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I received a review copy from the publisher. This does not affect the contents of my review and all opinions are my own.

Greenteeth by Molly O’Neill

Mogsy’s Rating: 4 of 5 stars

Genre: Fantasy

Series: Stand Alone

Publisher: Orbit (February 25, 2025)

Length: 320 pages

Author Information: Website

Here I go again, writing a review for another historical fantasy novel inspired by fairy tales and folklore. That said, every so often, a book will emerge that puts a fresh spin on an old story or bases its premise on lesser-known mythological creatures. I, for one, had never heard of Jenny Greenteeth, or Wicked Jenny, before picking up Greenteeth by Molly O’Neill. A kind of bogeyman-type water monster from English folklore, her name was used to warn careless children away from the treacherous shores of lakes and rivers, lest Jenny pulls them in and drowns them. Huh. It’s always great to learn something new.

Obviously, the novel Greenteeth centers on this terrifying figure, who is typically depicted as an evil hag ready to snatch her unsuspecting young victims and drag them into the murky depths. O’Neill, however, prompts readers to look at Jenny in a whole new light. She’s a monster, all right. But monsters can have feelings too, and they can sometimes be the hero instead of the villain. Living in her secluded lake, Jenny can get lonely. And whenever a human wanders close to her abode, she just can’t help her curiosity.

One day, her inquisitive nature leads to a decision that changes everything. Accused of witchcraft, a woman named Temperance from a nearby village is thrown into the lake by an angry mob led by their fanatical new preacher. Against her better judgment, Jenny chooses to save her, sheltering Temperance and letting her recover in her lair. Soon, the two of them find themselves in an alliance against an emerging foe that threatens both Jenny’s lake and Temperance’s family. Bound by magic, the two of them seek help from Brackus, a traveling goblin trader who deals in magical reagents and information. The trio next sets out on a quest to save their home, a journey that takes them across the lush British landscape and even to the very heart of the faerie realm.

There’s a lot to love about Greenteeth. The world-building is particularly robust, immersing readers in its rich atmosphere as well as the myths that inspired the characters and setting. The author doesn’t skimp on the details; you’ll notice how elements from all kinds of sources make their way into the novel, including Arthurian legends, Old English literature, Celtic mythology, and real history. Her prose is also very well suited to the vibes she wants to convey—a world that feels both grounded and magical, neither fantasy nor reality but straddling that in-between space, giving it all a dream-like quality.

And yet, this approach also has the downside of making the plot feel overly simplistic, almost like a children’s tale. This became especially true when Jenny, Temperance, and Brackus were tasked to do a bunch of what were essentially fetch quests, a narrative structure that’s both formulaic and predictable. At times, even the characters’ personalities felt underdeveloped, reduced to broad emotional strokes that, unfortunately, ended up defining them. One of the story’s most significant conflicts, for example, stemmed from little more than Jenny throwing a massive temper tantrum. While it’s an incredibly effective way to humanize our monstrous protagonist, I confess to being somewhat disappointed that, under all those sharp edges which made Jenny so mysterious and intriguing, all we got was a petulant child.

Still, for a debut novel, Greenteeth is an impressive achievement and an excellent entry into its genre category. Molly O’Neill’s love of fantasy and folklore is clear from her descriptive prose, as is her affection for the legendary figure of Jenny Greenteeth, whom she writes about with care and compassion. Sure, there were a few things that could have used more polish, but despite these flaws, Greenteeth showcases a promising new voice in fantasy. While it might not be anything groundbreaking, I found it to be a very worthwhile and enjoyable read.

Heavy Metal #319, the penultimate issue of the original run (November 2022). Cover by Pascal Blanche

Okay, strictly speaking, this topic doesn’t fall into a standard (notice I didn’t say “normal”) Goth Chick category. But bear with me for a short story.

A long time ago in a small midwestern town far, far away, I experienced my first hardcore crush. The subject in question was not only tantalizingly a few years older than me but he was decidedly gothy in a dark-warrior kind of way. Therefore, in my youthful opinion, he was perfection on two feet. That same year as I was sitting cross-legged on the floor of my local bookstore my eyes fell on an issue of Heavy Metal magazine where low and behold was my crush, or someone who looked darn close, personified in all his brooding magicalness, right there on the cover. That day my allowance went to my first issue of Heavy Metal and though I was a rabid fan for years afterward, I admittedly became hit and miss, buying only sporadic issues throughout the 2000’s.

Heavy Metal magazine, which had been in constant publication since 1977, printed its last issue in 2022 after a series of attempts to keep it viable, and an era came to an end.

Until now.

Heavy Metal issue #1, April 1977. Cover by Jean-Michel Nicollet

Before we get to that, let’s back up for some history.

Heavy Metal debuted in April 1977, bringing avant-garde European comic art and adult-oriented storytelling to American readers. Inspired by the French magazine Métal Hurlant (“Screaming Metal”), Heavy Metal was launched by Leonard Mogel, who licensed the rights to translate and publish content from its French counterpart. The magazine quickly distinguished itself with its blend of science fiction, fantasy, horror, and erotica, rendered in fantastic artwork and experimental narratives.

In its heyday, the contributors to Heavy Metal included legendary artists like Moebius, H.R. Giger, and Philippe Druillet, alongside American talents such as Richard Corben. Heavy Metal became the go-to publication for visionary creators, showcasing serialized stories, one-shot comics, and memorable (and boy were they memorable) covers that pushed boundaries all over the place.

Heavy Metal #1 (April 30, 2025). Cover by Greg Hildebrandt

The magazine reached a broader audience with the release of the cult animated film Heavy Metal (1981), an anthology of shorts inspired by its comics and featuring a soundtrack of iconic rock and metal bands. This cemented its reputation as a cultural touchstone for fans of both countercultural comics and rock music.

Over the years, Heavy Metal evolved under various editors and owners, including Kevin Eastman, co-creator of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. In January 2014, its ownership transitioned to digital and music veteran David Boxenbaum and film producer Jeff Krelitz. Eastman, though stepping back from majority control, remained as publisher until 2020 and retained a minority stake in the magazine under Heavy Metal Media, LLC.

In early 2020 CEO Matthew Medney and “Creative Overlord” David Erwin (formerly of DC Entertainment) took the helm. They launched new publishing initiatives, Virus and Magma Comix, though neither gained much traction. In 2021, Heavy Metal celebrated its 300th issue, featuring work by legendary artists and tributes to its cultural impact.

Heavy Metal #1, Sword & Sorcery variant (April 30, 2025). Cover by Frazetta.

Financial struggles loomed, leading to a partnership with Whatnot Publishing in 2022 to produce future issues. However, cash flow problems forced Heavy Metal to cease publication in December 2022, ending its continuous run since 1977. Despite efforts to revive operations and fulfill obligations, only one additional issue was produced, and the magazine was officially canceled in mid-2023.

Which brings us to today.

In October 2024, Heavy Metal International, LLC announced a relaunch planned for 2025, backed by a Kickstarter campaign to fund it. The campaign had a modest $5000 goal but nearly 11,000 fans proceeded to blow that right out of the water and contributed a whopping $781K. HMI put together this short video announcing the comeback of the magazine so check it.

Heavy Metal magazine (new) issue 1 is set to drop in April in stores, and the magazine’s website indicates that subscriptions to the new version will be available there soon. I’m definitely going to give this a look when it hits shelves to see if Heavy Metal was a point in time, or if it can be successful in this era.

Thoughts?

1. Essentia Capacity
2. The Board
3. Sigil Recycling
4. Attunement

If you're missing the Dragon's Breath world and anticipating Galadon, here's your chance to read the first chapter. More details on the spin-off novel in the post.

The Paris Express, a sweeping historical novel about an infamous 1895 disaster at the Paris…

The post Spotlight on “The Paris Express” by Emma Donoghue appeared first on LitStack.

 

I totally need this!

Hemlock & Silverby T. Kingfisher
From New York Times bestselling and Hugo Award-winning author T. Kingfisher comes Hemlock & Silver, a dark reimagining of “Snow White” steeped in poison, intrigue, and treason of the most magical kind.
Healer Anja knows little of politics but much of poisons. When she is summoned to treat the mysterious illness afflicting the king’s daughter, she finds herself against the clock, desperate to track down the source of the poison killing Princess Snow. But the chance discovery of a strange alternate world inside a magic mirror leads Anja to darker discoveries, including what really happened to Snow’s dead sister, Rose, and why their mother seemingly went mad and cut out her heart.
Aided by a taciturn bodyguard, a narcissistic cat, and a late Renaissance understanding of the scientific method, Anja must navigate the mysteries of the mirror world before the dark queen that dwells within rises to threaten them all.
Expected publication August 19, 2025

In reply to Bill.

1. Corporations
2. Board
3. Sigh Recycling

 

Book links: Amazon, Goodreads
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Grady Hendrix is the author of the novels Horrorstör, about a haunted IKEA, and My Best Friend's Exorcism, which is like Beaches meets The Exorcist, only it's set in the Eighties. He's also the author of We Sold Our Souls, The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires, and the Final Girl Support Group!
He's also the jerk behind the Stoker award-winning Paperbacks from Hell, a history of the 70's and 80's horror paperback boom, which contains more information about Nazi leprechauns, killer babies, and evil cats than you probably need.
And he's the screenwriter behind Mohawk, which is probably the only horror movie about the War of 1812 and Satanic Panic.
You can listen to free, amazing, and did I mention free podcasts of his fiction on Pseudopod. He also does a podcast called Super Scary Haunted Homeschool.
If you're not already sick of him, you can learn all his secrets at his website.
Publisher: Berkley (January 14, 2025) Length: 468  Formats: audiobook, ebook, hardcover, paperback

Grady Hendrix strikes again, this time with Witchcraft for Wayward Girls. He’s trading haunted houses for something much scarier - societal judgment, systemic abuse, and the 1970s institution of unwed mothers’ homes.
The story follows 15-year-old Neva Craven, a pregnant teen dragged by her irate father to Wellwood House, a grim institution in Florida where “wayward girls” forced to give up their babies. Renamed Fern, Neva bonds with her fellow captives - budding revolutionary Rose, sharp Zinnia, and sweet Holly. These girls have been abandoned, dismissed, and exploited by the very people who should protect them.
While there are witchy parts and mischief, the real horror here lies in the everyday atrocities - the crushing weight of societal judgment, toxic families, and the grim realities of childbirth. Fair warning: if you’re squeamish about body horror, this one might hit hard. The story here hits hard, and it’s only Hendrix’s humor and warmth that keep things from sinking into despair.
As mentioned, things take a turn for the magical when a cryptic librarian offers Fern an intriguing book, titled How to Be a Groovy Witch. Things get complicated and sinister when girls play with spells and have their revenge. It’s worth noting the revenge they seek is hard won and comes at a cost, but oh, is it satisfying to see the power dynamics shift, even briefly. The magic and witchcraft parts were most interesting to me and I’ll admit the ending was a bit of a disappointment, but I can’t say why because spoilers.
Despite the heavy themes-shame, injustice, and society’s knack for blaming teenage girls for pretty much everything-Hendrix balances it all with a light touch. If you like your horror with heart, Witchcraft for Wayward Girls is worth picking up. It’s a little spooky, a little sad, and satisfying.

