BLOG TOUR: The Spellbinding Magic of You and Me by Timoteo Tong (Excerpt)

Timoteo Tong has a new fantasy/sci-fi book out, The Magicals Alliance book 3: The Spellbinding Magic of You and Me.

Magic, monsters, and a boy who never asked to be chosen.

Sixteen-year-old Santangelo Lo Geffo is drowning in grief. After his mother’s sudden death and his father’s emotional disappearance, he’s convinced the world has forgotten him—until his childhood best friend, Joshua “Neeky” Tang, shows up out of nowhere, charming, bold, and full of secrets. Their reunion reignites buried feelings and a bond stronger than fate.

But something darker stirs in the magical underworld known as the Gloom. A cursed sword has chosen Santangelo, and with it, the wrath of the ancient queen Máu Rabetica, who will stop at nothing to reclaim her power. With monsters closing in and war looming, Santangelo must train under the brutal God of War, survive attacks from rival covens, and navigate a tangled web of family secrets.

Worse, his heart’s a mess. He’s caught between his feelings for Neeky—the boy who’s always been there—and Daccio Scala, a flirtatious magical fighter who makes his pulse race. As the walls close in, a glam-pop sorceress with a hidden agenda sets her sights on Santangelo and the blade, forcing him to choose between destiny and desire… or risk losing both.

Warnings: Grief, violence, monsters, emotional trauma, light romantic tension

Universal Buy Link | Amazon

About the Series:

What if your wealthy, glamorous family was secretly saving the world?

Welcome to the world of The Magicals Alliance, a spellbinding YA fantasy series that follows the powerful—and complicated—Delomary family. By day, they’re media moguls, philanthropists, and the faces of a global empire. But behind closed doors, they’re something much more dangerous: the last line of defense against monsters, magic, and total annihilation.

In a hidden war where Vampires, Werewolves, and dark forces threaten to tip the balance between worlds, the Delomarys stand at the center of it all—armed with secrets, ancient power, and a whole lot of emotional baggage.

Dive into a world of romance, rebellion, queer joy, and jaw-dropping magic as each book follows teens on the front lines of a battle that could destroy everything.

Universal Links For All Three Books:

Magic, Monsters & Me | Resurrecting My Magic | The Spellbinding Magic of You and Me

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Excerpt

“You find any gnomes or trolls?” Mrs. Tang called as we stepped inside.

“Faeries, Mom. Faeries,” Neeky corrected.

“Same thing, squirt.”

“I’m not a squirt,” he protested. “I’m already six feet tall.”

“You’ll always be my little squirt.” She cackled, emerging from her study.

Mrs. Tang—Susannah—was tall, striking, radiantly beautiful. Long glossy hair swept back into a low ponytail, big hoops flashing like punctuation. A flower from a cactus: gorgeous and tough. Once, when a boy bullied Neeky in elementary school, she stormed the playground, skipped the teacher, and warned the kid herself—then read the principal and school board for filth until something changed.

It made sense she hated bullies. They’d had one at home—Neeky’s dad—and she handled it to protect her son.

“I’m glad to see you, Santangelo.” She smiled. Warm. My stomach turned. I’d been awful to her boy that day we nearly punched it out, and that night she’d had to face… everything. Part of me still thought I’d made their bad day worse.

I stared at the floor.

“I’m sorry about your mom,” she said quietly. “I lost mine at your age. It hurts here.” She touched her chest.

Was that her way of telling me to stop beating myself up?

“Mom,” Neeky said, “Sants is staying for dinner. What are we ordering?”

She looked from him to me. “Can you stay?”

Pops was at the pizzeria. If not, he’d text when he got home. “Yeah,” I said. “He works most evenings.”

“Okay. I’m craving sushi.”

“I love sushi!” Neeky trumpeted an imaginary horn. “And gyoza.”

Susannah laughed. “Show Santangelo your room.”

“Call him Santy, Mom,” Neeky said, grabbing my hand. “And you call her Mom, Sants.” He shot me a grin. “You can’t call him ‘Sants,’ Mom. That’s my nickname.”

I swallowed. “Thanks… Susannah.”

She gave Neeky a look. He frowned. I didn’t try “Mom” again.

Neeky tugged me down the long hallway to a room overlooking the backyard pool.

Posters everywhere: movies, bands, singers—some current, some ancient (The Doors, The Beach Boys, U2, Jimi Hendrix, Miles Davis). Between them he’d taped photos of himself making faces; on the wall beside his bed, he’d arranged a heart of pictures of him and his mom hiking in Hawaii, New Mexico, Alaska, Mexico, Montana. Them on an adobe porch; at the Lincoln Memorial; Empire State; Ferry Building; Houses of Parliament.

“Stunning,” he said, grinning. “Isn’t it?”

“It’s… uh—”

“Clever, creative, awesome,” he supplied, whisking folded T-shirts off a gray wing chair. “Sit.”

