Take your first look at the cover for The Faerie Morgana (US) by Louisa Morgan coming September 2025!

In a world in which only the common folk believe there are still fae in the land, four-year-old Morgana is separated from Queen Ygraine, who she believes is her mother, to be transported from the castle of Camulod to trained at the Lady’s Temple on the Isle of Apples. There she proves to be prodigiously gifted. She is devoted to Arthur, who she thinks is her half-brother, and who she knows to be the true king of Lloegyr. Using her magic, and guided by the mage called the Blackbird, she aids the young prince to release the sword of power from the stone where it has rested for years in the Lady’s Temple. She deliberately gives his father, Uther, a flawed protection charm when she realizes by scrying that Uther means to betray Lloegyr.

Her action brings Arthur to the throne before his time. The Blackbird is furious with her, saying she has shortened Arthur’s reign, but she doesn’t understand. Even though she had tried to prevent Uther’s betrayal of Lloegyr, the Blackbird—her mentor and teacher since she was tiny—accuses her of hubris and recklessness, and they do not speak for years.

As King Arthur and his knights fight the Romans and Saxons, Morgana suffers heartbreak by falling in love with Lancelin. She and Arthur’s young queen, Gwenvere, become mortal enemies when the faithless Gwenvere betrays Arthur. Arthur’s death comes about because he gives his own protective charm, created by Morgana, to his dearest friend, Lancelin. Morgana, having learned that she is the daughter of the Lady herself, fully fae as her true mother was, restores the sword of power to its stone to await the coming of the next true king of Lloegyr. She takes a sacred vow to remain at the Temple to protect it until that day.

Also by Louisa Morgan

The Ghosts of Beatrice Bird
(US | UK)

The Great Witch of Brittany
(US | UK)

The Age of Witches
(US | UK)

The Witch's Kind
(US | UK)

A Secret History of Witches
(US | UK)

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Tartufo

by Kira Jane Buxton

From the author of Hollow Kingdom, a fantastically funny story featuring a cast of colorful characters in a dying Italian village and a giant truffle that changes their fate forever in this “deliciously absurd tale….I savored every page of this book.” (Shelby Van Pelt, author of Remarkably Bright Creatures)

After nearly losing the election to a geriatric donkey, newly installed Mayor Delizia Miccuci can’t help but feel like the sun has finally set on the rural Italian village of Lazzarini Boscarino. Tourists only stop by to ask for directions, Nonna Amara’s cherished ristorante is long shuttered, and the town hall is disgustingly overrun with glis glis poo—even Postman Duccio has been disgraced. All that’s left is Bar Celebrità, a rustic establishment where weary locals gather to quibble over decades-long disputes, submit their poor stomachs to bartender Giuseppina’s volcanic espresso, and wonder what will become of the place where together they’ve spent their entire lives.  

Little do the villagers know that local truffle hunter Giovanni Scarpazza has just happened upon something that could change everything. A truffle—un tartufo, that is—sits beneath the soil with the power to either be the greatest gift or the foulest curse the village has ever seen.

Written in the same enchanting style and raucous humor that defines Hollow Kingdom and Feral Creatures, Tartufo is a reflection on the interconnectedness of life in all its manifestations—and how holding on to harmony in the face of hardship can grow something beautiful and rare beneath the surface.

Price

$14.99

Price

$19.99 CAD

Format

ebook

1. Hardcover
2. Audiobook Download (Unabridged)

This item is a preorder. Your payment method will be charged immediately, and the product is expected to ship on or around January 28, 2025. This date is subject to change due to shipping delays beyond our control.

Also available from:

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AARON DOES NOT RETURN

September 15–16

Aaron does not return the next day. Bea comes back from school earlier than usual, and surges through the door, more upbeat than she’s been in days.“Where is he?” she asks.

When I shake my head, she stops in place.

“Did he call?” she asks.

“No call,” I say, “no text.” And of course, no email, a form of communication that Aaron and his age peers treat like a dead language. She falls into a chair.“Please,” she says. Please not the nightmare‐land we were living in a couple of years ago, when Aaron never failed to disappoint. She sits, silent and unmoving, for a few minutes, then pours herself a glass of wine and drifts down to the lake, where, from the broad windows of the living room, I can see her on an old park bench at the water’s edge, staring at the placid surface. I do not have the heart to remind her yet that we have a social obligation tonight, hosting a long‐delayed dinner for Bea’s deputy principal, Daria Lucci Zabatakis, to celebrate Daria’s fiftieth birthday. Instead, I decide to grant her a half hour alone.

I lived in this house, four bedrooms and all, by myself for several years after I acquired the place from my erstwhile lover, Lorna Mooney. Guilt-racked after telling me she was moving to California to marry someone else, she had offered me the place at a price I would have been foolish to refuse.

In response to Lorna’s announcement—her engagement and the house in the same agonized soliloquy—I chose my words with care. I didn’t want to say out loud that I was actually relieved, but I steadily maintained that her price essentially turned the house into a magnificent gift. Yet Lorna’s sons had moved on after their father’s death, and Lorna couldn’t imagine returning with her new husband while her former lover was living immediately behind her. Matt had left her oodles, and the new guy was also loaded. I, by contrast, could not ultimately forsake the chance to live with the view that for decades I had coveted. From our cabin, Barbara and I could glimpse only a fragment of the lake when our spring chairs were positioned just so on our front porch and the trees were bare of leaves.

I dwelled here for a few years, relishing the sight of the lake, serene in every season but a different shade each day, before I realized that the architecture of the house itself is not much to my taste. It was solidly built but getting older when Matt and Lorna bought it more than two decades before with the intent to knock it down and start again. They never got that far, because Matt’s business, like many contractors, was always cash-​starved. The place is 1960s construction, which was a kind of dead zone in American design. The style is neither Modern nor rustic. The living room ceiling rises at a steep slant to make way for the impressive rock fireplace, and Matt made a smart choice by blowing out the wall that separated that space from the dining area and kitchen. But I don’t care for the thick mullions that turn the wall of windows facing the water into a checkerboard of two‑by‑three-​foot panes, or the 1960s efficiencies elsewhere, like hollow-​core doors, lower ceilings and walls of skimpy drywall. Bea and I talk about a significant renovation after we get married, but like our elusive wedding date, that is, so far, no more than talk.

By six thirty, Bea has dressed and put on a game face, and we are on our way to Como Stop. We rarely make plans for Friday nights when Bea is characteristically exhausted by the school week, but our date with Daria has been postponed so many times, starting with the pandemic, that both couples have sworn a blood oath to show up in the posh dining room of the Hotel Morevant on the shore of Como Lake. Daria is probably Bea’s closest friend locally, although their intimacy doesn’t rival Bea’s relationship with Neba Malone, Bea’s BFF since their freshman year of college.

Bea and Daria also met in college, during the second semester of Bea’s senior year at Wisconsin State. After Neba graduated early, Bea moved into her sorority house, where Daria and she were matched as roommates since they were both Education majors. When Bea became the principal in Mirror decades later, she recruited Daria to join her. Raised in a strict Italian home outside Kindle County, Daria can do a more convincing impression of the tough disciplinarian the kids sometimes require, and, in addition, has a knack with budgeting.

She is also a perfect companion for tonight, since she is relentlessly entertaining and generally relieves everybody else of the need to make conversation. She speaks at the speed of a bullet train, dropping frequent one-​liners that fly past so fast you get only limited time to laugh. Her husband, Nick, a quiet CPA, nods and smiles, but rarely interrupts.

We are home by ten thirty. Bea, of course, has rushed into the house to find, a full day after last night’s text, that there is still no sign of Aaron. She imparts a lifeless kiss and announces she is turning in. I did not call the judge this morning, because I expected Aaron to show up any minute. Saturday or not, tomorrow I am going to have to track down Morton Sams.

I doze off in my recliner while simultaneously reading and watching a West Coast football game. I finally wake myself enough to go to sleep in our bed, only to feel, a few hours later, the sudden movement of Bea’s departure. I struggle to depart the floating craft of sleep but finally manage and find her with her hand still on the kitchen light switch. At the breakfast bar sits Aaron, who has been picking at a cold chicken breast I grilled a couple nights back. His other hand is over his eyes in the sudden glare.

Aaron is a striking young man, who considerable resemblance to Julian Bond, the activist and poet who used to get a lot of attention in the press decades ago. Ordinarily careful about his appearance, he looks somewhat rummaged tonight. His T‑shirt is grimy and for some reason he’s stepped out of his jeans, which are heaped in the doorway, while he sits on a highbacked kitchen stool in his briefs. After getting shorn to a prison buzz, he’s taken some pleasure in his hair, worn in a stylish high and tight, a low ’fro with shaved sides, the top recently dyed chartreuse, but he hasn’t noticed a twig enmeshed a few inches above his eyes. A streak of mud cuts across his throat, near his tattoo. Lloyd, Aaron’s father, regards body ink as an insult to the deity, but Aaron outflanked his dad a few years ago by having a six-​inch gothic cross, outlined in blue, inscribed from the corner of his jaw almost to his shoulder. Lloyd could not complain, knowing that for Aaron, it was a sincere gesture. Since childhood, Bea says, Aaron has been steadfast in his faith. Bea herself is suspicious of all organized religion, save the Church of George Lucas, meaning she feels some Force, larger and more inscrutable than mere human intelligence can fully comprehend. Sadly I, by contrast, have never really experienced the presence of a higher being.

“Aaron, where the hell have you been?” she asks.

He sighs and finally says that it’s a long story.

“Well, we’d like to hear it,” she answers. “Except for a one-​line text, we haven’t seen or heard from you since Monday. It’s Saturday now.”

“Barely,” he answers. He licks his fingers and presses the plastic top back onto the container. Then he climbs down from the stool. He is tall and lean. Dressed, he appears insubstantial, but when he’s in his skivvies, you can see he’s ripped. “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Right now, I’m just wasted. I need to crash.”

He takes a step toward the doorway and his mother cuts him off.

“No,” she says. “No. We’re all going to treat one another with respect. That’s what we said when you moved back in here. We promised the judge you’d stay in touch—or go back to jail. Where were you?”

This is as harsh as I’ve heard Bea be with Aaron, certainly since he’s lived here. She usually relies on the fact that Aaron, like any child, knows when she’s angry. In those moods, she tends to guilt him with practiced patience. Aaron’s grey eyes linger on his mother now. I can see he’s still thinking about stonewalling her.

“I was camping up north.”

“And how did you get there?” Bea says. “You didn’t ride your bike.”

“I was with Mae.”

Bea studies her son, rolling her jaw unconsciously. At least he’s telling the truth.

“I thought you and Mae were done with one another.”

“We are now,” he says.

“What happened? And why were you with her in the first place?”

He exhales deeply and takes a step back to perch his hind end on

the stool.

“We were talking about getting married,” he says. I realize immediately that Mansy’s remark about eloping did not come out of the blue. It was probably something Mae’s mom had shared as a deep dark secret. But I had not repeated that to Bea, understanding how panicked she’d have been by the notion. Now, she’s reduced to gap-​jawed silence for a second.

“Married? You’re thinking of marrying Mae Potter? Talk about a beautiful mess. I don’t understand you, Aaron. I thought you realized how toxic this young woman has been for you.”

“I never said she was toxic. You said she was toxic, and I didn’t bother to fight. But, legit, it’s not going to happen, Mom, so, you know, chill. I’m done with Mae. But if you want to see why I didn’t say where I was going, look in the mirror.”

Subdued by this remark, Bea requires an instant to think.

“Were you using?” she asks.

“Negative, Commander.”

“Was Mae using?”

“Look. Mae’s gone. Forever. So you shouldn’t care what Mae was doing. We had a fight. We always have a fight, but this, you know, it was a mega fight, like clash of the titans. And we’re done. Done done.

Can I go to sleep now?”

He slides again toward the door.

Silent until now, I mention Gert and he nods.

“I saw her text. I told her I was on the way back, but I was hitchhiking so I didn’t know when I would get here.” Without driving privileges, Aaron often hitchhikes when he’s going a distance too long to bike and Joe is unavailable to chauffeur him. But his remark confuses Bea.

“Mae didn’t have her car?” she asks.

“Hey, Mom. Hear what I’m saying. We had this humongous fight. I was not going to sit in a vehicle with Mae for two hours while she ranted. And she probably would have pulled some power play and refused to drive back. So I thumbed. Only it wasn’t like hitching between Mirror and Como Stop, where a lot of people recognize me. Up north, there weren’t a lot of folks wanting to stop for a Black guy on the side of the road.”

Oddly, race is something Aaron almost never mentions when he’s talking to his mother. I don’t know if it’s a product of Lloyd’s ironclad insistence that being Black is never an excuse for anything, or the fact that Aaron thinks that for all his mother’s earnest empathy, she will never fully understand. But it’s one of those freighted subjects, like a few others, that is rarely addressed between them.

“I got rides eventually. But it like took forever. Last night I slept in a culvert. Tonight, I’d already snuck into a KOA, just to get running water, but there’s like a gas station/grocery just outside the gate. My debit card was pretty much flatlining, but I was so hungry that, around ten, I walked to the store to buy like a Slim Jim and I ran into Arden Mack from high school. He’s driving for a food delivery service—you know, on contract, in his own car. It was like torture sitting next to all those pizzas he was picking up and dropping off, but we got to Mirror about one and I walked from there because he had to make a delivery in Como Stop. So you know, it sucked. The whole time. But my life does, right?”

The note of occasional self-​pity is one of Aaron’s least attractive traits. In his deepest depressions, he will tell you how things have gone against him from the start, when his birth parents didn’t have a place for him. There’s been a lot less of that since he entered the program with Reverend Spruce. Now he can see both Bea and me react to his remark, and he raises a hand.

“I’m just wasted,” he says. “And I’ve got to get up in like four hours. I promised Brice I’d help him.” His buddy Brice paints houses in the summer months and needs Aaron’s assistance with a backlog of jobs that is pressing now that the days of good weather are dwindling.

“And we have to stop at the Potters at some point, so I can return Mae’s phone.” He’s taken the device from his back pocket to show us.

Bea asks, “What are you doing with her phone?”

“It’s a story.”

“I’ll take it,” she says. “I have a meeting in Como Stop in the morning. I’ll drop it over there and save you boys the time.”

This is purely fictitious. Tomorrow is Saturday and we’ve already agreed to head the opposite direction to an excellent farmer’s market in a town called Granger. Just like me, Aaron sees through her immediately, realizing that his mother is simply trying to keep him away from Mae. He issues the tiny smile that is often his response, even when he thinks something is screamingly funny.

“I got it, Mom,” he says. “And I promise you, promise, you will never see Mae with me again.” A long sober look comes over him as he processes the gravity of that vow. He then knocks on the wall in parting and heads down the hall to his room.

Bea slides close and whispers, “What did you think of that?”

“Jesus, Bea,” I say. “What part? I don’t think he was using, if that’s what you mean.”

“No,” she says. “Married? And done with her? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“He seems pretty certain,” I answer.

“And her phone? Why does he have her phone?” she asks.

“Let’s go to sleep, Bea,” I answer. “You can ask him about all of that tomorrow.” I take her hand and say what I surely mean. “Right now, I’ve had enough.”

FIRE

September 16

The bedroom I have shared for the past three years with Bea looks out on Mirror Lake. It sports the same floor‑to‑ceiling windows as the living room, including those thick mullions whose look I don’t care for. For the sake of the view, Lorna never bothered with window treatments, and I followed her example. The moon fractured on the lake and the profuse color of the sunsets are regular sights that sometimes make my heart like a quick bird flying through my chest.

Rising with the first light is not a problem around here on the weekdays when Bea is up early for school. On the other hand, since Aaron moved in, having no curtains on the bedroom windows has sometimes limited our privacy. Generally, he does not sleep well, and frequently when I’ve been roused in the middle of the night, I see his slim silhouette on the dock, where often he is sneaking a cigarette.

And it is smoke that wakes me—and fire. I sit straight up and eventually realize that Aaron is standing over the stone firepit in the rear yard, with flames doing their tortured dance. There is so much wrong about this scene, starting with building a fire at 4 a.m., that I put on a pair of jeans and a T‑shirt and head out. The one sign of the dwindling summer is the new coolness at night. I’m barefoot and my toes are chilled in the settling dew.

Primitively fixated on the fire, Aaron is too preoccupied to notice me until I am only a few feet away.

“Fuck,” he says. “I woke you up. I should have thought of that. Man, I really wasn’t trying to be a dick. I’m just so, you know—” He can’t find the words and I mutter something more kindly than I actually feel.

“I thought you were exhausted,” I say.

“Like so tired,” he answers. “I don’t know if I slept two hours next to the culvert. I was sure the cops would roust me, you know, Black vagrant or something. I need sleep so much, man, it hurts. But you know how sometimes it feels like there’s a floor underneath you that you can’t sink through?”

That sounds like he might be coming off something, but I keep that thought to myself. The test Gert will run on Monday will catch most anything.

Instead, we stand side by side at the fire, enjoying the heat and its mystical attraction. But even in the sporadic light, I can see the weight of weariness and worry on him.

“I’ve just got Mae on the brain,” he says, “you know, like going round and round. I’m so big mad and disappointed. I guess I never felt before that we’d totally for sure reached the end. So I just wanted to, you know, come out here and get done with all this stuff. Turn the page.”

In the fire, when I finally look down there, I recognize his backpack and sleeping bag.

“Those are expensive items, Aaron.”

“Tell me.” His laugh is a kind of murmur. “But you want to hear a story, man? You will not believe how totally fucked up this is.”

I nod a bit to show he has my full attention.

“Like, we went out there with this kind of understanding. We were going to get away and unplug. You know, turn off the phones. Just be into one another and talk this marriage thing through. Not get married today. But like, how could we get there? What had to happen and like what had to change?

“And instead, we didn’t even have the tent up on Tuesday, and Mae won’t do anything but take selfies and videos of herself. She’s got a new thing: She’s going to become some kind of influencer on Insta and TikTok. Like all of the sudden. Which I thought frankly was kind of pathetic and juvenile. I expected her to stop after a while. But she didn’t. So I finally was like, ‘What the fuck, man, that’s not why we’re here,’ and she promised to cut it out, and an hour later, she’s posing again with these stupid cutie-​pie expressions. By the third day I finally flipped out. I grabbed the phone out of her hand and just kept walking. I didn’t even turn around for my backpack. I was just done, finally, so done. She ran after me screaming and going on about her phone and trying to snatch it back. I just kept moving.”

“Where were you?” I ask casually, hoping desperately he hadn’t left the county.

“Harold’s Woods,” he says. Far northern corner of Skageon County. Good news. “I’d walked about an hour from the park, and I was probably still a mile from 47, where I figured I could catch a ride, and I hear a car jetting down the dirt road behind me. I know even without seeing the Subaru who it is. I went ripping into the woods right there. There was no path or anything. I got all these scratches as I was crashing through the buckthorn.” He points to the inside of his arm. “But she saw me, I guess. She skids to a halt there and starts yelling. I’d gotten her up that morning to take the path to the Point to see the sunrise, and she’d thrown on this jeans microskirt and a tank top, so the way she was still dressed, she couldn’t follow me into the brush. Instead, she’s calling me names and daring me to come out. Finally, she goes back to the car. She’s got my backpack and is yelling that she’ll trade it for her phone. I’m about fifty yards away, crouched behind a rock, watching her. And you know, it was legendary stupid to leave the pack behind, especially the sleeping bag, because I’d realized by then that no way was I catching enough rides to get home that night. And I’ve got like zero cash, so I need the clothes and stuff in my pack, but I’m thinking like, No, I can’t. I can’t. I’m done. I know if I come out to talk to her, we’ll just start in again, it will be completely cray again in no time. So I stay put.

