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I know I haven’t been posting or commenting on blogs these past couple weeks, but it was spring break for the schools over here and my family and I have been away traveling. I thought I was going to have some downtown to read and get a few reviews up while I was gone, but yes, that plan turned out to be just a tad over ambitious. We flew out west to visit family, and between stops in San Diego, Las Vegas, and then a full tour of the Utah national parks, there really wasn’t much time to sit still, let alone write anything coherent.

Anyway, I just got back and I’m still recovering, so honestly this might be the perfect time for another DNF update while I take the next couple days to gather my wits and catch up. Recently, I ended up abandoning several books, and honestly, nothing against them, but they just weren’d holding my attention, and I have very little patience for that when I’m traveling. My reading mood tends to get extra picky when I’m on the go.

As always, just because I DNF a book doesn’t mean it’s terrible. Most of the time, it just means it’s not the right fit at the right moment. And that’s why I do these posts, because even if something didn’t work for me, it might be exactly what someone else is looking for.

I received review copies from the publisher(s). This does not affect the contents of my reviews and all opinions are my own.

I’ll Make A Spectacle of You by Beatrice Winifred Iker

Mogsy’s Rating: DNF

Genre: Horror

Series: Stand Alone

Publisher: Run For It (November 18, 2025)

Length: 388 pages

This one ended up being a DNF for me quite early on. The premise of a Southern gothic horror set at an old university, complete with secret societies and a legend about a beast lurking in the nearby woods drew me in initially. However, the execution didn’t quite click. From the start, the pacing felt very slow, and I struggled to stay engaged. The writing style also didn’t help. Despite the beauty of the prose, it came across more clunky and awkward than I liked. It made it hard to connect with any of the characters or care about what was happening. I had to restart this one multiple times just in case it was me being in a distractable mood, but ultimately it started to feel like a chore to keep trying. That said, I can see the appeal for readers who enjoy slower, more atmospheric horror with heavy folklore and historical influences.

Graceless Heart by Isabel Ibañez

Mogsy’s Rating: 2.5 of 5 stars

Genre: Fantasy, Romance

Series: Book 1 of The Spellbound History Quartet

Publisher: Saturday Books (January 13, 2026)

Length: 488 pages

I technically “finished” this book which is why you see a rating, but because I also ended up skimming through huge chunks (eventually just giving up and skipping to the end so I could find out what happened), I feel it appropriate enough to include my thoughts here. Graceless Heart is another book whose premise sounds rich on paper, featuring a heroine who is a sculptor who uses forbidden magic, but not much about its story or central romance worked for me at all. The plot was linear and the tropes were predictable, which is why I felt so comfortable skimming without feeling I was missing much. The world-building was also sparse, though there were flashes of intersting ideas, especially with the magic tied to artistry and the main character’s skills. Plus, I was invested enough to see how it all ended, so there’s something to be said for that, though in the end, none of it was explored deeply enough to really matter.

After the Fall by Edward Ashton

Mogsy’s Rating: DNF

Genre: Science Fiction

Series: Stand Alone

Publisher: St. Martin’s Press (February 24, 2026)

Length: 288 pages

This one actually hurt a bit to abandon. I’ve genuinely had a great time with Edward Ashton’s previous books, and going into After the Fall, I wanted to like the whole “humans as pets to alien overlords” concept. Unfortunately, it did not come together for me in the way I’d hoped. Instead of the usual sharp, witty voice I associate withe author, the story felt strangely flat and lifeless. Gone was the humor or personality that normally carries his writing. Again, I had several false starts, but in the end, I just had to accept that the hook was never going to come. This one just felt bland more than anything else, though I think readers who might connect with a more subdued approach should still give it a try.

https://kriswrites.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/04/Candid-Shots-Kickstarter-low-quality.mp4

We’re running a Kickstarter as of about five minutes ago. It features a brand-new crime novel that I hesitate to call historical, because part of the book is set now. I’m proud of that book, Candid Shots of the 1970s, but it also surprised me. I thought it was going to be a short story, but the characters took off with it, and told me a story that I did not expect. Yep, that’s how I spent my December holidays, listening to characters tell me about an afternoon on a Minnesota lake that turned into a massively traumatic experience by evening.

The second novel appeared under a different title. It was published in the 1990s, reprinted in the early part of this century, and got great reviews. The first editor also gave it an offensive title that I will not use here, even to tell you which novel it is. This one is a true historical, with a crime in the center. And it’s noir, so expect dark. We’re reissuing it with the original title, Consecrated Ground.

The final book in the Kickstarter is a collection of short stories, two of which are brand-new. There are some award nominees in the collection as well. I think you’ll all have a lot of fun with this one.

