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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.

Artifact Space by Miles Cameron

Mogsy’s Rating: 3.5 of 5 stars

Genre: Science Fiction

Series: Book 1 of Arcana Imperii

Publisher: Saga Press (January 27, 2026)

Length: 528 pages

Author Information: Website | Twitter

Artifact Space was a book I felt genuinely excited about checking out. I already have a couple Miles Cameron books under my belt, mostly epic fantasy, but given his range as a writer, a science fiction novel felt like a natural next step. I was curious to see how his style would translate to a space opera setting. That said, military sci-fi being outside of my favorite corner of the genre, I wasn’t too surprised when I ended up struggling a bit.

The story follows a young woman named Marca Nbaro, who, despite growing up in the harsh conditions of an orphanage, has dreamed for years of one day being able to travel to the stars. And at long last, after countless hours of training and preparation, she finally has the chance to join the crew of the Athens, one of the massive Greatships involved in interstellar trade across the galaxy. Unfortunately though, getting aboard isn’t exactly legal. Marca had to spend the last of her resources forging her papers, which means that even if she manages to pull off her long-awaited escape, she’ll be at constant risk of being exposed.

Marca’s efforts pay off, however, when she is allowed onboard and made midshipman. Throwing herself into learning the ropes, she also tries to earn her place among the crew by adjusting to the realities of life on a Greatship run by a ruthless mercantile government. The primary mission of the Athens is the transport of a rare and immensely valuable material called xenoglas, which forms the backbone of human and alien trade. Crew schedules are tightly structured, and any mistakes are judged harshly, which only heightens Marca’s fears of being discovered and cast out. But even as she struggles to prove herself while keeping her head down, the ship becomes involved in an increasingly complicated web of trade politics and risky encounters, pushing Marca well beyond simply trying to get by unnoticed. Apparently, her past isn’t as easy to outrun as she’d hoped.

In a way, Artifact Space almost reads like a slice-of-life book, focusing on everyday moments of Marca’s life aboard the Athens as we follow her through the training routine and developing relationships with the other crew members. That’s not to say the story isn’t plot-driven or devoid of drama and action, because there’s plenty of those. Rather, we just work towards them more gently and slowly. Indeed, a high-stakes conflict does eventually emerge from a series of escalating developments that hint at bigger things in the background.

But while this setup is impressive, I think it’s also what caused the book to drag for me. One quirk I noticed is that although the Athens is a trading vessel, life onboard resembles more like the navy. There’s a lot of complex military-like jargon, heavy emphasis on ranks and hierarchies, as well as the logistics of operations and transport. Cameron clearly wants the reader to view these dynamics as an ecosystem and to understand how they function. The same goes for the political side of the story involving trade alliances and power structures. Of course, none of this is inherently bad, but I confess it didn’t always hold my interest.  While I can appreciate this extreme level of detail, at times the minutiae can feel a little overwhelming and more methodical than I personally prefer.

My feelings are also mixed when it comes to Marca. As a protagonist, she’s clearly meant to be likeable, but emotionally, there was a distance. Character work was perhaps on the weaker side, as I often found it difficult to connect with her on a deeper level. For example, her reactions, especially when it came to attraction and romantic elements, didn’t feel fully developed or convincing. The camaraderie between the crew members added some warmth, but many of those relationships stayed fairly surface-level.

That said, the world-building is truly incredible. Just like in his fantasy and historical fiction, Cameron’s attention to detail pays off. The Greatships are a unique concept, giving off cool old-school-meets-futuristic-tech vibes. The setting feels well thought-out and lived in. Storytelling is consistent and shows plainly that it knows where it’s going and what kind of narrative it wants to be, even if it didn’t always line up with my own tastes.

In the end, Artifact Space is a solid start to a new series, but it doesn’t end on a cliffhanger and so also works perfectly well as a standalone. The scope of its wider world reminded me a little of The Expanse, while the more intimate, zoomed-in looks at daily life aboard the Athens even reminded me a little bit of The Wayfarers. Personally though, I do think experience or an appreciation for military sci-fi will help increase enjoyment. I didn’t love this, but I didn’t dislike it either, and I’m curious enough about where things are going that it’s likely I’ll be picking up the sequel.

A Sword of Bronze and Ashes, September 12, 2023, FLAME TREE PRESS (Cover illustration by Broci)

Welcome to more Dark Muse News. This post reviews Anna Smith Spark’s A Sword of Bronze and Ashes. It was released in September 2023 (Flame Tree Press, cover illustration by Broci) and is the first book of the series The Making of This World: Ruined. The sequel, A Sword of Gold and Ruin, was recently published in October, 2025.

Anna Smith Spark is known as the Queen of Grimdark, a moniker she acquired with her Empires of Dust series. You can expect the same poetic brutality here.  Her style and approach are very unique but are reminiscent of Tanith Lee. Literary wording may keep you distanced as a reader, but the raw emotion expressed throughout is so real that it makes the fantasy feel real, too.  We interviewed Anna Smith Spark in 2019 – Disgust and Desire as part of our Beauty in Weird Fiction series, where she revealed all sorts of muses and inspirations. That year, we hosted a Q&A Session at Gen Con; there, she, John O’Neill, and I showed off our footwear (link); Anna’s footwear won hands down!

Anyway, this post reviews the book, offers excerpts, and explains a few new blurbs we posit:

• A Sword of Bronze and Ashes could easily represent Hellblade 3: Family Edition!
• If Lewis Caroll’s Alice lived within Little House on the Prairie, infected by Silent Hill, you would experience A Sword of Bronze and Ashes!

A Sword of Bronze and Ashes, Cover Blurb:

A Sword of Bronze and Ashes combines the fierce beauty of Celtic myth with grimdark battle violence. It’s a lyrical, folk horror high fantasy.

Kanda has a good life until shadows from her past return threatening everything she loves. And Kanda, like any parent, has things in her past she does not want her children to know. Red war is coming: pursued by an ancient evil, Kanda must call upon all her strength to protect her family. But how can she keep her children safe, if they want to stand as warriors beside her when the light fades and darkness rises?

Introducing Ikandera Thygethyn (Kandra)

Kandra is the dominant protagonist. She is haunted by memories of her mythological past. At first, it seems she is an unreliable narrator, perhaps a mentally ill one, whom her family, and you as a reader, must trust simply because she is mom. The antagonizing forces do not just affect her, though, and the family embarks on a quest for sirvavil together. This is really fresh stuff.  How often have you read a book with these qualities:

1. Female protagonist… not a warrior like Jirel of Joiry or Marcel’s Black Widow, but a mother living in a remote homestead
2. She is aging… not in her young prime
3. Having an identity crisis… not a confident heroine, but one full of doubts and insecurities, fighting memories and dreams
4. Accompanied by her family (three young daughters and a passive, farmer husband)… not a sword-wielding buddy or party of four adventurers

Ghosts and Memories are Real

As surely as Kandra wrestles with aging and her identity evolving, she must endure watching her children become independent as they all confront supernatural horrors. Kandra is battling with self-talk and arguments with ghosts. She was once a warrior, but now she is an old mother. Check out Kandra’s description of herself in the Excerpts below. Strangely, I was reminded of Kate McKinnon’s performance on Saturday Night Live with her Gifts from Mom skit, where she plays the stereotypical apologetic, insecure mother. This book is far from comedy, but Kandra is definitely dealing with similar emotions.

Kandra, with her husband Dellet, has three daughters: the oldest is Sal, who is empathetic and quieter compared to the middle child, Calian. Calian is spunky and channels similar powers as her mom; her coming of age as a de facto apprentice sparks much parental grief. The youngest, Morna, offers an innocent perspective and vulnerability.

The mystery of what Kandra did/experienced before marrying Dellet is carefully revealed chapter by chapter. It is tough for her and her family to discern fantasy from reality. Some spell casting is traditional, but one particular mechanic really plays with your mind. As Kandra’s horrors and past threaten her family, she protects them by telling stories. Somehow, the act of storytelling literally creates a shieldwall against lingering nightmares. The implication is wildly fantastic: fiction protects people from supernatural horrors that are becoming real!

If Lewis Caroll’s Alice lived within Little House on the Prairie, infected by Silent Hill, you would experience A Sword of Bronze and Ashes!

 

Millieu

I am not a native of England or Wales, but as an outsider, the setting screams Celtic and Welsh vibes. Actually, with the potentially psychotic Ikandera Thygethyn in the lead, with disembodied voices and haunting memories stalking her across the Hall of Roven and the mountainous Mal Amwen, I was reminded of the video game series from Nija Theory, Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice and Saga. That game series features Senu, a Pict warrior, on a haunting journey to Vikingesque Helheim to save her lover’s sou known for highlighting mental health through auditory and visual hallucinations, brutal combat, and perception-based puzzles. Rumor has it that a third game is in the works, and there is no reason to think Anna Smith Spark is involved (thought that would be cool); however, A Sword of Bronze and Ashes could easily function as Hell Blade 3: Family Edition. Think of Senua going through the same horrors, facing similar sword battles, but with a family in tow!

A Sword of Bronze and Ashes could easily function as Hellblade 3: Family Edition!