“Finally she shouts ‘Fuck you’ about a thousand times and then throws the backpack down and like straddles it. And I’m like, What now? But pretty soon I see she’s got her thong in her hand, and she’s kind of scooching around peeing all over the thing. She takes another minute to scream, I mean shriek at the top of her lungs, until she gets back in the car at last.

“I was afraid she’d double back, so I didn’t come out. The mosquitoes, that deep in the trees, I was like a tasty treat for all of them, but finally, after another twenty minutes, I was sure she was gone for good. My pack—I mean it’s completely disgusting. And it reeks. Like she peed pure ammonia. But you know, I need the thing. I can’t even imagine what I’m going to say about the smell, if I finally get a ride.

“The sleeping bag was soaked, which was partly why I had such a bad night yesterday.”

Because of the light of the fire, I can’t see much of the lake about thirty yards from us, but there’s a fresh wind off the water. Owls, a mated pair I never see, but whose gentle hootings often make their way into my sleep, are calling to each other now.

“That’s quite a story,” I say. “About Mae.” I hold my breath and ask, “Was she straight or high when that happened?”

“She’d been like completely baked for a day and a half by then,” he answers, truly downcast. It’s a second before he raises his eyes to see my look and adds, “Not me. Like I’d said really clearly before we left, ‘No drugs.’ But she still brought shit. I really felt swindled, man.” As a step to maintaining his sobriety, Aaron’s probation also requires him not to associate with drug users. “Not just because she didn’t give a shit about what she’d promised. But I’d been hoping for the good Mae. The good Mae, man, there’s nobody else I know like that, not even close. It’s kind of why I’ve been so totally hung up on her.”

I just nod.

“Did you ever get like that with somebody?” he asks. “You know— just can’t shake free?”

“Me?” I ask. Only so it nearly destroyed me, I think. Twice, actually. But I just answer yes.

“And what happened?”

I’ve never shared much of myself with Aaron. He’s somebody else’s kid, and was a troubled one at that by the time he arrived under our roof. I am also a little shy of a subject I’ve never spoken about in detail with his mother. But he’s never really asked for this kind of help before. And I’m willing to come through for him, not only because he’s the center of the world to someone I love, but because I’ve always been convinced there is real good in this young man. So I go on, with the firelight licking over both our faces, like a shifting mask.

“Truth? I got so carried away that I basically lit a fuse to my whole life, so that after the explosion I could only find a few random pieces here and there. Not to mention the so‑called collateral damage to the other people who got absolutely mauled in the process. Nothing good,” I say. “I have nothing good to say for myself.”

I look back on that man, Rožat K. Sabich the younger, as a madman. That’s not a euphemism either. I was out of my mind. Utterly desperate. Whoever I was in those moments with those women was the person I otherwise had no chance of being, someone on a thrill ride that would take me out from under the dark weight of my own life. Whatever Aaron had going with Mae—first love, pure love, big love—is miles more noble than my obsessions, which were nursed in secret.

“But I can tell you this straight from the heart. If you don’t go back to her, Aaron, if you really close the door on that part of your life, it will get better. Slowly. It’s like any other wound. It will heal. If you don’t keep reopening it. And yeah, I hear you. Mae’s not ordinary. Granted. And I won’t bullshit you. Maybe there’s a piece of what you had with her that you’re never going to have again. But consider the cost. Really. Somebody who will literally pee on your stuff, and you in the process? Somebody that ferocious and destructive? Way better to say goodbye.”

I get a long look in response. Then he worries his chin a little bit.

“Yeah but, like even now, I want to help Mae. Help her be, you know, not so extra, man. I think I can and she thinks I can. That’s always been a part of it. If she would ever let me.”

“Aaron, when I was young, I always thought what older people said to me, it was fake somehow, especially when they told me, ‘I know how you feel.’ But I do know how you feel. Barbara? Nat’s mom. She was like Mae in some ways. Super bright. And beautiful. But full‑on nuts. I did some really bad things to her, and she did even worse stuff to me, and we split. And then she tried to commit suicide. And I thought, That’s my son’s mother, I should take care of her. And that was like tying my leg to a big iron anchor and thinking I could swim. I nearly drowned instead. So I envy you. Because you’re way ahead of me. That is, if you realize what I should have, that you can’t love somebody back to sanity, or save them when they don’t want to be saved—if you accept that and don’t go back.”

“Won’t happen,” he says. “Lockdown guaranteed.” He nods looking into the fire, until it seems his mind has drifted to something else and, as sometimes happens, he musters a tiny furtive smile. “But one person who won’t think twice about Mae? My mom. She straight‑on hates her.”

“Hand to God, Aaron, I don’t think that’s true. She just doesn’t like what happens when you two are together. You don’t bring out the best in each other.”

“I don’t know, man. There’s some ripping good shit between Mae and me, and always has been. And my mom won’t see it, so she can never understand what’s been so hard for me.”

Ironic or not, some of the nicest things I ever heard said about Mae came from Bea, who’d taught Mae in third grade. She described an unusually precocious, charming little girl, adored by everybody, classmates and teachers. She loved being the center of attention, like a lot of kids, but she knew how to coax it from people, rather than simply demanding they pay heed. She wrote a play and the music—much of it admittedly lifted from songs she heard on FM—and got her whole class to perform it, while Mae sang at the piano, off-​key but exuberant. ‘You see that,’ Bea said to me a while back, ‘where a happy high-​achieving kid gets to adolescence and is like a tire that goes flat. Charmaine’s illness may have been part of it, I guess. You never know. Life is so chancy.’

Watching Mae has always reminded me of a leaf turning on the breeze, drifting without any predetermined direction, but graceful, nonetheless. She often dresses entirely in white, which has struck me as a subtle statement, but may only be an effort to match her frothy light straw-​colored hair, which is always blowing around her face.

Observing Mae, I have wondered, if I were Aaron’s age, how long it would take me to realize she is deeply unsettled. She has a lot of easy charm with everyone, but the occasionally forced gestures, her emphatic laughter, the way her hands fly around her, have seemed to conform to somebody else’s idea of how she should behave.

Even so, like everyone else, I’ve been struck by Mae’s smarts. I know her principally through Mansy’s and Aaron’s stories about her, but she often impressed me in our sporadic face‑to‑face contact. When Bea and I had just started our romance, I came over one Friday night while Aaron and a group of his high school friends were on the back porch of the apartment Bea was renting. The kids were hooting and yelling at each other about some young man, a sailor they’d met on a trip into Kweagon. One of the females insisted he was not in uniform, which left her no way to explain why she thought he was in the navy. At that point, Mae came into the kitchen for water.

‘Don’t you think,’ Mae asked me, as she stood by the tap, ‘you can tell so much about people by the details they notice, what they think is important and then sticks in their memories? It like tells you everything about them.’

I didn’t answer, because I was so struck. It was not something I’d ever articulated to myself.

“But truth, with my mom?” Aaron says now. “That went two ways. Mae always talked a lot of shit about her, too.”

“What kind of shit?”

“Oh, you know. I thought she was so cool and, you know, moral, and she wasn’t.”

“Anything more specific?”

“She was vague. I always thought she was bullshitting.” He looks away.

For a kid who’s been in his share of trouble, Aaron is a bad liar. But I’m not going to press. Like a lot of manipulative people, Mae knew how to spread the currents of discontent, relishing the sense of power it imparted.

Whatever Aaron suspects or doesn’t want to say silences him. I turn toward the house, then pause and gesture to the fire.

“Make sure that’s out, please, before you go back in.”

“Sure sure,” he says.

I look at him, my would‑be stepson, and drift back to put my arm around him. It’s been decades since Nat was this age and I embraced a young man this way. His solidity, like a well-​constructed house, communicates a strength in Aaron I otherwise seldom feel. He’s built for survival and has already surmounted a good deal. With any luck this will be another passage from which he emerges better set for the future.

“It’ll be okay,” I say.

“I don’t know,” he answers. “Sometimes I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach, like how do I actually go forward? Why did I do that anyway? And then I remember that there was no real choice. I will never be who I can be if I don’t get away from Mae.”

His mother and his grandfather would nod enthusiastically. ‘He gets it now,’ they’d say. ‘He’s stumbling but will find his footing in time.’ I tell him again that it will be okay, then head inside.

Excerpt from PRESUMED GUILTY by Scott Turow. Available for pre-order wherever books are sold.

Presumed Guilty

by Scott Turow

Read Scott Turow’s new “unputdownable” courtroom drama from the #1 New York Times bestselling author of Presumed Innocent, the phenomenon that redefined the legal thriller and is the basis for Apple TV+’s most-watched drama series ever (Kristin Hannah, #1 NYT bestselling author). 

“No one does it better.”―David Baldacci, #1 NYT Bestselling Author
“The truth is, Turow is just better at this than the rest of us.”―Greg Iles, #1 NYT Bestselling Author
“This is manna for legal-thriller fans."―Booklist, starred review
“This easily ranks among Turow’s best."―Publishers Weekly, starred review
“An absorbing and entertaining read.” ―Kirkus

Rusty is a retired judge attempting a third act in life with a loving soon-to-be wife, Bea, with whom he shares both a restful home on an idyllic lake in the rural Midwest and a plaintive hope that this marriage will be his best, and his last. But the peace that’s taken Rusty so long to find evaporates when Bea’s young adult son, Aaron, living under their supervision while on probation for drug possession, disappears. If Aaron doesn’t return soon, he will be sent back to jail.
 
Aaron eventually turns up with a vague story about a camping trip with his troubled girlfriend, Mae, that ended in a fight and a long hitchhike home. Days later, when she still hasn’t returned, suspicion falls on Aaron, and when Mae is subsequently discovered dead, Aaron is arrested and set for trial on charges of first-degree murder.
 
Faced with few choices and even fewer hopes, Bea begs Rusty to return to court one last time, to defend her son and to save their last best hope for happiness. For Rusty, the question is not whether to defend Aaron, or whether the boy is in fact innocent—it’s whether the system to which he has devoted his life can ever provide true justice for those who are presumed guilty.

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PROLOGUE

Did it all go wrong the moment I saw you?

I was a mere twenty-one years old, just a baby now that I look back on it, freshly graduated from Bowdoin College and gamely beginning the backpack-through-Europe ritual so common amongst my ilk. It was midnight. The nightclub’s music pounded and pulsed. I was nursing my first bottle of Victoria Málaga, the cheapest cerveza they served (hey, I was on a budget) at a nightclub on the Costa del Sol of Spain. I fully expected this to be a typical club night for me—lots of hope, fear of missing out, quiet disappointment (read: striking out)— when I spotted you on the dance floor.

The DJ was blasting “Can’t Get You out of My Head” by Kylie Minogue, which, man oh man, would end up being the most on‑the-nose tune imaginable. Still. Today. A quarter of a century later. You met my eye, held it even, but I didn’t really believe that you were looking at me. Not just because you were out of my league. You were, of course. Out of my league, that is. No, the reason I didn’t think you were looking at me was because I was surrounded by the Bowdoin lacrosse bros—Mikey, Holden, Sky, Shack, and, of course, team captain Quinn—all of whom were rugged and handsome and oozed good health like those pictures you’d see of young Kennedys playing football in Hyannis Port. I figured you were looking at one of them—maybe Captain Quinn, with his hair that was “wavy” to the tenth power and a physique that could only be produced by the optimal blend of weights, wax, and steroids.

As if to prove the point, I did a performative, nearly cartoonish look to my left, then to my right. When I risked turning my gaze back in your direction, you somehow resisted doing an eye roll and instead, in a show of mercy, gave me a small, knowing nod. You again met my eye or maybe you were like one of those old oil paintings I saw two days ago in the Prado where the eyes seemed to follow you no matter where you stood. I wish I could say that everyone else in the Discoteca Palmeras faded away except for the two of us, like in some cheesy movie where the music’s volume would drop and then they’d zoom in to close-ups of you and me, but that didn’t happen.

The dance floor was crammed with young partygoers. Someone bumped into you. Then someone else. Other undulating bodies swarmed between us.

You vanished from view—as if the crowd had swallowed you whole.

I stood up. The Lax Bros at my table didn’t notice. I was more of a mascot than a friend, comic relief, the weird little guy who drew the ultra-popular Captain Quinn as a roommate freshman year. Most of the bros thought I was Indian, often calling me Apu and mimicking some kind of Southeast Asian accent, which was annoying because I was born and raised in Fair Lawn, New Jersey, and sounded like it. The Lax Bros hadn’t been my first choice of European travel mates, but my best friends Charles and Omar had both already started jobs, one at Bank of America in Manhattan, the other doing genetic research at Mass General. I’d been accepted to Columbia’s medical school and would start in the fall—though in truth, it was pretty cool, flattering even, to be traveling with the Lax Bros, even if it was at Quinn’s urging.

I swam more than walked onto the dance floor, fighting through the sweat-drenched bodies like they were incoming waves. The DJ switched songs to “Murder on the Dancefloor” by Sophie Ellis-Bextor, which again in hindsight seems perhaps apropos or maybe ironic, but I’ve been confused about the actual meaning of the word ironic ever since Alanis Morissette sang that song and even now, a quarter century after that night, I don’t want to get it wrong.

It took me a full minute of shoving through flesh before I found you in the center of the dance floor. You had your eyes closed, both hands in the air, and you moved slowly, languidly, silkily, and I still don’t know what the name of that dance move was, but I was mesmerized. Raising your arms over your head made your top ride up so that your tan midriff was visible. For a moment I just stood there and stared. You looked so lost, so at peace that I almost just let you be.

Imagine if I had.

But alas, my courage was uncharacteristically up. Nursing that one beer emboldened me enough to step forward and tap you on the shoulder.

You startled and opened your eyes.

“Wanna dance?” I asked.

Look at me, just going for it. I don’t think in my life I had ever been that forward. A beautiful woman dancing alone, and I had the simple gall to approach.

You made a face and shouted: “What?”

Yes, it was that loud on the dance floor. I leaned in closer. “Do you want to dance?” I yelled, trying to get my mouth close to your ear but angling off a little so I didn’t puncture your ear drum.

You made a different face and shouted: “I’m already dancing.”

This would have been the part where I—and to be fair, most guys—would normally slink away. Why didn’t I? Why did I see something in your eyes that told me to give it one more shot?

“I mean with me,” I shouted.

The right side of your mouth curled up in a small smile that I can still feel in my veins. “Yeah, I got that. I was joking.”

“Good one,” I said, which I don’t know if you took as truth or sarcasm, but for the record, it was sarcasm.

We started to dance. You are a total natural. Relaxed, sensual, magnetic. You have that ability to completely let go, to somehow look both spontaneous and choreographed. I do my best dance move, which basically involves moving too consciously side to side, aiming not so much to look like a good dancer as to pass, to blend in and go unnoticed—to not look like a total fool. My dance moves were an attempt to not embarrass myself, which of course makes me look extra self-conscious—or maybe that’s me being self-conscious.

You didn’t seem to mind.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Anna. Yours?”

“Kierce.” Then for some reason, I added, “Sami Kierce.” God, how dumb I sounded. Like I thought I was James Bond.

You gestured toward the Lax Bros with your chin. “You don’t look like you belong with them.”

“You mean because I’m not tall and handsome?”

That small smile again. “I like your face, Sami Kierce.”

“Thank you, Anna.”

“It has character.”

“Is that a euphemism for ‘homely’?”

“I’m dancing with you, not them.”

“To be fair, they didn’t ask you.”

“True,” you said. Then that smile again. “But I’m also not leaving here tonight with them.”

My eyes must have bulged, because you laughed a beautiful laugh and took my hand and we kept dancing and I started to relax and let go too and yes, two hours later, I left the nightclub with you while the Lax Bros pumped their fists and hooted and hollered and chanted “Kierce, Kierce, Kierce” in drunken unison.

We held hands. We walked the Fuengirola beach. You kissed me in the moonlight, and I can still smell the salt of the Mediterranean. You took me back to your place in a modest high- rise; I asked if you had roommates. You didn’t reply. I asked how long you’d been in Fuengirola. You didn’t reply.

I had never had a one- night stand. Or picked up a girl at a nightclub. Or, more aptly, had a girl pick me up. I wasn’t a virgin. I’d dated Sharyn Rosenberg during our junior year at Bowdoin and we did it plenty of times, but still I was nervous. I tried to channel Captain Quinn. That dude had confidence to burn. Our freshman year, Quinn would always score and come home super late or early the next morning. When I asked Quinn once why he never brought a girl back to our room, he said, “I don’t want any part of her staying on me, you know what I’m saying?” and then he would hit the shower for a full half hour.

Captain Quinn had—probably still has—serious intimacy issues.

That first night, you and I cuddled on a couch and made out for a while and then you fell asleep or maybe you passed out, I still don’t know. We had all our clothes on. I thought about leaving, but that seemed wrong, maybe rude, so I closed my eyes and tried to make myself comfortable and pretended to fall asleep too.

When you woke up in the morning, you smiled at me and said, “I’m happy you’re still here.”

“Me too,” I replied.

Then you took my hand and led me to the shower and let’s leave it at that.

Two days later, the Lax Bros left for Sevilla. I met them at the train station in Málaga to say goodbye. Captain Quinn put his giant hands on my smaller shoulders and looked way down at me and said, “If you finish tapping dat in the next three days, meet us in Sevilla. Day four and five, we will be in Barcelona. Day six we cross the border into Southern France.”

Quinn kept going on like this before I reminded him that I was the one who booked our itinerary and knew where they would be and when. He gave me a quick yet ferocious hug. The other Lax Bros gave me fist pounds. I waited and watched them board the train.

Here’s an odd sidenote, Anna: I never saw any of the Lax Bros again.

Holden called me once because I was a cop at the time—I’m not anymore—and his son had gotten arrested in a bar fight. But I never saw Holden. Or Mikey. Or Sky. Or Shack. Or even Captain Quinn.

I never saw any of them.

But I will always wonder what my life would have been like if I had just stuck to the itinerary and gone with them to Sevilla.

I wonder what your life might have been like too.

Maybe it would have changed everything for you too. I don’t know.

I’m stalling, Anna.

We weren’t in love, I don’t think. It was a vacation fling. It’s not like my heart was ever broken by you. I wish. That I could have gotten over. I’ve had my heart broken before and since. A few years later, I would even suffer a far more devastating loss than this, but at least with Nicole there was closure.

You need closure, Anna.

But with you . . .

Still stalling.

It was our fifth day together. We agreed I should give up my bed at the hostel and move in with you. My heart soared. We spent our nights in various dance clubs. We drank. We took lots of drugs, I guess. I don’t know what. I wasn’t much of a party guy, but if you wanted to party, then I was game. Why not? Live a little, right? You had a “source”—a slightly older Dutch guy dubbed Buzz, who had purple spiked hair and a nose ring and a lot of rope bracelets. You always handled the buys. That’s how you wanted it. You and Buzz would meet up on that corner behind the El Puerto Hotel. I remember you two whispering, and sometimes it seemed to grow animated. I figured you were negotiating before you slipped Buzz cash and he slipped you whatever.

What did I know? I was young and clueless.

Then we would party. We would go back to your place, usually around three in the morning. We made love. We passed out more than fell asleep. We woke up at noon at the earliest. We rolled out of bed and onto the beach.

