K.L. Noone is back! Yay. Welcome đ
Hello againâK.L. Noone popping in to chat about a new release, co-authored with the marvelous K.S. Murphy! And thank you to the awesome Ofelia for letting me drop in! Itâs always a pleasure.
Spells and Sensibility is the first of our Regency magicians trilogyâm/m historical fantasy romance, in which a former spy needs the help of the new head librarian at the Royal College of Wizardry to lift a curse, and there are complicated puzzles and mysteries to solve, and bibliomancy alongside earth-power, and a threat to Englandâs magic, and tea and scones, and first kisses under starlightâŚ
This trilogy owes a great deal of inspiration to Patricia C. Wrede, in particular her delightful Mairelon the Magician / Magicianâs Ward duology as well as her co-authored Kate and Cecelia series (Sorcery and Cecelia, The Grand Tour, The Mislaid Magician), written with Caroline Stevermer. But thereâre tons of other little sneaky references and influences, sometimes more or less in disguiseâfrom Aleister Crowley to the Minerva Press, from John Constantine to Suzanne Akbari, from Susanna Clarke to Jane Austen, and more! We hope you have as much fun exploring this world as we did writing itâand weâll see you soon for book two!
Buy Links:
Author Bios:
K.L. Noone teaches college students about superheroes and Shakespeare by day, and writes romance â frequently paranormal or with fantasy elements, usually LGBTQ, and always with happy endings â when not grading papers or researching medieval outlaw life. She is currently the servant of a large black cat named Merlyn, who demands treats on a regular basis.
K.S. Murphy was born and raised in New York with their rather large Irish/Italian family always encouraging them to go for their dreams. Over the past decade+, theyâve been a cook, a professional cleaner, a teacher, a nurse, a chauffeur, a photographer, and a librarian for their two mini-humans. One of their favorite things about writing is creating a world that readers will want to see and touch and know more about. In their spare time, they enjoy superheroes, epic space adventures, magical worlds, happily ever afters, and thunderstorms.
Blurb:
Theodore Burnett has never been a hero. He prefers comfort to combat-spells, and jam-slathered scones to muddy boots. Fortunately, as the youngest-ever head librarian at the Royal College of Wizardry, Theo can spend his days with books and bibliomancy in place of battle-magic or politics — and in any case Napoleonâs been defeated and the warâs been won.
But now thereâs a wounded captain of the Magiciansâ Corps in Theoâs library. And he needs Theoâs help. And Theo can never resist a mystery, especially when that mysteryâs tall and tempting and handsome.
Captain Henry Tourmaline, formerly of His Majestyâs Army and the Magiciansâ Corps, requires assistance. Heâs returned to London with scars on his body, soul, and heart — war, after all, will do that to anyone. But one of those scars refuses to heal, a curse thatâs slowly draining Henryâs magic and eventually his life. The physicians have no answers, so Henry turns to the Collegeâs books … and the Collegeâs attractive head librarian. But the curse is unpredictable, and the last thing Henry wants is to drag someone else into the line of fire, particularly someone as kind and innocent and brilliant as Theo.
Theo wants to save Henry. Henry wants to keep Theo safe. Together, perhaps they can do both … while uncovering a perilous secret behind a spell, a deadly puzzle in the archives, and their own heartâs desires.
Excerpt:
Henry had remained sitting right where Theo had left him, eyes open but visibly not-asleep in the manner of someone too tired to drop off. He was watching — or gazing vaguely into — the fire, but turned fast when the door closed. A soldier, Theo thought again. Someone whoâd seen battlefields.
He said, âTea, and bread and cheese, and some slightly elderly apples? Or not, if youâre not hungry. If not, Iâll eat the lot, never fear.â
Henry focused on him more sharply. Murmured, âYou would say that …â
âAbout eating? Guilty, Iâm afraid. I have an unfortunate weakness for iced cakes and scones with clotted cream, which is why Iâve not got any at the moment, in fact.â
âNo,â Henry said. âNot that. You want me to feel comfortable.â
âYou are my guest.â Theo settled into the softest chair, the large one with brocade cushions that invited his shortness to curl up in a terribly unprofessional manner. He wouldâve done, if heâd been alone; he did not, just now. âHere you are. Drink this. I shall just toast some cheese, and you may join me or not. Were you looking for something specific in the Collegeâs most bone-dry historical survey? I am your librarian, you realize, and I might be of assistance.â
âProfessional curiosity?â Henry took a sip. His hand did not shake, but Theo had the sense that this was only because iron-clad self-possession refused to permit it. âI hadnât planned to inconvenience you any further. I did spend the requisite endless sleepless hours in the library while finishing my final apprenticeâs showcase piece, under Honoria Merrill, if sheâs still here and terrifying undergraduates. I can manage research.â
âProfessor Merrill is indeed still here. I quite liked her classes.â Theo stabbed bread with a toasting fork. Pointedly. âShe appreciates tidy spellwork.â Honoria Merrill, silver-haired and straight-backed despite her age, refused to supervise more than one or two final apprenticeâs projects each year, claiming she had neither the time nor the inclination to indulge anyone not gifted, dedicated, and disciplined. Henry, the opposite of neat and tidy, must have been impressive.