 

Excerpts: Kandra Describes Herself:

“I wet myself when I laugh too hard, Geiamnyn, I have stretch marks from my armpits to my kneecaps, every other month my bleed is so heavy I should strap a cauldron between my legs. You forgot to mention those things. I’m sure my husband could tell you more about me, if you ask him, I sweat in my sleep so the blanket needs washing, I snore, I fart in my sleep, sometimes I piss and fart when I come.” – p103

Fighting with a Family in Tow

Kandra’s sword clashed against the faceless woman’s white blade. The woman too shrieked in joy. White fire crashed around them, the shock of it crashed through Kandra. So long. Too long. A vast shape rising before her, tall as the sky, all she could see. Arms of white fire, wings of white fire, a sword of fire, a crown of gold flames. She saw it with her eyes closed and burning. She tried to raise her sword, her arms were on fire, her sword was melting, glowing, the bronze glowed and dripped. She could hear the children screaming. through pain she lashed out, felt the blade meet and open long-dead bloodless flesh. “Dellet!” she screamed. “Dellet, get away. The children, Dellet!” -p23

Weird Conflict & Melee

Kandra came to meet the [a “hodden”, think scarecrow with a horse skull]. The broken sword was out, the sword met the stone hand with a stroke so mighty chips of stone flew up. It towered over her, the length of its wooden arms was twicethe twice the length of her sword blade. She spun back, hacked low at its legs. Her sword caught its left leg and sank into it, sending out a shower of rotten wood dust. It neighed, its teeth clacked. A flint hand came down heavily against the shoulder, pain blossomed, she twisted away drgggin the sword out. She tried not hear her family’s cries as they saw she was bleeding. She staggered, struck again. Harder! Harder! A shower of wood dust that made her choke. Splinters of rotten wood in her mouth. Now Kandra gagged and rethced. The hodden lumbered forward, smashed Kandra sideways. She grasped its arm, the wood crumbling under her hand, driving splinters into her skin… -p52

Sequel just arrived October 21, 2025: A Sword of Gold and Ruin Cover Blurb

The sequel to the masterpiece folk horror high fantasy A Sword of Bronze and Ashes, a lyrical blend of epic myth and daily life.

Kanda and her family are on a quest to rebuild the glory that was Roven. Mother and daughters stand together as a light against the darkness. But mother and daughters both have hands that are stained red with blood. They walk a path that is stranger and more beautiful than even Kanda dared imagine, bright with joy, bitter with grief. Ghosts and monsters dog their footsteps – but the greatest monsters lie in their hearts.

Anna Smith Spark

Anna Smith Spark is a critically acclaimed, multi-award short-listedgrimdark epic fantasy novelist. She writes lyrical prose-poetry about war, love, landscapes, and war. Her writing has been described as ‘a masterwork’ by Nightmarish Conjurings, ‘an experience like no other series in fantasy’ by Grimdark Magazine, ‘literary Game of Thrones’ by the Sunday Times, and ‘howls like early Moorcock, converses like the best of Le Guin’ by the Daily Mail. Her favourite authors are Mary Renault, R Scott Bakker and M. John Harrison

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 has taken lead roles organizing the Gen Con Writers’ Symposium (chairing it in 2023), is the lead moderator of the Goodreads Sword & Sorcery Group, and was 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 Amateur S&S Magazine, Swords & Sorcery online magazine, Rogues In the House Podcast’s A Book of Blades Vol I & II, DMR’s Terra Incognita, the 9th issue of Tales From the Magician’s Skull, Savage Realms Magazine, and Michael Stackpole’s S&S Chain Story 2 Project. 

 

 

I am very excited to announce the upcoming appearances House Andrews will be doing to celebrate the release of THIS KINGDOM WILL NOT KILL ME, the first book in the Maggie the Undying epic fantasy series.

Ilona and Gordon will be hitting the road to talk about the book, answer your questions, and sign copies, but most of all to meet all of you. BDH, assemble!

You can always find the up-to-date list on the Appearances page on the website and on the US publisher’s website.

A quick but important note before we get to the schedule: where these events require registering, please check the links and reserve your spot. House Andrews have only had a handful of in-person appearances since before the pandemic and the enthusiasm of the Horde is well documented. I don’t want you to be disappointed if you just show up on the night.

Each venue’s signing policy regarding how many books you may bring from home to get signed and books that must be purchased at the event will also be specified on the event links. These policies vary by location and are set by the venues themselves.

TUESDAY MARCH 31, 5 PM

Barnes & Noble Austin Arboretum
Arboretum, 10000 Research Blvd #158
Austin, TX 78759

Author event and signing on release day

Click here for event registration and info

WEDNESDAY APRIL 1, 7 PM

St. Mary’s Episcopal Church
1895 Laurel Avenue,
Saint Paul MN 55104

Author event and signing

Click here for event registration and info

THURSDAY APRIL 2, 7 PM

Joseph-Beth Lexington Green
161 Lexington Green Circle
Lexington KY 40503

Author event and signing

Click here for event RSVP and info

SATURDAY APRIL 4, 5 PM

Barnes & Noble White Marsh
The Avenue White Marsh, 8123 Honeygo Blvd Suite E, Baltimore, MD 21236

Chat with author and BFF Jeaniene Frost and signing

Click here for event information and here for registration. Number of seats extended by 50 at BDH request!

This is the current scheduled, but the Tor publicity team is a very hardworking hive of bees. We will let you know as soon as we’re allowed to share details of any other appearances or surprises.

And yes, international BDH, I hear you and I asked the same thing. Will there be any outside-US events, when are Ilona and Gordon coming to see any of us? While I can’t confirm anything officially at this time, I’ve heard rumours, there is hope!

In the meantime, we will also squeeze in a Zoom event or two that everyone can watch!

PS: Don’t forget about the release of BEAST BUSINESS tomorrow! There is no preorder period, the link will just go live during the day.

Augustine Montgomery’s novella, the new entry in the Hidden Legacy series, will also contain a brand-new Arabella Baylor POV and several beloved blog extras, for the first time in print!

The post This Kingdom Will Not Kill Me Tour & Events first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.

Other LitStack Spots Along with this book in our LitStack Spotlight, our interests have been…

The post Spotlight on “The Optimists” by Brian Platzer appeared first on LitStack.

The Conan novels of John Maddox Roberts (Tor Books, 1985-1995). Covers by Boris, Ken Kelly, and Julie Bell

The name John Maddox Roberts (1947 – ) first came to my attention as a writer of Conan sword & sorcery pastiches from Tor. He wrote eight, and when I talk to other REH fans Roberts’ name is almost always listed near the top of the Conan pastiche writers.

Of the pastiches that were published by Tor between 1982 and 2004, I’d have to agree, although I like the earlier pastiches by Andy Offutt and Karl Edward Wagner better.

Roberts’ pastiches were:

Conan the Valorous — 1985 (Boris or Les Edwards cover)
Conan the Champion — 1987 (Ken Kelly cover)
Conan the Marauder — 1988 (Ken Kelly cover)
Conan the Bold — 1989 (Ken Kelly cover)
Conan the Rogue — 1991 (Ken Kelly cover)
Conan and the Treasure of Python — 1993 (Julie Bell Cover)
Conan and the Manhunters — 1994 (Ken Kelly cover)
Conan and the Amazon — 1995 (Ken Kelly cover)

Some quick notes on the books. I’ve read all but The Champion, which I don’t own. There’s some confusion about the Conan the Valorous cover. My copy lists Boris as the artist inside but there’s no signature and it doesn’t look like Boris to me. Another source claims Les Edwards as the artist and I suspect that’s correct.

As for plots and details, Conan the Rogue is a retelling of A Fistful of Dollars, which was a retelling of Yojimbo, a Samuri movie by Akira Kurosawa. Overall, Roberts’ Conan is more controlled and less impetuous than REH’s Cimmerian at this early time in his career. However, Roberts catches the “barbaric” strain of the character better than any of the other TOR pastichers.

All the TOR Conans are a little too long, including these. That’s probably not the authors’ fault, since I imagine they had pretty specific word counts to hit. I think that sword and sorcery works best at novella length.

The Falcon series by John Maddox Roberts (Signet, 1982-1983)

Years before I read my first John Maddox Roberts Conan pastiche, I read a violent series about a crusader named Draco Falcon, written by an author named Mark Ramsay. This was certainly not Sword & Planet, nor even Sword & Sorcery. It was/is historical fiction in the tradition of Harold Lamb and Talbot Mundy, though with a bit more adult content. It featured a young knight named Draco Falcon who returns from a crusade to the Holy Land to seek vengeance on those who betrayed him there.

Mark Ramsay turned out to be a pseudonym for John Maddox Roberts. The four books in the series, all from Signet, are:

The Falcon Strikes, 1982
The Black Pope, 1982
The Bloody Cross, 1982
The King’s Treasure, 1983

I was unable to find any information about the cover artists. They look as if they could have all been done by the same person.

Signet certainly intended to continue the series. In the back of Book #4 is a teaser chapter for a Book #5, which was to be entitled Greek Fire. It never happened and I don’t know why. I wish it had. The series has the feel of authentic history (exaggerated, of course), and is quite brutal and full of battles. Draco himself is a Conan type figure, although less of a loner.

King of the Wood by John Maddox Roberts (Tor, April 1986). Cover by Kirk Reinert

I have several more of Roberts’ books in my collection and will probably get around to reading them one day. The only other one I’ve read is King of the Wood, which is an alternate history in which North America has been settled by Vikings, Mongols, and other old-world populations. I classify it as sword & sorcery and liked it pretty well.