In addition, there’s a mix of workshops and other mystery short fiction collections. So you can find all sorts of reading.

The video above is for the Kickstarter itself, and gives you a good sampling of what’s in it.

Head on over. The Kickstarter will run until Thursday, April 16, but the sooner we hit our goal, the sooner we start on the stretch goals. Then you’ll get even more reading—and, if we get to the upper level of the Kickstarter, an online workshop that I put together last year. Here’s the link!

Conan the Barbarian (Universal Pictures, May 14, 1982) Conan the Barbarian (129 minutes; 1982)

Written by John Milius and Oliver Stone. Directed by John Milius.
Based on the Conan stories by Robert E. Howard.

What is it?

The first film adaptation of Robert E Howard’s greatest creation: the Cimmerian warrior who was a thief, soldier, pirate, mercenary and king. We get at least a glimpse of most of those here, even if in a somewhat distorted form.

Arnold Schwarzenegger as Conan Noteworthy

The original script for the movie was written by Oliver Stone (Platoon; JFK) under the influence of a whole lot of drugs. It would’ve run at least four hours, and featured Conan in a sort of Thundarr the Barbarian post-apocalyptic future hellscape, battling an army of 10,000 mutants.

The production company struggled to find a suitable director, at one point considering Stone and also looking at Ridley Scott. Scott, coming off the filming of the first Alien movie, turned them down. (There’s an alternate timeline where we got Alien vs Conan. And I would’ve been there for it.)

Finally John Milius, who had written the screenplays for Clint Eastwood’s Dirty Harry (1971) and Magnum Force (1973), agreed to direct the film — if he could rewrite Stone’s screenplay. No one objected to that idea. Milius was already contracted to do his next film for Dino De Laurentiis, so he convinced the producer to make Conan that movie.

Milius combined elements from various Conan stories by Robert E. Howard for his rewrite of the script, as well as borrowing the villain (Thulsa Doom) from the stories of another Howard creation, Kull the Conqueror.

After the producers saw Arnold Schwarzenegger’s bodybuilding film, Pumping Iron, they agreed he was the clear choice for the title role. They did, however, require him to slim down from a massive, muscular 240 to a more lithe 210 pounds, through a regimen of rope climbing, horseback riding and swimming.

This was the breakout role for Schwarzenegger, who would go on to dominate action cinema for years. Other actors who were considered include Charles Bronson, Lou Ferrigno and Sylvester Stallone. Ferrigno and Stallone are predictable, but a Charles Bronson Conan would certainly have been… something. I’m not sure what, though. He might have made a better Subotai.

Sandahl Bergman as Valeria, Arnold Schwarzenegger as Conan, and Gerry Lopez as Subotai

Interestingly, Conan’s two allies in the film were also played by relative newcomers. While Schwarzenegger’s background was bodybuilding, Gerry Lopez (Subotai) was a champion surfer, and Sandahl Bergman (Valeria) was a dancer who had appeared in Bob Fosse’s All That Jazz. All three performed their own stunts, but none of them pleased Milius with their initial acting performances. Schwarzenegger was subjected to intensive speech training in a (failed) attempt to reduce his heavy Austrian accent, while Lopez’s lines ultimately were overdubbed by another actor. When James Earl Jones joined the cast, he began helping coach Arnold on his line delivery.

Four carbon steel copies each were forged of Conan’s father’s sword and the Atlantean sword he finds in a tomb, at a cost of $10,000 each. These were used for closeup filming. Lighter versions used in combat scenes were made from aluminum and fiberglass. Some were able to retract their blades to simulate a killing blow, and others could spray blood from their tips.

Conan the Barbarian: The giant snake

The giant snake Conan kills was over 35 feet long and cost $20,000 to create. It was so large it would not fit onto the set, so only part of it is ever shown on screen. Its skeleton was made from the same material used to build aircraft frames.

Some action scenes were filmed using a remote-controlled camera crane system originally created by Nick Allder during the filming of Dragonslayer.

The movie was shot in five months in various locations in Spain. It took over a year to edit. During that time, editor C. Timothy O’Meara removed several particularly violent scenes to which the studio objected. He then had to piece the movie back together without them, and keep the story comprehensible in the process.

Conan on the Tree of Woe

The musical score for the film, composed by Basil Poledouris, is spectacular and memorable. It was the first film to list Musync, a newly developed music and tempo editing software package, in the credits. Musync allowed Poledouris to compose much of the music before filming had even wrapped, and then alter it to fit the various scenes after they were completed. It was the last film released by a major studio with a mono soundtrack, because producers balked at the extra tens of thousands of dollars required for a stereo score, and because they felt at the time not enough theaters were equipped to handle that anyway.