The Eye of Sounnu (DMR Books, May 3, 2020)

The concept of barbarism vs. civilization is a topic that Robert E. Howard often explored in his incredibly crafted fiction. Other authors, many inspired by Howard, have explored the concept through their own creations.

Notable among these is modern sword-and-sorcery author Schuyler Hernstrom, whose collection of short stories, The Eye of Sounnu, was published by DMR Books. The collection contains a wonderful story called “Mortu and Kyrus in the White City,” which features northland, pagan barbarian (Mortu) and his learned companion (Kryus), a monotheistic monk who suffers a curse and now lives in the body of a monkey — but that does not preclude him from waxing philosophically about the world and mankind’s place in it.

There was an exchange between the two that I recently read, and I had to reread it, and then reread it again, because I enjoyed it so much, so I share it here, for my friends of similar interests.

(This takes place shortly after the two arrived in “the White City.”)

Mortu whispered to his friend. “How old do you reckon she is?”
Kyrus shrugged. “Perhaps thirty-five, forty? Forty-five at the oldest.”
“Everyone here, the men and the women, all seem to be the same age save Nathia and the (two) children. Where are the families? Where are the elderly?”
“In mankind’s long history, many people have struck off in order to found their idea of a utopia. I suspect the denizens of the White City are such a group. All those that turn away from society in such a way meet a similar fate, gradual disillusionment and dissolution.”
“Utopia?”
Kyrus’ tone became pedantic. “A perfect society.”
Mortu scoffed. “There is such a place, the north, where my people live as the gods intended.”
“My young friend, once again the essential concepts escape your grasp, like eels slipping from your thick fingers. While you may wrongly believe the savages that raised you to be of a perfect society, I refer to man’s long dream of living without inequality or strife.”
The barbarian scoffed again. “Life is conflict. We are but wolves that walk on two legs. Build your temples, write your books, nothing will ever change.”

Lastly, I’d like to thank my friend Morgan for recommending this excellent collection a few years ago. I am enjoying it immensely.

Order copies directly from DMR’s website.

Jeffrey P. Talanian’s last article for Black Gate was Roy Thomas’ Barbarian Life. He is the creator and publisher of the Hyperborea sword-and-sorcery and weird science-fantasy RPG from North Wind Adventures. He was the co-author, with E. Gary Gygax, of the Castle Zagyg releases, including several Yggsburgh city supplements, Castle Zagyg: The East Mark Gazetteer, and Castle Zagyg: The Upper Works. Read Gabe Gybing’s interview with Jeffrey here, and follow his latest projects on Facebook and at www.hyperborea.tv.

It is freezing here in Texas. We had a 40 degree temperature drop, and now we are sitting at 24 degrees. You know my prayer. Hold, grid, hold.

The Price of Printed Books

Is it true that the price of printed books will rise?

Yes. Most of the books are printed in China or on paper imported from China. When the new tariffs go into effect, the prices will increase. It is very difficult to shift that production chain. The publishers tried during the pandemic and we had delays across the board. The Ingram Spark, print-in-demand publisher used by a lot of self-published authors, already announced the anticipated price hikes.

How much more will they cost?

We don’t know. Could be a couple of bucks, could be more. There is no way to tell yet. Nobody is happy about this situation, but that is the way it is. The cost of tariffs is passed onto the consumer, and we have to make at least $1 off each printed self-published book, or we cannot afford to continue.

A reminder: the political ban is still in effect.

Kindle USB

Let me say upfront, before there is a panic: this will not affect most people, because most of us do not bother with it. If you are wondering if this will affect you, then you probably haven’t used this feature before.

Most people either read their Amazon books on Kindle or on Kindle app. I use the Kindle app primarily, because I tend to read on my iPad or search the books for work on my computer. My books sit in my cloud library until I’m ready to download them to my device.

Some people back up their books to a USB device, meaning they download those files to a storage drive or a USB stick. A loose equivalent would be buying a movie on Amazon and burning it onto a DVD to keep.

Amazon is doing away with that ability. It goes away on February 25th.

Let me reiterate: most of the users will not be affected. You can still email the book files to your kindle, you can still download the books to your kindle, and they will still be available in app. If you haven’t downloaded books to store them somewhere else before, you will not notice.

Why is Amazon doing this?

Although we buy books on Amazon, our actual ownership is more similar to renting. We buy access to that book for as long as Amazon has it available. Amazon wants to make sure you continue to give it your money. If you delete your Amazon account, all of your books will disappear with it.

We have seen this model before with Audible, which is now owned by Amazon. When you buy audiobooks on Audible, you accumulate credits and if you cancel your account, you lose access to all of your purchases and credits. It’s an effective way to keep consumers tied to you. (Please see correction on this in the comments. Apparently, deleting the Audible account doesn’t prevent access.)

It does afford some flexibility. Amazon periodically pushes updates to these books. We have updated our books before because of typos or some inadvertently poor word choice or something the readers pointed out. If a publisher pulls out and takes their titles with them, Amazon wants to be able to disappear them from your library so not to be in breach of contract, etc. But mostly it’s about money and keeping you locked into the Amazon ecosystem.

Downloading these books to a storage device safeguards against that. If this is a concern, you have until February 25th to download your titles.

How?

Here is a video explaining how to do it. We have no idea if the software he recommends for bulk downloads is good, so we do not endorse it. Please do your research: Amazon’s New Kindle Rule.

Thank you to Jennifer Thomas from the Facebook Fan Group for bringing it to our attention.

Please do not email to Mod R asking her how to download your books to the storage device. The gentleman explains it in the video. We love you, but we cannot serve as Amazon tech support. We are not qualified.

Maggie Updates

The final content edit pass for Maggie’s book has landed. So much work has gone into this monster of a manuscript, and if it was printed, I would be lifting it above my head the way Moses in the movies lifts the stone tablets.

It means we are close to the manuscript being accepted for publication. It also means Gordon and I have a ton of work ahead of us to try to clean the story up. This is kind of our last chance to make large edits.

It is very exciting. We had a title conference and a cover conference, and now we are waiting to see what the art department is going to come up with. It is almost a book. Woo!

The post Kindle USB, The Price of Books, and Other Things first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.

Here are 7 Author Shoutouts for this week. Find your favorite author or discover an…

The post 7 Author Shoutouts | Authors We Love To Recommend appeared first on LitStack.

 

The Unseelie Throne (Maze of Shadows #3)by Kathryn Ann Kingsley
What is it about:When the prize is death, some games are better lost than won.If she loses, she becomes his queen, and he unleashes war across Earth and Tir n’Aill alike. If she wins, he dies. The answer seems clear. But then why can’t she bring herself to want victory?
The longer Abigail wanders through his Maze of Shadows, the less sure she becomes of anything—allies, enemies, wrong, right, evil, good, hate…and love. With every twist and turn, her heart is more fully trapped in his snare.
Facing the choice of whether to win—and kill the Bloody Prince—or lose and become his queen, Abigail can’t decide which is worse. In fact, she is starting to think that she might no longer want to win at all.
No matter the cost.
What did Voodoo Bride think of it:*spoiler ahead*The second book felt a bit like filler, even though I enjoyed it very much. This book is back on track, and there's lots of good scenes between Abigail and Valroy.
I was so invested in this story and the likely doomed romance between them. They might be attracted to each other, but are on opposite sides. Can you be both lovers and enemies?
Then there's finally the first 'all the way' scene and I was... disappointed. It was more about how looooong Valroy is (Peter Steele would have liked a word, were he still alive) than it being satisfying after all the tension and waiting.
Luckily later scenes had the steam and enjoyment I really needed after all the bad things that happened to Abigail since the start of this series.
And then the ending!
I immediately needed the last book to see if this series could end happily or if I would get my heart broken.
Why should you read it:It's a really addictive if sometimes brutal Dark Fantasy (Romance?)

1. Corporations
2. Branch affinities
3. Essentia capacity

Black Gate’s interview series on “Beauty in Weird Fiction” queries authors/artists about their muses and methods to make ‘repulsive things’ become ‘attractive.’  We’ve hosted C.S. Friedman, Carol Berg, Darrell Schweitzer, Anna Smith Spark, and Janet E Morris (full list of 29 interviews, with Black Gate hosting since 2018).

This round features C. S. E. Cooney (CSEC), who is no stranger to Black Gate [link to listings]. She is a two-time World Fantasy Award-winning author: first, for Bone Swans: Stories, and most recently for Saint Death’s Daughter. Previously on Black Gate, an all-star crew heralded its release with a video cast including readings of Saint Death’s Daughter by C.S.E. Cooney.

Forthcoming in April 2025 is Saint Death’s Herald, the second in the Saint Death series. In this post, we reveal exclusive details, CSEC’s creative process, and hint of Book #3’s contents! Read this and her contagious energy will infect you! Cripes, simply by doing this interview, I was infected with a buttery aura! Read more and learn C.S.E. Cooney’s real identity and code name too (Tiger of the gods? Or is it Lainey!)

An Interview with Saint Death’s Daughter (a.k.a. C.S.E. Cooney)

 

SEL:  Saint Death’s Daughter was released in 2022, and we’ll dig into that momentarily.  Mark Rigney interviewed you a decade ago Black Gate (2014 link). How have you changed as an author since then? Were you inspired by your Lord Dunsany readings?

Re-reading that 2014 interview is hilarious. And exuberant. And painful. Oof. That line towards the end about Howard making me read Lord Dunsany? Seth, I have to say that right now, I just want Howard alive again, and making me read anything at all. That’s what I want.

[SEL Sidebar: Howard Andrew Jones, Black Gate print magazine editor, longtime author, and friend/mentor to countless writers, passed away this January after battling aggressive brain cancer. CSEC led the charge with a GoFundMe campaign for his family (with help from a crew including the just-mentioned Mark Rigney), and Black Gate has hosted several tributes (i.e., from John O’Neill, Jason Ray Carney, & Bob Byrne); as one of HAJ’s Skull Interns, I am capturing links to many more memorials. Peace to our dear friend.]

