM. Personal preference, no apologies. Please don't offer it. Absolutely no pain play, blood play, flogging, bondage, humiliation, gagging, CBT. If it requires implements, I don't want to read it, I don't have to explain why, and I don't want to be nagged for exceptions. Wheedle or push, and I will review, using boilerplate. "Book, DNF, author, TSTL."**
• Het. Really, people. I'm not the right reviewer for that.**

Iffy stuff:

• Dub-con. We might not agree about where the line is. I'm likely to be more restrictive in my definition than you are.
• Soul mates -- this one hits the gag reflex, no matter what the writing looks like, 99 times out of a hundred, and the hundredth one is probably involving a non-human. A deep bonding after personalities get explored is fine, just no "only one personnnnnn in the universssssse for meeeeeeeee!" 
• BDSM of the non-implement variety. Psychological aspects might be okay, but know you're taking a risk.

**Yes, someone tried. Learn from their error.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is not to say I will never read BDSM, it's just that I will choose it myself. I already know of one book I intend to read that has some psychological elements going, but I don't expect it to be a regular thing.

What happened was a classic case of how not to ask for a review. It went something like this, and I paraphrase to protect the guilty.

Review my book please.

No thanks, it’s het.

Review my book.

No, it’s heavy BDSM.

REVIEW MY BOOK.

I ALREADY SAID NO.

*I SAID* REVIEW MY BOOK.

 

And I don’t want to set the keyboard on fire again by repeating what I said after that. Maybe instead of “No” I should have said “Shakespeare” or “Chrysanthemum.” 

 

 

Cop Out by KC Burn

Title: Cop Out
Author: K.C. Burn
Cover Artist: Reece Dante
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Genre: contemporary
Length: 200 pages


Detective Kurt O’Donnell is used to digging up other people’s secrets, but when he discovers his slain partner was married to another man, it shakes him. Determined to do the right thing, Kurt offers the mourning Davy his assistance. Helping Davy through his grief helps Kurt deal with the guilt that his partner didn’t trust him enough to tell him the truth, and somewhere along the way Davy stops being an obligation and becomes a friend, the closest friend Kurt has ever had.

His growing attraction to Davy complicates matters, leaving Kurt struggling to reevaluate his sexuality. Then a sensual encounter neither man is ready for confuses them further. To be with Davy, Kurt must face the prospect of coming out, but his job and his relationship with his Catholic family are on the line. Can he risk destroying his life for the uncertain possibility of a relationship with a newly widowed man?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cop Out starts out with a bang, literally; Kurt’s been shot and his partner killed. He’s been paired with Ben a long time, but in a work relationship, not a true friendship. They have nearly no personal interactions, no shared confidences, and Kurt is floored with the realization of exactly how little he knew the man he trusted with his life.


It isn’t until Ben’s funeral and then by accident that Kurt realizes Davy was Ben’s partner for ten years, and then he’s further horrified to find out what sort of narrow existence Davy was forced into by Ben’s secrecy. Nothing of Davy's personality could contaminate Ben’s life, not even a few colorful items sprinkled around their icy-white home.

Knowing that Davy would need support in his bereavement, and thinking it very unlikely that he’d get it from anyone else, Kurt appoints himself a friend and guardian; he’s got quite a bit of spare time during his recuperation, and later he’s a constant, as much as Davy will let him be. Appalled by how far short of a loving relationship between equals Ben and Davy had, Kurt wants to help Davy heal. Little moves like cheering his own favorite sports teams and bringing out the crazy quilt to stain a pristine white room mark Davy’s grieving and recovery, and Kurt’s pleased with helping along each small step.

Kurt’s own life requires some recovery: a new partner with a normal curiosity and friendship to offer helps heal him of Ben’s miasma. His new partner is there for him in a series of small milestones, and to worry about him when he’s not doing well. Simon is the antithesis of Ben; he’s a complete and decent human being.

As Kurt and Davy do a slow build back to normal, Kurt starts’ to question his feelings—this isn’t friendship as he knows it, not with ever-harder-to squash-back sexual feelings, culminating in a bout of angry sex that brings matters to a head. Because Davy rightly calls BS on Kurt for treating him the way Ben did, in many important ways.