Rinse, repeat.

I don’t remember that last night well.

Isn’t that odd? I know we’d gone back to the nightclub where we first met, the Discoteca Palmeras, but I can’t remember leaving or walking up that hill to your high-rise—why did you stay at an apartment in Fuengirola anyway? why weren’t you staying at a hotel or a hostel like everyone else our age? why didn’t you have any roommates or friends or seem to know anybody other than this Buzz guy? why didn’t I push to know more?—but what I do remember is the hot Spanish sun waking me up the next day.

I was in your bed. I remember groaning when the sunlight hit my face, realizing that if the rays were hitting from this angle it had to be at least noon and we had yet again forgotten to close the shade.

I made a face and blinked and lifted my hand to block my eyes.

Except my hand felt wet. Coated in something wet and sticky.

And there was something in my hand.

I slowly lifted it in front of my face.

A knife.

I was holding a knife.

It was wet with blood.

I turned toward your side of the bed.

That was when I screamed.

There are scientists who believe that no sound ever dies, that it grows softer, fades, decays to the point where we can’t detect it with our ears anymore, but that it’s there, somehow, and if we could ever be silent or still enough, we would be able to hear that sound for all eternity.

That was how this scream felt.

And sometimes, even now, in the quiet of the night, I can still hear the echo of that scream.

Excerpt from NOBODY’S FOOL by Harlan Coben. Available for pre-order wherever books are sold.

Nobody’s Fool

by Harlan Coben

A year after the devastating events that took place in Fool Me Once, Harlan Coben’s bestselling thriller and #1 Netflix series, a secret from former Detective Sami Kierce’s college days comes back to haunt him. Present day is hard enough for the disgraced Kierce, but his past isn’t through with him yet…

Sami Kierce, a young college grad backpacking in Spain with friends, wakes up one morning, covered in blood. There’s a knife in his hand. Beside him, the body of his girlfriend. Anna. Dead. He doesn’t know what happened. His screams drown out his thoughts—and then he runs.

Twenty-two years later, Kierce, now a private investigator, is a new father who’s working off his debts by doing low level surveillance jobs and teaching wannabe sleuths at a night school in New York City. One evening, he recognizes a familiar face at the back of the classroom. Anna. It’s unmistakably her. As soon as Kierce makes eye contact with her, she bolts. For Kierce there is no choice. He knows he must find this woman and solve the impossible mystery that has haunted his every waking moment since that terrible day.

His investigation will bring him face-to-face with his past—and prove, after all this time, he’s nobody’s fool.

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“Utterly unhinged, hilarious, and unexpectedly heartbreaking.”

Dirtbag Queen

by Andy Corren

In this "utterly unhinged, hilarious" memoir, a son pays tribute to his larger than life 'zaftig good time gal' mother and his unusual childhood (Jenny Lawson, New York Times bestselling author).

“Because she was my mother, the death of zaftig good-time gal Renay Corren is newsworthy to me, and I treat it with the same respect and reverence she had for, well, nothing. A more disrespectful, trash talking woman was not to be found.”
  
So began Andy Corren's unforgettable obituary for his mother, Renay Mandel Corren, a tribute that went on to touch the hearts of millions around the globe. In his brief telling of the life and legend that was Renay, a “loud, filthy‑minded (and filthy‑mouthed) Jewish lady redneck who birthed six kids,” Andy captured only a slice of his loving and fabulously unconventional mother.
  

In this uproariously funny, deeply moving family portrait, readers meet the rest of his absurd clan: his brothers, affectionately nicknamed Asshole, Twin, and Rabbi; his one-eyed pirate queen of a sister, Cathy Sue; and then there’s Bonus, who Andy isn’t aware of until later in life since this mysterious oldest brother grew up at the Green Valley School for Emotionally Disturbed and Delinquent Children.

 A story of love and forgiveness, as well as a celebration of a woman who was “great at dyeing her red roots, weekly manicures, filthy jokes, pier fishing, rolling joints and buying dirty magazines," Dirtbag Queen is an entertaining and poignant portrayal of the complex and heartfelt humanity that unites us all—especially family.

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One of my favorite things about picture books is the art! I love getting lost in immersive spreads or finding exciting easter eggs between the pages. I love how different illustration styles evoke different experiences. I love how the art doesn’t just supplement the story but deepens it. If you, like me, love all those things choose your favorite artist to discover which beautiful book your little one (and/or you) should read next!

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A new year means new books to stack your TBR with. These January ebook deals start at just $1.99. Get them while they last and start 2025 with a great read. 

In this glittering debut fantasy, a mage bereft of her powers must find out if she is destined to save the world or destroy it. Perfect for fans of Andrea Stewart, James Islington, and Samantha Shannon.

Read the first three chapters of The Outcast Mage, on sale January 28, below!

1

NAILA

It felt wrong to be sneaking out in the bright light of afternoon.

Dusk would have been better; there would have been shadows for Naila to slip into, her dark robes and pitch‑black hair blending into indigo twilight. As it was, she emerged into a bustling Amorian afternoon, robed strangers hurrying past her, shafts of purple light scattering through the glass dome high above their heads. She paused at the edge of the surging river of people, expecting someone to point out that she wasn’t supposed to be here, but no one even glanced her way. They ignored her just as a real river would have, while she faltered at the edge of it, unsure of how or where to cross.

She slipped in at the periphery, her head bent, her bag clutched to her chest so she would look less like a student. She could feel her heartbeat through her tightly folded arms. It was ridiculous to be this nervous; pupils in the Southern Quarter ditched their lessons all the time. The difference being, of course, that Naila wasn’t a normal student: she was a prospective mage, training at the magical Academy of Amoria.

Still, unless she was recognised, no one would suspect her truancy. Her robes were edged with a stitched‑in ribbon of white, marking her as a mita—the lowest rank of mage—but she was old enough to simply be an untalented or unconnected graduate. No one else knew that the class she was missing, Introduction to Elemental Magic, was just another in a long list of classes she was failing year‑on‑year.

The crowds carried her away from the Academy, past the pastel‑painted shophouses which skirted the edge of the Market District, and the open fronts of teahouses with benches that spilled onto the wide avenues. Ahead of her were the narrower streets and crooked buildings of the Mita’s District, paint peeling despite being sheltered within Amoria’s glass. Naila’s room was only a few streets away, in one of the old Academy dormitories that now stood mostly empty. She’d thought being close to home might calm her nerves, but it only made it worse. A low and menacing heartbeat pulsed beneath the normal murmur of the crowd.

She’d been hearing rumours of the march all day: the great Oriven was coming to speak to the people, descending from Amoria’s lofty towers to the streets of the Central Dome. Mages were gathering from all over the city to hear him speak, and he could have found a crowd anywhere: the sparkling avenue of Artisan’s Row or one of the wine bars in the Sunset District. But he had chosen to come to the Mita’s District, to the poorest mage homes, to meet them on their own terms.

It didn’t seem to matter that he was a lieno, the highest rank of mage, his robes edged in gold thread that cost more than most mages would earn in a month, or that he lived high above them in luxurious apartments framed in Amoria’s violet glass. Never mind that he was a member of the Lieno Council, who ruled over all of them, and whose decisions made Amoria every inch of what it was today; the lower ranks of Amorian mages still clamoured for him, greeted him like one of their own.

Naila knew she should be going in the opposite direction. She was close enough now that the uneasy heartbeat was resolving itself into the shouts and chants of a restless crowd. The sound built like a roar in her ears. The streets near her home were almost unrecognisable, packed shoulder‑to‑shoulder, anticipation rolling off them in waves. Even if she wanted to leave, she was now caught by the current of people, dragged beneath its surface. Battered between shoulders and elbows, Naila clung to her bag, the buckles digging painfully into her arms.

But there was still that stubborn curiosity lodged in Naila’s gut, the burning desire to see this Lieno Oriven for herself. Too many of her own classmates had whispered eagerly at the prospect, and Naila needed to understand why. Surrounding her were mages who not only looked down on people without magic, but who actively hated them, attending the rally of a man who had coaxed this hate from a flicker to a blaze. Hollows they called the magicless population of Amoria; empty inside.

In front of her, someone shot a spell into the air; a lurch of power, followed by a sharp crack which ricocheted off the inside of Naila’s skull. Her heart seized and she stumbled backwards, her mouth filling with the hot, metallic taste of magic. Her foot glanced off someone else’s and a man shoved hard into her back.

“Hey! Get off!”

Stumbling, Naila half turned to apologise and instead locked eyes with the mage behind her. His expression slipped from directionless anger to malignant interest, his gaze tracing over the raven sheen of her hair and the unusual black of her eyes. For an awful moment, Naila thought she’d been recognised.

She didn’t wait to find out if it was true. She ducked further into the crowd, no longer caring if she was shoved sideways or took an elbow to the ribs. It was too late to fight her way back to the Academy, so she pressed onwards, using her long limbs and narrow frame to force her way to the edge of the crowd. She slipped under arms, pressed between shoulders, and dived for the briefest gap in the throng.

Breaking free into the alleyway felt like surfacing from underwater, a stumbling, breathless release. She pressed a hand against the cold wall of the neighbouring shophouse and bent forward, swallowing huge gulps of air into her lungs. Even here it felt like the crowd was pressing in on her from all sides, their magic and their intent thickening the air, making it heavy and harder to breathe.

She shouldered her bag, searching the smooth shophouse wall for likely handholds. There: a window ledge and the rusted bracket of the store’s sign. It had been many years since she’d been a child scrambling over the rooftops of the Southern Quarter, but her body hadn’t forgotten the way. There was one gut-lurching moment where her foot slipped against the smooth facing, her slipper hanging from the very tip of her toes. But she already had her arm over the lip of the shophouse’s flat roof and she managed to wrench herself up in one final burst of effort.

She sagged onto her arms, her lungs heaving, but with the sweet taste of success on her tongue. She was so caught up in her accomplishment that for a second she didn’t realise she wasn’t alone.

Of course she wasn’t. Mages had magic, and they had used that power to lift themselves up and out of the crowd. There were fewer people up here than in the street below, most of them with robes edged in gold or silver; levitation magic was no easy feat, and so those who had used it were from the upper classes of mage. But where lieno and trianne lined the other rooftops, there was only one mage on Naila’s, a conspicuous circle of empty space around him. It was as if everyone else was keeping a wary distance, and in an icy moment of realisation Naila understood why.

This mage’s robes were edged in the gold of a lieno, but alongside the gold stitching was a braided cord of vivid scarlet. A wizard.

There were only eight of them in all Amoria, mages with the power to level mountains and shape the world as they saw fit. A single wizard had more magic at their command than half the population of Amoria put together. They were the heads of Amoria’s Academy, and even other mages eyed them with a mixture of awe and apprehension.

Worst of all, he’d know exactly who Naila was. There wasn’t a mage in the Academy who hadn’t heard of the hollow mage.

Naila found herself paralysed by fear. She was still crouching at the edge of the roof, her heart pumping ice water through her veins instead of blood. She couldn’t even make herself look at him, her eyes instead fixed on the hem of his robes, her gaze level with his boots. The wizard himself made no move to acknowledge her, his thick coat perfectly still, his body angled towards the crowd. She could feel the enormity of his power, though, as if the whole world was bending down towards him.

Hardly daring to breathe, Naila dragged her gaze away, making herself stand and cross to the edge of the roof facing the street. She had to pass in front of him to do it, and she could feel his attention switch to her like a shadow falling across her back. She was trapped now, between the mob and this powerful stranger.

Below her, the crowd surged against a makeshift stage, individuals lost within a single, heaving entity.

And there he was, the origin of this commotion, like a stone thrown in water: Lieno Allyn Oriven.

He moved along the edge of the crowd, impossible to miss even among the clamouring throng of people. He bowed and waved, taking people’s hands as he passed. The hem of his robes was so heavily embroidered with gold that he was dazzling to look at, the sun catching golden threads when he moved. The sinuous form of a dragon was stitched along one of his sleeves, the mythical ancestors of the mages, a badge of power. He looked like the perfect Amorian, composed and powerful, and Naila hated everything about him.

Oriven mounted the stage with one arm raised, his smile bright against the black of his beard. “My fellow mages!” he announced, his voice warm with a touch of amplifying magic. “I am so heartened to see so many of you with us, so pleased to be among our great people.”

Another thundering cheer. Each of these mages possessed a thread of power, and they tugged at the magic around them, in the stone, in the air, in the glass walls of Amoria herself. To Naila, they felt like eddies on the surface of a lake—and no pull was greater than that from the wizard behind her.

But Naila found herself searching instead for the points of stillness in the crowd. She could just sense them, hanging back in doorways, pinched faces peering out of windows: the non‑mages of Amoria. The hollows. It was their stillness and their fear that Naila could feel winding itself around her heart.

“Our momentum is growing. Soon the Lieno Council will be forced to listen to our—to your—demands!” Lieno Oriven opened his arms, embracing the crowd with his words. “Our fair city is in decline—we’ve all seen the signs. The Southern Quarter is so dangerous the Surveyors won’t even patrol those streets any more, and the Mita’s District is not far behind. We’re overcrowded, our resources stretched: we must act!”

Oriven would never actually say that non‑mages were to blame. He didn’t have to. All he did was point to what was wrong with Amoria. It was true: the city was overstretched; the streets of the Central Dome were crumbling and crowded with people—but not with mages. As Amoria’s magic‑users dwindled, the number of non‑mages only grew, and it was all too easy to infer the source of Amoria’s apparent decline.

The rest of it seemed to happen on its own. Oriven had the mages in his feverish grip, his words creeping insidiously into their minds and falling back out of their mouths. They leaned into his speeches like starving flowers towards the sun, these people who didn’t wear the gold of the lieno, but the bronze and white of the lowest ranks of mages. Their lives were as far from Oriven’s as they could get while still having magic, and yet still they drank in his words.

Naila couldn’t see the non‑mages any more—the crowd had swallowed them up. Tension was building, thick and stifling. It was the same dragging sensation she’d felt in the crowd, as if all of them were being pulled down towards some inescapable conclusion—a long inhalation before the slow, inevitable unfolding of disaster.

The man who stumbled and fell was unremarkable. A non‑mage, from the cut of his tunic and the absence of colour on the hem. He caught himself on his hands and knees, oblivious to the circle of attention growing around him—and of the mage who was sprawled at his side.

“He pushed her!”

Naila couldn’t see who had spoken, but the words spread like fire through the crowd.

“The hollow attacked her!”

The mage drew back into the body of the crowd, but the man was still penned in. Naila saw his fear and confusion as he tried to push free, but he was met with a wall of bodies and shoved back into empty space. The first spell flew with a sharp crack, and threads of gold magic choked his arms and legs. He collapsed hard on the ground, mages closing in around him.

There were answering shouts of surprise and outrage. Non‑mages tried to break through to reach the man, but their way was blocked by people wielding a power they could not hope to match. Naila looked with desperation at the stage—surely even Oriven didn’t want this. He had to summon the Surveyors; someone had to.

But Oriven was already gone, the stage damningly empty.

No one was stopping them. Naila wasn’t stopping them. Her heart was pounding, caught impossibly between helplessness and a burning desire to act. She was already edging forward, her toes over the seething crowd below. If she didn’t do something, no one would. If she didn’t act, she was no better than the other mages who were backing away.

Naila drew a sharp breath and—

A thin hand closed on her shoulder.

“Don’t.” It was the wizard who shared her rooftop, his voice hard and cold.

The buzz of magic was right against her now, a hot breath against her skin. The very air trembled with his anger.

“Why isn’t anyone stopping them?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I have to—”

“Go now.” There was no spell or incantation, but the last word seemed to ring in Naila’s mind like a word of power.

She was on her feet, stumbling towards the edge of the roof. Ahead of her was the path home, the path to safety, while behind her was the howl of the crowd and a city she didn’t recognise any more. For a moment she hesitated, her heart aching to turn back, to do something to stop those awful cries. But what could she do in the face of such power?

Naila scrambled down the side of the shophouse and ran.

2

LARINNE

Larinne was unusually withdrawn when they left the council chamber. Her sister was doing what Larinne should be doing: greeting other senators, grasping the hand of an ally or offering a curt nod to her opponents. Dailem was born to this life: resplendent in butterfly‑light robes, teal edged in gold, her dark hair curling over one shoulder. Despite being five years Larinne’s senior, Dailem’s tawny brown skin was flawless, her face rounder and softer than Larinne’s. There was an ease and confidence to her, unruffled by the events of the council meeting, while Larinne could feel herself drawing inwards, becoming sharper and less approachable.

She had already seen a few weighted glances, could read the mood of her fellow senators like magic on the air; she needed to smile, reassure, pull others into her confidence, but she couldn’t make herself do it. They shouldn’t feel reassured, and there was certainly nothing to smile about.

The wide stairway was crowded with Amoria’s political elite, lingering outside the council chamber like children after the school bell. There were too few of them, in truth. Every lieno in the city was invited to attend the Lieno Council, to understand the workings of their city, but around her Larinne could only see familiar faces. Like Larinne, they were the senators, the politicians and the heads of committia—the lieno responsible for running the city. The growing disinterest from the rest of Amoria only left more room for people like Allyn Oriven to thrive, unfettered and unobserved, his influence creeping through the Senate like a shadow growing in the dark.

There was a slight commotion by the arch of the chamber doors, and a small knot of people emerged: the representatives of the Shiura Assembly, the only non‑mages invited to attend the Lieno Council meetings. They moved as a unit, a defensive formation if Larinne had ever seen one, their strides perfectly matched.

As the Consul of Commerce, Larinne worked closer with the Shiura Assembly than anyone else on the Senate. The members of the Shiura managed more of Amoria’s exports than Larinne did; they were the ones with connections in the caravans and their representatives in Jasser. The non‑mages of the isolated city wielded their own kind of power. She knew she ought to stop them, say something—but what would she say? Oriven doesn’t represent all of us, the council will protect you, we won’t let him get his “Justice.” But how much of that was true?

She took half a step towards them, forcing a smile onto her thin lips, and tried to catch their attention.

“Honoured members of the Shiura,” she started.

Only one of them heard her and looked up, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He inclined his head exactly enough to be polite and then continued onwards, not even breaking his stride. Larinne was possessed by the certainty that she had failed a critical test.

“Your face is showing,” Dailem said close to her ear, and Larinne bristled at the admonishment.

It was something their mother had always said to them: the council sees your position, not your face. Anything you gave of yourself was a weapon to be used against you.

With a deep breath, Larinne composed herself. “And you’re not shaken by this at all?”

“Oriven preaching about the hollow threat isn’t exactly new.”

Larinne flinched at her sister’s casual use of the word hollow.

“Dailem!”

“What?” Dailem smiled coolly to a passing senator who had clearly wronged her in some way. “They’re his words, not mine. Hollow is a meaningless term.”

Anger flushed through Larinne’s veins, but in the Tallace family tradition she kept it from her face. “You know it isn’t. Haelius—”

“Haelius needs to watch himself now. That business with Oriven’s rally...”

Larinne grimaced, an uneasy feeling twisting in the pit of her stomach. There wasn’t a single person, mage or otherwise, who hadn’t heard about the violence at the rally in the Mita’s District. When Larinne found out that a wizard had stepped in, using magic to restrain the crowd and extract the unfortunate non‑mage, Larinne had known immediately that it had to be Haelius. At first, she’d been relieved he’d been there to help, but the more she heard, the more it sounded like an innocent mage had been attacked and the wizard had only added to the violence.

