Release date: May 3, 2017
Subgenre: Gay fantasy romance
About Missing Things:
Is there a way to save the captive fae?
Jocelyn and Ellis, magicians and life partners, grapple with dilemmas and a miasma of magic and mystery.
Jocelyn searches out magical artifacts, and struggles with the troubling gap in his memories — and the feeling that his and Ellis's partnership is falling apart.
Meanwhile, Ellis works desperately to dig into a wicked injustice being perpetrated against a kidnapped fae...and finds it may be too much for him to handle alone.
43,000 words
Men of Magic book 2
Very low heat
Jocelyn and Ellis, magicians and life partners, grapple with dilemmas and a miasma of magic and mystery.
Jocelyn searches out magical artifacts, and struggles with the troubling gap in his memories — and the feeling that his and Ellis's partnership is falling apart.
Meanwhile, Ellis works desperately to dig into a wicked injustice being perpetrated against a kidnapped fae...and finds it may be too much for him to handle alone.
43,000 words
Men of Magic book 2
Very low heat
Excerpt:
In what time I could spare, I had been looking through the files, of course, hoping I would stumble upon something eventually.
Collingsgrove was an imposing place, with high walls, a tower, and supposedly involved in scientific and electrical research and study.
We had driven by the facility once, and only once, and the fae had contacted me at the time. It was painful and terrifying, to know that he was captive and afraid and wished for any escape, even death.
Amongst the minutiae of the ministry's files, I discovered that the facility had done some work for the ministry, during the war...and after.
The files, however, that detailed these jobs were gone.
Fishier and fishier.
I had some small connection to it, through my art-magic connection. I'd drawn the fae several times, from memory beyond what I could reach with my mind, and that was how we'd pieced together what happened when it made Jocelyn and me forget it. He had been struck more strongly with whatever otherworldly fae magic it used; while I did not remember anything about it particularly clearly, it did not hurt me to try. Jocelyn felt vague and pained and could not even concentrate on the subject.
Despite the connection, I was surprised when the fae contacted me through my drawing. It had done so before, but that had been some time ago and had only happened when I was much closer. I did not expect it in the quiet comfort of our office. The first words startled me so much that I swore and dropped my pencil; it rolled under my desk.
If Jocelyn had been present, there would have been no hiding it from him. Instead, I was alone in our small office for the moment, and stared down in dread at the paper I'd been doodling on as I thought. I had not been paying attention, and as once before, I saw now a message from the trapped fae.
It could be none other than he; it was his handwriting, jagged, angry slashes forming words of rage and pain and desperation.
GET. ME. OUT.
He was asking for my help? I flashed back to the images I had of him: glimpses through memory and the insight of my art. He was beautiful in an unearthly way, and filled with rage, terrifying to behold...and beautiful, so beautiful. He was all lithe fury and pain and sharp ears and skin darker than my own. He crackled with power; he blazed with fury. He was the most beautiful and horrible thing in the world.
I waited to see if he had more to say, steadying my breath and relaxing my hand. Nothing came through. I took a single soft breath and took my bravery in hand.
I decided to try something I had not previously attempted. I would talk to the fae. I must try; I had to try something! With a deep breath, I braced myself and wrote back in clear, calm capitals firmly marked: HOW CAN I HELP?
Collingsgrove was an imposing place, with high walls, a tower, and supposedly involved in scientific and electrical research and study.
We had driven by the facility once, and only once, and the fae had contacted me at the time. It was painful and terrifying, to know that he was captive and afraid and wished for any escape, even death.
Amongst the minutiae of the ministry's files, I discovered that the facility had done some work for the ministry, during the war...and after.
The files, however, that detailed these jobs were gone.
Fishier and fishier.
I had some small connection to it, through my art-magic connection. I'd drawn the fae several times, from memory beyond what I could reach with my mind, and that was how we'd pieced together what happened when it made Jocelyn and me forget it. He had been struck more strongly with whatever otherworldly fae magic it used; while I did not remember anything about it particularly clearly, it did not hurt me to try. Jocelyn felt vague and pained and could not even concentrate on the subject.
Despite the connection, I was surprised when the fae contacted me through my drawing. It had done so before, but that had been some time ago and had only happened when I was much closer. I did not expect it in the quiet comfort of our office. The first words startled me so much that I swore and dropped my pencil; it rolled under my desk.
If Jocelyn had been present, there would have been no hiding it from him. Instead, I was alone in our small office for the moment, and stared down in dread at the paper I'd been doodling on as I thought. I had not been paying attention, and as once before, I saw now a message from the trapped fae.
It could be none other than he; it was his handwriting, jagged, angry slashes forming words of rage and pain and desperation.
GET. ME. OUT.
He was asking for my help? I flashed back to the images I had of him: glimpses through memory and the insight of my art. He was beautiful in an unearthly way, and filled with rage, terrifying to behold...and beautiful, so beautiful. He was all lithe fury and pain and sharp ears and skin darker than my own. He crackled with power; he blazed with fury. He was the most beautiful and horrible thing in the world.
I waited to see if he had more to say, steadying my breath and relaxing my hand. Nothing came through. I took a single soft breath and took my bravery in hand.
I decided to try something I had not previously attempted. I would talk to the fae. I must try; I had to try something! With a deep breath, I braced myself and wrote back in clear, calm capitals firmly marked: HOW CAN I HELP?
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About Hollis Shiloh:
Hollis Shiloh writes love stories about men, also called gay
romance or m/m romance, with the preferred genres of contemporary,
historical, and fantasy. Hollis's stories tend towards the sweet rather
than the spicy. When not writing, the author enjoys reading, retro
music, and being around animals. To be added to the Hollis's mailing
list for updates, or to contact the author for other reasons, please
write to Hollis.Shiloh@gmail.com.
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