Blind Tiger #1
Summary:
1924, Chicago. Prohibition is in full swing and gang bosses rule the city with might—and magic.
When Sam Cunningham flees his small-town life to try his luck in the big city of Chicago, he quickly finds himself in over his head in a world of gangs, glitz, and glamour. Fortunately, he has his cousin Eldon to teach him the trade of hex-making.
Everything changes the night Sam visits The Pride speakeasy and meets grumpy cheetah-shifter Alistair Gatti. After losing his first witch to the horrors of the World War, Alistair isn’t interested in any new entanglements, romantic or magical. Especially when said entanglement comes in the form of kind, innocent Sam.
When Eldon is brutally murdered, Sam becomes drawn into the dark underworld of the Chicago gangs. Sam must find the missing hex Eldon created for one of the crime bosses—before whoever killed Eldon comes back for him.
Together, Alistair and Sam begin the search for the mysterious hex, diving deep into the seedy side of Chicago’s underworld while dodging rival gangs. And as they come to rely on one another, Alistair realizes he’s falling for the one man he can’t afford to love.
👀The Pride takes place in the same universe as the Hexworld books.👀
Lion's Tail #2
Summary:Control the booze. Control the magic. Control Chicago.
Sam Cunningham just wants a quiet life with his lover, the cheetah-shifter Alistair Gatti. But that hope is dashed when a member of Mickey Sullivan’s gang dies inside the Gatti family’s speakeasy.
Sullivan wants Sam to work for him, deciphering long-forgotten hexes as part of his illegal hexworks operation. At the same time, a corrupt prohibition agent demands Sam and Alistair investigate the gang member’s murder. Caught between gangster and agent, they must walk a fine line just to stay alive.
Because the sinister forces behind the killing are still out there, and now they have Sam in their sights…
Original Review July 2021:
WOW! Just WOW! WOW! and WOW! again.
Okay, now that I got that out of my system, I can continue.
Blind Tiger ticks so many of my boxes:
Historical✅Post-WW1✅1920s✅Prohibition✅Chicago(Upper Midwest so it's sorta local-ish)✅Paranormal/Supernatural✅Romance✅Friendship✅Witches/Familiars✅Mob✅Mystery✅Mayhem/Danger✅Opposites Attract✅
It may seem there is almost too many boxes ticked but the author blends them all together perfectly.
Jordan L Hawk has not only started a new series but made it a spin-off(or next generation style) of one of my favorites, Hexworld. For those who have already read the Hexworld series, you know how amazing the world building is, taking a historical setting and making witchcraft and their familiars a known element, they don't have to hide who they are because the world knows, history incorporates paranormal as part of it's reality. To me that's harder than keeping the paranormal world a secret, blending the two to make an alternate universe or timeline. Genius!
Now having mentioned Hexworld and that The Pride is kind of a spin-off, don't think you have to read Hexworld first because even though it's the same universe, the same alternate reality, you won't be lost, you won't be left wondering "how did this happen?" "why does this work?". The author lays it all out for you but be warned, if Blind Tiger is your introduction to the Hexworld universe, you will want to go back and read it as well, this AU is addictive.
Now let's talk Alistair and Sam. Opposites attract probably puts it pretty mildly, completely different backgrounds and ways of life but once they lock eyes, you just know nothing is ever going to be the same for either. There were so many times I wanted to smack Alistair for not being open to the possibilities of happiness but also I wanted to give Sam a good shake to erase the self-doubt that often crept in usually in the form of his family's voices. Truth is there is probably just as many times that I wanted to wrap them both up in Mama Bear Hugs and tell them everything is going to be okay. For me, those warring emotions inside of me is what told me this is a journey worth reading and that their chemistry is off the charts.
And where would 1920's Prohibition be without a little murder? The mystery is the element that pulls everything together, brings(or perhaps "keeps") Sam into Alistair's world. They mystery may be secondary plot-wise to Sam and Alistair's journey but it is what weaves everything together and kept me guessing till the reveal.