Otherwise, sadly: I don’t recall much about my Lord Dunsany readings. I didn’t even remember that reading Dunsany made me want to be referred to as “the tiger of the gods.” Now, why didn’t that catch on, I wonder? You may henceforth refer to me in this interview as “tiger of the gods,” please.

Have I changed as an author since then? Yes. Yes, I’m not as fast as I was ten years ago, and everything about the world seems harder, and sadder. I think it was always hard and sad, but I’m feeling it more now, I guess.

But also… also, it’s all so much more interesting.

Over the last ten years, I’d experienced such burnout, such weariness and bitterness about the craft, that at one point I announced I wasn’t going to write again until I wanted to write. My friends and family were afraid I was serious. (I was.) They were like, “Claire, what are you doing?”

But I really just wanted to want to write. Was any of the work even worth it if I didn’t want it anymore?

And it took a few weeks of me staring out a window, giving myself permission not to write. But then, suddenly and spontaneously one morning, I had one of those magical “what if” thoughts. That was something that hadn’t happened in literally years of revision and submission and revision and submission. The next morning, that “what if” had built into a whole dang story idea. So I sat down and started writing it out long hand — something I’d also not done in years. The experience was so pleasurable, so permissive, and so, I don’t know. Healing.

The whole world seemed new. Writing was possible again. Phew! I’d made it through the wasteland and to the other side.

Since then, the whole creative process just keeps getting weirder and more wonderful. Concentrating on the unique bizarreness of process has really opened me up to so many branching avenues of boundless curiosity.

Now I know: if I need to stop writing for a while, I will. (After I meet my deadlines, of course. That’s what a professional does.)

For me, the sensual ritual of writing has become the point. And community. Community is the point.

What else has changed? I’ve never done so much body mirroring while writing in my life: writing in silent zooms, or with people in the room. I’ve never done so much timed writing. I even started listening to music while writing — which I never used to do. I still can’t listen to anything with words (some Hildegard von Bingen chanting aside). I started listening to fantasy gaming soundtracks, because if I listen to movie soundtracks, I just have that movie’s story and dialogue running through my brain. But since I’ve not played most fantasy games, that’s not a problem. (I can’t, for example, listen to the Baldur’s Gate soundtrack, because I did play that. Which was awesome.)

I know this now: even when I’m sad, and tired, and lacking all motivation, I still want to want to write. All the rest is hacking my brain to get the motor running. Music, company, handwriting, candlelight… all of those rituals put me in a more celebratory and ludic headspace for writing.

What’s the same? Well… every time I have to write something new, it’s still like learning how to write all over again. Some of the same skills apply, sure, but I’m constantly learning how to write something I couldn’t even fathom before I started.

Like fight scenes. Fight scenes are so hard.

“Henceforth refer to me in this interview as ‘Tiger of the Gods’ ” — C.S.E. Cooney Saint Death’s Daughter (2023 World Fantasy Winner) Blurb

Nothing complicates life like Death.

Lanie Stones, the daughter of the Royal Assassin and Chief Executioner of Liriat, has never led a normal life. Born with a gift for necromancy and a literal allergy to violence, she was raised in isolation in the family’s crumbling mansion by her oldest friend, the ancient revenant Goody Graves.

When her parents are murdered, it falls on Lanie and her cheerfully psychotic sister Nita to settle their extensive debts or lose their ancestral home — and Goody with it. Appeals to Liriat’s ruler to protect them fall on indifferent ears… until she, too, is murdered, throwing the nation’s future into doubt.

Hunted by Liriat’s enemies, hounded by her family’s creditors and terrorised by the ghost of her great-grandfather, Lanie will need more than luck to get through the next few  months — but when the goddess of Death is on your side, anything is possible.

At first glance, the summary of Saint Death’s Daughter sounds like a horror adventure, but it reads more like a comedic/fun, coming-of-age story. How would you describe the book to new readers?

TIGER OF THE GODS: Generally, I give this elevator pitch: “Girl grows up in a family of assassins, but is allergic to violence. Her allergy indicates that one day, if she survives long enough, her aversion to violence will be so strong, she’ll be able to RAISE THE DEAD.”

Boom! Necromancy book, baby.

For comp titles, I say something along these lines: “Like if Terry Pratchett and the Addams Family had a necromancer baby who really liked pink frilly dresses and cutie patootie mouse skeletons.”

Those are light, easy ways about talking about my book. My book which is, in reality… much weirder.

BUT! I really don’t want to intimidate people. I want to invite people.

I also like to describe Saint Death’s Daughter as a Bildungsroman — a coming-of-age story. Now, I know that all YA books must perforce be coming-of-age stories. That’s the genre. It’s just that, at no point in the drafting process, did I imagine I was writing YA with Saint Death’s Daughter. But it is still a Bildungsroman.

I am, as I was ten years ago, still under the influence of Lois McMaster Bujold. I wanted to write a character like Bujold’s Miles Vorkosigan. The first few novellas about him may have covered his childhood, but over time, we get to experience him at many ages.

Saint Death’s Daughter is just Lanie Stones’s first book. It’s just one point in the timeline of her full life — perhaps not even the most important part. I imagine her in her thirties. (Sexy beast!) Her forties! (Whoa, what a powerhouse!) I imagine her as an old woman — with even more wisdom and compassion and mischief, and far, far more powerful. (Also, probably a foodie.) I imagine her on her deathbed. I imagine future scholars writing about her as a historical figure of a certain time and place that is perhaps no more. (This makes footnotes very fun.)

SEL: Discuss the media of necromancy which feels very artistic, especially the paint-like, colored essences of panthuama and ectenica.

TIGER OF THE GODS: I made up the word “panthauma” out of the words “pan” (all) and “thaumaturgy” (miracle or marvel-working). I wanted a word for sorcery that was slightly alien, so I could apply my own set of rules to it without previous reader bias. But I also wanted, in addition to that whiff of mysterious, a sense of familiarity, linguistically-speaking.

And then I wanted a new word for “death magic” that wasn’t just, you know “death magic.” “Necromancy” is the obvious word, and I do use it in the book. But its actual etymology has more to do with divining via the dead than raising them up. (All the “-mancy” words have to do with divination.) So I wanted necromancy to be a specific kind of death magic, not the word for death magic.

I wanted a new word, something more flexible, less familiar. A word that evoked ghosts! And also super fun to say. So I took a closer look at our word “ectoplasm,” and then just sort of f*&%ed with it to make “ectenica.” Just say it aloud. All those clicky consonants!

Lanie’s a bit of a synesthete, in that she associates smells and colors with magic; that’s her brain trying to process the unimaginable. So, for panthauma, when the gods are drawing close and lighting up the world with Their attention, her vision goes bright-yellow with hard edges, like faceted topaz, and her body responds with a kind of champagne-y, effervescent reaction. Her sensual reaction to ectenica is much colder. She perceived it as a sort of starry blue. And the smell of her god, and of death magic, is always some variation of citrus. Other gods have other smells. I think, to some degree, most of the sorcerers/saints in my world have synesthesia.

SEL: Celerity Stones, one of Lanie’s aunts, was also a traditional artist, and her portfolio included portraiture like “Barely There: The Exquisite Art of Excoriation, With (Predominantly) Live Models”.  I’d love to see her collection. Can you tell us more about Celerity’s inspiration and art?

Celerity had been much in demand for her pen and ink drawings, her sanguine sketches, her oils, watercolors, and illuminated calligraphy. Later, she won renown as an anatomical scientist. Very precise with spreader, was never easy to ignore her most famous work, The Flayed Ideal, which hung on the wall of Stones Gallery and had a way of glaring at you. Its exposed and accusatory eyeballs, rendered in oil on canvas with exquisite delicacy, followed you around the room — and very often out the door and down the hall.

— from Saint Death’s Daughter

TIGER OF THE GODS: You know those stories we have of anatomists and resurrection men in prior centuries who’d illegally dig up bodies in order to study them, to become better doctors? (I’m glad that the laws — and some minds — have changed to allow for voluntary donation in such endeavors, but for a while it was considered absolutely heinous.) And you know all those stories about how powerful people in history — doctors, surgeons, psychologists, prisons, military — exploited marginalized communities, sometimes going so far as to medically experiment on people without their informed consent, for purposes of their own research?

That’s my inspiration for Celerity Stones.

She was not a good person. She was talented and precise and obsessed with her work. But she — like the whole toxic Stones family — hurt people to achieve her greatness.

One of the reasons that the Stones family ultimately falls is that cruelty like that is not sustainable, however it sometimes seems to advance society in the moment. Undoing the Stones’s legacy, and especially the glamorization of the violent family narrative, is something that Lanie has to consciously learn how to do as she gets older.

SEL: Every time I’ve seen you at Gen Con, you are wearing impressive regalia. Do you craft the costumes?  Do they represent characters?

TIGER OF THE GODS: I don’t craft costumes, per se. Like, I don’t think of myself as dressing up as certain characters. But I do dress according to my mood that day — or the mood I’d like to have. Heck, I just like dressing up. When I was a kid I had a “dress-up trunk” and I just preferred every secondhand prom dress and thrift store “glass slipper” (plastic with rhinestones) and dilapidated tiara to any of my school uniforms, softball jerseys, or neon skorts in my regular wardrobe. All these years later, I still do. Only now MOST of my closet is “dress-up” trunk.

These days, if I have to dress to go somewhere where there’s an expectation of dress code, that’s when I feel like I’m in costume. Like, when I go into the booth for audiobook narration, I have to wear “soft clothes.” I think of them as “ninja clothes,” but a friend of mine said it just looked like I was wearing pajamas. But you can’t wear anything that tinkles or rustles or chimes!

I was watching a “maximalist” influencer talking on Instagram about how the act of getting dressed is a creative process. And when you put together an outfit (or “fit” as the kids are calling it) to completion, you get that little bump of dopamine, like when you finish a puzzle or complete a recipe or win a game. Creative clothing is a small, achievable goal, and it makes me happy. Maybe, in some ways, I’ve been sartorially self-medicating since childhood!

Saint Death’s Herald Blurb

Much-anticipated follow-up to the whimsical, joyous, zombie-packed World Fantasy Award-winning Saint Death’s Daughter

Lanie Stones is the necromancer that Death has been praying for.

Heartbroken, exiled from her homeland as a traitor, Lanie Stones would rather take refuge in good books and delicate pastries than hunt a deathless abomination, but that is the duty she has chosen.