This book is an extreme emotional roll-coaster; we see everything through Kurt’s turmoil, first over the existence of a long term relationship he never suspected, then his anger over Ben’s treatment of Davy, and especially over his own growing sexual desires. Kurt’s always thought of himself as straight but not highly sexed, and the slow reveal of the truth, first to himself, and then to family and friends, is the main focus of the story. Cop work is a background topic: even the eventual take-down of the crime lord responsible for Ben’s death is treated as a throwaway scene.

The emotional upheaval makes this a very vivid out-for-you story, and as long as we’re focused on Kurt, it’s enjoyable: even his falling-to-pieces times were well-drawn and believable. Davy though, has a decade of what is essentially an emotionally abusive relationship, and while I loved that he grew confident and even assertive, and refused to tolerate a second round of it, thinking too hard about those ten years is a little stomach churning. I hated Ben deeply by the middle of the book, and he gets no screen time as a live person.

Kurt does eventually decipher himself and comes out, although his choices of people to tell were a matter for headdesking. Unfortunately, whacking him with a clue-by-four was not an option for the reader.

Davy and Kurt do reconcile nearly as traumatically as they met, and it’s quite satisfying to read. We’re even allowed to share a bit of them being happy together, and one closes the book with a lascivious but happy smile. 4 marbles


**Clue-by-four shamelessly stolen from Angela Benedetti, but she left it lying around in a comment.

The Wrong Impression by James Ryder

Title: The Wrong Impression
Author: James Ryder
Cover Artist: Reese Dante
Publisher: Silver
Genre: Contemporary
Length: 12,300 words


Ben Garrett might have got it wrong about his former High School bully, Corey Donovan, who now regrets the past and wants to be friends. But when sexual attraction shatters their tentative truce, Ben wonders if the wrong impression might have been the right one after all.

Getting roped into writing essays for his former High School bully is the last thing Ben Garrett anticipated doing at college. Corey Donovan is an arrogant, privileged jock. And to make matters worse, he's hot as hell!

To Ben's surprise however Corey wants to be friends...and possibly more? Corey's killer smile and charismatic seduction is impossible to resist. Did Ben get it wrong about Corey? After all, people change, don't they?

But their night of passion comes at a high price. Corey is nowhere to be found and Ben might just have landed himself in a whole lot of trouble with Corey's homophobic frat brother, Teddy Hayman. Was Ben's wrong impression the right one all along?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The set-up looks like it ought to be good for an enemies-to-lovers story, and it probably would, with different handling. Unfortunately, the one shred of decent behavior in this entire book doesn’t kick the co-existence level anywhere that high.

From the opening scene where Max manipulates his buddy Ben into writing the newly transferred jock Corey’s essays (for a fee, of course) so that he can get into a social group that would otherwise reject him, the ethically questionable behaviors come hard and fast. While each action individually is somewhat understandable, given the pressures to fit in and make friends, the aggregate is a peek into a cesspool.


So what if Corey’s hot? That lasts until he opens his mouth, and Ben has two years of physical assaults and bullying at Corey’s hands to temper his physical reaction, not that it helps. Perhaps a college age man is more led by his cock than most, but the sight of Corey’s body during a condom run in an interlude with a slutty cheerleader (author’s term) is enough to turn Ben’s larger head off in spite of the horrible history between them.

The blurb promises friendship on Corey’s side, but that isn’t the case. More using/self-centered behavior is closer to the mark, and all Ben’s ruminations with his friends don’t let him see that. The dirtbag behavior hasn’t escalated to manhandling, but Corey isn’t treating Ben decently this time around either, and his apology for the past didn’t even begin to acknowledge the depth of his offences, though it might have been adequate for accidentally stepping on toes. Charismatic seduction? Don’t think so: this is crude come-on.

So why is Ben hoping for more, a lot more? When he gets it plus some more ill-treatment, he retaliates with the only weapon he has, which lets him meet face-to-fist with Corey’s team- mate Teddy the homophobe. What follows is the only moment of decent behavior in this entire tale.

It’s a mess of a story when the only character who has convictions of any strength is the bad guy of the piece, in this case, Teddy. He’s a homophobic horror, but he’s consistent. Max is out for himself, Ben is delusional, a doormat, and intellectually dishonest. Corey depends on getting away with anything short of murder because he’s a jock and model-handsome to boot, and the world (including Ben) isn’t even trying to convince him it might not always work that way. I hated every single one of these characters and everything they did by halfway in, to a degree that was unrecoverable.

