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    Forgotten Things: Men of Magic, #1
    Forgotten Things: Men of Magic, #1
    Forgotten Things: Men of Magic, #1
    Ebook156 pages2 hours

    Forgotten Things: Men of Magic, #1

    By Hollis Shiloh

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    About this ebook

    Magic takes a toll.  It shortens lives, damages people, and lets magicians be used as weapons in a war.  

    Jocelyn is one magician who survived that bad time and still works for the magical ministry — or rather, overworks for them.  To all appearances, he's pulled together, competent, and functional.  Although he has bad memories and nightmares, he manages.  But he would like more from life: to find a man he can love.

    A forgotten file tells of several magicians who were put in a mental hospital after the war.  Finding no other records on the subject, Jocelyn must take a trip to the sanatorium to sort things out.

    One damaged magician is still there after all these years: a handsome, sweet man with missing memories, a shy, gentle nature, and a great love of drawing.

    And the moment he meets Ellis, Jocelyn knows: This is him.  He's the one.  Can two damaged men help each other heal, survive all dangers, and find true love?  


    40,000 words
    Very low heat 

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSpare Words Press
    Release dateDec 7, 2016
    ISBN9781536535648
    Forgotten Things: Men of Magic, #1

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      Book preview

      Forgotten Things - Hollis Shiloh

      Forgotten Things

      (Men of Magic #1)

      by Hollis Shiloh

      My immediate superior was looking at me with barely disguised disgust.  He seemed to be struggling to find just the right words.  The ceiling was not being any help.  Oh, dear, and neither were the papers on his desk.

      Anger began to simmer, deep and slow, within me.  Surely it wasn't such a strange thing...

      Sometimes, when two magicians love each other very much, they form a bond that gives them both greater strength.  I don't know exactly how it works, but it does — at least for straight magicians.

      I had never even considered it might work for gay magicians, too, until I witnessed a pronounced increase in magical strength for Gareth Silverman after he'd bonded with Silus Smith.  I would not have believed it unless I'd witnessed it.  I felt fairly certain it was the bond that had changed them both. 

      Although I'd had no chance to examine any magical changes in Silus, I'd certainly seen some non-magical ones.  The man who had previously been all about himself alone was now willing to lay down his life for another, if need be.  His personality had changed drastically, at least in that one way: he actually loved someone other than himself.  I had reason to believe his skill with magic had grown stronger as well, but no actual proof. 

      Gareth had certainly changed in magical strength and ability, as well.  He could now heal people with magic, a new skill for him.

      The two had left the magical ministry, under something of a cloud, but they were doing well, apparently, out on their own.  I wished them luck.  They would need it. 

      I had been with the ministry since I was fourteen, and had no immediate plans to leave.  But what I was interested in, very much so, now that I was knew it was possible, was to find someone of my own to bond with, so I could have better access to magic as well.

      And I was very lonely sometimes.  If finding someone to love would change me in some way, giving me greater magical strength and making me less lonely, and better able to care about someone deeply and know I could count on them...well, sign me up.

      Apparently, informing my immediate superior of that desire and plan, the plan to seek out a compatible man, not as a secret or a temporary thing, but for real commitment, had brought on a look of disgust very close to alarm.  He seemed appalled that I would even think of it.

      I'm afraid it's unlikely to work, he said at last, apologetically, drumming his fingers on the desk too fast to be comfortable.  He gave me a fake smile.  Unless, of course, you'd like to try bonding with a woman.  I'm not sure—

      That it works the same for men.  Of course he wasn't. 

      I was allowed to be me, as long as I was circumspect and never got too attached to anyone, where I might actually change my life a little bit to be with them more, or acknowledge them outside of certain discreet clubs.

      I rose.  Burnfield looked alarmed.  I don't mean to offend.

      Of course not.  But I'm afraid you have.

      I was rarely so abrupt.  Now, I left the room, and he stared after me with his mouth open, before he remembered to close it.

      #

      I was still in a bad mood as I went home, walking briskly.  I had spent the day otherwise alone and doing paperwork at my desk, trying to catch up with the ever-present mound of emergencies and pseudo-emergencies. 

      Lately, we were constantly short-stacked on capable agents in the ministry: people with trustworthy judgment, skill with magic, and clearance to get things done.  Even the lesser agents were run off their feet, especially these days, with everything Bauer had done now in question, and everyone he'd worked with under necessary scrutiny.

      There was no doubt his betrayals had cut deep, and there were probably more people hidden in the ministry — possibly in positions of dangerous authority — who could and did do much harm, profit from their knowledge, lie and steal and damage greatly. 

      It was a rough time on us all, and the best I could do was keep my head down and work as hard as I could.  But I still wanted to find someone of my very own, and Burnfield's reaction to the mere idea made me only more committed to the hope.

      It was a cold walk home, a chilly day, already autumn and windy, with leaves blowing around me.  I held my hat down, during the worst of the gusts.  It seemed a waste of magic to use it for that.  I was worn down from the discouragement and mental efforts of the day.  Everything magical felt very dim to me, troublesome to reach.  I was disconnected and floating on a sea of exhaustion and discouragement.