The abomination in question happens to be her own great-grandfather, the powerful necromancer Irradiant Stones. Grandpa Rad has escaped from his prison and stolen a body, and is heading to the icy country of Skakhmat where he died, to finish the genocide he started. Fortunately for her, Lanie has her powerful death magic, including the power to sing the restless dead to their eternal slumber; and she has her new family by her side.

Grandpa Rad may have finally met his match.

Saint Death’s Herald (preorder link) is coming in April 2025. What can we reveal? Anything special we can say about this, only heralded via Black Gate?

TIGER OF THE GODS: Oh, gosh. Well. A Black Gate exclusive, eh?

Well, here’s the thing. I LOVE spoilers. I don’t even call them spoilers. I call them SPICERS. But not everybody (not even most people) think of them that way. So, with the caveat that those people who consider any information at all a SPOILER, perhaps they could skip this part?

Hush, come close! I’ll tell you, dear Black Gate readers, that Lanie Stones has only grown in power since Saint Death’s Daughter. I’ll tell you that when she enters fully into sympathy with a dead object, she can… SHARE PARTS OF ITS SHAPE.

She is also learning how to communicate through the dead — so if she has a… a toe bone, for example, from a particular corpse, and if you have a different toe bone from that same corpse, she’ll be able to call you. Like a one-way cell-phone.

My plan is, for Book 3, that Lanie will be so good at sharing shapes with the dead, that she can basically take on and maintain the appearance of any dead creature whose accident (physical material) she is in contact with. This makes going undercover to investigate crimes against the death god (totally random plot idea, not the basis for Book 3 at all, doo-dee-doo) much easier.

Can you discuss the cover art creation and artist?

TIGER OF THE GODS: Oh, this is the wonderful, wonderful Kate Forrester! Fantasy readers will already know and love her work from such glorious novels as Zen Cho’s The True Queen and Theodora Goss’s Extraordinary Adventures of the Athena Club trilogy. Basically, for Book 1, my editor Kate Coe consulted me about different cover artist options, and some ideas for the art.

When Kate Forrester was chosen, Kate Coe and I generated a few wild cover ideas to throw her way. Then Forrester came up with the wonderful silhouette idea. My editor asked if I could send the artist a few elements from the book that the silhouette could have trapped in her hair.

Then, for Saint Death’s Herald, my editor David Moore arranged the same sort of information exchange. In Book 2, the silhouette is facing the opposite direction, with different elements caught in her hair. The cover was done long before the book was done — so I had to make sure that my final draft included all the visual cues that I had originally suggested when I was still in the early stages of writing! Phew!

I wonder what Book 3 will look like? Forward facing? Or two silhouettes facing in opposite directions? That would be kind of cool: especially if Lanie spends most of the book incognito — as both herself and not herself!

But that’s years away.

“For me, the sensual ritual of writing has become the point. And community. Community is the point…even when I’m sad, and tired, and lacking all motivation, I still want to want to write” – C.S.E. Cooney

 

I adore your character names. For example, the protagonist & heroine “Lanie Stones” has a formal name of “Miscellaneous Stones”; and her contentious grandfather  Irradiant ‘Grandpa Rad’ Stones. Can we contract you to assign us pseudonyms with all the grandeur your characters’ names have? I’d love to lure you into calling me names.

Tiger:  That sounds like SO MUCH WORK! But it reminds me of the Fairy Tale Heroines workshop that The Carterhaugh School of Folklore and the Fantastic runs. One of the last things everyone does is assign themselves a “fairy tale heroine” (or hero/non-binary) name. But to do this, here are some questions: What’s your favorite animal? What kind of magic user would you be? If you could choose one of these to be: human, gentry (fairy folk), or goblin, which one would you be? If you were to choose one of the 12 gods from Saint Death’s Daughter, which would you choose? What’s your favorite obscure or forgotten word?

SEL:  Eh gad, return fire. Those are hard questions! Fairy and “humors” (alchemical medicinal version) … and I am still learning the 12 gods of your stories. I’m too young and ignorant to recall them all and choose (I’m not worthy). I do love Lainey and her scarecrow though.

Tiger: Okay, then, so if you were a Stones, you’d probably be named Butter-of-Antimony Stones, son of Alkahest and Argyropoeia Stones…. Friends would call you “Bu” for short. (We won’t get into what your enemies call you.) And if you were a gentry, you probably would be named Crasis, a cloudskin (sometimes “cloud — skin” and sometimes “clouds-kin”) who can transform into whatever shape they please, though you will be insubstantial as vapor.

SEL: Okay, I want to know your secret Stoneses name too.

Tiger: Miscellaneous, of course!

BU: You are an award-winning poet (Rhysling Award-winning poem “The Sea King’s Second Bride” included in How to Flirt in Faerieland and Other Wild Rhymes), and have written plays. The previous Black Gate interview mentioned you also sing! Please discuss how expression works across media.

TIGER OF THE GODS: Oh, gosh. I’m just drawn to some kinds of media over others. Like, I don’t have any current desire to write a screenplay or a graphic novel or MG/YA. But I often get the itch to write plays and musicals and poetry.

I just wrote a 10-minute play to submit to a local theatre festival for fun, and it felt so good to stretch those playwriting muscles again. My husband Carlos wrote one too! We both submitted to the same festival. Whatever happens now, at least we’ll have done something that challenged us artistically and brought us delight.

Re: musicals and albums: for the past few years, as time allows, I’ve been collaborating with Tina Connolly and Dr. Mary Crowell on a 6-episode musical theatre podcast called The Devil and Lady Midnight. And in 2023, I mounted a short, collaborative musical called Ballads from Distant Stars, with songs by myself, Amal El-Mohtar, and Caitlyn Paxson (with occasional melodies and harmonies by my brother Jeremy Cooney and Dr. Mary Crowell).

Eventually, I’d love to figure out how to bring both of the projects to full audio production. I’ll probably record Ballads from a Distant Star myself, with the help of my awesome musician brothers, and helpmate husband — like I did with my Brimstone Rhine album and EPs. However, The Devil and Lady Midnight will be a lot more complicated and expensive — but super rewarding if we can do the work!

What I’ve learned over the last 10 years about making albums and theatre: without an infrastructure already in place, a space to perform in, and people wanting to produce the work for you, you have to build that infrastructure from scratch. So there’s either a lot of crowdfunding involved, so you can hire people who already know what they’re doing to help you, or you’d better be ready to go full autodidact and learn how to do it all yourself. Whichever way you go, there’s still a cost: in time, in equipment, in the goodwill of the community, etc.

I try to find collaborators who are interested in making art for art’s sake with me. It’s not like I think we shouldn’t get paid, but I don’t really go into a creative project dreaming about all the money it might rake in. That said, I’m interested in collaborative partners who, once the creative process part is done, are also interested in taking that piece of polished art to production or publication — either via crowdfunding, bootstrapping, submitting, or grant-writing. Because it’s really daunting to try to run that gauntlet alone.

I also adore writing poetry. I stopped for a while — though in that lacuna, I did start writing songs — and now that I’m writing poetry again, I’ve got enough for a collection. I’m calling it The Day I Superglued the Moon: 10 Years in the Life of a Speculative Poet. It’s massive. It needs curation. I don’t know what to do with it. Self-publish? Ask my agent to submit it? Approach a small press?

Meanwhile, I feel so raw and tender and personal about it, because it’s poetry! so I keep avoiding doing anything at all. For now.

BU:  ‘Macabre and beautiful’ (and fun) has even taken root in a game! You and your husband Carlos Hernandez co-designed a table-top roleplaying game called Negocios Infernales, Kickstarted October 2023. What is this game about? Does it inspire storytelling? Weirdly beautiful stories?

“In the initial design, taking this all into account: here’s what we did. One of Claire’s favorite games is Mysterium, which she loves in part for its gorgeous, surreal cards that have this melancholy timbre to them. You can look at the cards and be inspired, even outside of the game. So I thought: What about instead of dice and all the rules that govern them, you have a deck of beautiful cards, maybe a little macabre, but also inspiring? It’s always very simple to determine success or failure in Negocios, as easy as Candyland. If your card matches one of the cards on your character sheet, success. If it doesn’t, not success! And everything else you just get to make up.” – Cultureslate Interview, Carlos Hernandez quoted

TIGER OF THE GODS: Co-designing a narrative game was a wild departure from my personal normal. And I’m so grateful that Carlos nudged me in that direction, because it opened up the whole world of gaming to me — board games, TTRPGs, and video games!

Carlos is a game designer, and when we first got together, he said I was perfect, I was MORE than perfect; maybe my only flaws were that I don’t like coffee and I don’t really play games.

Dear Black Gate Readers, I now like espresso. Okay, just a little bit of an espresso—¡un pocito espressito!—once every few months, but I can honestly say I like it.

And now, I also like games. But I didn’t always. In fact, I liked board games much better than TTRPGs when we first started playing together, for all that I’m an actor and a writer, and by my nature should be a shoe-in for roleplaying games. But I’d sort of had a “meh” view of TTRPGs, due to some less than stellar experiences, so Carlos suggested we design one together that I’d actually like.

We designed a game that has some moving pieces and some timed elements (like a board game), that’s big on character creation and world building and plot development, that’s easy for beginners, but also incredibly rich for experienced players. It’s so much fun, and so weird, and so moving.

Negocios Infernales’s tag line is: “The Spanish Inquisition… INTERRUPTED by aliens!”

Imagine a fantasy world — Gloriana — much like Earth (Gloriana’s more of a superplanet that’s mostly water, and it has two suns, but bear with me here). Now imagine a country called “Espada”—Spanish for “blade” — which is a lot like our Spain in the 15th century. The queen, Reina Resoluta, is about to sign religious persecution into law. Then… benevolent, enlightened aliens intervene! They offer cosmic powers in exchange for a zero-genocide policy on Espada.

Of course, the Espadans mistake the aliens for devils (because their deelie boppers look like horns), and while they do strike a deal for “magic powers,” they think their bargain is an infernal one.

So you play a “wizard” with “magical powers,” certain that you’ll be damned for all time for it. It is a game of cosmic irony.

One of the best things about it is our “Deck of Destiny.” It’s a 70-card oracle deck, and it’s our main mechanic for character creation, world-building, magic checks, inspiration, all of that.

