WTF-ery!? (What the flockery!?)- Top 5 weird, crazy, or fun facts about you.
- For the better part of my teenage years, I wanted to become a medical examiner. But I ended up letting go of the idea just before I turned twenty.
- As a kid, I was the “introvertest” of the introverts you’d ever not have a conversation with. But for some reason, my mom thought it would be a great idea to make me participate in a local fashion show when I was seven. I let you imagine how that went… Thankfully, there is no picture remaining in existence of that cursed day.
- I took nine years of classical piano lessons until I turned seventeen and my teacher decided to stop giving lessons altogether. I also loved to write song lyrics which led me to eventually record my own song. Yes, just the one.
- I wish I was able to write a “choose your own adventure” fantasy romance book.
- I can’t cook to save my life.
Potion Master (Fate Cycle Series Book One)
by Sam Fairburn
November 16, 2023
Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance
ISBN: 978-1-998204-01-4
ASIN: B0CJ8DVMNT
Number of pages: 340 pages.
Word Count: 93976 words
Cover Artist: Erick Robillard at Kinos
Moderation is key… That being said, when not one but two enigmatic liars creep into my life, what’s a witch to do?
Riley
All I want is to start this new chapter of my life in peace, brewing beer and mixing potions at The Drunken Sailor. Simple. Safe. Single. But when my skills as potion master and healer are noticed by a mysterious stranger, the stalking that ensues leads me to ask more questions than I should. Things take a dark turn as the secret I fought all my life to protect gets uncovered by the deadliest magical mob boss in the city. Now, my best chance at survival is down to a cocky criminal and a bookman that is too clever for his own good. As their presence haunts my every waking hour and the situation gets dire, I don’t know if I can keep fighting this relentless pull between us.
Finn
I have focused on only one thing for the last three years—work. But when Riley comes into my bookshop, searching for a way to undo the tracking spell placed on her, I am caught up in a journey that ushers me right back to the one man I am trying to forget. I was his to cherish, his to punish, yet the worst wound he gave me was not a physical one. And she might be my salvation.
Erick
My blood is made of hunger and fight, which serves me well on my side of the law. No one but him knows who I am or where I come from. And I have all the intentions for it to stay that way. But when witches start to disappear in the city and no one, not even the Sennex, does a damn thing about it, I make it my business to investigate. Grave mistake. My efforts only lead me to desires I should steer clear of and discoveries darker than I could ever fathom. I fought to keep them away, to keep them safe, but life is never as kind as to bring hope without taking something in return.
Witchy meets steamy in this tale of soul-wrenching magnetism, dreadful secrets, and magic that could wreck the world.
Potion Master is a slow burn dark urban fantasy MMF romance. It’s book 1 in the Fate Cycle series.
Amazon
Excerpt from Potion Master :
The
blue liquid is shimmering like its magic is trying to get out. One of
my better cocktail recipes, I would say. The Siren, I call it, in honor
of Evie. Even though she is not one of those long-extinct creatures, her
voice bewitches her crowd all the same. Her tales captivate the
audience with their rhythm and poesy.
“Hey! Will you give me my drink or not?” the patron shouts over the buzz of the crowded room.
Keeping
hold of the glass, I swiftly glide it over the wooden bar toward him.
“I don’t know, Carl. Maybe a little more respect and a smile now and
then could do miracles for your shitty personality and help you get what
you want.” I look the bastard straight in the eye, drink the shot
myself, and take the money he had put on the bar top to pay for it. The
liquid goes down like the charm that it is, giving me a boost of
strength and energy in its wake.
Carl seizes my gloved forearm, “Listen, girl, I know that you’re new here, but when I ask—”
His
touch is gone in an instant. A big, burly man hauls Carl by the collar
of his shirt toward the pub’s door. Albert’s gray-brown ponytail sways
in time with Carl’s feet off the ground as he carries Carl out the door.
If I didn’t hate being manhandled by drunk pieces of shit so much, I
would be laughing at the sight.
Albert grunts as he throws Carl
on his ass out in the street. “Take the rest of the night to cool off,”
Albert says, his voice deceptively calm. “The next time you touch one of
my employees, you will lose your hand. Is that understood?”
Carl
has the good sense to shut his mouth and skitter off. The patrons all
shout in triumph and merrily raise their glasses to Albert. When he
turns from the door, Albert’s green eyes find me. His face is all red
under his thick beard. I nod my head once to show him that I am okay and
can handle myself. It’s not my first rodeo, after all.
I don’t
have much time to dwell on what happened, though. The Drunken Sailor is
packed tonight. Every sticky table and disparate chair is in use. A
small crowd has already gathered before the stage in the corner where my
best friend will perform tonight, sipping their drinks. The decor is no
different than any other Irish pub in Québec City. The only noticeable
distinction really is the customers themselves—the vast majority of them
have magical abilities or ties to the magical world.
My long
black hair annoys me tonight, so I quickly tie it up in a messy bun
before filling another pint of my first batch of beer to give to Albert
as he passes behind me in the bar area. Then I go back to the steady
flow of orders coming in. I am very proud of my first brew. It’s a white
ale with faint notes of lavender and rosemary. The balanced taste of
the herbs makes for a bittersweet lightness that, contrary to popular
belief, doesn’t taste like perfume.
