Happy Wednesday Scribblers. This week I’m thrilled to share with you a new book, Magic or Die. Fellow Author J.P. Jackson has launched his new paranormal novel, Magic or Die. If you read his first novel Daimonion you know the type of story teller J.P. is and what wonderful rich worlds he’s able to create. Check out the details below, then grab yourself a copy and cozy up and prepare yourself for an adventure into the dark mind of J.P. Jackson.
The Novel:
Title: Magic or Die
Series: Inner Demons, Book One
Author: JP Jackson
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: July 02, 2018
Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex
Pairing: M/M
Length: 81000+
Genre: Paranormal, Gay, Magic, Demons, Psychics, Teacher, Covens, Incarceration
Synopsis
James Martin is a teacher, a powerful Psychic, and an alcoholic. He used to work for the Center for Magical Research and Development, a facility that houses people who can't control their supernatural abilities. He left after one of his students was killed, turning to vodka to soothe his emotional pain. Problem is, he still has one year left on his contract.
It's not common knowledge, but the CMRD holds final exams for each of its residents and if they don't pass, they're euthanized. So when James returns to the CMRD to fulfill the rest of his contract, he finds himself assisting five young adults, confronting the demons of his past, and attempting to protect his new class from a possible death sentence.
James discovers that his class isn't bringing in enough sponsors; the agencies and world governments who supply grants and ultimately purchase graduates of the CMRD, and that means no profit for the facility. Now, James and his students face impossible odds. Measure up to the facility’s unreachable standards or escape.
At the CMRD, you have to be able to control your Magic or Die.
Excerpt
Magic Or Die
J.P. Jackson © 2018
All Rights Reserved
Call Back
“YES, MIRIAM. YES, I know. I know it’s been over a year. I’m not sure I’m ready.”
The knuckles on my hand cramped from clasping my cell phone in a death grip. I glanced at my watch. This conversation had gone on too long. In the span of two minutes Miriam had managed to exhume memories and history I wanted buried and forgotten. I sucked in a short breath as nausea surged like a tsunami of fear. Its behemoth wave washed bile up against the back of my throat.
I slumped down the stained and weathered wall of the coffin-sized studio apartment I reluctantly called a home. It wasn’t that bad a place to live, except for the cockroaches I found on a daily basis. I’m sure they considered it a veritable paradise. Absentmindedly, I toed an old pizza box near my foot while listening to Miriam. One of the insects scampered across the matted Berber carpet.
Gross.
Cody. A pale ghostlike face flashed before me. His hair, the exact colour of fall fallowed fields, hung listlessly over one eye, as blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth. His chapped lips parting, asking me, “Why?”
I ignored the vision. Well, ignored wasn’t the right word, more like boxed it up with a heavy rock and pitched it into the abyss of my mind with all the other terrifying nightmares.
“I know. I owe you, yes. I’m just not sure—” I crawled over to the upended crate being used as a coffee table, reaching for my last pack of smokes. I lit one, enjoyed the soothing crackle of the tobacco as it ignited, and then inhaled deeply.
Ah, yes. Hello, nicotine, my demon friend.
Miriam continued blithering while I halfheartedly listened to her soul-sucking voice. She was demanding my presence.
“What? You mean, tomorrow? Miriam, I really don’t think it’s a good idea.” I drew in another steady stream of the toxic smoke. It burned my lungs as the addictive chemicals flooded through my body. I really need to quit. Scraping together the smallest ounce of courage, I attempted to defy her. “No, really I can’t.”
A wraithlike hand, desiccated and fragile, inched its way across my shoulder and gripped my tense neck muscle. Its sharp nails dug into my flesh. Its bite, a warning.
Cody’s lifeless lips brushed my ear, sending cold shivers skittering across my back. Eruptions of goose flesh covered my neck and shoulders. His voice, a memory and a sound I would never forget, was long gone.
“Don’t do this. You’ll kill me again.” His icy breath whispered to me.
Another box, a bigger rock, another addition to the pit of despair in my head.