But separate from the roleplaying game, we use the Deck of Destiny to run what we call “Infernal Salons,” where we invite writers and artists of every stripe to pull a card prompt or three. We set a timer. Everyone writes something, no matter what form it takes. And then, whoever wants to, shares aloud. This creates such fantastic, generative, creative nights. Many published stories and poems have come out of these salons, both for Carlos and myself, and also for many of the people who’ve participated. The “Infernal Salons may be my favorite thing that has come from designing this game.

Negocios Infernales is available for pre-order right now from Outland Entertainment, and should be in our backers’ hands in a few months — if the International Shipping gods are kind.

C. S. E. Cooney

C. S. E. Cooney (she/her) is a two-time World Fantasy Award-winning author: for novel Saint Death’s Daughter, and collection Bone Swans, Stories. Other work includes The Twice-Drowned Saint, Dark Breakers, and Desdemona and the Deep. Forthcoming in 2025 is Saint Death’s Herald, second in the Saint Death Series. As a voice actor, Cooney has narrated over 120 audiobooks, and short fiction for podcasts like Uncanny Magazine, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Tales to Terrify, and Podcastle. In March 2023, she produced her collaborative sci-fi musical, Ballads from a Distant Star, at New York City’s Arts on Site. (Find her music at Bandcamp under Brimstone Rhine.) Forthcoming from Outland Entertainment is the GM-less TTRPG Negocios Infernales (“the Spanish Inquisition… INTERRUPTED by aliens!”), co-designed with her husband, writer and game-designer Carlos Hernandez. Find her website and Substack newsletter via her Linktree or try “csecooney” on various social media platforms.

Other Weird and Beautiful Interviews #Weird Beauty Interviews on Black Gate:

1. Darrel Schweitzer THE BEAUTY IN HORROR AND SADNESS: AN INTERVIEW WITH DARRELL SCHWEITZER 2018
2. Sebastian Jones THE BEAUTY IN LIFE AND DEATH: AN INTERVIEW WITH SEBASTIAN JONES 2018
3. Charles Gramlich THE BEAUTIFUL AND THE REPELLENT: AN INTERVIEW WITH CHARLES A. GRAMLICH  2019
4. Anna Smith Spark DISGUST AND DESIRE: AN INTERVIEW WITH ANNA SMITH SPARK  2019
5. Carol Berg ACCESSIBLE DARK FANTASY: AN INTERVIEW WITH CAROL BERG 2019
6. Byron Leavitt GOD, DARKNESS, & WONDER: AN INTERVIEW WITH BYRON LEAVITT 2021
7. Philip Emery THE AESTHETICS OF SWORD & SORCERY: AN INTERVIEW WITH PHILIP EMERY  2021
8. C. Dean Andersson DEAN ANDERSSON TRIBUTE INTERVIEW AND TOUR GUIDE OF HEL: BLOODSONG AND FREEDOM! (2021 repost of 2014)
9. Jason Ray Carney SUBLIME, CRUEL BEAUTY: AN INTERVIEW WITH JASON RAY CARNEY(2021)
10. Stephen Leigh IMMORTAL MUSE BY STEPHEN LEIGH: REVIEW, INTERVIEW, AND PRELUDE TO A SECRET CHAPTER(2021)
11. John C. Hocking BEAUTIFUL PLAGUES: AN INTERVIEW WITH JOHN C. HOCKING (2022)
12. Matt Stern BEAUTIFUL AND REPULSIVE BUTTERFLIES: AN INTERVIEW WITH M. STERN(2022)
13. Joe Bonadonna MAKING WEIRD FICTION FUN: GRILLING DORGO THE DOWSER! 2022
14. C.S. Friedman.  BEAUTY AND NIGHTMARES ON ALIENS WORLDS: INTERVIEWING C. S. FRIEDMAN2023
15. John R Fultz BEAUTIFUL DARK WORLDS: AN INTERVIEW WITH JOHN R. FULTZ(reboot of 2017 interview)
16. John R Fultz, THE REVELATIONS OF ZANGBY JOHN R. FULTZ: READ THE FOREWORD AND INTERVIEW (2023)
17. Robert Allen Lupton (2024) https://www.blackgate.com/2024/05/26/horror-and-beauty-in-edgar-rice-burroughs-work-an-interview-with-robert-allen-lupton/
18. C.S.E. Cooney (2025) You are here!
19. Interviews prior 2018 (i.e., with Janet E. Morris, Richard Lee Byers, Aliya Whitely …and many more) are on S.E. Lindberg’s website

SE Bio, aka Bu

S.E. Lindberg is a Managing Editor at Black Gate, regularly reviewing books and interviewing authors on the topic of “Beauty & Art in Weird-Fantasy Fiction.” He is also the lead moderator of the Goodreads Sword & Sorcery Group and an intern for Tales from the Magician’s Skull magazine. As for crafting stories, he has contributed eight entries across Perseid Press’s Heroes in Hell and Heroika series, and has an entry in Weirdbook Annual #3: Zombies. He independently publishes novels under the banner Dyscrasia Fiction; short stories of Dyscrasia Fiction have appeared in Whetstone, Swords & Sorcery online magazine, Rogues In the House Podcast’s A Book of Blades Vol I and Vol II, DMR’s Terra Incognita, and the 9th issue of Tales From the Magician’s Skull.

1. Sigl fashion (as a silversmith, I find this interesting and important)
2. Sigl recycling
3. Branch affinities

Update: Thank you so much for all of your support, guys. You are genuinely awesome and kind people. We are both lucky to know you. We finished the scene, it worked out well, so we are going to keep going and hopefully will stay on track for Friday.

There was a post here about something someone said, but it doesn’t seem important anymore. We are driving on.

Comments are locked because Mod R is working on something else and I do not have the time to devote to moderating at the moment.

The post Stupid Rubbish first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.

I love villains. I love writing them. I love reading them. I love seeing them brought to life on big screen and small.

Well, let me modify that. I love villains in fiction and movies and television shows. I can’t stand real-life villains. (In the interest of keeping things civil, I won’t name any of the real-life villains I have in mind, even the one whose name rhymes with Peon Husk.) But a good fictional villain can make even the most mundane of stories shine. And a boring or ineffective villain can ruin an otherwise effective narrative. Over the years, as a reader, teacher, and editor, I have seen many beginning writers undermine their stories by making the same mistakes in the development of their antagonists.

What qualities make a villain compelling? I intend to dive into that. Who are some of my favorite villains? I’ll get into that, too. But let me offer a few quick points up front. I don’t think much of the all-powerful-evil-through-and-through villains one often encounters in the fantasy genre. Sauron, for instance — the evil god whose world-conquering designs lie at the heart of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings — is, to my mind, a very boring villain. He’s really powerful, and he’s really, really evil. And yes, he’s cunning, which is a point in his favor, and he’s scary (or his minions are). But beyond that, and unless one has gone back and read all his backstory in The Silmarillion, there isn’t really much to him. He lacks dimension and complexity.

So, let’s begin there. In my opinion (and yes, ALL of this is just my opinion), villains should be complex. There should be more to them than mere evil. Their backstory should contain the seeds of their villainy and the twisting of their world-view. Because let’s face it, most of the villains we encounter and create do some pretty messed up things in pursuit of their agendas. They’re not all there sanity-wise. But how they wound up there ought to be an interesting tale in and of itself. And the fact that their actions are working at cross purposes with those of our protagonists should not mean they can’t have some normality and even joy in their lives. They can and should have people and things that they love. They should be relatable for our readers. One of my very favorite villains is Brandan of Ygrath, the emperor-sorcerer who is the villain of Guy Gavriel Kay’s Tigana. He is charming, brilliant, loving with those he cares about, handsome, refined. He is also ruthless, merciless, temperamental, and unpredictable. He does horrible, cruel, vicious things for reasons that are both understandable and insufficient. He is nearly as easy to like as he is easy to hate.

Too often, I see young authors make their villains unintelligent and unsubtle. They give their villains lots of power, but then undermine that power by making their machinations transparent. Villains, I believe, need to be canny, keen of mind, creative. Their schemes should be the stuff of genius. Remember the old Adam West Batman series? I used to watch it after school when I was little. Invariably, Batman’s foes would leave him in a situation where he wasn’t dead yet, but he would be soon. They were sure of it. So they didn’t need to wait around to make sure. They could leave, and eventually, the pendulum on the giant clock with the medieval axehead attached to it would cleave the masked crusader in two! And, of course, their premature departure gave Batman and the Boy Wonder the opportunity they needed to escape their less-than-certain deaths. Stupid villains were entertaining and convenient when we were kids watching bad TV. But for more sophisticated fiction, stupid villains will ruin a good tale.

Think of it this way: Assuming that our protagonist eventually manages to overcome the villain in our story, the power AND intelligence AND shrewdness of the bad guy reflect well on our good guy. The easier the villain is to defeat, the less challenging their plot against the world, the less impressive our hero appears when they prevail. When we build up our villain, when we make them really smart and really cunning, our hero’s victory becomes that much more of an achievement. Consider it narrative mathematics.

Some of my favorite villains from my own work? Quinnel Orzili from the Islevale Cycle (Time’s Children, Time’s Demon, Time’s Assassin), Saorla from the second and third books in The Case Files of Justis Fearsson, and, my absolute favorite, Sephira Pryce from the Thieftaker books. Yes, she later become something other than a pure villain, but that was basically because she became SO much fun to write that I had to find a way to keep her around and relevant.

My favorite villains in the work of others? I already mentioned Brandan of Ygrath. John Rainbird, from Stephen King’s masterpiece, Firestarter, is a terrific villain. Smart, brutal, and yet also human. In Catie Murphy’s marvelous Negotiator trilogy there are two supernatural “bad guys,” Daisani and Janx, whose personal rivalry threatens the fabric of the mortal world. Their mutual animus and their own needs and desires humanize them and make them terrific foils for Magrit Knight, the series’ protagonist. And I would add that a certain writer I care not to mention in light of recent revelations has created some truly amazing villains. Too bad he wound up being a villain worthy of his own undeniable storytelling talents.

So, make your villains relatable, make them canny and dangerous and terrifying, and make their eventual defeat a true achievement for your protagonist. And try not to be villainous yourself.

Advice for this week. Cheers!!

I love villains. I love writing them. I love reading them. I love seeing them brought to life on big screen and small.

Well, let me modify that. I love villains in fiction and movies and television shows. I can’t stand real-life villains. (In the interest of keeping things civil, I won’t name any of the real-life villains I have in mind, even the one whose name rhymes with Peon Husk.) But a good fictional villain can make even the most mundane of stories shine. And a boring or ineffective villain can ruin an otherwise effective narrative. Over the years, as a reader, teacher, and editor, I have seen many beginning writers undermine their stories by making the same mistakes in the development of their antagonists.