Being potion master and lead
brewer are both my pride and my passion in life. It also allows me to
work anywhere, in any magical establishment I want, since there are a
lot of people that seem to either want to get drunk or out of a
hangover—or another predicament—at some point. My healing balms and
potions are particularly good if I do say so myself.
Healing is
my specialty, after all, and I was well taught. Diane. A sharp pang of
grief makes my eyes water at the reminder of my mentor’s passing. They
say that home is where the heart is. Well, it feels like my home
vanished with her last breath. Throughout the years, she’d always been
there for me—be it to kick me in the butt for acting stupid or to help
me regain my footing after yet another failed attempt at making
something of my life. Her passing is too fresh for me to be able to
recall the good memories of her with fondness or a smile. I am still at
the anger stage, where every fiber of my being wants to cry hysterically
and punch a wall about it, hating death, hating myself for not being
able to heal her. I wipe furiously at my eyes and wrestle my mind into a
better headspace.
I was lucky to get this job. The Drunken
Sailor is one of the best breweries in the province, and its owner is
allowing me carte blanche to do with the product creation as I please.
All the equipment is state of the art despite the pub’s building being
more than a century old—and looking it.
Perfect work
arrangements, awesome new apartment, my best friend nearby—it’s all I
need, really. This time, I will plant roots. This time, I won’t bolt at
the very first mild inconvenience—I can’t. I have no one left to catch
me from a fall. I am here to stay, and I mean it.
At the table by
the door, four casters are playing at levitating objects in the air
while arm wrestling. The first to either lose the strength contest or
lose their concentration and drop their object pays for the next round
of alcohol. A stupid game if you ask me, but still fun to watch and good
for the tip.
Evie pokes her head out from the kitchen door with a
mouthful of I don’t even want to know what. “Hey, Ry! I’m on in a
couple of minutes,” she says while finishing chewing. “Do you need
anything before I get up there?” She motions toward the stage with her
head. The movement makes her silver dress sparkle in the dim light,
contrasting nicely with the soft coffee of her skin. She recently buzzed
her hair close to her head, which accentuates the graceful curve of her
neck.
Her hazel eyes drift to the liquid I am currently mixing.
She looks fascinated and with good reason. As soon as I sprinkle my
last ingredient into the potion—dried hibiscus flowers—red fire seems to
emanate from it, although it’s not hot to the touch. Passion is a
difficult thing to capture, and it’s always mesmerizing when it’s
encapsulated successfully. It’s easily the most expensive thing we sell
here. Only one swig is needed to fuel your inspirations and fantasies,
allowing you to create at will. Although it cannot put ideas into your
head, it will allow you to birth your ideas into the world. Well, until
it wears off, that is. I pour the liquid into a small vial and hand it
over to the young woman who ordered it.
“I’m fine,” I tell Evie
over my shoulder. “I don’t need you mothering me.” I wink at my best
friend and turn back to the clientele at the bar. I hear her huff and
puff before letting the kitchen door swing behind her. Not a minute
later, she swaggers onto the stage, her generous hips swaying as she
walks. The usual auditory chaos of the pub falls to whispers.
We’ve
always been complete opposites, Evie and I. Where my best friend shines
bright on stage, I prefer the darkness at the back of the room. She is
all heat and sensuality, while I am all frost and contrast. My moonlight
skin, she calls it. Which is a nice way of saying that I am ghostly
pale.
As soon as Evie opens her mouth to sing, the crowd starts
to sway in time with the rhythm of her voice. The ones closest to the
stage are completely enthralled by her story of epic love. They smile
and huddle closer together, not aware that they are moving. The casters
abandon their game to stare in fascination. As far away as I am, I only
feel a small wave of fullness and happiness, but it’s still very nice. I
have not experienced the brush of love for a very long time.
I
pour the next beer directly onto my gloved hand, which then splashes
onto my black tank top and jeans. I curse and shake my head slightly. I
must have been more affected by her singing than I thought. Taking off
my gloves and wiping them on a dish towel, I smile to myself. I have not
been exposed to her kind of powers for some time now. I’ve lost part of
the endurance I had built for it.
When I finally succeed at
mostly drying my clothes, I throw the rag in the sink and lift my head
to take the next order, but most of the patrons have now moved from the
bar to the tables closer to the stage, listening quietly.
Most, but not all.
About the Author:
Website-FB-Instagram
TikTok-YouTube
Newsletter-Goodreads
Sam is a Canadian author of dark fantasy romance and dark urban fantasy romance with a healthy dose of spice (because why not?). She loves daydreaming about new characters and can often be found staring into the abyss of the great nothingness, completely lost in thought. She also dislikes talking about herself in the third person. Hence, I’m going to stop this author bio here.
I am deeply grateful for every reader who takes time out of their day to lay their eyeballs on one of my books. I couldn’t be an author without you.
=2520(2).png)
.png)
