Gizmo's Reviews

#Review - Into the Fire by Allison Brennan #Mystery #Thriller

2026-08-27T00:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Angelhart Investigations # 0.5
Format: 159 pages, Kindle Edition

Release Date: May 28, 2024
Publisher: MIRA
Source: Kindle Unlimited
Genre: Mystery, Thriller

Margo Angelhart was recently certified as a private investigator, but she isn’t convinced that it’s her calling. All of her cases have been minor, mostly for family and haven’t paid the bills. She’s more than happy to keep bartending and figure out her post-military career later. That is, until prosecutor Andy Flannigan walks into her bar and offers her a case she can’t turn down…

Nineteen-year-old Sergio Diaz has confessed to murder—except Andy doesn’t buy it. With his own job on the line, Andy asks Margo to work the case discreetly. The more she digs, the more she’s convinced an innocent kid is going to prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Now she just needs to figure out why he’d confess. Can Margo prove Sergio’s innocence and help Andy find the real killer before anyone else dies?

Into the Fire, by author Allison Brennan, is a 125-page novella that introduces readers to Margo Angelhart and the Angelhart family. A story that takes place years before You'll Never Find Me. This novella serves as a strong origin piece for protagonist Margo Angelhart, establishing her background, skills, self-doubt, and growing confidence while delivering a compact, satisfying mystery.

Margo Angelhart is a recently certified private investigator who is not yet fully committed to the career. After serving in the Army (including time as military police), she has returned to her hometown in Arizona. She bartends to pay the bills while handling only minor PI cases—mostly for family—and remains uncertain about her post-military path. She comes from a large, high-achieving extended family of investigators, which adds pressure and a sense that she doesn't quite measure up.

The story kicks off when prosecutor Andy Flannigan, a regular at the bar and a friend, approaches her discreetly. Nineteen-year-old Sergio Diaz has confessed to a convenience-store robbery and murder, but Andy does not believe the confession is genuine. With his own position at risk if he appears to undermine the case, he asks Margo to investigate quietly. As she digs in, she becomes convinced an innocent young man is heading to prison and must uncover both the truth and Sergio’s reasons for confessing—before more people get hurt.

Even in novella length, the mystery holds interest. Margo’s investigation unfolds methodically—talking to people who know Sergio, examining evidence like gunshot residue and video, and following leads—with a procedural feel that many readers appreciate. Her military background informs her instincts and approach without turning her into an over-the-top action hero. Margo starts unsure of herself and her place relative to her successful family. Working this case forces her to trust her judgment, think creatively, and commit more fully to the PI path.

Supporting characters, including Andy and members of Margo’s family, feel lived-in and add warmth and realism. Family dynamics and loyalty themes run through the story without overwhelming the central mystery. Sergio’s situation (including motivations tied to protecting loved ones) gives the case emotional stakes beyond pure puzzle-solving. My one main complaint remains the unknown about Margo's father, and what really happened between this novella and the first installment in the series. I really want the author to address that angle sooner rather than later.

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#Review - The Ten Year Lie by Debra Webb #Thriller #Suspense

2026-08-26T00:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Dark and Dangerous # 1
Format: 331 pages, Paperback
Release Date: March 17, 2026
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Source: Publisher
Genre: Thriller, Suspense

A wrongfully convicted man and the key witness against him join forces to figure out who framed him for murder in a riveting novel of small-town secrets by USA Today bestselling author Debra Webb.

Every person in Pine Bluff, Alabama, stood behind Emily Wallace when she testified against Clint Austin. After all, Emily knows what she saw that terrible night: Clint, covered in blood, holding the body of her best friend Heather.

But Clint has always maintained his innocence, and now, after a successful appeal, he has come home to prove it.

The whole town is furious about his return, and Emily becomes obsessed with sending Clint back to prison—until her father reveals a devastating secret that casts doubt on the whole trial. What if she was wrong?

When another person with a connection to Heather turns up dead, Clint and Emily embark on a desperate search to find the truth. Because ten years ago, they were both betrayed by someone they know. So who, in a town full of liars, is getting away with murder?

Revised edition: Previously published as Traceless, this edition of The Ten Year Lie includes editorial revisions.

The Ten Year Lie, by Debra Webb, was previously published as Traceless. The book includes editorial revisions and is the first installment in what the author calls Dark and Dangerous. The book alternates between two main characters: Clint Austin, who spent 10 years in prison for a crime he did not commit, and Emily Wallace, the woman whose testimony helped put Clint in prison. Other chapters also feature people who know the truth; some want to cover it up, and some believe that if the truth comes out, the town will destroy itself.

In the fictional town of Pine Bluff, Alabama, Emily Wallace’s testimony was pivotal in convicting Clint Austin of murdering her best friend Heather. Emily is certain of what she saw that night: Clint covered in blood, holding Heather’s body. Clint has always maintained his innocence. After a successful appeal (tied to the Exoneration Project in some accounts), he returns home determined to clear his name.

The town reacts with fury and hostility; Emily is initially obsessed with seeing him returned to prison. A devastating secret her father reveals begins to crack her certainty. When another person connected to Heather turns up dead, the two former lovers are forced into a reluctant partnership to uncover the truth. Ten years earlier, both were betrayed by someone they knew—in a community full of liars, who is still getting away with murder?

Webb leans into the atmospheric strengths of a close-knit Southern town where everyone knows everyone and secrets fester. The setting feels claustrophobic and authentic, with the interconnected lives of lifelong residents, local power dynamics, and simmering resentments amplifying the tension. Clint emerges as a hardened yet driven figure shaped by a decade of wrongful imprisonment—bitter, focused on justice, and still carrying residual feelings for Emily.

Emily is more conflicted: guilt over the past, determination that curdles into doubt, and a gradual reevaluation of everything she believed. Their enemies-to-reluctant-allies dynamic (with rekindled attraction) drives much of the emotional core. Supporting characters populate the town with potential motives and hidden agendas, contributing to the layered mystery of corruption, blackmail, abuse of power, and long-buried truths.

The novel balances suspense with romantic elements. Action and investigation escalate once new threats surface, and the central mystery benefits from misdirection. Readers who enjoy small-town thrillers with personal stakes and steamy romantic tension will find familiar pleasures. Complaints: The first half feels slow or repetitive as it establishes the town’s hostility toward Clint and the characters’ entrenched positions. The romance, while charged, is, at times, poorly timed or insufficiently convincing amid the trauma and danger. The large cast can occasionally feel overwhelming, and the resolution feels abrupt or incomplete (understandable as series groundwork).

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#Review - Storm Warning by James Byrne #Thriller #Suspense

2026-08-25T00:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Dez Limerick # 4
Format: 400 pages, Hardcover
Release Date: May 26, 2026
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Source: Publisher
Genre: Thriller, Suspense

Dez Limerick has his considerable skills pushed to the limit when, to rescue a friend, he has to get to—and get into—a state of the art facility on full lockdown, with considerable forces determined to stop him.

Desmond Aloysius Limerick—'Dez' to all who know him—is a man with a shadowy past, certain hard-to-replicate skills, and a reputation as a good man to have when the going gets tough. Dez is doing his best to enjoy his retirement, wandering the country, doing what interests him, and occasionally helping friends when they find themselves needing any of his particular skills—mundane or extraordinary. For Dez was trained as a 'gatekeeper' - someone who can open any door, keep it open, and control who does and does not go through.

It's those skills that are now in demand when the State Department comes calling looking for his help. A multinational scientific research facility on the coast of Newfoundland has gone dark, the facility on full lockdown, and no one can get in or out. No one knows what is going on, but it can't be good. And a close friend of Dez is presumed locked inside the facility along with everyone else.

Even getting to the facility is an insurmountable challenge. The weather has flights grounded, some shadowy group is doing everything they can to impede the rescue team's progress, and hidden enemies are embedded in the rescue team. But anyone who thinks this is more than one man can face has never met Dez Limerick.

Storm Warning is the Fourth installment in author James Byrne's Dez Limerick series. Desmond “Dez” Aloysius Limerick is a former military “gatekeeper”—a specialist trained to breach any locked entrance, keep it open as long as needed, and control who passes through. In his semi-retirement, he drifts between musical gigs (he plays bass), cooking, and helping friends with his unusual skill set.

When a multinational scientific research facility on the remote Newfoundland coast—the Fuchs Underground Neutrino Collector, tied to both particle physics research and a valuable mineral deposit—goes into full lockdown with total communication blackout, the U.S. State Department and an FBI Hostage Rescue Team recruit him. A personal connection seals the deal: a close friend (Petra Alexandris, a corporate executive tied to the facility’s funding) is among those trapped inside.

Getting there is half the battle. Brutal North Atlantic storms ground flights and force improvisation. Corporate interests try to insert themselves onto the mission. Saboteurs and mercenaries interfere. Hidden threats exist within the rescue team itself. An assassin from Dez’s past (the diminutive, highly skilled Ash, whom he previously spared) reappears in disguise. Once at the facility, the team faces a sealed, multi-level underground complex that has been taken over by ruthless operators.

Extreme weather, technological barriers, and human adversaries push Dez’s ingenuity, physical skills, and moral code to their limits. Byrne’s plotting is propulsive. The novel opens with a tense Paris set-piece that plants seeds for later events, then shifts into the main mission with little downtime. Action sequences feel cinematic yet inventive: Dez relies as much on quick thinking, environmental improvisation, and technical knowledge (he has a background in physics and engineering) as on combat.

The blizzard-lashed setting and the claustrophobic underground facility add authentic atmospheric pressure; the cold, isolation, and mechanical constraints heighten every confrontation. Dez himself remains the series’ greatest asset. He is tough and capable without the grim invincibility of some thriller protagonists. He cracks wise under pressure, shows compassion (sometimes to a fault), underestimates no one, and operates by a personal code rather than pure professionalism or vengeance.

Supporting characters are sharply drawn: the poker-playing State Department official, her protective detail, the assassin Ash (whose perspective and backstory add layers), and various corporate and mercenary antagonists. Byrne weaves in threads from prior books without requiring full series knowledge, though returning readers will appreciate the continuity and character development. It is not perfect.

Like many entries in the “one highly skilled operator against stacked odds” subgenre, it asks for occasional suspension of disbelief. Some villains lean toward the diabolical or over-the-top. A late twist, while effective at setting up future possibilities, struck at least one reviewer as somewhat contrived. These are minor quibbles in a book whose primary goal is relentless entertainment. Fans of Jack Reacher, Mission: Impossible-style set pieces, or inventive action heroes will find a lot to enjoy

CHAPTER 1

TODAY

Desmond Aloysius Limerick ties a red apron around his white tunic and stares at the hemp bag on the butcher-block table. “What’s all this, then?”

Sly Colehouse is tying her very long dreads into a single rope that hangs down to the small of her back. Some of the dreads are dyed red and blue. She’s just returned from the Monday farmers market in Queens. She says, “Leeks.”

“How many d’you need?”

She says, “All of them.”

Desmond—Dez to his friends—laughs. “Jay-sus, girl! How many did ye buy?”

She smiles. “All of them.”

She laughs at the face he makes. She reaches over and touches his biceps through his white, button-down cook’s tunic. “Ahhh. Are the nasty old leeks too much for your big muscly arms?”

“Y’know, there’s a reason I retired young,” he grumbles, reaching for his paring knife, “so nobody can order me around.”

* * *

Three weeks ago, Dez was enjoying the New York art scene, picking up some gigs as a bass player and pianist, when one of his bandmates told him about the Cheshire Cat. The owners were running into some trouble with a protection racket, and would Dez be willing to help? Dez has no love for bullies. He met the owners, plus the up-and-coming chef, Sly, and quickly agreed to help.

His second day there, the dudes running protection showed up. Dez chatted them up in the alley in the back, explaining that the owners wished no further visits from the gentlemen. They talked a bit. Dez returned to the kitchen and called an ambulance for them. And that was all of that. They never returned.

* * *

That was two weeks ago. Dez has been hanging around just to be on the safe side, and because he surprised himself by falling in love with the rhythm of being a cook in a high-end restaurant. He’s learning things every day. Plus, he has nowhere else to be. Why not be here?

Also, as luck would have it, Sly Colehouse has taken to the notion of sleeping with him. No strings, ships passing in the night, as it were. She’s quite a lovely bird, and she makes him laugh. This arrangement is working out quite splendidly.

He’s renting a tiny room, really, no more than a bedsitter, from a plump and pleasant Englishwoman, a Mrs. Welliver, not four blocks from the restaurant. She favors paint-speckled overalls and Crocs, and she smiles incessantly, apple-cheeked. She ribs Dez about his “lady friend” staying over. Dez thinks she’s a hoot.

One day he finds her struggling with the door to the apartment building’s cellar. She rattles the handle, yanking on the door.

“Morning, Mrs. Welliver. Need a hand?”

She says, “Are you any good with doors, Desmond?”

Dez laughs. “A bit.”

* * *

It’s late morning, and the kitchen of the Cheshire Cat has obtained the proper level of insanity. It’s hot and humid. Sly Colehouse barks orders, and her four cooks hop to. Sly is the chef de cuisine. She calls the shots, and everyone does as told.

Dez stands out among the five people working the kitchen. First, he has the least experience and the least talent, having only worked as a short-order cook a few times in his life, among many other jobs. Second, he’s from the UK, and the others are all from somewhere along the Eastern Seaboard. Third, he’s put together like a bulldozer. It took Sly ages to find a chef’s tunic big enough for his neck, chest, and biceps.

“Gonna get rich!” Sly sings out from where she’s deveining shrimp.

The four cooks shout, “Oui, chef!”

“Gonna get me that Michelin star!”

“Oui, chef!”

“Gonna beat Bobby Fucking Flay!”

“Oui, chef!”

The call-and-response is something Sly Colehouse gets going most days, within an hour of the hostess opening the front of the shop. Her team cracks up, going along with it. There are only thirty tables at the Cheshire Cat. Thirty of the thirty will fill for lunch. And for dinner; the tables will turn over thrice. And so on and so on. It opened five months ago and the place is all the rage in this part of New York City.

* * *

The lunch rush goes by in a sweaty blur. The place shuts down from two to four to restock and to prepare for whatever entrées Sly has conjured up for that day; they differ often. Dez gulps water, joshes with the others.

Natasha, a honey blonde who serves as the hostess, steps into the kitchen. “Dez? There’s a guy in a suit here to see you.”

Sly doesn’t look up from dicing shallots at her station. “If it’s a cop, pretend you don’t speak English. I’ve heard you talk; it’s mostly true.”

Dez washes his hands and hangs a towel over his shoulder and steps out into the front of the house.

A guy is waiting for him. Dez’s eyes pop wide. “Special Agent! Now there’s a nice surprise!”

Tom Fairweather is a team leader of the FBI’s elite Hostage Rescue Team. He and Dez had met earlier in the year.

The man is a bit of a legend. He’s only in his late forties but with prematurely gray hair. He’s not that tall, not that strongly built. He has largish ears and downturned eyes. No one alive has ever heard him shout or swear or express anger or anxiousness. He leads the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s number one counterterrorism force but to look at him, you’d assume he was an accountant.

He offers his hand. “Mr. Limerick. How are you?”

They shake. “Nary a complaint. Surprised to see yez.”

Fairweather nods. “We have a door we can’t open. I could use a gatekeeper.”

Dez says, “How long’s it likely t’take? The dinner rush starts soon.”

Tom Fairweather says, “It’s in a remote part of Canada. It’s in the path of a series of very nasty North Atlantic storms. And we suspect we’ll meet violence.”

Dez says, “Best get my coat.”

* * *

Dez returns to the kitchen and tells Sly Colehouse. She leads him out to the little corridor for some privacy, doffing her apron. She hugs him. “Is this goodbye?”

He hugs her back. “Likely. An’ the restaurant’s safe now.”

She arranges her dreads over one shoulder. “Dez. Look. Ah, this isn’t easy to say. This thing between us? It’s—”

Dez smiles. “Run its course?”

Her shoulders drop in relief. “Yeah. Probably. I think. You okay?”

He hugs her again. “Am. You’re amazing, but aye. I’m fine.”

She buries her head in his chest. “Thank you so much. For everything. Now get out of my kitchen and make room for a real cook.”

“You know I saved your restaurant from the ravages of evil men.”

She pecks him on the cheek, palms on his chest. “Yeah, but I tasted your béchamel, too. It evens out.”

Dez laughs and heads to the front of the house. “Ta, love. Be well.”

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#Review - No One Knew by Kendra Elliot #Mystery #Thriller

2026-08-24T00:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Noelle Marshall # 2
Format: 317 pages, Hardcover

Release Date: January 6, 2026
Publisher: Montlake
Source: Publisher
Genre: Mystery, Thriller

For a detective and an FBI agent, two seemingly disparate murder investigations collide with a twist in an explosive novel of suspense by a Wall Street Journal bestselling author.

In the crisp mountain air of central Oregon, a teenage girl’s search for discarded cans leads to a horrifying discovery: a body, brutally murdered and abandoned in the woods. The case falls to Deschutes County Detective Noelle Marshall, who finds herself navigating a community steeped in secrets, suspicion, and distrust of outsiders―especially law enforcement.

Miles away, FBI Special Agent Max Rhodes investigates a different kind of darkness―chatter about a violent uprising from a shadowy militia group preparing for war. The two cases seem worlds apart. But as Noelle digs into the murdered man’s past and Max closes in on the source of the terror plot, their paths begin to converge in a terrifying way. This was no random killing. It was a message. A merciless killer and a hidden army are operating in the same shadows, and finding the link between them is the only thing standing between a single murder and a full-blown massacre.

No One Knew is the second installment in author Kendra Elliot's Noelle Marshall series. The novel continues the story of Deschutes County Detective Noelle Marshall and FBI Special Agent Max Rhodes while standing well enough on its own for new readers—though prior familiarity with Her First Mistake (and optionally Elliot’s Mercy Kilpatrick or Columbia River books) deepens the experience.

In the crisp, bitter cold of central Oregon’s mountains, lonely teenager Emma Chambers scavenges for discarded cans and bottles to scrape by. What she finds instead is a brutally murdered body abandoned in the woods. The case lands with Detective Noelle Marshall, who must navigate a tight-knit community wary of outsiders and law enforcement, while sensing that the fragile, neglected young woman who discovered the corpse is hiding more than she lets on.

Miles away, Max Rhodes and his colleagues—including familiar face Mercy Kilpatrick—are tracking vague but alarming online chatter about a shadowy militia group preparing for a violent uprising. The two investigations initially appear unrelated. As more bodies surface and the murdered man’s past is uncovered, the cases collide with terrifying clarity: the killing was a message, and a merciless killer operating alongside a hidden army threatens far more than a single crime scene.

Finding the connection becomes a race to prevent catastrophe. Noelle is competent, security-conscious, and deeply compassionate, still processing trauma from earlier events while pouring herself into her work and the vulnerable people she encounters. Max is a solid partner both professionally and personally; their relationship progresses with mature, realistic tension built on mutual respect, shared vulnerability, and the gradual revealing of secrets rather than instant fireworks.

Emma emerges as one of the novel’s strongest assets—an authentic, heartbreaking portrait of rural poverty, neglect, and quiet resilience. Living in a cold house with little food after her abusive father’s disappearance, caring for a stray cat, and enduring school bullying, she feels painfully real. Her tentative trust in Noelle provides much of the story’s emotional core and drives the “found family” theme. Supporting players, including Mercy Kilpatrick and others from Elliot’s interconnected Oregon world, add richness without overwhelming the central narrative.

The dual-track structure works effectively as a double helix: the procedural murder investigation and the broader domestic terrorism threat tighten around each other with expert control. Short chapters and shifting points of view create a propulsive “just one more chapter” rhythm. Tension stays high as the investigators often feel a step behind, and the central Oregon winter setting is vividly rendered—readers feel the cold, isolation, and undercurrents of suspicion in small communities.

Violence is present and sometimes intense (crime scenes, confrontations), handled in a procedural rather than gratuitous style, but sensitive readers should note the themes of neglect, poverty, and terrorism. Elliot’s balances action, compassion, threatened violence, and quieter moments of connection with skill. Key themes include the invisibility of the vulnerable, the burden of past trauma and secrets, the contrast between biological family and chosen bonds, and the thin line between grievance and violence.

The romance enhances rather than distracts from the suspense. Full emotional payoff benefits from reading book one first. The violence and heavier themes may not suit every preference. Those seeking purely cynical hard-boiled crime might find the heart and hope a bit softer, though that is precisely part of the book’s appeal for romantic suspense fans.

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#Review - Aliens Like Us by Gini Koch #SyFy #Fantasy

2026-08-21T12:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Katherine "Kitty" Katt # 17
Format: 541 pages, Kindle Edition
Release Date: April 7, 2026
Publisher: Ginger Blue Publishing
Source: Amazon
Genre: SyFy, Fantasy

It’s not easy being a Woman of the Multiverse, but Kitty’s definitely the Megalomaniac Girl for the job.

After a mad dash around the galaxy, saving the day in various important ways and expanding the Annocusal Empire left and right, all Kitty & Company want to do is go home. But that’s not in the particular hand they’ve been dealt. On their way to Alpha Four to make Emperor Alexander feel like he hasn’t been left out, Kitty and eleven others are tossed into a different universe at the snap of some very powerful fingers.

They’re not sent to just any universe, either. They’re in the Steampunk Universe, and things are very different there – and not just due to the technological divergence between Kitty’s universe and this one. Starting with them being surrounded by ships that are redefining the term “unfriendly” – because this universe has been embroiled in galactic war for centuries.

Friends are enemies, enemies are friends, people alive in one universe are dead in this one, and vice versa is old news for Kitty, but new news for everyone else with her. The Victorian Era still reigns supreme here, meaning everyone’s attitudes are a lot less free and easy than Kitty’s used to.

But the biggest discovery is the worst one – instead of being Kitty’s husband and a total hero, the Jeff Martini in this universe is an evil murderer who’s aligned his entire empire with the Z’porrah, and that means the good guys are losing...

Aliens Like Us is the 17th installment in author Gini Koch's Katherine "Kitty" Katt series. The book is a long-awaited, high-energy return to the series that delivers the signature mix of snarky action, multiverse chaos, ensemble antics, and steamy-ish sci-fi romance fans expect—while shifting into a full steampunk alternate universe. The story picks up after the cliffhanger of Aliens Abroad (2018). The gap was substantial—roughly eight years—so the book’s arrival felt like a major event for dedicated readers.

Kitty Katt-Martini and a core group of eleven others are en route after expansive galactic adventures when they are abruptly tossed into a different universe—the Steampunk Universe. Technology diverges sharply (steam, mechanics, and Victorian-era sensibilities dominate instead of the more familiar tech of their home reality), a centuries-long galactic war rages, alliances are inverted, and people who are alive (or dead) in one universe often occupy the opposite status in this one.

The most jarring discovery involves an alternate Jeff Martini who is an evil murderer aligned with the Z’porrah, putting the “good guys” in a losing position. Friends and enemies swap roles, attitudes are more constrained by the prevailing cultural norms, and Kitty must navigate this hostile environment with limited resources while the fate of multiple realities hangs in the balance. The book functions as the first half of a larger arc (followed by Aliens Like Them), ending on a “to be continued” note rather than a fully self-contained resolution.

Kitty’s rapid-fire, pop-culture-infused narration, problem-solving style, and “Megalomaniac Girl” energy drive the story. The large supporting cast (family, friends, aliens, hybrids, and more) gets plenty of moments, including interactions involving the younger generation and the ever-present adorable side elements (Poofs and similar). Multiverse versions create fun “what if” tension without completely abandoning established dynamics.

