The Virus of Beauty
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Published by: Hazel Publishing Company
Release Date: November 13, 2020
Pages: 250
ISBN13: 978-1736002704
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OVERVIEW
Ugliness is power. Beauty is a curse. And only one boy can break the spell before magic dies forever.
Witches are dying from a mysterious virus that strips them of their magic—and their only hope may lie with a teenage boy who wants nothing to do with magic at all. Fifteen-year-old soccer star Wilf Gilvary has spent his life rejecting his wizard heritage, despite his stern father’s efforts to awaken it. But after his father’s sudden death in present-day Hong Kong, Wilf is pulled into the Magical Realm. There, he learns a deadly virus leaves witches beautiful but powerless. The cure is hidden in his father’s encrypted journal—but unlocking it requires Wilf to master the magic he fears. As he trains, Wilf bonds with Katryna, a young witch infected with the virus, and uncovers a society torn by strict gender divides. With powerful enemies closing in and family secrets surfacing, Wilf must decide if he’s ready to accept who he is—before time runs out.
PRAISE
"An engaging fantasy with creative worldbuilding and authentically conflicted teen characters caught in a magical power struggle."
–Kirkus Reviews
"In new YA fantasy novel, author upends ideas of beauty."
–The Rivertown Enterprise
"Some first books in a series end neatly and stand as a story on their own, but The Virus of Beauty has called us into a world of wizardry and witchcraft that readers will not want to leave."
–Sherri Daley, BookTrib.com
"The Virus of Beauty is a thrilling novel that will excite readers from start to finish thanks to the captivating story that takes the reader on a breathtaking journey. The Virus of Beauty for me was an engrossing read that enthralled me from the very first page to the very last; I struggled to put this book down because I desperately wanted to know what was going to happen to the novels memorable characters and I felt this way thanks to the author's incredible writing that compelled me to read. C.B. Lyall is a talented and well-accomplished author, and her work is gripping as well as riveting and holds a host of fantastic characters! Already I have to recommend this novel for you lovely readers to read, but if you need more convincing, then continue to read to learn more about the incredible The Virus of Beauty!"
–Aimee Ann, redheadedbooklover.com
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Excerpt
Chapter One–Gilvary Store, Hong Kong
Wilf waited in bed until he could no longer hear his father’s footsteps on the stairs of their Hong Kong apartment. If he was lucky, he could sneak out and avoid another confrontation.
The shooting star tattoo on the back of his right hand pulsed. He scrunched his eyes. Beads of sweat collected on his forehead and trickled down his face. The pain became impossible to ignore, and he cracked open his eyes.
A long, trembling sigh escaped him. For the second time this week, his bedroom had transformed overnight from orderly to resembling the aftermath of a major typhoon’s direct hit.
He shivered from the sweat cooling on his body and the cold room. Grabbing a towel, he headed for the shower.
It had to be Myra messing his room during the night. Wilf tried to think of what he might have done recently to upset his stepsister, but nothing came to mind.
He stepped out of the shower, dried, and wrapped a towel around his waist.
Whatever it was, he’d better find out soon and apologize.
“You’re late,” Myra said, as he emerged from the steam-filled bathroom.
“I know.” He took a deep breath. “Myra.”
She disappeared down the stairs, towards the kitchen.
Wilf padded along the landing, turned into his room, and stopped. A knot tightened in his stomach. She’d done it again: His room had magically been tidied. She had even laid out his clothes on the bed. He threw them on the floor. This was control on an unhealthy level.
She had no right to enter his room, let alone clear it up. If he wanted his room to resemble a catastrophe, why should she interfere?
He picked up the white shirt and dark gray pants off the floor. He hated the South Island School’s uniform. Next year, he’d be free to wear whatever he wanted, the privilege of being an upperclassman.
He shoved textbooks, binders, and his soccer kit into a backpack. Collecting his wallet from the nightstand, he checked inside for his Octopus card. Shit. It wasn’t there.
He picked up yesterday’s cargo shorts and checked all the pockets. It wasn’t possible he’d lost it so soon. His father would explode.
He tore the room apart looking for the card. Bedding lay heaped on the rug, and schoolbooks covered the mattress where he’d shaken each one. Gnawing the skin around his fingernails, he glanced towards the bedroom door.
He needed that card. Coach would check that he had it. If he didn’t, he’d have to clear up after soccer practice and then he’d be late for school, which would put him in detention. Not to mention that the stupid thing was the only way to register attendance and pay for lunch and the bus home.
He repacked his backpack and ran down to the kitchen.
“Have you seen my Octopus card?”
“No.” Myra stepped away from the fridge. “You haven’t…?”
He threw his backpack under the table, grabbed a hand towel, and took the stairs two at a time.
The apartment where they lived stood above his family’s souvenir store. He let the front door bang shut and cursed. Standing on the street in front of the store’s entrance, he swallowed, trying to ease his dry throat.
There was only one place left to look: under the counter, and his father would already be at work in the basement workshop. It was either risk his father going ballistic or have the rest of his day ruined. With any luck, his father would be busy on a call or in the middle of some experimental magic.
Opening the store’s door slowly, he grabbed the doorbell clangor with the towel to stop it from jingling. He guided the door closed, dulling the Hong Kong street noise, until he heard the click of the lock. Tossing the towel aside, he crept into his family’s souvenir store, trying to avoid the floorboards that creaked. He stopped at the counter and listened. No sound came from the basement. The card had to be underneath. He pulled out bags and paper. A coin bounced onto the floor. Wilf froze and waited for a creak on the workshop stairs. Nothing. He continued until the shelf was bare. The shooting star tattoo on the back of his hand burned.
Perhaps he’d dropped the card. It could have fallen out of his pocket. He spun around and wove his way between the shelves, scouring the floor.
The tattoo pulsed. He shoved the hand into his pants pocket and continued threading his way through the store’s cluttered shelves of T-shirts, Laughing Buddhas, shot glasses, and Happy Cats. The sinking feeling in his stomach grew.
A sharp pain shot up his arm.
“What the…?”
A rumbling groan echoed around the store. He glanced towards the alcove housing the Mages Crystal. His eyes widened as the mirrored surface glowed red. A loud crack pierced the air like a ball smashing through a window. He ran for the supply closet and forced his six-foot body inside.
Quartz exploded across the room from the crystal’s center.