The film earned around $75 million (on a $20 million budget) in its initial theatrical release. This was considered successful enough that a sequel, Conan the Destroyer, was released two years later. (We’ll cover it soon.)

Young Conan and his father Quick and Dirty Summary

A young barbarian vows revenge on the snake cult leader who killed his parents and destroyed his village. He grows up to be a powerful warrior with a heavy Austrian accent, and teams up with a pair of thieves moonlighting from their surfing and dancing jobs. Eventually he gets the chance to exact his vengeance, slaying the snake cult leader and destroying his temple – but at a price.

James Earl Jones as Thulsa Doom Fantasy/SF/Sword & Sorcery Elements

Robert E. Howard literally wrote the book on muscles and steel triumphing over sorcerers, monsters and evil gods. And Conan is the prototypical Sword & Sorcery hero. He greatly dislikes sorcery, but he seems to fare pretty well against it.

This film overflows with Sword & Sorcery elements. The battle with the giant snake is memorable, as is Conan’s showdown with Thulsa Doom’s henchmen. Doom’s slow transformation into a giant snake himself – a remarkable achievement of practical special effects in the days before CGI – comes out of nowhere and shakes things up again.

Sandahl Bergman in Conan the Barbarian High Point

Once Conan becomes “grown-man warrior Conan,” the plot remains fun but it becomes fairly predictable. Full-on Conan isn’t going to lose to anybody in his debut film. At that point, the only questions are, “How will he kill them all?” and “Will any of his allies die along the way?”

I would argue the most interesting portion of the movie is actually the first third, as we watch a young Conan transition from scene to scene in slavery, as a gladiator, and a survivor, all the while learning about the world around him and looking for the cultists who wiped out his village.

And of course there’s the classic moment where he reminds us all what is best in life: “To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and hear the lamentations of the women!”

Conan and Valeria Low Point

There’s no question that Schwarzenegger’s performance here, at the very start of his career, is iconic and enjoyable. But it’s a situation similar to “movie James Bond vs book James Bond.” In both cases, the movie version of the character is significantly altered from the literary version. Arnold’s Conan is dumbed down. He’s mostly muscle and brute force. At one point, he punches a camel. His reactions are often comical, and some are played for comedy. Howard’s Conan was always capable of winning a fight with his muscles and his sword, but he was also a serious, clever and canny guy, endowed with native smarts and charisma.

Standout Performance

All of the above said, it would be a crime not to give the nod here to Schwarzenegger. This movie would not be half of what it is without his unforgettable presence looming over nearly every frame. He may not exactly be Howard’s Conan, but he’s mesmerizing, entertaining, and entirely awesome.

Valeria in action Overall Evaluation as a Movie and as Fantasy/SF/Sword & Sorcery

Conan the Barbarian is an excellent action/adventure movie in general, but it is on the “Mt. Rushmore” of Sword & Sorcery films. It has to be. It brought the greatest hero of the genre to the big screen for the first time. It gave him a worthy opponent and high stakes. It combined drama, action, character and violence, with a touch of humor along the way.

To paraphrase Conan’s prayer to his Cimmerian god: Valor pleases Crom, so perhaps he will grant me one request: That those of you who have not watched this movie will give it a shot.

And if you do not love it, then to hell with you!

Van Allen Plexico is a member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA), a Grand Master of Pulp Literature (2025 class) and a multiple-award-winning author of more than two dozen novels and anthologies, ranging from space opera to Kaiju to crime fiction to superheroes to military SF. He notably edited, co-created and co-wrote the Sword and Sorcery anthology GIDEON CAIN: DEMON HUNTER. Find all of his works on Amazon and at Plexico.net.

Hello, everybody. Mod R is taking a few days off, which are very deserved. The blog is now back in my incapable hands, muhahaha!

I owe you a tour write-up, which will be posted tomorrow. Thank you to everyone who came to see us! I will report on cities, hotels, funky travel, yarn, and delicious cookies. OMG, if you are the person who gave us the cookies, I must have the recipe.

Also, we have some admin that will be coming up: zoom dates, Maggie’s site, extras, art stuff, etc. For everyone who asked about the app I used: the app is still in beta, we need to fine tune it, and I promise once it’s done, you can have it,

Today I am here to let you know that Diamond Fire is out from Graphic Audio. I have some audio samples for you.

Sample 1. Sample 2. Sample 3.

Promo: I did it!

The post Diamond Fire GA is Out first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.

The post So What If I’m A Puta and Putafeminista | 2 Books Explore Brazilian Sex Workers appeared first on LitStack.