What qualities make a villain compelling? I intend to dive into that. Who are some of my favorite villains? I’ll get into that, too. But let me offer a few quick points up front. I don’t think much of the all-powerful-evil-through-and-through villains one often encounters in the fantasy genre. Sauron, for instance — the evil god whose world-conquering designs lie at the heart of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings — is, to my mind, a very boring villain. He’s really powerful, and he’s really, really evil. And yes, he’s cunning, which is a point in his favor, and he’s scary (or his minions are). But beyond that, and unless one has gone back and read all his backstory in The Silmarillion, there isn’t really much to him. He lacks dimension and complexity.

So, let’s begin there. In my opinion (and yes, ALL of this is just my opinion), villains should be complex. There should be more to them than mere evil. Their backstory should contain the seeds of their villainy and the twisting of their world-view. Because let’s face it, most of the villains we encounter and create do some pretty messed up things in pursuit of their agendas. They’re not all there sanity-wise. But how they wound up there ought to be an interesting tale in and of itself. And the fact that their actions are working at cross purposes with those of our protagonists should not mean they can’t have some normality and even joy in their lives. They can and should have people and things that they love. They should be relatable for our readers. One of my very favorite villains is Brandan of Ygrath, the emperor-sorcerer who is the villain of Guy Gavriel Kay’s Tigana. He is charming, brilliant, loving with those he cares about, handsome, refined. He is also ruthless, merciless, temperamental, and unpredictable. He does horrible, cruel, vicious things for reasons that are both understandable and insufficient. He is nearly as easy to like as he is easy to hate.

Too often, I see young authors make their villains unintelligent and unsubtle. They give their villains lots of power, but then undermine that power by making their machinations transparent. Villains, I believe, need to be canny, keen of mind, creative. Their schemes should be the stuff of genius. Remember the old Adam West Batman series? I used to watch it after school when I was little. Invariably, Batman’s foes would leave him in a situation where he wasn’t dead yet, but he would be soon. They were sure of it. So they didn’t need to wait around to make sure. They could leave, and eventually, the pendulum on the giant clock with the medieval axehead attached to it would cleave the masked crusader in two! And, of course, their premature departure gave Batman and the Boy Wonder the opportunity they needed to escape their less-than-certain deaths. Stupid villains were entertaining and convenient when we were kids watching bad TV. But for more sophisticated fiction, stupid villains will ruin a good tale.

Think of it this way: Assuming that our protagonist eventually manages to overcome the villain in our story, the power AND intelligence AND shrewdness of the bad guy reflect well on our good guy. The easier the villain is to defeat, the less challenging their plot against the world, the less impressive our hero appears when they prevail. When we build up our villain, when we make them really smart and really cunning, our hero’s victory becomes that much more of an achievement. Consider it narrative mathematics.

Some of my favorite villains from my own work? Quinnel Orzili from the Islevale Cycle (Time’s Children, Time’s Demon, Time’s Assassin), Saorla from the second and third books in The Case Files of Justis Fearsson, and, my absolute favorite, Sephira Pryce from the Thieftaker books. Yes, she later become something other than a pure villain, but that was basically because she became SO much fun to write that I had to find a way to keep her around and relevant.

My favorite villains in the work of others? I already mentioned Brandan of Ygrath. John Rainbird, from Stephen King’s masterpiece, Firestarter, is a terrific villain. Smart, brutal, and yet also human. In Catie Murphy’s marvelous Negotiator trilogy there are two supernatural “bad guys,” Daisani and Janx, whose personal rivalry threatens the fabric of the mortal world. Their mutual animus and their own needs and desires humanize them and make them terrific foils for Magrit Knight, the series’ protagonist. And I would add that a certain writer I care not to mention in light of recent revelations has created some truly amazing villains. Too bad he wound up being a villain worthy of his own undeniable storytelling talents.

So, make your villains relatable, make them canny and dangerous and terrifying, and make their eventual defeat a true achievement for your protagonist. And try not to be villainous yourself.

Advice for this week. Cheers!!

 

Last night, I dreamt of a windowless room with pale green walls and blank clock faces without numbers. Where time had vanished, and no doors existed.

(First 2 sentences of The Drowners by David A. Anderson)This is an uncorrected ARC, so text and cover might be different on release: March 17, 2025.
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Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, previously hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just do the following: - Grab your current read - Open to a random page - Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! (make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away! You don’t want to ruin the book for others!) - Share the title & author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their  TBR Lists if they like your teasers!

Prologue I

From: The United States and the Protectorate War. Baen Historical Press. 2070.

It cannot be denied that the United States of the early thirties was a deeply divided society, in a world that was increasingly fragmented, hostile and/or fundamentally opposed to American values. The recent election had brought many of the tensions threatening American stability into the open and the victory of President Hamlin, a well-meaning and decent but ultimately ineffectual politician unwilling or unable to confront the problems facing the United States, did nothing to calm the roiling fury under the surface. Prone to dithering, lacking any real power base, it seemed likely his first term would be his last. Indeed, even his own party was preparing to primary him rather than take the risk of letting him seek re-election.

Political deadlock in Washington owed much, it should be acknowledged, to the simple fact the United States was not in any physical danger. Chaos along the Mexican border and turmoil in the Caribbean did not post any significant threat, certainly not one that threatened the political or bureaucratic elite in Washington. Simmering tensions in both the Ukraine and the South China Sea – and, of course, the Middle East – might draw attention briefly, only to be dismissed as the United States returned to contemplating its internal problems. Talk of civil war, never far from the surface, seemed to ebb and flow with the tides. The paralysis in Washington seemed to ebb and flow with the tides.

It was the worst possible time for the United States to face an Outside Context problem, an invasion from another world. But there was no choice.

The Protectorate knew nothing of America’s problems when they transposed their assault force into our dimension. Through sheer luck, the Protectorate Expeditionary Force arrived right on top of a small town in Texas – Flint – and rapidly secured the area, while probing the surrounding region and hacking the internet to download as much data as possible. They had assumed theirs was the only timeline that had enjoyed an industrial revolution and it was a surprise to discover that our world was a technological civilisation, if one nearly a century behind their own. Their commander – Captain-General James Montrose – had no intention of retreating, let alone opening peaceful contact and developing diplomatic relationships. He had come to make his name through conquest and determined to do so. His brief attempts at diplomatic outreach were nothing more than a bid to buy time.

President Hamlin dithered, as was his wont. Flint was surrounded and sealed off by the United States Army, but there was no attempt to demand access to the occupied town or seek confirmation of the tale the diplomats had been told. Unsure of what he was dealing with, Hamlin ignored the advice of his Vice President – Felix Hernandez – and his military officials, refusing to countenance either a more aggressive approach or a pre-emptive strike. It was not until a refugee fleeing the town accidentally started a brief engagement that rapidly spiralled out of control that the military was permitted to take a harder line, too late. The PEF attacked with a fury and technological edge the defenders couldn’t match, rapidly overrunning the army positions and expanding into Texas. A combination of computer hacks and cruise missiles strikes further weakened the United States, making it difficult to coordinate any response.

On paper, the PEF was greatly outnumbered. In practice, their advanced technology and cold-blooded ruthlessness allowed them to crush resistance, eventually seizing Austin and threatening nearby states before America learnt how to fight them. The sheer force of their attack weakened both the United States and its global allies, while their diplomatic contacts with hostile states – and covert operations within America – raised the promise of reinforcements and even American surrender. Their ability to land almost anywhere – showing off their power by attacking New York – cowed Hamlin. Believing the war to be lost, with the arrival of a second invasion force in the Middle East, he made overtures to Montrose.

This was too much for Felix Hernandez and his growing cabal. They started making urgent preparations to remove President Hamlin from power, preparations that were ironically detected by the PEF and used to justify a strike into Washington itself. With only limited understanding of how the American government worked, the PEF moved to seize the White House and the President, intending to use him as a puppet. The plan misfired. The assault force found itself trapped in Washington, and the relief force was forced to fight its way through the city in a desperate and ultimately futile bid to save it. Casualties were heavy on both sides, including Hamlin himself, but the PAF suffered its first real defeat.

As Felix Hernandez took the Oath of Office, and James Montrose secured his position by scapegoating another officer, they both knew the war was far from over.

Prologue II: Timeline A (Protectorate Homeworld)

It was deeply frustrating, Protector Julianne Rigby reflected, that they couldn’t know what was happening on the far side of the dimensional wall.

The Triumvirs of the Protectorate had been reluctant to concede that they had to trust the men commanding the crosstime expeditionary forces. It put a great deal of power in the hands of men who were incredibly ambitious, who had been chosen for their ambition and determination, and there was always a risk of one or more commanders going rogue. There was no way around it – the researchers had yet to develop any sort of crosstime communications device that didn’t require a gate – and yet it was deeply frustrating. London had been able to direct operations around the globe and beyond, from the moment radio had been invented, and to find themselves out of touch with their commanders was galling. There was just no way to know what was going on.

Her lips thinned as she studied the image on her display. Captain-General James Montrose was tall, dark and handsome, handsome enough to make any woman feel a draw even if she was old enough to know better. He was a brilliant commanding officer, driven by a compulsive thirst for victory – and the rewards that came with it. Granting him command of a crosstime invasion force had always been a gamble, although there were limits on just how much power he could claim for himself before reinforcements arrived. The Protectorate was the only timeline that had mastered steam, let alone coal and oil and nuclear power. There was little he could do to build a power base for himself in a world where the most advanced device known to exist was a waterwheel …

Or so they had thought. Castle Treathwick had been rotated into Timeline F and a sizable chunk of the timeline had been rotated back into the Prime Timeline, including pieces of a town and a large number of inhabitants. They had been rounded up very quickly and interrogated – of course – and the town remnants had been hastily searched for anything useful, from books to maps and charts. They’d expected little, but they’d hit the motherlode. The town didn’t just have a public library, a rarity outside the Prime Timeline; it had computer databases and records and a great many other things that proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Timeline F was a technological society. Their advancement appeared to have come in fits and starts – the sociologists were already producing theories to explain how the widespread degeneracy had retarded technological development – but there was no denying the Protectorate Expeditionary Force faced a foe far more capable than any before. Montrose’s orders for such a contingency had been vague, if only because no one had really thought it would ever happen, and he’d clearly taken full advantage of the latitude he’d been granted to launch a war. Julianne wasn’t surprised. A man as ambitious as Montrose wouldn’t back down unless he was confronted by an equal or greater force, and that was clearly lacking. Indeed, the second set of kidnapped locals – rotated into the Prime Timeline as the second invasion force was dispatched – had confirmed it. The war appeared to be going well.