Charles Gramlich administers The Swords & Planet League group on Facebook, where this post first appeared. His last article for us was a review of Frank Frazetta’s Death Dealer. See all of his recent posts for Black Gate here.

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 City in Glassby Nghi Vo
What is it about:A demon. An angel. A city that burns at the heart of the world.
The demon Vitrine—immortal, powerful, and capricious—loves the dazzling city of Azril. She has mothered, married, and maddened the city and its people for generations, and built it into a place of joy and desire, revelry and riot.
And then the angels come, and the city falls.
Vitrine is left with nothing but memories and a book containing the names of those she has lost—and an angel, now bound by her mad, grief-stricken curse to haunt the city he burned.
She mourns her dead and rages against the angel she longs to destroy. Made to be each other’s devastation, angel and demon are destined for eternal battle. Instead, they find themselves locked in a devouring fascination that will change them both forever.
Together, they unearth the past of the lost city and begin to shape its future. But when war threatens Azril and everything they have built, Vitrine and her angel must decide whether they will let the city fall again.
The City in Glass is both a brilliantly constructed history and an epic love story, of death and resurrection, memory and transformation, redemption and desire strong enough to burn a world to ashes and build it anew.
What did I think of it:I love the The Singing Hills Cycle books by Nghi Vo, so wanted to give something else by Vo a try.
And got my heart stepped on and broken in the most devastatingly beautiful way.
This book is so gorgeously written. The imagery, the stories, the doomed city, I fell in love with Azril even where I didn't have it in me to love Vitrine. With all her passion and love for the city, Vitrine was too selfish to be the heroine in this story even as both she and the angel are changed by their connection. Instead she's the catalyst, the heart of Azril for better or worse.
All in all this is both a wonderful story and one I will not easily pick up for a reread, although it will definitely get a spot on my keeper shelves.
Why should you read it:It's hauntingly beautiful.

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

How to Lose a Goblin in Ten Days by Jessie Sylva

Mogsy’s Rating: 2.5 of 5 stars

Genre: Fantasy, Romance

Series: Stand Alone

Publisher: Orbit (January 20, 2026)

Length: 384 pages

Author Information: Website | Twitter

How to Lose a Goblin in Ten Days by Jessie Sylva is very clearly designed to be a comfy popcorn type read, so I’ll keep that in mind while I review the book in order to give it a fair shake. Given the title, the riff on the movie How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days should also be obvious, with the story unapologetically borrowing from rom-com traditions like clashing personalities and forced proximity before the inevitable happy ending. And while this concept didn’t end up being a slam dunk, I can easily see it working better for readers in the right mood for something cozy, light, and deliberately low-stakes.

The story follows Pansy, a young halfling who inherits her late grandmother’s cottage and is quite eager to prove her independence to her parents by moving into it. When she gets there, however, she is dismayed to find the home already occupied by Ren, an exiled goblin who tells her that in fact they are the rightful owner of the land. Using the key to the property that her grandmother had passed down to her, Pansy refutes this claim, and thus the two arrive at an impasse. With no one willing to back down, they decide to stay at the cottage together while each trying to drive the other out, with the understanding that whoever gives up first relinquishes their claim.

From there, the book dives headfirst into the romantic comedy playbook, as Pansy and Ren both start coming up with schemes that steadily escalate. But living in such close quarters also forces them to confront their assumptions about one another, as well as the cultural differences that shape how they see the world. Despite herself, Pansy begins to sympathize with Ren’s reasons for being so attached to the cottage, and Ren eventually learns why Pansy is so determined to make it on her own. What started as a struggle between rivals gradually transforms into something far more tender and intimate, though it remains complicated by the very different worlds they come from.

Given its premise, the plot is intentionally familiar, and so is the setting. The world-building is charming enough, but also somewhat broad. Sylva relies heavily on readers’ knowledge of fantasy archetypes and tropes, trusting it to do most of the work for her, particularly when it comes to filling in the gaps around the lore, cultures, and appearances of various creatures. While this makes the world easy to settle into, it also means that world-building isn’t as rich as it could be, specifically lacking in depth and detail.

That said, this book is a cozy fantasy through and through, and it goes all in on those vibes. The tone has an almost Disney fairytale-esque simplicity to its conflicts and resolutions, bludgeoning you with its messages of acceptance, co-existence, and challenging prejudice. Heartfelt and sincere these messages may be, they can also at times feel trite and repetitive, to the point where it sometimes feels like reading a picture book that has been stretched far beyond its proper length and welcome.

Still, at the end of the day, this is not a story interested in moral gray areas so much as emotional reassurance. Pansy and Ren make for an endearing couple. Their dynamic may follow a painfully predictable trajectory, but it is also genuinely sweet. The relationship unfolds exactly as expected for this kind of story, which will likely be a selling point for readers looking for coziness rather than surprises. For me, this made the pacing feel slower than necessary, but I concede that it also suits the book’s quiet, gentle approach.

Ultimately, How to Lose a Goblin in 10 Days presents itself as a pleasant and cozy read that personally didn’t quite click with me, but I appreciated its romantic comedy inspirations and the confidence with which it carried out the premise. Recommended for readers with more interest in low-stake fantasy and cute, whimsical romance.

The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories and Other Stories (Pocket Books, June 1980). Cover by Don Maitz)

It’s still January, which means I haven’t yet abandoned my ambitious New Year’s Resolution to get caught up on my favorite blogs. I started with Rich Horton’s excellent Strange at Ecbatan, and this week I’ve been spending time at Dave Hook’s book blog A Deep Look by Dave Hook.

As the name implies, Dave spends his time on his reviews, with deep dives that usually include a lot of biographical information and entertaining anecdotes. His recent reviews include looks at David G. Hartwell & Kathryn Cramer’s groundbreaking 2002 anthology The Hard SF Renaissance, Alastair Reynolds’ 2021 collection Belladonna Nights and Other Stories, and a long-forgotten SF anthology from 1954, Sam Moskowitz’s Editor’s Choice in Science Fiction.

With all that (and much more) to choose from, the piece I started with was of course his review of Gene Wolfe’s first collection, one of the most famous science fiction collections of the 20th Century, The Island of Dr. Death and Other Stories and Other Stories (and no, that’s not a typo), first published by Pocket Books in June 1980.

The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories and Other Stories includes all three tales in Gene Wolfe’s Archipelago sequence, the Nebula-nominated title story and two ‘sequel’ novellas, unrelated (or are they?) except for the reordered natures of their titles.

“The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories” (Orbit 7, June 1970) – Nebula nominee
“The Death of Dr. Island” (Universe 3, October 1973) – novella, Nebula and Locus Award winner, Hugo nominee
“The Doctor of Death Island” (Immortal: Short Novels of the Transhuman Future, May 1978) – novella

It also includes three other novellas, including Nebula nominee “The Eyeflash Miracles,” and Hugo and Nebula-nominated “Seven American Nights.” Here’s the rest of the TOC.

“Alien Stones” (Orbit 11, October 1972)
“La Befana” (Galaxy, January-February 1973)
“The Hero As Werwolf” (The New Improved Sun, September 1975)
“Three Fingers” (New Constellations: An Anthology of Tomorrow’s Mythologies, November 1976)
“Feather Tigers” (Edge, Autumn/Winter 1973)
“Hour of Trust” (Bad Moon Rising, 1973)
“Tracking Song” (In the Wake of Man, August 1975) – novella
“The Toy Theater” (Orbit 9, October 1971)
“Cues” (The Far Side of Time, 1974)
“The Eyeflash Miracles” (Future Power, April 1976) – novella, Nebula nominee
“Seven American Nights” (Orbit 20, March 1978) – novella, Nebula and Hugo nominee

One of the things I appreciate about Dave is that, in keeping with his ‘deep dive’ philosophy, he researches what other notables have said about his selections. Here’s Rich Horton on “Tracking Song,” in a comment on a 2011 Jo Walton post at Tor.com on the 1976 Hugo Nominees.

And the best novella of the year, ignored either because it was in an Elwood anthology or because that anthology, regardless of editor, just wasn’t that much seen, was another utterly amazing story by Gene Wolfe: ‘Tracking Song.’ That would be my choice, at this remove, for the best novella of 1975.

And Gardner Dozois on “The Hero as Werwolf,” commenting on the same article.

In novelette, ‘The Borderland of Sol’ is a weak winner. The clear winner for me here is ‘The Hero as Werewolf,’ one of my favorite Wolfe stories; I liked it better than ‘Tracking Song,’ which I liked, but always got the uneasy feeling from that I didn’t really understand it (Michael Swanwick and I once sat down and spent about an hour trying to puzzle out what was really happening in ‘Tracking Song,’ and ultimately failed).

Ah, the enigmatic appeal of Gene Wolfe. It’s comforting that, at least at times, Gardner Dozois doesn’t have any more success than I at deciphering Wolfe’s fiction.

Dave includes his usual well-researched commentary, and eventually gets around to a few brief comments on the stories themselves. Here’s a taste.

When The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories and Other Stories was released in 1980, Gene Wolfe was a major, happening author for both novels and short fiction that a lot of people were paying attention to. It finished fourth in the Locus Best Single Author Collection Award for 1981. My overall average rating… is 3.76/5, or “Very good.” I loved reading several stories that were new to me, and enjoyed all but one. Recommended, with one caveat.