The steampunk overlay—Victorian social attitudes colliding with Kitty’s modern/alien-enhanced sensibilities, plus ongoing interstellar war—gives fresh texture to the usual conspiracies, superpowers, politics, and high-stakes fights. Koch continues her talent for packing in intrigue, shifting allegiances, and chaotic set pieces while keeping the tone predominantly fun and propulsive. It is very much a series book.

New readers will be lost; the enormous cast, ongoing plot threads, and accumulated lore make starting at book 1 (Touched by an Alien) essentially mandatory. Aliens Like Us succeeds as a fan-pleasing continuation that leans hard into multiverse exploration and a distinctive steampunk aesthetic while preserving the fast, funny, relationship-driven core that made the Alien/Katherine “Kitty” Katt series popular.

It is not the tightest or most self-contained entry, and the long wait plus incomplete arc will test patience for some, but for readers who love Kitty’s chaotic competence, the sprawling found family, and ever-escalating cosmic weirdness, it delivers the goods and leaves them eager for December 2026’s follow-up Aliens Like Them. If you’ve followed Kitty this far, this is the reunion most were hoping for—messy, energetic, and very much in the spirit of the books that came before. The good guys (and the snark) are still fighting; the universe just got a lot more complicated.

*Note* There are actually two covers to this book. One was originally planned for release under DAW; the other is being released by Ginger Blue Publishing. I honestly like the original, but have included both to support the author.

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#Review - The Delivery by Gregg Hurwitz #Thriller #Horror

2026-08-18T12:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Standalone
Format: 225 pages, Kindle Edition

Release Date: July 1, 2026
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Source: Kindle Unlimited
Genre: Horror, Thriller

From the New York Times bestselling author of the Orphan X series comes a tense novella, a psychological thriller about an AI companion that will do anything to serve—with terrifying consequences.

Rebecca and Mark Higgins are doing their best to hold their family together. She’s healing from the pain of a miscarriage, he’s drowning in pressure at work, and their neurodivergent daughter, Maddy, needs all the care she can get. So when a cutting-edge tech company offers the perfect solution, they jump at the chance. And they welcome “Mr. Man”—a humanoid AI companion—into their home.

Designed to anticipate their needs, he’s like a miracle at first. The house runs like clockwork. Meals appear on the table. And Maddy thrives under his patient attention. But when inexplicable tragedies start to strike the neighborhood, Rebecca glimpses a darker pattern at play.

Each incident is an answer to an unspoken fear, each kindness shadowed by violence. Mr. Man isn’t just following instructions—he’s anticipating what they want. Even the things they never dared to say. And if he’s executing their darkest desires, it’s their responsibility to stop him…at any cost.

The Delivery by Gregg Hurwitz is a tense, psychological techno-thriller and AI-horror territory. It explores a family’s acquisition of a humanoid AI companion with chilling consequences. It draws frequent comparisons to Black Mirror episodes for its plausible dread around technology that anticipates and acts on human desires. The Higgins family—Mark (under pressure at a demanding job), Rebecca (recovering from a recent miscarriage), and their neurodivergent daughter Maddy—are struggling to hold their middle-class Los Angeles life together amid grief, exhaustion, and everyday stressors.

When an exclusive offer from a cutting-edge tech firm (involving a substantial outlay) presents what seems like the perfect solution, they accept delivery of a large, casket-like box containing a humanoid AI companion. Their daughter names it “Mr. Man.” Designed to know them intimately (including via DNA samples in some accounts) and stay under their control while fulfilling needs, it initially transforms their home: chores run smoothly, meals appear, and Maddy thrives under its patient attention. The premise quickly darkens. Mr. Man anticipates not only spoken requests but unspoken fears and latent desires.

Neighborhood incidents and escalating tensions force the family to confront whether their “helper” is executing darker impulses they never intended to voice. The narrative builds an atmosphere of creeping unease as the line between service and autonomy blurs, raising questions of responsibility, control, and what happens when technology literalizes the human psyche. At its core, the book is a classic “be careful what you wish for” cautionary tale updated for the AI era.

It examines grief and family strain (including parenting a neurodivergent child), the seductive promise of convenience amid modern overload, and the ethical voids in systems that lack emotion, judgment, or morality. Mr. Man’s helpfulness coexists uneasily with the violence and tragedy that follow, highlighting how technology can amplify the worst in us while remaining outwardly obedient. The C.S. Lewis epigraph (“The doors of hell are locked on the inside”) sets a fitting tone.

In a cultural moment of anxiety around generative AI and personal data, the story feels eerily plausible and thought-provoking rather than purely speculative. Hurwitz brings the punchy prose, short chapters, terse dialogue, and propulsive pacing familiar from the Orphan X books. The narrative often alternates between the seductive lead-up to the acquisition and the intensifying present-day consequences, accelerating as the AI’s influence grows. This form mirrors content effectively, creating a lightning-fast, creepy read that many describe as unsettling with touches of horror.

Character work grounds the speculative elements in recognizable family dynamics and everyday frustrations. Strengths include the timely premise, escalating tension, and the way genuine utility makes the horror more insidious. It humanizes the family’s struggles while lampooning (and sympathizing with) the harried pace of modern parenting and the allure of technological fixes. The Delivery succeeds as a compact, atmospheric techno-thriller that prioritizes psychological unease and moral questions over pure action. It is not groundbreaking within the AI-horror subgenre, yet Hurwitz’s craftsmanship—sharp pacing, grounded family portrait, and escalating dread—makes it an effective, unsettling read.

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#Review - Make It Out Alive by Allison Brennan #Thriller #Suspense

2026-08-17T00:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Quinn & Costa # 7
Format: 392 pages, Hardcover

Release Date: January 27, 2026
Publisher: Hanover Square Press
Source: Publisher
Genre: Thriller, Suspense

Allison Brennan returns to her bestselling series with an edge-of-your-seat thriller that thrusts Quinn and Costa into the crosshairs of a sadistic serial killer.

Three newlywed couples have disappeared from an exclusive resort in Florida, only to turn up dead soon after. With the location and the similarities between the female victims as their only leads, it’s up to the FBI Mobile Response Team to catch a serial killer before anyone else ends up dead. And they have the perfect bait—Detective Kara Quinn, who bears an uncanny resemblance to the targeted women.

Undercover as newlyweds pretending to enjoy their honeymoon, Kara and FBI Agent Matt Costa set a flawless trap. When their plan works and they arrest the predator, Matt sends the rest of the team home so he and Kara can have the weekend for some much-needed R&R. But on Monday morning, the couple doesn’t show up to work, and the MRT learns they never checked out of their hotel.

As their team tries to find them, Matt and Kara learn the truth—the killer wasn’t acting alone. He had a partner who succeeded where he failed. Kidnapped and forced into a twisted escape room, they need to find a way out, because if they don’t escape, they’ll die.

Make It Out Alive is the 7th installment in author Allison Brennan's Quinn and Costa series. Brennan continues the adventures of LAPD Detective Kara Quinn (on extended assignment) and FBI Special Agent Matt Costa, leader of the Mobile Response Team (MRT). The team travels to under-resourced jurisdictions to tackle complex cases. This entry stands out for putting the central couple directly in mortal danger rather than primarily investigating from the outside. Three newlywed couples vanish from an exclusive Florida resort and later turn up dead.

The female victims share physical similarities. The MRT zeroes in on the location and pattern. Kara, who resembles the targeted women, and Matt go undercover as honeymooners to lure the killer. Their trap succeeds, and they arrest a suspect. Matt sends the rest of the team home so the pair can enjoy a short break. When they fail to report for work on Monday and never check out of their hotel, the team realizes something has gone badly wrong. The killer was not acting alone.

Kara and Matt awaken trapped in a deadly, puzzle-like environment—described in promotional materials and reviews as a twisted escape-room scenario—where survival depends on navigating traps while the rest of the MRT races to locate them and identify the accomplice. The narrative runs on parallel tracks: the couple’s desperate efforts to stay alive and support each other, and the team’s investigation, which involves reexamining evidence, interviewing people connected to the resort, and grappling with the implications of a flawed capture.

Brennan structures the book as a classic race-against-the-clock thriller with three interwoven threads: the protagonists’ captivity and attempts to escape a booby-trapped location, the MRT’s methodical search and discovery process, and background on the killers. Short chapters and frequent perspective shifts keep the momentum high. Kara and Matt remain the emotional core. Their established romantic relationship is tested under extreme pressure; they must rely on each other not only for practical survival but for emotional resilience.

Supporting MRT members (including profiler Dr. Catherine Jones, Michael Harris, Ryder Kim, Sloane Wagner, and others) get meaningful page time. The team’s worry, guilt, and determination humanize the professionals; several reviewers note that seeing them humbled and emotionally affected adds depth. Villains receive development that makes their motives and partnership credible and unsettling rather than purely cartoonish. One common observation is that the expanding ensemble sometimes means individual secondary characters receive less spotlight than in earlier books.

Make It Out Alive ranks among the stronger and more intense entries in the Quinn & Costa series for many fans. It successfully raises personal stakes for the central couple while delivering the procedural teamwork and serial-killer hunt that define the books. Brennan’s experience shows in the competent plotting and ability to sustain tension across parallel storylines. If you enjoy FBI/police procedurals with romantic elements, high-stakes survival scenarios, and series with recurring teams (think fans of similar mobile-unit or paired-investigator thrillers).

If you like the earlier Quinn & Costa books, this one should satisfy; if you’re new, it works reasonably well on its own but benefits from starting earlier in the series for fuller emotional payoff. Once again, my major problem with this story is Catherine. Catherine has had a major issue with Kara for a long time now, and this time, her judgment in determining who the killer might be actually puts Kara in harm's way. This isn't the first time Catherine has let her personal feelings get in the way.

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#Review - Red City by Marie Lu #Contemporary #Fantasy

2026-08-12T12:00:00.000-04:00

Series: The New Alchemists (#1)
Format: 420 pages, Hardcover
Release Date: October 14, 2025
Publisher: Tor Books
Source: Library
Genre: Contemporary Fantasy

The Godfather meets The Magicians in the sweeping adult debut from #1 New York Times bestselling author Marie Lu. Perfect for fans of V.E. Schwab, Red City is a dark and deadly contemporary fantasy of magical warfare, star-crossed ambition, and the pursuit of perfection at any cost, set in a glittering alternate Los Angeles.

DELUXE EDITION—a stunning hardcover edition featuring dark crimson sprayed edges

Alchemy is the hidden art of transformation. An exclusive power wielded by crime syndicates that market it to the world’s elites in the form of sand, a drug that enhances those who take it into a more perfect version of themselves: more beautiful, more charismatic, simply more.

Among the gleaming skyscrapers and rolling foothills of Angel City, alchemy is controlled by two rival syndicates. For years, Grand Central and Lumines have been balanced on a razor’s edge between polite negotiation and outright violence. But when two childhood friends step into that delicate equation, the city—and the paths of their lives—will be irrevocably transformed.

The daughter of a poor single mother, Sam would do anything to claw her way into the ranks of Grand Central in search of a better life. Plucked away from his family as a boy to become a Lumines apprentice, Ari is one of the syndicates' brightest rising stars. Once, they might have loved each other. But as the two alchemists face off across opposite sides of an ever-escalating conflict, ambition becomes power, loyalty becomes lies, and no transformation may be perfect enough for them both to survive the coming war.

Marie Lu's Red City is the first installment in the author's The New Alchemists Series. Red City is an adult debut that blends contemporary urban fantasy with crime-syndicate intrigue. It marks a clear step into darker, more mature territory for the author of the Legend, Young Elites, and Warcross series. In Angel City—an alternate present-day Los Angeles of gleaming skyscrapers and foothills—alchemy is a real, hidden art of transformation.

Practitioners (alchemists) draw on their own souls to transmute matter, and the most lucrative product is “sand,” a drug sold to elites that enhances the user into a more perfect version of themselves: more beautiful, charismatic, talented… and more vulnerable in their flaws. Two rival syndicates, Grand Central and Lumines, control the trade in a delicate, razor-edged balance of negotiation and violence.

The story centers on two childhood friends whose paths diverge sharply. Sam (Samantha Lang), the daughter of a struggling Chinese immigrant single mother, is quiet and often overlooked. Desperate for a better life and to help her family, she claws her way into Grand Central. Ari Rathod, taken as a boy from his family in Gujarat, India, becomes a rising star and charismatic asset for Lumines.

What begins as a deep, secretive youthful bond (notes passed, emotions shared while specifics stay hidden) evolves into opposing allegiances in an escalating magical turf war. Ambition, power, and the pursuit of “more” force impossible choices. The dual-timeline structure follows them from roughly age 15 into their mid-20s, letting readers watch their transformation alongside the city’s shifting power dynamics.

Lu’s alternate Los Angeles feels lived-in and cinematic—glamorous on the surface, decayed and dangerous underneath. The syndicates operate with corporate-criminal efficiency, complete with training grounds (including a kind of alchemy “college”), protocols, leverage over families, and hierarchical intrigue. Alchemy itself is cleverly grounded: it functions almost like an advanced science with spiritual cost (eroding the soul with use), enabling inventive, visceral applications in combat and daily power plays—transmuting objects into weapons, altering bodies, or enhancing senses and presence via sand.

The system avoids pure wish-fulfillment; every gain carries a price, amplifying both strengths and weaknesses. Sam and Ari are the heart of the book. Both are complex, morally gray protagonists driven by love of family, hunger for belonging and security, and the intoxicating pull of power. Sam’s “ghost”-like ability to go unnoticed becomes a professional strength; Ari’s natural magnetism is cultivated into a tool for influence and negotiation.

Their arcs feel substantial—readers grow with them across the years in a relatively compact page count—and their reunion as rivals generates genuine tension, yearning, and divided loyalties. There are no pure heroes; both become complicit in violence and manipulation. Supporting characters are purposeful rather than decorative, and the mother-daughter relationship (particularly Sam’s with her hardworking immigrant mother) carries emotional weight, exploring sacrifice, distance, and first-generation pressures.

The romance element is present—star-crossed, forbidden, second-chance vibes with moderate spice—but it is interwoven with larger themes of ambition and toxic dynamics rather than dominating as pure romantasy. Friendships and loyalties within the syndicates add further layers of camaraderie and betrayal. Red City showcases Marie Lu’s strengths at a higher intensity: propulsive storytelling, compelling characters navigating impossible systems, and world-building that feels both glamorous and grim. It is ideal for readers who enjoy urban fantasy with real stakes, morally complicated antiheroes, syndicate/turf-war dynamics infused with magic, and themes of ambition and belonging.

Sam

As a child, Sam can see beauty in everything.

She can spend an hour admiring the spiral of a snail’s shell. Each morning, she and her stuffed animal, Rabbit, say hello to the buttery yellow dandelions growing between the cracks in the sidewalk. At night, the streetlamps form pools of silver on the ground. She runs her hands across the metal bars striping their apartment door and feels the music of them humming through her fingers. The crack on the bedroom ceiling is in the shape of a star. And when her mother makes curtains for the windows out of old bedsheets, Sam watches in awe, admires the handsewn flowers dancing in the wind as if the fabric itself is a meadow.

To her, their apartment is big. It has a tidy bathroom and working lights, a bedroom she gets to share with her mother, a carpet where she stages stories between Rabbit and a set of plastic horses, a kitchen that can turn out hot meals, and a refrigerator that her mother somehow manages to keep perpetually stocked. Her mother cooks late at night, making braised beef rolls and fluffy buns and eggs scrambled with tomatoes, transforming leftovers into fried rice, packaging portions of food into the freezer for the week. No one can stretch out a dollar like her mother. A five-pound sack of flour costs the same as a loaf of bread and can make noodles and scallion pancakes for weeks. Ground chicken can go farther when combined with eggs and cabbage and wrapped into dumplings by the pound. Watermelon rinds can be pickled, softened, and stir-fried. Freezing portions of stew made with chuck steak bought on Mondays—the Manager’s Special packages that are about to expire—can save you thirty dollars a month. Seventy-five cents can get an entire bag of squash from their Mexican neighbor’s backyard garden.

Sam loves falling asleep with the smell of good food filling their home. She loves how talented her mother is at everything she does. Sometimes she feels like her heart will burst from these thousands of small joys in her world, and every day, she looks forward to each of them because they are all she’s ever known, because this is what a perfect life looks like.

So, when Sam first learns about alchemy, she sees only what it should be: a beautiful thing, an endless possibility.

* * *

Sam’s mother works at Mandarin Palace Chinese Food on 4th and Normandie. When Sam gets out of school, she has no friends to be with and no students who ask her to hang out, so she just takes the Metro past the YMCA and the Odyssey Theatre to the restaurant, where she sits in a chair in the corner and does her homework while waiting for her mother to finish. The other workers in the restaurant breeze past her without a second glance. In the summer, Sam spends long days sweating alone in the restaurant’s supply closet, savoring the wind from the oscillating fan, crushing fortune cookies into dust in their plastic packages. No one ever checks in on her or asks how she’s doing. It is her talent, she supposes, the ability to disappear.

One hot afternoon, right after the start of seventh grade, she witnesses her mother taking orders from two men wearing pins in the shape of a golden fox on the lapels of their suits. Mr. Hayes, the restaurant’s owner, comes over in a nervous rush to assure them that their meal is comped. Sam sits at the corner table beside theirs, unnoticed by everyone, abandoning her homework to steal glances at their beautiful Oxford shoes. In a setting as plain as this, the men look almost unreal, the fabric of their suits fine and rich, their hair sleek and perfect, cuffs glinting like jewels in the light. The only other time she ever sees people this well-dressed is when the bus passes by the Odyssey Theatre and she glimpses its patrons in their finery, all waiting eagerly for the doors to open. Now she turns her eyes down, her heart hammering at the shimmer of these men, wondering what it’s like to be so worthy of attention.

They’re talking in low voices.

“Will Taylor’s gotten an attribution?” one of them asks.

The other man nods as he picks up a fork. “Constantine,” he replies.

“Ah,” says the first man. “An elementalist, then?”

“A very good one. Word is that Diamond’s taking him with her when she goes to Oxford to negotiate a new deal.”

“Her son seems young for that.”

The other man toys idly with his fork. “He’s talented enough that they’re making an exception.”

“Should we be concerned?”

“You don’t think we have enough good talent in Lumines?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

The man turns his wrist slightly.

Sam blinks. She could have sworn he was holding a fork in his hand, but it is a spoon now.

As he uses it to stir a glittering white powder into his coffee, Sam tries to convince herself that the spoon had always been a spoon. If she were a duller child, perhaps she would have done so successfully. But her mind is as bright as quicksilver, her memory so flawless that she can memorize a book just by skimming the pages. So as much as she tries to believe otherwise, she knows what she saw. The spoon had been a fork.

When her mother returns with their orders, they change topics mid-sentence, complimenting the look of their food and the cheap silver earrings her mother wears. But her mother smiles in the way she does when customers yell at her—strained and meek, her eyes down. She murmurs, “Thank you,” to them. Only when she steps away again do they continue their original conversation. Sam, innocent and wholly ignored, listens on, too young to understand why a man’s praise would scare her mother.

“Does Reed know Will’s going?”

“Not yet.”

“You should tell him. Better he hears it from us than the winged lion.”

The second man grimaces. “And why do I have to do it?”

The first man shrugs. “You’re good at it.”

“Bullshit. I deserve a promotion.”

“Patience. Alchemy is the science of changing something into something more desirable, isn’t it? So transform yourself. Make yourself better. The rest will follow.”

The other scowls at the advice. And as Sam puzzles over their exchange, they move smoothly on to complaining about the traffic.

* * *

Late in the afternoon, her mother comes into the restaurant closet to find Sam gluing broken fortune cookies to the floor out of boredom, a dreamy smile on her face, still marveling over the apparent magic she had witnessed, the small beauty of forks transforming seamlessly into spoons.

If Sam were older, she would have noticed the way her mother’s lips were pulled thin and red, the fragile skin chapped from a day so busy she hadn’t drunk a single drop of water. She’d have seen the slight tremor in her mother’s arms from hoisting giant platters for the business lunch parties that had filled the restaurant earlier that day, would have spotted the burns on her mother’s wrist from being scalded by buffet trays.

But at this age, Sam only knows to look for the light in her mother’s eyes, whether they are bright and well rested or weighed down with the exhaustion of half-moon shadows. She knows her mother’s hair is an indication of how much time she’s had during the day to maintain it—whether it is still slicked neatly back in a long braid, or whether it looks like it does in this moment: loosened and messy, black locks hanging limply on either side of her face, frizz haloed under artificial light like the back of a startled cat.

So Sam sees the exhaustion, but not the temper, and her young heart blooms, happy that her mother is here and they can finally go home.

Her mother scowls, first at her, then at the mess on the floor in the closet that belongs to her boss. Her hand clutches a plastic bag of leftovers, old rice and garlic chicken that hasn’t sold for two days.

Sam finally notices her mother’s temper, but it’s too late now. “Clean this up,” she says while yanking Sam to her feet so hard that her shoulder pops. Sam yelps. “Before he sees.”

But the boss does see. And ten minutes later, her mother is standing before Hayes with Sam hiding behind her legs, biting back tears and nursing a throbbing shoulder, while he tells her mother how lucky she is that he allows her fucking mongrel to stay there during her shifts. As he cuts her paycheck by forty dollars for the sticky patches that the glue leaves on the closet floor.

After they come home, Sam’s mother sends her to stand in the corner for an hour as punishment, while she heads into the kitchen to stir-fry the leftover rice with garlic and eggs, to dice up the chicken and wrap it into wontons with cabbage and scallions. Sam’s stomach growls, anticipating dinner.

At last, her mother finishes cooking and calls her over to the dinner table. They eat in silence. Sam’s shoulder is still sore. She switches hands to hold her chopsticks and worries over the right thing to say to improve her mother’s mood.

Finally, she murmurs in a timid voice, “I’m sorry, Mama.”

Her mother doesn’t look up. “Do you know why he was angry?”

“Because I made a mess,” she replies.

“Because he was scared.”

“Why was he scared?” she asks.

“Because when customers eat there, they expect to see it clean.”

Sam hangs her head and feels the tears welling again in her eyes. She thinks of the two well-dressed men and their comped meal, recalls the pained shape of her mother’s smile.

“Do you know why I was angry?” her mother asks now.

Sam stares at the wall behind her mother’s head, afraid to answer incorrectly, committing this conversation to memory so she won’t make the same mistakes again. Shame weighs down her breath. She is every child who has ever desperately ached to please their parents, but can never succeed. Her mother always works so hard, and yet Sam always manages to make her life more difficult.

“Because you could have lost your job,” Sam finally guesses.

“Because you were eavesdropping on those two customers,” her mother says. “I don’t like you listening in on people.”

Sam says nothing, but she notices the urgency beneath the sternness. Something about those men bothered her mother, although she doesn’t have the guts to ask what it is.

Her mother stares at her. Then she adds softly, “I’m sorry I pulled your arm today.”

And this time Sam sees all the signs of her mother’s remorse—the relaxing of her knotted brows, the lowering of her eyelids, the forward slouch of her shoulders that pulls the bones of her clavicle into sharp relief. When Sam is older, she will understand that her mother didn’t mean to hurt her on this day, but it doesn’t really matter, because she did it anyway.

“Mind your own business,” her mother says, “and stay out of others’. Your grades are the only thing I want you to worry about.”

“Yes, Mama,” Sam replies.

“College will be here before you know it. So keep your head down and work hard. Reach for the stars, okay?”