The ending had some reassurance that these were supposed to be thinking beings rather than cardboard cut-outs with no moral compasses, but it was much too little, far too late. Very likely each and every one of the behaviors outlined here has happened on campuses everywhere, but the display en mass is a cautionary tale of the bad behavior of humans, not romantic. The revelations are supposed to make up for everything but I’m not convinced. 1.5 stars

An Excerpt from Cartography for Beginners by Jenna Jones

From Cartography for Beginners by Jenna Jones, an excerpt


"Here's your room."

"Oh, my God," Leo breathed as he walked in. The room was pale cream with rose and cream brocade curtains, and matching brocade curtains around the rose-colored bed. There was a dormer window with a window seat that looked out over the garden, the olive trees and the vineyard on the slope below, and then beyond that, cherry trees and lavender bushes and more olive groves, and further still was a green valley and the white clustered buildings of the village.

"I thought you might like the view," Stuart said softly behind him. "I know the colors are a bit feminine."

Leo turned to him. "I love it. It's beautiful. It's like a fairy tale."


"La Belle et la Bete," Stuart said.

"Which one's that?"

"Beauty and the Beast. Though his castle was enchanted, of course. Invisible servants, while my workers," he pointed out the window, and Leo could see figures moving among the vines in the setting sun, preparing for the close of day, "are quite mortal."

"You're definitely not the Beast," Leo said. Stuart toyed with the strap of rose-colored silk that tied the curtains back from the window. "Though if you are under a curse, that would explain a lot." Stuart chuckled wryly. Leo said, "You look amazing. Do you work in the vineyards too?"

"I do. I like the exercise. It relaxes me."

"You look incredible with a tan. You look like you've been getting a good workout, with the-- whatever you do in a vineyard. I guess it's not exactly lifting bales of hay."

"Not exactly," Stuart murmured. "Weeding, tying vines back, pruning. Picking the grapes, now."

Leo pushed a lock of sun-gold hair back from Stuart's face, and Stuart closed his eyes again. "It's so good to see you. I've missed you so much."

"Leo," Stuart began.

"I know. You put me in a separate bedroom. I get the hint. But I have missed you. I just want that out there."

Stuart nodded, and turned closer to Leo so he could press their faces together for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak when Ben bellowed up the stairs, "Guys! Come eat!"

They parted and looked at each other painfully. "Suppertime," Stuart said.

"I've never had ratatouille."

"You'll like it," Stuart said and called up the stairs, "Boys! Supper's ready!" and they all came thumping back down the stairs again.
*********************************
Cartography for Beginners is now available from Torquere Press!

At the age of fifty-one, Leo Bellamy from Chiaroscuro and Something Beautiful has to do what he never expected: start over. Leo has been mourning the end of his long-time relationship for over a year. It takes the death of a close friend to convince Leo that he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life being bitter. It's time to move on and find a love that will last. Leo accepts his friend Stuart Huntsman's invitation to visit him in London, where Leo's friends hope he will find a holiday romance that will kick start that "moving on" business.

Meantime, Stuart has been tentatively rebuilding his relationship with his estranged children. For twenty years Stuart thought his children were better off with him, and it's a shock to learn they don't feel the same way. Stuart doesn't think he's good for anyone -- and certainly not for Leo, even if he and Leo call each other daily and Stuart is always a welcome guest in Leo's home.

There's no road map to true love and it's easy to get lost along the way. But with patience and understanding, Stuart and Leo may find their way to each other.

Italian Ice by EM Lynley

Title: Italian Ice
Author: E.M. Lynley
Cover Artist: Anne Cain
Publisher: Dreamspinner
Genre: action/adventure
Length: 290 pages

In this exciting sequel to Rarer Than Rubies, gay romance author Trent Copeland and former FBI agent Reed Action head to Italy for a Roman holiday. What should be a relaxing and romantic vacation is interrupted when Reed’s not-so-former boss asks for his help with a case. Trent's shocked to discover in the six months they’ve been living together in LA, Reed hasn’t been completely honest about his "retirement."

