Padme's Library: 🎧👻🎃Saturday's Series Spotlight🎃👻🎧: Bedknobs and Broomsticks by Josh Lanyon

Saturday, October 15, 2022

🎧👻🎃Saturday's Series Spotlight🎃👻🎧: Bedknobs and Broomsticks by Josh Lanyon

Mainly by Moonlight #1
Summary:
A gay high-society wedding. A stolen book of spells. A love-threatening lie. Can a witch avoid a murder rap without revealing the supernatural truth?

Cosmo Saville guiltily hides a paranormal secret from his soon-to-be husband. And if he can’t undo a powerful love spell, uncertainty threatens his nuptial magic. But when he’s arrested for allegedly killing a longtime rival, he could spend his honeymoon behind bars…

Police Commissioner John Joseph Galbraith never believed in love until Cosmo came along. Falling head over heels for the elegant antiques dealer is an enchantment he never wants to break. So when all fingers point to Cosmo’s guilt, John races to prove his fiancé’s innocence before they take their vows.

As Cosmo searches for the real killer among the arcane aristocracy, John warns him to leave it to the police. But with an unseen enemy threatening to expose Cosmo’s true nature, the couple’s blissful future could shatter like a broken charm.

Can Cosmo find the lost grimoire, clear his name and keep John’s love alive, or will black magic “rune” their wedding bells?

Mainly by Moonlight is the first book in the sexy Bedknobs and Broomsticks romantic gay mystery series. If you like spell-binding suspense, steamy star-crossed fun, and a dash of paranormal, then you’ll love Josh Lanyon’s charming tale.

I Buried a Witch #2
Summary:
Something old, something new, something borrowed…something blacker than the darkest night.

Cosmo Saville adores his new husband but his little white lies—and some very black magic—are about to bring their fairytale romance to an end. Someone is killing San Francisco's spellcasters—and the only person Cosmo can turn to—the man who so recently swore to love and cherish him—isn't taking his phone calls..

The only magic Police Commissioner John Joseph Galbraith believes in is true love. Discovering he’s married to a witch—a witch with something alarmingly like magical powers—is nearly as bad as discovering the man he loved tricked and deceived him. John shoulders the pain of betrayal and packs his bags. But when he learns Cosmo is in the crosshairs of a mysterious and murderous plot, he knows he must do everything in in his mortal power to protect him.

Till Death do them Part. With their relationship on the rocks, Cosmo and Commissioner Galbraith join forces to uncover the shadowy figure behind the deadly conspiracy…

Can the star-crossed couple bring down a killer before the dark threat extinguishes love’s flame?

I Buried a Witch is the second book in the smart and sexy Bedknobs and Broomsticks romantic gay mystery trilogy. If you like endearing characters, spell-binding conflict, and spooky, good fun, then you’ll love Josh Lanyon’s tale of a modern white knight and his slightly wicked witch.

Bell, Book, and Scandal #3
Summary:

Black Magic. Blackmail. Little Black Books. Must a witch break his vows to save his marriage?

Cosmo Saville loves that his husband has finally accepted his witchy ways. And in return, his promise to stay out of police business guarantees them a happily ever after. At least, until he discovers he might be responsible for a dangerous game of blackmail…

Police Commissioner John Joseph Galbraith feels relieved that his marriage is back on track. Especially since he has his hands full with a high-profile suicide and rumors of a city-wide extortion ring. But when he stumbles across Cosmo breaking his vow by playing cop, John agonizes over old wounds.

With the commissioner’s badge and family in jeopardy, Cosmo has no choice but to put his life on the line…

Can the witch expose a dark conspiracy, save John’s career, and return to love’s delicious spell?

Bell, Book and Scandal is the third book in the Bedknobs and Broomsticks romantic gay mystery trilogy. If you like quirky characters, snappy spells, and madcap suspense, then you’ll love Josh Lanyon’s supernatural story.

Mainly by Moonlight #1

Original Audiobook Review October 2020:

I couldn't think of a better time then October, when all things magical and spooky are not only expected but encouraged, to give one of my Best Reads of 2019 a listen. I wasn't disappointed, Kale Williams does a superb job of bringing Cosmo and John's magical journey to life. I won't say more to the plot because I still don't want to give anything away but even remembering what happens didn't take away any of the edge-of-my-seat need-to-know emotions in me. Still brilliant and Mainly by Moonlight will definitely be a re-read/re-listener for years to come.

Original ebook Review August 2019:
Another absolutely brilliant bit of storytelling from Josh Lanyon, and yes, it really is storytelling not just writing. I'll start off by saying that this is a series that continues on, not just with the same people but the story as well so don't expect everything to be answered, everything to be revealed, everything to have closure. I am on pins and needles waiting for book two.