Whatever happened, it was clear that Haelius was less popular than ever with Oriven and his allies.

“He’s never made peace with the council,” Dailem added, reading Larinne’s hesitation. “Be careful with that one.”

Larinne failed to suppress a scowl. “It’s Oriven we should be careful of. He’s using what happened as an excuse to push through this new ‘army’ of his. What if he succeeds?”

For the first time, there was the smallest wrinkle between her sister’s eyebrows. “Even more reason to be careful.”

“You think this motion will pass?”

The Justice, Oriven had called it, a special force of mages dedicated to the protection of Amoria. A magical army by another name. The Surveyors had always been the law enforcement; a constantly rotating group of lieno who anonymously patrolled the city. This would be different—a group of mages dedicated to combat and defence, and who answered expressly to Oriven. There had never been such a thing in Amoria, not even when they were still on the brink of war with Ellath.

“Dailem,” Larinne urged at her sister’s silence. “You can’t think he’ll get this?”

“Won’t he?” Dailem asked quietly, and Larinne was surprised by the bitterness in her sister’s voice. “I think this offers the Senate everything they want. They’ve been drawing lines in the sand for years; might as well get themselves an army to stand behind it.”

“But the Assembly—”

“What are they going to do about it, except make their own army in response? This is the beginning of something, Larinne. If Oriven gets this, it will set us on a path we can’t easily come back from. I’ve never seen an army without a war to fight.”

Another council member bowed as they passed, and a warm smile spread across Dailem’s face. “Ah, Lieno Gadrian, I was hoping to catch you—I hear we have an Ellathian visitor. A priest, no less.”

Dailem was walking away, her hand on the lieno’s arm, a brief glance at Larinne her only farewell. But her words lingered behind her, settling on Larinne’s shoulders like a physical weight.

A war to fight. Surely such a thing was impossible. The Amorian mages and non‑mages had lived peacefully alongside each other for hundreds of years. There’d always been some tension between them, rivalry even, but outright conflict? That would serve no one.

And if lines truly were drawn between the two halves of the city, on which side would Larinne stand? More to the point, on which side would Haelius stand?

Dailem’s words continued to weigh on Larinne as she descended the Central Tower, making her way slowly back towards her own offices. The council chambers were situated at the top of the city’s tallest tower, a true linchpin of Amoria. Up here, she was above even the glass dome of the lower city. It sloped away from the Central Tower like an enormous canopy, enveloping Amoria in a protective bubble of amethyst glass. Far below, she could just make out the wide streets and colourful shophouses of the Market District, and beyond that the glittering curve of the Aurelia, a circular canal which separated the city into two great concentric rings. The dome itself was so vast, Larinne could barely see the edge of it.

Amoria was the stuff of legends: a magnificent glass edifice, raised from desert sand and dust in a feat of magic that few now could even imagine, let alone understand. It towered above the Great Lake, delicate spires piercing the dome with bridges strung like ribbons between them. Here, Larinne could just make out the luminescent stone of the White Bridge, connecting Amoria to the mainland: a bright artery of life and trade. From this height, it looked like little more than a thread stretching out towards the distant shore, fragile enough that a sudden storm could sweep it all away.

These days, that felt all too true.

“Larinne!”

The call startled Larinne from her thoughts, but when she turned she found a familiar, old mage hurrying down towards her, one laborious step at a time.

When he reached her, Larinne bent to kiss him at the top of his forehead, the skin beneath her lips as thin as paper. “All right, slow down. You caught me.”

“Good. Hmph, no, none of that.” Reyan waved Larinne away as she offered him her arm. “I’m not that old.”

Instead of answering, Larinne pressed her lips together and slowed her pace to walk alongside him.

“I sent a communication to your office today,” he said with a thin note of reprimand; Lieno Reyan Favius was an old friend of her mother’s, and he was the only mage in all Amoria who would still talk to her as if she was a child.

“Did you? Well, I’m afraid I haven’t received it.”

“That assistant of yours not doing her job, eh? I could find you a better one from among my people. A senator of your prominence ought to have no one less than a trianne working for her.”

“My assistant is excellent and not less than anyone,” Larinne snapped back; Larinne’s assistant was a non‑mage, a point on which he frequently voiced his disapproval. “She’s worth ten of your witless new trianne. If you had any sense, you’d be trying to steal her for your office.”

Reyan’s eyes were pale grey and watery with age, but they’d lost none of their fire as he glared at her out of the corner of his eye. “Yes, yes, all right. I’m sure she’s very good, if she’s managed to earn your approval.”

Somehow, Larinne knew this wasn’t meant as a compliment.

“Still, didn’t give you my message, did she? I suppose I’ll have to get to the bottom of these missing documents on my own.”

“What missing documents? And what does that have to do with me? Communications are your area, not mine.”

“Clearly! If you’d got my communication, then you’d know.” That imperious tone had entered his voice again, but he glanced over his shoulder, a touch of anxiety in his expression. “Best not to discuss it here. Get your ‘excellent assistant’ to put your poor Uncle Reyan into your busy schedule.”

Larinne tolerated the rebuke with only a small twitch of her eyebrows.

“This business with Oriven...” she started.

“Yes, well, best to stay out of these things.”

Larinne blinked, not expecting the suddenness with which he’d shut down the conversation. Eyeing him shuffling down the stairs beside her, Larinne couldn’t quite tell whether his silence meant he was for or against Oriven’s proposals, but then Reyan was as hard to read as her sister.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. When they reached the arched bridge that led across to Larinne’s offices, Reyan stopped and looked up at her, deep wrinkles carving worry into the lines of his face.

“You need to meet with me, Lieno Tallace,” he said gravely, startling Larinne with the use of her title. “This is important.”

Larinne’s mouth lifted in the edge of a smile. “I know, Uncle. It’s always important.”

“Hmph. You wouldn’t think it, with the way you children ignore me. Give my regards to your sister. She’s even worse than you—always rushing off somewhere.”

“I’ve never seen you stand still for even half a minute.”

“Yes, well, at my age you have to move twice as much to get half as far.” He narrowed his eyes at her, unusually serious. “Stay out of trouble. Your mother asked me to keep an eye out for you both, and I intend to.”

“When am I ever in trouble?”

Reyan dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

Larinne stood for a moment with her arms folded, watching him continue down the stairs, her fingers tapping an uneasy rhythm against the tops of her arms. When he’d vanished around the bend in the stairway, Larinne let out all of her breath at once. She straightened her shoulders, set the face of Lieno Tallace back into place and then turned to head back to work.

3

NAILA

The chimes of the noon bell reverberated through the Central Dome, announcing loudly that Naila was late.

It had taken hours, but when sleep finally came it had been of the kind that only left her more exhausted. She’d woken many times, the blanket twisted around her legs, her skin sheened with a cold sweat. Yet at some point, exhaustion must have dragged her under, because now half the day was gone.

She kicked herself free from the tangled mess of bedclothes. There was barely enough time to wash, so she splashed a little cleansing water on her face and pulled on her crumpled robes. They were made of a rough, homespun fabric, the coloured hem to show her rank nothing more than a dirty white ribbon. Too tight in places and too short in others, they barely reached halfway down her shins, but her pitiful Academy allowance wouldn’t stretch to anything else.

She didn’t even try to do anything with her hair: it hung limply round her face as usual, falling in a thick mess of tangled black strands. There was no time to care: Trianne Marnise had been looking for a reason to throw Naila out of her class for months—the last thing Naila wanted to do was give her one.

Naila’s haste meant that she was ill‑prepared for the wave of discomfort which struck her when she stepped out onto the street. Everything was entirely normal. Bright sunlight fell through the purple glass high above Naila’s head, touching everything with a slight violet hue. Mages and non‑mages hurried past her in purposeful strides, footsteps and rattling wagons filling the air with noise. It was as if nothing had happened, nothing had changed—and perhaps it hadn’t. Yet Naila felt strangely sick at the normality of it, as if the scene in front of her sat over reality like a tracing that didn’t quite match.

Maybe it isn’t quite the same, Naila thought. There was still a tension in the air, a new way that people looked at each other: not a who are you, but a what are you, and are you the right type of person to be here? She saw the black robes of the Surveyors three times before she even turned a corner into Main Street, though their masked faces were anything but a comfort. Was this part of Oriven’s great plan for the Mita’s District?

She wished he hadn’t been right about its decline. The district was named for the lowest rank of mage, but these days hardly any mages remained. It lay firmly in the shadow of the Academy tower, populated by old dormitories meant to house Amorian students.

In reality, the dormitories were homes now, housing non‑mages rather than prospective students, many of the buildings sliding into varying states of disrepair. Something, no doubt, that Oriven would choose to blame on the encroaching non‑mages, rather than the council’s deliberate neglect. Naila lived in one of the only buildings that still functioned as a dormitory, and she was the last student living on her floor. Her classmates lived with their families in the glittering spires which pierced the Amorian skylines, in apartments meant for the higher ranks of mage; Naila wondered if they, too, were starting to feel empty.

The only tower Naila had ever entered was the Academy itself. It was not the biggest tower, nor the tallest, but it ran straight through the very heart of Amorian society. Every mage who showed the barest flicker of magical potential had to pass through its doors to learn control, and magic‑users travelled far and wide to study from the great masters of magic, the wizards themselves. Most students, however, would never experience that lofty privilege: the wizards taught in the High Academy not the shabby classrooms below. The night before had been the closest Naila had ever come to a wizard, and it was probably the closest she’d ever come to one again.

As she approached the entrance to the Academy, Naila half broke into a run, her heavy bag bouncing hard against her back. Unlike most of the young mita, she couldn’t use the pattern rooms: rooms woven with complex magic which allowed mages to travel between them in the blink of an eye. As a result, she was almost always late. She could already see the sour look on Trianne Marnise’s face and hear the whispers of her classmates as she tumbled in at the back, an added edge to her daily humiliation.

The entrance hall was hushed in the way one would expect to find in a temple rather than a school. Naila’s feet slapped loudly off the opaque glass floor, and she felt like she was drawing the heavy gaze of every disapproving mage in the room. Enormous, carved pillars of glass reached up to a cavernous ceiling, which seemed made to amplify every cough and dismayed intake of breath.

“Oomph.” For a horrible lurching second, Naila didn’t realise what had happened. Then her hands slapped hard against the floor and everything clattered down around her. Her bag, never properly secured, had spilled its entire contents onto the floor, all her worldly possessions scattering away from her in a mess of books, pens, coins and lint.

The mage she’d so dramatically collided with had also thrown up an armful of books, and they’d come to land around him in an undignified heap. He didn’t quite seem to realise what had happened, blinking slowly at his scattered possessions. He got to his feet and brushed down his robes with short, brisk motions, tugging his wide sleeves straight at the wrist; sleeves which were edged in a braided cord of yellow gold and vivid scarlet. A wizard.

It was only once he straightened up, looming over her, that Naila felt him. His magic hummed in her ears, a bright heartbeat of power that threatened to overwhelm her if she looked at it too directly. Without even a syllable of an incantation, he extended a hand towards one of his books and it slid easily up through the air and into his outstretched hand, the casual gesture enough to manifest his will into magic.

There were perhaps three people in Amoria who could wield magic without speaking a word, and only one who could do it with so apparently little effort. Suddenly, Naila’s hands felt like they were sticking to the cold glass floor, a sick feeling rising in her throat.

“W‑Wizard Akana.”

Recognition was beginning to dawn on him as well. He peered down at her as if she were a specimen at the bottom of a jar, his eyes sketching over her hair and then settling on the pitch‑black of her eyes.

Wizard Akana’s face was narrow featured and unkind, his drawn‑down eyebrows etching deep groves in the centre of his forehead. A flat, angry scar marked his left cheek and jaw, disappearing beneath a high collar rumoured to hide worse scarring on his neck. The stories the students told suggested he’d burned himself with his own magic, experimenting with powers no one was supposed to understand.

His eyes studied her without mercy.

“You.” He said the word almost like a question, but Naila had no idea how to answer it.

She pushed herself back from him, scrabbling to stand. Her legs and arms were trembling, and suddenly she was back on the roof of the shophouse, watching a man get attacked for merely falling next to a mage.

“Sorry, Wizard,” she managed, her voice small and weak in her own ears. “I was running and—”

“You’re late.” He narrowed his eyes. “And now, so am I.”

His thin mouth drew to one side as he looked down at the books scattered about his feet, but it only took one circular motion of his hand for them all to jump back up into his arms. Despite his lateness, he took a moment to glare down at her one last time and then—in the greatest display of power that Naila had ever seen—he vanished.

Naila had never seen a mage travel without a pattern room, and he’d done it without even a single word of a spell. His sudden departure sucked the air in towards where he’d been standing, fluttering the pages of her books and lifting the hair away from her face. For a moment, all she could do was stare in mute astonishment.

Then the first bell of the afternoon rang overhead, reminding Naila of exactly how late she was. She stumbled to her knees, scooping her belongings back into her bag without even looking at them. Then she heaved her bag over her shoulder and ran.

When she finally reached the classroom four floors up, Naila was flushed, sweating and out of breath, her hair sticking to the back of her neck. As she pushed open the heavy glass door, a familiar nausea welled up from the pit of her stomach. She took one long breath and braced herself for the wall of disapproving silence undoubtedly awaiting her.

What she found instead was an atmosphere of barely controlled chaos. It was clear there had recently been some kind of commotion: the whole class bubbled underneath with hurried whispers and exchanged glances. Trianne Marnise was gripping the lectern in front of her as if it represented her hold on the class, her brown fingers turning white at the knuckles. Her thin eyebrows were raised as she waited for the class to acknowledge their transgression, her lips curled inwards over her teeth.

Naila tried to use the agitation to slip in unnoticed but, of course, the only free desk was right in the centre of the room. Hugging her bag against her side, she half turned to slide between the desks, intently focused on not bumping into the other students. She kept her eyes down, having long ago learned it was always worse to meet their gaze.

The effect of Naila’s presence was immediate: a heavy silence rolled in behind her. She’d been so focused on picking her way to her desk that she hadn’t noticed the reason for the class’s excitement, and now it caught the corner of her eye, a black shadow at the edge of her vision.

A Surveyor.

Naila froze, her hands tightening on the strap of her bag. The Surveyor stood in the corner, their body obscured in formless black robes, their face hidden behind a mask of concealing magic. For a moment, all Naila could hear was the rush of blood in her ears. What were they doing here? Who had they come for? Were they here because she’d knocked over Wizard Akana? Or maybe they were here because she had been at the protest the night before?

A million reasons flowed through her mind, each more ridiculous than the last. And yet, whatever the reason, Naila was possessed by a cold, awful certainty that they’d come here for her.

“Another interruption?” Trianne Marnise said with a thin veneer of patience. “Please, do keep standing there, Mita Naila. We’re happy to wait.” Trianne Marnise weighed the emphasis heavily on Naila’s title, as if it were something that set her apart from the others. In reality, all the young mages in this class were mita, and would be until they sat their exams.

What set Naila apart was that she was sure to remain a mita forever.

“Sorry,” Naila stammered for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

The focus of the trianne and her class was now firmly united on Naila. Whispers trailed her down the row of desks.

“He’s here for you.”

“Hollow.”

“Hollow mage.”

Someone stuck out a foot and Naila stumbled, hitting her hip hard against a desk, sending pens clattering to the floor. She wanted to glare down at the petty mage who had tripped her, but she couldn’t make herself look away from the Surveyor. He had leaned forward, like a predator smelling weakness in its prey, and she felt the weight of his eyes behind the shifting blackness of his mask. Somehow, she managed to fumble her way to her desk, feeling the screech of her chair in her teeth.

“Good,” said Trianne Marnise in a tone which implied exactly the opposite. “Let’s begin.”

Naila spent the rest of the lesson waiting for the axe to fall. She held herself very still, trying to keep her breath even, her pulse throbbing just below her neck. Her gaze kept sinking back towards the Surveyor and the inescapable gravity of his presence. The law enforcers of Amoria were not usually found in Academy classrooms. That one was here meant he’d been summoned.

Yet the only thing Naila could read from the dark form was boredom; once class resumed, the Surveyor leaned back against the wall, one black boot pressed against the glass, not even offering a pretence of interest.

Trianne Marnise’s class was on the Theory of Magic, a lesson which was typically filled with long, ponderous lectures and very little practical work. It was, therefore, a class in which Naila excelled.

Like all mages, and better than most, Naila could sense and feel the energies which ran through all things, living and inert: the bright defining anima, untouchable and unalterable, and its strange sister-power, magic. Even now, she could feel the flickering threads of it swirling around her, magic being tugged this way and that by the competing presence of mages.

“Mita Naila, perhaps you would like to demonstrate.”

Naila started, her gaze snapping back to the class.

Of course, this was what it had all been leading to. Trianne Marnise stood with her hand outstretched, a small marble of clear glass resting in her palm.

“Come now, Mita. This is a simple demonstration.” She smiled with affected patience. “The infants in level one control could manage this.”

There were a few sharp intakes of breath and more whispers. They knew, they all knew.

Naila stood anyway, her limbs heavy with dread. It wasn’t enough that she looked like none of them, a physical imprint of how little she belonged here, but she was also at least three years older than any of her classmates. She felt it now more than ever, picking her way to the front, like an awkward bird that had outgrown its cage. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the Surveyor, but she could feel the pressure of his gaze and hear the rustle of black fabric as he leaned forward. This was what he had come for.

“This is a magical item intended for the use of mages,” the trianne explained, as if this were merely part of her lesson and not a carefully laid trap. “For a mage to use it, all they need do is touch it with a small amount of their power: set the magic within the item moving.”

She reached out to drop the marble into Naila’s hand, a shock of cold glass against Naila’s skin. Its magic sang out in her mind immediately; it was made to train young mages and the magic was a swirling storm within it—easy to detect and easy to use, if one had the power.

“When the mita activates the glass,” Marnise continued with her careful charade, “it will emit a bright white light. An item such as this is designed for the use of all mages, making the application of power needed very small. Mita Naila, please demonstrate.”

Naila stared at the marble, her dread all caught up with the churning power within it. What the trianne asked was impossible, and Marnise knew that as well as Naila.

Never in all her seventeen years, never in any of her classes, never once in her whole life had Naila been able to do magic.

She tried anyway.

The classroom was oppressively quiet. Naila tried to focus her mind away from it, away from the sound of students clearing their throats and shuffling in their seats. Instead, she sank inwards, towards the well of power that was supposed to exist inside her. Frowning down at the tiny fragment of glass in her hand, she pushed all of her will towards it, reaching out to it, begging with it, pleading it to light. Everything she had here, her entire future in Amoria, all of it felt wrapped up in this tiny, insignificant marble. This time, it had to work.

The glass was utterly unmoved by her efforts. There was not the faintest flicker of power, let alone light. She felt empty—hollow—as if she were shouting inside an empty room. Next to her, Trianne Marnise blinked through her smile, the expression so fixed it could have been a mask.

“Mita Na—”

Naila was saved from whatever Trianne Marnise had been about to say by the loud, repeating chimes of the fourth bell.

As one, chairs scraped, pens clattered and bags were pulled out from beneath desks. Naila watched the students get up to leave, like standing on the edge of a flood and watching the boat pull away without her; somehow, she knew she wouldn’t be leaving so easily.

As if on cue, Trianne Marnise hissed in her ear, “Stay where you are.”