I think I'm going to stop there before I'm tempted to give too much away. I'll just end by saying the blending of all the boxes I ticked earlier make Blind Tiger pop! I was not only sucked into the story and didn't want to put it down but I felt I was right there in the Gatti's club, The Pride and witnessing it unfold right next to me. Another brilliant bit of storytelling from an amazing author. Jordan L Hawk has brought another winner to the table.
Lion's Tail #2
Original Review September 2024:
I remember reading Blind Tiger when my mom was in the hospital in 2021 and how much de-stressing the story gave me. It blends several of my faves: paranormal, historical(prohibition, 1920s, post-WW1 to be precise), romance, and loads of mayhem. I can't deny that I've been waiting on pins and needles ever since for another story from The Pride but I also know authors can only give us the stories when the characters are ready to tell them. So yes, it's been a bit of a wait but oh so worth every single painstakingly aching second of it😉.
Lion's Tail is one of the best follow-up stories I've read in a long time. Sam and Alistair are just as yummy as I remember. Alistair is a bit overprotective but never in a malicious way so despite a few times of wanting to smack him upside the back of the head and telling him to chill, I loved that he cared so much. Sam is finally finding his place, although at times it seems he is still not quite suited for the mayhem around him but then he says or does something and you realize that perhaps he isn't quite as out of his depth as you might think.
Sam's family plays a part in this entry and boy, talk about characters I wanted to . . . well let's be ladylike here and say they aren't exactly what I call "good stock" and leave it at that😉. Where as the found family that makes up the cast at the Pride speakeasy, they are "good stock" and have Sam and Alistair's back.
As to the mystery element of Lion's Tail? Well no spoilers here but it kept me guessing upto the reveal, not completely on the who but definitely the why and how. I got shivers just thinking about it as I type this, heebiejeebies but perfect for Halloweeny reading.
The Pride is a spinoff of the author's Hexworld series. Even though you need to read Blind Tiger before Lion's Tail you really wouldn't have to read Hexworld first. There are some hex-terminology that might smooth over a bit if you read Hexworld but by no means is it a necessity. I do highly recommend checking out Hexworld for it's brilliant storytelling and world-building but you wouldn't have to do so before Blind and Lion.
However you choose to read them, Jordan L Hawk is a master of paranormal mayhem, so you will definitely enjoy the world they've created.
Blind Tiger #1
1
The rumrunner waited for them behind a burned-out building just north of Chicago.
Philip steered the Model T truck over the bumpy ground, every pothole jarring Alistair’s spine. Doris sat in the wooden bed behind them, the occasional lights reflecting in her eyes. The moon had set with the sun, clouds blotting out the stars. The electric glow of the city tapered out a mile back, the only illumination from the headlights.
They pulled up beside the rumrunner’s truck and climbed out. The rumrunner strode toward them, her hair hidden under a cap and her clothes—and no doubt weapons—mainly concealed by a long overcoat. The nights still held a definite chill in April, and Alistair had to resist the temptation to stick his hands in his pockets. No sense in making anyone think he was reaching for a concealed gun.
“About time you showed up,” she said, shooting a glare at Philip.
“We’re right on schedule, Camille,” Philip replied. He was a big man, solidly built in contrast to Alistair’s own lean ranginess. The headlights washed out his pale, almost colorless hair and gleamed in his yellow-gray eyes. “Do you have the goods?”
One of Camille’s men flung back the tarp covering the crates stacked in the back of their truck. “Straight down from Canada,” she said. “Do you have my scratch?”
Alistair removed a thick envelope from inside his jacket and passed it to her. She looked inside, quickly thumbed the stack of bills, and then vanished it into her own oversized coat. “A pleasure doing business with you. Load ‘em up, boys.”
“Not just yet,” Philip said, holding up his hand.
Camille rolled her eyes. “We’ve always dealt straight with you, Gatti. Do you have to do this every time? It’s a little insulting.”
“Sounds like what someone who’s planning a crooked deal might say,” Alistair observed.