Now, let's talk Mainly by Moonlight. I loved how it made me nostalgic for the endearing comedy of Bewitched, the magical drama of Charmed, and the spell-driven romance of I Married a Witch. Magic, romance, murder, spells, mystery, these are all there. We quickly learn that John is under a love spell and as much as Cosmo wants to do the right thing and break off the engagement when he learns it, he doesn't but continually searches for signs that the love John feels for him is real once he demands the spell be removed. Throw in Cosmo being a likely candidate for murder suspect and you have plenty of room for romance, hi-jinks, and drama. Sure there are times I want to kick both characters in the backside and whack them upside the head to make them see sense but there is just as many times I want to wrap them up and say its going to be okay. It's this contradicting hit-and-hug scale that kept me going, that fueled the need-to-know-now speed with which I read Moonlight and had me equally kicking myself for not savoring the story once I reached the final page. That push and pull feeling of needing to know versus savoring is how I know this is a great read for the win-win column.

I have theories percolating for book two(and beyond perhaps) but I won't divulge them as I don't want to spoil anything from Moonlight. It's these theories that make a few things in John and Cosmo's(mostly John) behaviors and actions acceptable. Does that mean if my theories don't pan out I'll rethink how much I loved this book? Not at all because I know the author will further the story in an equally entertaining way.

Now for those who aren't fans of insta-love and question the believe-abilty behind how fast the boys get everything ready in just two weeks time, even throwing out the magic bit that John knows nothing about, I still found it reasonable how he could believe it gets done in just 14 days. Both families seem to be in-the-know when it comes to getting things pushed through fast so magic or not, 2 weeks to set it all up is definitely acceptable. I'll admit, insta-love isn't always well written in the fiction world but when its as well done as Josh Lanyon has with Cosmo and John, it's not only acceptable(even with the magical element) its entertaining and fun.

Josh Lanyon definitely has another winner here in Mainly by Moonlight but as I said above not everything is revealed, not what I would label a full-fledged cliffhanger ending but there are questions yet to be answered. I mention this because not everyone is a cliffie-lover so if you don't like the waiting-for-answers bit, you might want to put this one on hold but if you love well written world-building magical romantic mysteries than you'll definitely want to put her new Bedknobs and Broomsticks series at the top of your TBR list, its not to be missed.

I Buried a Witch #2

Audiobook Review April 2021:

When I saw Josh Lanyon released book 3, I thought what better time to listen to book 2 prior to jumping in. Just as brilliant as I remembered. Again Kale Williams brings life to Cosmo and John as he did in Mainly by Moonlight and I can't think of another narrator who could further their journey better. I'm not going to touch on any real points of the story for those who have yet to begin this series, the mystery is just so expertly crafted I wouldn't want to spoil that for anyone. I still wanted to smack John with a cast iron skillet at times, though as I said in the original review, as much as was frustrated and borderline angry with him in those moments I also could see his side of the situation seeing as his view of the world was turned on edge with the whole "magic is real" discovery. As for Cosmo, well again my first instinct is to wrap him in Mama Bear hugs for support but he also has a habit of "speak first think second" and I find myself wanting to shake him, saying "shut up, take a breath, then speak". These blended warring moments of arguing and loving is why I love Josh Lanyon's storytelling so much. Despite where their journey is at the moment, I still love them together and I can't wait to see where Bell, Book, and Scandal takes them.

Original Review January 2020 Book of the Month:
I Buried a Witch picks up practically right where book 1(Mainly by Moonlight) ended so if you're looking for a beginning and an ending with all the resolutions tied up in nice pretty bow you're in the wrong place. If you love romance mixed with mystery and magic then you have found a series not to be missed.

I can certainly understand how some might not like John, he's definitely got plenty of qualities that aren't all smiles but he just found out that his new husband is a witch and that many aspects of the paranormal he's only found in books and movies are quite real, that's going to throw anyone for a loop. Don't get me wrong, I wanted to smack him upside the head with a cast iron skillet more times than I wanted to cuddle him but I get where his reality has been forever changed so it was easy for me to cut him some slack.

As for Cosmo, I still want to smother him in Mama Bear Hugs but I also wish I could get him to take a breath or two before he blurts out stuff. There are times I want Cosmo to be more assertive but there are also times when I'm screaming "SHUT UP!!" They are both complex characters that continue to find their place in the world, professionally, personally, and magically. It's no wonder they're as screwed up as they are.

The mystery just keeps unfolding and getting better and better. I can't help but think the Witch Killer isn't completely solved yet or only part of a bigger picture or perhaps it is all said and done and the next one is a whole new who done it(after all magical mysteries play on a whole different level in my mind), either scenario has me on pins and needles waiting to see where Josh Lanyon takes this in book 3: Bell, Book, and Scandal.

In my review of book 1 I wrote "I loved how it made me nostalgic for the endearing comedy of Bewitched, the magical drama of Charmed, and the spell-driven romance of I Married a Witch. Magic, romance, murder, spells, mystery, these are all there.", well there may not be quite as much humor but honestly I don't think I can sum up I Buried a Witch any better.

Bell, Book, and Scandal #3

Audiobook Review October 2021:

Kale Williams has once again made Josh Lanyon's Bedknobs and Broomsticks universe come alive. I really won't add anything to my review in regard to the plot and series itself as I don't want to give anything away for any newcomers. What I will say is the combo of Kale Williams' narration and Josh Lanyon's creative wordage, the storytelling in this magic-infested world of mystery, romance, and drama is incredibly entertaining and it's easy to get so sucked in, before you know it the last page has been read leaving a sense of "oh no!" but it's so fun getting to that "Oh no!"😉😉.