The Surveyor bore down on them, the black robes making him seem larger and more impressive than he really was. Trianne Marnise bowed her head in respect: Surveyors were called up to serve from within the higher ranks of mages, most often lieno, but Academy matters were usually solved from within, which meant that this was most likely one of the wizards. Naila half wondered if this was where Wizard Akana had been in such a hurry to get to—perhaps he’d find a way to punish her after all.

Holding herself straight, Naila stared up at the Surveyor, fixing her eyes on the deepening black shadow within his hood. The concealing magic was a disconcerting sight, and Naila’s stomach did a strange flip as she tried to focus on where the mage’s face should be. It only made her grit her teeth, more determined than ever that he wouldn’t see her fear.

“Surveyor,” Trianne Marnise began, “I’m sure you can see the reason you have been brought here. This is a school for mages, not for hollows.” Naila flinched at such a casual use of the cruel word.

“Did the girl not test as a mage?” The man’s voice sounded as if it was underwater, warped and distorted by magic, but Naila could hear a note of affected surprise.

“Perhaps she did, but there must have been some mistake. As you can see, she has shown no magical ability—as I said, less than I would expect from the children in the very lowest classes.”

“Perhaps.” The Surveyor stood very still, invisible eyes tracking over Naila’s skin. “May I?” he asked, lifting one gloved black hand.

Naila’s heart was beating so fast she felt sick. She stared at the hand, knowing exactly what it meant.

“I— yes...”

The Surveyor placed two fingertips lightly on Naila’s temple and she gasped; he’d sent the barest hint of his power towards her and it felt like someone had pulled on a rope attached behind her heart. Naila’s power—her very sense of self—leapt to obey this mage’s command, as if he could reach in and take her life into his hands.

“She is a mage,” he said, as if it were the simplest matter in the world.

Trianne Marnise tried to maintain an expression of polite understanding, but wrinkles appeared on the bridge of her nose. “They call her the hollow mage, Surveyor. She may appear to be a mage, but she has not passed a single one of the practical classes. I believe she sits in the infant control class. Though she may have been able to pass the exams to reach this class, she can move no further; she is already several years older than her peers and there is absolutely nothing I can hope to teach her.”

Naila felt the heat of blood in her cheeks. It was true. It had been two years since she’d watched Ko’ani graduate from this class and move on without her, and she was the last student Naila had considered a friend. Every year, the gulf deepened between her and her fellow students.

“Have you learned control?” the Surveyor asked.

And there was the crux of it. As if on cue, Naila felt the stir of the force inside her, a shift in the power that both elevated her to the life of a mage and condemned her. There was a simple reason all mages in Amoria had to attend the Academy. Naila had only ever heard rumours, but these stories were written into the very bones of the city. If a mage didn’t learn to control their gift, it would grow wild, a seething storm caught within the fragile casing of a human body. In the end, it would crack them apart, tearing right through them and everything around them.

Naila’s voice wavered when she answered him. “No.”

The Surveyor addressed Marnise, his voice flat. “Then she cannot leave the Academy. Those are the rules.”

“I believe this to be an exception!” The trianne’s patience began to splinter at the edges. “This is a class for the talented young mages of Amoria. We are known here for our excellence. Why, this class even contains the daughter of Lieno Oriven himself.”

“Does it, indeed?” Naila hadn’t thought it would be possible to hear sarcasm through the strange warping magic of the Surveyor, but she did. She was possessed by a sudden, dizzying lightness: was he on her side?

“This is a disgrace. Lieno Oriven himself has—”

“What this is,” said the Surveyor, “is a monumental waste of my time. I consider this business concluded. Good day to you, Trianne Marnise.”

With that, the Surveyor turned and walked away, his footsteps clicking on the glass floor. Trianne Marnise watched him go with wide, unblinking eyes, her mouth pale at the edges.

“I see,” she called after him. She lifted her chin and suddenly the calm expression of control was back, her dark eyes narrowing. “We’ve known for some time that this girl has support within the faculty. It is unfortunate that you were called to resolve this matter.”

The Surveyor stopped abruptly in the doorway, the black robes swirling about his feet.

“It is a capital offence to allude to the identity of a Surveyor,” he said without turning, and suddenly the air in the room grew heavier, charged with his power.

Even Trianne Marnise looked uneasy.

“I—” She swallowed. “I did nothing of the kind. This is not the end of this, Surveyor. I will be raising this matter again—with the Lieno Council, as well as the faculty.”

For a moment the Surveyor just stood in the doorway, the magic of the room bending down towards him. And then he sighed, sagging a little within the black robes, his appearance suddenly smaller.

“Do as you will.”

Kim Sayle Promoted to Senior Vice President and Deputy Publisher of Hachette Audio

NEW YORK (December 18, 2024) — Hachette Book Group (HBG) Deputy CEO Richard Kitson announced the promotion of Ana Maria Allessi today to President and Publisher of Hachette Audio effective January 2, 2025. In this new elevated role, Allessi will continue to lead the company’s audio, recording, and digital content publishing efforts, including marketing to current and new consumers, as well as audio distribution strategies for the best-in-class audiobooks across all of HBG’s growing imprints.

“Under Ana Maria’s dynamic leadership, HBG has delivered another record-breaking year of audio sales,” said Kitson. “She delivers day in, day out and is focused on driving innovation and growth. She has a brilliant team working with her who constantly aim to deliver our mission to make it easy for people to discover new worlds of ideas, learning, entertainment, and opportunity. I look forward to working closely with her in this new role and her continued contributions to the HBG Executive Management Board and the wider company.”

Allessi joined Hachette Book Group in 2022 with more than two decades of invaluable industry experience, having serving Workman Audio as Vice President and Publisher. Before that she was Vice President and Publisher of HarperAudio and Vice President of Digital Innovation, HarperAudio. Prior to that she was Vice President and Publisher of Harper Media. She was a member of the Board of Directors for the Audio Publisher’s Association for 11 years, serving as President of the Board from 2019 to 2023.

Kim Sayle, who has served as Vice President, Associate Publisher since 2019, has been promoted to Senior Vice President and Deputy Publisher of Hachette Audio.

“I have learned so much from Richard and David in the last year,” said Allessi. “I thank them for the opportunity to continue to create great audiobooks and to expand our authors’ audience. I’m excited to carry on working with Kim Sayle, whose talent, generosity, and experience inspires me every day.”

About Hachette Book Group

Hachette Book Group (HBG) is a leading US general-interest book publisher made up of dozens of esteemed imprints within the publishing groups Basic Books Group, Grand Central Publishing Group, Hachette Audio, Little, Brown and Company, Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, Orbit, and Workman Running Press Group. We also provide custom distribution, fulfillment, and sales services to other publishing companies. Our books and authors have received the Pulitzer Prize, National Book Award, Caldecott Medal, Newbery Medal, Booker Prize, Nobel Peace Prize and other major honors. We are committed to diversity in our company and our publishing programs, and to fostering a culture of inclusion for all our employees and authors. We are proud to be part of Hachette Livre, the world’s third-largest trade and educational publisher. Visit hachettebookgroup.com to learn more about HBG imprints. For updated news follow HBG on Facebook, Instagram, LinkedIn, Threads, TikTok, X.com, and YouTube.

# # #

Press Contact:               Gabrielle Gambrell                    Gabrielle.Gambrell@hbgusa.com

Are there two words that incite more joy in a child’s heart than SNOW DAY?!!?

(Ok, "summer vacation". You got me there. But hear me out.)

As a Southern girl, I rarely experienced the magic of a snow day. But oh boy, when it happened… schools shut down. Snowpeople were constructed in every yard. Snowball fights rang out across the neighborhood streets. Granted, we only ever got about three inches of snow to stick to the ground, tops. But HEY. You make it work!

Snow days are ALSO the perfect excuse to cuddle up inside with some good reads. Think of it as your bookish hibernation! I’ve put together a little list for all you cold-loving cuties out there, whether you prefer a middle grade read to plow through (get it? Snow joke?) or just want some cozy picture books to curl up with. Heat up some cocoa, grab your blanket, and let’s celebrate WINTER!

Take a look at the cover for Forged for Destiny (US), the first in a new fantasy series by Andrew Knighton coming April 2025!

Raul has a destiny: claim his birthright as the last surviving heir of King Balbainus and lead his conquered people to freedom. 

The signs are all there—his birthmark, in the shape of Balbainus’ halfmoon and dagger sigil, the gemstone-hilted sword he found in his parents’ inn, and the sudden influx of illegal books featuring the late king’s lineage. Nevermind that his ma is a hidden scribe writing a play about Balbainus’ return, or that his da, a hardened warrior, has been training him to fight since he could stand. Or the fact that his sword doesn’t seem very old at all, he feels much more comfortable reading than fighting, and his birthmark is looking more and more like a burn scar…

As Raul leaves his simple village life to start a rebellion against the tyrannical Dunholmi government, he begins to wonder if his destiny is more someone else’s plan for a future he doesn’t want to be a part of. He’ll go along with things, for now, if only to prove that change can come from kindness instead of outright destruction. 

After all, destiny is what you make of it.

One of my favorite things as a children’s book marketer is opening boxes of fresh, shiny new books. Whenever I get my hands on a new picture book, the first thing I do is flip it open to check out the endpapers.

For those of you who are unfamiliar, the endpapers are what we call the spread of paper that is directly on the insides of the front and back book covers. Illustrators frequently use this spread to highlight moments from the story, create a fun pattern, or provide overall vibes.

While I can’t truly list all of my favorites (I simply have too many!), below are just a few I need you to see for yourself!

I am simply obsessed with the Charlie Mylie’s illustrations in Treehouse Town and the endpapers in this picture book remind me of my childhood, exploring the woods in my neighborhood park.

Winter is one of my favorite seasons, and I can’t get enough of Renée Kurilla’s adorable art! These end papers have me wanting to curl up with a mug of cocoa.

My mouth is watering looking at the endpapers for Soy Sauce! Did you know that author/illustrator Laura G. Lee used real soy sauce as paint?! It’s beyond inventive and makes this book extra special.

Everything Michaela Goade touches is gold, and the entirety of Berry Song is a masterpiece. I love that these endpapers show off the variety of berries spoken about throughout this beautiful story.

Have you ever seen cuter mice in your life? I haven’t. I love that these endpapers show us the entirety of the sweet Mouse family.

Fun fact: Illustrator Leah Hong and I both attended Emily Carr University of Art + Design!

Owls are my favorite of birds, so I was already set up to fall in love with anything pertaining to Urban Owls. And while there are no owls featured on the endpapers (you’ll have to peek at the case cover for hidden owls), I’m a sucker for a gorgeous starry night sky and stunning color palette.

What is special about these gorgeous endpapers is that they are essentially an extension of the story, showing little extra little scenes with Skully and Skelly!

Take your first look at the cover for This Vicious Hunger (US | UK) by Francesca May coming August 2025!

From the author of Wild and Wicked Things comes a dark gothic fantasy about two young women struggling to find the freedom of choice in a world where their path feels predetermined. Turning to each other, they soon find themselves sinking deeper into a world of beauty, poison, and the insatiable quest for knowledge. 

Thora Grieve finds herself destitute and an outcast after the sudden death of her husband only a few weeks into their marriage, but a glimmer of hope arrives when a family friend offers her spot at a university to study botany under a famed professor. Once at the university Thora becomes entranced by a mysterious young woman, Olea, who emerges each night to tend to the plants in the professor’s private garden.

Thora soon learns that a mysterious illness prevents Olea from leaving the garden. Hungry for connection, Thora befriends Olea through the garden gate and their relationship quickly and intensely blossoms. The visceral connection between Thora and Olea unlocks an obsessive desire in Thora as she throws herself into finding a cure for Olea’s ailment. But is this really love or is it merely lustful intoxication? Thora’s finally found the freedom to pursue her deepest desires, but at what cost?

Also by Francesca May

Wild and Wicked Things
(US | UK)

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📚❄️ Snuggle up with stories that brings the winter season to life! From snowy adventures to heartwarming tales, these child-friendly books will make frosty days feel a little cozier. ❤️ 📖

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30 years of brain quest!

Stimulate the mind in a fun, approachable way. Celebrate 30 years of Brain Quest: check out the new look, new products, and new packaging with the same A+ content!

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Orbit is pleased to present our latest deluxe collector's edition, A Dowry of Blood (US | UK) by S. T. Gibson coming March 2025!

This is my last love letter to you, though some would call it a confession. . .

This gorgeous, deluxe collector’s edition of S. T. Gibson’s dark fantasy word-of-mouth sensation features: an exclusive box illustrated by Martina Fačková; a signed hardcover copy of A Dowry of Blood; gilded pewter edges; four color endpaper art; a brand-new foil-stamped fabric cover; a ribbon bookmark and an exclusive bonus short story!

This Gold Edition will ship on March 4, 2025, and is available exclusively here. Preorder today to get a 20% discount and secure your signed copy of A Dowry of Blood.

Also by S. T. Gibson

A Dowry of Blood
(US | UK)

An Education in Malice
(US | UK)

Take a look at the cover for The Mercy Makers (US), the first in a new romantic epic fantasy trilogy by Tessa Gratton coming June 2025!

A talented heretic must decide between the pursuit of forbidden magic, or the ecstasy of forbidden love—either way, her choice will upend the world, in the start of a sweeping, romantic epic fantasy trilogy by New York Times bestselling author Tessa Gratton.

Can an empire trip and fall on a mere strand of silk? 

Iriset is a prodigy and an outlaw. The daughter of a powerful criminal, she dons her alter ego Silk to create magical disguises for those in her father’s organization, but she longs to do more with her talent: to enhance what it means to be human by giving people wings, night-sight, and other abilities; to unlock the possibilities of gender and parenthood; to cure disease and even to end mortality itself.

Everything changes when her father is captured and sentenced to death. To save him, Iriset must infiltrate the palace and the empire’s fanatical ruling family. There, she realizes she has a chance—and an obligation—to bring down the entire corrupt system. She’ll have to entangle herself in the lives of the emperor and his sister, getting them to trust and even to love her. But love is a two-way street, and Iriset’s own heart holds the most mysterious and impenetrable magic of all.

Movies, music, theater, the latest show on streaming... here are book recommendations for those who are always the first to dive into the latest pop culture phenomenon. Happy reading!

Whether it's healing, comforting, or even just hilarious, here are a few memorable romances that feel like a warm hug. They are books we recommend over and over again so the re-readability is also very high. We all need that familiar read with character who feel like friends. Happy reading!

VEGAN TAMALES UNWRAPPED EBOOK

COMIDA CASERA INGREDIENT GUIDE

OUR VEGAN MEXICO EBOOK

PRINTABLE CHRISTMAS CARD

Books by HBG Authors in the Initiative Will Feature a Call to Action for Readers to Help Reverse Trends Showing Steep Declines in Reading for Fun among Children 

NEW YORK (December 5, 2024) — Citing recent studies by the National Endowment for the Arts and the National Center for Education Statistics about the harmful impacts of children reading for fun less often than previous generations, David Shelley, CEO of Hachette Book Group and Hachette UK, announced today the launch of a new initiative called Raising Readers. Shelley welcomed all to join a global call to action in a letter emailed to authors, illustrators, and translators this morning, describing how steep declines in the number of children reading for fun on both sides of the Atlantic inspired the initiative and how authors’ books can feature ways to counter downward trends among young readers. The contents of his letter appear in full below. 

Dear Authors, Illustrators and Translators, 

For the last seven years, I’ve written an end of year letter in the UK – and this is my first year writing to you all in the USA and the UK, after taking up the role of CEO of both at the start of this year. 

I wanted to take this chance to write about a single issue which I think affects all of us, and to make a request. 

Many of you will have seen the very recent research from the National Literacy Trust in the UK, showing that reading for pleasure amongst children is at a 20-year low. Only 35% of 8-10 year old children in the country currently read for pleasure which is extremely concerning. Figures in the USA from the National Endowment for the Arts show a really similar decline – from 53% in 2012 to only 39% in 2022, the most recent year of data. 

Many theories have been posited for this decline, and one regrettably plausible one relates to smartphone usage amongst children, which is rising in inverse correlation to the fall in reading. I know I’m preaching to the choir here, but we also know from a vast amount of research that reading for pleasure in children increases empathy, promotes social mobility, and ultimately increases opportunity. So, as well as being concerned for the future commercial health of the ecosystem of which we’re all a part, the overwhelming concern is that this trend is going to negatively impact the life chances of a great many kids. 

It is fair to say that book sales have been remarkably resilient in 2024 at Hachette and in the industry generally - and book publishing remains one of the most successful creative industries. However, given the trend we are seeing in relation to kids reading for pleasure, we can’t rely on this continuing to be the case if we don’t nurture the readers of the future. Kids need to read for their own enjoyment if they’re to read for enjoyment as adults. 

What we also know is that even amongst prolific adult readers, some of the benefits of encouraging and enabling kids to read aren’t always known - and there isn’t consistently a consciousness about how important it is to read aloud to children in terms of igniting the reading habit. 

So we’re launching a new venture next year which is relatively simple but hopefully will have some efficacy: Raising Readers, which is to include a page at the back of many of our black-and-white adult books, talking about the value of fostering a lifelong habit of reading for pleasure and tips on how to do so. Ideally, this letter would be signed by whoever created the book, either based on a template we’ll provide or in your own words. 

Of course, you don’t have to be included in this venture, and everyone can opt into it. It’s purely voluntary but my hope is that many of you will want to engage. If you would like to be involved please just click here [hyperlink] to sign up…it will only take a few seconds. We’ll follow up with everyone who signs up in the new year with more details. 

The reason I think it could be effective is because across Hachette in all English language markets we sell around 220 million of your books a year (across print, ebooks and audio –the letter will be included in print and ebook formats alike, as well as audio editions), so the reach of this campaign could be very wide. The plan is for this letter to be printed featured in as many of our black and white adult fiction and nonfiction titles as possible. For all other authors and artists, we will be sharing other important ways you can support this initiative and help get the message out there with us. 

In 2025, in addition to trying to reach as many readers as we can for your books, our focus as a company will be about spreading this message as widely as possible. There are many big issues out there for our industry, but this decline in reading for pleasure amongst kids is one of the most serious, especially as it appears that reading for pleasure amongst kids also correlates with socio-economic background. 

In addition to this initiative, in 2025, we will be stepping up our partnership with literacy charities in all our geographies; continuing to legally oppose attempted book bans in the US and elsewhere; and to support the creation of school libraries everywhere. I’d like to thank Megan Tingley, President and Publisher of Little, Brown Books for Young Readers for coming up with this idea and helping to make it a reality. 

I hope you all have a restful holiday season and a great 2025. It’s been a privilege helping to bring your books to as many readers as possible this year, and I hope we’ll be able to continually improve what we do and reach even more people with them next year. And, as ever, please do feel free to be in touch with me with any questions or thoughts you have – I always value hearing from you. 

All my best, 
David 

About Hachette Book Group 
Hachette Book Group (HBG) is a leading US general-interest book publisher made up of dozens of esteemed imprints within the publishing groups Basic Books Group, Grand Central Publishing Group, Hachette Audio, Little, Brown and Company, Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, Orbit, and Workman Running Press Group. We also provide custom distribution, fulfillment, and sales services to other publishing companies. Our books and authors have received the Pulitzer Prize, National Book Award, Caldecott Medal, Newbery Medal, Booker Prize, Nobel Peace Prize and other major honors. We are committed to diversity in our company and our publishing programs, and to fostering a culture of inclusion for all our employees and authors. We are proud to be part of Hachette Livre, the world’s third-largest trade and educational publisher. Visit hachettebookgroup.com to learn more about HBG imprints. For updated news follow HBG on Facebook, Instagram, LinkedIn, TikTok, X.com, and YouTube. 