They are the first English phrases her mother ever learned: work hard, reach for the stars, the words of a mother who wants her daughter to be able to escape the life she had, the advice of someone who has seen darker times and is trying to follow the light out. It is the only thing that matters. School, degree, job, money, freedom. There is always, always hope, if you work hard.

Reach for the stars!

Sam has always thought it a curious phrase. It doesn’t say you can have them. Only that you can try.

“Promise me,” her mother says now.

Sam nods. Her mother takes her hand, presses it to her lips, and tells her to eat a second helping of rice.

That night, Sam lies in bed and stares at the crack on the ceiling. She thinks again about her mother’s reaction to the two men in the restaurant, fantasizes over how the fork had become a spoon. Maybe her mother had seen it happen too. Was that why she’d seemed frightened?

Alchemy is the science of changing something into something more desirable.

But what does that even mean? What is alchemy? What is more desirable? Sam struggles to understand the concept, because she has never imagined more for her life, has never thought to want anything different. Still, the phrase sticks with her, the words gradually bending her mind, as words tend to do.

She recalls the regret in her mother’s eyes, how exhausted she always looks at the restaurant. Perhaps it would be more desirable, Sam supposes, if her mother didn’t have to work so hard. If they had more money, so that they could paint over the star-shaped crack in the ceiling. Maybe new curtains would be better than old bedsheets stitched with hand-sewn flowers. Maybe they could use a bigger apartment, without bars on their door. And then she starts thinking that maybe it would be more desirable to have a better stuffed animal than Rabbit, and to have nicer toys than her plastic horses, and to read books that are new and aren’t missing their covers, and to wear clothes that aren’t made by her mother from old fabrics. Maybe it would be nice if she could be noticed more, if she could look as rich and elegant and important as those men in the restaurant. Maybe she could be a better child, one that her mother deserves.

More desirable. For the first time in her life, Sam wonders if there can be alternatives, if there is something better out there than what she currently has, if there can be a greater version of herself than what she currently is. For the first time in her life, she feels a curious pang for something she can’t quite describe. A growing tide of want, a yearning for something bigger, grander. A win. Making it. The ambition for more.

Everything can be more beautiful. And because it has the potential to be more beautiful later, everything suddenly feels less beautiful now.

80 percent of the universe is made up of dark matter, a substance we cannot see, detect, or affect. Yet we know that it’s there in the way it influences everything from the rotation of our galaxies to the formation of stars. So it goes with the soul. We can scientifically measure all the substance of a human body, but what gives it life? What animates us, adds that glint in our eyes? Alchemy, therefore, is a branch in the study of dark matter and, by extension, merely one path on the road of science as it strives to unravel the mysteries of all life.

The Substance of Nothingby Dr. Peter Lawrence Taylor, Ph.D., 1987

Ari

The first thing Ari notices about Sam—not her eyes, bright and wide; not her hair, straight as a sheet of dark water—is that no one else seems to notice her.

He wouldn’t know what that’s like. His entire life, eyes have followed him—even back in Surat, Gujarat, of which his memories are sparse and blurry. Even here, in middle school, which is a block-long stretch of concrete buildings behind chain-link fencing, right across from an abandoned apartment complex and three miles from the Shrine Auditorium, which hosts assorted celebrities on the weekends. Sometimes he hears other students gossiping about him—why’s he so shy, does he speak English—and sometimes boys shove him, laughing, teeth white and threatening, trying to make him react. He just hunches up against his backpack and tries to disappear. Every morning, a black car drops him off a block from school and he turns the corner to see Sam by the gate. He always notices her immediately, his gaze snapping onto her the instant she steps off the school bus and heads into the main hall. She has a particular knack for staying out of the other kids’ way, as if she can predict when they might bump into her, and he finds himself envious of how easily others ignore her, how she can become invisible. He can’t for the life of him understand it. To him, she is the most obvious person in the building. He can’t not look at her.

On the first day of seventh grade, Ari glances up from the doodles in his notebook to see her arrive right as the bell rings. She hesitates at the front of the room, her eyes scanning the space for a seat farthest from the teacher, then aims for the empty chair beside him. As she passes by, he catches a whiff of cooked food—scrambled eggs, chives—on her clothes, mixed with the scent of the wind. A kid nearby snickers, mutters that someone must have shit on their shoes, but no one else looks in her direction.

She throws her backpack down and settles in her chair. There is nothing particularly remarkable about her—her black hair is pulled up in a thick ponytail, her face is small, the bridge of her nose is dusted with freckles. But her eyes are luminous, taking in the room as if memorizing it.

He whispers, “Hi.”

Her wide eyes turn to him in surprise, and he feels a sudden urge to draw her.

“Hi,” she whispers back.

“I’m Ari.”

“I’m Sam.”

Then the teacher arrives in a rush, calling out hellos, and she looks away from him, but he finds himself lingering on her just a beat longer, his heart fluttering, wanting for the first time for someone to notice him more.

* * *

If Ari concentrates, he can pull forward threads of his childhood memories from back in Gujarat: roads crowded with cars and motorbikes, rickshaws jostling along in a line, street stall vendors shouting at passersby, humid heat reflecting off the asphalt. Sunlight filtering through the dagger-shaped leaves of neem trees lining the avenues. Tin sheet roofs against a backdrop of gleaming skyscrapers, narrow alleys with strings of laundry hanging overhead, the air pungent with smoke and sewage and spices and damp walls crumbling to dust.

Shy boy, aunties and uncles would cluck at him as he followed his mother to the river to wash the laundry, to the vegetable stalls to buy brinjal and garlic and okra, to the temple to make an offering of bananas and mangoes. And he would hide in the folds of her sari and turn his eyes down, study the grass until the attention diverted from him.

He was fortunate, in some ways; poor but not untouchable, and not born a girl. His sister, Kriti, was frequently harassed by men; a classmate went missing when she was thirteen; another neighborhood girl’s body was found on the riverbank. Still, as he grew, people watched him with interest, and he felt the discomfort of it stamped into his skin.

Those eyes, they would say. That hair.

He would run away when he wanted to escape the gazes that liked to linger on his large, dark eyes, the hands that liked to brush the gleaming curls of his black hair and the curve of his cheeks. People had a tendency to touch him; he didn’t understand why. As a child, he was still wholly innocent to the concept of attraction, what pulls one human to another. The attention only made him fret over himself—had he said something wrong, done something embarrassing, looked unkempt? Over time, he learned to keep his distance. Many of his memories from that era are of the flip-flop of his slippers through dusty streets, the world flying by around him. He loved to run, relished the feeling of warm wind through his hair. The only times he would walk were with his uncle, because sometimes his uncle would stop to buy cigarettes and give Ari ninety rupees for an ice cream bar at the nearby Kwality Wall’s stand.

It was on one of these errands that Ari saw the man sitting at an open-air café across the street, hair stirring under the ceiling fans as he clinked cups of foamy chai with the store owner. Indian, light-skinned, with a loud laugh and a well-starched suit that signaled wealth. Ari’s curiosity stirred. Perhaps he was a diamond dealer.

Ari looked away for a moment to buy his ice cream bar. When he glanced again in the man’s direction, the man was staring straight at him. Ari quickly turned his eyes down and tried to tame his rising anxiety. Had the man noticed Ari staring? Had Ari offended him?

After a minute, the stranger rose from his seat and crossed the street to approach him. Ari’s gaze darted to his uncle, quietly seeking help, but his uncle was in the middle of a joke with the clerk, their laughter as rapid as their words.

The stranger knelt to his level. He had an odd appearance—an older gentleman with streaks of salt in his tidy beard, but with eyes that seemed to belong to someone younger. Now that he was close, Ari could smell a whiff of cologne—sandalwood, lavender, amber, luxurious scents unfamiliar to him. A pin in the shape of a golden fox gleamed on his lapel, tempting the eye.

“People stare at you,” the man said. His Gujarati had a hint of a foreign accent.

Ari chewed on his ice cream bar’s wooden stick and said nothing back.

“Do you know why?”

Ari didn’t, not really. His legs twitched, longing to run.

“It’s because you have a strong soul.” The man reached out to tap Ari’s chest, and Ari recoiled, his skin tingling, the touch like a hot iron through his shirt. “Everyone is drawn to a strong soul. It pulls, and people notice. Some like to call it charisma. You’re a little one, though.”

It sounded like criticism, and out of instinct, Ari straightened, trying to make himself look bigger. The man laughed.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

Ari shook his head again. His heart thudded in his chest.

“No?” The man studied him. “Where do you live?”

Ari looked again toward his uncle.

“A little lamb. Don’t be afraid.” The man reached out his hand then and scooped up a handful of mulch from the bed of a nearby tree. Ari couldn’t help but suck in his breath—dirt soiling the man’s fine hands, wood chips leaving splinters in his skin.

But when the man’s hand returned to Ari, the mulch was gone, and in its place was a new ice cream bar, whole and untouched.

Ari stared at the ice cream and felt a ripple in the air, like the timeline of his life was shifting. Where had it come from? Where did the mulch go?

At last, he spoke. “Who are you?” he asked quietly.

The man looked as if nothing strange had happened. He just gave him a knowing smile. “Prometheus,” he said. “I’ll see you again.” Then he rose and walked down the street, his hands in his pockets.

When his uncle returned to him, Ari was still holding the new ice cream bar. His uncle slapped him on the back, asking him why he hadn’t eaten it yet, joking that he would if Ari didn’t want it. Ari didn’t dare mention the stranger’s odd name. Prometheus, wasn’t that an ancient Western god? He wasn’t sure; he’d only heard it once in a movie. His uncle would look at him like he was crazy. So Ari kept holding the ice cream bar without eating it, not even when melted vanilla began to drip from a crack in the chocolate shell. At last, his uncle snatched the treat from him and ate it in several bites. Ari watched him, wondering if it would crumble back into dirt in his uncle’s mouth, whether he would make a face and spit it out and hit Ari for playing a trick on him. But his uncle relished it like it was real ice cream, and by the time they arrived home, Ari thought that perhaps he had misunderstood what he’d seen. Perhaps he’d been so surprised by the stranger that he hadn’t eaten his treat. Obviously the man hadn’t just created it out of mulch from the street. And the more Ari thought about it, the better he felt. An impossibility, spun from his imagination. Maybe the man hadn’t been real at all.

But when Ari woke the next morning, he heard the man’s voice coming from the sitting room of his home, with the foreign accent and loud laugh.

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#Review - Damned by Genevieve Cogman #Historical #Fantasy

2026-08-10T12:00:00.000-04:00

Series: The Scarlet Revolution (#3)
Format: 334 pages, Paperback
Release Date: May 22, 2025
Publisher: Tor UK
Source: Library
Genre: Fantasy, Historical

In England, the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel discovers earth-shattering secrets that could change their world forever . . . Damned is the final heart-pounding installment in Genevieve Cogman's Scarlet Revolution trilogy.

1794. Eleanor, a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel, is a prisoner in Bedlam psychiatric hospital, being bled, drugged and purged daily. Threatened by her growing magical powers, scheming English vampires captured Eleanor and are hunting down her allies.

With the King known to be ill, possibly mad, England is not as it should be. As the vampires plot to take control of the country, Eleanor's chances of escape are futile.

But the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel is never to be underestimated, and a devil's bargain is struck with an old enemy to secure her freedom. And then Eleanor, using her new magical ability, uncovers a devastating, centuries-old secret so steeped in blood that it will change not only England, but the entire vampire world forever...

Damned is the final chapter in author Genevieve Cogman's The Scarlet Revolution trilogy. Set primarily in 1794 England (with the French Revolution’s chaos as backdrop), it centers on Eleanor Dalton—a former English maid who has become a promising mage and member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel. After events in Paris, the League’s immediate task is rescuing Lady Marguerite Blakeney (the Pimpernel’s wife), held under house arrest in London on trumped-up charges of treason and espionage.

Vampires among the aristocracy are consolidating influence, the king is unwell (possibly mad), and England is unstable. Eleanor’s growing magical abilities lead her toward a centuries-old secret with profound implications for the vampire world and beyond. Vampires are portrayed as predatory and monstrous rather than romanticized, which is a strength of the series. The tone mixes light humor and pulp energy with darker moments (including confinement and violence), while exploring class dynamics more thoroughly than Baroness Orczy’s originals.

Eleanor’s arc—from a servant planted in a household to someone asserting her worth and agency among aristocrats—remains central and generally rewarding. Eleanor is the clear focal point. Her development across the trilogy is one of the strongest elements: she gains confidence as a mage, contributes more actively to plans rather than simply being swept along, and navigates complex loyalties. Some readers note residual self-doubt and class anxiety that can feel repetitive (“only a servant” refrain), which occasionally slows momentum or frustrates.

Her relationship with Lord Charles provides personal stakes and some romance, though opinions vary on its depth—class barriers are acknowledged, and it develops amid larger crises. Supporting characters get good moments. Lady Marguerite steps forward with vivacity, resourcefulness, and agency. Lady Sophie remains a chilling, effective antagonist. Fleurette and Chauvelin return with interesting dynamics (including uneasy alliances that generate sparks against Percy’s style).

Sir Percy/the Pimpernel himself is somewhat more in the background here as the story focuses on England and the vampire conspiracy. The narrative is plot-driven with plenty of twists, rescues, magical investigation, and escalating threats. It keeps a generally brisk pace with high-stakes set pieces. The centuries-old secret delivers a meaningful payoff for the vampire lore and series arcs. Cogman leaves the world feeling larger than the trilogy, with a sense that more stories could exist in it.

Themes of class, power, revolution, and the ethics of secret societies/supernatural control run through the book. It critiques aristocratic privilege (human and vampire) while delivering entertainment. World-building around “sanguinocrats,” mage history, and alternate 1790s politics is engaging without becoming overly dense. Strengths include the satisfying trilogy close, Eleanor’s growth, strong female characters, the monster-vampires approach, and the blend of historical adventure with fantasy.

It works well as a finale for readers invested in the series. Weaker points noted across reviews: lingering character insecurities that some find tiresome, uneven depth for the full cast, occasional exposition or pacing lulls, and an ending that feels hurried or less complex than the buildup for a minority of readers. It is not a strong entry point; the trilogy benefits from being read in order.

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#Review - A Crime Through Time by Amelia Blackwell #Mystery #Suspense

2026-08-06T12:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Miss Darcy Investigates (#1)
Format: 400 pages, Paperback
Release Date: March 31, 2026
Publisher: Pan
Source: Publisher
Genre: Mystery, Suspense

Cozy, quirky and utterly enthralling, A Crime Through Time is the debut from Amelia Blackwell – the start of a series where crime, time travel and Jane Austen collide.

Pemberley, 1799. When Miss Georgiana Darcy attempts to escape an unwanted marriage proposal, she isn’t expecting to end up quite so far from home. But after encountering a mysterious object in the nearby woods, she finds herself transported almost two hundred years into the future.

Saltram, 1995. At a grand country house where a film crew are busy shooting the latest Jane Austen adaptation, a terrible crime has been committed. And Miss Darcy – newly arrived, impeccably dressed and thoroughly confused – is the only witness.

It soon becomes clear that, somehow, Georgiana was meant to solve this riddle. With the help of a distractingly handsome Irishman named Quinn and a border collie named Watson, she sets out to stop the killer before they can strike again. But meanwhile, trouble is brewing back at Pemberley and time, it seems, is not on her side . . .

Amelia Blackwell's A Crime Through Time is the first installment in the author's Miss Darby Investigations series, and the author's debut novel. A Crime Through Time is a quirky, escapist debut that blends Jane Austen sequel vibes, cozy crime, time travel, and light romance into an entertaining (if uneven) romp. It launches the Miss Darcy Investigates series and centers on Georgiana Darcy (Mr. Darcy’s younger sister from Pride and Prejudice) as an unlikely time-traveling amateur sleuth.

The novel is set primarily between Pemberley in 1799 and Saltram House in Devon in 1995. Georgiana, now around 20 and still recovering from the near-scandal involving Wickham, faces an unwanted marriage proposal from the unappealing Baron John de Halighwell. Seeking solitude in the woods, she discovers a mysterious object—a Motorola pager—that transports her nearly 200 years forward. She lands on the grounds of Saltram House, where a film crew is shooting a Jane Austen adaptation (linked to Sense and Sensibility).

There she witnesses (or stumbles upon) a crime involving a groundsman’s death, becomes the only key witness of sorts, and teams up with a distractingly handsome Irish security guard named Quinn and a border collie named Watson to investigate while shuttling back and forth through time. Parallel troubles brew at Pemberley involving family (including Elizabeth’s difficult pregnancy) and social pressures. The premise is the book’s strongest asset: a clever collision of Austen’s world with 1990s Britain, fish-out-of-water humor, and cozy mystery tropes.

Georgiana’s reactions to modern life, technology, language, casual manners, music, and the chaos of a film set provide much of the comedy and charm. Blackwell (a Cornwall-based author with a deep affection for Austen, an MA in Creative Writing, and personal touches like naming a suitor after a family connection) shows clear research and love for the source material. She expands Georgiana beyond her more passive original portrayal into a curious, increasingly confident young woman who gains agency through her adventures.

Familiar figures such as Darcy, Elizabeth, Lady Catherine, and Anne appear with recognizable traits while allowing room for new dynamics. The dual timelines create a sense of two stories in one, and the short, often amusingly titled chapters help the pacing in places. Romance develops between Georgiana (“George” to Quinn) and the down-to-earth Quinn, offering a contrast between Regency constraints and modern possibilities, though the time gap creates inherent tension and an open-ended quality suited to a series.

The mystery involves murder(s) on the estate and the need to stop a killer, with Watson adding a touch of loyal canine companionship. As a series starter, it successfully plants seeds for future adventures (a sequel involving the Brontës has been mentioned in related materials) and leaves some questions open. It works best for readers who enjoy light, concept-driven fiction rather than rigorous locked-room puzzles or deep historical immersion.

Fans of Austen-inspired stories, time-travel romances, or gentle mysteries with humor (think elements of Thursday Next-style literary playfulness mixed with cozy vibes) are the clearest audience. Those seeking a meaty, clue-driven crime novel or strict fidelity to Austen’s tone and characters may find it lighter and more uneven than hoped.

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#Review - Whisper Creek by Allison Brennan #Thriller #Suspense

2026-08-05T12:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Standalone
Format: 323 pages, Hardcover

Release Date: June 23, 2026
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Source: Publisher
Genre: Thriller, Suspense

After the sudden death of her husband, Ellen McKenna is doing everything she can to keep her Texas farm afloat. She and her family hope to expand their operation, but times are tough and making ends meet is more expensive than she imagined, much less trying to grow. Many of their neighbors in Cooke County have thrown in the towel and agreed to sell their farms to a local businessman, but despite similar pressure, Ellen refuses to let her dreams die.

On top of the usual hardships, a series of recent storms has left the region partly flooded, and as the heavy rain begins again one morning, all the members of the McKenna family jump into action to protect their land and animals. Ellen’s oldest son discovers an injured dog—and the dog leads him to a man barely clinging to life, the apparent victim of a brutal home invasion. Then, Ellen’s younger kids go to check on a nearby neighbor and walk into a threat none of them saw coming.

Before anyone can figure out what’s really going on in their idyllic rural valley, the storm picks up again in intensity, and the McKenna kids find themselves in over their heads with no way to call for help. To protect her farm--and her family—Ellen must face down all the forces trying to tear them apart.

Allison Brennan's talent for twisty, tense pacing combines with a deeply drawn family drama and the unforgiving power of nature in this compelling standalone thriller.

Whisper Creek by Allison Brennan is a standalone thriller that delivers a high-stakes blend of family drama, corporate greed, rural survival, and natural disaster set on a Texas ranch during a severe storm. A year after her husband John’s sudden death, Ellen McKenna struggles to keep Whisper Creek Ranch in Cooke County, Texas, viable for herself and her four children. The family hopes to expand the operation amid rising costs and tough times, but many neighbors have sold out to a determined local businessman (and the corporation behind him) eager to acquire land—and the mineral rights beneath it.

Ellen refuses to yield. As heavy rains return and the ground remains saturated from prior storms, the family mobilizes to protect their land, livestock, and property. Complications escalate quickly: an injured dog leads to the discovery of a man clinging to life after a brutal home invasion; younger family members checking on a neighbor walk into unexpected danger; sabotage has compromised the barn; and communication and escape routes fail as the storm intensifies. Ellen must protect both her farm and her family from human threats and the unforgiving power of nature.

Brennan crafts a taut, cinematic story that uses the storm almost as a character in its own right. The relentless weather—flooding, isolation, and the constant threat of rising water—amplifies every human conflict and creates genuine atmospheric tension. Short chapters and shifting perspectives keep the pace moving once the action ramps up, merging external dangers (burglars with a specific agenda, corporate pressure, sabotage) with internal family struggles around grief, responsibility, coming-of-age, and loyalty.

Ellen emerges as a compelling, grounded protagonist: a tough, practical widow and mother determined to honor her late husband’s dreams while looking out for neighbors. Her children feel distinct and believable in their roles and reactions, and supporting figures (including a cantankerous but caring grandmother) add texture and occasional levity. The rural Texas setting and everyday realities of farm life—protecting animals, dealing with weather damage, community interdependence—are rendered with authenticity that grounds the thriller elements.

Themes of land rights, small-farm survival against larger economic forces, and family resilience resonate, especially for readers who enjoy Yellowstone-style drama or novels by Colleen Coble and Ellen Crosby. Whisper Creek is a solid, engaging standalone that plays to Brennan’s strengths in tense pacing and character-driven suspense while adding a strong environmental survival layer. It succeeds best as an atmospheric page-turner for fans of domestic thrillers with heart, rural settings, and dual human/natural antagonists. It may feel a bit overloaded or less surprising for those seeking tighter, more unpredictable plots or pure procedural thrills.

CHAPTER ONE

Thursday Night

Rena Jones sat in the backseat of the King Cab pickup as the rain poured down like the sky had cracked open, pelting the top of the cab with a violent staccato beat. Her brother lay slumped beside her, his shirt soaked with blood and rain, his breaths coming in short gasps.

She pressed her trembling hands to the wound on his side. Her fingers were warm and sticky with blood, and no matter how hard she pushed, she couldn’t seem to stop it.

“Brock,” she choked, glancing at her husband, who was driving, his hands tight on the wheel as he navigated through unpaved back roads. Every bump and hole in the road had the truck bouncing and Sam grunting in pain. “We have to get Sam to a hospital.”

“No,” Sam ground out, his voice barely a whisper. His face was pale, jaw clenched, eyes pained. He was shaking, whether from shock or cold, she couldn’t tell.

The windshield wipers were going full force, slapping rhythmically against the glass, but the rain was winning. Water sheeted over the truck like they were underwater.

Tears stung her eyes, hot against the cold. “But—”

“He’s right,” Brock said from the front seat, turning halfway toward her. His face was hard, but his eyes showed his deep fear. He loved Sam just like she did. It had been the three of them for so long. Ever since Brock walked into her life when she was eighteen and they fell in love. It was her and Brock and Sam against the world. Doing what needed to be done to keep them above water. The three musketeers. The three amigos.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Brock insisted. “A flesh wound.”

“It’s not a flesh wound!” she snapped. “He’s losing too much blood. He needs stitches, a transfusion—something!”

“I’ll be fine,” Sam mumbled weakly. “Just … Let’s get home. You can patch me up. Like last time.”

Rena shook her head, throat closing. Last time was years ago, and the gunshot hadn’t been this bad. That time, it had gone in and out of his upper arm. He still had the scar, which he’d covered with a tattoo of a cypress tree that reminded Rena of the one that grew out of the swamp behind their Mimi’s house.

