QSFer Christian Baines has a new paranormal book out in the Haunted Hearts shared universe: Andalusia Dogs.
As Spain’s fledgling democracy enters the 80s, young artists have transformed Madrid into a city where anything is possible, where outcasts, freaks and creative weirdos of every type let their imaginations run free amid beautiful, hedonistic chaos.
All Alex wants is to create one unforgettable show that earns the respect and admiration of his fellow outcasts. When Jago, a handsome and kind, yet secretive young man pulls him from harm’s way during a protest, a night of tenderness opens the door to new and thrilling talents. His new friend is also determined to see him succeed… at any price.
Caught between suspicion, enthrallment and desire, Alex and his friends dance to the tune of poets and devils. Will it lead them to an opening night triumph? Or is Alex writing the script for a tragedy in the pursuit of fame and love?
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Excerpt
“What did you think?” Jago asked.
It should have surprised him that Jago was here, but it didn’t. Just as it hadn’t surprised him when he’d turned up at the café.
“It was… interesting,” Joanna conceded.
A few seconds of silence passed before the four of them erupted into laugher—even Vicente.
“Except now, he’s got our slot,” Alex said.
“I’m sorry?” Jago asked, his eyes widening. “I thought you were opening in two weeks?”
“So did we. Apparently, Maria needs surefire sales, which she’s somehow getting from…” Alex tossed his head in the direction of the doors. “…that.”
“Oof! No accounting for fashion, I suppose. That would explain why I didn’t see you all at the Culture Forum this afternoon.”
“Oh, shit!” Alex cringed. “Sorry. We didn’t know how to reach—”
“It’s fine. It’s an interesting place to explore,” said Jago, easing himself off the wall. “Come on. I want to share something with the three of you.”
They followed Calle de Atocha down to the wide avenue that was Paseo del Prado, rounding the enormous art museum to the locked gates of the Retiro Park.
“So much for a late-night stroll,” Vicente said.
“Trust me.”
Within a minute, Jago had disappeared beneath some shrubbery. His head popped out again as he beckoned for them to follow. A short scramble and several scratches later, they stumbled out onto the broad walkways of a dark and silent Retiro.
“It’s not dangerous?” Alex had heard stories of what happened to guys who roamed the parks at night.
“Not with four of us,” Jago answered with a mischievous grin.
“Don’t be a spoilsport, Alex,” said Joanna, following Jago in earnest.
They stopped at the enormous fountain of the fallen angel. To Alex’s knowledge, it was the only monument to Lucifer in existence, at least, in a space so public and obvious as the Retiro. He was amazed the Fascists and their church cronies hadn’t torn it down. Though the fountain’s waters were still, the face of the Morningstar was clearly illuminated in the cloudless night, as was the phalanx of loyal demons at his feet, each warning would-be climbers away with its own infernal little scowl.
“What shall we drink to?” Jago asked, nodding at the wine in Vicente’s hand. “To certain performance artists’ careers? May they shine brightly but briefly.”
“Cruel,” Joanna admonished him, as Vicente opened the wine and passed it over. “But fair.”
Jago took a swig of the wine, then passed it to Joanna, who passed it to Alex. Vicente declined.
“Come on, darling,” Joanna said with gentle mockery. “This is your loot.”
“And it’s incredibly bad luck to break a drinking circle,” added Jago. “At least in Peru or… somewhere. We are all one spirit tonight, aren’t we?”
Vicente forced a smile and took his drink.
“Do you often come down here?” Alex asked.
“Seldom. It seemed an occasion best enjoyed with new friends.”
“You knew a gap in the fence.”
“They can’t wall off the whole thing, can they?” Jago turned, admiring Lucifer’s expression. “Just five outcasts thrown together.”
“You think so?”
Jago smiled at Vicente, taking another drink and starting a new round. “Did you or did you not just lose your theatre and rehearsal space?”
“Yeah, we did. To that…” Vicente growled when words failed him. “February, man. We’re supposed to wait until February?”
“I imagine you could put together quite the show by then. Of course, there is such a thing as too much rehearsal.” Jago turned to stare at Joanna, saying nothing at first, until… “Will you show us?”
Joanna shook her head. “Show you what?”
“What you’ve worked on. You’ve been dying to all evening. I can see that particular glint in your eye, like you’re excited to share a discovery but you’re afraid that if it’s left too long, you’ll seem foolish. So don’t leave it. Show us.”
“Now, you mean?”
Alex was just as hesitant. “Jago, I think—”
“Mister Si-Man calls the stage a sacred space.” Jago raised a hand toward the fallen Morningstar. “In the absence of a stage, I am asking you to dance for the profane.”
Alex, Joanna, and Vicente exchanged looks, but… why not? Joanna knew the music as well as if it had been pressed to a record inside her head. Her gaze landed on Alex, who acquiesced with a silent nod.
Author Bio
Christian Baines is an awkward nerd turned slightly less awkward author. Raised on dark humour and powered by New Zealand wine, he is the author of six novels including gay paranormal series The Arcadia Trust and My Cat’s Guide to Online Dating. Born in Australia, he now travels the world whenever possible, living and writing in Toronto, Canada between trips.
| Author Website | www.christianbaines.com |
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| Author Bluesky | https://bsky.app/profile/xtianbaines.bsky.social |
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