Reed heads for Sicily on the trail of a suspected antiquities-smuggling ring and to find Peter Isett—a former FBI partner he also hasn’t been completely truthful about. Stung by Reed’s dishonesty, Trent questions what else Reed might be hiding. But when he overhears something that tells him Reed's life is in danger, Trent follows Reed to a remote chain of ancient volcanic islands off Sicily's northern coast. Soon Trent is caught up in the smugglers’ web, and Reed must decide between his heart and his mission—a decision complicated by his past with Peter. Reed’s position is perilous: unless he can learn to put the past behind him, he risks destroying everything he's built with Trent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There’s nothing quite like getting called in to work while you’re on vacation halfway around the world from home—but if you’re vacationing where the work is, goodbye sightseeing. Reed’s phone goes off while he and his lover Trent are exploring the Vatican museums, and that’s the end of fun in Italy.

Reed and Trent got together in Rarer than Rubies, and if you don’t care to start with an established couple, definitely read that first. (Read it anyway, it’s good.) These two are on much shakier ground than either of them believe, so if you don’t mind catching up on the history as you go, this also stands alone. The reveal of the backstory is nicely done and doesn’t go beyond what’s needed to enjoy this one.


Trent’s shattered to find out how much Reed has kept from him all this time; while he doesn’t expect to hear every detail, something as big as still being an active agent ought to get mentioned. Given that Reed had a personal relationship with his old partner Peter, and that Reed’s never really told Trent much about this part of his past, this new mission has the potential to cost them their relationship.

The writer in Trent has to pick at the mystery and follow the clues: he was deeply if accidentally involved in the Ruby Buddha affair in Thailand in the first book, and a visit to an antiquities auction puts him in the middle of Reed’s newest mission. The volatility of their feelings mixes with the danger Reed’s walking into, and Trent cannot just sit back and let Reed go. At every turn Trent’s somehow mixed in, and very often he has a critical insight or action that makes it possible for Reed to pick apart the mystery. It’s a lovely dance, this mix of educated novice and professional, and critical to their ultimate success.

The men have a lot of differences in tastes and philosophies, and some very different ways of seeing the world. They manage to meet in the middle in ways as side effects of everything else they are involved in, which is very deftly done.

The setting, starting in Rome and moving to the volcanic isles of Sicily, is very nearly a character too. EM Lynley makes us smell the volcanic fumes, feel the ocean spray on our faces, taste the fresh from the sea food, and occasionally smell the alleyways. Once in a while it’s a little guide-booky, but the author clearly loves this region and makes us feel it too. Smatterings of Italian streak the pages, and the local proverbs for chapter headers add a nice touch.

I loved Trent, although I did occasionally get aggravated with his focus on relationships rather than the external dangers—romance writers do stay on topic. I also liked Reed, and sometimes wanted to shake him over matters of honesty in his relationships; he’s willing to let 800 lb gorillas sit in the living room for long periods. However, the two men and their needs interwove tightly with the smuggling plot, and the finale brought everything together with a giant crash and wrap.

The smuggling plot had layers on layers, with smiling villains that didn’t go over the top. The stakes were high but not ridiculous, the evil bad but dedicated to achieving specified ends. The odds were stacked deeply against Reed and Trent, but on a scale that was difficult, not absurd. Overall, a good balance.

The epilogue was the weakest section, bending belief in Reed and restaurants, and leaving me wanting to choke one minor character with a piece of bruschetta. Fortunately, the main story already left me confident in Trent and Reed’s solidification as a couple.

I’ve read other art/adventure books by this author and enjoyed them, and was really glad to see a new one. 4.5 stars

A Picture is Worth...

I like an older man: there are stories in his eyes and experience in his hands. Perhaps someone has 100 to 1000 words for him, and the rest of us can imagine.

(See the Thousand Word Thursday page, upper left to share a story.)

A Recondite Matter by G.S. Wiley

Title: A Recondite Matter
Author: G.S. Wiley
Cover Artist: Alessia Brio
Publisher: Torquere Press
Genre: time travel
Length: 14,800 words

Francis is an Edwardian gentleman who prefers the quiet life. When a mysterious gift from a more adventurous friend, Sir Desmond Rivest, transports him a hundred years into the future, Francis needs to use every wit he possesses to fit into a world of smart phones, fast cars, and paper plates. Simon, an antiques dealer, seems uniquely equipped to help Francis adjust, and to help him find a way back home. But as Francis' feelings for Simon begin to emerge, an encounter with a descendent of Sir Desmond's threatens to take Francis away from Simon before they really begin to know one another.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As behooves a time-travelling story, the roots of both the tragedy and the happiness lie in one era, but are resolved in another. For Francis Holden-Burrell, the man he loves dearly lies dying at a time when the papers are full of the sinking of the Titanic. What he and Sir Desmond Rivest can be to one another is limited by the times and by Sir Desmond’s unwillingness to risk himself and his bosom friend by stepping any farther from propriety than they already have.