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• January 12, 2025 / 8:00PM

  Poisoned Pen (Virtual Event)

  An evening with New York Times bestselling author Scott Turow as he discusses his new book PRESUMED GUILTY.

  More Information

• January 14, 2025 / 6:00PM EDT

  Vero Beach Book Center

  #1 New York Times bestselling author Scott Turow discusses his new book, PRESUMED GUILTY.

  392 21st Street (Miracle Mile) Vero Beach, FL 32960

  More Information

• January 15, 2025 / 12:00PM EDT

  Brickell Literary Society

  Lunch with Scott Turow to hear about his new book, PRESUMED GUILTY.

  Temple Israel – Wolfson Auditorium, 137 NE 19 Street Miami, FL 33132

  More Information

• January 15, 2025 / 7:00PM EDT

  Books & Books

  An evening with Scott Turow, author of PRESUMED GUILTY, and Daniel Rivero.

  265 Aragon Ave Coral Gables, FL 33134

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• January 16, 2025 / 6:30PM EDT

  Page 158 Books

  Scott Turow in conversation with Heather Bell Adams.

  415 S Brooks Street Wake Forest, NC 27587

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• January 17, 2025 / 7:00PM EDT

  St. Louis County Library (in-partnership with Left Bank Books)

  The St. Louis County Library Foundation and Left Bank Books present #1 bestselling thriller author Scott Turow, to discuss his new book PRESUMED GUILTY.

  Clark Family Branch 1640 S. Lindbergh Blvd. St. Louis, MO 63131-3598

  More Information

• January 18, 2025 / 7:00PM EDT

  Midtown Reader & FSU College of Law

  Midtown Reader & FSU College of Law present #1 New York Times bestselling author Scott Turow, to discuss his new book PRESUMED GUILTY.

  114 N Copeland St Tallahassee, FL 32304

  More Information

• January 23, 2025 / 7:00PM EDT

  Massachusetts Public Libraries (Virtual Event)

  Bestselling authors Scott Turow (Presumed Guilty) and Alafair Burke (The Note) will discuss their newest thrillers, in conversation with Dwyer Murphy, editor-in-chief of CrimeReads.

  More Information

• February 8, 2025 / 12:00AM

  Savannah Book Festival

  Meet #1 New York Times bestselling author Scott Turow as he discusses his new book.

  37 W. Fairmont Avenue, #216 Savannah, GA 31406

  More Information

• February 20, 2025 / 6:30PM CDT

  The Book Stall

  Scott Turow Presents His New Novel, “Presumed Guilty” (Ticketed Event with Jon Grand!).

  811 Elm Street Chicago, IL 60640

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• February 21, 2025 / 7:00PM CDT

  Blue House Books

  #1 New York Times bestselling author Scott Turow discusses his new book, PRESUMED GUILTY.

  5915 6th Ave A, Kenosha, Wisconsin 53140

  More Information

• February 24, 2025 / 9:00AM MDT

  Brandeis National Committee Book & Author Event

  The day includes a luncheon, talks from six acclaimed Authors, Boutiques, Book Sales and Author Book Signings.

  6902 East Greenway Parkway Scottsdale, AZ 85254

  More Information

• February 27, 2025 / 7:00PM EDT

  National Writers Series (Virtual Event)

  An evening with Scott Turow, featuring “Presumed Guilty”.

  More Information

• March 15, 2025 / 12:00AM

  Tucson Festival of Books

  Details tk

Bloxson Will Continue to Lead Hachette’s Culture, Diversity, Equity, Inclusion and Belonging Efforts in New Role 

NEW YORK (December 2, 2024) — David Shelley, CEO of Hachette Book Group and Hachette UK, announced today that Carrie Bloxson has been named Hachette Book Group’s Chief Human Resources Officer. In this new role, Bloxson will lead and amplify talent development, recruitment, retention, training, office culture, business processes, and more. Bloxson will continue to oversee one of Hachette’s touchstone business pillars, Changing the Story, while proactively strengthening the company’s mission to make it easy for everyone to discover new worlds of ideas, learning, entertainment, and opportunity. This appointment replaces Hachette Book Group’s current SVP, Human Resources, Andrea Weinzimer, who is leaving at the end of this year. 

A steadfast advocate for creating more diverse, inclusive, and equitable workspaces, Bloxson’s efforts have earned industry recognition and awards, as well as the mantle of continuing to lead Culture, Diversity, Equity, Inclusion and Belonging at both Hachette Book Group and Hachette UK. She will also serve as a member of each company’s Executive Management Board. 

“Carrie Bloxson is one of the superstars of our industry,” said Shelley. “She has made an enormous impact in the last three years at Hachette Book Group, particularly in advancing our DEI initiatives, and in her new role will be even more instrumental in evolving our culture and in helping us achieve our mission as a company.” 

Bloxson brings to this position a demonstrated ability to inspire colleagues while leading transformative growth. In April 2024, Bloxson was promoted to Senior Vice President of Culture and Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion, supporting both US and UK offices of Hachette. Prior to this, she was HBG’s Inaugural Chief Diversity Officer, leading all culture, diversity, equity, inclusion, and belonging strategies, initiatives, and programs. Her vision and its implementation resulted in the Company becoming an industry leader by increasing diverse representation at all career levels. Additionally, Bloxson launched the company’s dynamic and progressive diversity advisory boards, spearheaded leadership workshops and career development programs, as well as innovative workplace and publishing programs. 

A marketer by trade, Bloxson’s keen understanding of consumers and knowledge of publishing and marketing has garnered accolades from colleagues and industry leaders alike. Named one of the nation’s top 2024 DEI Officer’s by COLOR Magazine, Bloxson’s appointment will help HBG achieve its objective of creating a more diverse, inclusive, and equitable company with increased representation of people of color in HBG’s leadership, workplaces, and publishing programs. 

“I’m honored to take on this new role, focusing on developing talent, fostering inclusion, and shaping a culture that reflects and advances our mission in meaningful ways,” said Bloxson. “I look forward leading HBG’s recruitment, professional development, and retention efforts to positively impact employee relations and wellness.” 

Prior to joining Hachette, Bloxson was interim CEO and Chief Marketing Officer of the social impact organization DoSomething.org, overseeing marketing, social impact, diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives, brand development, and creative efforts and programming. Prior to DoSomething.org, Bloxson spent six years as the Vice President of Marketing at HarperCollins. Bloxson is also the co-founder of CMOs for Good (an organization composed of marketing leaders who oversee social impact) and has more than two decades of experience as a marketing strategist for some of the world’s most iconic brands and entertainment properties, including Bravo TV, MTV, VH1, and Comedy Central. 

About Hachette Book Group 
Hachette Book Group (HBG) is a leading US general-interest book publisher made up of dozens of esteemed imprints within the publishing groups Basic Books Group, Grand Central Publishing Group, Hachette Audio, Little, Brown and Company, Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, Orbit, and Workman Running Press Group. We also provide custom distribution, fulfillment, and sales services to other publishing companies. Our books and authors have received the Pulitzer Prize, National Book Award, Caldecott Medal, Newbery Medal, Booker Prize, Nobel Peace Prize and other major honors. We are committed to diversity in our company and our publishing programs, and to fostering a culture of inclusion for all our employees and authors. We are proud to be part of Hachette Livre, the world’s third-largest trade and educational publisher. Visit hachettebookgroup.com to learn more about HBG imprints. For updated news follow HBG on Facebook, Instagram, LinkedIn, TikTok, X.com, and YouTube. 

Your TBR pile just got a lot longer!

Take adventures across worlds with laugh-out-loud fantasy rom-coms, sweeping fantasies, cozy page turners and so much more. These books are a perfect introduction to the authors you’ll be reading for years to come.

That Time I Got Drunk and Saved a Demon by Kimberly Lemming

Spice trader Cinnamon’s quiet life is turned upside down when she ends up on a quest with a fiery demon, in this irreverently quirky rom-com fantasy that is sweet, steamy, and funny as hell.

Details

All she wanted to do was live her life in peace—maybe get a cat, expand the family spice farm. Really, anything that didn’t involve going on an adventure where an orc might rip her face off. But they say the goddess has favorites, and if so, Cin is clearly not one of them.
 
After Cin saves the demon Fallon in a wine-drunk stupor, Fallon reveals that all he really wants to do is kill an evil witch enslaving his people. And who can blame him? But now he’s dragging Cinnamon along for the ride whether she like it or not. On the bright side, at least he keeps burning off his shirt.…

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About the Author

Kimberly Lemming is on an eternal quest to avoid her calling as a main character. She can be found giving the slip to that new werewolf that just blew into town and refusing to make eye contact with a prince of a far-off land. Dodging aliens looking for Earth booty can really take up a girl's time.

But when she’s not running from fate, she can be found writing diverse fantasy romance. Or just shoveling chocolate in her maw until she passes out on the couch.

The City of Stardust by Georgia Summers

Slip into a lush world of magic, stardust, and monsters in this spellbinding contemporary fantasy from debut author Georgia Summers.

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For centuries, the Everlys have seen their best and brightest disappear, taken as punishment for a crime no one remembers, for a purpose no one understands. Their tormentor, a woman named Penelope, never ages, never grows sick – and never forgives a debt.

Violet Everly was a child when her mother left on a stormy night, determined to break the curse. When Marianne never returns, Penelope issues an ultimatum: Violet has ten years to find her mother, or she will take her place. Violet is the last of the Everly line, the last to suffer. Unless she can break the curse first.

Her hunt leads her into a seductive magical underworld of power-hungry scholars, fickle gods and monsters bent on revenge. And into the path of Penelope's quiet assistant, Aleksander, who she knows cannot be trusted – and yet to whom she finds herself undeniably drawn.

With her time running out, Violet will travel the edges of the world to find Marianne and the key to the city of stardust, where the Everly story began.

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About the Author

Georgia Summers is half-British, half-Trinidadian and spent most of her life living across the world, including in Russia, Colombia, and the US. When she’s not doing bookish things, she’s planning her next great adventure. She currently lives in London, but she dreams of one day living in a haunted château with a ghost that cleans.

Fathomfolk by Eliza Chan

Revolution is brewing in the semi-submerged city of Tiankawi, between humans and the fathomfolk who live in its waters. This gloriously imaginative debut fantasy, inspired by East Asian mythology and ocean folk tales, is a novel of magic, rebellion and change.

Details

Welcome to Tiankawi – shining pearl of human civilization and a safe haven for those fleeing civil unrest. Or at least, that's how it first appears. But in the semi-flooded city, humans are, quite literally, on top: peering down from shining towers and aerial walkways on the fathomfolk – sirens, seawitches, kelpies and kappas – who live in the polluted waters below.

For half-siren Mira, promotion to captain of the border guard means an opportunity to help her downtrodden people. But if earning the trust and respect of her human colleagues wasn't hard enough, everything Mira has worked towards is put in jeopardy when Nami, a know-it-all water dragon and fathomfolk princess – is exiled to the city, under Mira’s watch. When extremists sabotage a city festival, violence erupts, as does the clampdown on fathomfolk rights. Both Nami and Mira must decide if the cost of change is worth paying, or if Tiankawi should be left to drown. 

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Eliza Chan is a Scottish-born Chinese-diaspora author who writes about East Asian mythology, British folklore and madwomen in the attic, but preferably all three at once. Eliza’s work has been published in The Dark, Podcastle, Fantasy Magazine and The Best of British Fantasy 2019. Fathomfolk is her first novel.

A Feather So Black by Lyra Selene

Set in a world of perilous magic and moonlit forests, this seductive romantic fantasy tells the story of a defiant changeling, her cursed sister, and the dangerous fae lord she must defeat to save her family.

Details

In a kingdom where magic has been lost, Fia is a rare changeling, left behind by the wicked Fair Folk when they stole the High Queen's daughter and retreated behind the locked gates of Tír na nÓg.

Most despise Fia's fae blood. But the queen raises her as a daughter and trains her to be a spy. Meanwhile, the real princess Eala is bound to Tír na nÓg, cursed to become a swan by day and only returning to her true form at night.

When a hidden gate to the realm is discovered, Fia is tasked by the queen to retrieve the princess and break her curse. But she doesn’t go alone: with her is prince Rogan, Fia's dearest childhood friend—and Eala’s betrothed.

As they journey through the forests of the Folk, where magic winds through the roots of the trees and beauty can be a deadly illusion, Fia’s mission is complicated by her feelings for the prince…and her unexpected attraction to the dark-hearted fae lord holding Eala captive. Irian might be more monster than man, but he seems to understand Fia in a way no one ever has.

Soon, Fia begins to question the truth of her mission. But time is running out to break her sister's curse. And unraveling the secrets of the past might destroy everything she has come to love.

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Lyra Selene was born under a full moon and has never quite managed to wipe the moonlight out of her eyes. She grew up on a steady diet of mythology, folklore, and fantasy, and now writes tall tales of twisted magic, forbidden love, and brooding landscapes. She lives in New England with her husband, daughter, and dog in an antique farmhouse that’s probably not haunted. A Feather So Black is her adult debut. 

A Letter to the Luminous Deep by Sylvie Cathrall

A charming fantasy set in an underwater world with magical academia and a heartwarming penpal romance, perfect for fans of A Marvellous Light, Emily Wilde's Encylopaedia of Faeries and The House in the Cerulean Sea.

Details

A beautiful discovery outside the window of her underwater home prompts the reclusive E. to begin a correspondence with renowned scholar Henerey Clel. The letters they share are filled with passion, at first for their mutual interests, and then, inevitably, for each other.

Together, they uncover a mystery from the unknown depths, destined to transform the underwater world they both equally fear and love. But by no mere coincidence, a seaquake destroys E.'s home, and she and Henerey vanish.

A year later, E.'s sister Sophy, and Henerey's brother Vyerin, are left to solve the mystery, piecing together the letters, sketches and field notes left behind—and learn what their siblings’ disappearance might mean for life as they know it.

Inspired, immersive, and full of heart, this charming epistolary tale is an adventure into the depths of a magical sea and the limits of the imagination from a marvelous debut voice.

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Sylvie Cathrall writes stories of hope and healing with healthy doses of wonder and whimsy. She holds a graduate degree in odd Victorian art and has handled more than a few nineteenth-century letters (with great care). Sylvie married her former pen pal and lives in the mountains, where she dresses impractically and dreams of the sea.

The Honey Witch by Sydney J. Shields

The Honey Witch of Innisfree can never find true love. That is her curse to bear. But when a young woman who doesn’t believe in magic arrives on her island, sparks fly in this deliciously sweet debut novel of magic, hope, and love overcoming all.

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Twenty-one-year-old Marigold Claude has always preferred the company of the spirits of the meadow to any of the suitors who’ve tried to woo her. So when her grandmother whisks her away to the family cottage on the tiny Isle of Innisfree with an offer to train her as the next Honey Witch, she accepts immediately. But her newfound magic and independence come with a price: No one can fall in love with the Honey Witch.

When Lottie Burke, a notoriously grumpy skeptic who doesn’t believe in magic, shows up on her doorstep, Marigold can’t resist the challenge to prove to her that magic is real. But soon, Marigold begins to care for Lottie in ways she never expected. And when darker magic awakens and threatens to destroy her home, she must fight for much more than her new home—at the risk of losing her magic and her heart.

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Sydney J. Shields is a swamp creature who evolved to hold a pen. She is a Magna Cum Laude graduate of Columbus State University where she majored in Communication. She currently lives in Savannah, Georgia with her partner and their dog. You can find her across social media @SydneyJShields, or her website, sydneyjshields.com. 

These Deathless Shores by P. H. Low

Gorgeous and devastating, P. H. Low’s debut fantasy is a richly reimagined tale of Captain Hook’s origin, a story of cruelty, magic, lost innocence, and the indelible power of stories.

Details

Jordan was once a Lost Boy, convinced she would never grow up. Now, she’s twenty-two and exiled to the real world, still suffering withdrawal from the addictive magic Dust of her childhood. With nothing left to lose, Jordan returns to the Island and its stories—of pirates and war and the heartlessness of youth—intent on facing Peter one last time, on her own terms.

If that makes her the villain…so be it.

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P. H. Low is a Locus- and Rhysling-nominated Malaysian American writer and poet with work published in Strange Horizons, Fantasy Magazine, Tor.com, and Diabolical Plots, among others. They have a bad habit of moving cities every few years, but can be found online at ph-low.com. 

Mistress of Lies by K. M. Enright

A villainous, bloodthirsty heroine finds herself plunged into the dangerous world of power, politics and murder in the court of the vampire king in this dark romantic fantasy debut.

Details

Fate is a cruel mistress. 

The daughter of a powerful but disgraced Blood Worker, Shan LeClaire has spent her entire life perfecting her blood magic, building her network of spies, and gathering every scrap of power she could. Now, to protect her brother, she assassinates their father and takes her place at the head of the family. And that is only the start of her revenge.

Samuel Hutchinson is a bastard with a terrible gift. When he stumbles upon the first victim of a magical serial killer, he's drawn into the world of magic and intrigue he's worked so hard to avoid – and is pulled deeply into the ravenous and bloodthirsty court of the vampire king.

Tasked by the Eternal King to discover the identity of the killer cutting a bloody swath through the city, Samuel, Shan and mysterious Royal Bloodworker Isaac find themselves growing ever closer to each other. But Shan's plans are treacherous, and as she lures Samuel into her complicated web of desire, treason and vengeance, he must decide if the good of their nation is worth the cost of his soul.

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K. M. Enright is the Sunday Times Bestselling author of MISTRESS OF LIES. Find out more about his writing at kmenright.com or follow him on social media at @KM_Enright. 

The Phoenix Keeper by S. A. MacLean

Set in a magical zoo teeming with mythical beasts from dragons and unicorns to kelpies and krakens, The Phoenix Keeper is a fierce joy of a cozy fantasy novel with a soul-restoring queer romance at its heart, for fans of The House in the Cerulean Sea and Legends and Lattes.

Details

As head phoenix keeper at a world-renowned zoo for magical creatures, Aila's childhood dream of conserving critically endangered firebirds seems closer than ever. There's just one glaring caveat: her zoo's breeding program hasn't functioned for a decade. When a tragic phoenix heist sabotages the flagship initiative at a neighboring zoo, Aila must prove her derelict facilities are fit to take the reins.

But saving an entire species from extinction requires more than stellar animal handling skills. Carnivorous water horses, tempestuous thunderhawks, mischievous dragons… Aila has no problem wrangling beasts. But mustering the courage to ask for help from the hotshot griffin keeper at the zoo's most popular exhibit? Virtually impossible.

Especially when that hotshot griffin keeper happens to be her arch-rival from college: Luciana, an annoyingly brooding and insufferable know-it-all with the face of a goddess who's convinced that Aila's beloved phoenix would serve their cause better as an active performer rather than as a passive conservation exhibit. With the world watching and the threat of poachers looming, Aila's success is no longer merely a matter of keeping her job…

She is the keeper of the phoenix, and the future of a species– and her love life– now rests on her shoulders.

