Chapter 2, Part 2 - Excerpt from The Reluctant Incubus

I really appreciate your comments and reactions to these excerpts. They mean the world to me.

So, let's share the next section from my MM urban fantasy novel, The Reluctant Incubus. If y'all keep commenting and letting me know what you think, I'll keep sharing these twice a week until launch day.

Below is the next 25% of Chapter 2. (In case you missed them, you can find all the previous excerpts in order here. ) We've got a chance to meet Alvin's boss. Do you think Alvin will tell her about the elf blackmailing him? Let's find out!

Estimated reading time: 4 minutes.

If you want to see what happens next in Chapter 2, please let me know in the comments!

Chapter 2, Part 2

“It’s not like you to forget things, Alvin. What ‘stuff’ happened?”

She’s planted her grip over my racing heart, and she’s so intimidating, I instantly feel a compulsion to tell her. It’s not like she couldn’t help me. According to leaked government reports, less than 0.001% of the human population can use any magic. Apparently that represents a huge uptick in just the last ten years, and that’s still mostly parlor-trick stuff. Stryker’s a human who’s been practicing since the late 1800s, and she doesn’t look a day over forty. (Powerful magic apparently keeps you young!) She easily commands primordial elemental forces violent enough to take out an entire platoon of SUVs. And on top of that, she’s a member of some kind of elite wizard council that dates back to Merlin’s time and has only twelve members.

There’s no way I could stand up to that elf, but Ms. Stryker practically eats the fair folk for breakfast. Even the Winter Queen takes her calls. If anyone could get me out of a fae Obligation, it would be her. And it would be so good to not have to do this.

I open my mouth to beg for her help just as a fat drop splats next to my shoe. Then another. The loosely-wrapped demon head has toppled to the side and rivulets of yellow goo are sliming their way over the metal lip of the faux-pine Ikea desk. It’s the blood from the paranormal she just killed. She kills a lot of paranormals for her cases, because most of us are predators, one way or another.

Right. If Stryker confronted him, Lord of the Rings would almost certainly tell her what I am. Of course, I always planned to do that myself someday. When I was sure I could convince her I was “one of the good ones.” When she wasn’t fresh from a fight with an evil monster. When I didn’t just totally screw up and forget her coffee.

Today is not that day.

Instead, I punt. “Oh, uh… It was stupid. I slept through my alarm, and I was rushing, and then I tripped and spilled everything and banged my knee, and I— Well, I was already late, and so I just booked it here. I meant to go get another, but then, uh… I got caught up with work… So yeah, I did forget… I guess…”

My voice spools down into a mumble as her eyes narrow. She’s got six inches on me. You’d think after lying about what I am my whole life, I’d be good at it. You’d think wrong. And Ms. Stryker has a world-class bullshit detector.

“You tripped, spilling everything…” she says. “And then you forgot about the coffee—” Her eyes flick from the three receipts she left me, perched on a still-clean corner of the desk, to the handful of junk mail I threw in the trash. “—Because you were so busy…”

She’s using the same tone on me she uses with clients who try to get out of paying her day rate.

“Um, yeah,” I say, doubling down, weakly. “I’m sorry.”

When I look up from the waste bin, her attention is on the torn button on my polo, and I can only assume the sour expression on her face represents profound disappointment. It’s not like the look Mom gives me. That’s just about what a complete failure I am. This is tinged with suspicion, which makes it more dangerous.

I have the insane impulse to fold my arms to hide the button, but she has me trapped and there’s probably fricking red brick dust or something all over my shoulders, anyway. The only thing I can do at this point is push through, so I unfurl my most helpless, innocent smile and try to pivot my body toward the door. “But I’ll get you that coffee right now, boss! It won’t take ten minutes!”

There is a pause of a fraction of a second before she drops her hand, but it’s long enough for her face to shutter into cold stone. Whatever she thinks I’m hiding, it’s beneath her notice. At least for now.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m going to be off-world for a few days while I help an old friend with a favor.” She brusquely turns from me and strides the five steps to the door of her private office. “Put that head in cold storage. Get my jacket cleaned. And if anyone calls, we aren’t taking on any new cases for the foreseeable future.”

I nod, not skipping a beat when she mentions going “off-world.” That’s just another day at work for her. (God, I’d do anything to be half as cool as she is!)

I quickly clutch the slick top of the plastic sack with the scarlet-skinned head and follow as she steps through the door into her office. My little reception area might look low-rent, but she’s got an oak Humphrey Bogart desk hulking in front of a high-backed swivel chair of fine Corinthian leather. Shelves with rare vellum-covered books line the walls. There’s a crystal decanter with thirty-year old scotch on a silver tray. Even a stuffed raven, eyes glowing with cold moonlight, on a high shelf, frozen-winged in flight. If you come looking to hire a wizard PI (and you’re worthy enough to make it in here), she looks legit.

Sweeping forward, she whisks a spare motorcycle jacket off the freestanding coat rack by the entrance and slides it on. She then lifts a sheathed obsidian sword from the side of her desk, buckles its belt around her waist (complete with actual utility pouches, like freaking Batman), and finishes her ten-second prep by hoisting a waiting tactical black Cordura Go Bag over her shoulder.

All this time, I’m just standing awkwardly in front of the doorway, freaking out because I’m dripping demon goo on her hardwood floor, but not wanting to move in case she has more orders for me. When she turns, I stiffen my back, determined to appear confident and reliable.

The suspicion in her gaze hasn’t completely gone, but there’s now something else. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was concern. “Alvin… You would tell me if something happened that could use my attention, right?”

[END OF EXCERPT]

So what do you think?

How are you feeling about Alvin's choice to lie to Ms. Stryker instead of asking for her help?

Do you think she suspects something more is going on?

What do you think about the power difference between Ms. Stryker and Alvin? She's this badass wizard who can take on anyone, while he feels so powerless. Do you feel bad for Alvin, or does this just add to the fun?

I'd love to hear your thoughts below!

Read the whole book for free!

Both books from Alvin Alonso's Secret Files will be released simultaneously on November 10 on Amazon which will give readers the complete duet to binge right away.

And if you're interested in reading the full story and leaving a review on Amazon for launch day, I still have advance review copies available through two options:

For immediate reading: Get advance copies on NetGalley here (limited spots available—but I've extended it for another 3 weeks with this new link): https://www.netgalley.com/catalog/book/716233

For polished final versions: If you'd prefer to review the publication-ready editions available in October, you can join my official ARC Team here: https://alexwoolfson.com/arc-sign-up

Just want to pre-order the the final version of the duology? Click here: https://amzn.to/4mn2J42

Do you want more?

Let me know in the comments and, if folks continue to be interested, I'll post up the next excerpt from Chapter 2!

It's your comments and reactions that let me know you're enjoying these, so keep them coming!