Sir Desmond, a late Victorian adventurer and polymath, would paint Francis in classical poses that required much exposure, well enough that he’s instantly recognizable as Ares, even without his shield and spear. They might as well have had the complete pleasure for all the hatred Lady Rivest feels toward one she knows for her true rival.

A final gift bestowed by Sir Desmond to Francis flings him across a century’s gulf, where he’s a fish out of water. His home is no longer his own, nor is any sight on the street something he understands, from the absence of horses to the masses of dangerous self-propelled vehicles, and people would rather stare at small glowing rectangles than speak politely to men standing before them. If he hadn’t been scooped up by Pam, Simon’s nosy but good-hearted assistant, things might have gone badly indeed.

Antique dealer Simon finds Francis’ provenance intriguing—as is the man. Having come close to marrying his lover, Simon’s saddened and appalled at how little Francis could enjoy his love back then. Together they find clues to what’s happened to Francis, if not precisely how, and help him find his way in this new strange time.

This is the perfect setup for exploring what went wrong between Simon and his former intended, who has a cameo role, and for Francis and Simon coming to enjoy each other and to find love, but none of that happens on page. Fast forward three years to the HEA. We learn more about Pam’s wayward daughter and her taste for thugs than we do about how Francis and Simon come together as more than traveler and native guide.

I would say I love GS Wiley’s writing, but what I probably love is her skill with words and her ability to generate a scenario more than her telling of a complete story. I recall her YAs fondly, but her more adult pieces less so because I’ve met this tendency to break off the narrative just when the relationship starts. The absence of sex is not a problem, because that almost has to belong somewhere in the relationship arc which doesn’t appear on the page.

But given the huge issues raised by Francis’ love for Desmond, who is as recent as last week in Francis’ personal timeline, and Simon’s need for growth after the debacle of his failed engagement, the skip to the HEA is abrupt and full of unanswered questions. Just as I was getting invested in Francis and Simon, it was over, and I wanted to shake the rest of the story out of my Kindle. What’s there is great. But where’s the middle of the story? 3 marbles

The Declaration by Geoffrey Knight

Title: The Declaration
Author: Geoffrey Knight
Cover Artist: Deanna Jamroz
Publisher: MLR Press
Genre: historical, short story
Length: 6000 words



A humble stable boy might just be the inspiration Thomas Jefferson needs to finish writing The Declaration of Independence.

On the night before his draft of The Declaration of Independence is due, Thomas Jefferson sends his trusted servant boy Jasper to fetch more writing supplies. It is a task Jasper jumps at, knowing he'll be able to spend a few last precious moments with Myles, the stable boy, before Jefferson and his staff leave Philadelphia in the morning.

But just as their love begins to fully blossom in the lantern-lit stables of the Graff House, the drunken stable master threatens to end not only Jasper and Myles' romance, but their lives as well. Can the love of a black servant and a white stable boy overcome hatred and cruelty? And will their declaration of love be enough to give Thomas Jefferson the inspiration he needs to finish writing one of the most important documents in human history?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by the Creator with certain inalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.”

These are words that changed the world and redirected history. These words helped create our current lives: they ring with poetry and truth. But they were truly revolutionary when they were written, and how did Thomas Jefferson come to change our thinking so much?


I’m a sucker for “real moments in history used in m/m stories” which is what attracted me to this piece. The blurb tells the bulk of the story, which is quite short. The only real bit of novelty is the actual achievement of the inspiration, but it’s still a sweet and sexy look into what could have possibly happened.

This was a time of both radical innovations in thought and politics and institutionalized injustices to large portions of the population. Geoffrey Knight performs a delicate balancing act with both. Jasper is a slave, but important to both Jefferson and his lover Jasper. He’s an object or an annoyance to some, but a fully realized person to the forward thinkers in his vicinity, and if a hint of a personal interest on Mr. Jefferson’s part drives that, it doesn’t matter a whit to Jasper.

The language has the merest whiff of period to it, just enough to place us in time, and a few charming turns of phrase, as well as a few clunkers, sometimes in the same sentence. My favorite:

Unsure of what to do, Jasper imitated Myles’s actions as the two guessed their way through foreplay.

