by KJ Charles
Stephen grinned up at him. “Is that the suit you and Merrick were worrying about, then? The one that you thought would be too flash?”
“It is. What do you think? I have no idea why I bother to ask.”
“It’s grey,” Stephen said. “Which doesn’t surprise me because I’m not sure I’ve seen you wear anything other than grey, but from the way you were talking about it I was expecting peacock blue, or maybe yellow. It’s very nice, of course, but it is, fundamentally, grey. Have you ever considered—I know this will shock you—wearing something else? Black, or maybe brown?”
“Why don’t you go back to sleep?” Crane suggested.
“Too late.” Stephen yawned and stretched, and Crane watched with appreciation as his small, lithe body twisted. He was only five feet tall and built accordingly, but his spare frame was taut and sinewy, and satisfyingly easy to manhandle. “I’m awake now, and I suppose I ought to get up. Get ready for whatever joy today will hold. I’ve been called to a Council meeting at eleven, Lord help me.”
“Out of curiosity, what did last night hold?”
Stephen had turned up around midnight, hair and clothes sodden with some foul, thick, sharp-smelling fluid and, after a thorough wash, had dived into bed to shed the day’s unpleasantness. By this morning, the filthy garments that he had dumped on the bathroom floor had set solid, with a yellowy resinous sheen. Crane had witnessed his manservant’s effort to loosen the mass of cheap cloth and dried horror using the fire irons, and had suggested firmly it should be set aside for burning.
Stephen had not explained himself when he’d come in, and Crane knew better than to push him for answers when those little lines of strain marked the corners of his amber eyes, but he had chased away Stephen’s worries in the only way he knew how last night, and his lover was sated and as boneless as a sleeping cat this morning.
“Oh, it was pretty grim,” Stephen said, yawning again. “There was a chap, he had these…” He mimed large, hand-sized swellings over his body. “And then they went…” He flicked his fingers outwards, indicating explosion. “He died, of course.”
“How outstandingly unpleasant. That was magic—practice, rather—was it?”
“Afraid so. I don’t have the foggiest how it was done, though. Couldn’t make head or tail of it. I dare say we’ll find out.” He stretched, flexing his spine. “Well, we won’t have much choice, since the victim was a retired police superintendent. Inspector Rickaby’s rather upset.”
Crane winced. “I expect he is. Good luck with it. Ready for coffee?”
“Very much so. What are you up to today? Is the suit in honour of something special?”
Crane rang for coffee, then tweaked his ascot again, frowning at the fall of the cloth. “I’m lunching with Leonora and Blaydon. Meeting members of the Blaydon family before the wedding.”
“Didn’t you do that last week?”
“Yes,” Crane said, with some feeling. “And I fully expect to be doing it next week as well. Blaydon has a deplorably extensive family of whom, by my estimate, about two-thirds are single young ladies with hopeful parents. I feel like a stallion being presented for stud.”
“Poor you,” Stephen said, with no effort at sincerity. “Mingling with the cream of English society. It must be hell.”
Crane made an offensive gesture in the mirror. As Stephen well know, his interest in English society extended precisely as far as giving away his old friend Leonora Hart at her marriage to a rising political star of excellent birth. After that, he had every intention of disappearing from the balls and parties he’d been forced to attend, before his steadfast refusal to address his single state became any more obvious.
Crane had no intention of contracting a suitable marriage, and he was damned if he’d allow the ludicrous English laws to shape his behaviour, but he was rich, titled, handsome and unmarried, and this blasted wedding was drawing attention to all of those characteristics. A great deal more attention than he’d intended to attract in this country.
Not that he had ever wanted to stay in England in the first place. That was all down to Stephen. Crane had promised he wouldn’t leave the country without him, and meant it, but his thoughts had undeniably turned from how he could stay in England to how he could make Stephen leave it.
“Well, I hope it’s not as boring as the last luncheon.” Stephen snuggled down into the bed. “Give Mrs. Hart my best.”
“I’m more likely to give her a clip round the ear. She’s nagging me to throw in my political lot with Blaydon now.”
“You don’t have a political lot.”
“I’ve a seat in the House of Lords.”
“Yes, and have you ever actually sat in it?”
“No,” Crane admitted. “But Blaydon’s faction of the Liberals need more voices in the Lords, apparently, so…”
“Oh, come on.” Stephen sat up. The heavy gold ring that he wore on a chain round his neck bounced against his chest as he moved. “You can’t just go and vote for things because Mrs. Hart’s fiancé wants you to!”
Crane shrugged. “Blaydon’s a man of sense and principle.”
Stephen, who had distinctly Radical tendencies and disapproved of the House of Lords on principle, scowled, but his response was cut off as Merrick entered with a perfunctory knock and a coffee tray. Stephen barely had time to jerk the sheets over his lap, as if Merrick would have been surprised to see him naked in his master’s bed.
“My lord. Morning, Mr. Day.” He handed Stephen a cup. “That suit’s had it, I’m afraid, sir. Can I burn it?”
A lord in danger. A magician in turmoil. A snowball in hell.
The Magpie Lord
© 2013 KJ Charles
A Charm of Magpies, Book 1
Exiled to China for twenty years, Lucien Vaudrey never planned to return to England. But with the mysterious deaths of his father and brother, it seems the new Lord Crane has inherited an earldom. He’s also inherited his family’s enemies. He needs magical assistance, fast. He doesn’t expect it to turn up angry.
Magician Stephen Day has good reason to hate Crane’s family. Unfortunately, it’s his job to deal with supernatural threats. Besides, the earl is unlike any aristocrat he’s ever met, with the tattoos, the attitude…and the way Crane seems determined to get him into bed. That’s definitely unusual.
Soon Stephen is falling hard for the worst possible man, at the worst possible time. But Crane’s dangerous appeal isn’t the only thing rendering Stephen powerless. Evil pervades the house, a web of plots is closing round Crane, and if Stephen can’t find a way through it—they’re both going to die.
Warning: Contains hot m/m sex between a deeply inappropriate earl and a very confused magician, dark plots in a magical version of Victorian England, family values (not the good kind), and a lot of swearing.
If you stop running, you fall.
Jackdaw
© 2015 KJ Charles
A Charm of Magpies linked story
Jonah Pastern is a magician, a liar, a windwalker, a professional thief… and for six months, he was the love of police constable Ben Spenser’s life. Until his betrayal left Ben jailed, ruined, alone, and looking for revenge.
Ben is determined to make Jonah pay. But he can’t seem to forget what they once shared, and Jonah refuses to let him. Soon Ben is entangled in Jonah’s chaotic existence all over again, and they’re running together—from the police, the justiciary, and some dangerous people with a lethal grudge against them.
Threatened on all sides by betrayals, secrets, and the laws of the land, can they find a way to live and love before the past catches up with them?
Warning: Contains a policeman who should know better, a thief who may never learn, Victorian morals, heated encounters, and a very annoyed Stephen Day.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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A Case of Possession
Copyright © 2014 by KJ Charles
ISBN: 978-1-61921-764-5
Edited by Anne Scott
Cover by Lou Harper
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First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: January 2014
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