 

Apparently, Sir Cameron Needs to Dieby Greer Stothers
What is it about:All his life, Sir Cameron has stayed as far away from danger as possible. He is, quite frankly, too handsome to die a violent and pointless death in battle. But when the Church hands down a prophecy to his fellow knights predicting that the only way to defeat their nemesis, the mad sorcerer Merulo, is to kill Cameron, he finds himself in a situation too sticky for even his considerable wiles. Short of ideas, Cameron throws himself on the mercy of the one person who now actually wants him to survive: the mad sorcerer.
Merulo isn’t thrilled to be babysitting a spoilt, attention-seeking knight, but fate has tied them together. And transmogrifying Cameron into a vulture is at least a great source of entertainment. Cameron, meanwhile, is on a voyage of self-discovery. It turns out he’s really, really into surly sorcerers who lock him up and tell him what to do. Who knew?
As a legion of knights surround their stronghold, the sorcerer’s poisonous ambitions draw ever closer to fruition. Cameron is quite invested in not dying, but he finds he’s also invested in Merulo. And sometimes, supporting the sorcerer you care about means taking an interest in their hobbies. Even if that hobby is trying to kill God.
Even if it might get you killed, too.
What did I think of it:This was a nice enough read.
I especially liked the first half of the boo. It was fun and funny, and Sir Cameron's antics were fresh. Also: He's a vulture for parts of the story!At one point though, I thought things were going on too long and then there were revelations where it came to the world this story is set and the book lost me to be honest. I was far enough in to finish it, but it was a bit of a drag.
All in all a fun concept, with an overall execution that was just not for me.
Why should you read it:It's a fun Fantasy Romance.

Book links: Amazon, Goodreads
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Cameron Sullivan was born in Perth, Western Australia. He grew up with the dark fantasy and horror icons of the ’80s and went on to study classics and creative writing at the University of Western Australia.
After several years working and studying in Italy and the UK, he returned to Australia and settled in Melbourne. He will easily lose a weekend to a good book, a new recipe or games of any kind.
Publisher: Tor Books (February 24, 2026) Page count: 544 (Hardback) Formats: all

Sebastian Grave is a centuries-old occult practitioner, who makes a living off the dead. He shares his body with a demon, Sarmodel, who is extremely effective, provided you don’t forget what it is.
The story opens with a dead girl, a curse, and a misunderstanding involving a witch’s bone. It works because it’s fun, well-written but also shows that in this world the supernatural is not mysterious so much as procedural. Things happen for reasons and Sebastian’s job is to find them.
Soon, things get complicated. A young nobleman, Jacques d’Ocerne, arrives with a summons tied to an old, unfinished contract concerning a Beast of Gévaudan. Against his better judgement, Sebastian agrees to return there.
And so a journey starts, and it's not a cheerful one. It involves mud, infection, poor financial planning, and mayhem. From there we follow a few timelines, learn about demons, church politics, and follow a thread of doomed romance. The shifting timelines are handled well enough that you don’t feel lost, and there’s a steady drip of reveals that keeps things moving.
I enjoyed the business of the supernatural most. The scenes involving it are grim, and often carry a dry edge of humor that lands well with me. I also loved Sarmodel’s presence. I mean, he is Sebastian’s inner voice that has opinions about how edible his clients are. The conversations between them are some of the strongest parts of the book.
Jacques, on the other hand, functions as an obstacle with legs. His secrecy, pride, and general refusal to communicate make sense once explained, but the explanation arrives late. Until then, much of the interaction follows a familiar pattern where Sebastian asks a reasonable question, Jacques refuses to answer it, and both suffer for it. Repeatedly.
There’s also Livia - Sebastian's secretary (well, not really but I won’t spoil everything for you) and a succubus. She feeds on desire and leaves very little behind when she is done. Her chapters and scenes are some of the most entertaining in the story. She says what she wants, goes after it, and resents every rule that stops her halfway. On the page, she’s lively. In the audiobook, she’s something else entirely. Imogen Church narration is brilliant, rich, theatrical and over the top in the best way.
Structurally, the book is uneven. After an excellent opening, the middle section sags. Things happen, but they don’t always feel like they’re building toward something larger. The central threat (the Beast, the old contract) waits too long while the story circles smaller conflicts and Sebastien's history.
That said, the atmosphere is consistently good, the writing remains entertaining and both POV characters have strong and memorable voices. So yes, The Red Winter is carried by its characters.

After a vicious attack, Louisa wants her life back. She takes the first step in her new home, filled with art and mementos, high in the hills, on a beautiful dark night. A night that will take an ugly turn. A night no one ever anticipated.

“Hot Water” is free on this site for one week only. If you like this crime story, you might like my other crime stories. A Kickstarter for my latest crime novel, Candid Shots of the 1970s, will run from Tuesday, April 7, until Thursday, April 16. There you can get the new novel as well as Consecrated Ground, a novel that hasn’t seen print in 15 years, and a brand-new collection of short crime stories (although this one is not included). Click here to look at the Kickstarter.