Original Review April 2021:

HOLY HANNAH BATMAN!!! Bell, Book, and Scandal is even better than imagined. And trust me, I imagined quite a bit. Josh Lanyon is one of my favorite authors, she is my go-to mystery author in the LGBT genre combined with how much I loved the first two books in the Bedknobs and Broomsticks series I probably went in with pretty high expectations. High expectations when it comes to any kind or level of art is not always a good thing, so few times does the end result match our hopes. Well, Bell was not one of those times.

Nope.

It surpassed my expectations.

Because this is an ongoing series I don't want to give anything away, either for this book specifically or even too much "hinting" of past entries so that I don't spoil anything for newcomers to Bedknobs. I will say this, John has really tested my limits of wanting to smack him upside the head because of his reluctance to look outside the realms of his preconceived box. Don't get me wrong, Cosmo tries my patience too with his hole "speak, speak again, then speak some more, and finally think" habit of tackling obstacles in his life.

I think that's one of the elements I love best about this series, both characters have serious flaws in how they express themselves. Between their pissing each other off, jumping to conclusions, and then realizing just what the other person was actually thinking, John and Cosmo really are a perfect fit. The blending of similar and different qualities really revs their chemistry up to such believable levels that if the author were ever to kill one of them off, the remaining one left behind would never find another that fills in all the gaps. We all know there will never be any major character death here but I guess it's just my way of saying how perfect they compliment and complete each other.

Now, the mystery.

Okay, you know you aren't getting any tidbits in that area from me so I'll just say this: I could see it unfold in front of me as if I was a fly on the wall, right smack dab in the middle of the room witnessing it all. That's how real Josh Lanyon makes this paranormal, supernatural, magical world, you know it's fiction but it's 150% believable all at the same time.

As for the supporting cast of characters? I don't want to give anything away by bringing them up individually but I will say that not a single character in this series is page filler. Each and everyone of them plays a part in the end result, or at the very least getting the reader so involved in the story that pretty soon you forget it's a story and it feels like you are reliving a memory spent with old friends.

Magic, likeable(and some not-so likeable) characters that you can relate to, mystery that keeps you on the edge of your seat, romance, humor, drama, action, but most importantly Bell, Book, and Scandal(the whole series really) has so much heart, so many feels, you don't want to say goodbye. And it doesn't look like we'll have to yet, the author reveals there will be another storyline arc in the future, I guess she wasn't ready to say goodbye either or more accurately, Cosmo and John weren't ready to leave us out of their journey.

I just want to end with a couple of points:

1. If you couldn't tell from my review, Bedknobs and Broomsticks is a continuing story so you have to read from the beginning, you can't jump in with Bell, Book, and Scandal.

2. Something I've said in both the other two book reviews and it rings even truer now than book one, "I loved how it made me nostalgic for the endearing comedy of Bewitched, the magical drama of Charmed, and the spell-driven romance of I Married a Witch."

Definitely a win-win all around.

RATING:

Mainly by Moonlight #1

Prologue

Something dark was following him.

Preoccupied with his thoughts, he didn’t notice at first.

When he did, he was not unduly concerned. It was an old part of town, a dark part of town—and Valencia Street ran through one of the darkest of the dark parts. Not in the sense of street lamps—or beings—missing a few light bulbs, though yes, come to think of it, it was a Stygian sort of night in the Mission District. The witch’s moon peeping slyly through the purple-edged girders of clouds shed little light on the closed shop fronts and wide empty streets. Deep shadows crawled from the mouths of alleyways, loitered by doorways.

A good night to get yourself mugged. Or magicked.

Neither thought worried him overmuch. He was running late. As usual. His main concern was that Seamus might grow impatient and leave—or worse, take offense and change his mind entirely.

In fact, it was hard to believe Seamus had invited him to this private viewing in the first place. They were not friends. Not even friendly.

Not after the incident of Great-great-great-uncle Arnold and the Louis XVI rococo hanging mirror.

Maybe offering Cosmo first chance at the grimoire was Seamus’s attempt to make amends. Though that was unlikely. There was no more arrogant son of a warlock than Seamus Reitherman. It was doubtful he believed he had anything to make amends for.

No, this gesture, if sincere, would be nothing more than a calculated effort to get the best price possible.

Which he would. If this was the real thing, Cosmo had no intention of quibbling over money. Let alone magic.

In three long strides he reached the darkened storefront of the Creaky Attic. His heart sank.

CLOSED read the sign in the front door. It was gently swinging, as though it had only been turned over a few moments ago.

Oh, but then the shop would be closed. It was well past midnight. Cosmo reached for the door handle.

Wrong again. It was locked.

He swore softly, studying the front of the store for movement within the indistinct interior. With the exception of the swaying sign, nothing moved. Even the playful night breeze stilled. Cosmo took a step back, absently considering the flowery white and gold script that flowed across the top of the unlit bay window: Antiques and the Arcane.

Though the lights were off, he could see straight down the crowded, shadowy center aisle to a sales desk—and the black outline of a doorway beyond. Pale lamplight glowed from within Seamus’s office.