Julianne felt her mood darken as she studied the political map. It looked absurd, putting the lie to the theory that technological advance would bring about planetary unity, but there was no denying it was real. Hundreds of nations, some with nuclear weapons; their world divided so completely it would be laughably easy to turn them against one another. The combination of superior military force and advanced technology would be quite enough, turning local nations into allies that would be discarded or subjected the moment they were no longer useful. And yet …

Her intercom bleeped. It was time.

Julianne keyed her console, then sat back in her chair as the other two Triumvirs flickered into existence in front of her. The holograms looked faintly wrong, as always, something that had always made her smile even though she understood the reasoning behind it. The Protectorate had more than enough computing power to fake almost any communication, with minibrains playing the role to near-perfection, and a transmission  that looked too good to be true would be regarded with extreme suspicion until it was checked and cleared. The council had the finest experts in the known multiverse working for them, yet as technology advanced the technology to fool it advanced too. Julianne would have preferred to hold the meeting in person, but that wasn’t an option. The degenerates of Timeline F were a technological civilisation. The gap between them and their masters was wide, but not wide enough. Given time, they would develop their own crosstime capabilities. They already knew it was possible.

“Parliament is pleased,” Protector Horace Jarvis said, curtly. “That doesn’t bode well.”

“No,” Protector John Hotham said. “But is that a bad thing?”

Julianne shrugged. Jarvis had openly admitted he didn’t trust Montrose, while Hotham argued Montrose could be trusted to serve the Protectorate as well as himself. Julianne had been the deciding vote and it had been impossible to avoid acknowledging that Montrose was very much a two-edged sword. He could cut their enemies, but he could also turn on his masters. It had been a calculated risk, one that – in hindsight – might have been a mistake. Given control of a civilisation that could actually support his forces, Montrose could go rogue. He was certainly charismatic enough to convince many of his subordinates to follow him.

“The prize is worth some risks,” she mused. “If we gain control and open permanent gates …”

The vision unfolded in front of them. The Protectorate ruled four timelines, three populated by primitives and one apparently untouched by intelligent life. It was difficult to uplift the locals of the first three timelines, leaving them fit only for brute labour that could be carried out far more efficiently by machines. A population that actually understood science, and didn’t think aircraft were the chariots of the gods, was a population that could actually achieve something. All they needed was proper guidance, something the Protectorate was happy to provide. An influx of labour from Timeline F could turn the earlier timelines into genuinely productive parts of the empire. It would happen without them, of course, but not in her time.

“If,” Jarvis pointed out.

Hotham snorted. “They’re a hundred years behind us, at least! They pose no threat.”

“Montrose does not have unlimited manpower. Or industry.” Julianne knew why. “They could trade a hundred of their tanks for every one of his and still come out ahead.”

“And if Montrose wins, will he turn on us?” Jarvis leaned forward. “He’s already popular. He could declare himself a warlord, declare independence, if he secures the timeline before we can open permanent gates.”

Julianne kept her face expressionless as Hotham started to splutter. The hell of it was that Jarvis had a point. Montrose’s exploits had been widely reported and even though the reports were incomplete – they could hardly be otherwise – they had made him a hero. The media was already telling the world about his glorious victories, no matter that there was no independent verification of anything they’d learnt from the second set of prisoners. Parliament had passed a vote of thanks, while ambitious politicians were lining up to praise Montrose and demand the government work faster to save Timeline F from itself. The reports of widespread degeneracy had shocked Parliament, not without reason. The analysts had recovered enough pornographic material from the captured computers to shock even hardened spooks. She shuddered to think what such exposure was going to their children.

“He’s not going to be happy working his way up the ladder, not after conquering a world,” Jarvis said. “Why would he step down?”

“He’s too loyal to go rogue,” Hotham insisted. “Julianne?”

“There are two problems,” Julianne said. “The first is that the war is not yet won. It is unlikely in the extreme that the United States of America” – an absurd concept, to one born in the Prime Timeline – “has surrendered. Montrose cannot have won. Not yet. We owe it to him to provide as much support as possible, even if we don’t entirely trust him.”

Hotham glowered. “And the second?”

Julianne braced herself. “Montrose could lose.”

“What?”

Julianne honestly couldn’t tell which of the men had spoken. Perhaps it had been both. The Protectorate hadn’t lost a battle in nearly a hundred years. There were few primal states capable of putting up even the slightest resistance, if the Protectorate decided to squash them, and none of the timelines they’d discovered earlier had enjoyed even the slightest concept of modern technology. The Protectorate had grown too used to its tradition of victory, to regarding war as a game and expansion as their natural right. The war games were as realistic as possible, pitting different units against their peers, but there were limits. It was difficult to imagine what it might be like to face a society that not only understood technology, yet could also mass-produce their own weapons and work to duplicate the Protectorate’s. It had never happened before.

And we don’t know how long it will take them to devise their own plasma cannons or antigravity systems, she thought. The researchers hadn’t been able to offer any sort of reassurance. There were too many unanswered questions for them to be sure of anything. How long will it take them to duplicate the Crosstime Transpositioner and reach our world?

“There is no way they can defeat us,” Hotham snapped. “Montrose can hold his position indefinitely.”

“We dare not assume so,” Julianne said, tartly. “The enemy has nukes. And ballistic missiles.”

“The Castles are capable of withstanding a nuke,” Hotham said.

“The degenerates only need to get lucky once,” Julianne said, keeping her voice calm. “We are committed to war now. We have no choice. We must support Montrose.”

“We’re already preparing the third invasion force,” Jarvis said. “The commander can be given orders to relieve Montrose.”

“For what?” Hotham’s face darkened. “What crime has he committed?”

“He arguably exceeded his orders,” Jarvis snapped.

“Arguably,” Hotham repeated. “Parliament will not agree.”

Julianne suspected he was right. Montrose had orders to be diplomatic – or to blow up Castle Treathwick – if he encountered an equal or superior civilisation. A primitive civilisation would pose no challenge, beyond a minor logistics headache. But one advanced enough to be useful without being advanced enough to be dangerous … Montrose had either been very brave or very stupid and no one would know for sure, not until the war was over. He might have done the right thing.

“We can convince Parliament,” Jarvis said.

“We cannot convince his supporters,” Hotham countered. “They’ll revolt.”

“And the last thing we need is a struggle for command authority in the middle of a war,” Julianne agreed. It wasn’t just Montrose. By long custom, a Captain-General had the right to nominate his subordinates, promising them a share in the new timeline in exchange for their service and support. Montrose hadn’t secured all of his choices, but he’d managed to get enough in place to ensure relieving him would be very tricky indeed. “If the enemy takes advantage of it …”

She let her voice trail off, suggestively. No previous opponent had been able to take advantage of command disunity. They’d lacked the insight to know when it was happening, or the ability to influence their betters. This group of degenerates might be … well, degenerates, yet that didn’t make them stupid. They might be as cunning as any primal, with the technology to make themselves really dangerous. The hell of it, she reflected, was that they’d probably been committed to war from the moment Castle Treathwick was rotated into the new timeline. The Protectorate needed neither competition nor subversion. And it would get both, if they failed to bring the new timeline under control.

The argument went on for hours, but the outcome was inevitable. The war would go on.

But in truth, Julianne reflected as the meeting finally came to an end, the matter was out of their hands. And had been so for months now.

Chapter One: Jubal, Texas, Timeline F (OTL)

This isn’t right, Sergeant Callam Boone thought, as he surveyed the deserted ruins of a once-proud town. This isn’t America.

He kept himself low, eyes sweeping the street as the small team lurked in the shadows. Jubal had been a prosperous town once, with a factory and a thriving population and everything they needed to support themselves, from a school to simple and affordable housing. It would have made an ideal retirement town, if the factory hadn’t shut down and plunged the town into a nightmare from which it had never recovered. The majority of the inhabitants had moved out, leaving a few stragglers mired in hopelessness and despair. It had been galling to watch the collapse of so many communities, to see people struggling with alcohol and drugs because they had little hope of ever bettering themselves; harder still to hear the lectures from snooty university lecturers, reporters, politicians and other rich and privileged men north of Richmond who had no idea what it was like to grow up in such a community and cared less. It was easy to see why so many of the remaining inhabitants had joined the enemy work gangs, even though it was technically treason. What had the United States done for them?

Callam spat as he leaned forward, bracing himself. It was dawn, the air light enough to see clearly without NVGs. The street was a wreck, a handful of burned-out cars and houses a grim reminder that the United States was in the grip of a military invasion from another world. The Protectorate – the Puritans, as they had come to be known – had swept through Jubal, blasting aside anyone who got in their way, and then abandoned the town after rounding up the population and moving them south. They had made all sorts of promises about cleaning up the local environment, but they’d done nothing to collect the garbage on the streets or repair the homes for human occupation. Callam felt a hint of shame as the wind picked up briefly, stirring the garbage on the streets. He’d seen such sights in Iraq during the war, but it felt wrong to see them in America. But it was just another sign of hopelessness. It ate people alive.

He glanced back at the rest of the team, then motioned them forward. The four men behind him looked like raiders rather than soldiers, carrying weapons that were surprisingly primitive compared to the high-tech array they’d deployed in Iraq and Afghanistan, but they had no choice. The Protectorate was good at tracking radio signals and any other sort of betraying emission, their visual sensors were better than anything America could deploy. He glanced up into the lightening sky, wondering if there was a drone up there watching them. It was difficult to spot an American UAV with the naked eye, even one large enough to pass for a manned aircraft, and the Protectorate drones were smaller and stealthier. He’d been told the techs were working on ways to detect them, but he’d believe it when he saw it. There was no guarantee they’d crack the puzzle in time to matter.

They advanced forward, skirting the houses and crossing a wrecked schoolhouse that could have passed for Springfield Elementary. A body lay on the ground in front of the gates, so badly decayed it was impossible to tell what had killed it. Callam gave the corpse a quick glance and moved on, wishing there was time to give the dead man a proper burial. Someone had painted a note on a faded sign – SCHOOL’S OUT FOREVER – and left it there, exposed to the elements. Callam felt a twinge of something he didn’t want to look at too closely. If the Protectorate won the war, school really would be out forever. Defeat meant the end of the world.

They reached their planned ambush point and slowed, sweeping the surrounding area for possible threats. There were none, the rotting homes seemingly abandoned. He glanced into one and scowled as he saw the handful of faded pictures on the walls, left behind years before the invasion had begun. A young boy growing from a toddler to a child to a teenager to a young adult … he wondered, suddenly, what had happened to the kid and his parents. They’d left their home and then … what? Why had they left in such a hurry?