The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories, an Archipelago short story. I enjoyed this fantasy about a child whose life comes to interact with several characters from literature, perhaps inspired by The Island of Dr. Moreau by H. G. Wells. Great characters, love the writing. On latest reread, “Great” on reread, a lot of fantasy and rather meta fiction, perhaps, and substantial drug abuse. I love Wolfe’s afterword in The Best of Gene Wolfe: A Definitive Retrospective of His Finest Short Fiction, where he tells the story of Isaac Asimov mistakenly attempting to give him the Nebula Award for this story when he was a Nebula Award finalist for it. Rated 3.9/5, or “Great.”

“Alien Stones,“ a novelette. An interesting story of space and exploring an alien ship, with both ships giant, with crew way spread out, and with artificial intelligence. This story was new to me, and I am glad I read it. Rated 3.7/5, or “Very good.”

“The Death of Dr. Island,“ an Archipelago novella. A great story, inspired by a comment by John Jakes from when Asimov mistakenly announced Wolfe a Nebula Award award winner for “The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories.” Jakes said, “You know, Gene, if you’d just write ‘The Death of Doctor Island’ now, you’d win.” The protagonist is a therapy patient in the outer system who has been transported to a satellite where therapy will occur. He meets two other patients and Doctor Island, an AI. One of them dies to heal the other, and the protagonist is very changed. This is quite a story; I don’t see how I missed reading this before. Rated 3.9/5, or “Great.”

“Tracking Song,” a novella. A superb story of a person who has substantial amnesia in a post-human world, with cyborgs and many related human-like sapients and a few frozen robots. He goes on a journey, and discovers things. One hell of a story, definitely great early Wolfe. I was surprised that this story had no award nominations. Rich Horton suggested this was because of Roger Elwood as editor, and the Elwood anthology was not seen much (see above for quotes by Horton and Dozois). Gardner Dozois liked it also but not quite as much, and also mentioned not really understanding the story. I agree with Dozois that at the end I am not really sure I understand the story either, but I love it. Granted that it’s a 60 page (estimated) novella, but I am surprised this has only been reprinted in this Wolfe collection and in German and Croatian anthologies. Rated 4/5, or “Great.”

Read Dave’s complete review here, and check out his excellent blog A Deep Look by Dave Hook.

As you probably guessed by now, Beast Business has been pushed back to Friday. Arabella POV ran too long. Don’t laugh.

Today we bring you a companion to the free preview of This Kingdom.

Here it is again, if you missed it. It is a promo done by the US publisher and available everywhere the US edition reaches.

Amazon / BN / Bookshop / Google Play Books / Kobo

Nobody knows Kair Toren better than a stelka. Stelkas can’t talk, but if they could, they would tell you all sorts of secrets about what going on in the capital of Rellas.

This stelka is going to take us on a tour of Kair Toren as envisioned by Candice Slater.

The Mage Tower. Click to enlarge

The Mage Tower is ancient. It smells of magic, and if you get too close, your fur will start crackling. This is where mages of Kair Toren make their magic. Sometimes stupid birds fly into the flower petals at the top and the magic fries them. They are good eating.

The Garden of Soft Blossoms

The Garden is located in an ancient fort, with thick stone walls and towers. It sits on the edge of the city, just south of the North Wall and looks over one of the rivers. It smells delicious. There are a lot of humans there, mostly at night. Sometimes you can sneak to the back and raid the garbage in the back courtyard by the kitchen for yummy tidbits.

The Bad House

This is the bad house. It smells like human blood. The humans inside are mean and they will kill you if you come close. But it won’t stay the bad house for too long. This is where I’m going to live eventually. I will get to sleep on the human bed, and people will give me yummy meat.

The Map

Here, you can have this map. Click it to make it bigger. See, I can be kind to humans. I am not all teeth. Although my teeth are pretty amazing. Chomp.

This is your official spoiler thread for This Kingdom. Speak freely! Ask your questions here, in the comments. The humans said they might do a zoom later and even answer some.

The post This Kingdom Preview: Art, Maps, and Questions first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.

 

The first time I met death, it was in my first breaths - or rather, the first breaths I didn't take. I was born too small, too sickly, too quiet.

(page 3, Six Scorched Roses by Carissa Broadbent)

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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!

 

Book links: Amazon, Goodreads

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Raymond St. Elmo is a programmer of artificial intelligences and virtual realities, who has no time for literary fabrications of fictitious characters and world-building. And yes, that was meant to be ironic. 

A degree in Spanish Literature gave him a love of Magic Realism. Programming gave him a job. The job introduced him to artifical intelligence and virtual realities; as close to magic as reality is likely to get outside the covers of a book. And yes, that was meant to be cynical.

The author of several first-person comic-accounts of strange quests for mysterious manuscripts, mysterious girls in cloaks whose face appears SUDDENLY IN THE FLASH OF LIGHTNING. And yes, that was meant to be dramatic.

Publisher: Raymond St. Elmo (January 18, 2026) Page count: 181 pages Formats: ebook, paperback

I'm always looking to see what Raymond St. Elmo creates next. I dig his imagination and playful turn of phrase. Goth the Wanderer is, I think, his shortest book, and it’s pretty unique.

It has a strong Alice in Wonderland vibe. Except, Goth has a long knife, a battle pack, is hard-headed, bossy, brave, and likable. She sets off on a quest to recover her stolen shoe and quickly gathers companions, forming what becomes the Questers of the Shoe. Along the way she’s joined by a conversational wolf, a ghost girl, a candle that talks (mostly in exclamations), and a Very Large Mouse, who is absolutely not a rat. At some point even the shoe thief herself joins the party, which complicates things nicely.

Because it’s short and light on stakes, Goth the Wanderer reads quickly. As expected from the author, the ideas and imagery are vivid and odd, and the tone sits comfortably in cozy-adjacent territory. Don’t expect epic consequences or world-shaking revelations. Do expect wild imagination, whimsical writing, and the pleasure of watching a bossy eleven-year-old charge boldly into the unknown. The story maintains dreamlike wonder with just a hint of menace.

While it works as a standalone, expect nods to the previous Wanderer stories. Night Creep, for example, plays an important role here. The author’s own drawings appear throughout. They're simple, slightly rough, but they suit the book perfectly.

In short, Goth the Wanderer is imaginative, odd, and fun. A bold little quest with strange companions and unlikely places led by a girl who refuses to wait for permission.

Yah Yah Scholfield’s On Sundays She Picked Flowers marks her impressive debut. It is a novel about perseverance, generational abuse, race, and shapeshifting creatures. It is part horror, part southern gothic and has the surreal, magical feel of a fairy tale. It is an arresting, powerful debut, in other words.   In this sinister and…

The Fleet designed the new SC-Class ships with an impenetrable bridge. The most protected spot on the ship. Right in the center. 

So, when Lieutenant Balázs Jicha realizes the bridge of the Izlovchi now opens to space, he fights to remember what happened. And what to do next. 

 Jicha always follows his hunches. Now, he must rely on those hunches to help him save his ship. 

“Hunches,” part of my Diving Universe, is free on this website for one week only. The story is also available as an ebook on all the various sites. (Yes, someday, I’ll put it in a collection.) If you want to get updates on my Diving Universe, sign up for the newsletter here: http://eepurl.com/gqxk-D

Enjoy!

 

 Hunches  Kristine Kathryn Rusch 

 

Balázs Jicha stood in the wreckage of the bridge of the Izlovchi. The environmental suit he’d donned—too early, Lieutenant, Captain Treseter said when she saw him—was looser than he liked, making it feel as if his skin was sloughing off. His eyes ached from the smoke still swirling around the bridge—even though he hadn’t been in the smoke at all. 

He’d been the only bridge crew member in an environmental suit who had been close enough to a console so that he could hang on when something small and fiery burst into the bridge itself. 

That something small and fiery had carved a large opening through the hull and three levels between that hull and the bridge, opening the bridge to space. The whoosh of atmosphere leaving the bridge had been sudden and startling, partly because it wasn’t supposed to happen, not with the new SC-Class design. 

No part of the bridge was even near an exterior wall of the ship. The bridge was in the exact heart of the Izlovchi, and as such should’ve been untouchable. 

The ship didn’t even have a proper response to the attack on the bridge. The nanobits were supposed to repair critical systems first, so they prioritized the hull breach, which was huge, and one of the corridors that led to the medical wing. The nanobits didn’t even seem to be aware (if such things could be aware) that the bridge had been attacked. 

No, the bridge had been destroyed. 

He watched it happen in real time, gloved hands gripping the console, the small fiery thing still glowing, as if it was waiting for the oxygen to return. The small fiery thing seemed to be gloating, its redness pulsing, taunting him. 

He had watched it zoom inside, then burrow into the floor, not too far from his boots. The boots that had their gravity turned on, so that he wouldn’t get pulled out of the bridge with the atmosphere, like so many others had. 

But he had risked getting hit by that small fiery thing, and somehow, it had missed him. 

When it settled, and the destruction was over, and it seemed like no more small fiery things were going to follow this one, he found himself on the other side of his console, as far as he could get from the demolished section of the floor. 

The bridge looked nothing like it had an hour before. Consoles and equipment gone, edges of that gigantic opening crisped, a few crew members wrapped around console bases, but not wearing environmental suits. 

And without the suits, they hadn’t had a chance. 