Camille focused on him, her eyes narrowed in anger. Philip merely looked pained. “You aren’t supposed to say that part out loud, Alistair,” he muttered.
This was why Philip was the front man, and Alistair usually stayed in back and counted the money. Ordinarily their busboy, a burly young man by the name of Frank, would come along and help move boxes. But Frank had run off to Mexico with his sweetheart a week ago, so Alistair volunteered to come just this once.
He didn’t regret speaking up, even though he’d obviously pissed off Camille. She might not be slipping them watered down hooch—or worse, booze doctored with rubbing alcohol or gasoline—but she’d thought about it.
Of course she had. You couldn’t trust anyone, certainly not in this business.
Camille took a threatening step forward. Her hand dipped toward her pocket—she was definitely packing heat. “I don’t like your tone,” she said. Her goons shifted, not yet pointing guns, but waiting on the signal.
Apparently, they’d forgotten who they were dealing with.
A warning growl sounded from the darkness near the truck. Nothing showed of Doris: not a hair, not a whisker, not even the gleam of eyes in the night. But she was out there, and she wasn’t happy.
Shotguns were all well and good, but an angry tiger was even better.
The men paled, and the chilly air smelled suddenly of fear. Camille’s eyes darted to the shadows, then to Philip and Alistair. Taking in Philip’s yellow-tinged eyes and Alistair’s deep amber. Remembering, no doubt, why the Gatti family might work with the gangs, but hadn’t been subsumed by them.
Not that the Gattis were related by blood. No one would look at pale, sturdy Philip and think Alistair, with his rangy body and Italian looks, was his literal brother, or brown-skinned Doris his sister. But the bonds between them were no less for it.
Camille stepped back and gestured to the crates. “Work your magic, then.”
“Thank you.” Philip took out a leather wallet, shuffled through its contents, then removed a sheet of paper with an elaborate hex drawn on it. He chose a crate from amidst the pile. One of Camille’s men unloaded it, opened the lid, and stood back.
Philip held the hex over the bottles packed securely in straw. Joel and Wanda had charged it earlier, so he spoke the activation phrase: “Reveal to me the impure.”
Alistair barely kept from rolling his eyes. Eldon, their hexman, had such a flare for the dramatic it was ridiculous.
If any of the booze had been cut or otherwise tampered with, a betraying yellow glow would appear. This time, at least, there was nothing.
“See?” Camille snapped at Alistair. “It’s good.”
“This time,” he replied.
Her scowl deepened. Philip hastily stepped between them. “Thank you for your indulgence, Camille, and I apologize for my brother.”
“Maybe you ought to keep your ‘brother’ on a tighter leash, then.” She folded her arms angrily over her chest. “When we first went into business together, I told you I wouldn’t haul anything but the real McCoy. Now you bring this asshole along to insinuate my word’s no good?”
“Of course I trust you,” Philip replied with his charming smile. “But you get the stuff from somewhere, and it’s them I’m not so certain about.”
Alistair and Philip stood back while Camille’s men went to work. Doris emerged from the shadows in human form, dressed in boots and denim overalls, a cap pulled down over her sleek black hair. Despite the cold, she wore her sleeves rolled up to display muscular arms. Her pale yellow eyes were startling against the brown skin of her face, and one man nearly dropped a box in fear when she drew close to him.
A long time ago, it had bothered Alistair, how frightened people were just because he could turn into a cheetah, or Philip into a snow leopard, or Wanda a lioness. No one wanted to adopt a so-called dangerous breed of familiar; even witches feared them, as though they had less ability to reason than the animals whose forms they took. Seeing the fear on someone’s face had hurt, made Alistair want to do something, anything, to prove that he wasn’t a wild animal ready to lash out.
Then the war happened. And now here they all were, back together again and calling themselves the Gatti family, working in a business where that fear was all to their advantage. Not even the toughest gang leaders wanted to run the risk of waking up to find a tiger in their bedroom.