“No,” I replied to one of Miriam’s inane questions. “There’s an Arcane too? I’ve never been good with them. They creep me out. No, I don’t think I’ve ever seen that. Shit, really?” Miriam had just described a scene for me. My flesh turned buggy, as if I had chiggers nesting and burrowing deep into my skin. “Oh god that’s gross. That’s also not good.” I pointed uselessly at the wall, waving my finger, trying to make a point to the caller. “I never took the exam for the third class, you know that.” Miriam had asked if I’d kept up my licensing. I instantly felt guilty. I should have done that years ago. One thing was becoming evident from the conversation—she needed my help. Help only I could give.
“Alright, maybe, I think I can. Consult only. Do you hear me, Miriam? Just a consult.” I had tried desperately to stay the hell out of this. I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t do this. “What time? Yes. I’m pretty sure. Miriam—” A thousand reservations ran through my mind, a wild stampede, unbridled, laced with dread and fear. “How many? How many in this class?”
The question sat on me like the world perched on my shoulders. The higher the number, the bigger the world, the more responsibility, an undeniable possibility of…
“Five! Are you kidding me? I can’t do five. No. No! It’s not possible.”
She was out of her mind.
“Yes, my sister is still on the streets. You know that’s close to blackmail, right?” I stamped out the cigarette. The lacquer of smoke in my mouth tasted like I had just licked the bottom of an ashtray. Why do I smoke again? It was suddenly very hard to breathe.
“Fine. Tomorrow. Yes. Ten a.m. Yes, I’ll be there. What do you mean dress appropriately?”
I looked at my cell, disgusted as the call ended.
I flipped the device onto the floor as if it had burst into flame and branded the conversation into my hand. I snorted.
Like, I’ll forget.
Reaching around to the other side of the crate, I grabbed blindly for a bottle I hoped was there. By all the gods’ great divine gifts, it was. And it still had liquid in it. In fact, it was surprisingly half-full.
Bonus.
I tipped the vodka bottle back, allowing its burn to strip away the cancer stick’s carcinogenic treatment in my mouth.
Swaying back and forth with my eyes closed, I tried to drown out the endless voices in my head. The words inundated my impending thoughts of doom and failure, and I could feel the chaos and panic mounting. Steadying myself and regaining my mental capacities, I gazed out the window. It was dark already and only six, early evening at best. Yeah for daylight-savings time and late fall in Canada. Lights from the downtown cityscape lazily twinkled and danced before me. It should have been a pretty sight, but the darkness always seemed too oppressive, like a shroud. And I knew better. Things lived in the shadows.
I took another swig from the clear glass bottle. The burn hit the back of my throat and disintegrated the bile that had crept up there.
Five very gifted students.
I rubbed the stubble covering my face and took yet another nip. Except it wasn’t a quick sip, it was a good one. A long one.
The window suddenly acted like a mirror, and my own image reflected against the backdrop of the city skyline. I looked like shit. My short brown hair had cowlicks; thank god I kept it close. But the rest? No wonder Miriam instructed me to clean it up. The shirt I was sort of wearing was only half buttoned and stained in several spots. I had no pants on, but the pair of tighty-whities, which weren’t exactly white anymore, or tight, were ripped and showed more flesh than they were supposed to. Jesus.
How did my life get here?
Five young people had no control of their gifts.
And I had a sister who was lost out in the sparkle-light of downtown’s darkness, up to who knew what, and doing it with god only knew who, mired in her own addictions.
I glanced around my shit-hole apartment.
What the fuck am I going to do?
Meet the Author
J.P. Jackson 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 however, the writing happens, where demons, witches and shape shifters congregate around the kitchen table and general chaos ensues. The insurance company refuses to accept any more claims of ‘acts of the un-god’, and his husband of almost 20 years has very firmly put his foot down on any further wraith summoning’s in the basement. And apparently imps aren’t house-trainable. Occasionally the odd ghost or member of the Fae community stops in for a glass of wine and stories are exchanged. Although the husband doesn’t know it, the two Chihuahuas are in cahoots with the spell casting.
J.P.’s other hobbies include hybridizing African Violets (thanks to grandma), extensive travelling and believe it or not, knitting.
Where to Find J.P. Jackson
NineStar Press click here.
For his Blog, click here.
Facebook click here.
Twitter click here.