If you just want a copy of this story, download it on any e-book site or by clicking here. Enjoy!

Hot Water Kristine Kathryn Rusch

“You sure, honey?” Steve asked, hand on the brass doorknob. The foyer was dark and a bit too warm, carrying the day’s heat. “The Sandersons invited you too.”

Louisa brushed his curling hair out of his collar and straightened his suit jacket. “It’s okay,” she said, trying to keep the impatience from her voice. Steve wanted to include her, but this time she didn’t want to be included. She had been waiting for this night. “I’ve had a long week. I just want to be alone and relax.”

“All right.” He kissed her, almost missing her mouth, and pulled her close for a brief moment. “I’ll be back around midnight.”

She put her hand on top of his and pulled the oak door open. “No hurry. I’ll probably be asleep when you get here.”

He kissed her again, on the forehead this time, and walked out. She followed him onto the porch. Twilight had just settled in the valley, giving the trees a gray, shadowy edge. A cool breeze made the branches rustle. The frogs had started their evening chorus from the pond halfway down the driveway, and from overhead, a bird gave a good-bye chirp.

“Wish I were staying here with you,” Steve said. “It’s a great night.”

She smiled, but said nothing. She had been waiting for this evening alone for almost two weeks. She wanted nothing to spoil it. Steve squeezed her shoulder, then hurried down the wood stairs to the flagged path. They had only been in the house a few months, and it still needed work, but Louisa loved it.  If she strained, she could hear cars passing on the road over a mile away, but that was the only sound of civilization — except at midnight, when the distant whistle from the mill announced the arrival of third shift.

Steve hurried down the walk and opened the door on their car, a champagne-colored Porsche covered with dust from the gravel drive. He had been threatening to pave the driveway and to buy a truck, claiming that the Porsche was too expensive to suffer the nicks of tiny rocks churning beneath the wheels.

Someday he would decide the car was too expensive to drive.

The car roared to a start and made its way around the curving slope of the drive, through the trees. Louisa leaned against the wobbly wood railing and watched as the headlights grew smaller along the mile-long gravel drive.

No lights shone in the valley. The house just down the hill had been abandoned years ago. The three neighboring houses — the ones she could see sprawled on their individual twenty acres — had the clean look of a place with owners out of town. On Labor Day weekend, she could count on everyone being away.

She sighed and stretched, feeling the knots in her back pop. She couldn’t get more alone than this.

Still, she needed darkness. She slipped back inside and pulled the heavy door closed behind her. Then she shut off the porch light and the light illuminating the huge foyer.

Her hands were shaking.

The only way to conquer fear is to face it.  Her therapist’s voice echoed in her head. Roger wanted her to do this. He wanted her to take charge of her life. Now that you know why the fear exists, you can control it. It doesn’t have to control you.

Right.

She glanced at the stairs. Up there was her office, the safest place in the house. She could go there and grab a book, climb into the easy chair and while the hours away.

Or she could stay down here and face herself.

She walked to the kitchen, avoiding the bathroom and its mirror. The kitchen light was still on, illuminating the hand carved cookie jar she and Steve had bought on their honeymoon. Dishes dried in the rack, the long knife Steve had used to carve the beef resting on its side next to the plates.

Everything looked normal here. Everything was normal, except her. At least Steve had patience. He loved her. He had known even before they married that she would never take off her clothes for him, that she couldn’t stand to be naked in front of anyone. They made love in the dark with her nightgown pushed around her waist, his gentle fingers stroking her breasts through the fabric.

He loved her, but she could see in his eyes that sometimes he wanted more. Just once he wanted to see her, all of her, at the same time.

She flicked off the light switch over the phone. The fluorescent held their light for a moment, then went dark.  She walked into the breakfast nook and stared through the glass paned doors at the hot tub.

Even with the lights off, she could see it clearly, a big ungainly structure sitting in the middle of her backyard. A deck Steve had built circled it, with a rack to one side for their towels. He liked sitting nude in the water. He said it was one of the most sensual experiences in the world.

Her heart pounded in her throat. She hadn’t been this nervous since the first time she made a sales presentation nearly six years before. Roger had helped her overcome stage fright. Now he was helping her with this.

You need to face your fear, he said, each week. Next week, she wanted to go into his office and tell him she had.

She stepped back from the door and pulled her t-shirt off over her head. Her hair got caught in the neck, and for one suffocating moment, she couldn’t get free. She struggled, then pulled, willing to rip the shirt to free herself from the fabric. Finally, she was out, and she flung the shirt away from her.