Thank God, Sullivan wasn’t the toughest gang leader, just the smartest.
When the shipment was transferred, Camille tipped her hat to them. “Safe travel home,” she said. “I’ll see you next time.”
She climbed into her truck, along with her men. Within minutes, the chug of the engine faded away into the darkness.
“Will there be a next time?” Doris asked, leaning idly against the side of their own truck.
“Good question.” Philip turned to Alistair. “You’re such an asshole. This is why I don’t usually bring you along.”
Alistair grinned at him. “I love you, too.”
“Seriously, though,” Doris said. “We still doing business with her?”
They both looked to Alistair, since he was second in command after Wanda. “Camille’s thinking about double-crossing us,” he said. “Maybe she won’t now that she knows we’re suspicious, but the temptation is always going to be there.” He paused. “And once we get back, have Joel charge some more of those hexes. I want every bottle inspected, just in case she hid a bad batch near the back on the truck, where you wouldn’t look.”
“Fur and feathers,” Philip muttered. “Should I feel around for a new supplier?”
“Leave that part to Wanda.” Alistair hunched his shoulders deep inside his heavy coat. “Come on. Let’s get back to The Pride before we freeze our tails off.”
Lion's Tail #2
1
May 1924
Alistair folded his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes as he stared up at the sky.
Rumrunners used every mode of transportation available to bring hooch down from Canada or up from Mexico…but an airplane? At night?
Airplanes were a bad idea to start with. Avian familiars could already fly; why did ordinary people need to be up there, too? Sure, it might make the mail faster in some cases, but if a letter was that damned urgent, you were better off hiring a falcon courier in the first place.
But here he was, freezing his tail off on an unseasonably cold night in May, in the middle of some farmer’s field north of Chicago, tending a line of fires to signal the airplane where to land in the otherwise dark countryside. Doris waited in the truck—engine running, of course, in case the prohees showed up.
Damn Camille. She’d been their old supplier, but then blown things by acting suspicious, like she was thinking about passing them some bad hooch. Plenty of speakeasies got by serving yack yack bourbon, but that wasn’t The Pride’s style. Alistair had killed enough men with his bare claws in France. Killing more of them with poisonous booze wouldn’t have sat right with him, even if Wanda would have tolerated it.
The silence was broken by the low growl of an engine overhead. Doris switched on the headlights, and he retreated to wait near the truck with Philip.
A few minutes later, the airplane set down, bumping merrily over the uneven ground until coasting to a stop. A middle-aged man flung open the door, grinning from ear to ear.
“Evening, folks!” he yelled as they jogged over. “Sure hope you ain’t the, what do you call ’em, prohees.”
“Not a chance.” Philip took the lead, walking to the man and extending his hand. “Philip Gatti. This is my brother Alistair and my sister Doris.”
The rumrunner did a double-take, since Doris with her bronze skin and Alistair with his olive complexion were clearly not related by blood to either the pale Philip or each other. But he didn’t comment. “Frankie Malone, at your service.”
“You own the distillery that produced this alcohol, correct?” Alistair asked, impatient for the preliminaries to be done with.
Malone grinned proudly. “Sure do. I gotta say, you Americans banning liquor has been a hell of a boon for us over the border. But I guess I don’t need to tell you that, seeing as you’re in the business yourself.”
He wasn’t wrong; the price of a barrel of beer had gone from seven dollars to fifty-five thanks to the Volstead Act. Men like Mickey Sullivan, whose gang controlled a big chunk of Chicago, were making a fortune.
Sullivan would rather they’d bought from him, given The Pride operated within his territory. But his supply consisted of booze made from wood alcohol, often enhanced with gasoline, and Alistair wasn’t about to touch the stuff. Given everyone in the Gatti family could turn into a big cat, Sullivan’s men left them alone.
For now, anyway.
Philip gave Malone his usual charming smile. “I don’t suppose you’d mind us using a hex to check your supply? No offense, but I’m sure you’ve heard the stories, and poisoning our customers is bad for business.”
