Warlock: A Novel of Possession

Warlock, A Novel of Possession:Allen Barrow, a shy bank clerk, dresses out of discount stores and has a small penis that embarrasses him. One night at a noisy, popular bathhouse in Manhattan he meets Destry Powars-commanding, vulgar, seductive, successful-who pulls Allen into his orbit and won't let go. Destry lives in a closed, moneyed world that Allen can only glimpse through the smoky windows of popular media and tabloids. From generations of impoverished drifters, Powars has been chosen to learn a secret language based on force, deception, and nerve. But who chose him-and what does he really want from Allen? What are Mr. Powars's dark powers? These are the mysteries that Allen will uncover in Warlock, a novel that is as paralyzing in its suspense as it is voluptuously erotic.

From the Inside Flap

Allen Barrow's friends are polite, shy men like himself who gather to eat in affordable restaurants and know each other as refugees from their own families. He is a clerk in a bank, dresses frugally, and has a small penis that embarrasses him. One night he meets a man whose presence rivets him. Destry Powars handsome, vulgar, spectacularly ugly in his behavior and yet disarmingly seductive-has pulled Allen into his orbit and won't let go. Destry lives in a closed, moneyed world that Allen can only dream about; a world that he can glimpse only through the smoked glass windows of popular media. From generations of impoverished drifters, Powars has been chosen to learn the secret language of wealth, a language based on force, deception, and nerve. But who chose and taught him these "arts"-and what does he really want from Allen? What exactly are the strange Mr. Powars's dark powers? These are the mysteries that Allen will uncover in Warlock, a novel of international i! ntrigue that is as paralyzing in its suspense as it is voluptuously erotic. Warlock is a novel about a New York awash in money and yet always a hair away from the bubble's burst of catastrophe. It is about living outside of the overhyped "New Economy." If you think I.P.O. means "I'm Poor, Okay," then this book speaks directly to you. This is one of Perry Brass's most compelling stories. Erotic love, surrender, and the total magic of overwhelming needs being met are its main ingredients. It is about our sweetest dreams and worst nightmares coming true . . . and the hard work of warlocks. Also by Perry Brass Out There, Stories of Private Desires, Horror, and the Afterlife. "Perry Brass is a marvelous writer. His words flow. . . rich with imagery and texture, sensual and delicious." Toby Johnson in White Crane Journal. The Harvest. From today's headlines debating human cloning, two men meet and fall in love. One of them, Hart 256043, is a cloned humanoid, a vacco, created to be harvested for his organs and body parts. The other will do anything, including kill, to keep Hart alive. "One of the Ten Best Books of 1997," Lavender Magazine, Minneapolis. "What good science fiction should be. Brass has a genius for the future." Perpetual Fix, Kansas. How to Survive Your Own Gay Life. A fully-loaded Swiss Army knife for gay survival. Truly indispensable. "Wise. . . a book that looks forward, not back." Lambda Book Report. Angel Lust, An Erotic Novel of Time Travel. Unleashed spiritual adventure. "Brass's ability to go from seedy gay bars in New York to 11th century castles is a testament to his skill as a writer." Gay & Lesbian Review.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Powars and I were left alone. The hut had a steady cheery glow from the lamp and the stove. I could see stars through the windows, and the tops of mountains and drifting blackening clouds. Working quickly, Powars took everything off both of us and arranged our wet clothes to dry on the floor near the stove. By the wall was a narrow, thin cotton mattress on a platform, with some bedding, army blankets and sheets in a cupboard. He made up the bed and put me in it, tucking a sheet and the blankets over me. I thanked him. He looked at me softly. He rarely ever looked at me like that, with none of his defensive arrogance. "I was scared," he admitted. "You don t know how scared I was. I hate being so scared." I could see that he was getting cold. A line of chill bumps went over his upper chest. "He tried to kill me, didn t he? Why didn t you just let him?" Powars moved closer to the stove, warming himself with his broad back to me. I liked looking at him. It was something I could not stop doing. "Ernst s