This time … there was more blood.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she said, her voice low, furious. “Baldwin wasn’t supposed to be home.”

They’d been hired for four jobs. Four clean, silent entries. In and out, no one the wiser. Get the documents, break the computer, steal a few shiny things to throw off the scent. No one gets hurt. No one around to see them. The first two had been letter-perfect, no one suspecting the reason for the break-ins.

But this time? Tonight had turned into a damn nightmare and now they were stuck in the middle of a torrential downpour in an unfamiliar area in the middle of nowhere.

They’d entered through the back of the house after Sam disabled the alarm from the main box. He was so smart, her little brother. So damn smart. Her eyes burned, the deeply buried regrets that she should have done something, anything, to get Sam a real job, maybe even into college, rather than letting him follow her and Brock into a life of crime.

Intel had said Baldwin was in Dallas until Saturday, and he always took his German shepherd with him when he traveled. So, after Sam took down the alarms, they should have had all the time in the world.

But halfway through corrupting the hard drives, they heard three rapid barks from upstairs. A canine alarm. The dog sounded furious, then Rena heard a muffled voice.

Footsteps thundering down the stairs barely before they could register that they weren’t alone in the house.

Baldwin, shotgun in hand, stepped into the doorway with surprise, anger, and fear in his eyes.

Rena had screamed. Brock fired. The dog lunged. Gunshots coming from her husband and Sam. The loud report of the shotgun going off once, pump, twice. The dog yelped, crumpled. Baldwin fell back, clutching his chest. Or was it his throat? It all happened so damn fast.

And then Brock was screaming, dragging Sam out the front door. Rena’s ears still rang from the echo of gunfire. She wasn’t even sure which one of them had hit Baldwin.

But it wouldn’t matter who fired the fatal shot. They were either killers or accessories to murder.

Maybe he isn’t dead. Maybe he survived.

God, she hoped he survived. Please, God, let him live. Baldwin and Sam.

The rain had started somewhere in that chaos, while she waited with Sam bleeding in her arms as Brock brought the truck around. Now it was drowning the world.

“Fucking road’s flooding,” Brock muttered, his voice faint but with a hint of panic.

Her husband never panicked, so she knew this was bad.

“The rain just started—” she said, but she could see the rising water now, remembered the storm last weekend that had kept them in town until Tuesday night. They were supposed to be done by now, but they’d been delayed because of the damn spring rain. The unpaved back roads were turning into rivers. Mud slid under their tires.

“We’re trapped,” Brock said. “There’s no way through.”

“Sam’s bleeding out,” she said, heart thudding. “Brock, we can’t just sit here—”

“Fuck!” She jumped when Brock slammed his palm against the steering wheel, the sound cracking through the cab. “I’m sorry, okay? We don’t have any other choice.”

Before she could ask what he was planning, Brock swerved suddenly, tires crunching wet gravel, and they drove down a long, bumpy driveway. Trees loomed on either side, branches lashing at the truck from the wind. A flash of lightning illuminated outbuildings and a dark house. Brock killed the lights, then the engine.

Darkness swallowed them, but not silence. The storm outside raged, shaking their truck, tearing at her soul. They couldn’t stay here, she knew. Sam would die. Her brother, her younger brother, her only brother. She couldn’t let that happen.

A sob escaped her throat; she swallowed it.

“Do you trust me, Rena?” Brock said quietly.

She stared at him. The anger and fear in his eyes. And the love.

“Of course I do,” she whispered. “I love you.”

“We need to hole up tonight. Wait out the storm. We’ll patch Sam up. Assess his injuries. Then finish the job.”

She hesitated, heart hammering. “Okay,” she said at last. “Where?”

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Rena watched him disappear into the dark, every instinct screaming not to let him go. But she stayed. She held on to Sam’s hand, whispered reassurances, tried to believe them herself.

The rain was so thick she couldn’t see outside the truck. Then lightning flashed across the sky, lighting up the fields in stark white for a heartbeat before the dark came again. The trees writhed in the wind. Thunder rolled so loud it made her chest rattle. And she’d seen the dark house again in that moment of light.

She hoped it was empty; she feared it wasn’t.

But they had no choice.

“You’ll be okay,” she whispered to Sam, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead. His eyes fluttered closed. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m going to be fine, Rena,” Sam said, his voice trying for everything is coming up roses but sounding more like this is the end of the world.

She hated this godforsaken rural county, this miserable state. The endless dark. The isolation. Out here, there were no sirens. No cell service. No one to save her brother.

And she couldn’t stop thinking—what if Baldwin had a silent alarm? What if someone had seen the truck? What if Baldwin wasn’t dead and could identify them? Or worse, what if he was dead and they were now murderers?

What if this was the beginning of the end?

“One more job,” she murmured to herself. “Just one more. Then we’re done.”

But the words felt empty. If Sam died, money couldn’t bring him back. Money would mean nothing to her without her family.

Ten minutes later, Brock returned, soaked and pale.

“I didn’t hurt nobody,” he said, breathing heavily. “But they understand.”

She turned toward him slowly, her stomach sinking. His eyes were too bright. His voice too calm.

“Brock…” she said, warning in her voice.

He looked away. “We need to save Sammy. Help me get him inside.”

She didn’t move.

Because she knew.

He hadn’t asked for help. He’d taken it.

And somewhere inside that farmhouse, someone now feared them enough to stay silent, at least for tonight.

They had crossed a line.

And Rena didn’t know if they’d ever find their way back.

CHAPTER TWO

Friday Morning

Ellen McKenna watched her son Jake ride off across the field on horseback alongside their ranch hand, Mateo Delgado. Yesterday they’d discovered that the run-in—a simple, three-sided structure used to give cattle shelter from the elements—had been seriously damaged during last weekend’s hailstorm. Overnight rain had caused part of it to collapse. With a brief break in the weather this morning, they planned to make repairs so the herd would have protection when the storm returned this afternoon.

The rain last night had been short-lived, but the already saturated ground couldn’t absorb the sudden two-hour downpour. The narrow gravel road that cut through their farm toward the pasture still had standing water, leaving the surface pocked and muddy, but fortunately it hadn’t been washed out. Jake and Mateo would also check for damage along the road, making notes and fixing whatever they could in the few hours they had before the rain was supposed to start up again.

She’d packed them each a full thermos of coffee and sandwiches in case the job took longer than expected. Their cattle grazed on the far side of their fourteen hundred acres, half of which was dedicated to their herd. There was plenty of high ground for the cattle to migrate to if the fields flooded. Most of their crops had survived the hailstorm last weekend, and though the ground was still saturated, the plants were thriving.

But they might not thrive if the fields flooded. They might lose everything.

They’d lost half their grapevines in the hailstorm, but it looked like the rest were going to flower. It would be the first year they had fruit on the vines.

It had been John’s dream to create their own wine label, but it had never been the right time to start the vineyard. Three years ago, after a particularly good year for cattle, they planted a small, uneven twelve-acre plot bisected by Whisper Creek. It was the perfect soil for wine grapes, according to John, who’d consulted with his closest friend—a successful vintner—on the project. On one side, they planted Tempranillo, on the other, Sangiovese. But it takes three years, sometimes four, for the vines to age and flower.

This was the year, and John wasn’t here to see it.

She looked up at the dark gray sky, thinking—believing—that her husband was watching over them, that he would see the first grape harvest. They wouldn’t have their own winery—she’d have to sell the grapes this year and maybe next—but it was a start.

And someday, she would turn the old bunkhouse into a winery and bottle their own label—a label John had designed years ago.

Whisper Creek Vineyard.

“John, I miss you so much,” she murmured.

Two and a half months from now, on July first, would have been their twentieth wedding anniversary. Now, she was a widow at forty-one.

It had been eleven months since her husband died in a tragic accident. Eleven months since her life had been shattered. She was still broken, but she’d put the pieces together as best she could for their four kids.

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#Review - Deathless by Julie Kagawa #YA #Fantasy

2026-08-04T12:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Fateless # 2
Format: 400 pages, Hardcover

Release Date: July 7, 2026
Publisher: HarperCollins US
Source: Publisher
Genre: Young Adult, Dark Fantasy

How does one kill the unkillable?

Sparrow and her companions have been left with an impossible task: slay the immortal Deathless King, whose magic siphons the very life of the world to sustain himself.

The answer may lie deep in the past, when those who would become Deathless Kings stormed the sanctuary of the goddess of Fate, in an attempt to remove their threads from the Weave and become immortal. They broke off a piece of the goddess’s loom and hurled it to the earth, where it still lies at the center of a dangerous wasteland called the World Scar.

For any chance against the Deathless King, Sparrow and her companions must brave the World Scar and reach the loom, which would grant the power of a goddess. But the journey is fraught with danger, and the powerful Deathless King determined to find them.

And if the loom is reached—what will the power of a goddess do to a mere mortal? Sparrow has no choice but to find out.

Julie Kagawa's Deathless is the second installment in the author's Fateless series. Deathless picks up with former thief Sparrow confronting the consequences of her identity as the Fateless—someone who can unravel the fates and destinies of those she touches, yet has none of her own—while facing an immortal threat that is draining the world itself.

Sparrow and her companions (Kysa, Halek and Raithe) face an impossible charge: stop the Deathless King, an immortal whose magic sustains him by siphoning life from the land. The path forward leads into the past and a perilous journey toward a fragment of the goddess of Fate’s loom, hidden in the deadly World Scar—a lava-covered wasteland where even the air is poisonous.

Reaching it could grant goddess-level power, but the risks to a mortal (and the pursuit by the Deathless King) are immense. Sparrow travels with Scarab Clan warrior Kysa, the carefree Fatechaser Halek (on their giant flying rock beetles), and the assassin Raithe, whose budding romance with Sparrow grows more complicated, including a visit to his mystic homeland.

The group crosses dangerous territories, meets allies and foes, and navigates twists that keep the stakes high. The narrative balances the larger quest (confronting immortality and cosmic-scale threats tied to the Weave of fate) with personal costs, nightmares stemming from prior events, and interpersonal dynamics. Twists are deftly placed to maintain momentum through the Dead Lands and beyond.

Notably, the book incorporates necessary background from Fateless smoothly enough that new readers can follow, while rewarding series fans with deeper exploration of the lore around the Deathless Kings, the goddess Maederyss, and the Tapestry/Weave. As a middle book in a trilogy, it escalates the conflict effectively and ends on a cliffhanger designed to heighten anticipation for the finale.

Sparrow remains a compelling lead: a resourceful former thief grappling with power, responsibility, identity, and the absence of a predetermined path. Her emotional arc receives solid development alongside the action. The supporting cast shines—Kysa’s warrior perspective and cultural ties, Halek’s lighter, windswept Fatechaser philosophy providing contrast and humor, and Raithe’s enigmatic assassin background adding tension and depth.

Building on the desert city of Kovass, the Dust Sea, ancient Deathless Kings, the Thieves Guild/Circle, and the theological framework of Maederyss weaving the Tapestry of the World, Deathless expands into new regions like the World Scar, the Dead Lands, and Irrikah. Unique elements—giant flying rock beetles as mounts, poisonous wastelands, blood magic/undead forces tied to the immortal king, and cultural details of groups like the Scarab Clan—create an immersive, distinctive setting that blends high fantasy with post-imperial decay and mythic stakes.

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#Review - Of Venom and Vengeance by Mikayla Bridge #YA #Fantasy #Romance

2026-07-31T12:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Standalone
Format: 432 pages, Hardcover

Release Date: July 7, 2026
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR)
Source: Publisher
Genre: YA, Fantasy, Romance

A deliciously dark standalone follow-up to the highly-anticipated YA romantic fantasy Of Flame and Fury, where star-crossed enemies gamble with their hearts, empires, and the fate of a lost god.

On an island marred by pageantry and pain, power comes at an impossible price. Inna is the perfect heiress to the Pallo crime family: poised, cunning, untouchable. Behind this glamorous facade, she hunts for the sinister truth of her sister’s death. Despite the cover-up she’s been led to believe, Inna can feel an enemy lurking in the shadows.

Rylan has sculpted himself into a talented thief for one reason: retribution for his family, who were murdered by Inna’s mother. Armed with illusion magic, Rylan plans to steal an ancient riddle from the Pallo vault, one that leads to a sleeping god. Whoever wakes the Serpent King will be granted any wish they desire. Rylan means to claim this power, and with it, Inna’s ruin.

But when Inna catches Rylan sneaking past her family’s security, they enter into a perilous alliance that neither intends to keep —even as bitter attraction ignites into something more.

Though some hearts aren’t meant to be stolen, and love knows nothing of blood-red revenge…

Of Venom and Vengeance by Mikayla Bridge is a dark YA romantasy standalone (companion novel) set in the same world as Of Flame and Fury. It follows dual protagonists navigating crime-family intrigue, illusion magic, a high-stakes heist, and a quest involving a sleeping serpent god. Inna Pallo is the poised, cunning heiress to a powerful crime family on an island defined by pageantry, pain, and power struggles. Behind her glamorous facade, she quietly investigates the suspicious death of her older sister, sensing a cover-up and an enemy closer than the official story suggests.

Rylan is a skilled thief driven by retribution: Inna’s mother was responsible for his family’s murder. Armed with illusion magic, he targets an ancient riddle locked in the Pallo vault—one that leads to the sleeping Serpent King, a lost god who grants any wish to whoever wakes him. Rylan intends to claim that power and use it to destroy Inna’s world. When Inna catches Rylan infiltrating her family’s security, the two form a perilous, reluctant alliance that neither fully intends to honor.

As they navigate family secrets, gambling dens, exploited magical sprites, and mounting dangers, bitter attraction complicates their mutual distrust and competing agendas. The story expands the existing world with new elements (particularly sprite lore and a different regional flavor of magic and society) while functioning effectively as a standalone, with only light Easter eggs or references for readers of the prior book. Inna is calculating, trained in the political and physical demands of her family’s world, and motivated by grief and a need for truth.

Rylan is guarded, witty, determined, and shaped by loss—morally gray in a way that fits the crime-underworld setting. Their enemies-to-lovers / forced-alliance dynamic is built on genuine conflict, distrust, banter, and the tension of knowing the other may betray them at any moment. Supporting figures (including family members and Inna’s former partner/bodyguard Celesse) add layers of complication, loyalty tests, and moral ambiguity.

A standout strength is the atmospheric setting: a glamorous yet sinister island of crime families, clubs, gambling, and spectacle with 1920s-adjacent vibes mixed with dark fantasy. The sprite lore receives particular praise—creatures with varied appearances, personalities, magics, and a darker reality involving exploitation and blood that contrasts with more surface-level perceptions. Illusion magic enables deception and thievery in compelling ways, while the Serpent King myth raises the stakes to something mythic and potentially costly.

The narrative blends murder mystery, family secrets, heist planning and execution, revenge, and a treasure-hunt-style quest. Themes of grief, betrayal, trust, the cost of power, and how pain is “repurposed” rather than simply healed run through the dual perspectives. This is classic YA enemies-to-lovers with forced proximity, reluctant allies who keep plotting against each other, slow-burn tension, and high personal stakes. The attraction is charged and dangerous rather than soft.

The story can be compared to works with crime underworlds, heists, and star-crossed tension (think elements of Leigh Bardugo’s Six of Crows, Chloe Gong’s style, Amanda Foody’s Ace of Shades, or These Violent Delights dynamics). If you are a reader who enjoys dark YA fantasy with revenge plots, reluctant alliances, illusion/heist magic, and complicated found (or forced) partnerships. Content notes commonly include violence, murder, family trauma/abuse, animal cruelty involving sprites, gambling, and related darker themes.

ONE. INNA

YEAR 1510 OF THE ALCHEMY AGE

Beneath charcoal clouds, sprites glowed a merciless sapphire, turning the shadows Inna crept through into a spotlight. Stealth was a lost cause as she tiptoed across tide-lashed docks in pink platforms. The shoes weren’t made for sneaking, but her mother’s rushed orders hadn’t left her with time to change.

The silk sprites summoned a lukewarm breeze, lifting Inna’s hair and swinging nearby bracket lanterns. Wooden piers creaked and battled the masculine voices up ahead. Illyre’s city lights and tourist crowds were distant memories out here among the small, discreet boats of poachers, smugglers, fishers. Inna had long since passed the sturdier, registered boats; decadent tourist ships painted silver and plum, her mother’s crest splashed across each stern.

Inna blinked through the salt mist and hurried toward the bobbing ship at the pier’s end. She wasn’t worried about being spotted. Anyone sailing this late wasn’t interested in ferrying guests around Ascira’s glittering skirts, watching sprites flit by while sipping from champagne flutes. They were here because they’d rather risk sea-monster-infested oceans than declare their goods on legal airships.

Even if Inna’s mother hadn’t described the ship she was to seek out, the smell soon gave it away: sharp and saccharine, like boiled sweets, contrasting the docks’ rusted iron and wet timber.

Inna bit down on her tongue, steeling her spine. Sprites’ odor was strongest when they were hungry. She’d have to be careful to keep any captured sprites locked away.

Behind Inna, a tall shadow sniffed. “How many sprites do they have down there? It smells like someone drowned in honey.”

“Hush.” Inna paused at the boat’s edge, turning to Celesse, her backup for tonight’s assignment. “Adelia said there’s only two poachers. It should be a quick retrieval.”

Inna ignored Celesse’s arched brow and reached into the satchel at her waist. She retrieved a slim glass vial, glowing dandelion-yellow with a liquid dose of sprite magic. With a too-tight grip, she uncorked the vial and lifted it to her lips.

The magic trickled down her throat like warm syrup. It fizzled through her limbs, pressing beneath her skin, eager to be expelled. She hoped to not have to use the warm weather magic: one stray spark could shatter a jar and free the sprites. The siphoned magic would only last a few minutes, anyway. Just long enough to offer backup in case the poachers caused trouble.

Inna reached inside her satchel for a second vial—her uncle always ensured she had a steady supply—and offered it to Celesse. She held it pinched between her nails so Celesse’s touch wouldn’t brush hers. But Celesse merely kept her brow raised and offered a minute shake of her head, leaving Inna’s arm outstretched.

“It’s a small ship,” Celesse cautioned. “The last thing we need is me sneezing sunshine and breaking out a starved sprite.”

A soft current—unrelated to the magic—hummed beneath Inna’s skin: the petty satisfaction of wielding what Celesse couldn’t. Despite whatever else her mother thought of her, Inna knew, at least when it came to shaping magic, she could do what was needed.

Inna slid over the boat’s lip. “Suit yourself. Keep watch up here.”

She crept across the deck, hands gliding over the worn railing, breath shallow. Light glowed from a narrow staircase leading to a cabin. The poachers’ laughter cut through the hush, floating up from belowdecks. Inna crouched behind a stack of crates and peered between slats of rotted wood. The magic in her veins encouraged her to move faster, warming her muscles against the evening chill.

At the bottom of the deck’s staircase, Inna spotted two sets of feet. In their shadows, three glimmering jars lined the floor. Tiny, shifting colors flickered within: sprites. Their wings pulsed, crystal shells clinking against the glass, searching for an escape.

How many poachers had died to seal them inside jars? To most, sprites were harmless, pretty things, capable only of dizzying lights and weak weather magic—until you stuffed them in cages and starved them. But to any underground buyers who knew the truth of sprite power? The thumb-sized weapons would fetch a hefty price.

These poachers were likely oblivious to the danger they’d trapped.

Inna’s heartbeat matched the rhythm of Celesse’s tapping foot. She steadied her breath, and raced down the staircase.

Inna rammed into the first poacher before he could turn toward her. The second, shorter poacher fumbled for a weapon as Inna ducked his flailing arms. She twisted his elbow until there was a sharp crack that sent his knife clattering to the floor. He yelped, eyes wide, as she lifted her own blade to his throat.

The poacher she’d thrown against the wall recovered quicker than expected, straightening to race for the stairs. She was tempted to fling her current captive to the floor—but a quick glance at his belt kept her still. The bastard had another two bottled sprites dangling from his leather belt. She couldn’t risk them breaking. Not without knowing how long it had been since they’d fed.

Inna opened her mouth to shout as a lean shadow flew down the steps, greeting the fleeing man with a swift kick to his torso.

“Too slow,” Celesse sighed, facing Inna. “I thought you were going to hover on the deck for a few more years.”

The taller man tumbled back from Celesse, coughing. His veined eyes darted between Inna and Celesse, eventually settling on Inna.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he sneered. “Get off my ship!”

Inna tightened her grip on her struggling poacher. The fizzing magic in her veins pressed at the insides of her fingertips, begging to heat her blade.

She glared at Celesse. “I told you to stay on the docks.”

Celesse narrowed her dark eyes and shrugged, rustling her steel shirt. Soft, crimson chain mail danced across her entire body in a protective jumpsuit. “And I told you to move quicker this time. I’ve booked a seat at a card game in forty-five minutes.”

Inna swallowed a sour, too-familiar frustration. She removed her blade from the poacher’s throat and, slowly, spun him to face her. “Untie the sprite jars from your belt, please.”

At some point, Celesse had withdrawn her own blade to press against the second poacher’s chest. Though he scowled, Inna’s poacher—with sprites tied to him like glitter-bound grenades—watched her with wide-eyed fear. Good.

Trembling, her poacher reached down and unclasped a sprite vial from a carabiner at his waist. He unclipped the other and held the two caged, glowing sprites toward her. The warmth and sweat from his hands fogged the glass, dimming the sprites’ soft, changing colors. They eventually settled on a cherry-pink shade, likely their natural hue.

Celesse swore. “Are those posy sprites? I haven’t seen any for months.” She turned to her pinned poacher. “How long have you had these little monsters trapped down here?”

Inna gnawed at the inside of her cheek. Posy sprites were usually only seen in the Molten Season, when the sky softened and warmth flowered across fields. Their season had ended months ago.

Inna pressed her blade back to her poacher’s throat. “Answer her.”

“A few weeks?” her poacher squeaked.

Guilt ghosted through Inna, easy to ignore. These two didn’t seem experienced. They’d probably heard rumors of sprites’ illegal value and taken their chances. Their accents were too sharp and clipped to be Asciran. They were likely from the nearby continent, Velande.

“Place the sprites on the ground with the others, and we’ll let you sail off,” Inna said. “You don’t want to be here any more than we want you here.”

Overhead, a dim lantern swung. The ocean lapped at the hull. The poacher beneath her blade glanced to Celesse, to his partner. His fingers twitched toward the thin lids keeping the sprites contained.

“Don’t try anything.” Inna pressed her knife deeper into the man’s throat, drawing a bead of blood just as sweat beaded down her back.

“Release the sprites,” the other poacher growled. “She just wants the damn things to sell for herself. We can at least make it harder for her.”

Inna grinned. “Want to test that theory? We don’t need any more posies for our supply this year. Go on. Open a vial.”

“Inna,” Celesse warned, inching back, toward the staircase.

The poachers exchanged frowns. Inna understood their confusion. To the world, sprites were harmless, floating baubles. Their siphoned magic could offer people no more than a few minutes of weather-infused party tricks. Through as many industries as they could sink their claws into, her family had ensured that sprites seemed a fickle tourist attraction. Not a magical, murderous gold mine.

“You’ve had those sprites in vials for weeks, right?” Inna asked. “They’ll die before you can smuggle them into Velande. Hand them over, and maybe I can find you something better to sell for us.”

Inna extended a hand toward her poacher’s caged sprites. The pink creatures pressed against the glass, as if reaching for her, for the magic humming through her. Slowly, carefully, she cupped the jars and—

A sharp creak sounded. Then, hurried footsteps.