The ending does turn into a bit of history lesson and lecture, but it’s true for all that. There’s not much for me to spoil; the blurb does a better job of that than I could.

Fortunately for the lovers and for us all, history is made. Thomas Jefferson may have declared only that we may pursue happiness, but Jasper and Myles really did catch some. 3.75 marbles

Fire on the Mountain by PD Singer

Title: Fire on the Mountain
Author: P.D. Singer
Cover Artist: Reece Dante
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Genre: Contemporary m/m
Length: 72k

Take a break from academics, enjoy the Colorado Rockies, fight a fire now and then. That’s all Jake Landon expected when he signed up to be a ranger. He’ll partner with some crusty old mountain man; they’ll patrol the wilderness in a tanker, speak three words a day, and Old Crusty won’t be alluring at all. A national forest is big enough to be Jake’s closet—he’ll spend his free time fishing.

Except Old Crusty turns out to be Kurt Carlson: confident, competent, and experienced. He's also young, hot, friendly, and considers clothing optional when it’s just two guys in the wilderness. Sharing a small cabin with this walking temptation is stressing Jake’s sanity—is he sending signals, or just being Kurt? And how would Kurt react if he found out his new partner wants to start a fire of a different kind? Jake’s terrified—they have to live together for five months no matter what.

Enough sparks fly between the rangers to set the trees alight, but it takes a raging inferno to make Jake and Kurt admit to the heat between them.


Bonus Short Story: Into the Mountains

Long before he met Jake, Kurt Carlson climbed Yosemite with his best friend, Benji. But after a storm traps them halfway up the face of El Capitan, Kurt has to accept that their friendship isn't what he thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jake Landon’s ready to hide from the world and his own sexuality for the duration of the fire season, a plan that would work a whole lot better if his new partner wasn’t seriously hot and wholly uninhibited. From the opening scene, where Kurt rinses off the sweat from firefighting in an impromptu shower to an unplanned trip into a chilly mountain lake to retrieve runaway groceries, Kurt’s clothes don’t stay on consistently. For two guys who aren’t exactly part of civilization, this shouldn’t be a problem.


Unless, of course, everything about your partner, from his little adjustments of your arm to correct your archery stance to the sight of his ranger-green utilities stretched tight across his butt while he’s climbing a tree gives you a raging case of lust. Poor Jake—he’s terrified to reach out to what he’s not entirely sure is being offered. At twenty-two, he’s only now coming to terms with his own desires and is almost completely inexperienced.

The unresolved sexual tension chases Jake through the national forest where he and Kurt patrol and on into the tiny mountain town where the local girls see them as romantic opportunities. The mountains, the town, and the people they meet are vividly drawn and very much a part of city-boy Jake’s new experiences, and the firefighting that Kurt and Jake occasionally have to do leaps off the page.

Matters come to a head when a fire goes out of control and they find themselves trapped in a small cave, unsure if they’ll be alive in twenty-four hours and with nothing else to do except sleep, swap stories, and discover exactly what’s on Kurt’s mind. If they live through this, there will be time enough to find out what’s next, and the scene that makes it possible made me cry every time. (I’ve read this more than once.)

Jake is the POV character throughout the entire story, and so we’re privy to his longings and terrors, and we see Kurt only though his eyes. Kurt’s something of a mountain man, experienced in the wilderness, although his occasional lapses in either good sense or skills keep him from being too heroic to his greenhorn partner. Kurt has his own scars and fears, which come out very gradually, and explain the slow build of the relationship and the difficulties they have resolving it. It’s sweetly done in and around the adventure, and the ending is the perfect lead-in for the sequels.

This story was originally released in shorter form by another publisher, which I have read, and can say that the expansions are appropriate and add dimension to the story. As part of the re-release, the author included an 11k bonus story in Kurt’s POV, which elaborates on a pivotal incident in his past, touched on briefly in the story. While technically it’s a prequel, it belongs in its current position after the novel in order to avoid spoilers on Kurt’s personality and motives. It’s also an armchair adventure for those of us who will never climb El Capitan. Into the Mountains makes Kurt’s eventual HEA with Jake that much more poignant.

Fire on the Mountain is the first of five loosely connected novels which will be coming out at two month intervals; the next (Snow on the Mountain) is due mid-August. Three will have associated bonus stories, all will have both trade paperback and ebook versions, and I hope they’re all as good as this one! 5 Marbles