It fluttered like a bird mid-flight, and landed gently on the sofa. Her body shook. She hadn’t been that trapped since (he grabbed her and threw her against the sand, the hot granules digging into her bare back. He wrapped his towel around her face and arms, pinning her in place—) No. She wouldn’t remember that. He had no place in this house. His memory, and the memory of his touch, were the things she was trying to get rid of.

She took a deep breath and made herself calm down. Then she slipped out of her shorts and panties, leaving them in a pool on the floor. She wrapped a towel around her waist, stepped into her thongs, and opened the back door.

Cool air caressed her skin, raising goose bumps. She loved the mountains. No matter how hot it was in the day, the nights were always comfortable, the breeze always fresh. She closed the door behind her and stood on the wooden back porch, letting the night woo her with its promise of secrecy.

She didn’t feel naked yet. The towel was enough protection. An owl hooted nearby, adding its voice to that of the frogs. At the base of the driveway, a car swooshed past, its sound little more than a reminder that other people lived in the world. The trees rustled around her as the wind caught the leaves.

Natural sounds. Safe sounds.

She took a deep breath and walked down the creaky wood stairs to the stone pathway Steve had built. The stones tilted to the left, down the hill, and she had to hold her arms out to maintain her balance.  The towel shifted precariously against her skin. She grabbed the top with one hand and nearly fell. Only Steve seemed able to walk across the stones without stumbling. She walked the rest of the way on the grass.

The tub made a low humming sound, so faint she only heard it when she was up close. Sometimes it clicked off, and she was left with complete silence.

Dew had formed on the tub’s plastic cover, leaving little trickles in the dust. The edge was cool to her fingers. She grabbed a side and pushed it back, not willing to take the entire cover off. She had tried to put the cover back on by herself once, and pulled a muscle in her back.

Steam rose off the surface of the water, and the biting scent of chlorine filled the air. Her heartbeat speeded up and her breath came in shallow gasps. Almost there. Almost.

The wooden stairs leading up to the deck were sturdier than the steps on the porch. Steve had built the deck out of cedar and the faint woodsy scent mingling with the chlorine made her think of him. She clung to that thought like the railing, maintaining her balance, giving her strength.

When she reached the top of the deck, she stopped, hands clutching the towel to her breasts.

The mountains across the valley were inky shadows against the dark horizon. No cars passed. Even the white glare from the mill was missing — it had shut down for the holiday. Occasional bursts of steam obscured her view like tiny clouds. Crickets had joined the frogs, and the breeze had an extra bite away from the house.

Alone. She was alone.

Carefully, she undid the knot holding the towel in place. The air kissed the sweat between her breasts and her body went rigid.

(He had smiled at first, friendly as she was, another nudist on a nude beach. The alcove didn’t seem private. Over the rocks, she could see her friends playing volleyball. But her screams mingled with the cry of seagulls, masked by their laughter, and no one found her until hours later, huddled in a small sunburned ball, nearly dehydrated from the sun.)

She had been wrong to go for heat. Heat would bring the memory back. Heat would make things worse.

Excuses. The memory was back, and would haunt her each time her skin was bare. Every morning before she got in the shower, she saw his face. She didn’t want to see his face any more.

Face it. Face your fear. Once you face it, no one will ever be able to hurt you again.

She hung the towel on the railing and immediately sat down at the edge of the tub, her feet in the water. The warmth made her toes ache, but she ignored it and slide inside, feeling covered by water, not quite as visible as she had been a moment before.

She didn’t move for a long time. Then she tilted her face toward the sky. She was doing it. She was sitting alone, under the stars, naked. Absolutely naked.

Free.

A tiny feeling of elation pushed aside her fear, and she breathed into it. Free.  She smiled and then stood. The chill tickled her heat-covered skin: she had never felt so sensual, so alive before. She ran her hands along her wet skin. He had had no right to touch her that way. Touch felt good.

It felt good.

And she was free.

***

She didn’t know how long she stood there, letting the breeze caress her in places her husband had never seen. The moon had moved across the sky, and wispy clouds appeared to the west.

Steve would be home sometime soon. And she would be waiting for him. Completely, gloriously nude.

She slipped back into the water and let its warmth relax her. Roger had been right. It had been so easy, but it had taken so long to get the courage. Even then, she knew. One false statement on Steve’s part, one wrong move, and she would have to do it all over again.

Unless she prepared herself. Unless she sat in the darkness and thought all the problems through. He would be startled, surprised to find her in the tub. He might comment on that. He might say her name softly, in a voice filled with awe. He might ask if she was okay.

A twig snapped. She stiffened, heart pounding. The sound had come from the front of the house. She swallowed, and listened closely. A faint rustle. Soft movements in the bramble.