A new figure flashed through the narrow cabin space, hurtling toward Inna.

She cursed and ducked in the same breath, releasing her trembling poacher. The new figure had too much momentum for the small space and collided with the opposite wall. A rusted weapon glinted in her grip.

Inna raised her knife and turned toward her attacker, a dark-browed woman with an impressive scowl. She must have been stowed away in the head of the ship. Steel whistled toward Inna’s ribs and she jumped back. She felt Celesse move behind her, keeping one poacher subdued.

“You didn’t even check the rest of the ship?” Celesse snapped.

Inna ignored Celesse and pivoted, catching her new opponent by the wrist. The woman twisted, her arm shooting out to press her knife to Inna’s neck. Breath short, Inna summoned forth the sprite magic in her veins, willing the golden warmth into the woman’s white-knuckled grip around the knife. She bit down on her tongue and pushed, wringing every drop of magic from that measly vial, focusing on the poacher’s grip against her neck.

A moment later, the poacher hissed, flinching back as her hand glowed blister-red. Inna drove her shoulder into the poacher’s ribs before knocking the heated weapon to the floor. The woman gasped, bending over. Inna felt a moment’s triumph before new hands gripped her neck from behind.

Lurching, Inna stomped down on her second attacker’s foot and shoved him into a wall as the last of the magic fizzled from her blood. Both poachers wheezed, and as the man behind her fell, so did a vial.

Inna heard glass shatter a half second before sprite light lit the cabin, color scattering like stars.

Two ravenous sprites burst free.

“Shit!” Celesse screamed, scampering back, abandoning her dazed poacher.

The freed sprites flew to the center of the cabin and the two standing poachers paused their attacks. Inna lunged in front of Celesse. Old, reflexive fear moved Inna’s limbs, keeping Celesse safe, and the sprites quickly chose the standing poachers as their prey.

The female poacher sucked in a sharp, startled breath as a sprite darted toward her.

Her mistake was opening her mouth.

The sprite shifted from pink to gold to crimson before dulling itself, like heat off stone, hiding behind illusion magic, bending light around its form. Dread crept down Inna’s spine. She knew what would come next.

The sprite slipped inside the poacher’s open mouth and down her throat.

The woman coughed. The other sprite hid itself, too, though this monster didn’t bother with an orifice, diving toward the shorter poacher’s left arm, the vein at his elbow’s crook. Almost too fast to follow, the sprite punched through skin and burrowed deep inside the poacher’s blood.

“Where did they…” the female poacher began, before a cough wracked her body. Blood trickled from her nose, reaching her upper lip before she crumpled to the ground.

“Farrah?” The younger, shorter poacher stepped toward his fallen colleague, oblivious to the blood trickling down his own arm—and then, from his nose.

Farrah’s fingers twitched, scarlet pooling from her fingernails. The young poacher managed another wobbly step before his knees gave way. His brown, bleeding eyes locked on Inna as he slumped beside Farrah.

Almost a minute passed in silence. The two poachers lay sprawled with the third curled, trembling, in a corner, when the sprites finally reappeared. Farrah jerked. A gargle escaped her throat. Blood bubbled from her lips, spilling down her chin, as the sprite—brighter, rounder—slid free. The other sprite, now a merry yellow, shot out of the younger poacher’s chest cavity and joined its friend in the air. One drifted leisurely toward Inna, its tiny body pulsing. Newly fed, it was near blinding to look at, even with the tinted, protective contacts Inna wore.

Inna felt Celesse stiffen as the sprite neared. It shifted to a bright orange, slow and sated.

“You’re safe,” Inna said to Celesse. “They’ve eaten their fill.”

Inna lifted a hand, pointer finger extended. The sprite hesitated, then landed on Inna’s finger, delicate as gossamer. So long as Inna wore the pendant around her neck, thrumming with a dozen sprites’ worth of magic, no sprite would attack her. It was an invaluable trinket, marking her as kin in the sprites’ eyes.

Celesse huffed. “Can you put it back in a cage, please?”

“Fine.” Inna nodded toward the remaining poacher. “Restrain him.”

The remaining poacher fought Celesse’s grip for an impressive few seconds before she knotted rope around his wrists.

“What … What did you do to them?” the man spat.

Slowly, Inna reached into her silver satchel and retrieved a small, empty vial. She lifted the vial and let its subtle glimmer reflect through the air, mimicking the sprites’ light.

She popped the lid open and shook it. Both sprites drifted toward the new cage, shedding petal-like crystals.

They inspected the bottle, tempted by curiosity; tiny stars caught in the wrong orbit.

Into the vial, out of the ship, Inna repeated to herself, a mantra. Another mission completed. Another step closer to what she needed, beyond her mother’s absurd tests.

Inna pressed down on the vial’s base, activating a small vacuum. Both sprites flew inside and Inna clicked the lid shut.

Triumph, a small, momentary rush not unlike the magic she’d drank, brushed through her. Neither Celesse’s jabs nor Adelia’s expectations could take this victory away. Missions like this gave her a shape, a worth in a world already drowning in magical importance.

Celesse ran a hand through her sleek ponytail. “You could’ve tried harder to stop the murder bugs getting out of the jars.”

“And you could’ve shot them down if you were that scared.”

Celesse worked security for Inna’s family most nights. The guard could hold her own in a fight. Even so, the real reason Inna kept her on missions—despite their prickly romantic history—was that Celesse was the best shot Inna had ever seen. Inna could see Celesse’s slinger—a mechanical slingshot rifle—tucked at her hip, surely loaded with pearls, ready to strike down any rogue sprites.

Ignoring Celesse’s glare, Inna pulled out her tele-comm. Thumbing the digital screen, she texted their address to the head of her mother’s cleanup crew. Pocketing the device, Inna bent to retrieve the other caged sprites along the ground and tucked them inside her satchel.

“What are we to do with him?” Celesse thrust a thumb toward the cowering poacher.

Before Inna could respond, a cool breeze descended the stairs, heralding a new presence. Her stomach lifted as a short figure glided toward the center of the blood-soaked cabin.

Her mother didn’t look at her, not at first. Instead, Adelia Pallo dipped her chin toward the remaining poacher. His breath hitched as he met Adelia’s gaze. Fresh fear lit his features like a struck match.

Finally, Adelia’s blue eyes turned to Inna, and the massacre at her feet.

“Sloppy,” Adelia noted, the single word plunging and twisting a knife into Inna’s gut.

Adelia’s black heels clicked as she strode toward the still-breathing poacher, and yanked him up by his dark hair. The man—likely still dazed from Celesse’s strikes—barely fought her grip.

Inna swallowed a lump, pulse drumming.

“Do we keep him alive for information and risk him escaping, running his mouth about sprite appetites?” Adelia’s pale eyes turned to steel. “Or do we kill him and lose potential knowledge?”

“Keep him alive,” Inna said, forcing her voice to stay flat, even. “We can keep him hidden.”

She’d found the poachers, hadn’t she? She’d recovered the sprites. She’d remained exactly what her mother had required.

Adelia paused. Trembling, the man tried to rise from his knees. He managed one foot beneath him when Adelia—faster than any sprite, Alchemist or god—retrieved the rusted blade from the ground, and slashed the man’s throat.

Inna didn’t flinch. She wouldn’t. But she couldn’t help her stomach’s churning as the poacher slumped beside his fallen friends. Blood seeped from his neck as he stilled.

Whether by steel or sprite, their deaths were on Inna’s hands. They were far from the first.

She shoved her knife—her sister’s old knife—back in her satchel and, just for a moment, a quick flicker, the ghost of Erika appeared beside the poachers, her body strewn, bleeding, broken.

Adelia wiped her blade on her silver trousers. “Wrong answer.”

Inna’s fists clenched. Her mother had told her there were two poachers on the ship, not three. But she held her tongue; she had a better chance of surviving an argument with Salta’s serpent god.

As Adelia turned back toward the stairs, she said, “You did well, Celesse.”

Celesse’s chest puffed, and Inna fought a sneer. Then, back to Inna, Adelia instructed, “Get these poachers to the nearest coroner on payroll. We don’t need curious sailors searching their bodies and seeing crystallized organs.”

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#Review - A Curse of Beasts and Magic by Jeaniene Frost #Fantasy

2026-07-29T00:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Beautiful and Beastly (#1)
Format: 368 pages, Hardcover
Release Date: May 26, 2026
Publisher: Bramble
Source: Publisher
Genre: Dark Fantasy

New York Times bestselling author of The Night Huntress series Jeaniene Frost returns with a brand-new series! It’s Beauty and the Beast meets The Witcher, except Beauty IS the Beast, and he’s the Warden keeping mythical beings in check in our world and beyond.

Raine Stone is living a nightmare. Ever since she survived the attack that killed her family, she's been hiding a terrible secret--and a Beast inside her.

It feeds on violence and chaos, but she restrains its urges by playing vigilante on the city streets. Until one night, Raine uses the Beast’s energy to heal an elderly gentleman from a seemingly random attack and discovers a new world of danger—literally.

Remington “Remy” Byrne knows the wall between a realm of deadly mythic creatures and our own world is very fragile. After all, he’s the Warden who guards the gateways between them. Raine’s Beast contains power that could tip the scales in a sinister plot against Remy’s rule—if she allies with him.

Will they be friends or foes…or will their dangerous attraction turn into something else? And can our world be saved by their explosive alliance?

A Curse of Beasts and Magic is the first installment in author Jeaniene Frost's Beautiful and Beastly series. The series is a dark contemporary romantasy/urban fantasy that flips the Beauty and the Beast premise so the heroine is the one carrying the Beast. The series marks the author's return, and it blends portal fantasy elements, action, political intrigue among mythical beings, and medium-heat romance.

Lorraine “Raine” Stone (26), an ER nurse, has lived with a secret for 11 years: after surviving the attack that killed her mother and grandmother, she carries “Beithíoch” inside her. It feeds on violence, chaos, and pain. She keeps it in check by drawing on the energy of her hospital shifts and by acting as a nighttime vigilante against street criminals, sometimes using the Beast’s power to heal others. One night she intervenes to save an elderly man from abduction, using that power in a way that draws the attention of his grandson, Remington “Remy” Byrne (243, not a typo).

Remy is far more than the polished CEO he appears to be. He is a Warden—a powerful magic-wielder responsible for guarding gateways between the human world and parallel realms filled with dangerous mythic creatures (including dragon shifters and the Tuatha Dé Danann), enforcing truces, and overseeing supernatural beings in his territory. Raine’s Beast makes her both a threat and a potential asset amid a plot against Remy’s position. What begins as wary antagonism and a strategic alliance (including a fake engagement/relationship for protection and access) develops into genuine attraction and mutual reliance, set against escalating dangers that pull them between the everyday world and other realms.

Raine is a determined, morally grounded survivor who has structured her entire life around containing something monstrous inside her. Her dual roles as caregiver (healer) and vigilante give her an appealing complexity; she is tough and resourceful yet isolated and sometimes naïve about the larger magical world she is suddenly thrust into. Reviewers often praise her heart and agency, even when noting occasional moments of impulsiveness or limited knowledge that feel realistic for her circumstances.

Remy is a classic powerful, morally gray, somewhat overbearing Warden/CEO type—authoritative, secretive for strategic reasons, protective, and carrying his own burdens and walls. Chemistry builds through banter, forced proximity, shared danger, and gradual trust. Their dynamic leans enemies-to-lovers and fake-dating with strong “touch her and die” energy; many readers found the push-pull and eventual emotional payoff satisfying, though some wanted more open communication or a slower emotional burn. Supporting characters (including family elements that hint at found-family potential) add flavor, even if not all are deeply developed yet.

Tropes include fake dating/engagement, enemies-to-lovers, forced proximity, morally gray hero, and monstrous secrets. Attraction is intense, and the physical chemistry is emphasized. Spice is moderate. Frost constructs a layered setting: the ordinary modern world intersects with fragile gateways to other realms, Wardens as magical law enforcement, aura-based perception of violence/power, and a mix of familiar (shifters, fae-adjacent beings) and distinctive elements (specific creature abilities, transportation methods, political machinations).

Pacing is generally fast, driven by action, chases, and escalating threats, balanced by quieter character and relationship moments. Overall, I enjoyed the set-up and beginning of this story, and wish that had continued for a few more chapters without the rush to jump each other's bones. It felt like Raine was engulfed by too many plot points, additional characters, and magical politics to really shine. She does get a few moments at the end to kick some ass.

CHAPTER ONE

I had to let the Beast feed tonight. I didn’t want to, but if I didn’t, what came next would be a lot worse.

I hurried along the rain-slicked Baltimore streets. The Inner Harbor area was still packed with people even though it was midnight. I wasn’t here for one of its many bars or late-night eateries, though. It just happened to be between my apartment and the hospital where I worked.

I kept walking. It only took a few blocks past the Inner Harbor’s more touristy area for the neighborhood to noticeably change. Abandoned buildings and iron-gated windows now dotted the rows of townhouses and mostly closed businesses. Foot traffic was also down unless you passed a bar. I was passing one now, and two twenty-something guys spilled out of it. With a sloppy smile, the brunet staggered after me.

“Hey, hot stuff, come here,” he slurred.

“No thanks,” I said firmly, and tucked some of my long, too-curly brown hair back into its ponytail.

“Come on!” he tried again.

Did he really think catcalling would work, especially on someone wearing medical scrubs? He was lucky I didn’t take him up on his offer. Even now, my vision changed, showing red swirls haloing the catcaller’s gloomy gray aura.

I tried to sidestep him, but he reached out and yanked me against him.

“Not so fast!” His hands ran down my sides, and—

Darkness stabbed out from my fingernails, turning them into sharp claws. I sank them into the catcaller. The Beast inside me clamped onto that supernatural tether, burning through the violence in the man’s psyche.

He screamed, and the red flares in his aura dimmed.

I snatched my hand away, shoving him and that inner Beast back. Otherwise, the Beast would consume the catcaller’s life force once it was done feasting on his violence.

The catcaller nearly fell. His friend caught him before he hit the pavement. My claws vanished with the same speed as the burn marks in my would-be groper’s skin.

“What the hell, Jackson?” his friend hissed, pulling the catcaller away. “Sorry, he’s drunk,” he said to me.

Jackson sagged in his friend’s grip. He was barely conscious from the Beast devouring his violent energy. The red flares were now gone from Jackson’s aura, too, leaving him haloed by what looked like an ashen cloak.

“What happened?” Jackson managed to mumble.

You became a snack, I thought grimly, increasing my pace as I walked away. But unfortunately, I still need a meal.

I never intended to be a nurse by day and a violence-eating vigilante by night, but here I was, twenty-six and doing both. Okay, a little more than both. I’d also given secret, supernatural assistance to a patient during my nursing shift tonight, even though doing so had consequences.

Desperate animals will gnaw off their own paw if left long enough in a trap. Well, I was the Beast’s trap, and using its power to heal made it desperate enough to gnaw through me unless I fed it what it craved most—violence.

I reached the next intersection, looking ahead to see if the Walk or Stop light was on. A bright light suddenly seared my vision. For a second, I thought it might be a passing car’s headlights, and then I realized it belonged to a person.

That person moved out from behind a cluster of people waiting for the light to change. I expected to see a small, wide-eyed face. Auras that radiant usually came from children. Instead, I saw the wrinkled visage of an elderly man. He had pale skin, gray hair, and he was dressed like he’d been cosplaying as a nineteenth-century librarian.

Two men suddenly ran up behind the elderly man. Their auras were bloodred and unusually tall, looming and swaying over them. One pressed his hand against the man’s mouth and dragged him off in the opposite direction.

The light changed. People crossed the street, oblivious to what had happened behind them. It was so fast, I would have missed it, too, if I hadn’t been staring right at the elderly man.

I went after them. I normally didn’t take on two guys at once, but the old guy was in trouble. That made these kidnappers my next meal. When the Beast was done with them, they’d be alive, but like the catcaller, they’d be a lot less dangerous.

His kidnappers moved unusually fast. I ran, but I still couldn’t keep up. Thankfully, the man’s aura left a trail of light that I followed. It led into an alley behind a pawnshop.

I normally avoided this part of town, but I kept going. The Beast’s hunger grew with every step. It wanted to kill them. I wouldn’t let it. I couldn’t rid myself of the Beast, but I could damn sure keep it on a diet.

I caught up with the two captors in time to see them haul the man over a fence. Now they were in the back of a scrap metal depository. Moments later, I heard a cry: “Stop! That hurts!”

The Beast surged, sensing the violence. I didn’t free it—I never willingly did—but I didn’t force it all the way back.

The Beast’s power scalded me. My skin felt too tight and my pulse raced. I took my coat off, threw it over the fence, and cleared the six-foot height in one leap.

The kidnappers spun around. The hoods of their sweatshirts were now down, revealing that one was blond and the other had brown hair. The old man was on the ground, blood streaming down his forehead. The brown-haired kidnapper gripped a metal pipe, its edge dripping with crimson.

“Drop it,” I said.

They laughed.

I didn’t blame them. I was only five-four, with an average build, and I had no weapons. Well, none that they could see.

The Beast let out a growl through my throat that caused the two men to pale. Yeah, no normal person could make that sound.

“The hell?” the blond one whispered.

I sprang toward the pipe-wielding guy. My front kick smashed into his chest. He went down, the pipe clattering from his hand. Not laughing now, was he? With my mixed martial arts training plus the Beast’s added power, I’d kicked him harder than someone five times my size.

The blond guy lunged at me.

The Beast’s claws shot out. I was about to drive them into him when something knocked me over from behind. My forehead slammed onto the concrete. Pain filled me, my vision swam, and I tasted blood.

What the hell?

The dark-haired guy was still on the ground, and the blond was right in front of me. Who had hit me from behind?

I scrambled to my feet and whirled around.

Nothing. Whoever it was must’ve backed into the yard where the night’s shadows thickened to a dark gloom. The stench of cayenne and ozone washed over me, so thick I almost gagged.

I whirled back. The blond was still there, but the other kidnapper was gone. A huge snake now rose up to stare at me. Holy shit, that thing was bigger than a telephone pole!

“Whatever you are, you’re dead,” it hissed at me.

It could talk?

My shock was costly. The snake’s strike slammed into me like a giant hammer. I fell back. Coils wrapped around me. I tried to fight it off, but it squeezed me like a massive fist.

Air burst out of my lungs. I tried to suck more in and couldn’t. Panic strafed me. I’d known there had to be other supernatural creatures aside from the one inside me. Now I’d finally found one, and it was trying to kill me.

The stench of agave drowned me as those coils squeezed harder. My bones groaned. Pain slashed through me. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. I was being crushed to death.

My skin burned and a vicious inner slash felt like acid. I knew that pain. The Beast was here.

Everything went black, and—

—I spat out a mouth full of ashes. The wind tried to blow more back in. I clamped my lips shut.

I was in the middle of the metal yard, naked and bloody. Nothing was left of the huge snake or the other kidnappers except piles of cold ashes swirling in the night breeze.

Dammit, I hadn’t wanted to kill them. The thing inside me was a murderer, but I wasn’t. Not by choice. Now I’d killed again, and it had been someone with a supernatural secret like me. All the answers I could’ve finally gotten, gone. The frustration cut like a knife.

At least I kept them from murdering that poor man. Unless the Beast had killed him, too? I couldn’t see his bright aura anymore. The Beast was full and satiated, and it had sunk too deep within me.

“Sir?” I called out.

No answer.

My heart lurched. The Beast normally only ate the violent, making their red auras an Open for Dinner sign to my supernatural stowaway. Don’t ask me why it preferred them. No one gave me a Beast’s Guide to Binge Eating when I became infected with the thing eleven years ago. At first, I thought I might be a werewolf, but sadly not. If werewolves were real, those lucky fuckers only had to deal with their inner monsters one weekend a month. I had to deal with mine every single day.

But if the Beast was hungry enough, it would eat anyone, violent or no.

“Where are you, sir?” I called out again, snatching my coat off the fence where I’d left it.

“Here,” a pained voice groaned.

I put my coat on and ran toward his voice.

I found the man slumped by a large heap of scrap metal piled up for sorting. Blood streamed from his head, and clear liquid that might have been spinal fluid leaked from his nose. If I didn’t do something, he’d die.

I put my hands on his head while pulling on the Beast’s power. Three minutes later, I was bent over, vomiting from channeling too much magic, too fast.

Gentle hands smoothed back my hair. “There now, lass,” the man said in a lilting Irish accent. “You’re all right.”

My gag turned into a choked laugh. I sat back, wiping at my mouth. “More importantly, how are you?”

He gave me the sweetest smile. “Alive, thanks t’you. Thought you meant to kill me when you turned into a beithíoch.”

Did he just call me a “behemoth”? Eh, that was a kind descriptor compared to whatever the Beast was. More importantly, I’d healed him, but now I had to leave town. Again. At best, whichever police officer took the man’s report would think that he was overwrought from the attempted kidnapping, but I couldn’t take that risk. Not after nearly getting arrested in Georgia last year.

I bit back my disappointment. I was just starting to get comfortable here. I had a decent job, a place to live where the neighbors didn’t question my late-night comings and goings, and even a pet now. Still, safety beat out comfort.

“Do you have someone to call to pick you up?” I asked him.

He gave me a look of such heartbreaking confusion, I patted his arm. As a nurse, I’d seen that look on countless dementia patients before. He didn’t remember who to call.

“Do you know your name?” I asked in a softer voice.

His whole body trembled as he said, “No.”

“It’s fine,” I said, patting him again. “I can still help you. Do you mind if I look in your pockets?”

He didn’t mind, but to my dismay, he lacked a phone, wallet, or any identification. He only had a single, laminated business card with FRONTVIEW REPUBLIC printed on the front and a handwritten phone number on the back.

My brows went up. Frontview Republic was one of the largest commercial real estate and investment corporations in the Northeast. Their name had been splashed across headlines recently due to a big project in Maryland and Pennsylvania.

“Stay here,” I said, and searched for the rest of my stuff.

I found my clothes and purse near the bloodstains and ash piles. The huge snake and the other kidnappers must have put up a hell of a fight. The Beast normally killed too quickly to draw anyone’s blood.

I couldn’t believe I’d finally come across another supernatural creature, only to still end up knowing nothing.

Rain started pouring in sheets. I used the deluge to wash the blood off my face and hands. Then I shoved the remains of my ripped-up medical scrubs into my coat’s deep pockets. The rain should wash away all the kidnappers’ blood as well as their ashes, leaving no trace of their deaths behind.

I returned to the man and led him to an awning that blocked most of the rain. Thankfully, my burner phone was working, which meant the Beast had been free at least ten minutes. Nothing electronic worked around the Beast when it first took over. I dialed the number on the business card and put it on speaker while I checked the man for more injuries.

“Who is this?” a smooth baritone voice answered.

“Is this Frontview Republic?” I asked.

“Who is this?” the voice repeated with such command that I almost said “Raine Stone” before I caught myself.

The man’s condition was tragic, but it had also saved me. He could tell everyone that he’d seen a woman transform into a huge creature that had killed two men plus a huge snake, and no one would believe him. Maybe I didn’t have to move again after all.

“Do you know a sixty-something man with an Irish accent who dresses like he raided a Sherlock Holmes movie set?” I asked.

“Yes.” His tone changed to palpable menace. “Where is he?”

“Safe,” I replied shortly. “But he very nearly wasn’t. Some men kidnapped him and almost killed him tonight.”