Cosmo raised his hands before the front door. He murmured, “Ticktock, turn the lock.”

Simple magic. The kind of thing they learned as children. He didn’t expect it to work, but like the mortals say, it’s the little things. The locks turned—there didn’t appear to be any wards or enchantments protecting the entrance at all—and the door swung silently open as though pushed by an unseen hand.

Cosmo stepped inside. “Hello? Seamus?”

The shop smelled of old books and furniture polish and incense.

Barring the incense, it smelled like his own shop, though there was a sharp, unpleasant undernote he didn’t recognize. But then disagreeable smells were part of the antiques dealer job description. More often than not, the past stank.

“Sorry I’m late,” Cosmo called into the resounding silence. “Hello?”

No one answered. Nothing moved.

Yet the shop did not feel empty.

Framed in the office doorway, the lamp on Seamus’s desk shined with cheery disregard, a sharp black silhouette against the red walls. Cosmo walked soundlessly down the aisle, passing a Secor wooden barrel chest worth a couple grand, a late 19th century Broadwood upright piano in an ebonized and satinwood decorated case. The ivory keys rippled a ghostly little tune as he passed. Fauré’s “Clair de Lune.”

On the other side of the aisle he could make out Goddess boxes, smudging kits, and figure candles in the gloom. Seamus sold both the cheesy and the costly with equal aplomb.

“Seamus?” This time Cosmo did not call out. Something in the listening silence made him uneasy.

He remembered the presence he had felt on the street outside. But no, whatever that had been, it was still behind him. Unable to cross the shop’s threshold? Perhaps he had been wrong about the lack of wards and enchantments on the front door.

He reached the old-fashioned wooden circulation desk, went behind it, and entered the office. He froze on the threshold.

Seamus was on the floor, lying prone in twin pools of lamplight and blood.

Cosmo stared and stared and yet couldn’t seem to make sense of it.

Every detail was imprinted on his mind—the strands of gray in Seamus’s long ponytail, the silver glint of the ring on his hand, his staring bloodshot eyes—and yet he couldn’t seem to take in the whole picture. He felt strange. Cold and far, far away. Not astral projection far, far away. More Am I about to faint? far away.

Seamus was…dead?

Dead?

Not just deceased. Violently dead.

He could not see a wound, but all that blood had to be coming from somewhere. Some opening not intended by Goddess or nature. He swallowed his rising sickness.

An ebony-handled athame—the double-edge blade black with gore—lay a few inches from Seamus’s outstretched hand.

But this was not suicide.

Murder?

Who? Why?

Cosmo’s stricken gaze lit on what appeared to be yellow chalk markings above Seamus’s head. He moved closer for a better look, and his scalp prickled in horror.

The first strokes of a sacred symbol. Had someone begun to draw a pentagram?

No. This was truly unthinkable. Seamus had been slain by someone within the Craft. Cosmo knelt to reach for the dagger but remembered in time—all those hours spent watching television finally going to good use—and drew back.

He must touch nothing. He must leave. Now.

But those markings. He should make some record. He should… He felt for his phone.

A rustling sound overhead made him look up.

The image sliding across the low ceiling was straight out of his childhood, out of a lot of people’s childhoods: the sharp black silhouette of a witch on a broomstick. His relationship with that symbol was vastly different from most people his age—most people of any age. Even so, ridiculously, the sight of that profile—crooked hat, crooked nose, crooked chin—paralyzed him for a second or two.

“SFPD. Don’t move!” a voice bellowed from the doorway behind him—and Cosmo jumped.

“Keep your hands where I can see ’em. Do. Not. Move. A. Muscle.”

After his initial start, Cosmo did not move a muscle. He did not dare so much as breathe. Even with everything that had happened in the last four minutes, he could not believe he had not sensed the cop’s approach. Fool. Fool. Fool. He really was out of Practice.

“Facedown on the floor and lock your hands behind your head.”

Cosmo said urgently to the blinding white light, “I haven’t touched him. I found him like this—”

“Get on the floor. Facedown. Now.”

There were two of them. Two flashlight beams hitting him square in the eyes, and although the room was not in total darkness, it was disorienting. With time and cover there were evasive actions he could have taken, but he had neither.

The shock of finding Seamus dead had chased everything else from his mind. Now he remembered. The grimoire. Where was it? Was it in the shop? Had Seamus’s assailant taken it?

“Last chance. Get on the fucking floor, or I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

They were as frightened as he was.

He could not be arrested. There had to be some way—

Getting shot was not a viable alternative.

Though possibly preferable to having to explain…this.

Cosmo placed his hands on the floor, surreptitiously wiping the heel of his hand across the yellow chalk. He lowered himself, trying to avoid the spreading cobweb of Seamus’s blood weaving across the channels of woodgrain.

He blinked into the glare of the flashlights, forcing his soft voice to an even quieter and more soothing tone, seeking to reach them, to convince them. “This is a mistake. I’m not who you’re looking for. I just got here—”

“Hey,” the voice behind the second flashlight beam interrupted. “Isn’t that…”

“Isn’t that what?” demanded the first cop.

No, no, no. He tried again to reach them, keeping his voice so soft, so soothing… “This is a mistake. I’m not—”

The second cop said in a wondering tone, “Holy shit. I think I know him.”