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S. A. MacLean is a fantasy romance author from sunny Southern California. Infatuated with magical worlds since her days of brewing mud potions in her childhood garden, she fell in love with the romantasy genre after realizing all her favorite fantasy novels had kisses in them. Her stories invariably feature quirky humor, sassy animal companions, and queer casts who represent her voice as a chaotic bisexual woman. Sarah received her BS in Natural Resources from Cornell University and a PhD in Environmental Science from UC Berkeley. She left the research track to teach environmental science at her local community college, inspiring the next generation of students to save the planet.

Long Live Evil by Sarah Rees Brennan

She loves a fictional villain. He's about to meet his match. From New York Times bestselling author Sarah Rees Brennan comes a wild and witty portal fantasy where a young woman falls into her favorite fantasy novel—and gets to play the villain. 

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When her whole life collapsed, Rae still had books. Dying, she seizes a second chance at living: a magical bargain that lets her enter the world of her favorite fantasy series.

She wakes in a castle on the edge of a hellish chasm, in a kingdom on the brink of war. Home to dangerous monsters, scheming courtiers and her favorite fictional character: the Once and Forever Emperor. In this fantasy world, she discovers she’s not the heroine, but the villainess in the Emperor’s tale.

So be it. The wicked are better dressed, with better one-liners, even if they’re doomed to bad ends. She assembles the wildly disparate villains of the story under her evil leadership, plotting to change their fate. But as the body count rises and the Emperor’s fury increases, it seems Rae and her allies may not survive to see the final page. 

This adult epic fantasy debut from Sarah Rees Brennan puts the reader in the villain's shoes, for an adventure that is both "brilliant" (Holly Black) and "supremely satisfying" (Leigh Bardugo): expect a cast of dilettante aristocrats, magic-wielding warriors, sarcastic servants, and one particularly bloodthirsty bodyguard. 

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Sarah Rees Brennan was born in Ireland by the sea. After world travel and surviving stage 4 cancer, she settled there in the shadow of a 300 year old library. Writing young adult fiction, she was a Lodestar, Mythopoeic and World Fantasy finalist, Carnegie nominee and New York Times bestseller. Long Live Evil is her first adult work.

The Enchanted Lies of Céleste Artois by Ryan Graudin

In this lush and lyrical fantasy, Ryan Graudin transports readers to the hidden magical pockets of early 1900s Paris, a place of enchanted salons, fortune tellers who can change your stars, and doorways that can take you to the most unexpected places—and introduces readers to the delightful Céleste Artois, a con artist who will make a deal with the devil in exchange for her life…and change the fate of the world.

Details

Once, Céleste Artois had dreams of being an artist. But when the creative elite of Paris dashed those plans, she turned her talents to forgery and cons. She and the Enchantresses—her two fellow thieves and best friends—see Paris as a rich hunting ground for marks. Yet even though their hideout in Peré Lachaise cemetery is bursting with francs, Céleste cannot rest. There is always more to take. And the blood she has begun to cough into her handkerchief means her time is running out.

But everything changes when she encounters Rafe, a mysterious and beautiful stranger who leads her to an enchanted salon—a place where artists can bring wondrous imaginations to life. Céleste is captivated by this establishment, and learns of the existence of magical Paris, hidden in the pockets and alleys of the ordinary world, if one only knows where to look. 

Rafe offers Céleste an irresistible deal: the gift of time in exchange for lending him and his benefactor her forging talents. But one must be careful making deals with devils, and there's more to this hidden world than meets the eye. Shadows have begun to circle Paris. And soon, the Enchantresses will find that true magic is far more powerful, and deadly, than they ever imagined. 

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Ryan Graudin is the award-winning author of ten novels, including the Carnegie nominated Wolf By Wolf duology, Invictus, The Walled City and the The World Between Blinks series. She resides near Charleston, South Carolina with her husband and two daughters. You can find her online at http://www.ryangraudin.com.

The Scarlet Throne by Amy Leow

A dark, heart-thumping political epic fantasy by debut author Amy Leow—full of scheming demons, morally grey heroines, talking cats, and cut-throat priests, this delicious tale of power and corruption will captivate from beginning to end.

Details

Binsa is a “living goddess,” chosen by the gods to dispense both mercy and punishment from her place on the Scarlet Throne. But her reign hides a deadly secret. Rather than channeling the wisdom of an immortal deity, she harbors a demon.

Though, one cannot remain a living goddess forever. When her temple’s priests decide that Binsa’s time in power has come to an end, a new girl, Medha, is selected to take over her position as goddess. But Binsa refuses to be discarded into a life of uncertainty as a young woman, and she strikes a deal with her demon: She will sacrifice her people’s lives in order to magnify his power, and in return, he will help her seize control from the priests once and for all.

But how much of her humanity is she willing to trade for the sake of ambition? Deals with demons are rarely so simple.

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Amy Leow is a Malaysian SFF writer currently residing in Kuala Lumpur. She graduated with a degree in linguistics and is currently pursuing a PhD in the same subject. When not reading or writing, she can be found consuming copious amounts of anime, boba, and random facts on the internet.

Nightstrider by Sophia Slade

From TikTok sensation Sophia Slade (@theneonvulture), a stunning new voice in epic fantasy, comes this dark, romantic tale about a world split in two and the four misguided souls who must come together save it, for fans of Holly Black and Hannah Whitten.

Details

To stop a vicious demon’s conquest, nightmares and humans will band together in book one of a heart-stopping new dark fantasy series. 

Wren is a nightmare: a deadly manifestation of the frightening dreams of humans. She is forever bound to the insidious Para Warwick, the only night creature who can cross the boundary between the dream and waking realms. When she fails to retrieve information on a weapon that could finally end Warwick’s reign and is severely punished, she makes a snap decision to aid the growing rebellion in finding it. Here, she meets Alaric, another nightmare hell-bent on atoning for his sins. Though wildly suspicious of one another, they form a tentative pact to take down Warwick once and for all. 

The waking world is no better off. Prince Caine Fallon, Warwick's ignorant human son, prepares to wed Ila Enevoldson, the young queen from a neighboring kingdom. But Ila is more than she seems: She is a weaver, a protector of the ancient Boundary that separates the realms, and she has lost a precious weapon entrusted to her. She will do anything to retrieve it, including agreeing to an engagement with the son of her sworn enemy.  

When Caine catches Ila opening a portal to the dream realm and follows her through, he finds himself in a universe stranger than he could have imagined, where his father is more monstrous than he could have fathomed. Their destinies collide with those of the two lethal nightmares, and they are forced to band together to stop the vicious dictator—and prevent the very fabric of reality from unravelling.  

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Sophia Slade has been writing since she was still losing her baby teeth. She independently published seven books ranging from dark fantasy to poetry before signing with Orbit Books. Sophia is a graduate of New York University and now lives in the Midwest with her lovely husband and their two cats, Mothman and Matcha. She loves antiquing, twenty one pilots, and frogs. 

How to Summon a Fairy Godmother by Laura J. Mayo

If a fairy godmother can get one sister into a marriage, getting another out of one should be easy...

From debut author Laura J. Mayo comes a hilarious new spin on the Cinderella tale!

Details

Lady Theodosia Balfour has certainly gotten the short end of the stick—her stepsister, the newly crowned Princess Beatrice, is telling everyone in polite society that Theo, her sister, and their mother are evil, wicked, and horrid people who treated her like a slave. Though Theo knows this isn't exactly true, it seems her life is thoroughly ruined by the rumor. With the Balfour family estate on the verge of bankruptcy, Theo's only path forward is a forced betrothal to the Duke of Snowbell, a foul-tempered geezer who wishes only to use her as a brood mare for spare heirs.  

Desperate for help, Theo clings to the only thing that might save her: the rumor of a fairy godmother, one that supposedly helped her stepsister secure a prince. After discovering a way to summon a fairy in Beatrice's old room, Theo thinks her prayers have been answered. But the fairy she meets isn't at all what she imagined. Drop-dead gorgeous, incredibly cunning, and slightly devious, Cecily of the Ash Fairies is much more interested in gathering powerful favors and smoking her pipe than providing charitable magic for humans in a bind. 

Before she receives magical assistance, Cecily sets Theo to three tasks, seemingly to prove that Theo is a selfless and kind person. Helping her along the way are Cecily's familiars, the flirty human-turned-mockingbird Phineas and the aloof Kasra, a fox shapeshifter who should not be as handsome as he is for someone with such cutting remarks. As Theo works on her tasks, she shockingly finds kinship with the magical creatures she's helping, and starts to wonder if a continued life among her human peers is what she really wants after all. 

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In addition to being a two-time winner of her town’s annual pie contest, Laura J. Mayo is also a fantasy writer. She lives in New Hampshire with her husband, their two children, a dog named Birch, and a ball python named Smoky. Unsurprisingly, many of Laura’s other interests are solitary, including reading, sewing, cooking, baking, admiring her air plants, and getting figuratively lost in deep, dark woods. How to Summon a Fairy Godmother is her debut novel.

The Black Hunger by Nicholas Pullen

A spine-tingling, queer gothic horror debut where two men are drawn into an otherworldly spiral, and a journey that will only end when they reach the darkest part of the human soul.

Details

John Sackville will soon be dead. Shadows writhe in the corners of his cell as he mourns the death of his secret lover and the gnawing hunger inside him grows impossible to ignore.

He must write his last testament before it is too late.

It is a story steeped in history and myth – a journey from stone circles in Scotland, to the barren wilderness of Ukraine where otherworldly creatures stalk the night, ending in the icy peaks of Tibet and Mongolia, where an ancient evil stirs.

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Nicholas Pullen is a graduate of Somerville College at Oxford University, where he received his BA in history, and holds an MA in history from McGill University. His short fiction has appeared in the Toronto Star, the Copperfield Review, and Anti-Heroin Chic. By day he works for the Government of Canada, and by night he pens eldritch tales. He knows the names, locations, depths, and stories of every shipwreck  in Georgian Bay, and most of the rest of the Great Lakes for that matter.  He lives in the Yukon with his husband and their dog.

Sorcery and Small Magics by Maiga Doocy

From debut author Maiga Doocy comes the charming tale of an impulsive sorcerer and his curmudgeonly rival as they venture deep into a magical forest in search of a counterspell that can break the curse between them—only to discover that magic might not be the only thing pulling them together. 

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Leovander Loveage is a master of small magics. He can summon butterflies with a song or turn someone’s hair pink by snapping his fingers. Though such minor charms don’t earn him much respect, anything more elaborate always blows up in his face, and so Leo vowed long ago never to use powerful magic again.

That is, until a mishap with a forbidden spell binds Leo to obey the commands of his longtime rival, Sebastian Grimm. Grimm is Leo’s complete opposite—respected, exceptionally talented, and absolutely insufferable. The only thing they can agree on is that revealing the curse between them would mean the end of their respective magical careers. They need a counterspell, and fast.

Chasing rumors of a powerful sorcerer with a knack for undoing curses, Leo and Grimm enter the Unquiet Wood, a forest infested with murderous monsters and dangerous outlaws alike. To break the curse, they will have to uncover the true depths of Leo’s magic, set aside their long-standing rivalry, and—much to their horror—work together.

Even as an odd spark of attraction flares between them.

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Maiga Doocy lives in a house where the people are outnumbered by cats, has a serious tea habit, and loves sad songs. She likes to write stories that are full of bittersweet longing and as much unexplainable magic as she can get away with. Sorcery and Small Magics is her debut novel.

The Twice-Sold Soul By Katie Hallahan

I locked away my magic and ran from home for a good reason. So why am I ready to undo everything when my demon ex finally tracks me down? 

If you miss Supernatural, True Blood, or Buffy, you'll love this sexy and magical contemporary fantasy from a marvelous new voice in fiction, Katie Hallahan!

Details

You can’t outrun your demons—McKenna Ellerbeck knows this all too well. She’s been running from literal demons for a decade, one that will stop at nothing to take McKenna’s magic for their own and one that shattered her heart by grasping for dark power. After a horrible run-in with hellhounds on the streets of Paris, McKenna is ready to hide again when she’s confronted by her ex, the Archdemon of Desire Remiel Blake. Remi, the sexiest of gender-shifting demons, calls in an old debt that McKenna owes her, though unlike other deals the terms of fulfillment are simple: all she needs to do is return to her hometown of Arcadia Commons, Massachusetts, for seven days.

Disgruntled and disguised at her own insistence, McKenna returns home to the magical community, intent on simply staying in her hotel room watching pay-per-view. But with her high school reunion conveniently happening in the same hotel she’s staying at—the one owned by her ex-boyfriend Bastien Lemaire—and her brother mysteriously picking fights with the town’s most prominent witch family, she finds she can’t stay away for long and decides it’s finally time to face her past and the witches, werewolves, demons, and friends she left behind. 

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Katie Hallahan is a fantasy author who loves tabletop RPGs, vampire TV shows, corgis, dabbling in nail art, and pumpkin spice everything. She has designed award-winning narrative adventure games at Phoenix Online Studios, an indie game studio she co-founded. She lives with her husband and son in Boston, Massachusetts where, shockingly, she actually uses her blinker when making turns. Katie is on Instagram, Bluesky, and Twitter at @katiehal16, on her website at katiehal.com. 

If your curious kid can’t get enough puzzles, these books are for you. Each one is full of brain-teasing, mind-bending fun that will engage mystery lovers of all ages. Nothing is more satisfying and confidence building than finding the answer to a tricky problem, so give your young reader the gift of ultimate entertainment and hours of fun that they can do on their own or with the whole family!

It’s November! Time to stack your TBR with ebook deals starting at just $1.99, for those perfect fall nights. Make sure to check out our Black Friday – Cyber Monday deals. Get them while they last!

Take your first look at the cover for Level: Unknown (US) by David Dalglish, the first installment in a new epic LitRPG adventure series coming January 2025!

The magical world of Yensere holds the key to saving humanity from a horrific apocalypse. Too bad Nick can only get there in his dreams. 

When an ancient alien artifact chooses research cadet Nick to explore the world stored within it—a place full of forgotten empires, heroes with strange powers, and monstrous creatures that he is automatically transported to when he sleeps—he finds he has no choice but to grow stronger within the realm of Yensere to uncover its mysteries. 

But Yensere isn’t all fun exploration. In this land guided by statistics and levels, Nick is seen as a demonic threat by its diseased inhabitants and always killed on-sight. When he dies in Yensere, he awakens in his bed upon the research station, his body in a state of panic; when he sleeps again, Yensere drags him back for another life…and another death. 

Nick can only keep this up for so long before he dies for real. But there’s a good chance Yensere holds the key to saving humanity from a terrible fate, and so he ventures on, getting stronger and stronger with each new enemy defeated. And there are a LOT of enemies to defeat…

About the series: Join Nick as he adventures through the incredible world of Yensere in this progression fantasy isekai. Featuring multiple POVs, traditional LitRPG elements, magic and fantasy weaponry combat, friendships, light romance, and sarcastic robot guides, this is the perfect series for anyone wishing they could explore the galaxy and fight terrifying liches at the same time. 

Also by David Dalglish

Take your first look at the cover for The Last Soul Among Wolves (US | UK) by Melissa Caruso, the second installment in The Echo Archives series, coming August 2025!

The Last Soul Among Wolves is the brilliant second installment in Melissa Caruso's Echo Archives series, a whip-smart adventure fantasy featuring cursed relics, sapphic romance, and a magical murder mystery. 

Kem just wants to enjoy the company of her newborn daughter, but she can't say no when her best friend Jaycel requests her company at the funeral of old lady Lovegrace. At first, she's distracted by an unexpected reunion with her childhood friends, and the presence of Rika Nonesuch, professional thief—and her girlfriend. But things quickly take a turn when the will is read.  

Three cursed relics: A magical mirror. A book stained bloody with names. A lantern emitting a strange glow. 

The rules: Every two nights, someone will die. 

Only one will survive, with a wish as their ultimate prize. 

Kem and Rika must race against the clock to save her friends. But this game is full of old secrets and new schemes, and the harder Kem and Rika try to wrest themselves free, the more entangled they become in this dangerous web of lies. 

Also by Melissa Caruso

The Echo Archives

The Last Hour Between Worlds (US | UK)

Rooks and Ruin

The Obsidian Tower (US | UK)

The Quicksilver Court (US | UK)

The Ivory Tomb (US | UK)

Swords and Fire

The Tethered Mage (US | UK)

The Defiant Heir (US | UK)

The Unbound Empire (US | UK)

New Release

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James Linney Named CFO of Distribution at Hachette UK and Hachette Book Group 

NEW YORK (November 20, 2024) — Russell Evans has been named Director of Business Development for Hachette UK Distribution and Hachette Book Group US Distribution (HBGUS Distribution), it was announced today by Matt Wright, CEO of Hachette UK Distribution and HBGUS Distribution. Evans will be responsible for developing client services at Hachette UK and HBGUS Distribution and attracting new client publishers for both territories. James Linney will take on the new role of CFO of Distribution for Hachette UK and Hachette Book Group. 

Evans previously served as Business Development Director of Hachette UK Distribution and Linney as its Finance Director. Evans and Linney have been instrumental in the success of Hachette UK Distribution over the last three years, and both will report into Wright. Together with Wright, Evans and Linney will collaborate with local management teams in both countries to improve service and grow the business internationally. 

Todd McGarity, VP, Corporate Business Development & Strategy, will continue to support and develop US client business and work closely with Evans, while continuing to report to Richard Kitson, Deputy CEO for Hachette Book Group and Hachette UK. 

HBGUS Distribution draws together all order management, fulfilment, and cash collection activities in the US for Hachette Book Group and its third-party client publishers, which represent 50 percent of the business. Services for client publishers are performed by the warehouse operations based in Indiana, the Fulfilment team based in both Indiana and Boston and supported by the Credit Control and Client Accounting teams based in Boston. 

Hachette UK Distribution is a division of Hachette UK and provides leading-edge fulfilment and warehousing services to over twenty publishers, specializing in a wide variety of sectors including trade, illustrated, educational, academic, professional, schools and children’s books. With over 65 million units dispatched annually, it delivers books and other media worldwide to customers from its state-of-the-art facility at the Hely Hutchinson Centre (HHC). 

About Hachette Book Group 

Hachette Book Group (HBG) is a leading US general-interest book publisher made up of dozens of esteemed imprints within the publishing groups Basic Books Group, Grand Central Publishing Group, Hachette Audio, Little, Brown and Company, Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, Orbit, and Workman Running Press Group. We also provide custom distribution, fulfillment, and sales services to other publishing companies. Our books and authors have received the Pulitzer Prize, National Book Award, Caldecott Medal, Newbery Medal, Booker Prize, Nobel Peace Prize and other major honors. We are committed to diversity in our company and our publishing programs, and to fostering a culture of inclusion for all our employees and authors. We are proud to be part of Hachette Livre, the world’s third-largest trade and educational publisher. Visit hachettebookgroup.com to learn more about HBG imprints. For updated news follow HBG on Facebook, Instagram, LinkedIn, TikTok, X.com, and YouTube. 

About Hachette UK 

Our mission at Hachette UK is to make it easy for everyone to discover new worlds of ideas, learning, entertainment and opportunity. 

We are one of the UK’s largest publishing groups, with 12 autonomous divisions and over 50 imprints with a rich and diverse history. We are the market leader in e-books and publish a range of bestsellers in audio format, the fastest growing part of our business. Our award-winning adult publishing divisions are Little, Brown, Orion, John Murray Press, Dialogue Books, Hodder & Stoughton, Headline, Quercus, Bookouture and Octopus. Hachette Children’s Group publishes a diverse range of books for children of all ages and Hodder Education is a market leader in resources for both primary and secondary schools. In 2022, we welcomed Paperblanks, the second-largest premium stationery brand in the world, to our group. 