Theo himself, of course, had already been good friends with Sir Roderick. He had, under that kindly grey-whiskered supervision, taken on a book-protection spell thatâd extended the libraryâs fireproofing spells to each individual volume, even when checked out.
He wondered what Henry had done to demonstrate sufficient magical comprehension; that wouldâve been before a summons to war, wouldnât it? âAnd I am quite good at my job. Iâd like to help.â
Henry drank more tea, and gazed at him across the teacup. âThis is excellent. Not just mint, but a hint of blue vervain?â
âThank you, and yes, it is. Are you avoiding my offer?â
âI was thinking that we must have just missed each other at school. Iâdâve remembered you.â
âOh, no, you wouldnât. Iâm hardly memorable.â Theo retrieved toast, shining gold and molten with cheddar; slid it onto a plate, began another. âGood at research and history and retrieval spells, but sheer rubbish at College sport, competitive Foolâs Football, enhanced underwater rowing, and so on. I expect you were a splendid magical submersible oarsman or something of the type. I think youâre right, though, and youâdâve been a few years ahead of me.â
âSubmersible Rowing Captain,â Henry said. âThree years running. I grew up near a lake. Of course youâre memorable. And talented, if Sir Roderick left you the library. I didnât mean any insult.â
âNone taken. I know Iâm young.â He casually picked up a slice of toast, nibbled, watched Henry unconsciously do the same: mirroring the motion. âBut Iâve always been good at finding things. Solving puzzles. Sorting out tangles. I enjoy that.â
He also sliced an apple — getting softer, a late-autumn sort of apple, here at the edge of December — and idly held out a piece. Henry took it, apparently without thinking about it, and ate it, and then looked surprised.
âWhere were you staying,â Theo inquired, âbefore this? If you donât mind me asking. Should we send a message along?â
âHonestly?â Henry sighed. Then coughed. And pretended he hadnât, drinking tea. âA week or two in hospital, a week or two at Apsley House … I hadnât planned it out much past that. Iâd hoped — I had thought Iâd be going home.â
But you didnât, Theo noted but didnât say aloud. You didnât go home. And youâve apparently stayed with the Duke of Wellington, briefly or not. You werenât any sort of common soldier, and you werenât common even among the Magiciansâ Corps; aide de camp, you said. Personally reporting to the commander. But that can mean anything he needed you to do.
Anything, indeed. In war. In France, among mud and rain and army-trodden paths. And given what had happened to the Corps, given the blood and the pain and the losses — before the treaties, before theyâd been formally disbanded …
He said, âWell, youâre welcome to stay. I wonât ask for details if youâd rather not discuss it, but — as far as having been in hospital, and recovering, as youâve said — is there anything I might do to make you more comfortable?â
Henry, whoâd eaten a second slice of apple in the meantime, hesitated. âIf youâre concerned I might light your bed on fire if startled –â
âHardly. Iâd never hold an accident against you. And Iâm not convinced you can light more than a candle, at the moment.â Theo paused. Regretted his own words. âThatâs part of it, isnât it? Whatâs missing. My apologies.â
Henry lowered his teacup without taking a sip. Cradled warmth in hands. Gazed down for a moment, as if mint and steam and water might lend him strength.
When he looked up his smile was wry, raw, laid bare and resigned to surrender, not without some humor. âYou did say you were good at puzzles.â
âShould I not have guessed? And you were looking into the origins and sources of English magic. Looking for ways to restore it, perhaps?â
Henry looked as if he wanted to draw a deep breath, bracing himself, but perhaps he couldnât, with that cough. He met Theoâs eyes as if preparing for some sort of judgment, a flogging or a court-martial or another doom. âI thought I might find something to help.â