“Well, who the hell is he, then?”

Goddess, no. Please no. He gulped. “Just listen, will you? This is not what it appears—”

“Holy shit,” the second cop repeated. Then in that same slow, incredulous voice, “Isn’t he the guy Commissioner Galbraith is supposed to be marrying this weekend?”

I Buried a Witch #2

Chapter One
SCENE I. A CAVERN. IN THE MIDDLE, A BOILING CAULDRON.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches

First Witch

Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.

Second Wit—

Yeah, totally kidding about that. There was no second witch. It was one witch, me, and John, my husband, SFPD’s new Police Commissioner. Oh, and the scene was the breakfast table at our house on Greenwich Street in San Francisco. I was fixing French toast, which, for the record, is not French, and the coffee was just about ready.

“… new report, you need to make just over $343,000 in order to afford a median-priced home in San Francisco,” the bespectacled and solemn news reporter on the TV across the kitchen informed us. “The report was compiled by…”

John and I had arrived home the night before from Scotland, where we had been on our honeymoon for the past two weeks. As a side note, I am very much in favor of honeymoons. I mean, yes, they’re artificial in that getting to spend two weeks doing whatever pleasurable thing you feel like doing is not real life. And, yeah, it’s also true that a luxury vacation in a romantic foreign country is probably not the best way to get to know someone you’ve only known a short time—although it certainly works that way in Hallmark movies. But it is a good way to figure out if you want to spend more time together, and needless to say, I had figured out I wanted to spend as much time as possible with John. Ideally, the rest of my life.

John poured coffee into two mugs. “You’re still okay with hosting this cocktail party on Wednesday?”

“Of course.” His expression was doubtful. “What?” I asked.

He nodded at the wall of cardboard boxes filling half the kitchen. It was pretty much the same situation in every room of the house. Combining our separate households meant John and I had bestowed a lot of worldly goods on each other. And then we’d bought a few new pieces too–like the Victorian black and bronze bed in the master bedroom.

“I’ve got a lot of catching up to do this week. I’m not going to be able to be much help. Presumably it’s going to be the same for you.”

“I can manage. Don’t worry. I’ll have Bridget to help.”

John looked unconvinced, but he poured a generous helping of cream and sugar into my coffee, brought it to me with a kiss.

“I’m going to miss you today,” he murmured.

“Same here.” I kissed him back.

That led to another longer kiss, and before I knew it, I was sitting on the quartz counter with my jeans unzipped, the French toast was burning, and the doorbell was ringing.

“Hell,” John exclaimed, hastily tucking his shirt in and zipping up his trousers. “That’s Aloha.”

“Yes, it is,” I sighed. “In more ways than one.”

Aloha Newman was John’s driver. Though she worked for SFPD, she was not actually a police officer and did not carry a gun. That was fine by me. I’d had more than enough of guns on our wedding day.

What Aloha did possess was a ruthless sense of punctuality.

“I’ll see you around six.” John was already heading for the arched doorway leading into dining room.

“We’re having dinner at your mother’s,” I called after him.

He muttered something uncomplimentary to the universe, returned, “Right. See you at five-thirty.” The front door slammed behind him.

I sighed, glanced at the stove and twitched my nose. The dial turned to off, the flame beneath the pan guttered and died. “Down the sink, before you stink,” I muttered.

Two burned slices of egg-coated bread rose from the pan, floated past my face, and dropped down the sink drain.

Across the room, another reporter, also bespectacled and solemn but female, was reciting, “Though friends of the victim say Ms. Starshine was a practicing Wiccan, investigators speculate these “satanic” elements might be intended to divert suspicion from the killer or killers.”

“What the what?” I hopped off the counter and went to turn up the sound on the television—the remote was still MIA—which promptly zapped me. “Ouch!”

The volume blasted up then died away again.

By the time I managed to dial in the sound, the cameras had returned to the studio and the news anchors (recognizable for the lack of spectacles or solemnity) were exchanging cheery banter about the weather forecast. Sunny with a chance of homicide?

I made a mental note to ask John about the Starshine case, turned off the TV and sprinted upstairs to get changed for work.

“How was Scotland?” Andi asked when I stopped by her apartment in Alamo Square to pick up Pyewacket.

Andi—Andromeda Merriweather—has been my best friend since I can remember. Her mother and my mother were chums back in the day and apparently it was a dream come true to be able to share morning sickness and swollen feet with their nearest and dearest. I’m not entirely kidding about the nearest and dearest. By the time I came along, my parents were experiencing a certain lack of enthusiasm, and Andi’s father had crossed over, so Maman and Belinda did rely heavily on each other. Girl Power being a magic that transcends realms.

Anyway, Andi is three months older than me. She’s tall and slim with short, inevitably spiky red hair, freckles, and hazel eyes. She owns and operates the Mad Batter bakery, which has The Best cupcakes in all of San Francisco. And I don’t say that merely because I concoct the recipes for her exclusive line of cocktail cupcakes.

“Bonnie,” I answered, cuddling Pye. Pyewacket is my three-hundred-year-old Russian Familiar. I mean, I haven’t had him for three hundred years–I only turned twenty-nine in May. Pye inhabits the body of a cat. A Russian Blue cat.