Malone chuckled. “Not much repeat business to get from a corpse, eh? Go right ahead. I take pride in my product.”
That was a good sign. In Alistair’s mind, anyone balking at the use of a hex to detect impurities was either up to some shady business or thinking hard about it. As Malone and Doris began to unload the crates of bourbon, Philip produced a hex from his wallet. Choosing a random bottle, he held the hex over it and said, “Reveal to me the impure.”
If the booze was diluted with fusel oil or embalming fluid or some other impurity, it would glow yellow. The color of the liquid inside the bottles remained the same, however, which meant Malone was probably as good as his word.
“Told ya,” Malone said with another grin. “This here is pure old Canadian bourbon, good as it comes. Got a flask on my hip if you want to share a drink…?”
“No thank you,” Alistair said, before Philip could agree. “The longer we hang around here, the bigger the chance we’ll be spotted.”
“Good point.” Malone started back for his plane. “I’ll see you next week, then.”
“We could have at least had one drink,” Philip complained, as the airplane turned around and trundled off down the field, taking flight dangerously close to the tree line.
Alistair climbed into the truck. “We’re not here to make friends, Philip.”
Doris snorted from the driver’s seat. “You don’t make friends anywhere.”
“That’s not true,” Alistair said, even though it absolutely was. “Come on, let’s get this back to Chicago and under wraps. The sooner we’re off the road, the better.”
Sam fumed quietly ashe cleared the tables at The Pride speakeasy.
He’d come to work early, because he and Alistair were supposed to go apartment hunting in the afternoon. But when he’d arrived, it was to find Alistair in the process of leaving to meet with a new rumrunner, without a single indication he even remembered their appointment.
Maybe Sam should have said something. But he’d bitten his words back, put on a smile, and mumbled something about getting an early start on his shift. Leaving his hurt feelings to fester, just like always.
Though Alistair still technically had a room at The Pride, they’d been staying in the house that had belonged to Sam’s dead cousin, Eldon. It was convenient, spacious…and didn’t legally belong to either of them. At some point, his aunt and uncle were going to show up and throw him out. Better to clear out beforehand, so he didn’t have to face their recriminations.
Except Alistair didn’t seem to want that.
Sam pressed his lips into a thin line and reminded himself that he loved Alistair. Alistair loved him. They were taking things slow; Alistair’d had a bad experience with his first witch and they’d agreed to put off bonding until he was ready.
But they were meant to have an apartment together by now, something legitimate. Instead, they were squatting amidst a dead man’s things, just waiting for the day they’d be ordered to leave.
It was the uncertainty he hated. Sam wanted stability, and why shouldn’t he? An apartment with a lease in his name, a better job to pay for it—that wasn’t too much to ask for, was it?
Given Alistair’s absence, apparently it was.
He cleared the used silverware and plates from a table just as Zola, the hostess, swooped in with four new patrons. Weaving his way back across the room, he passed the waitress, Teresa, whose yellow-green eyes were the same as in her cougar form. She shot him a cheery wink, a tray laden with oysters on toast balanced on one hand. Her other arm was still in a sling from the bullet she’d recently taken while caught in the crossfire of a gangland war.
Norman Rose, a regular at the speakeasy, lifted his glass in salute when he spotted Sam. Wanda Gatti, The Pride’s owner, let customers in through the steel door, shaking their hands as they entered. Her girlfriend, the robin familiar Holly Savine, drank champagne at the bar, served by Wanda’s witch Joel Hunt. Though Joel had an above-board business as a tailor, he occasionally covered the bar when Philip was out.
They all smiled when they met his eye, and Sam felt his bad mood dissolving. This strange collection of familiars and witches, criminals and artists, were his friends. When Eldon’s death had left him alone in Chicago, they’d stepped in to fill the gap, drawing him into the warmth of their odd little family. For the first time in his life, he had people he could turn to who wouldn’t let him down.