Deer.

A week after they had bought the house, the tub was finally clean enough and warm enough to use. Steve took off his suit, looking glorious in the moonlight. She wore hers as she slipped into the water. They had held hands under water and stared at the stars for what seemed like hours before they heard something behind them.

She had tried to sit up, but Steve had held her still. “Deer,” he whispered. He put a finger to his mouth and turned carefully, without disturbing the water. Then he touched her shoulder and pointed. A doe stood just behind them, upwind, ears twitching. Finally she ignored them and began eating from the apple tree at the edge of the yard.

Deer.

Louisa made herself take a deep breath. Of course she was on edge. She would be until she got used to being without clothes again. Once she could be naked with strangers — at a nude beach, up in the hot springs, at hot tub parties when she worked in California — then it had all disappeared in the space of an afternoon, while she screamed, with hot granules of sand digging into her back.

She was safe now.

It was over.

She was free.

She leaned back in the water and rested her head on the tub’s plastic side. By the time Steve got home, her body would be shriveled and wrinkled. She smiled. Then he couldn’t judge it. Then he couldn’t decide that the woman he had married had one of the uglier bodies on the planet.

A light went on in the house.

Louisa sat up, water sloshing around her. Steve wasn’t home. She would have heard the car. She would have seenthe car, coming up the drive. No timers on the lights, because they felt no need for them. No one could see the house from the road. Sometimes they even went away and left the house unlocked.

Someone was inside.

A stranger was inside her house.

A man crossed the foyer. He was bigger than Steve and muscular. His shoulders, in shadow, looked like they could carry the world without dropping it. Another, smaller man followed him.

A light went on in the living room.

What were they doing? Waiting for her? No. The house was dark. They thought no one was home. They were looking for something. But they hadn’t brought a car, probably so that they wouldn’t caught on that circular driveway.  No car. She would have heard it. Something they could carry. Not the Dali in the living room nor the Degas in the den.

(Although they could cut the paintings out of the frame and roll them. Carrying tubes would be easy, even in the dark.)

The safe held extra money and her jewels, mostly her costume jewels. The real ones were in a safety deposit box in a bank downtown.

Except for the emerald. The antique emerald her grandmother had given her. The one the photographer for Smithsonian had photographed for the article they were doing on family heirlooms. The one that had been reproduced in papers all over the state.

It certainly wasn’t the most valuable jewel they had, but it was the most famous.

They must have been planning this for a long time. She thought she had heard a car earlier, down by the abandoned house. Steve had said she imagined it.

Steve was wrong.

Her heart pounded in her throat. They were in the living room. They didn’t know she was there. If she eased the lid back over the tub and crouched under it, she would have enough air to last for several hours.

But that might make too much noise. She was probably better if she didn’t move at all.

(Then they would find her and pull her out and hold her on the cedar boards, the wood digging into her naked back—)

No. She had to get away now. But her clothes were inside and Steve had the car.

Steve. What happened if he came home while they were in the living room. It would take them time. The safe was behind the heavy oak bookcases. They had to take the books off the cases, move the cases and figure out the combination.

(Mixed birthdays — her month, Steve’s day, the combination of their years: 6-10-56. Impossible to guess unless they knew. Unless they had a stethoscope like in the movies, a man who ran an emery board against his fingertips so that they would be sensitive—)

She was panicking, thinking nonsense instead of finding a way to save herself. The Holts lived half a mile down the drive. They rarely locked their house. She could go inside, use their phone, have the police catch the men in the act.

And she would be safe.

They didn’t know she was here. They wouldn’t know she had escaped.

Deep breath. Deep breath. Move quietly. Do not stir the water.

She moved her hand underneath the water, and braced herself against the seat.  A shadow fell across the living room window, but no one else moved in the foyer.  She brought her other hand out and grabbed the lid.

Water dripped, sending echoey pings through the yard.

Her heart rate increased, but she didn’t move. They couldn’t hear the pings. She couldn’t hear anyone in the hot tub unless the windows were open, and she kept them all closed.

She stood. The cold breeze raised goose bumps on her body —

And she froze. She couldn’t get out. They would see her. They would see all of her and —

She had to. She had to. It was the only way to save herself.

Maybe she could crawl back in. It wouldn’t take too much effort to pull the lid down and she would have enough air for hours. She would be safe there, and no one would see her. No one would notice that she was nude…

Another shadow moved across the living room window. She sank back into the hot water. In a minute, they would turn on the outside light, and see her. She wasn’t safe. Not here. Not now.

Face your fear, Roger had said.

If only he had known.

Her body was shaking so badly she was making little ripples in the water.  Out. She would only be naked for an instant. Long enough for her to grab her towel, wrap it around herself and get off the deck.