I kissed Pye’s nose, which he bore stoically. “Was he any trouble?” I asked Andi.

She shook her head, smiling as she watched us. “He’s good company for Minerva.” Minerva is Andi’s Familiar, a Dwarf Hotot rabbit with a disposition as benign as the carrots she loves to snack on.

“Did you have fun?” I asked Pye.

His meow was loud and scented with liver-flavored Friskies Paté.

“I bet,” I said.

“So everything is…good?” Andi asked–maybe a little tentatively.

“Everything is great.” I guess I was beaming because Andi looked relieved.

“You look happy.”

“I am. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before.” To be honest, it was a little unsettling. Obviously, the honeymoon phase couldn’t last forever, and I wasn’t sure how much of John’s and my contentment with each other was the result of a couple of weeks of nothing to do but sight-see and make love.

“I’m glad.”

I didn’t doubt it. If anyone had a vested interest in my relationship with John working out, it was Andi, who was, when you thought about it, inadvertently responsible for the whole thing. “How’s it going with Trace?” I asked.

“Great.”

I hadn’t expected that. Andi’s…well, picky.

“Really? That’s wonderful.” At least I hoped so.

“Is it? I mean, I really, really do like him.” She sounded troubled.

“But that’s good, right?”

“No. Not right. I’m not like you. I can’t—he’s mortal. Being together would mean, well, I’m not even sure what it would mean. A lifetime of living a lie? Or breaking my oath and telling him the truth?”

I considered. “As far as oaths go, don’t you think the not-telling-any-mortals-anything-ever rule is really more of a guideline?”

“No. I don’t.”

I did not want it to end. It was one of the sweetest, saddest (in a lighthearted way, not big, ugly tears-and-snot way), most romantic-without-feeling-faux original tales I’ve read.

“Because some mortals do know.” I was thinking of Ralph Grindelwood. Not that Ralph was a great example given that I now believed he was the sworn enemy of the Craft.

“That can’t be helped. It doesn’t change anything. We cannot contribute to their knowledge.”

In our silence lies our safety.

The final—and some would say the most important—of the Ten Precepts.

Still I persisted, “I understand, but times are changing. Mortals are more accepting now. Of a lot of things.”

She shook her head. “Not really. Fashions change. That’s about it. And even fashion cycles around again.”

Kind of a bleak outlook from a girl who made cupcakes for a living, but Andi’s feelings mirrored those of a lot of our friends—and both of our families.

“Yeah, but even two steps forward and one step back means progress. Incremental maybe, but progress.”

She shook her head. “You’re an idealist, Cos.”

I let it go and changed the subject. “Well, on the topic of fashion, I brought you something frae Bonnie Scotland.” I shifted Pye onto my shoulder, and handed over a small box.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

Andi unwrapped the box, lifted the lid, and her face changed. “Oh, Cos.” She picked up the necklace inside. A tiny cinnabar carved sacred heart crowned with a flame of raw garnet stone dangled from a vintage rosary made of bogwood.

“It’s lovely.”

“I found it in an antiques shop in Dumbarton. It’s Wiccan, I think.”

“I love it. Thank you.”

“And I’ve been thinking of a Drambuie-based cocktail that might work for cupcakes.”

Her eyes lit. “Perfect timing. We need to shake up our menu for autumn.”

“Autumn? It’s only July.”

“Exactly. Time to start planning.”

We chatted another minute or two and made plans to meet for lunch on Wednesday. I coaxed Pyewacket into his carrier, and headed for the door.

As I was leaving, I asked, “Have you heard anything about Rex?”

Rex was a friend of ours who had been injured in a hit and run accident. When John and I had left for Scotland they had still been in a coma.

Andi shook her head. “Sorry. Nothing. But then I’m not sure I’d hear anything. They’re really more your friend than mine.”

“What about Oliver?”

“Oliver?”

“Oliver Sandhurst.”

Andi only looked more confused. “What about him?”

“I thought I told you this. He disappeared after I tried to—after my visit to the Creaky Attic.”

“Oh. Right. That feels like a million years ago. I haven’t heard anything.” She looked apologetic. Not that Oliver was her responsibility. Technically, he wasn’t my responsibility either.

But I did fear for him. And I did feel responsible.

Confused yet?

Let’s recap. A month ago, I met John Joseph Galbraith, San Francisco’s new police commissioner and my husband-to-be, at Bonhams’ warehouse where we were both interested in bidding on a black and bronze Victorian antique four-poster with crystal bed knobs. I was attracted to John from the minute I laid eyes on him. I don’t know why exactly, because he wasn’t really my type. Not that I think of myself as having a type, but if I did, it wouldn’t be a big, brusque Kennedyesque guy with a military background and political ambitions.

Except, somehow, when I gazed into his amber—yes, brown-gold—eyes, something funny happened to me. I’m not saying it was love at first sight, but I did feel some instant, odd connection. Which is why it sort of smarted that John didn’t feel the same. In fact, he was kind of…well, let’s say pointedly not interested.

Which, come to think of it, maybe is a sign of interest?