He thought others had put on the suits, but there were holes in his memory, and right now, he was the only one moving. 

The oxygen hadn’t returned yet, but the gravity had, which meant the full environmental system would kick in soon, and he would have to do something about that weapon, but he didn’t know what. 

He had a hunch—and he wasn’t sure why he had that hunch (maybe he was just being paranoid)—that the small fiery weapon thing wanted him to use fire prevention equipment on it. His hunch told him any conventional fire prevention solution would make the problem worse. 

And he had no idea why he had that hunch, what he had seen or heard or deduced from all the materials he’d been studying for his first contact with the culture that refused to identify itself on Luluenema, the planet they’d been planning to orbit when—this—hit them. 

He wasn’t thinking clearly. Or rather, as clearly as he should have been. Somehow—somewhen—he had let go of the console. He didn’t remember doing it. Just remembered clinging as the escaping atmosphere tried to pull him with it into space. 

The captain was gone, along with the first officer and—god, half the bridge crew. Three other bridge crew had been obliterated when the small fiery thing had busted its way inside. They’d been standing in its path, and they hadn’t burst into flame as much as burst into a reddish glow, and then evaporated. 

He had seen it all, almost in slow motion. 

Grabbing the environmental suit—that was his last real memory. 

The captain had said— 

*** 

“Hull breach, Cargo Bay One.” Captain Treseter sounded surprised. She was looking at a floating holoscreen as she stood in the exact center of the bridge, what she called the “well” of the bridge, because it was lower than any other point on the bridge. 

This bridge was a bowl, and she used it, often setting up screens in a circle around her, making her seem like she was shielded from her bridge crew. 

“I thought the shields were up,” First Officer Aydin said as her fingers moved on her screen. She was clearly checking the shields. 

“They are,” Jicha said. He’d checked when he arrived on the bridge. Maintaining basic shields was one of his duties as the lowest ranking officer on the bridge. 

“Toggle them to full strength,” the captain said, most likely to him. And because it was most likely, he opened the shield information on his console, only to see that someone else had already maximized the shields, probably First Officer Aydin. 

That didn’t make him feel safer. The shields had been strong enough that no conventional weapon would have gotten through them. 

“Who is firing on us?” The current navigator on duty, Gunna Ota, was leaning forward. She was only a yard or so from Captain Treseter and could probably see the floating screens. “We hadn’t picked up any ships nearby.” 

“I’m getting flashes of things,” said Lieutenant Srigly. “I would say that I’m seeing fireflies, but that’s not possible. We’re not planetbound.” 

Jicha knew what fireflies were, although he doubted that the others did. Jicha’s father had been a land-based engineer with Sector Base J-2, and Jicha spent a lot of time outside. They’d lived near a swamp, which had all kinds of insects, including something the locals called fireflies, because their tiny bellies would glow at twilight. 

That comment sent a shiver through him. No one else on the bridge seemed nervous. 

“Captain,” he said, “if these weapons can penetrate the hull even with the shields—” 

“The hole in Cargo Bay One is already repaired, Lieutenant,” Treseter said. Her tone was condescending. His cheeks heated. She had been babying him since he had been posted on the Izlovchi. 

His previous assignment had been on a much smaller ship, and he’d been a lowly ensign then. His work with other cultures, and his skills with languages, had gotten him promoted to Lieutenant Junior Grade, and with that promotion had come this assignment—an SC-Class vessel that needed someone unafraid of first-contact situations, particularly when the SC-Class vessel was clearing the way for a DV-Class convoy exploring planets for possible sector bases. 

He was good at first contact because he read body language. He understood subtleties. He knew how humans reacted to other humans, even if they weren’t from the same culture. 

But he was bad at interactions with others on the ships he’d served on because he had no idea how to translate those hunches into something Fleet officers saw as actionable. 

Fleet officers wanted logic and rules and A-to-B-to-C reasoning that would make everyone else see the same possibilities. He still hadn’t learned how to do that. 

His previous captain had tried to explain that aspect of Jicha to Treseter, and she had claimed she understood, but in the three months Jicha had been on board, he had learned that she hadn’t. 

We don’t need that vague stuff, Lieutenant, she would say to him, and that tone, the one she most often used to shut him down, was the one she had just used about Cargo Bay One. 

“I’m sorry, Captain,” he said, “but something is off.” 

First Officer Aydin shot him a warning look. She professed to understand his hunches, and even promised to train him how to communicate them better, but so far, she had lacked the time. 

“I agree,” Lieutenant Srigly said. “Those flashes of light have me worried. The sensors aren’t picking up anything, but the way the lights appear make it seem to me like we’re surrounded.” 

“I don’t like that word ‘seem,’” Captain Treseter said. “I’d prefer something more concrete.” 

Jicha blinked, frowned. His own memories felt like flashes of light sometimes, particularly when he was putting pieces together. 

“I found something in my research about the space around Luluenema,” he said. “Something about ships getting swarmed by light.” 

“Are we being swarmed, Lieutenant Srigly?” Captain Treseter asked, with just a touch of mockery in her tone. 

“If those lights were actual bugs, then I’d say yes, Captain,” Lieutenant Srigly said. 

The captain nodded, clearly surprised by that response. “The swarms, Lieutenant Jicha. Were they harmful?” 

“The ships reporting them got destroyed, Captain,” Jicha said. That much he did remember. He wasn’t going to tell her, though, that the information he’d been working off of was centuries old. 

“All right,” Captain Treseter said. “Then we need to take all the precautions we can. See what you can find in the records, Lieutenant Jicha. Anything that will give us a clue as to what we’re facing.” 

“Yes, sir,” he said, and then turned. The supplies closet was just behind his station. He pulled the nearest environmental suit out, one that looked like it would fit him. 

She had said all precautions. Or had he misunderstood? No one else was grabbing environmental suits. 

“Too early, Lieutenant,” Captain Treseter said. “But put it on anyway. We all will need to suit up, since we’ve already had a hull breach. Aydin, send an announcement through the ship. Suiting up—” 

*** 

—and then his memory skipped and broke. Somehow he was in the environmental suit, and two others who had been coming for their suits had turned into red glowing bits of themselves, and he imagined he could smell burning flesh and smoke, even though there was no oxygen, not anymore, not even when the small fiery thing hit, and he was clinging to the console, the hole punched through three layers of the ship and the hull letting space gleam beyond. 

He saw fireflies, he was sure of it, out there in the bluish-blackness of space. Little twinkling lights, almost like they were mocking him, mocking all of them, and in his head, one of those lights had become the small fiery thing that burned its way through the ship. 

The small fiery thing was still glowing, and one of the other members of the bridge crew—he couldn’t tell who, one of five who had grabbed environmental suits after he had (he remembered that now; how come he couldn’t remember more?), was reaching for fire suppression equipment. 

Jicha shook his head, then waved a hand, holding them off. Instead, he leaned against the nearest console, surprisingly dizzy, even though his suit registered perfect oxygen levels and the gravity on his boots kept him stabilized, long before the actual gravity had returned. 

He tried to ignore the weird sensations—the smoke, the burning flesh, the aching eyes, his sore knees from too much gravity (God, he felt like he weighed three times his usual weight)—and concentrate. He called up a control panel, saw the environmental system blinking as it slowly rebooted, one piece at a time, and slid his gloved forefinger across the screen, finding a containment unit. 

He nearly pulled his finger away. It took all of his strength to keep his finger there, but he managed. And then he guided the containment unit to the small fiery thing, which was just a small glowing thing, and it looked harmless until he contained it, and then he saw all kinds of bits—mechanical bits—he hadn’t seen before. 

It was giving off energy that the containment unit had under control, at least for the moment. 

His headache eased—and he hadn’t even realized that he had a headache until it went away. The smell of burning flesh was gone, not even leaving an after-smell in his nose—but his eyes still ached, and his cheeks were wet, and he was shaking, but the dizziness was gone. 

Two other members of the bridge crew pushed themselves upwards, their environmental suits gray with some kind of dust or damaged nanobits or something. Both crew members looked at him, but he couldn’t see their faces. He imagined they were surprised. 

Or maybe their headaches had eased too. Maybe without the energy coming off the small fiery thing, the crew members could move around. 

He needed to get the small fiery thing off the bridge, and off the ship. He wasn’t sure how to do that. He wasn’t sure how to do anything. 

He looked over at the hole in the bridge again, and finally, what he saw registered. He could see all the way through the ship to bluish-blackness of space beyond. Little floating lights, those firefly lights, still winked. 

He blinked, trying to make the image go away—and it wouldn’t. Those lights—he could see the lights. 

He could see outside the ship. 

He looked at the control panel, forcing himself to concentrate. Concentrating was easier than it had been. 

The shields were still up around most of the ship, but not on this side, where the hole was. They were gone near Cargo Bay One too. 

But worse, the nanobits weren’t repairing the second hole in the hull. They also left the hole in Cargo Bay One only half repaired. 

The nanobits had stopped doing their job. 

He’d never heard of that. 

But even without them, the environmental systems were restoring themselves, which meant that something had contained the area around the bridge. 

He called up information about the bridge itself, saw that a containment field had dropped around the bridge about the point the gravity reasserted itself. The containment field was a secondary system, one designed to activate when the shields no longer worked. 

So, the shields weren’t working on this side of the ship, and neither were the nanobits. 