      And as much as I'd taken care of today, there was more yet: constantly more.  My desk was still piled high with papers, things that needed to be investigated and dealt with.  Some of them weren't important, but I knew very well a lot of them likely were, if it wasn't too late already.

      If I ever did get through my pile, there was a sick colleague's that needed to be addressed, and several other people's, people who were currently on assignment elsewhere or part of the probe into Bauer, or indeed being investigated themselves in connection with Bauer.  In all, it was a veritable unending mountain of paperwork.  I could only hope to sort as much as I could, as fast as I could, tackling the most important things, even if I could never catch up with it all.

      I had brought some papers home with me, in the hopes I would have the strength to do more work after I ate supper and before I fell asleep.  Yesterday I had fallen asleep slumped in a chair, still fully dressed, and awakened with a neck pain, so I wasn't hopeful of my chances to actually accomplish anything tonight.

      But anything could happen.

      Including finding someone to love me?

      I gave a small, mirthless snort, as I flicked on the light in my apartment.  Gaze traveling around, I looked over the small, trim, and neat space.  I needed my space to recover from the frazzling stress of work.  Even if it didn't ease any time soon, at least I had this place.

      I set the papers down on my small kitchenette table and locked the door.  I breathed in, then out, centering myself.  The magic flowed gently through my apartment like an invisible stream, no blockages, no heavy draws on it, no taint of dark twisting forces, no sparkling fae enhancements, no interference at all.  It was simply there, a friendly background that felt like home.

      I would, as I slept, be tapping into it, as I had done since I was born, refreshing and rebuilding myself.  The ability to touch magic and do things with it, the ability to sense the world in another way than most people — I had never been without it.  It seemed strange to me that some people did not go around sensing the life-threads of others, or seeing color-music in relation to life force and magical acts, that most humans couldn't bend the world, in whatever small way, to their will.

      Magic was really my only companion.  Sadly, it had already shortened my lifespan considerably.  I had a great-grandfather who had lived till he was ninety, and many of my other relatives were still alive and might reach such an age as well.  We had strong stuff in our family, stubborn strength and life.  But the best guess for me was fifty, tops.  Magic takes a toll, especially when you use it hard, or often, or without time to recover — or if you use it to hurt people. 

      Naturally, during the war, most of us who had access to magic of any sort were turned into weapons.  Of course it shortened our lives, even more than normal magicians' foreshortened life spans.

      I tried not to be bitter about that.

      People experience magic in different ways, and the understanding of it, the use of it, is not something that can be imparted easily.  So much of it has to be found through one's own practice, experience, and attempts at usage.  It is by no means universal, even amongst people of the same basic skill levels and types. 

      It can also be deeply lonely.  One stands apart from the non-magicians, has to maintain a certain inward focus, and can't take strength or skill from others.  Even if they have the same skills, they likely utilize them in slightly different, non-compatible ways. 

      I found it difficult to connect deeply with anyone much of the time, and at least part of that was related to magic.  But I was by no means certain it all was.  I pushed aside the feelings of loneliness, or tried to.

      There were cold sandwich fixings in my icebox.  I got them out, threw one together and ate, munching as I flicked through papers.  I felt more clear-headed in my apartment, now that I was eating.  I set aside about half to read through; the other half I deemed non-emergency, perhaps not even important at all.

      Good lord, this was an old one!

      I flicked it over, then back.  How had I gotten this?  It must've been another one of the pile that was shoveled onto me with the latest drama at the ministry.

      The paper was literally yellow with age.  Just who had neglected it so badly?  I frowned down at it.  Hopefully it was nothing and—

      Psychiatric Hospital.

      Memo.

      Magician patients and reassessment.

      The words jumped out at me, like a singeing fire. 

      That couldn't be, could it?  I hadn't heard of any magicians being put in civilian psychiatric wards.  Although, to be fair, some of them had likely needed to be.

      The ministry had had a large number of magicians kill themselves during or after the war.  There was clearly much wrong with the way war treated magicians, and how damaged it could leave them.  Using magic to kill people is damaging on a deep level for us — even the most hardened.  And many of them were very young, not hardened at all.

      I wasn't without my own damages, but I liked dealing with them on my own, thank you.  Not everyone was able to, however.  So very many had died, and so many by their own hands...

      If someone with magic had been locked up in a civilian ward...well, how would they handle that?  Would it improve their chances of survival and recovery, or decrease them?

      I read the words on the memorandum quickly, then again, trying to make sense of them.  The director in charge of the ward had requested the patients be reassessed because some of them seemed to be recovering, but she didn't have the authority to release them.  They had been sent there by order of the ministry, and a civilian, even the head nurse of the ward, didn't have the authority to counteract that.

      The memo was dated almost five years ago.  Five years.  Had it been neglected that long, or was it an old one that hadn't been filed properly and got dumped back in the to do list?  Anything was possible in the current climate.

      I eyed the rest of my sandwich.  I had either the energy to finish eating and get ready for bed, or the energy for one telephone call to find out about this memo.

      I decided on the phone call.  It was going to nag at me otherwise, and I simply didn't have time to devote to this unless I started now.

      I picked up the receiver and asked the operator to connect me with Mayfair Mental Hospital, and Director Alana Keren. 

      It took a bit longer, and I was yawning and crunching away at my last pickle (alternately) when the operator finally returned to the line.  "There

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