Or maybe I’d just like to believe that John caustically brushing me off was the equivalent of Gideon Terwilliker pushing Andi into the swimming pool back when we were in the third grade.

Anyway, Andi did not appreciate that slight to my ego and she, er…cast a spell on John so that the next time he saw me, he, well, fell in love.

Or thought he did.

Which is sometimes the same thing.

And sometimes not.

That explains John’s part of all this. It doesn’t explain why I went ahead and married a man I’d only known two weeks. But you know, you either believe in love at first sight or you don’t. And if you don’t, you’re quite right not to because it will never happen to you.

I don’t say that to be mean. It’s a fact. If you can’t conceive of a thing, how will you recognize it when it happens? Unless we’re talking about an earthquake. Anyway, it’s right there in the Bible. Jesus said unto him, If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.

It does happen to some of us. It happened to me.

Granted, part of what—who—I fell so head-over-heels for was the John under the influence of the love spell. The John not under a love spell was a different bloke. Not nearly as romantic—or malleable. Yet it didn’t seem to matter to my heart.

Regardless of the bait, once a fish is hooked, it’s hooked.

I forgot to mention the part where, a couple of days before our wedding, I was suspected of murdering Seamus Reitherman, a fellow witch in the Abracadantès tradition. I was—patently, since I’d just returned from my honeymoon—exonerated, but unfortunately the police had arrested the wrong person.

Or at least, that was my theory before I went to Scotland for two weeks.

After two weeks of Scottish history, Scottish weather, Scottish booze, and an encounter with a Scottish ghost, I was not quite as sure. Scottish women are that rare mix of ruthless pragmatism and blazing idealism. So, yeah, it was possible that Ciara Reitherman had killed her husband. She had tried to kill me.

Then again, Ciara’s attempts to kill me had almost certainly been driven by her belief that I’d killed Seamus.

Or maybe not.

Occam’s razor, as John had pointed out when I’d tried to make a case for Ciara being wrongly arrested. The simplest explanation is the most likely. At least when it comes to police work—according to the police commissioner in the family. It was far more likely Ciara had killed her unfaithful (and generally exasperating) husband than that some shadowy global conspiracy tried to frame me for murder.

Not that I had told John about the shadowy global conspiracy that might or might not really exist.

Just one of the things I hadn’t told John about.

* * * * *

“Welcome home. We missed you.” Blanche greeted me, when I finally arrived at Blue Moon Antiques, cat carrier and peevish occupant, in tow.

“Thank you. It’s good to be home.” I gazed with satisfaction around the spacious and airy downstairs showroom. Light through the protectively tinted windows glanced off gilt curlicues, and silvered glass, warmed the velvets and brocades of aged upholstery, glinted off ivory scrimshaw and ebony trinket boxes.

Blanche asked, “How’s married life?”

“I highly recommend it.”

Blanche Baker has been working for me since I opened Blue Moon Antiques four years ago.

The customers love her. I love her. In fact, everyone loves Blanche. She’s about fifty. Tall and voluptuous with black, curly hair–currently streaked with indigo–one blue eye, one green eye behind a seemingly infinite wardrobe of rhinestone glasses (I’m partial to the ones with butterfly-shaped frames). Her makeup is on the sexy witch side, but she’s not a witch. She’s Wicca. Like most mortals, she’s not aware there’s a difference.

Blanche said cheerfully, “No thank you. I’ve been inoculated against that disease. Twice.”

“So you’re a carrier?”

“Ha.” She took the cat crate from me, set it on the counter, and lifted Pyewacket out. “Oh, you beautiful baby, what has he done to you?”

Pyewacket proceeded to detail his list of grievances into her sympathetic ear.

“Don’t listen to him,” I said. “He’s been living it up on catnip and dried shrimp at Andi’s.” I glanced around the still empty shop. “Where’s Ambrose?”

Blanche sighed. “Another problem with his grandma.”

“Another what problem?”

“I don’t know. He’s being very closed-mouth about it.”

“Uh oh. How long has this been going on?”

“Not long. The Tuesday after you left, he had to leave suddenly, but he was back the next day and he’s been here every day since. Until this morning. There’s a message on the machine. The poor kid is clearly stressed out of his mind.”

“Okay. I’ll deal with it.”

I had hired Ambrose right before the wedding. He’d been recommended by the previously mentioned Ralph Grindlewood. Ralph was a good customer and, once I’d have said, a friend. What exactly Ralph was now, I wasn’t sure. But I had hired Ambrose and agreed to make him my apprentice, so he was most definitely my concern.

“Anything else I should know before I start going through my mail?”

Blanche, still coddling Pyewacket, shook her head. “It’s actually been very quiet since you left.”

“Well, we’ll see what I can do to change that.”

She chuckled. “I don’t doubt it.”

All the same, she looked pretty surprised when she poked her head into my office a few minutes later to whisper, “Pierre Sjoberg is here to see you.”

I put down the catalog for Alexanders Auctioneers. “Who?” The name was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

“The defense attorney.” Blanche was still whispering. She threw a quick, uneasy glance over her shoulder as though she feared Sjoberg was lurking behind her. “I think he’s her attorney.”

“Her who?”