Swiss. He s different. Why d you think he wanted to kill you?" "Because I m not stupid." He moved back a bit in his bare feet. I could see him rubbing his hands together, though he still would not look at me. "Okay," he said calmly. "I know you got freaked out by those strange pictures. And the cave; it was dark. Caves have dangers in them. It was an accident, it was " "I heard what you were saying, Destry. Like I keep asking you, what s going on here?" He hesitated; his body started to shake. "And like I keep telling you, Allen, I m just a businessman. I do deals with people. I set things up all over the world. You don t know anything about business. I work with lots of people I " "And some of these people are here?" He turned to me and licked his dry lips. "Some." "Where are the rest?" "All over the world . . . like I said." I closed my eyes. This was too big for me. Waldman had just tried to murder me. I was in way over my head, like I had been in that water. If Powars had not pulled me out maybe he would not be there the next time. What the hell was going on? He d never answer me. I d been stupid. Who did I think I was I was just this little queer with polite queer friends, who worked in a bank and was going noplace. I thought I could kind of hitch a ride with . . . but who was he? I opened my eyes. "I ve got to go back to New York," I said. "You can t." "Why not? You said I could go last night. Why can t I go now, as soon as we get back to the hotel?" "You re sick. You could get pneumonia. What do you want me to tell you, Allen? The people I work with would never let me have anything like you in my life. They d stop it." "Why?" Suddenly it seemed that he was giving me a real answer. I sat up in the bed as best I could. He couldn t look at me; his face was aimed towards the floor. "Allen, they made me what I am. I was just a piece of shit, I told you that I was trash from New Jersey. I was the type you d see with prison tattoos burned on my butt. I just sucked dick, that was all. But . . ." His eyes welled up. He really looked naked. He was. He started to shiver badly. "To get out of me what they wanted, they had to take everything from me, Allen. Except just one thing. One tiny, little thing." "What s that?" "I can t tell you, I swear, but you ve got it. That s why I just . . . feel like I want to worship you. I mean it." What was he talking about; worship me? "I mean it," he continued. "You ve got that one thing they still want to take out of me, but I won t let them have it." I felt bad, like I had really hurt him. It seemed impossible, how could I ask him any more, without doing more damage? "Is it . . . in my balls? Is that why you do that? Those paintings, in the cave, were they " He seemed suddenly very small, like he had contracted into something else, something closer to what I was. "If I tell you, it s over with for me. Completely. I m as good as dead. You gotta know that. Please don t ask me." He did not say another word, but knelt in front of me, on the dusty wooden floor, so that his bowed head was below my face. I reached down and pulled him into the narrow bed with me. I kissed his mouth, his neck, his chest, then lower. My mouth found his cock. I sucked him, made him wet as I could, then pushed him into my ass and let him fuck me. Fuck me like we were joined together, like we had become one thing, some animal newly created, of unspeakable origin. Whatever we, or it, was, it was so far away from the sad existence I had tried to make for myself, alone in New York, that I couldn t even name it. I just knew I was now his; to be worshipped or destroyed.

About the Author

Originally from Savannah, Georgia, Perry Brass grew up in equal parts Southern, Jewish, economically impoverished, and very much gay. To escape Southern homophobia, at 17 he hitchhiked from Savannah to San Francisco-an adventure, he recalls, that was "like Mark Twain with drag queens." He has published 19 books and been a finalist six times in 3 categories (poetry, science fiction & fantasy, and religion) for national Lambda Literary Awards, as well as a winner of 5 IPPY Awards for excellence in Independent Publishing. His work has run from the highly spiritual and erotic to self-help, from horror to adventure fiction. His latest novel is King of Angels, a hauntingly beautiful coming-of-age novel set in Savannah, GA, in 1963, the year of John F. Kennedy's murder, which the Lambda Literary Review compared to To Kill a Mockingbird.

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