He flung open white doors to reveal a color-sorted closet: shirts, pants, bins of socks/T-shirts/underwear, rows of shoes lined up like soldiers.

He slid open the glass doors to the yard. A breeze wandered in, lifting the sheers. Fresh air. A voice threaded through it.

“Peace lives here,” the wind whispered.

“How do you know?” I asked it silently.

“I know everything, my dear.”

“What did you say, Sants?” Neeky asked.

“Niente. Nothing.”

He drew back the high square window sheers to show a built-in bookcase spanning the opposite wall—books in rainbow order from end to end. A dracaena leaned toward the light. He clicked on warm lamps. A blue LED projector sent starfish, fish, dolphins, and whales swimming across the posters and ceiling.

I peeled off my socks and sank my toes into plush green carpet.

“Do you like it?” Neeky peered at me through his glasses. “Say you like it.”

I closed my eyes.

“Safe and warm,” the wind breathed.

“I love it,” I said.

“Woo-hoo!” He cracked the door. “Mom! Santy loves it.”

“Even the fricking color coding?” she shouted back.

“Whatever, Mom,” he said, shutting the door and dragging a purple beanbag next to my chair. It exhaled as he dropped into it, his toes drifting over until they touched mine. “This is my sanctuary.”

“It’s very nice.”

“Amazing. Like me?”

“Sure, Neeky.”

“Glad you like it.”

“What about the bitch in black?” I asked.

“She doesn’t come in here. She’s obsessed with the guest bathroom. She’ll scare you if you shower in the morning.”

“Am I staying over?”

He laughed. “Of course. Mom lights the fire pit after dark. We tell stories and dreams, make s’mores, sometimes take a late swim. Then when the house is quiet, I sneak onto the garage roof and get lost in the stars—especially the Black Crown constellation.”

“Sounds sweet.” I hesitated. “What’s the Black Crown?”

He blinked. “You don’t know? It appeared recently, below Cassiopeia. Named for a sorceress who sacrificed herself to save the universe.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because she loved someone very much. Like a son.”

“I don’t think I’d do that,” I muttered.

“When you love someone, you sacrifice, Sants.”

“Not me.” I stared at my hands. “That’s… dumb. I worry about Santangelo Lo Geffo.” A lie. Of course I cared. I was meant to help others. Why couldn’t I admit it?

“It’s good to worry about other people,” he said softly.

“I’m through with worrying about others.” Why was I saying this?

“Don’t say that.”

“I should walk Che.” A sudden claustrophobia tightened my chest. I needed air. Space. Away from Neeky.

“I’ll go,” he said quickly. “We can look for goblins. They live under porches.”

“Look—this isn’t a good idea.”

“What isn’t?”

“Me. You. Being friends.”

“Why?”

“I’m different from you.”

“No, you’re not. Not much.”

A gust rattled the bamboo chimes outside; they clanged like a warning.

“Do not leave,” the wind said sternly.

“Why? Who the hell are you?” I shot back in my head.

“I am as old as time.”

“So what?”

“You have to stay. It’s your destiny.”

“Desteino,” I muttered in the Old Language. I hated that word. No escaping it, even with free will. Mom destined to die; me destined to be alone.

My eyes grew heavy. Not just tired—heavy with everything: memories, ache, longing. My eyelids drooped like they couldn’t carry it anymore.

“Maybe I’ll just close my eyes for a second.”

“Good idea,” Neeky said. His voice gentled. “Relax.”

“Then I’ll go. Do my thing.”

“Always alone.”

“The way I like it.”

“You need to change your thinking, Sants.”

He went to the closet, took a blanket, tucked it around me. He padded around, lighting candles. Nag Champa unfurled through the room, smoky and warm. The projector sent dolphins swimming across my closed lids.

“Go to sleep, Santangelo,” the wind murmured. “Sleep safely…”

I breathed in the scent of incense and fresh air and something citrus I couldn’t name. Neeky’s toes nudged mine again, light as a question. Somewhere down the hall, Susannah laughed into the phone, planning sushi. The house settled around us like a promise.

I let my eyes fall all the way shut.

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Author Bio

Timoteo Tong grew up in Burbank, CA, imagining epic battles against vampires and witches inside creaky old mansions—and hasn’t stopped dreaming since. He wrote his first book at age eight (a chaotic romance between a stuffed cocker spaniel and a duck) and never looked back. Inspired by the magic of L. Frank Baum, C.S. Lewis, and J.R.R. Tolkien, Timoteo now lives in San Francisco with his husband, where he writes stories full of queer magic, found family, and monsters that don’t play fair. When he’s not reading, writing, or daydreaming about flying, you can find him surrounded by houseplants, doing pushups between chapters, and always down for donuts.

Author Website: https://www.magicalsalliance.com

Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/timoteo.tong

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/timoteoktong/

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/34837913.Timoteo_Tong

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Timoteo-Tong/author/B0C7JVD1H7