We have offices around the UK, including our headquarters in London and the Hely Hutchinson Centre (HHC) for distribution in Didcot. We have subsidiaries in several other regions, including Australia, India, Ireland, Jamaica and New Zealand. 

US Press Contact: Gabrielle Gambrell Gabrielle.Gambrell@hbgusa.com 

UK Press Contact: Chloë Johnson-Hill Chloe.Johnson-Hill@hachette.co.uk 

Whether you’re shopping for the foodie in your life or trying to take the guesswork out of your holiday menu planning, these award-winning and best-selling cookbooks have got you covered.

PlantYou: Scrappy Cooking

by Carleigh Bodrug

Instant #1 New York Times Bestseller

Save money, reduce food waste, and eat healthier than you ever have before with this highly anticipated cookbook from New York Times bestselling author and social media sensation, Carleigh Bodrug. 

Spinning off of Bodrug’s wildly popular Scrappy Cooking social media series, the cookbook is packed with over 150+ whole-food, plant-based recipes that show the reader how to make the most of the food they have in their fridge and pantry with easy and approachable vegan recipes anyone can make.
 
Transform radish tops into pesto, broccoli stems into summer rolls and wilting greens into smoothie cubes… But that’s not all. The book will equip readers with not only the tools to make the most of their scraps, but use up just about any vegetable, grain or bean from their fridge and pantry in the flexible Kitchen Raid Recipes, or cross reference commonly wasted foods like stale bread from a “Got This, Make That” index so these items can be used up in the easiest and most delicious way possible. 
 
Scrappy Cooking not only puts the focus on eating a diet that’s more conscious for our environment (and our wallets) but our health as well. Every recipe in the book is vegan, almost entirely oil free, and focuses on whole, plant-based foods that are good for our bodies and the planet. Get ready for recipes like The Whole Darn Squash (Pasta), Skillet Lasagna, One Pan Orzo Casserole, Vodka Penne With Broccolini, Whole Roasted Cauliflower with Roasted Red Pepper Sauce, Chickpea Pot Pie, Orange Peel Chickn’, Loaded Tortilla Bowls, Sheet Pan Tacos with Carrot Top Chimichurri, Rebel “Ribs”, Veggie Masala Burgers, Palak “Paneer”, Vegan Meaty Hand Pies, We-Got-the-Beet Chips, Pickle-Mania Chips, Cornmeal Biscuits, Bang Bang Broccoli-cious Steaks…and more!

Price

$32.00

Price

$41.00 CAD

Format

Hardcover

1. ebook

This item is a preorder. Your payment method will be charged immediately, and the product is expected to ship on or around April 2, 2024. This date is subject to change due to shipping delays beyond our control.

Also available from:

• Amazon
• Barnes & Noble
• Books-A-Million
• Bookshop
• Target
• Walmart

PlantYou

by Carleigh Bodrug

Foreword by Dr. Will Bulsiewicz, MD

INSTANT NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
Plant-based eating doesn’t have to be complicated! The delicious recipes in this easy-to-follow cookbook are guaranteed to keep you inspired and motivated.

Enter PlantYou, the ridiculously easy plant-based, oil-free cookbook with over 140+ healthy vegan recipes for breakfast, lunch, dinner, cheese sauces, salad dressings, dessert and more!

In her eagerly anticipated debut cookbook, Carleigh Bodrug, the Founder of the wildly popular social media community PlantYou, provides readers with the ultimate full color guidebook that makes plant-based meal planning, grocery shopping and cooking a breeze. With every single recipe, you will find a visual infographic marking the ingredients you need, making it easy to shop, determine portion sizes, and dive into the delicious and nutritious dishes.

Get ready for mouthwatering dishes like Chocolate Chip Banana Bread Breakfast Cookies, Best Ever Cauli Wings, and the Big BOSS Burrito that you simply won’t believe are made from plants. 

“An instant kitchen classic…In your quest to find delicious food that also promotes health, both human health and the health of the planet and the animals we share our world with, you’ve come to the right place.” 
—from the foreword by Dr. Will Bulsiewicz

Price

$30.00

Price

$38.00 CAD

Format

Hardcover

1. ebook

This item is a preorder. Your payment method will be charged immediately, and the product is expected to ship on or around February 15, 2022. This date is subject to change due to shipping delays beyond our control.

Also available from:

• Amazon
• Barnes & Noble
• Books-A-Million
• Bookshop
• Target
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Al Roker’s Recipes to Live By

by Al Roker

by Courtney Roker Laga

NATIONAL BESTSELLER
Barnes & Nobles Most Anticipated Comfort Food Books
The Root’s Books By Black Authors We Can’t Wait to Read

TODAY Show cohost and America’s favorite weatherman, Al Roker, and his daughter, Courtney Roker Laga, welcome us into their kitchen in this cookbook featuring generations-long family favorites for every meal.

Al Roker and his daughter, Courtney Roker Laga, welcome you into their home, where a good conversation or a needed dose of laughter always starts with something great to eat.

100 original and kitchen-tested dishes for every occasion, including

• Sunrise Burritos
• Shrimp and Grits with Bell Peppers and Bacon 
• Smothered Chicken 
• Coffee- and Spice-Rubbed Pork Chops
• Christmas Morning Cinnamon Rolls
• Bourbon Apple Pie Milkshakes 
• Tuscan Polenta 
• Silky Cauliflower Puree 
• Lemon Meringue Crumb Crust Pie

Stunning dishes in this book will inspire you to start cooking memory-making meals. Full of cheerful family photos and Al’s frank, witty opinions on food and cooking, Al Roker’s Recipes to Live By is sure to become the most well-thumbed cookbook on your shelf, whether you’re a beginner home cook or a seasoned chef.

Price

$35.00

Price

$45.00 CAD

Format

Hardcover

1. ebook

This item is a preorder. Your payment method will be charged immediately, and the product is expected to ship on or around October 15, 2024. This date is subject to change due to shipping delays beyond our control.

Also available from:

• Amazon
• Barnes & Noble
• Books-A-Million
• Bookshop
• Target
• Walmart

Seed to Plate, Soil to Sky

by Lois Ellen Frank, PhD

This enriching cookbook celebrates eight important plants Native Americans introduced to the rest of the world: corn, beans, squash, chile, tomato, potato, vanilla, and cacao—with more than 100 recipes.

When these eight Native American plants crossed the ocean after 1492, the world’s cuisines were changed forever. In Seed to Plate, Soil to Sky, James Beard Award-winning author and chef Lois Ellen Frank introduces the splendor and importance of this Native culinary history and pairs it with delicious, modern, plant-based recipes using Native American ingredients. Along with Native American culinary advisor Walter Whitewater, Seed to Plate, Soil to Sky shares more than 100 nutritious, plant‑based recipes organized by each of the foundational ingredients in Native American cuisine as well as a necessary discussion of food sovereignty and sustainability.
 
 A delicious, enlightening celebration of Indigenous foods and Southwestern flavors, Seed to Plate, Soil to Sky shares recipes for dishes such as Blue Corn Hotcakes with Prickly Pear Syrup, Three Sisters Stew, and Green Chile Enchilada Lasagna, as well as essential basics like Corn Masa, Red and Green Chile Sauces, and Cacao Spice Rub. The “Magic 8” ingredients share the page—and plate—to create recipes that will transform your world.

Price

$30.00

Price

$38.00 CAD

Format

Hardcover

1. ebook

This item is a preorder. Your payment method will be charged immediately, and the product is expected to ship on or around August 29, 2023. This date is subject to change due to shipping delays beyond our control.

Also available from:

• Amazon
• Barnes & Noble
• Books-A-Million
• Bookshop
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Simple Goodness

by Makini Howell

From a beloved plant-based chef and restauranter, a cookbook full of easy to follow vegan recipes–every bite is bursting with flavor!

With over 140 delicious recipes, Howell provides everything from practical tips (“Stocking Your Kitchen for a Plant-Based Life,”) to recipes for dips that double as sauces and can be used from breakfast to dinner, easy and healthy breakfasts (Plant Beef and Cheese Taquitos), sustaining lunches (Portobello Gyros), hearty suppers (Eggplant Parmesan with Alfredo Rigatoni and Lemon Olive Oil Arugula), and delicious desserts (Vanilla Caramel Apple Sprinkle Ice-Cream Sammie).

Additionally, SIMPLE GOODNESS features a whole chapter dedicated to kid-friendly recipes– healthy, tasty, and enjoyable dishes for quick, energizing breakfasts, packable lunches, and adults-will-love-them-too dinners, even for the pickiest of eaters.

SIMPLE GOODNESS offers life-changing meals that fit seamlessly into your lifestyle, whether you’re feeding a family or just yourself, a college student, or anyone in between. More than just a cookbook, it’s a tribute to the warmth and care found in sharing homemade food and embracing a plant-based life one simply good meal at a time.

Price

$32.00

Price

$41.00 CAD

Format

Hardcover

1. ebook

This item is a preorder. Your payment method will be charged immediately, and the product is expected to ship on or around December 3, 2024. This date is subject to change due to shipping delays beyond our control.

Also available from:

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• Barnes & Noble
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Bismillah, Let’s Eat!

by Zehra Allibhai

Welcome to Zehra’s kitchen, where good food, family, and nutrition meet!
Muslims from all around the world start each meal by saying “Bismillah” which means “I begin in the name of God”. Similar to the practice of saying grace before you eat, it is like a short practice of gratitude. In her first cookbook, beloved Toronto-based hijabi fitness influencer and coach Zehra Allibhai welcomes everyone to her table, sharing a new way to think about family food. Zehra’s own cooking evolution started in the kitchen with her Indian Kenyan family, expanded through culinary adventures with her husband, and grew again as a mother and fitness influencer. Her style of cooking is flavorful, accessible, wholesome–and above all–meant to be shared with joy. From her healthy spin on traditional dishes such as shakshuka and chaat to sumac chicken and lamb karahi, her renowned hearty salads, and treats such as the perfect one-bowl chocolate cake, Zehra makes being in the kitchen fun, easy—and incredibly delicious! With more than 130 recipes for every meal, and a healthy Ramadan guide for those who observe, Bismillah is a go-to for everyday dishes to satisfy the whole family.

Price

$35.00

Price

$45.00 CAD

Format

Hardcover

1. ebook

This item is a preorder. Your payment method will be charged immediately, and the product is expected to ship on or around October 1, 2024. This date is subject to change due to shipping delays beyond our control.

Also available from:

• Amazon
• Barnes & Noble
• Books-A-Million
• Bookshop
• Target
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Take your first look at the cover for The Last Vigilant (US | UK) by Mark Latham, the first installment in the Kingdom of Oak and Steel series, coming June 2025!

Set in a world where magic is forgotten, monsters lurk in the dark woods, and honorable soldiers are few, this utterly gripping epic fantasy tells the story of two flawed humans, an out-of-practice wizard and a hot-headed sargent, who are thrust into the heart of a mystery that threatens to unravel their kingdom’s fragile peace. 

Shunned by the soldiers he commands, haunted by past tragedies, Sargent Holt Hawley is a broken man. But the child of a powerful ally has gone missing, and war between once peaceful nations is on the horizon. So, he and his squad have been sent to find a myth: a Vigilant. They are a rumored last survivor of an ancient and powerful order capable of performing acts of magic and finding the lost. But the Vigilants disappeared decades ago. No one truly expects Hawley to succeed. 

When he is forced to abandon his men, he stumbles upon a woman who claims to be the Last Vigilant. Enelda Drake is wizened and out of practice, and she seems a far cry from the heroes of legend. But they will need her powers, and each other, to survive. For nothing in the town of Scarfell is as it seems. Corrupt soldiers and calculating politicians thwart their efforts at every turn. 

And there are dark whispers on the wind threatening the arrival of an ancient and powerful enemy. The Last Vigilant is not the only myth returning from the dead. 

Dear custodian of a newly initiated member of the library, please read the following to your charge:

So, you have your first library card, now what? Well, obviously you should start by developing a very clever plan with lots of unnecessary details for how you’re going to spend the night at the library—who knows what all those books get up to when you’re not around. And, of course, you’ll need to start your TBR (to-be-read) list—however, young reader, be warned: this list will haunt you till the end of time!

But, if I were to offer you some “practical” and “sensible” advice, I guess I would say you should start by borrowing some books. And because those books are coming from the library, it seems only right that you should borrow books that are about books—books about libraries and bookstores and book worlds and the worlds within books. I know, it’s all a bit meta (guardian, please explain “meta” to whomever you are reading this aloud to). My thinking is, with all these books about books, that it’s good to know what you’re getting yourself into. And look, finding the right books can be an immensely overwhelming task, but that’s why I’m here to help with a wonderful list of tales for you to check out right now! And if you don’t like my suggestions, then go ask your new librarian for some recommendations instead. (I’m sure you’ll find, however, that our suggestions are quite similar because both your librarian and I have excellent taste).

Gifts for Every Region

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This is the cleanest my desk has ever been, I admit, and I cleaned it and staged it for this photo. But this is my view, by the window overlooking my very neglected patio. I love that there is greenery in this window frame, a sense of plants or jungle, something I truly love. I cannot picture myself thriving in any other environment than somewhere tropical, or some sense of life, and it fuels me when I’m writing. I don’t look up when I’m in the zone, but knowing that greenery is there makes me feel like I’m in Haiti, in a quiet and lush garden.

I am currently reading several books at once, which isn’t typical for me, but somehow this Fall came knocking with multiple readings. For the local book club I’m involved in, I’m reading The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern. I just started it, it’s got me hooked already. I love to watch an author work at world building for me, a world where so far I’ve only been  I’m reading Jennine Capo Crucet’s How to Leave Hialeah, which has been on my list a long time and is hyper-Miami, AND is from one of my favorite writers. I’m also reading Caleb Azumah Nelson’s lyrical and moving novel Open Water, and Myriam J. A. Chancy’s Village Weavers, a beautiful novel about sisterhood and survival from Haitian women’s perspectives.

This Ikea chair was a nursing chair for a bit, when my son and then my daughter were born. Now it is the chair they sit in when watching YouTube in their tablets, but what I haven’t told them is that I also love this chair for reading. It is peak comfort. It’s everyone’s favorite chair, my husband even falls asleep in it reading to my daughter at night, and it’s currently in her room, but when I have time to myself for a book, this is where I seek refuge to read.

After the death of Trayvon Martin, I became incensed and then I burned out in conversations and exchanges with others around the subject of unnecessary Black death in this country at the hands of the police. I needed a way to channel my anger. I started educating myself a lot more about the history of this country, and in that process I bumped into those pieces of American history conveniently swept under the rug. The Black Panthers came into frame – in their case the history was completely distorted to paint them negatively, and that made me angrier. I learned everything I could about that piece of history, just falling into these rabbit holes and learning about Black people and their history of resistance against oppression. This opened my eyes and reminded me of how we are all Black people are connected across the diaspora, because that history was familiar, it made sense, and I wanted to do something to correct that narrative that has been either erased or distorted. This is how this novel was born, out of a need to right what I saw as a wrong.

A Thai restaurant near me, Emerald Thai, makes a killer Massaman Curry, so delicious I could eat it like I would a soup without any rice. Alas, it’s all gone now, no image left and no recipe to go with it. It packs a lot of calories so I can’t eat it too often, but it is simply amazing.

Magical realism is a genre I love. I wish I could write in that vein, so maybe I will one day. That and horror.

 New York – November 18, 2024 – Barnes & Noble announces today the sale of Sterling Publishing Co. Inc. to Hachette Book Group. The publisher was acquired by Barnes & Noble in 2003 and now includes adult imprints Union Square & Co., Puzzlewright Press, Sterling Ethos and Spark Notes, as well the children’s imprints Union Square Kids and Boxer Books; and the gift and stationery publishers Knock Knock and Em & Friends. It is the publisher of New York Times bestselling author/illustrator Mo Willems, recent New York Times bestselling authors Caroline Chambers and Dan Pelosi, and acclaimed authors Melissa Blair, L.S. Stratton, and Dusti Bowling, among others, as well as a dynamic program of literary classics. Sterling has been led by Emily Meehan since 2021 who oversaw the rebranding in January 2022 to Union Square & Co., influenced by its New York City’s Union Square Park headquarters. The company will remain under the leadership of Emily, who will report into Ben Sevier, President and Publisher of the Grand Central Publishing Group, a division of Hachette Book Group. All Sterling Publishing Co. Inc.’s staff, publishing assets and trademarks will transfer to Hachette Book Group. 

“Union Square has been a tremendous success under Emily’s guidance. She and her team have transformed its publishing and, we began to realize, also to outgrow the infrastructure of a bookseller,” said James Daunt, CEO of Barnes & Noble. “Union Square will enjoy under Hachette the resources of a great publisher. As booksellers, we look forward to continuing our close relationship with Union Square and to its continued success.” Union Square & Co.’s mission is to publish books and products with a point of view. Dedicated to talent-driven publishing for adults and children, Union Square & Co. has been known to promote excellence in contemporary book publishing by providing best-in-class editorial and design with the highest quality production, sales, and marketing. 

“I couldn’t be happier to welcome Sterling Publishing Co. Inc. and Union Square & Co. to Hachette. When we make an acquisition, we want to be sure that we can learn a lot from the company, and that we can add value to them with our ability to reach readers internationally. Both criteria are absolutely met in this case,” said David Shelley, CEO, Hachette Book Group. “Union Square is an extremely innovative and dynamic publishing house that has seen great growth in recent years, and I can’t wait to help get their authors’ work to even more readers around the world.” 

About Barnes & Noble, Inc. 

Barnes & Noble, Inc. is the largest retail bookseller in the United States. The Company has more than 640 bookstores across the United States, as well as its online bookstore at bn.com, the Nook Digital business which offers both e-books and an audio book subscriptions service, the SparkNotes educational service, stationery and gift retailer Paper Source, and the publisher Union Square & Co. General information on Barnes & Noble, Inc. can be found on the Company’s website at www.bn.com. 

All B&N press, media inquiries and interview requests can be directed to prelations@bn.com 

About Hachette Book Group: 

Hachette Book Group (HBG) is a leading U.S. general-interest book publisher made up of dozens of esteemed imprints within the publishing groups Basic Books Group, Grand Central Publishing Group, Hachette Audio, Little, Brown and Company, Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, Orbit, and Workman Running Press Group. We also provide custom distribution, fulfillment, and sales services to other publishing companies. 

Our books and authors have received the Pulitzer Prize, National Book Award, Caldecott Medal, Newbery Medal, Booker Prize, Nobel Peace Prize and other major honors. 

We are committed to diversity in our company and our publishing programs, and to fostering a culture of inclusion for all our employees and authors. We are proud to be part of Hachette Livre, the world’s third-largest trade and educational publisher. 

Visit hachettebookgroup.com to learn more about HBG imprints. For updated news follow HBG on Facebook, Instagram, LinkedIn, TikTok, X.com, and YouTube. 

Hachette Book Group Press Contact: 

Gabrielle Gambrell gabrielle.gambrell@hbgusa.com 

If you loved the magical world of Wicked, you might be eager to dive into more stories that unite literature and Broadway musicals. There are plenty of novels that represent the true nature of theatrical storytelling. Here are some must-reads to enjoy this season!

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Emina Cekovic is a recent college graduate from The City College of New York with a degree in Communications, specializing in AD/PR. She is a freelance blog writer for Novel Suspects and Hachette Book Group.