He checked his watch, then unslung his rucksack and removed the electromagnetic trap. The device looked crude and cumbersome, as if it had been assembled by someone who didn’t quite know what he was doing, but he’d been assured it should work. Corporal Bulgier took the other half of the device out of his bag and emplaced it on the far side of the street, half-hidden by a garbage can. Callam tensed as he triggered the lasers, linking the two halves of the device together. He’d been told the system was undetectable, but it was hard to be sure. The Protectorate had surprised the defenders before and no doubt it would do so again.

“Get into place,” he hissed, just loudly enough to be heard. The ambush site wasn’t perfect, but what was in this day and age? He disliked having to rely on a plan with too many moving parts and he was painfully aware of just how much could go wrong, yet … he’d just have to hope for the best. “Keep your heads down as much as possible.”

“Yes, Granddad,” Corporal Bulgier hissed back.

Callam gave him a sharp look as he found a place to hide. He’d thought himself retired from war, when he’d left the Marine Corps to become the Sheriff of Flint, and if the Protectorate hadn’t invaded he knew it was unlikely he would ever see war again. He certainly hadn’t thought there would be a civil war, even though he’d seen the spreading hopelessness and despair and outright hatred of the federal government. The population was too beaten down to consider revolt, or working on building its own self-supporting networks and having as little to do with the government as possible. And then …

Guilt gnawed at his heart. It had been sheer luck he’d been far enough from Flint to escape, when the Protectorate arrived. Cold logic told him he’d done the right thing in running, in taking everything he’d seen to higher authority, but he didn’t believe it. He felt like a coward, running from danger even as darkness swept over the town that had elected him Sheriff. The folk back home were under the yoke now, a yoke that was oddly light in some ways and very harsh in others. Or so he’d been told. Reports from the occupied zone were vague and often contradictory. He suspected some were little more than enemy propaganda. The Protectorate had had no trouble finding allies, people willing to sell out their country for money, power, or even something as simple as medical care and enough food to fill their bellies. If they had come into the world blind, they knew what they were dealing with now.

And no matter how many times I fight now, he thought, it will never be enough.

His watch vibrated, once. Callam tensed. It was time. He peered forward, half-expecting to see a handful of enemy hovertanks rocketing towards him. The Protectorate could move with terrifying speed and it was certainly possible they’d want to nip any trouble in the bud, although it was unlikely they’d pegged his team as a major threat. Or indeed any kind of threat. Seventy miles to the east, a USMC formation was risking their lives to mount a diversionary attack, to draw the enemy’s attention away from him. The guilt grew stronger, a mocking reminder of his failure. He wouldn’t fail again.

A faint whining noise echoed on the air, sending unpleasant feelings through his body. He wasn’t entirely unaware of sonic weapons, but it was one thing to read about them and another to experience the effect in person. It was disconcerting, even worrying. The sound grew louder as he gritted his teeth, reminding himself he’d been through worse. And yet it made him want to be afraid.

It isn’t real, he told himself, sharply. It isn’t real!

The sound grew more unpleasant as the drone came into view, a tiny flying saucer about twice the size of a garbage can lid. It reminded him of a drone he’d seen during his last deployment, except it was smaller and radiated strobe lights that made it hard to see clearly. He’d thought the drone would be an easy target – he was a very good shot and his team included shooters who were even better – but the combination of lights and vibration made it hard to pick out the actual drone from the blurry haze. His head twanged painfully as a strobe light pulsed against his eyeballs, a grim reminder of just what longer exposure could do to him. If half the tales were true, a protest march in Austin had ended with the protestors comatose, vomiting, or otherwise incapable of offering resistance – or even running – before it was too late.

He looked down, watching as the drone came closer. It was hard to tell if it was being controlled remotely by a distant pilot or operating on some kind of AI, although he supposed it hardly mattered. The Protectorate used the drones to patrol the edge of its sphere of influence, making it clear that anyone who tried to cross no-man’s land did so at severe risk of their lives. Callam ground his teeth in silent frustration, bracing himself as the last few seconds ticked away …

A deafening shriek, almost human, split the air as the trap was sprung. The drone stopped dead, vibrating so violently Callam half-expected it to tear itself apart as it threw sparks in all directions, then crashed to the ground. He ducked down quickly, fearing the drone would carry a self-destruct charge, although he was already too close to be safe. The Protectorate didn’t have lawyers impeding military operations and while they didn’t set out to cause civilian casualties they didn’t let the fear of killing innocents get in their way either. They certainly wouldn’t let it stop them from fitting a self-destruct into their drones.

It hit the ground. Callam let out a breath as the whining sound and crazy lighting died away. He hadn’t felt so disconcerted since his first combat patrol, despite the best training the USMC could provide, but the effect was fading rapidly now. He forced himself to stand and hurry towards the drone, feeling an odd sense of unreality nagging at his mind. It felt like gazing upon a scorpion or a spider, an uneasy sense there was something fundamentally wrong about the thing in front of him. Up close, the drone was smaller than he’d thought, the disc studded with sensor arrays and devices that had no obvious function. They didn’t look like weapons. The damage was difficult to assess. A number of tiny arrays looked broken, but he didn’t know enough to tell if there was any internal damage.

Score one for the techs, he thought. They didn’t know how the drone flew – up close, there were no propellers or tiny jet intakes – but they had been sure they could bring the flying saucer crashing down. Whatever they did, it worked.

“Get the body bag,” he snapped. “Hurry!”

“Here,” Corporal Hastings said. The lone woman in the group, she moved with practiced ease to open the black bag and hold it ready. “Hurry!”

Callam nodded. It was oddly hard to touch the drone – it felt like reaching out to pick up a spider, the sensation refusing to abate even as his fingers touched cooling metal – but he forced himself to lift the drone and shove it into the bag. The techs had assured him that the material was designed to block everything from radio to a handful of electromagnetic radiations he’d never even heard of, ensuring the Protectorate couldn’t track their missing drone and throw a missile at it from a safe distance, yet it was impossible to be sure. Six months ago, alternate timelines had been nothing more than bad science-fiction, with evil goatee-wearing counterparts tormenting the main characters before being booted back to their own dimension. Now …

His lips twitched. Do I have a counterpart in their world? One with a goatee?

Callam shoved his empty rucksack to Corporal Hastings, then slung the body bag over his shoulders and stood. He’d expected the drone to be heavier, but it was only lightly more weighty than the dustbin lid it so resembled. He supposed it wasn’t really a surprise. The Marine Corps had been working hard to lighten everything for easier deployment, in hopes of ensuring a major force could get halfway around the world before some local tyrant decided to cause too much trouble, and the Protectorate clearly felt the same way. The rest of the team was already bugging out, as planned. It felt wrong – the Corps did not leave men behind – but there was no choice. The enemy might already be on the way.

He unhooked a grenade from his belt and held it at the ready as he walked away, then removed the pin and tossed it at the crash site. It was unlikely any investigators would believe the drone destroyed beyond all hope of recognition, not if they sifted through the crash site, but it was just possible any distant observers would think the drone had exploded. It might buy a few seconds more as they picked up speed, hurrying towards the extraction point. They didn’t dare risk bringing vehicles too close to the region, not when they’d make easy targets for enemy air power. They had to put some distance between themselves and the enemy before it was too late.

This is America, he thought, with a hot flash of anger. It isn’t right!

Corporal Hastings slowed as the sound of distant gunfire echoed through the air. Callam motioned for her to pick up the pace, even though the air was growing warmer by the second. They were too far from the diversionary attack to hear anything – he thought – but it was impossible to be sure of that too. The shooting could be anything from a local offensive to resistance insurgents or drug or people smugglers taking advantage of the chaos to ply their deadly trade. Or men who thought they were the last free Americans in the world. The army had stumbled across a half-hidden ranch of people who thought the Protectorate had overrun the entire country, if not the entire world. It had been surprisingly hard to convince them that the world had not ended. Not yet.

He cursed under his breath as he heard a distant whine, his ears twitching unpleasantly as he picked up speed.  The enemy might have been diverted or they might not … it didn’t matter. He forced himself to keep going, heading towards the extraction point as the rest of the team hurried elsewhere. They would probably be ignored, he told himself, as he felt sweat prickling down his back. Better they got clear before it was too late.

“Crap,” Corporal Hastings muttered.

Callam glanced back. Two more drones were gliding towards them, moving with terrifying speed. They could have blasted both Americans if they’d wanted … that meant the drones, or their controllers, wanted to take prisoners. Callam wasn’t reassured. The Protectorate was more civilised than many of America’s other foes, but no one had any doubt that any captives would be interrogated and they would be forced to talk. There was certainly no reason to think the Protectorate was be any different. They probably had some super-advanced lie detectors and truth drugs to ensure that whatever they were told was actually true.

He gritted his teeth. “Run!”

The whining grew louder as they ran, the drones getting alarmingly close. He had no idea what they had to capture prisoners – his imagination suggested everything from netting to phasers on stun – but they were running out of time. The noise was making his ears ache, reaching into his brain and making it hard to think … he nearly stumbled, his sense of balance suddenly twisting to the point he almost fell. His muscles jittered painfully, threatening to cramp … it was hard to keep going. He hadn’t felt so sore since his first weeks at Camp Pendleton. He’d thought himself in good shape and yet …

He heard a shout and threw himself to the ground as the RPG team fired, nearly at point-blank range. The RPGs were primitive compared to Javelins and other modern antitank missiles, but that wasn’t a disadvantage against an enemy capable of countering and neutralising most modern weapons. The warheads were touchy too, detonating near the drones even if they didn’t score direct hits. He turned his head just in time to see the drones crashing to the ground.

“Got them, Sarge,” Private Singh snapped.

“Set the charges, then get moving,” Callam ordered. He’d hoped the RPG team would be able to avoid contact and withdraw without being noticed, let alone engaged. They had taken a calculated risk in leading the drones to the team … he told himself, sharply, that they’d done what they had to in order to secure their prize. The drone they’d captured might prove the key to defeating the Protectorate. Might. “We don’t have much time.”

He glanced south, feeling cold despite the heat. Everything looked normal and yet, only a few miles away, American territory was in the iron grip of a crosstime invasion. Six months ago, it would have been unthinkable. The idea was absurd. He snorted as they set the charges and hurried off, leaving them to detonate. The idea of a military invasion of the United States had been inconceivable, after the Civil War.

But a great deal had changed since then.