Blanche hissed, “Ciara. Ciara Reitherman. The woman who tried to kill you!”

Bell, Book, and Scandal #3

Chapter One

“Merde.”

I scowled and sucked on the slice across the pad of my thumb. I didn’t taste blood, the papercut wasn’t that deep, but my tongue tingled with the flavor of…

Odd.

I picked up the letter opener, slit open the envelope, and several glossy black-and-white photos spilled out and slid across my desk.

Black and white? Who took black-and-white photos these days? Who took photos these days? That’s what phones were for, right?

I reached for the nearest photograph, studied it curiously—and dropped it as though it had burned my fingertips.

A man and woman locked in naked—very naked—embrace.

I didn’t recognize the man, though the large tattooed pentacle on his back indicated maybe I should.

The woman was my sister-in-law. Jinx.

I drew in a deep breath.

Well, this was…unexpected. And unwelcome.

I bowed the envelope to check for a letter. I was anticipating something with misshapen letters cut from magazines and spelling trouble, but there was nothing. Just the photos.

Not that that wasn’t plenty right there.

I rested my fingertips on the photos, closed my eyes, concentrated… To my surprise, there it was. The scintilla of the arcane. Magic.

I opened my eyes.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Was there any possibility this wasn’t a threat? That the intent was…what? Hey, here’s something you might want to keep an eye on? I considered that theory hopefully, but I couldn’t quite convince myself that these photos had been sent with anything but ill intention.

To what end, though?

Money, right? That was the way these things usually worked. Not that I had any practical experience of blackmail.

Yes. Blackmail.

It wasn’t a complete surprise.

Or rather, yes, it was a surprise—especially given that Jinx seemed to be the target—but we weren’t the first family in San Francisco to get one of these poison parcels. John had been losing sleep—a lot of sleep—over the past month with the discovery that the city’s high society appeared to have fallen prey to a well-connected extortion ring.

John is John Galbraith. My husband—but more importantly, in this context at least, SFPD’s new police commissioner.

The plot had only come to light because one of the victims, the Rev. Canon Angela Tzeng had had the guts to go to the police and report an attempt to blackmail her. Tzeng was supposed to be consecrated October 1st as the first female bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Northern California, but her courageous move had been rewarded by the blackmailer releasing information about a teenaged pregnancy to the press. It was the Twenty-First Century. You’d think— But you’d be wrong. The revelation of Tzeng’s youthful mistake was damning information in the eyes of both the public and the diocese. Now Tzeng’s very future in the church was in question.

Needless to say, no other victims had come forward. Not openly. Not officially. But they were out there.

“Someone’s going to get killed,” John had said the other night. He was not a guy for kidding around, and he was not kidding then.

I considered the pile of photos before me. I couldn’t help thinking that choosing Jinx as a blackmail target was kind of a stretch.

Yes, these photos were revealing and embarrassing, but at twenty-five, Jinx was a grown woman. The fact that she was a sexually active grown woman would likely only come as a shock to John. She did not hold public office. She was not married. There was no reason I could see that she shouldn’t have sex with whoever she pleased, although I had to wonder about her good sense in choosing a guy who’d branded himself with the Sigil of Baphomet.

Jinx had been studying with the Duchess for the past few weeks, so she surely knew better. And if this guy was not a poser, if he was Craft, he ought to know better too. But this photo might be months old. When I’d first met Jinx, she’d been a little bit of an occult fangirl. Actually, she was still a little bit of an occult fangirl.

But I digress. As usual.

That the photos had come to me, made me wonder if Jinx had already been approached and had brushed it off. You have to care a lot about what other people think to make a good blackmail victim. When it came to what other people thought, Jinx had, in the mortal vernacular, zero fucks to give. In fact, there had been a time, and not so long ago, when I thought she’d have taken delight in appalling both John, who was twenty years her senior, and her mother, Nola.

And when it came to Nola, who could blame her? I felt the urge to appall Nola now and then myself. Not that I had to try. My existence was enough to keep my mother-in-law in a constant state of pall.

Which meant what?

That the real target was me? The assumption being that I would pay up to keep Jinx’s past from embarrassing her? From embarrassing me? No. From embarrassing John.

Of course.

Because John was the vulnerable one. As Police Commissioner, San Francisco’s first gay police commissioner at that, John was the one with something to lose. The news that the police commissioner’s younger sister was a devil worshipper (oh, I could already hear all the idiotic and ignorant things people would say) would certainly bother the hell out of John—and might even impact his political future. John was an ambitious man. A man with a plan.

So why not send this packet to John?

Oh, right. Because John was as honorable as he was ambitious. He would not be blackmailed. He would see Jinx burned alive—in the court of public opinion, that is—before he paid one cent of blackmail money.

The blackmailer was relying on me to pay up to protect John from himself.

Mistake.

If I had learned anything in the four months I’d been married to John, it was that honesty was the best policy. At least with John.

Author Bio:

Bestselling author of over sixty titles of classic Male/Male fiction featuring twisty mystery, kickass adventure and unapologetic man-on-man romance, JOSH LANYON has been called "the Agatha Christie of gay mystery."

Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).

The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.

Josh is married and they live in Southern California.