MagicorDie f500

 

 

Book Info

Title: Magic Or Die

Series: Inner Demons, Book One

Author:  J.P. Jackson

Publisher: NineStar Press

Published:  July 2, 2018

Cover Design: ---

Length: 87,300 words

Genre's: Paranormal, Fantasy, paranormal, demons, witches, magic

 

 

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 Magic or Die

 

 

 

BLURB

 

 

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, but left after one of his students was killed, turning to vodka to soothe his emotional pain. The problem is he still has one year left on his contract.

 

When James is forced to return to the CMRD, he finds himself confronting the demons of his past and attempting to protect his new class from a possible death sentence, because if they don’t pass their final exams, they’ll be euthanized.

 

James also 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. James and his students face impossible odds—measure up to the facility’s unreachable standards or escape.

 

 

 

 Excerpt

 

Exclusive Excerpt: James’s Abilities

 

Setup: This scene happens very early in the story. Miriam, the Director for the Canadian Centre of Magical Research and Development (CMRD) has blackmailed James – our anti-hero – into fulfilling the last year of his contract. In order to solidify his position, and to elicit investors for the facility, she forces James into using his talents.

From Magic or Die:

“Ladies and Gentlemen.” Miriam nodded her head towards the executive crowd and then turned towards me. “Meet Mr. James Martin.”

There was nothing but blank stares boring holes through me. I could feel a big round globe settling on top of my shoulders again, just like Atlas. Stress is a very heavy thing.

I gave them a wave, then looked at Miriam and shrugged, not sure what to expect next.

Miriam rolled her eyes. “Honestly, James.”

A uniformed toad stood up and glared at the two of us. He didn’t seem particularly pleased, and his jowls wobbled as he started to speak.

“We waited a half hour for this?” He pointed in my direction.

“I assure you, Major Harris, James is the best candidate for what we need.”

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not impressed.” His short sausage fingers rummaged through files and papers in front of him as he sat back down, dismissing me in the process.

 “James, if you would, please?” Miriam nudged me.

“Really, Miriam? I said a consult. That was the only reason I was coming.”

“Just do it, James.” She smiled at me, but her teeth were firmly planted together. She was not happy. One thing I had learned from my last stint with the CMRD—when Miriam gets pissed, ragingly angry, she gets mean.

“Fine.”

I took a deep breath. I hated doing this.

I closed my eyes and searched for the spot. It was up front in my head. Fishing, looking for it—sometimes, it was just right there other times, I had to go on an expedition but…ah…there it was. I could feel my brain tense—yeah, I know, that’s not possible—but that’s what it felt like. And then I pushed it forward.

It was like a bubble expanded and enveloped the entire room, and I loved to watch as people noticed a subtle change in themselves as soon as I’d touched them with that amorphous shimmer. The magic is an energy only other Magicals—people like me—can see. The regular folks, Norms can’t see it, but they can feel it. The sensation I get when I’m about to take them over is all-consuming, addictive even. It’s a tingling, a pull, a trigger that sets off the hunt within me, a primal stalker instinct as soon as I see that glint in their eyes. It’s their shock. A surprise, but an unpleasant one.

Laugh.

The entire room of high-powered La-Di-Das all started giggling and chuckling, a few even bellowed out a good hearty guffaw.

But even as they were laughing, there were looks of complete confusion on their faces. Questioning glances, gazes shot across the table to the others around the room that said, “I’m not doing this. What the hell is happening?”

Stand up.

The entire room immediately came to attention.

Grab the person’s hand next to you.

Everyone grabbed the person’s hand next them, forming a ring made from grasped hands. It appeared as if they were all first graders about to go on a school trip.

Grab the person to your right and…

“James, let go. I think that’s enough.” Miriam’s bony claw gripped my bicep.

There was a snap, a sharp sting, like a rubber band flicked back and smacked my flesh as I released the entire room, all twenty-plus of them. There were a few stunned faces, pallid in colour, knowing I could control them utterly. A couple of sighs as I released them, and one lady who started crying.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I reintroduce Mr. James Martin. James belongs to the Psyche class and is one of the most powerful Empaths we’ve ever had the privilege of hiring.”

There was a collective uncomfortableness as the uppity snots came to the realization of the extent of my abilities.

Suck on that, you assholes.

 

 

 

Excerpt 2

 

Magic or Die
J.P. Jackson © 2018
All Rights Reserved

 

One: 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 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 a bad 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 parted, 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, grasping for my last pack of smokes. I lit one, enjoying 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 half-heartedly listened to her soul-sucking voice. She was demanding my presence.

 

“What? You mean, tomorrow? Miriam, I 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, 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 was a memory and a sound I would never forget.

 

“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.” 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. It’s also not a good sign.” 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.” Miriam had asked if I’d kept up my licensing. I instantly felt guilty. I should have done it years ago. One thing was becoming evident from the conversation—she needed my help. Help only I could give.

 

“All right, 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 didn’t want to go back there. “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 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 stubbed out the cigarette. The lacquer of smoke in my mouth tasted like I had just licked the bottom of an ashtray, and it was suddenly very hard to breathe. Why do I smoke again?

 

“Fine. Tomorrow. Yes. Ten a.m. Yes, I’ll be there. What do you mean dress appropriately?”

 

I looked at my cell phone, 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’d forget.

 

Stretching 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.

 

I tipped the vodka bottle back, allowing its burn to strip away the cancer stick’s smoky film inside 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. Yay 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 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 acted like a mirror, and my 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, wondering what the fuck I was going to do.

 JP Jackson 1200x1598

 

 Author Bio

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.

 

 

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