Breaking free of the crowd, Sam escaped through the swinging doors into the kitchen. Though a couple of electric fans valiantly strove to circulate air, the kitchen simmered in the heat from the stove and the humidity from the hot water in the sink.
Reinhold—the cook and Teresa’s witch—slid lobster canapés deftly onto a plate, while Sam emptied his tub into the sink. “Busy night, huh, Sam?” Reinhold asked. One side of his face was creased and distorted from a war wound; according to him, the surgeons had performed a miracle of restoration. “Have you taken your break yet?”
“Haven’t had a chance,” Sam said, brushing sweat off his brow.
“Why don’t you nip outside, get some air?”
The offer was tempting, but he instinctively balked at it. Back when he’d worked at the family pharmacy, Dad had frequently berated him for his laziness, reminding him no one but family would tolerate such slacking. “I’ll do a quick round of the dining room,” Sam hedged, hefting his tub again. “Collect anything that needs collecting.”
Reinhold rolled his eyes good-naturedly and turned back to the stove. A few seconds later, Sam was back out into the chaos. The Pride was bustling tonight, every table jammed with flappers and sheiks. Cocktails bloomed in every color magic could provide: royal purple, peacock blue, bloody red. Over the sound of jazz from the band, there could just be heard the pop of champagne corks, the raucous laughter of drunk women, and the boastful toasts of businessmen. Twisting figures packed the small dance floor, sending the scent of sweat to mingle with perfume, booze, and cigarette smoke.
All of the tables were occupied at the moment, so he threaded between them, snatching up empty glasses and clearing away bare plates as he went. A few of the regular customers greeted him, and he found himself smiling.
He was going to miss all of this when he got another job. If he got another job.
At the far end of the bar from the kitchen was the coat check and front door, where Wanda had taken over Doris’s duty tonight. Her yellow suit contrasted beautifully with her dark skin and matched her golden lion eyes.
As he rounded the last tables, she swung the heavy steel door open to let a new customer in. “Are you all right, Bobby?” she asked. “Maybe you need some coffee.”
The young man who entered seemed vaguely familiar, though Sam couldn’t immediately place him. Dark hair, medium build, with a pleasantly handsome face. His eyes, however, were glassy, and sweat sheened his pale skin.
“Help me,” he mumbled. “I don’t feel good.”
Wanda sniffed the air and frowned. “What’ve you been drinking?”
Bobby didn’t seem to hear her. Instead, he staggered inside, his gait unsteady, as though his knee joints didn’t work properly.
Sam hurried forward and caught him before he could careen into one of the other tables. Bobby clutched at him desperately, like a drowning man. “What was in that drink?” he slurred. “I think…I think he poisoned me. You got to help me!”
Sam cast a desperate glance at Wanda, who sighed and put a hand to Bobby’s shoulder. “Come on. You need to sleep it off.”
Bobby didn’t answer. He seemed to grow heavier on Sam’s shoulders as he went limp. Then, with a final gurgling sigh, he slid to the floor dead.
A group of cat-shifters run a speakeasy amidst the magic and violence of 1920s Chicago.
The Pride takes place in the same universe as the Hexworld books.
Jordan L. Hawk is a trans author from North Carolina. Childhood tales of mountain ghosts and mysterious creatures gave him a life-long love of things that go bump in the night. When he isn’t writing, he brews his own beer and tries to keep the cats from destroying the house. His best-selling Whyborne & Griffin series (beginning with Widdershins) can be found in print, ebook, and audiobook.
If you want to contact Jordan, just click on the links below or send an email.
B&N / SMASHWORDS / AUTHORGRAPH
EMAIL: jordanlhawk@gmail.com
Blind Tiger #1
The Pride
B&N / AUDIBLE / SMASHWORDS
KOBO / iTUNES / iTUNES AUDIO
Hexworld
A Christmas Hex #2.5
B&N / AUDIBLE / SMASHWORDS
KOBO / iTUNES / iTUNES AUDIO
Wild Wild Hex #3.5
No comments:
Post a Comment