He leaned on the console, his chest aching, almost as if he wasn’t getting air. He made himself concentrate on breathing. The air inside his suit tasted of metal and sweat—probably his own sweat. Flop sweat, from being terrified. 

First things first, he had to get the small fiery thing off the bridge, but he wasn’t sure how to do it. 

Then he blinked, thought, realized his priorities were wrong. 

The Izlovchi was badly damaged. She was a lead ship, and three other ships would arrive soon, helping prepare the way for the convoy which was going to arrive a day or two from now. 

He couldn’t remember the details. The details hadn’t been about him. The first contact had, and he had gotten lost in that. The meeting, it was scheduled for ten hours from now, and on Luluenema’s moon, not even on the planet itself. 

Which was important. He needed to focus, not sure why that was important. Someone had said—he had said they clearly didn’t want the strangers anywhere near Luluenema, and he wasn’t sure why that was, he had planned on figuring that out, he wasn’t sure how he could figure that out, and— 

He yanked his busy mind back to the moment at hand. 

The incoming Fleet vessels. He needed to send them a message first. 

Beware the firefly lights? Something like that, only expressed in a better way. 

He looked at the console again. No distress signal had gone out. All Fleet vessels were built with automated distress signals. When a hull breached, and the bridge hadn’t responded within five minutes, a distress signal went to the nearest ships, and that hadn’t happened here. 

He couldn’t investigate that part, not yet. He needed to send a message first. 

He sent the distress signal, and opened the automated controls. They had been shut down at the moment of the original hull breach, the one in Cargo Bay One. 

Which meant that something had invaded the Izlovchi’s systems. He felt awkward suddenly, wishing he hadn’t even activated the distress signal. Then he reminded himself: the other ships would see the signal, not bring it into their systems. 

But sending them a message—that was more complicated. He didn’t want to open any straight line of communication to the other ships, because he was afraid that whatever had invaded the Izlovchi’s systems might travel through some communications links. 

He clutched the console and made himself breathe. He couldn’t get whatever it was out of the system—he didn’t have that kind of skill. His engineering abilities were miniscule, barely good enough to put him on the officer track. 

But…engineering. He opened a different section of the console, got different readings, saw that the engineering department was untouched. As was the medical bay, and so many other sections of the ship. 

Untouched meant that they would be able to solve problems. 

He wasn’t on his own. 

He opened a communications link to Engineering. He identified himself, and then—the link cut out. 

He re-established it, saw that they were trying to respond, but seemingly unable to. 

Which meant they knew the problems existed; they just didn’t know what the problems were. 

Communicating with them, though, wasn’t going to be dangerous. Not to them, not to him. 

He just had to figure out how. 

He glanced at that hole again, space glinting out there—or maybe the fireflies, the light. Surely Engineering would notice that the nanobits weren’t functioning right. 

But no one had come to the bridge yet. No one had come to see if anyone was alive here, or injured or in need of rescue. 

Did they think everyone was dead? 

He opened yet another screen on his console, saw the environmental system still trying to reboot, and nothing else. He couldn’t see any locations of crew personnel. That system was never supposed to fail, and it had. 

Or maybe the Izlovchi was going through cascading failures. 

He let out a breath, rubbed a hand over his face, then winced. It felt weird to rub a gloved hand over his hooded helmet, and it made him realize how deeply embedded that nervous gesture was. 

A few of the other crew members, all in environmental suits, had wobbled to their feet. 

“Can you hear me?” he asked. 

One of them nodded. The other two didn’t move. The one who nodded reached up and touched the side of their hood, indicating that the others should turn on their comm systems. 

Hands went up, moved, then down again, and he repeated, “Can you hear me?” 

“Yes.” 

He didn’t recognize the voice, but that didn’t mean anything. He hadn’t yet worked with everyone on the bridge crew—or at least enough to feel comfortable guessing who was who. 

“I don’t think shipwide comms are working,” he said. “We need a medical team, and someone has to go to engineering.” 

He explained his belief that something was in the system, something that was overriding the systems, preventing the nanobits from recreating the hull, preventing communications internally, and maybe infecting other systems. 

He told the three crew members his fear of communicating with other ships, worry that they would get infected too. 

“I have a personal communication device,” said the only other person who had been speaking to him. He wished he knew who they were. He couldn’t tell from their voice. It could be anyone with a mid-range voice, and no local accent at all. “I can send a message to the Yoi.” 

The Yoi was a family ship. It traveled with the Fleet. 

Jicha almost told them not to contact the Yoi. It didn’t dare get infected. But if it did, it was with the bulk of the Fleet, and someone—somewhere—would be able to stop whatever destruction got started. 

Besides, the systems being attacked were shipwide, not human systems. 

And then he remembered the headache, that ghostly smell of smoke and burned wires, and he wondered. 

It was either contact the Yoi through a personal device, one that, in theory, had been encased in an environmental suit just like the four of them had, or endanger other ships. 

“Do it,” Jicha said. 

Then he pointed at the person standing to the right. “You, go down to Engineering. Let them know we’re alive up here. Tell them what’s going on, and don’t let them contact anyone using the Izlovchi’s systems. And you—” He pointed at the third person. “Get to the medical bay. Have them send someone here.” 

“What will you do?” the third person asked. His voice was deeper, almost rumbly. 

Jicha knew his name, but couldn’t access it. Maybe he was wrong; maybe something had infected the humans too. 

“I’m getting this thing off our ship,” he said, sweeping his hand down toward the container. “If it’s the last thing I do.” 

*** 

They didn’t argue with him. No one did. 

Instead, they followed his orders, as if he outranked them, which he probably did not. Two of the three left the bridge right away, and the third stood stock still for the longest time, most likely communicating on that personal communications device. 

Jicha didn’t have time for communications or anything else. He had waited too long. That was a hunch, a feeling of impending doom. If he didn’t take care of that container, that something small and fiery, then the entire ship was going to be destroyed. 

The headache was back, behind his eyes, and into his nose. His sinuses? He wasn’t sure. He ran a diagnostic on the environmental suit, and the suit cleared itself. 

He didn’t trust the clearing. He didn’t trust anything, except maybe himself. And he barely trusted himself. 

He felt fuzzy. 

He peered at the container, the small fiery thing no longer glowing inside. The container’s walls didn’t look as clear as they had before. Were they occluded? Scratched? Scarring up? Was there moisture inside making the walls cloudy? 

He couldn’t tell. 

But he had to get the thing out of the ship. 

He hadn’t turned off the gravity in his boots. He wasn’t going to. He was going to take the thing off the bridge, away from that small protective barrier, and into the hole that the thing had made. 

He was going to carry the small fiery thing. He couldn’t think of any other way to transport it—especially if it infected systems. 

He had to figure that his system was already infected, so he would assume the least amount of risk carrying it out. 

And if the environmental suit failed, oh, well. He’d had a good life. He hadn’t become the captain of any ship, let alone a DV-Class vessel, which had been his dream, but he had done his best. He had known good people, and had had solid relationships. 

He was proud of himself for getting as far as he had. He hadn’t found a mate yet, wasn’t sure he ever would, and didn’t have children, also wasn’t sure he wanted those either. He’d missed a lot of chances. He would miss even more, if he didn’t come through this. 

He didn’t expect to survive it. 

But he had to hope to survive. He understood how very important attitude was. 

He pivoted, which was hard with the double-gravity, and opened the closet behind him. The environmental suits hung in a straight line, taunting him. They should have been on the captain, on the first officer, on the rest of the bridge crew, not stored in some closet. If that had happened, the others would have survived, even though they’d been sucked out of the ship. 

But they hadn’t. 

He blinked, his eyes still burning. He reached into the closet and removed one of the protective jackets that the anacapa specialists sometimes wore. He had never worn one. When he’d had his anacapa drive training, he’d had to go without—all trainees did, to see if they could handle the massive amount of energy spewing from the drives. 

And then his brain cleared for just a moment. He hadn’t checked the anacapa drive. He hadn’t opened the container to see if the drive was safe. 

Which—some small voice in his brain reminded him—was not procedure. He didn’t dare do that. The anacapa drive was the most protected part of any Fleet ship, and he didn’t dare expose that drive to whatever was going on. 

He could handle anacapa drives—he wouldn’t be on the officer track if he couldn’t—but he didn’t know much about them. Engineering would be here soon; they could deal with the drives. 

He had to get the container off the ship. 

Dizziness swept over him, and that moment of clarity fled. He was definitely feeling the effects of something. He couldn’t remember what he had been doing. 

He looked at the closet, saw the suits, remembered, grabbed the protective jacket and put it on. It was snug over the loose environmental suit, making the environmental suit’s sleeves bunch just a bit. It almost felt like he had installed two bands across his arms. 

He adjusted the environmental suit as best he could, sealed the jacket, and pressed the release on the wrists so that his hands were encased in matching protective gloves. Maybe he should have raised the jacket’s hood, but that meant he would be wearing two environmental hoods, which would definitely have an impact on his vision, on him. 

He couldn’t do that. 

He pivoted again, thought for a moment about shutting off the gravity in his boots, decided against it, then thought about shutting off the gravity in the environmental system. He almost did that, and then remembered: there were a couple of people down who were wearing environmental suits. He didn’t want to lose them when he struck down that container field protecting that hole into the bridge. 