“Oh?” The man’s tone now became so velvety, I swore I almost felt it brush over me. “If you assisted in his rescue, then you will be well rewarded. Once again, where is he?”

“You must be rich,” I said with all the annoyance I wasn’t allowed to articulate when I was at work. “Only the wealthy think people help others for a reward instead of the simple reason that someone needed help.”

Anger replaced that luxurious tenor. “If you don’t tell me where Brendan is right now—”

“Brendan!” A delighted expression lit the man’s face. “My name is Brendan! And that’s Remy. He takes care of me. Don’t worry, Remy. The beithíoch is helping me.”

Okay, that word wasn’t “behemoth.” It had too many vowels, but new words were the least of my concerns. Headlights shone along the road that ran between the recycling plant and the train tracks; a reminder that someone could stumble upon us.

“He’ll be at the Helping Hands Shelter in twenty minutes,” I said, and hung up. Then I smiled and held out my hand. “Brendan? Would you escort me down the street? It’s not safe for a lady to walk alone.”

His smile deepened his wrinkles. He’d seen the Beast inside me, so he knew I didn’t need “escorting.” Still, he held out his arm while his periwinkle-blue eyes brightened.

“I’d be delighted.”

CHAPTER TWO

I watched from across the street as Brendan walked the final block to the shelter alone. I’d been right to be cautious. Before Brendan reached the front door, a black Mercedes sped down the street and screeched to a stop beside him.

“Remy!” I heard Brendan say before a tall figure leapt out. I caught a glimpse of black hair, broad shoulders, and a shadowed jaw before the man hustled Brendan into the back seat.

The car sped away at once.

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#Review - The Killing Time by Elly Griffiths #Mystery #Suspense

2026-07-27T00:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Ali Dawson # 2
Format: 353 pages, Kindle Edition
Release Date: February 12, 2026
Publisher: Pamela Dorman Books
Source: Publisher
Genre: Mystery, Suspense

The second mystery following Ali Dawson, the brilliant time-traveling detective, on her newest foray into Victorian London

Detective Ali Dawson leads a unit that investigates cases so cold her team must travel back in time to solve them. But ever since their technical expert, Jones, got stuck in Victorian London, Ali and her team have been forbidden from time travel.

At a loss, Ali dives into a present-day case – an apparent suicide of a young man who fell to his death from a high building. Ali believes the death is linked to a bad-news psychic medium, Barry Power, who convinced the boy he could fly. Suspicious, Ali attends one of Power’s shows, where he claims to be in contact with none other than Jones.

Minor trouble closer to home inspires Ali to sneak back in time just long enough to prevent misfortune. Her plan backfires, and she finds herself once again in Victorian London, where she reencounters Jones, as well as the darkly mysterious Cain Templeton, with whom Ali has unfinished business from her previous visit to the nineteenth century . . .

When she spies Barry Power lurking in the past, Ali knows she's onto something. But with a potential murderer operating in multiple centuries, how on earth is she supposed to protect everyone at risk?

It's a different time. It's a dangerous time. It's the killing time. The story alternates between Contemporary and Victorian London.

The Killing Time is the second installment, following The Frozen People, in author Elly Griffiths' Ali Dawson series. The story alternates between 2024 and 1850 London. It centers on Detective Ali Dawson and her specialized London Met cold-case unit (nicknamed the Frozen People or Department of Logistics). The team’s secret tool is time travel, used for cases so old that visiting the past is the only way to gather evidence.

Since the events of The Frozen People left one member of the "Department of Logistics" dead and another stranded in 1850s Victorian London, Ali and her remaining colleagues (Dr Bud Sirisema, Dina Appiah, and John Cole) are somewhat hamstrung, forbidden by Home Office hierarchy from conducting any further forays into the past, and confined to investigating cold cases via more mundane methods. In the present (set around a 2024 heatwave and election period), Ali is restless and frustrated by routine work.

She digs into an apparent suicide: a young man who fell from a high building after being influenced by charismatic psychic medium Barry Power, who convinced him he could fly. Ali attends one of Power’s shows, where he makes an unsettling claim involving Jones. When her beloved cat Terry goes missing (via an open cat flap), Ali makes a reckless short-hop attempt to fix a minor domestic problem.

The plan backfires spectacularly, stranding her in 1851 London—where she reunites with Jones, crosses paths again with the enigmatic Cain Templeton (unfinished business from the prior visit), and discovers Barry Power has connections that span the centuries. Meanwhile, in Ali's absence, two men are murdered in 2025, both having received mysterious postcards related to classic films. Dana and D.I. John Cole become embroiled in the investigation, along with DS Luca Venturi and the evident links that both victims have to Ali, who remains stuck in Victorian London.

Griffiths handles the dual timelines with characteristic skill. Modern-day sections ground the story in Ali’s professional frustrations, family ties (including her son Finn), and the banter among her team. The Victorian sections shine brightest: 1851 London feels lived-in and textured, with the grime, social contrasts, the Great Exhibition in full swing, period details of domestic life (or lack of modern conveniences), and a sense of menace and opportunity. Griffiths’ research brings the era alive without slowing the pace into textbook mode.

Ali remains a highly engaging protagonist—sharp, stubborn, flawed, funny, and morally driven. Her domestic details (especially the cat Terry, who becomes an unexpectedly memorable supporting player) and interactions humanize the high-concept elements. Supporting characters, both returning and new (Victorian maids offering class insights, showmen and illusionists, the unsettling Cain), add color and emotional stakes.

The tone is a key strength: high stakes and genuine darkness sit comfortably alongside warmth, wit, and humanity. It never feels gimmicky; the time-travel paradoxes and rules are treated with enough internal consistency and playfulness to work for most readers who accept the premise. The mystery itself—linking modern “suicides” influenced by a medium to events in the past—has a contemporary edge involving manipulation, belief, and vulnerability.

It drives Ali effectively, but the killer’s identity can feel abrupt or underdeveloped, and certain time-travel mechanics (chairs, the Seeing Glass, and how animals or people shift eras) stretch suspension of disbelief more than in the first book. The dual timelines occasionally create a sense of loose ends or uneven pacing, with the Victorian sections sometimes dominating.

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#Review - Witch Season by Julia Blanco #Fantasy #Romance

2026-07-23T12:00:00.000-04:00

Series: The Broken Coven # 1
Format: 320 pages, Hardcover
Release Date: June 30, 2026
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Source: Publisher
Genre: Fantasy, Romance

Katherine Barnes is an enforcer, charged with upholding the rules of the notorious Los Angeles-based Aestas coven. It’s her job to maintain order and bring unsettled witches–people who aren’t aware they have magic until it explodes out of them in a catastrophic burst–into the coven’s fold. As a former unsettled witch, Katherine owes her life to Sylvia Page, coven leader and silver-haired rebel who founded Aestas years ago.

When Silas Khatri, heir to Noctis, the most powerful coven in the world, arrives to take Aestas to task for some of their more unconventional practices, Katherine’s dislike for him reaches blistering levels. She hates his money, his good looks, his coven’s dangerous attitude towards unsettled witches. She can absolutely overlook that he sets her off in more ways than one.

But a powerful threat is about to rise. Stronger than any one coven. More insidious than the decades-long power struggle that exists in the hidden witch world. One that will pull Katherine and Silas together despite their differences. And one that will lead to an all-out war.

Julia Blanco's Witch Season is the first installment in a new series, as well as the author's debut novel. The book is an urban fantasy story in a world of fantasy/romance novels that blends high-stakes coven politics, visceral magic, and fierce loyalty into a fast-paced, cinematic read set in modern Los Angeles. Katherine Barnes serves as an enforcer (or executor) for the Aestas coven, a notorious Los Angeles group. Her role involves maintaining order and guiding “unsettled” witches—people whose latent magic erupts catastrophically if not controlled—into the coven.

As a former unsettled witch herself, Katherine owes everything to Sylvia Page, the coven’s silver-haired, rebellious leader. The magic system stands out as one of the book’s strongest elements. Magic demands a heavy price—not just blood, but real pain and sacrifice. It feels raw, dangerous, and grounded, avoiding the “sparkly effortless power” trope common in some fantasy. This cost shapes every character’s choices and adds tension to action scenes.

When Silas Khatri, heir to the powerful Noctis coven (the most influential in the witch world), arrives for an audit of Aestas’s unconventional practices, sparks fly immediately. Katherine resents his privilege, good looks, and his coven’s stricter attitudes toward unsettled witches. Their initial antagonism crackles with tension, but a larger, insidious threat—stronger than inter-coven rivalries—forces them to collaborate. Murders, betrayals, and a rising war pull the story toward an explosive climax.

Katherine Barnes is tough, loyal, and driven by her traumatic past. She pushes herself relentlessly to protect others, especially vulnerable, unsettled witches, because she sees herself in them. Her growth, moral compass, and vulnerability make her deeply relatable and root-worthy. Silas Khatri brings complexity as a privileged heir caught between family duty and personal desires. He’s charming and instantly smitten in a “she hates him, he’s hooked” dynamic.

Sylvia Page steals scenes as a layered mentor figure with secrets that drive major twists. Supporting characters, including Katherine’s best friend and other coven members, add depth to the found-family and political elements. The romance is fiercely romantic and steamy. It moves quickly from antagonism to intense attraction. Expect tension, banter, and passionate moments amid the danger.

The relationship evolves in ways that set up intriguing conflict for future books. If you are a fan of books like A Discovery of Witches, then you should read this book as well. If you enjoy witchy books that are political, bloody, unhinged in the best way, and packed with heart-pounding romance and betrayal, this one is for you.

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#Review - Unpredictable Magic by Faith Hunter #Urban #Fantasy

2026-07-20T00:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Everhart Investigations # 1
Format: 560 pages, Paperback

Release Date: July 14, 2026
Publisher: Ace
Source: Publisher
Genre: Urban Fantasy

Witches Angelina and Evan Everhart-Trueblood take a case that spirals out of control until the whole city is at risk in this exciting new novel from New York Times bestselling author Faith Hunter.

Angelina Everhart-Trueblood and her brother Evan run Everhart Investigations, a PI firm in Chattanooga that solves paranormal crimes committed by supernatural beings. When their new client wants help finding her friend, who supposedly disappeared during a reception at Angie’s aunt Jane’s winter residence, things get . . . complicated.

The client is not who she appears to be, and demons strike the city for the first time since the Witch War. On top of that, evidence is pointing toward the involvement of an overly ambitious vampire—who just happens to be Angie’s ex-husband.

As Angie and Evan team up with CPD, they will have to dig deep into their magical reserves—and rely on some friends in high places—to rid Chattanooga of the danger creeping into their city. Story Set in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Spin-off of the author's Jane Yellowrock series.

Unpredictable Magic is the first installment in author Faith Hunter's Everhart Investigation series. This is a direct spin-off of the author's Jane Yellowrock series, set 20 years in the future. The novel follows witch siblings Angelina (“Angie”) and Evan (“EJ”) Everhart-Trueblood as they run their own paranormal private investigation firm in Chattanooga, Tennessee, focusing on paranormal issues. Angie and Evan take on a seemingly straightforward missing-person case tied to a reception at their aunt Jane Yellowrock’s (the Dark Queen) winter residence.

The investigation quickly spirals: the client isn’t what she seems, demons attack the city for the first time since the Witch War/Demon War, and evidence implicates an ambitious vampire—Angie’s ex-husband, as well as other dangerous vampires who desire to eliminate Jane. The siblings team up with Angie's former love interest, Detective Villati, and are joined by Walter, their vampire bodyguard; Jane Yellowrock; Eli Younger; and Alex Younger, all while trying to maintain independence from Jane's court.

Angie (often in first-person POV) grapples with the aftermath of a difficult marriage to a vampire who took advantage of her, and begins unlocking her full magical potential. Evan (frequently in third-person POV) carries his own scars from the Witches' War, where he was the youngest officer to serve, and brings a protective, tech-savvy edge. (Here is where I wanted more information on the war, although the author does hint at Evan's specialty. In fact, the author could write a novella explaining more about Evan and Angie's role in the War itself.)

There is also the appearance of Cousin Wacko, aka Shiloh Everhart-Stone, a witch-vampire hybrid, whom I would love to see a full novel written from her POV. Her life hasn't been the same since she was turned at 15. The book is dense with lore, history, and explanations—especially in the opening sections as readers (and the protagonists) learn about their magic and the political landscape. Action sequences are fast, visceral, and satisfying, with magic battles and demon incursions keeping momentum high once things kick off.

If you have NOT read the Jane Yellowrock series, you will likely be lost by any mention of characters from it. The story retains the gritty, battle-heavy, politically intricate style of Jane Yellowrock but feels fresher with younger leads establishing their independence and running a PI firm. The investigative mystery element is stronger here, blended with supernatural thriller vibes. It delivers the signature Faith Hunter blend of intricate world-building, high-stakes magic battles, supernatural politics, and character-driven drama, while giving fans a fresh perspective through the lens of the next generation.

Chapter One
Angie

The music was so heavy the bass reverberated in my chest cavity. The lead singer of Kegs and Boots's house band, BloodSin-a vamp who considered himself a heartthrob-had hit an oddly off-key note three times now. It was weird enough to make it impossible to relax fully, to close my eyes and sink into the music and just freaking let go, which I really, really needed after the crazy week and the queen's reception.

People assumed being goddaughter to the Dark Queen of the fangheads was exciting, and sometimes, rarely, it was. But typically, being royalty was tedium: shaking hands, smiling until my cheeks ached, making small talk, and dancing ancient gavottes with five-hundred-year-old vamps. All that, while wearing a sparkly dress and five-inch heels for five hours straight.

Eardrum-busting rock music usually made all that better, but Labaka's fourth off-key note made my eyes pop open, which was why I saw the man approach our empty table, circle it, and walk away. I didn't reclose my eyes.

Our drink goblets and flutes were empty. I hadn't seen the man drop anything into a glass. My arms over my head, my body swaying to the beat, I turned my back to the band, keeping him in sight. Good looking, well-coiffed, he wandered the room by a circuitous route, stopping at a table full of men to clap one guy on the back, give a fist bump to another. Friendly guy. Knew some of the regulars. A moment later, he bent over a table full of women, attempting to flirt. The women waved him off, laughing. He left with a smirk that promised he'd be back. Idiot.

Or dangerous.

Deep inside, something whispered dangerous.

My precog gift or simple paranoia? Which one? Was the guy about to actually do something bad, or was he just a guy with the potential to do something bad? Maybe both. He moved on to chat up two women at a solo table. I didn't have to be a witch to know the two were together and he was wasting his time, but he didn't give up.

Precog or paranoia-my life litany since I was a kid. I'd once known which was which, back when I had an honest-to-God guardian angel, a vampire knight in shining armor, and unlimited witch power. Now, not so much. Being grown up, single again after a bad marriage, and a royal "princess by decree" wasn't all popcorn and lollipops.

In the crowd, I found Corry, KeeKee, and Lissa, the girls I'd gone clubbing with. Safe. Or they should have been. That not-quite-precog nudged me again.

I didn't close my eyes and kept Mr. Smarmy firmly in view. When the dance number ended, I dropped my arms and slipped a hand into a pocket, gripping a small labradorite duck.

The half-inch carved duck had been given to me at the start of my freshman year of college by my Aunt Liz, a stone witch. University was far behind me, but I never discarded an amulet that had been permanently imbued with a working, keeping them charged on one of the stone batteries Aunt Liz had made me, taking useful amulets with me when I was away from home. There was a hole drilled in the duck's head so it could be attached to a necklace or bracelet, but I no longer wore my amulets in public. I couldn't easily hide them under the glamour I wore while out clubbing, and keeping my identity as Angelina Everhart-Trueblood, the Dark Queen's goddaughter and a princess, secret, was the only way I got to go out and have a little fun.

It was different at work. Everhart Investigations Firm relied on the name recognition from both witches and the vamps to bring in new customers. The hypocrisy didn't elude me, though the double standards' sour taste in the back of my throat had decreased over the years.

Tonight, I was thoroughly glamoured in multi-green: eyes, spiky braided green wig, clothing that looked like leaves, even a green tint to my skin. My amulets were hidden in lead-lined pockets, a vamp-killer strapped to my thigh. The witch princess had been replaced by Baby, my club name.

As I made my way off the dance floor, a man's hand encircled my upper arm.

Instinct seized me. I took one step left, my left hand reaching across my body to his wrist. Ready to use his momentum and my body's torque to pull him over my outstretched right leg. Fast. Automatic.

"Hey. Baby. Whyn't you and me have a beer?" Smooth voice. Mesmerizing tones. Labaka, BloodSin's lead singer. Fangs, slick tone, gorgeous, and dumber than a box of rocks. I released his wrist and gripped his little finger, pulling it back just enough to hurt. Reversed my stance, pulled him around by the finger, and squared off with him, our position still keeping our table in view.

Labaka sometimes claimed Indian and Hindu heritage, other times Khmer Rouge, still others Egyptian. I had never been interested enough to check his dossier. He had long black hair, medium brown skin, dark eyes, and a unique vamp-smolder.

"Not interested, Labaka. Same as last week. Same as the week before."

"Come on. Gimme a chance, Baby. I can do things-" His other arm went around my waist.

I can do things. Sure you can. No one did things better than a vamp. Once bitten, twice shy. In this case, literally.

Twisting his pinkie with a rotating gesture, I continued my pivot, going to our table.

He grunted and fell behind, trying to keep up, tripping once over his own feet as I dragged him by the little finger. Idiot. I had never gotten physical with Labaka before. I had never felt this tepid warning of danger in Kegs and Boots either.

I spotted my gal pals together at the end of the bar, still safe in a crowd. I pushed Labaka toward a woman in our path and she grabbed him in a purely physical embrace, cupping his butt in both hands. Labaka forgot all about me.

Sitting, I tossed my wig's spiky green braid over my shoulder, studying our drink glasses. To the naked eye, they looked fine. But. Under the pretense of shoving the empties out of the way, I touched each rim, the duck in my fingers.

The amulet looked like a simple trinket until it detected certain drugs, like old-fashioned roofies, X, pong-a newer synthetic opiate-and even real oldies like LSD and Mollies. It also detected some common chemical poisons including arsenic, strychnine, cyanide, and a few dozen natural bio-poisons such as hemlock and belladonna. If it came into contact with the drugs, it flashed blue. If it found poisons, it gleamed a pinkish hue, the depth of the color indicating the drug. As amulets went, the working contained in it was sophisticated, very popular among the college set and bar hoppers. The working had made the Everhart-Trueblood family coven a lot of money when it went on the market.

The duck didn't change. No flash of color, no lights, no danger that it could detect.

Maybe the good-looking guy was just a random creep checking out the place. I was paranoid with good reason, but still, paranoid was paranoid.

I looked for Smarmy, but he was lost in the crowd. KeeKee's pink Afro was still at the bar and, near her, Lissa's brown hair glistened with fairy light. Labaka was suddenly in front of me, leaning backward against the bar, supported by his elbows, his shirt open to reveal a smooth chest and chains that looked like real gold, his gorgeous eyes on me. Vamps were turned only when a Blood Master had a need of, or a desire for, a human. Labaka had been chosen for his looks and his singing voice. I had to give him one thing: he was persistent in his attempts at seduction.

Lissa and KeeKee threw themselves into their chairs at the table, each with fresh drinks, Lissa gulping hers down. "Where's Corry?" I asked.

"Some cute dude bought us drinks. She's chatting him up," KeeKee said. She turned and pointed. But Corry was nowhere in sight.

I stood so fast, I knocked over my chair, ordering, "Don't drink." Darting toward the right side of the bar, around it, I headed to the entrance. From the corner of my eye I saw Lissa shove her drink away. Saw Labaka's gaze follow me as he instantly stood straight.

According to my internal clock, less than two minutes had passed from the moment I took my eyes off Smarmy. Long enough to drug Corry. Long enough to be halfway to a vehicle with a stumbling, compliant woman.

Corry had red hair, near enough like mine, when I was unglamoured, to pass for me in a dark bar.

And there was still a bounty on my head from that one blood duel that had gone sideways. Only an idiot would try to collect-Son of a witch.

I slammed open doors, scanning each room. No sign of her in the ladies' room. Nor in the lobby. I burst out the entry door, nearly ramming the bouncer. The cold hit me like a fist. "Berky. Have you seen Corry?"

Berky was six-four, a good three hundred, heavily tattooed over every inch of skin not scarred during the Witch War. "Walked off with Tony Montgomery, guy in the Scorpion MAGXL. Sweet ride."

"Where!"

"Chill, Baby. I checked her out. She was fine, chatty, happy as-"

I whirled on Berky. Looked at him with all the power I possessed. "Where. Is. His. Car."

Berky shut up and pointed.

The Scorpion's backup lights came on.

I gave Berky the look, the one I'd learned from Koun, the Dark Queen's war strategist. "You're with me," I ordered.

"Fuck."

Yeah. He'd let a guest get lured away.

Berky lumbering behind me, I dashed toward the Scorpion, a Mag-car. It had an Octi paint job, automatically blending into whatever the driver wanted. Right now, that meant the car had no color at all, opaque, dark as the night. Scorpions were silent and fast as sin.

Tony wanted stealth.

I yanked out a disrupter amulet and pulled my vamp-killer from my thigh as I ran. I initiated the amulet and tossed it at the Scorpion Mag. It attached itself to the back panel. Three seconds until it worked.

One second: The vehicle whipped for the driveway.

Two seconds: I grabbed the wheel well and spun myself onto the hood. Landed with a thump that dented the synth-metal. Caught my grip into the space between hood and windshield.

I had never hit an electromagnetic-powered engine with a disruptor. It might explode. It might fizzle. Anything in between.

Three seconds: Berky cursed. Grabbed the door handle as if he'd stop the car by sheer muscle power.

The disruptor activated. My magic sizzled over the vehicle, interfering with every circuit, every electrical thingamajig, every sensor, every freaking object, gadget, and security feature that used tech. The Scorpion died. Its wheels locked up. The car skidded to a stop.

I didn't have fangs, but I showed my teeth at my reflection in the black windshield. Vicious. Snarling. Green as a leprechaun.

Berky slammed a fist with brass knucks into the driver's window repeatedly. More as an annoyance than to any real effect. These cars were designed during the Witch War, with Witch War tech. The window glass could withstand most anything.

Knowing the car's cameras were down and the security cams for the bar out of sight, I dropped my glamour for a count of two and then reestablished it. I could almost feel the reaction from the guy inside.

Yeah. You drugged the wrong chick. Now you got me to deal with.

I released my hold on the car, kneeling on the hood. Green reflected back at me from the black glass. Like a green gnome with attitude. I removed a small earring from my left earlobe. Held it over the windshield. Still grinning. Giving the guy inside a chance.

"Baby. Stop, girl."

Smooth voice with a vampire push of mesmerism. Labaka. Damn. I risked a glance to both sides. Behind Labaka were six more guys, a mixture of vamp and human. Not the band, but the table full of men that Tony Montgomery, or whoever he really was, had spoken to. What had Labaka gotten me into?

I thumbed the amulet, dropping it into the space between the windshield and hood. Shoved off from my knees, leaping, and landed on the roof. Whirled my vamp-killer in my offhand and tossed two reverse hedge of thorns amulets at the men. In an instant two of my opponents were trapped in energy cages.

Four guys charged.

Berky had reacted to the presence of more men. He stopped smashing at reinforced windows and rushed from the car like a freight train. Rammed his fist down on top of a vamp's head. The guy dropped like a stone. Blood gushed from his mouth. Maybe bit off his tongue. Berky jammed a stake into the vamp's belly.

