The Devil's Progress: A M/M Paranormal Romance

By F.Q. Hazards

Nathaniel “Fanny” Polifax is unlucky in love. It’s his last year at Hawthorne and his unrequited feelings for his best friend, Gabriel Webster, seems doomed to remain unrequited. But at least things aren’t boring — after all, the school all a-buzz with news of a new student, who has arrived a few days before Christmas. Henry Francis is mysterious, charming and seems to be all things to all people. But Fanny isn't charmed. He knows Henry Francis' secret -- that he is a demon that Fanny and his friends summoned one night during an occult ritual that seemingly failed.

But Henry Francis isn’t just hellspawn, however, he also seems to like Fanny a lot. So much that Fanny’s immortal soul might be in peril — along with Webster’s and the rest of the school. Can Fanny save the soul — and find true love in the process?

The Devil’s Progress is a M/M paranormal novella about finding love where you least expect it (by summoning demons.) It is a standalone story with a HEA.

• Language: English
• Publisher: F.Q. Hazards
• Release date: Mar 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215417966

F.Q. Hazards

A lifelong and passionate reader, F.Q. Hazards believes reading truly is fundamental. As a child, her favorite place in the world was the Saint Paul Central Library -- a masterpiece of Italian Renaissance style architecture that was perfect for a dreamy girl to get lost in. She could often be found in a little nook, reading books on the supernatural, history, true crime, comic books, romances, fantasy classics -- and anything else she could her little hands on.This love of reading finally manifested into writing in 2017 when F.Q. wrote her first original work. And she has been writing ever since, in a variety of genres -- especially historical and paranormal romance with queer characters who don't know what to do with all these feelings.An enthusiastic explorer of the unknown, F.Q. is especially fond of ghosts, werewolves and especially vampires -- and other things that go bump in the night. Have an experience you want to share? Drop her a line.F.Q. now lives in Atlanta.Join her newsletter for the latest updates: https://sadclownexpress.substack.com/

Book preview

Chapter One: Summoned

"Stop squirming, Fanny! You’re making a mess of the blood sigils," said Webster sharply. He reached out and pinched Fanny’s side quite viciously, and Lytton said he thought the flame had turned blue.

Eagerly, all three of them watched the guardian flame that would indicate that the demon they were trying to summon had found the sacrifice of Fanny’s virginity to be sufficient to grant them their wishes, but no. The candlelight in the middle of the pentagram remained resolutely orange.

Webster sighed in disgust. He was a handsome boy of eighteen, in his last year at Hawthorne School, and he had really thought this would be it. The secret occult texts he had found hidden beneath the floorboards of the library and the two friends he had persuaded to join his little study group, as he called it. When Nathaniel Polifax — Fanny to everyone who knew him — confessed that he was a virgin, Webster thought the summoning would finally work.

Demons always wanted something rare or irreplaceable. Fanny’s virginity wasn’t precisely that — Webster had done the deflowerment at Fanny’s tremulous request — but it should have qualified. All the books said it should.

Such was Webster’s disappointment that he wandered over to the window and looked out to the wintry scene outside. They were in an old attic room at the top of the school. One round window looked out over the snow-covered woods and had a view of the twisting road to the school.

Behind him, he heard Lytton helping Fanny get dressed. Fanny was sniffling — it would be exactly like him to catch a cold now, even though it was barely freezing in the attic. Webster was about to turn and tell him so when a sight stopped him. A carriage was careening down the road, hurrying towards the school. He saw that it was led by four white horses and seemed to bear a crest on the side.

What’s that about? he wondered. He turned to his friends and motioned them to join him. Of course, once they had, there was nothing to be seen. Is it a new student or a teacher? They still haven’t replaced Mr. Halifax since the summer.

It’s too late to replace him this year. Perhaps it’s a student, Fanny pointed out. He had slipped back into his striped blue and white pajamas and was discreetly trying to wipe his eyes dry. Webster felt the impulse to comfort him. He squashed it.

Fanny wasn’t a bad fellow — indeed, he was usually very pleasant and tractable, but lately, he had become impossible to deal with. Take that deflowerment just now— Fanny had made such a fuss about it! Webster would have gladly volunteered for it if he had had the proper credentials...

It’s only a month until Christmas, Webster said disapprovingly. Only a fool would enroll his child into a school now. It would be better to wait until the new year.

Maybe they need to get rid of him now, Lytton said. Lytton was the tallest of them and very laconic. He rarely spoke, but when he did, he usually talked sense.

The carriage did look rich, Webster acknowledged. "Not some dog cart hired from the village. I wonder if he’ll be — suitable."

For our cult, you mean? Fanny asked eagerly. Webster winced.

"It’s not a cult, Fanny, he said admonishingly, unless you mean, in an ancient way, of enlightened people exploring forbidden mysteries."

As you say, Fanny sighed. His bright head drooped, and Webster thought it wouldn’t do to have Fanny be so sorrowful. So he clasped Fanny’s chin and forced him to look at him.

Cheer up, dear creature, he said with a smile. I’m sure your second time will be much better than your first.

It was then Fanny hit him. Lytton stepped backward quickly and declined to become involved, so Webster was forced to shift for himself.

*

Webster dreamed of flying, as he did most nights. He floated above his bed and looked down at himself, frowning and asleep. As he reached out to the ceiling, Webster felt a tug of a silver string. It was tied to his little finger and down to his slumbering body. This was a new development. The farther he drifted, the more the string stretched.

Webster shrugged and moved on. He swooped down to Fanny’s side of the room and tickled his cheeks. Fanny, deeply asleep, brushed off his touch with an indistinct murmur.

Then Webster let himself float up and up through the ceiling and a roof. He had no body to speak of; he supposed he was merely a soul. The wind spun him around, but he discovered that he could go there quickly if he really put his mind to a place.

The silver string around his fingers stretched, and he noticed that it became thinner and thinner the farther he went. First, he went home — or rather, the place he had spent the first twelve years of his life, in Captain Amos’ house. It was a tumbled-down old place, built on top of a cliff, the sea raging below it. Webster caught hold of the railing on the widow’s walk and anchored himself enough to move inside the house.

Inside, all was silent, as he knew it would be. The grandfather clock had stopped without him being there to wind it. The Captain snoozed beside the fire, his face still red with drink.

Captain Amos was not Webster’s father and had never