He swallowed. His mouth tasted faintly of metal, and he wasn’t sure why that was. Maybe the oxygen in his suit was compromised. Maybe he was. He wasn’t sure. 

He just needed to get the damn thing off the ship. 

He took two heavy steps toward the container. And he was right: the walls of the container looked brittle and white and scratched, as if something was trying to get out. 

Maybe he had less time than he thought. Maybe he should envelop it in another container. Maybe— 

Maybe he should make a decision. 

And before he even finished with that irritated thought, he bent at the waist and wrapped his arms around the container. 

He expected to feel a vibration through his entire body, so hard and powerful that it would make his teeth ache. That was what had happened when he had picked up his first anacapa drive. 

Instead, his headache got a bit worse. His eyes ached even more, and that smell of scorched and burnt wires grew stronger. The container felt warm against his body—and that was through the protective jacket and his environmental suit, which was built to withstand space itself. 

The hole the thing had made in the floor was deeper than he expected, and it looked hot on the edges, glowing red just like the thing had before he had contained it. 

He staggered toward the big gaping hole, toward the openness of space, one part of his brain telling him to shut off the gravity in his boots, another part warning about the environmental system, and still a third part reminding him that he could go through the barrier with his suit and jacket on—that they were designed to work with the frequency of the barrier so that he could slip through if need be. 

He concentrated on that thought. It seemed like the logical thought, or maybe it was a hunch breaking through, or maybe he knew something that he didn’t consciously know (which was a hunch anyway, wasn’t it?). He saw movement out of the corner of his eye—someone on the ground, waving a hand, and he felt a stab of fear. 

If he broke the barrier and it stayed broken, they would get sucked into space. 

If he let this small fiery thing remain on the bridge where it had been slowly breaking its way out of the container, then that person might die anyway. 

Probably would die anyway. 

And didn’t he remember that the way the suit/jacket worked was that he would slip through the barrier—the barrier wouldn’t dissipate at all? 

He hoped his memory was right, because if it wasn’t, he was dooming everyone. 

He finally reached the first hole. Beyond it, he saw hole after hole, each one getting bigger, until the biggest wasn’t really a hole at all, but an opening into space. That entire section of the hull was just gone, and what had once been ordered and neat corridors and rooms and decks were masses of broken walls and floors and furniture mixed with personal possessions floating and spindly cords and stems of consoles and bits of chairs hanging off barely intact parts of the ship. 

His body was getting warm, and sweat poured down his arms. His legs ached from trying to walk with extra gravity on in his boots. 

The first hole led to a scattered bit of corridor—he recognized that—and thick walls that were now open to space, through the second hole. 

It would be a relief to go through that first hole, to have only the gravity in his boots hold him in place. Or so he was telling himself, because he needed something to make himself go through it. 

Otherwise his brain would stop him, make him hope that the engineers would get here and find whatever it was that was causing the small fiery thing to make him so very hot. The inside of his arms were too warm now. The sweat had pooled under his chin. He was hot and tired, and he just wanted to stop. 

God. He couldn’t even trust his own brain. 

He stepped through that barrier, one foot and then the other. His boots clamped down on what remained of a room—a room he couldn’t quite identify—and there he stood, on the other side of that barrier, feeling lighter. 

Much lighter. 

If he shut off the gravity in his boots, he would float away, with this thing cradled in his arm. 

The chill of space should have had some kind of effect on the exterior of his suit—that burning he felt, it should have eased, right? But it didn’t. 

He swallowed, the sweat making him feel soggy, and peered at the destruction before him. 

It looked worse now that he was actually in it. Ripped bits of walls hung loosely beside his face, cords belonging to something floated upwards. A pair of pants hung beside him, buoyed by the lack of gravity, but unable to move unless he shoved the pants away. 

The floor he stood on wasn’t that sturdy. It had gaping holes as well, but there was always something he could use to cross those holes—a bit of wall or a column that looked solid enough. 

He climbed across the debris, his legs feeling ever so much better, but the burning across his torso growing worse. 

Clearly whatever was causing that fiery feeling hadn’t broken through his environmental suit, or he would know it—he would be getting cold, not hot—or maybe the container he had put around the small and fiery thing was actually protecting him too. 

He didn’t give that too much thought, because if he thought about the how of what he was doing, he wouldn’t keep doing it. It all seemed too impossible, terrifying, and hopeless. 

Maybe he should just shut off the gravity in his boots, grab something solid, and push himself forward so that he reached the edge of the ship quicker. 

But if he did that, and couldn’t control what direction he was going in, then he wouldn’t be able to clamp onto anything. The hole was bigger at the opening—the size, he could see now, of a small ship. 

That hole in the hull looked bigger than it had earlier. It should have gotten smaller as the nanobits repaired the opening, but it actually looked like the opposite was happening—that the nanobits, or something like them, was slowly eating away at the edge of the ship. 

He wondered if that was happening at Cargo Bay One, if the engineers and the others still in the environmentally sound parts of the ship had figured out how to fight this thing, or what it all was. 

He couldn’t. He just knew he had to get rid of the cause. 

He thought he saw more flickers in the bluish-blackness of the space ahead. Fireflies. Watching? Gloating? Getting ready to attack again? 

He didn’t know. And he wasn’t certain if what he saw was what Lieutenant Srigly had seen. Srigly. Had he come for a suit? Was he still alive? 

Jicha couldn’t remember seeing him coming for a suit, but Jicha couldn’t remember much. His brain was busy with this, with stepping around the broken pieces of floor. 

Maybe he should just drop the container now. His hands were beginning to burn through the gloves. It would be so easy to let go. 

But he didn’t, and if he dropped the container now, it would go through layers of ship material. 

He shook his head. That wasn’t so. The container wasn’t heavy, not here. He was no longer in any kind of gravity. 

And yet…he couldn’t let go. What if he shoved the container away from himself, and the push made it veer slightly off course? What if it caught in the broken bits of the ship, and did something like heat its way through or infect more of the ship or kill more people? 

He couldn’t do that. 

He had to get this damn thing off the ship. Far from the ship. If only he had actual gravity. If only he could fling the stupid thing and guarantee that it would fall away from the ship. 

He would need another container, and he didn’t have that. He had no way to get that. 

He could use his own body, and his boots, launch himself off the edge of the ship, still clutching the container, but that seemed wrong somehow, and not just because he would most likely die in that scenario, but also because it wouldn’t work. 

He didn’t know why he believed it wouldn’t work, but he did. 

He picked his way to the edge of an opening, saw paths and conduits from several decks below, all open to space. The opening was too wide for him to step across, but he was close enough to one of the walls (or what looked like a wall; maybe it had been a pocket door) to touch. 

He lifted his right boot and placed it on the wall, then lifted his left and did the same. He walked across the side, focusing on the gigantic opening into space that he was heading toward, knowing he would make it. 

He could follow this wall to get most of the way there. It wasn’t direct—he had initially been picking his way through the very center of the damage, and now he was at the side of it—but it would do. 

As he walked, his perspective shifted, and it seemed like the wall was a floor. He loved that about being in space. He loved the lack of gravity, the lack of up and down. He loved so much about being here. 

Space was what his life was about. Exploring it. Studying it. Seeing the outer reaches of it. 

He had done that, and if he died— 

He forced the thought away. He was not going to die today. He wasn’t going to let himself die, no matter what happened. 

He reached the edge of the wall-floor. It broke away evenly, not raggedly like so much of the rest of this damage. He was right; something was chewing away at the ship—or had gotten the nanobits to chew away at the ship. 

But he didn’t know enough about nanobits to know if they did that, chewed away, worked in reverse, or whatever, and he didn’t want to think about it. 

His chest seemed to have attached itself to his spine now, and he felt like he was melting. The insides of his boots were wet, his feet damp, his skin everywhere a big puddle of sweat. 

He was tired—almost too tired to keep going—but that couldn’t be true. Adrenalin should have kept him moving. 

Unless he was in shock. 

He didn’t feel like he was in shock. But wasn’t that part of being in shock—you felt just fine. Only he didn’t. He wasn’t. He was burning up, in the coldest part of the universe, and his brain wasn’t working the way he wanted it to. 

Ahead, the flickers of lights—the fireflies—seemed farther away. Maybe he was just seeing the reflection of the shields through his hood. 

Then he remembered: the shield wasn’t working here. 

Nothing was, except him. 

He picked his way up toward what would have been the ceiling had he been on the bridge. Right now, it looked like another wall, and it was solid. It didn’t have a ragged or an even edge. It looked like it was intact. 

He got to the edge and stood there for a moment, rooted by his boots, and not feeling as vulnerable as he usually did when he was outside the ship by himself. Maybe because those holes leading back into the ship gave him a sense of safety, even when he wasn’t safe at all. 

The fireflies almost looked like distant stars. Except they were winking, as if he was seeing them through atmosphere, and they were evenly spaced around the ship. Beyond them, he could see a white-and-blue planet, and farther, an actual star—a diamond-sized pinpoint of light. A bit of white spread below him, almost like a wisp of a cloud, even though it wasn’t a cloud, but probably an asteroid belt, and just beyond that, more planets—browner, redder, bluer—depending on how he looked at them. 

Not a bad view for a man to have before he died. 

He smiled then. This was what made him lucky—that he had gotten to see things like this and he had gotten to live landbound and he had gotten to make a choice. 