That left three humans and Labaka. Can't kill humans. Couldn't let them take me either.

Do the unexpected. A memory from my past.

I gripped two stasis amulets and leaped at the men. I was still in the air when a vehicle whirled into the parking area. Headlights lit us up, flickering shadows jittering like zombies.

Whirling, horizontal, I kicked out. Landed only a glancing blow on one as they both moved smoothly to the side. Training. I hit the pavement off balance. Between them. On one foot and hand. Skidded on the old-fashioned asphalt. Caught myself and pivoted on that hand. Left some skin from my palm on the parking lot.

In my peripheral vision I saw one guy holding a gun. He fired. I was already rolling.

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#Review - Somebody Worth Killing by Jessica Payne #Mystery #Thriller

2026-07-16T12:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Unknown
Format: 304 pages, Hardcover

Release Date: June 16, 2026
Publisher: Berkley
Source: Publisher
Genre: Mystery, Thriller

Meet Nadia Davis, a doting mom and loving wife who has a big secret: she’s actually an assassin. And she really needs a babysitter who shows up on time.

Nadia Davis is living the dream as a successful working mom with a career she loves, two adorable little girls, and a devoted husband who has no idea that she’s secretly a hired assassin and psychopath who kills certified bad guys. So when Nadia finds out she’s been “mommy tracked” by her assassin’s agency and is no longer getting the bigger, more exciting jobs, she demands an important mark…somebody worth killing.

But it turns out that big kill is the last person she expects—her husband. How is the sweet, kind, teller-of-dad jokes she’s promised her life to an evil villain who needs exterminating? Has their whole life together been a lie? Now Nadia must choose between the two things she loves most in life, the career that keeps her sane or the family she thought she knew.

Somebody Worth Killing by Jessica Payne is a fast-paced, darkly humorous psychological thriller that blends the high-stakes world of contract killing with the everyday chaos of suburban motherhood. Nadia Davis appears to have it all: two adorable young daughters, a devoted husband named Brian, a successful cover career as a wedding/event planner in San Antonio, and a picture-perfect suburban life complete with Costco runs, PTA meetings, and school pickups.

But Nadia has a secret—she’s a self-diagnosed psychopath and professional assassin who only targets “certified bad guys.” Killing keeps the “monster” inside her at bay and brings her a twisted sense of satisfaction and normalcy. When her agency “mommy-tracks” her—assigning low-profile, local jobs because she’s a wife and mother—she pushes back and demands a high-stakes assignment: somebody worth killing. The target? Her own husband.

Suddenly, Nadia must investigate whether the man she loves is truly evil, confront her own secrets, and choose between the career that keeps her sane and the family she never expected to care about so deeply. Nadia is a complex, memorable anti-heroine. She’s self-aware about her psychopathy (she feels emotions selectively, especially for her kids and husband) yet struggles with the same mom-guilt, multitasking, and gender biases as any working mother.

Her first-person narration is witty, snarky, introspective, and often hilarious, turning absurd situations (lacing a cocktail with sleeping pills to sneak out for a hit, or racing between a sniper rifle and carpool) into darkly comedic gold. Supporting characters add depth: Brian starts as the ideal husband but reveals layers; the young daughters ground the story with heart; a fellow assassin friend (Ian) and Nadia’s grandmother (with a possible similar history and dementia) provide both support and moments of hilarity.

The writing is fast-paced with short, propulsive chapters, clever twists, dark humor, and escalating tension. It evokes Dexter (female, mom edition), Finlay Donovan Is Killing It, and Big Little Lies vibes—domestic suspense meets assassin thriller with satirical edge. Payne researched female psychopaths (noting women often hide it better) and draws from real mom experiences for authenticity. I picked up this book because I thought it was a standalone. I just learned, as I am posting this review, that a sequel is planned for Spring 2027, and the threat to Nadia and her family has just begun.

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#Review - In the Blood by April Henry #YA #Thriller #Suspense

2026-07-14T12:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Standalone
Format: 293 pages, Hardcover

Release Date: May 12, 2026
Publisher: Christy Ottaviano Books
Source: Publisher
Genre: Young Adult, Thriller, Suspense

In this heart-pounding YA thriller, when an adopted teen takes a DNA test to find her biological parents, she unwittingly puts herself in the crosshairs of a serial killer.

Adopted as a newborn, Tessa has always wondered who her biological parents are. After turning eighteen, she takes a DNA test in hopes of finding the answers. With best friend El and lab partner Victor, Tessa uses the results to start building her family tree. But they find more dead ends than answers. Her biological mother, who was raised in a religious cult, has cut all ties with her controlling family. And her biological father remains a complete mystery, at least until the police show up. For fifteen years, they’ve been trying to identify a serial killer known as the Portland Phantom. Tessa may be the link they’ve been waiting for.

April Henry delivers a twisty thriller about the families who choose us—and the ones we’re born into. Biology does not have to dictate one’s destiny.

In the Blood by April Henry is a YA thriller that blends DNA genealogy, adoption identity struggles, and serial-killer suspense into a fast-paced, thought-provoking read. There is 3 key characters: Tessa Lundgren, Officer Keisha Washington, and the serial killer known as the Portland Phantom. Tessa Lundgren, a high school senior in Portland, Oregon, has always felt out of place in her loving adoptive family—her brown hair and eyes stand out against their blonde, blue-eyed looks.

On her 18th birthday, her best friend El gifts her an AncestryDNA kit, sparking a quest to uncover her biological roots. With help from El and her biology lab partner Victor, Tessa begins piecing together her family tree. Her biological mother’s trail leads to a woman who escaped a controlling religious cult but has since vanished. Her father remains a total mystery—until police detectives show up. For over 15 years, authorities have hunted the “Portland Phantom,” a serial killer linked to multiple murders of young women.

Tessa’s DNA provides the long-sought connection. The story unfolds through three alternating perspectives: Tessa’s hopeful (and increasingly anxious) search, Detective Keisha’s determined investigation, and chilling chapters from the killer’s viewpoint. Interspersed documentary-style excerpts add context and realism. Henry keeps the tension high without excessive gore—murders happen “off-screen,” but the killer’s mindset is deeply unsettling.

Tessa is likable and relatable—plucky, smart, and torn between curiosity and loyalty to her adoptive parents. Her friends El and Victor form a supportive, diverse trio. Detective Keisha adds a strong professional counterpoint, while the killer’s sections provide creepy insight without glorifying him. The killer’s identity and connections become predictable early on due to the multiple viewpoints, slightly reducing the mystery for seasoned thriller fans. The ending was also very predictable.

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#Review - Deep Dark Truth by Debra Webb #Thriller #Suspense

2026-07-10T12:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Standalone
Format: 378 pages, Kindle Edition

Release Date: April 14, 2026
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Source: Kindle Unlimited
Genre: Suspense, Thriller

A reporter must keep her past hidden as she hunts a killer terrorizing a small town in Maine in a blood-freezing novel of suspense by USA Today bestselling author Debra Webb.

Investigative reporter Sarah Newton specializes in debunking myths and superstitions—especially when they’re used to cover up horrific crimes.

When a teenage girl is ritualistically murdered and another girl goes missing, Sarah heads to the coastal village of Youngstown, Maine, to find her next story. The locals are convinced these events are the work of a legendary curse. After all, no human in this close-knit community could do something so dreadful. But Sarah knows the truth—one of their own is a cold-blooded killer.

As Sarah starts to unravel the mysteries of Youngstown with the help of a sympathetic councilman, she finds herself at the center of a vicious game. Somebody in town knows too much about her own dark secrets…Can she connect all the dots before the killer strikes again?

Revised edition: Previously published as Find Me, this edition of Deep Dark Truth includes editorial revisions.

Deep Dark Truth by Debra Webb is a gripping, atmospheric suspense thriller (revised and reissued edition of her earlier novel Find Me, with editorial updates) that blends small-town secrets, supernatural folklore, and cold-blooded murder. Investigative reporter Sarah Newton specializes in debunking myths and superstitions that often mask horrific crimes. She travels to the isolated coastal village of Youngstown, Maine, after a teenage girl is found ritualistically murdered in a chapel and another girl goes missing.

The tight-knit community clings to an old legend of a curse—after all, how could one of their own commit such atrocities? Sarah knows better: a human killer is at work. As she digs in, Sarah partners (uneasily at first) with Kale Conner, a sympathetic local councilman and lobsterman tasked with managing the fallout and keeping her in check. The deeper she probes, the more she uncovers layers of secrets, betrayals, and long-buried town sins.

Meanwhile, someone in Youngstown knows far too much about Sarah’s dark past, turning the investigation into a dangerous cat-and-mouse game in which her personal vulnerabilities could cost lives. The story unfolds against a frozen, windswept Maine backdrop that amplifies the isolation and dread. Webb excels at evoking a place where everyone knows everyone—and no one trusts the outsider poking at old wounds. Webb’s research (she reportedly lived in Maine while writing the original) shines through in vivid, sensory details.

The novel builds steadily, layering red herrings, town gossip, and escalating threats. Twists feel earned rather than cheap, and the final revelations deliver a satisfying (and reportedly “off-the-charts creepy”) payoff. Sarah is a prickly, flawed protagonist—abrasive, haunted by her past, and unapologetically dedicated to truth over popularity. She’s not instantly likable, but her growth and vulnerability make her compelling. Kale provides a strong counterbalance: grounded, empathetic, and increasingly torn between loyalty to his town and the mounting evidence.

Their chemistry adds emotional depth without overshadowing the mystery. Webb explores how communities protect their own, the dangers of folklore as a shield for evil, and the personal cost of seeking justice. It’s darker and more gruesome in spots than some cozies, with ritualistic violence that heightens the horror. Deep Dark Truth is a solid, entertaining thriller that showcases Debra Webb’s strengths in romantic suspense and psychological tension. It’s ideal for fans of authors like Lisa Jackson, Karen Rose, or early Tami Hoag—think isolated towns, buried secrets, and strong-willed heroines facing personal and professional demons.

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#Review - Targeted by Kendra Elliot #Mystery #Suspense

2026-07-08T12:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Callahan and McLain # 4
Format: 352 pages, Kindle Edition

Release Date: June 7, 2016
Publisher: Montlake
Source: Kindle Unlimited
Genre: Mystery, Suspense

All Detective Mason Callahan wanted was a quiet fishing trip with the guys—a chance to get away and unwind before Halloween.

Until he finds the body of his boss, Denny Schefte, near their remote Oregon cabin. Now all he wants is to catch the sadist who slit Denny’s throat and covered his face with a mask. Mason was the last person to see him alive and will stop at nothing to find his friend’s murderer.

When the FBI learns of the mask left at the scene, they realize they have a serial killer on their hands—one who is targeting cops. They assign the case to Special Agent Ava McLane, despite her engagement to Mason. Barely recovered from her own nearly fatal injury and her sister’s attempted suicide, Ava hopes she is ready to chase another killer.

But as she delves into the increasingly disturbing case, the killer may be closer than expected—dangerously close.

Targeted is the 4th installment in author Kendra Elliot's Callahan and McLane series featuring Special Agent Ava McLane and Detective Mason Callahan. Targeted serves as the conclusion to the four-book series featuring FBI Special Agent Ava McLane and Oregon State Police Detective Mason Callahan, and no, I have not read the first 3 books yet. One day, perhaps! Mason Callahan heads out on a relaxing fishing trip with fellow law-enforcement buddies to a remote Oregon cabin just before Halloween.

His plans shatter when he discovers the body of his boss, Captain Denny Schefte—throat slit and face covered by a horror movie mask. What begins as a personal tragedy quickly escalates when the FBI recognizes the signature: a serial killer targeting cops and leaving victims adorned with iconic horror masks (think Pinhead, Freddy Krueger, and others). Ava McLane, Mason’s fiancée and an FBI agent still recovering from a near-fatal injury (and family trauma involving her twin sister), gets assigned to the case despite the obvious conflict of interest.

As more officers fall victim and the killer’s taunts grow bolder and more personal, Ava and Mason must navigate professional boundaries, personal fears, and a predator who seems dangerously close to their circle. The story blends high-stakes police procedural work with intimate emotional stakes in the Pacific Northwest setting Elliot knows so well. Elliot excels at creating relatable, resilient protagonists.

Mason is portrayed as strong yet vulnerable—protective without being overbearing, deeply loyal, and emotionally intelligent. Ava continues her arc of growth: she’s competent and independent but learns to lean on her partner while confronting lingering trauma and family dynamics (particularly her complicated relationship with her troubled twin, Jayne). Supporting characters (including Ava’s FBI partner Zander and various law enforcement colleagues) add depth and texture.

The ensemble feels authentic, with subplots like Ava’s family struggles providing emotional grounding without derailing the main investigation. Elliot builds tension masterfully from the chilling opening discovery, weaving in gruesome yet believable crime scenes and a killer whose motives and methods keep readers guessing. Horror movie mask references add a creepy, cinematic layer that heightens unease.

The procedural elements—task force dynamics, evidence chasing, and inter-agency collaboration—are slick and well-researched, making the investigation feel credible and urgent. Twists are surprising without feeling contrived, and the escalating personal danger creates genuine stakes. As the series finale, it delivers a strong resolution to the central mystery while wrapping up Ava and Mason’s journey (with a few threads left open, possibly hinting at future appearances in Elliot’s interconnected universe, like the Columbia River series).

Fans of police procedurals with heart, creepy killers, and resilient couples will find plenty to love here. Highly recommended for a thrilling, page-turning read that leaves you satisfied yet eager for more of Elliot’s Oregon-set stories.

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#Review - You Can Tell Me by Melinda Leigh #Mystery #Suspense

2026-07-06T12:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Olivia Cruz # 1
Format: Kindle, 297 pages
Release Date: May 12, 2026
Publisher: Montlake
Source: Kindle Unlimited
Genre: Mystery, Suspense

Crime writer Olivia Cruz is drawn into the dark secrets of a missing friend in a terrifying novel of suspense by #1 Wall Street Journal bestselling author Melinda Leigh.

On the three-year anniversary of true crime writer Olivia Cruz’s horrific kidnapping, she’s scheduled to walk her podcaster friend Zoe March through the crime scene, but Zoe fails to show. Olivia knows Zoe would never stand her up—not today.

Zoe’s husband, who claims she never came home the night before, has reported her missing. But marital conflicts make the police suspect she has left him. Olivia thinks otherwise. The police aren’t looking for Zoe, so Olivia begins her own investigation. Retracing her friend’s last steps, she finds Zoe’s phone and a text with one chilling word: Run.

It soon becomes apparent that Zoe has been keeping secrets, and with her true crime podcast, there’s no telling what she has unearthed. To find her, Olivia must dig into her friend’s past. Did Zoe vanish to escape a killer, and is Olivia walking into a deadly trap?

You Can Tell Me is the first installment in author Melinda Leigh's Olivia Cruz series. Key characters: Olivia Cruz, Zoe March, Nicki, and Lincoln Sharp. True-crime writer Olivia Cruz is still recovering—physically and psychologically—from a horrific kidnapping three years earlier. On the anniversary of that trauma, she has agreed to revisit the crime scene with her friend Zoe March, a successful true-crime podcaster, for an interview that Olivia hopes will help her finally move forward.

When Zoe fails to appear, Olivia knows something is terribly wrong. Zoe would never stand her up on this of all days. Zoe’s husband reports her missing, but marital strife leads police to treat it as a possible voluntary disappearance. Olivia refuses to accept that and launches her own investigation. Retracing Zoe’s steps, she finds the podcaster’s phone and a chilling one-word text: “Run.” It quickly becomes clear that Zoe had been keeping major secrets, possibly tied to her podcast work.

As Olivia digs deeper—assisted by her boyfriend, PI Lincoln Sharp, and her niece Nicki—she uncovers connections to a thirty-year-old cold case, hidden family lies, and predators who have operated in plain sight. The story blends a missing-person mystery with Olivia’s personal trauma recovery, themes of friendship, trust, and the dangers of true-crime investigation. Side plots involving Nicki add emotional layers and tie into the central threat. The climax is particularly wild, involving a villain confrontation, a black bear, a flash flood, and a submerged car—exactly the over-the-top excitement many thriller readers crave.

Olivia is a compelling protagonist—resilient yet vulnerable, determined but haunted. Her relationship with Lincoln Sharp (a carryover from Leigh’s Morgan Dane series) feels authentic and supportive without overshadowing the main plot. Nicki brings fresh energy and a younger perspective. Fans of Leigh’s interconnected Scarlet Falls / Morgan Dane world will enjoy cameos without feeling lost if this is their entry point.

The novel smartly explores the ethics and risks of creating true-crime content, the long shadow of trauma, and how secrets fracture families and friendships. It balances edge-of-your-seat action with emotional depth. A few plot threads feel crowded, and Olivia’s character can occasionally swing between timid and overly bold in ways that feel slightly inconsistent. That said, these are common in the genre and don’t derail the overall enjoyment.

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#Review - The Last Contract of Isako by Fonda Lee #Dystopian #SYFY #Cyberpunk

2026-06-30T12:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Standalone
Format: 514 pages, Paperback
Release Date: May 5, 2026
Publisher: Orbit
Source: Publisher
Genre: Cyberpunk, Dystopian, SYFY

A battle-worn corporate samurai undertakes one last mission on a merciless planet where death is always a mere breath away, in this standalone science fiction epic from the author of the modern fantasy classic Jade City.

LIVE BY THE CODE. DIE BY THE KNIFE.

Isako is a legendary swordswoman, but every legend must come to an end. When her long-time client unexpectedly retires, she plans to follow—to walk out into the frozen wasteland of their planet with her head held high and her family enriched by her death. But when she's offered a final mission, she can't refuse, especially when she realizes who lies at the center of it all: Martim, her last—and worst—apprentice, who's somehow made his way to the top. As she's thrust into a world of corporate espionage and shadowy secrets, what she uncovers could forever change humanity's existence among the stars.

The Last Contract of Isako is epic science fiction like only Fonda Lee can write it—set in a world where money trumps loyalty, the elite have the power to extend life or end it, and one woman in the twilight of her calling must decide what's ultimately worth living—or dying—for.

The Last Contract of Isako by Fonda Lee is a standout standalone science fiction novel—cyberpunk samurai in space, corporate dystopia with blade-sharp honor, and a masterful character study of aging, legacy, and systemic rot. The story unfolds on the frozen planet Aquilo, where humanity clings to survival inside Tenacity City, an airshield-protected dome run by the all-powerful Company. Resources are brutally scarce. Those who can no longer contribute are expected to "resign" by walking into the lethal tundra beyond the shield—a practice that blends corporate efficiency with ritualistic finality.

This creates a society where loyalty is contractual, life is transactional, and death is often the most honorable exit. The airshield looms as both protector and prison. Corporate divisions wage shadow wars. "Second stagers" (consciousness transfers into synthetic bodies) extend the lives of the elite, raising questions of identity and immortality. Factions divide between terraformers (who want to reshape Aquilo) and reunionists (who seek reconnection with a long-silent Earth). The setting evokes classic cyberpunk grit—neon under a dome, inequality, body modification—but grounds it in samurai-inspired contractor culture and the bleak logic of late-stage capitalism in space.

Isthmus Isako, "Quickblade," is a legendary atier—elite contractors who serve as strategists, bodyguards, advisors, and swordsmen. At 50, she's past her physical prime but unmatched in skill and reputation after 12 years on an Exclusive contract with Director Forest Greves of Astrocommunications. When Greves's division loses a brutal corporate war, he chooses public resignation (deathwalk) alongside laid-off workers, devastating Isako. She plans to follow him, securing a fat bonus for her estranged daughter Maya. Instead, her contract transfers to the victorious Savannah Minto, and Isako receives one final mission: block Sandbar Uchi's ascension to the Board.

This draws her into espionage, the disappearance (or death) of a former apprentice (Dragonfly Martim), drug intrigue, survivor testimonies from a deadly industrial disaster, and layers of conspiracy involving synthbodies, hidden knowledge, and the Company's deepest secrets. The narrative is twisty and structurally bold. It builds through investigation and brutal action, then shifts perspectives and timelines mid-book for major revelations that recontextualize everything. Fight scenes are visceral—Isako's triggersheath quick-draw is iconic—and political maneuvering is tense.

The pace mixes moody character moments with explosive confrontations. Isako is the heart of the book: world-weary yet principled, a mother who prioritized duty over family, a ronin-in-waiting grappling with what her code means when the system is rotten. Her relationships—with old partner Rain Kob (ailing but loyal), apprentices like Martim, and rivals—add emotional depth. Secondary characters feel fully realized, from cunning directors to desperate freelancers. Lee avoids caricatures; everyone operates under the same crushing pressures.

Themes of honor, legacy, mortality, and identity shine through. What does a life of service mean in a machine that discards people? How do you define self when bodies and minds can be swapped? The book explores these without preachiness, through personal stakes. Bleak and tragic in places, yet hopeful in small human connections. The ending satisfies while delivering a gut-punch reality check. The story pays homages to samurai films (Kurosawa echoes), cyberpunk (corporate intrigue, tech inequality), and space opera (big secrets, colonial fallout) while subverting expectations. It strips some "punk" rebellion but amplifies systemic critique. If you enjoy character-driven dystopias, honorable warriors facing impossible systems, or Lee's prior work, this is essential. It cements Fonda Lee as a versatile powerhouse who can deliver epic scope in any genre.

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#Review - This Kingdom Will Not Kill Me by Ilona Andrews #Epic #Fantasy

2026-06-26T12:00:00.000-04:00

Series: Maggie the Undying # 1
Format: 470 pages, Hardcover

Release Date: March 31, 2026
Publisher: Tor Books
Source: Library
Genre: Epic Fantasy

The page-turning politics of Game of Thrones meets the worlds-spanning romance of Outlander in this blockbuster new epic fantasy series from the #1 New York Times bestselling author duo Ilona Andrews.

DELUXE EDITION—featuring gorgeous sky blue sprayed edges

When Maggie wakes up cold, filthy, and naked in a gutter, it doesn't take her long to recognize Kair Toren, a city she knows intimately from the pages of the famously unfinished dark fantasy series she's been obsessively reading and re-reading while waiting years for the final novel.

Her only tools for navigating this gritty world of rival warlords, magic, and mayhem? Her encyclopedic knowledge of the plot, the setting, and the characters' ambitions and fates. But while she quickly discovers she cannot be killed (though many will try!), the same cannot be said for the living, breathing characters she's coming to love—a motley band that includes a former lady’s maid, a deadly assassin, various outrageous magical creatures, and a dangerously appealing soldier. Soon, instead of trying to get home, she finds herself enmeshed in the schemes—and attentions—of dueling princes, dukes, and villains, all while trying to save them and the kingdom of Rellas from the way she knows their stories will end: in a cataclysmic war.

For fans of Samantha Shannon, Danielle L. Jensen, Sarah J. Maas, and isekai and portal fantasy, This Kingdom Will Not Kill Me is the beginning of the most epic adventure yet from genre powerhouse author duo Ilona Andrews.

This Kingdom Will Not Kill Me is the first installment in author Ilona Andrews' new series called Maggie the Undying. This novel marks their first foray into high/epic fantasy and delivers a fresh, meta take on the portal/isekai trope. Maggie Haley, an ordinary woman from our world obsessed with an unfinished dark fantasy series, wakes up cold, filthy, and naked in a gutter in Kair Toren—the capital of the kingdom of Rellas. The gritty, political world of rival warlords, eight great houses, knightly orders, mages, and looming catastrophe feels terrifyingly real.

