QSFer C.B. Lewis has a new alternate history MM tale out:
Theodore Wentworth, who possesses little more than a sharp and well-educated mind, is trying to solicit a sponsor for his studies of Greek antiquity by performing recitations at gatherings of collectors. Desperate for luck and better skills in oratory, in jest, he places a coin at the feet of a statue of Hermes. It seems like coincidence when his fortune turns and a gentleman calling himself Alexander becomes his benefactor. Despite his friend John teasing him about it, Theodore continues to offer tokens to Hermes and sinks himself into his study of the classics.
Alexander encourages Theodore’s interest, prompting Theodore to face desires he tried to put aside years before. As Theodore embraces the knowledge, he must also resist his attraction to Alexander—knowing his feelings are a serious crime in Victorian England.
But the secret Alexander keeps will change everything in a love story for the ages, steeped in taboo, temptation, history, and myth.
The lamps were burning, thin coils of smoke winding toward the corniced ceiling. The soft glow illuminated the blank faces of masks and statues in their cases, the shadows stretching and shifting eerily around them.
One could almost imagine they were alive and watching.
Theodore squeezed the shilling in his hand. Making an offering to a statue was superstitious nonsense. He wasn’t in some pillared temple in Athens, and the gods certainly weren’t listening. It was all old-fashioned hokum, yet in the silence of the grand display room of Sir Thomas Drake’s London townhouse, it felt like something else.
One of the statues had his full attention.
Perhaps it had eyes once. Now the fall of the light left only darkness over a curved smile that seemed part threat, part promise. It should have been inconsequential, a slight youth who looked younger than Theodore himself. The figure held a staff in one hand, its other hand upraised, beckoning. Wings sprouted from its heels.
Hermes, the messenger, among many other titles.
Theodore glanced toward the doors. They would come for him soon, and, Lord, if he was intent on this nonsense—and outright blasphemy, if the Good Book was to be believed—then he had best make a start of it before it was too late.
The shilling gleamed in his palm, and he swallowed hard. What was the worst that could happen? Save being struck by the wrath of God—who didn’t like it much when his good English gentlemen toddled off to throw in their lot with the Greek pantheon—he supposed the worst was that Drake and his fellows would find out and he would be a laughingstock.
He set his jaw, then reached down among the statues and laid the coin at the feet of Hermes.
A book-lover from infancy, C.B. has been writing and telling stories for as long as she can remember. Based in Edinburgh, she has diverse tastes and will quite happily attempt to write any genre, but always come back to history, fantasy, and sci-fi like an old friend. C. B. Lewis is small and Scottish and can often be spotted perched around historical monuments with her notepad and pen.
She has been writing and telling tales for almost as long as she can remember, and has a brain that constantly fizzes with an abundance of ideas. If she’s not working on half a dozen things at once, it should be considered a slow day. She loves to travel and just has one continent left to complete her travel bingo card. A lot of the travel has also been research-based, and if pointed at any historical event, she will research it vociferously, just because she can.
Normally, she is based in Edinburgh, where she tends toward the hermit-lifestyle, needing nothing but a kettle, a constant supply of tea, and – of course – the internet. There are no cats, no puppies, no significant others, only a lot of ideas, and an awful lot of typing. And occasionally, cake. Never forget the cake.