He was making a choice now, to stand here— 

And crap, he had forgotten what he was trying to do. Either something had hurt him earlier or this thing was having an impact on his mind. Or something else, something more. 

Concentrating was hard. Remembering why he was here was hard. Because he did feel an odd euphoria…that was probably a reaction to all the pain in his torso, arms and hands. 

If he stood here much longer, he wouldn’t be able to shove the container away from himself. He would probably remain rooted to this spot, dead, until the wall dissipated or someone found him. 

He made himself take a deep breath, straightened his back and looked beyond the fireflies. 

That movement didn’t feel like his own, though. His breath sucked in—a hunch, maybe his last one. 

The damn fireflies. 

He slid his hands along the sides of the container and pressed his palms against it. Then he mustered all the strength that he had, and visualized what he was about to do—something his father had taught him long ago. 

His muscles bunched (burning), his jaw clenched (aching), and he raised the container to chest level. 

Then he shoved it away from himself as hard as he could, sending it tumbling toward the fireflies. 

He had expected them to continue in their circular pattern, but they didn’t. The container tumbled into them, and they scattered as if the container had hurt them. 

Then they reassembled away from it. They formed a long flat rectangular plane, and then zoomed away, curling upwards from his position as they did so, as if fleeing the container. 

It continued to tumble, getting smaller and less visible with each passing second. 

It was only at the very last minute that he realized it had become completely white, and maybe even brittle. When it hit something—if it ever did—it might shatter with a single soft touch. 

He shuddered. 

He hurt, everywhere. 

He looked down at his environmental suit, saw the outlines of the container against his chest and arms, and was uncertain if that was because he had held it so close or if it had done any damage. 

Part of him didn’t care. Part of him wanted to push off the edge of the ship and follow the container, tumbling through space, seeing the universe until he couldn’t see anymore. 

But that was crazy. So much of what he had been thinking had been crazy. 

He needed to get back, somehow. 

He turned, saw the damage, wondered if he was damaged too, if parts of him were receding the way that the edges of the ship were receding, if he was turning white the way the container had. 

He couldn’t think about that right now. 

He followed his own trail back, as best he could remember it. 

The interior of the ship didn’t look welcoming anymore. It looked dark and damaged and abandoned—or it would have, if there weren’t lights from the decks above and below him. 

Only the center, the path to the bridge, was destroyed, like some gigantic creature had taken a bite out of it all. 

He picked and stepped, and finally, somehow, reached the barrier to the bridge, and saw people inside, moving, in environmental suits with gurneys and medical handhelds and standing near consoles, looking like they had a purpose, all of them. 

He crouched, not sure if he should go back in, not sure if he would hurt them. 

Someone looked up, saw him, beckoned. 

He shook his head. “I might contaminate you,” he said, but he wasn’t sure they could hear him. No one responded. They beckoned again, and he shook his head again, and then two taller people in environmental suits got close. 

“I’ll contaminate you,” he repeated, and they didn’t seem to care, because they reached through the barrier, and grabbed him, pulling, dislodging his boots or maybe shutting them off. 

He tumbled inward, into real gravity, and actual light, and faces he thought he recognized through the clear part of their environmental hoods, and more and more people crowded around him, mouths moving, and he couldn’t hear them and hands pulled him deeper onto the ruined bridge, near some console or a chair, maybe. 

He was shaking his head, wanting them to send him back, because he would probably hurt all of them, and then something broke through. 

“…aware of the danger,” a woman’s voice said. “We’ll decontaminate and get you medical attention. We’ll figure this out.” 

Figure it out. Okay then. He wasn’t sure if he spoke or if he just thought that, but what he realized was the problems were no longer just his. 

“You saved us, you know?” she was saying. “You figured out what it was doing just in time, and by getting rid of it, you bought us time to solve this. We’re going to limp to a nearby base, and get you medical attention—quarantined…” 

She kept talking but he couldn’t focus on it any longer. He closed his eyes, his body aching—no, maybe burning—and his senses a little off. He didn’t feel like himself. He wasn’t a man who did heroic things, and they were using words like “saved,” as if he had done something heroic. 

He was tired now and safe—or as safe as he could be in a damaged ship, limping to a base somewhere. Someone else would worry about what happened. 

“…seem to work as a unit. We’re tracking those lights that you found,” she was saying. Did she ever stop talking? Maybe if she stopped, he would correct her, and say that Srigly found the lights not him, fireflies, that seemed to work as a unit, but if they did, why hadn’t they all attacked? Or was that thing—that small fiery thing—the first volley, and no other ship had ever figured out that you had to get rid of the damn thing to get rid of them. 

He would have to think about it. Or let someone else think about it. They all seemed clearer than he was. They would figure out what happened, who attacked, and why. Maybe the ship had gotten too close or—maybe he should have trusted what he learned. Maybe the people on Luluenema didn’t want any contact with anyone. 

That was likely, given what happened. They got the Izlovchi close, and then attacked it with these strange weapons. It would be a great way to protect the planet, seeming to cooperate and then not cooperating at all. 

He would tell someone that. Later. When speculation and investigation met into some semblance of the truth. 

Until then, he would rest. He would close his eyes and think about other things. 

He had a hunch he would be fine. 

He had a hunch they would all be fine. 

No matter what happened next. 

 

Hunches 

Copyright ©  Kristine Kathryn Rusch 

Published by WMG Publishing 

Cover and layout copyright © WMG Publishing 

Cover design by WMG Publishing 

Cover art copyright © Philcold 

 

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. 

Any use of this publication to train generative artificial intelligence (“AI”) technologies is expressly prohibited. The author and publisher reserve all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

 

The reason ist probably that they made a Christmas break too

This week is the 2026 Strange Horizons Criticism Special, which includes a new essay and review every day, a podcast, an editorial, and a roundtable: “Giving Permission: A Roundtable on the Obscurity of Influence” with Yvette Lisa Ndlovu, Charles Payseur, Daniel A. Rabuzzi, and me. You can read the entire discussion here. Here’s a bit about the overall premise from the preamble: “We were seeking to identify a score or so authors who defy easy classification, whose unique style and/or […]

The post Strange Horizons Roundtable on Influence first appeared on Fantasy Cafe.

Other LitStack Spots Along with the book in this LitStack Spotlight, we’ve also spotted a…

The post Spotlight on “The Ghost Women” by Jennifer Murphy appeared first on LitStack.

Echoes of Insurrection Series: The Firebird Chronicles #6
Published by T.A. White on January 14, 2026

With the alien scourge responsible for the greatest war in humanity’s history in full retreat, Kira Forrest anticipates a few months of rest and relaxation while she and her found family recover from their ordeal.

Her hard earned peace is cut short when an attack on the Great Houses reveals cracks in the very foundation of the empire. When blame is laid at the feet of Kira’s birth house, she will have to find the true perpetrators quick if she wants to protect her new home and everyone within it.

Her hunt will lead her to strange planets and ultimately a place anchored in her past. With the balance of power in a tension fraught universe at stake, Kira will have to decide what is most important to her. The love that sustains her or the safety of all she holds dear.

War isn’t just coming. It’s already here.

 

Pages: 679 Genres: Action & Adventure, Fiction / Romance / Science Fiction, Fiction / Science Fiction / Space Opera
Format: eBook ISBN: 1230009628021
By: T.A. White
Also in this series: Rules of Redemption, Age of Deception, Threshold of Annihilation, Facets of Revolution, Trials of Conviction

Also by this author: Age of Deception, Threshold of Annihilation, Facets of Revolution

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Another outstanding entry from T. A. White and a standout in one of my favorite series. This installment is an action-packed page-turner that is difficult to put down. I strongly recommend reading the series in order, as the story relies heavily on established characters and world-building; without that background, readers may feel lost. The book concludes with a light cliffhanger—just enough to leave you eagerly anticipating the next installment.

Witness my meta commentary on the usual success of author insertion.

Meta-shmeta, that’s just pandering.

Also, kinda gross. Do you know where that cat butt has been?

Ewwwww!

Not engaging. Happy place, happy place, happy place.

Wolf Wormby T. Kingfisher
What is it about:The year is 1899 and Sonia Wilson is a scientific illustrator without work, prospects, or hope. When the reclusive Dr. Halder offers her a position illustrating his vast collection of insects, Sonia jumps at the chance to move to his North Carolina manor house and put her talents to use. But soon enough she finds that there are darker things at work than the Carolina woods. What happened to her predecessor, Halder’s wife? Why are animals acting so strangely, and what is behind the peculiar local whispers about “blood thiefs?”
With the aid of the housekeeper and a local healer, Sonia discovers that Halder’s entomological studies have taken him down a dark road full of parasitic maggots that burrow into human flesh, and that his monstrous experiments may grow to encompass his newest illustrator as well.
What did I think of it:New Nightmare Unlocked!
I'm not a fan of bugs and other creepy crawlies at the best of times, so knowing this book had parasitic maggots I went in with the expectation of being squicked out.
Turns out I was both squicked and freaked out by this book!
I loved the buildup, the setting, and the characters. Sonia (as all of Kingfisher's main characters) was easy to root for, and I could not put the book down, even (or especially) during the more icky scenes.
Kingfisher brilliantly weaves entomology with myth creating a horrifically awesome story that I most certainly will reread, even though it has given me new nightmares about insects.
Why should you read it:if you are as squicked out by insects as I am, this is the perfect Horror for you!

Expected publication March 24, 2026