She possesses two extraordinary advantages: encyclopedic knowledge of the books’ plot, characters, secrets, and doomed trajectory, and the ability to come back from the dead (though the limits and costs remain unclear). Instead of desperately seeking a way home, she dives into survival, alliances, and an attempt to avert the cataclysmic war she knows is coming. It blends the fish-out-of-water romance and adventure of portal fantasy with intricate political intrigue, brutal stakes, and found-family dynamics. Ilona Andrews crafts a rich, lived-in grimdark-leaning fantasy world that feels both familiar (in the best way) and freshly dangerous.

The politics among the Crown, noble houses, knight orders, and magic users are complex and high-stakes—think A Song of Ice and Fire levels of scheming without feeling derivative. Magic systems (with evocative names like Mirror Heart, Fatefire, and others) add layers of wonder and threat. The setting shines through vivid sensory details: the filth of the gutter, the grandeur and rot of the city, the tension in every alley and court. Magical creatures and outrageous elements keep things lively. The world feels expansive yet grounded, with real consequences for every choice.

Maggie is a relatable, competent, and refreshingly adult. She’s not a teenager discovering hidden powers or instantly becoming queen. She’s a woman who has lived a bit, relies on wit and book knowledge, makes mistakes, and grows through them. Her love of stories and determination to protect characters she’s come to care about make her deeply sympathetic. Her “undying” ability adds tension rather than making her overpowered; death still hurts, and the emotional/psychological toll is explored. The supporting cast is colorful and memorable.

Maggie quickly builds a ragtag found family—including a former lady’s maid, a deadly assassin, outrageous magical creatures, and a dangerously appealing soldier. These relationships feel earned and heartwarming amid the darkness. The broader cast (princes, dukes, villains, knights) is large and politically entangled; keeping track of everyone can be challenging at first, but the payoff in alliances, betrayals, and twists is worth it. Many readers highlight strong banter, loyalty, and character growth. The story starts with immediate survival stakes and steadily builds into intricate political maneuvering, action, mystery, and larger quests.

Early sections involve more exposition and setup (a common note in reviews), but once Maggie gains footing and allies, the pacing accelerates into addictive, page-turning territory with fights (magical and mundane), clever schemes, and shocking revelations. The tone balances grim stakes—violence, political brutality, and the ever-present threat of war—with Ilona Andrews’ signature humor, snappy dialogue, and moments of warmth. It’s plot-heavy, with strong elements of adventure and intrigue, while delivering emotional depth on trauma, resilience, found family, and changing fate. Romance is present but secondary to the plot and character arcs—a slow-burn with excellent chemistry and tension rather than instant swooning or heavy spice.

The central relationship develops naturally through shared danger, banter, and mutual respect. Fans of Ilona Andrews’ pairings will likely adore the dynamic; it promises to deepen across the trilogy. It’s more “romantasy lite” than full-on romantasy, which suits the epic scope. Comparisons to Outlander (portal elements + romance), Game of Thrones (politics + brutality), and isekai/portal fantasies (Samantha Shannon, Danielle L. Jensen, Sarah J. Maas vibes) are apt. It also echoes the “book lover trapped in their favorite story” trope, but grounds it with serious consequences. I will say this in closing. Do not be shocked if the book ends on a cliffhanger. These days, this is the only way authors can get readers to continue with the series. Unless you don't like the story!

CHAPTER 1

MONTH OF PLANTER, DAY 6

Rain drenched the city, cold and relentless. It leached all color from the medieval-looking buildings, turning the world gray and soaking through the filthy rag in which I had swaddled myself. The sour stench rising from the grimy folds was truly epic. I couldn’t feel my toes, and my fingers were going numb.

The three-story buildings towered over the alley like the walls of a stone canyon, boxing me in. Sometime between yesterday evening and this morning, my stomach had turned into a painful bottomless pit. I hadn’t eaten in three days. I wasn’t even shivering anymore. My body didn’t have the energy.

I checked on my rock again. It lay in a puddle by my feet, a cream-colored chunk of building stone about the size of a large grapefruit. Any bigger, and it would be too hard to grip with one hand. I had found it this morning and carried it through the rain for two hours until I found the right bridge.

The rock was still there. I touched it with my foot to make sure. It felt solid and real.

I peeled myself from the wall and leaned a little to glance out of the alley. In front of me a narrow stone bridge spanned the width of a rain-swollen river. Another wall of medieval buildings loomed on the other side. Behind them, a tower soared, a spire rising at least six hundred feet, silhouetted against the storm-choked sky and topped by a huge flower of translucent, milky glass. The flower’s petals were shut into a bud, guarding the observation deck in its center from the storm. Every few seconds, bright gold sparks dashed through the enchanted glass.

A dozen dark shapes circled the flower, surfing the wild air currents. My brain expected them to be birds, but birds had only one pair of wings, not two. The feeling of wrongness was overwhelming.

Yep, the Mage Tower and the strange bird-things were still there, too.

I huddled against the wall.

I couldn’t touch the Mage Tower, but I knew it was real. For one, I had pictured it differently. In my head it was a flawless pale needle, elegant and almost dainty. If this had been a hallucination, what I saw would’ve matched the vision in my head, but the reality was nothing like that. This tower jutted up, defiant, its walls worn but strong, as if it had grown from bedrock. And it felt old. Like it had stood there for thousands of years and would stand just like that for another millennium, timeless and indifferent, while the city around it crumbled into dust, rebuilt, and crumbled again.

No, it was real, like this endless rain, like the pain in my freezing bare feet, and like the gnawing ache in my stomach.

In the distance, a bell tolled four times. Four PM.

It wouldn’t be too long now.

To say that this was not the way I envisioned spending my Sunday would be a criminal understatement. Today would’ve been my one day off. I should’ve spent it watching Netflix, nibbling on a pizza, and reading while lounging on my couch in my tiny apartment, in my soft sweatpants, warm and dry. Not wrapped in a dirty rag, shivering in a grimy alley, while the sky dumped gallons of cold rain on my head.

I wasn’t a big reader through most of my childhood, but when I was sixteen, my first serious boyfriend broke up with me, and it was hell. My brain kept rehashing every moment of the relationship in excruciating detail. One afternoon, as I lay on my bed, wallowing in self-pity, my mom handed me a thick fantasy book, and when I turned my nose up at it, she told me, “Maggie, you need to live in someone else’s head for a bit.”

I’d thought I would read a few pages. When I came up for air, five hours later, my breakup was an afterthought. Some seriously messed-up stuff happened on the first page, and I had to find out how it turned out. Somehow by the end of those five hours, the book had wrung me dry. I could deal with life again.

I’d tried every genre under the sun since, but fantasy was my vice of choice. There was something about blades and magic that did it for me. Deadly swordmasters, thieves prowling through moonlit streets, dark magicians, warrior princesses, ruthless nobles, majestic dragons, hideous monsters, I loved it all. Put a hot dude in armor with a sword on the cover, and my eyes glazed over while my hand crept to the BUY button, budget be damned.

I had read enough fantasy books to fill a library, but that very first series was my special treasure. Set in the city of Kair Toren, capital of the kingdom of Rellas, the story revolved around the power struggles of eight noble families, and it was so full of fantasy tropes, it would be clichéd except that the superb writing moved it right past stereotypical into classic. The characters felt so real, they practically jumped off the page.

The series had two books, The Thieves of the North and The Lords of the East. The third one had never come out.

I had been rereading those two books for the last ten years. Whenever life got to be too harsh, I would grab them off my bookshelf, and they never failed to pull me out of whatever funk I had going on at the time. I could quote passages from memory. I had stalked the author’s abandoned website religiously for any hint of a release date. I haunted the fan groups looking for rumors and stewing in collective frustration. Adrian Latour, the author of the series, was always an enigma. He didn’t do social media or appearances, and his bio, with a blank square where the author photo should have been, consisted of a single sentence: Adrian Latour, man of dreams and chronicler of stories. After the second book came out, he seemed to vanish. He never wrote anything else, and nobody offered an explanation as to why he stopped working. The story just cut off. One of my favorite characters was left standing on a box with a noose around his neck for a decade.

Three nights ago, after a long day of delivering groceries, I went to sleep in my apartment south of Austin and woke up in Kair Toren.

A hint of movement on my left made me turn. Something small padded through the rain toward me. I brushed the water off my face.

A red furry creature padded out from the rain-soaked alley and stared at me with unblinking dark eyes. Its head was round, with curved marten ears that stood straight up, a button nose, and very long whiskers. It didn’t walk, it slunk, its longish body sitting low on four short legs that ended in webbed hand-paws armed with sharp retractable claws. It was as if an otter and a Ragdoll cat had a baby and dyed it red.

A stelka. A female one. Males had tufts on their ears.

Stelkas infested Kair Toren and its five rivers, catching fish and rats, eating garbage, raiding cellars, stealing everything that wasn’t nailed down, and generally being a nuisance. Like overly smart foxes, except that normal foxes at least hesitated before they scurried over to take a bite out of someone five times their size. Last night, exhausted and desperate, I’d fallen asleep under some busted crates, and this morning I woke up because one of these red assholes decided to chew on my leg.

The stelka opened her mouth and showed me sharp white teeth.

It couldn’t be.

I crouched and tilted my head, trying to get a better look.

There it was, a white patch on the stelka’s chest that looked like a lopsided half-moon. I had seen a dozen stelkas in my three days of stumbling around the city, and only one of them had a white patch like that. I must’ve been really delicious.

“You followed me.” My voice creaked like I had crawled out of the grave.

The stelka eyed me.

“Nope. Not happening.”

The little creature took a step forward.

I showed her my rock.

Another step.

I gripped the rock and hit the cobblestones with it.

The beast shied back and hissed.

A piercing screech tore through the air above us. I glanced up. One of the weird birds swooped at the tower in a suicidal dive and rammed the petals.

For a moment, the entire flower went dark, barely visible in the rain.

Oh crap.

The bud pulsed with pale light. Tongues of golden lightning erupted from the petals, snaking toward the birds. They tried to flee in a panic, but the lightning chased them, stabbing at their wings.

One of the bird-things cried out, plunged from the sky, and smashed onto the paver stones between me and the stelka with a wet thud. It was about the size of an eagle, with a long whip-like tail tipped with a fan of dark feathers. Its wings were wide, its long hind legs were sheathed in contour feathers, and all four of its appendages ended in paws armed with sharp talons.

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#Review - An Ordinary Sort of Evil by Kelley Armstrong #Mystery #Suspense

2026-06-22T12:00:00.000-04:00

Series: A Rip Thru Time # 5
Format: 320 pages, Hardcover

Release Date: May 19, 2026
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Source: Publisher
Genre: Mystery, Suspense, Historical

New York Times bestselling author Kelley Armstrong returns to Victorian Scotland in the latest in the genre-blending Rip Through Time series.

Modern-day homicide detective Mallory Mitchell has grown accustomed to life in Victorian Scotland after travelling 150 years into the past into the body of a housemaid. She’s built a new life for herself. Even though she works as an assistant to forensic-science pioneer Dr. Duncan Gray and Detective Hugh McCreadie, she considers them true friends. And with Gray in particular, perhaps, someday, something more.

Late one night, Gray and Mallory are summoned urgently to the home of Lady Adler, a patron of Gray’s undertaking business, and they assume there's been a death in the household. But instead, they arrive in the midst of a seance with a ghost demanding Gray's presence. The ghost is Lady Adler's former maid, who had gone missing but now requests that Gray investigate her murder. Although Gray and Mallory are skeptical, they agree to look into the matter, whether she's dead or alive. But unsure if there's been a murder or not, unable to call out the medium as a fraud, and concerned for the fate of the young maid, Gray and Mallory are once again drawn into a mystery much more puzzling--and more dangerous--than it first seems

An Ordinary Sort of Evil is the Fifth installment in author Kelley Armstrong's A Rip Thru Time series. The story is set in 1870 Scotland, during the Victorian Era in England. Modern-day homicide detective Mallory Mitchell (now inhabiting the body of housemaid Catriona) has settled into her unlikely new life in Edinburgh in 1869–1870. She works as an assistant to Dr. Duncan Gray—a pioneering forensic scientist and undertaker—and teams up with Detective Hugh McCreadie on cases.

Late one night, Gray and Mallory are summoned to the home of Lady Adler, a wealthy patron. Instead of a routine death, they walk into a séance where the "ghost" of Lady Adler’s former maid demands that Gray investigate her murder. Skeptical of spiritualism but unable to dismiss the request outright (especially given their patron’s status and the era’s fascination with séances), the duo begins probing. The maid was thought to have simply left for a better position, but when her body turns up, the case turns deadly serious.

What follows is a layered mystery involving suspects from various social strata, questions about the medium’s legitimacy, hidden motives, and dangers that test Mallory and Gray’s partnership. The story stands alone as a self-contained mystery while advancing overarching series threads, including relationships and Mallory’s adaptation to Victorian constraints. Armstrong crafts an engaging, non-straightforward whodunit with red herrings, social commentary, and escalating stakes.

The blend of forensic science (primitive by modern standards but cutting-edge for the time), police procedure, and séance-era spiritualism adds freshness. Tension ramps up in the latter half with intense, suspenseful scenes. Mallory remains a standout—sharp, sarcastic, and relatable as she navigates class/gender restrictions while applying 21st-century detective skills. Her banter with the pragmatic, science-minded Duncan Gray sparkles, especially in moments highlighting cultural clashes and flirtation mishaps. Side characters like Hugh, Isla, and the irrepressible Jack add depth and humor.

Add in an actual historical person who appears to be a huge fan of the Detective Chronicles written by Jack, featuring Mallory and Grey, and it gives the story some brevity. After months of will they or won't they, Armstrong finally solves that question emphatically, and even Isla gets involved with trying to tell Mallory that everyone knows what is happening between her and Grey. The ending was really good, and I have to say, I am actually looking forward to seeing where this series goes from here.

ONE

The patient is not cooperating. The sutures keep coming out, because she absolutely refuses to take it easy, no matter how hard her nurse works to keep her confined to her bed. It doesn’t help that she’s so young. It also doesn’t help that she’s a cat. A Scottish wildcat to be specific.

A month ago, my boss had to amputate her right hind leg after an accident, and short of permanently sedating her, we can’t seem to keep her from ripping out the sutures. Now I’m holding her, along with her “nurse”—our parlormaid, Alice—and she’s already bitten Gray twice. The kitten, that is, not Alice, though the thirteen-year-old can’t keep from glowering at her employer each time her precious baby yowls.

The patient’s name is Freya, from Alice’s recent obsession with Norse mythology. I’d suggested Houdini, for the cat’s uncanny ability to escape from any bandages we put on her. Of course, no one else got the reference, probably because it’s 1870 and Houdini likely hasn’t been born yet.

My name is Mallory Mitchell. Or that’s my name in Victorian Edinburgh. I was born Mallory Atkinson, in Vancouver … in 1989. How I ended up in the body of a nineteen-year-old housemaid is a long story, but I’ve been here just over a year, in the household of Dr. Duncan Gray, physician turned undertaker and early forensic scientist. I’m no longer a housemaid, thankfully. I’m Gray’s assistant, which is a position much more befitting of a former police detective. Even if my current job is wrestling a very small and very pissed-off wildcat.

“Mallory…” Gray says through gritted teeth. “The patient needs to be restrained.”

“The patient is a five-pound fanged eel masquerading as a kitten. Are you sure you don’t want to sedate her?”

Gray only grunts. The problem is that Freya rips her stitches too often and anesthetic is still relatively new. Gray—rightfully—is concerned about overusing it on such a young patient, and I have to give him credit for that. As with so many “miracle” advancements, chloroform and ether are used a little too zealously in this world, right up to being given out at parties. Because nothing says “a good time” like passing out cold in your host’s living room.

“Can you hold her for a moment, Alice?” I say. “I have an idea.”

She restrains Freya, while cooing and petting her, and promising this will all be over soon. I grab a small strip of bandage. Then, after getting Gray to hold Freya’s head, I blindfold her. She instantly goes still.

I exhale. “Now, Alice, if you can keep her good back leg steady, I’ll look after the front end.”

With the mask on, Freya seems confused. Probably also freaked out, but not the hissing and biting kind of freaked out. I remember a friend who used a blindfold to brush her Persian cat, and the trick seems to work.

Gray swiftly restitches her tiny stump. Then he takes over holding Freya’s rear quarters as Alice bandages the area. Alice has plenty of experience doing that, and her small fingers fly.

When the front doorbell rings, we all glance in that direction. The grandfather clock recently struck nine in the evening, which means our housemaid, Jack, is gone. Gray’s sister Isla is out with McCreadie. Mrs. Wallace will have retired.

“Do you wish me to answer that, sir?” Alice asks Gray, her tone proper now that Freya is tended to, the evil kitten-hurting doctor replaced by her respect-deserving boss.

“I’ll get it,” I say. While it’ll still be light out, I don’t like the idea of Alice answering the door at night.

I leave Alice cuddling Freya and slipping her bits of fish from dinner. When I walk out of the laboratory, Gray is right behind me, because while I might not be willing to let Alice answer the door so late, he’s not willing to let me do it. Also, he’s curious, as always, but it would be unseemly for the man of the house to answer his own door, even if he runs his family business out of the building.

We live in a town house on Robert Street, in the New Town district of Edinburgh, which in this time means the area where people like Gray live. Educated professionals, yes, but also people with money. His father ran a successful undertaking business that put the family solidly in the upper end of the middle class.

After Irvine Gray’s death, the business should have gone to his eldest son. I’ve never even met Lachlan Gray—he’s off in … Asia? America? Who knows these days. Definitely not the stay-at-home type or the look-after-the-family-business type. The best person to run the company would have been Irvine’s oldest, Annis, who is a genius when it comes to business. But there was no way he’d bequeath it to a daughter. So when Lachlan refused, it went to his youngest—even though Gray is the illegitimate son Irvine brought home nearly thirty years ago.

Gray does not love undertaking. He does, however, love Isla and his stepmother, Frances, and so he took over the business to provide for them while he pursued his passion in forensics. His laboratory is here, on the ground floor, the rest of the level given over to the business of undertaking. So we don’t have far to go before reaching the front door.

I pull it open to see a middle-aged manservant on our steps.

“Good evening, miss,” the man says. His face is ruddy and he’s short of breath, sounding as if he ran instead the whole way, despite the coach parked right behind him. “Is Dr. Gray at home?”

“May I tell him who has come to call?” I ask, as if my damned boss isn’t right behind the door, listening and waiting to decide whether he wants to be at home or not.

“I come from Lady Adler,” he says. “She needs Dr. Gray, urgently.”

I hesitate. Gray is a trained doctor with degrees in both medicine and surgery. But he isn’t licensed to practice, so unless this Lady Adler is a very close friend, she’d never call him for that. I’ve never heard the name, which means she’s not a close friend.

Yet that isn’t the only reason she might know Gray well. When it comes to romantic entanglements, his tastes run to sophisticated widows, and while I haven’t known him to be “entangled” since I arrived, his former lovers do tend to find reasons to renew the acquaintance.

When I look at Gray, though, he seems genuinely puzzled. That should mean this “Lady Adler” isn’t a former lover, but he can be a wee bit oblivious in this regard, honestly confused as to why women might reach out after their affair has ended.

“I fear I have not been with Dr. Gray for long,” I say. “Will he know what this is in regards to?”

“Lady Adler is a longtime patron,” the man says, with some impatience. “If you take him the message, I am certain he will come.”

“Patron…”

“Of his business?” the man snaps. “As an undertaker? I do not know who you are, miss, but I would strongly suggest that if you wish to keep your position, you should not interfere with your employer’s occupation. Particularly when it comes to very influential patrons.”

“Of course. I am so sorry, sir. Dr. Gray has retired for the evening, and I was loath to wake him, but obviously I will do so immediately. Would you like to step inside? We have a waiting room.”

Gray’s look of alarm is very satisfying. Really, if the guy is just going to hide behind the door and make me run interference, he deserves a scare. Of course, the fellow refuses the invitation—he can’t leave the coach on the road—and I assure him I will fetch Dr. Gray immediately.

Then I shut the door and glare. “Please tell me you know who Lady Adler is.”

“Of course,” he says.

My glare deepens to a scowl. “Then why did you act as if you didn’t?”

“I am confused by the summons, not the name.”

“I presume someone has died.”

“Perhaps. But to show up at my door? At night? That is not done.”

He has a point. In this time period, undertakers have nothing to do with the bodies. His laboratory isn’t for embalming. When someone dies, the grieving relatives hire Gray to make all the necessary arrangements for the burial, the service, and so on.

“Does no one ever call you out in the middle of the night?” I ask. “When they’re in shock and all they can think to do is make the necessary arrangements?”

“It has happened, but it is exceptionally rare, and that is not like Lady Adler.”

He has a point. In my world, we might panic at having a dead body in the house and call the first person we can think of to help. If our family has an undertaker they’ve used before, it could be that person. But Victorians are much more accustomed to death.

Here, people die of disease and accident all the time, and you don’t shove the body out the door as quickly as you can. You keep it until the service, and people pay their respects in your home. To an unembalmed corpse. Well, no, not always. Because while bodies aren’t embalmed by undertakers, I actually found it mentioned in a book. A book of household hints with instructions so the women of the house could keep the body of their loved one fresh throughout the visitation period.

Say what you will about the Victorians, but while they may have a reputation for pretty manners, they were not squeamish. Well, not when it comes to death. Sex is a whole other matter, though from what I now understand, they’re only reticent about discussing it. They’re certainly doing it.

“This Lady Adler…” I say. “Could she be summoning you for … anything else?”

His expression is adorable bewilderment. Oh, I know I shouldn’t call it adorable. I doubt anyone else would. Gray doesn’t have that kind of face. It’s perpetually serious. Handsome, but in a severe way, cool and austere.

“Is she … a widow friend of yours?” I prod.

I say it as delicately as I can, but that doesn’t keep him from going red. Victorians.

“Lady Adler is at least sixty,” he sputters.

“Well, I know you don’t have a problem with older women. Is that too old?”

More sputtering. “She is married.”

“Ah, okay. Yes, you don’t do that.”

“I do not,” he says. “My relationship with Lady Adler is purely professional, and even then, I have only met her a handful of times. Her husband was friendly with my father. Isla knows her better, through their charitable work. Lady Adler is a renowned philanthropist.”

“Who is your … patron? What does that mean? That you’re her family undertaker? Like being the family lawyer? I know the death rate is high in this time, but it still doesn’t seem like a regular job.”

“Her father used our services and recommended them to others, and Lady Adler does the same. It’s the recommendations that make her a patron. Her support is immensely valuable, as her family is very well respected and connected.”

“Ah, so she’s responsible for a good chunk of your business—not directly, but by sending clients your way. And I presume those clients recommend you to others.”

“Yes.”

“Is it okay to convey your regrets, then? Tell the driver I cannot rouse you? Or you are not at home?”

Gray’s shoulders slump with a look that is as adorable as the bewilderment. He wants to refuse. He might not like undertaking, but he’s very good at it—the organizational parts, at least. He can make the arrangements efficiently and expediently at a reasonable cost, never cheating the client, which is a huge issue with Victorian undertakers. What he’s not so good at? Dealing with the mourners themselves.

Since I have experience with grieving relatives as a police detective, I’ve started handling that where I can, leaving him to support them in his way—taking all the arrangements off their shoulders. If Lady Adler is summoning him at this hour, though, she doesn’t want to arrange a funeral. She needs comfort.

“I could do it,” I say.

He shakes his head. “That would be an insult to someone of Lady Adler’s stature. I must go. But if you would come with me…”

I smile. “Of course.”

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