But to get to the driveway from here, she had to either go down a path beneath the living room or walk through six feet of brush. Snapping twigs and crackling branches. They would hear. They would find her.

She had to try.

She eased herself out of the water again, eyes closed, imagining Roger’s face, hearing his voice with its calm confidence. Face your fear, Louisa. That’s the only way it will disappear.

Her torso was out, breasts exposed to the night air. The breeze kissed the water droplets. Her shaking had grown.

Face your fear.

She braced her hands on the side of the tub, and pulled herself up until her buttocks rested on the lukewarm plastic. Then she slid back, feet still in the water, until the plastic turned to wood. The cedar of the deck. She reached over, grabbed the towel, and wrapped it around herself.

Then she opened her eyes.

A man stood in the kitchen, staring out the double paned doors. Staring at her.

She held back a scream, finally understanding how the doe had felt when she approached the apple tree. The man picked up a knife, and set it down, then opened the cupboards.

He hadn’t seen her.

He couldn’t see her. The kitchen light was on. He couldn’t see what was going on in the yard. In the darkness.

She pulled her legs out of the water, careful not to make a sound. With her right hand, she tied the towel in place. With her left, she grabbed her thongs and slid them on her wet feet. She glanced at the house and the path. Lights from the kitchen and the living room illuminated it. If someone looked out, he would see her, crouching by. Besides, going that way was the opposite direction. She had to go down. Away.

She climbed off the deck and paused for a moment, wondering if she should put the lid on. Too much time. And too much risk of noise. She had to get away. She had to disappear before they realized that under the towel she was —

She wouldn’t think about it.

The dry grass crunched beneath her feet. Each step sounded like a peal of thunder. She went around the large oak tree, using it for support as she slipped into the bushes.

Her towel caught on a thorn, nearly pulling it loose. She yanked, and the bush shook. She waited. Nothing changed inside the house.

She took a few more steps down. She could see the gravel, glinting in the moonlight. Up the driveway stood the carport with nothing in it. They had parked somewhere else. They had planned this.

They thought she was gone, with Steve, until midnight.

She let go of the oak tree and grabbed a blackberry bush, wincing as thorns bit into her palm. A few more feet and she would make it. A few more feet and she would run for her life.

A twig snapped beneath her thongs.

“Jesus!” a voice boomed from the house. “What was that?”

Another voice responded, and then the voices grew silent again. She huddled, knees against her chest. No doors opened. No one came down.

She was okay. As long as she didn’t step on anything else.

She made herself count to one hundred before moving again. She stayed low, letting the blackberry bushes protect her. Nothing snapped beneath her feet. She crossed the expanse of grass until she reached the gravel —

— which shuffled like an explosion against the silence of the night.

Another light went on in the house. She swallowed heavily. They would find her. They would find her and hold her —

She kicked off the thongs and ran down the side of the road, on the unmowed grass. Rocks pierced her bare feet, but she willed it not to hurt. It wasn’t going to hurt. It couldn’t hurt.

The back door opened.

” —told you I heard something.”

And the porch light went on.

“Good God. There’s someone here.”

“No. There’s no car —”

“Lid’s up. The damn tub’s steaming. And there’s footprints.”

She reached the fork in the driveway. Her bare foot landed on gravel and slid out from under her. She fell, gravel moving her forward. A grunt escaped her, and pain ran up her left side. Rocks had imbedded themselves in her legs and buttocks —

(like grains of sand)

— but she made herself stand up and keep running.

“Down there!”

The men crashed through the brambles. She ran downhill, gaining speed with each movement. One wrong step and she would fall on her face. Gravel flew behind her and her feet felt like lacerated sores.

“I’ll get the car. You see if you can spot him.”

Not the car. If they had the car, they would find her. But she had reached the bottom of the hill and the clearing. She only had a few more yards before she reached her neighbor’s house.

“Leave the damn car. It’s too far away. There’s nowhere he can go.”

Other footsteps followed her.  She rounded the corner, and vaulted the gate, losing her towel. She stopped, reached for it, but couldn’t grab it. The tall man was crashing down the road, looking even bigger in the moonlight. He saw her.

It was the towel or escape.

A whimper left her throat. She needed that towel, needed the cover, needed —

— the phone. The police. Help of some sort.

She took a deep breath and left the towel where it fell, ran up the dirt walk and onto the porch.

Please let the door be open. Please.

She grabbed the knob and yanked. The door opened, and she nearly stumbled backwards. She went inside and pulled it closed, locking it behind her.

The phone was on the kitchen counter. She had used it once before hers was installed. She grabbed it, thumbed the buttons, counted, and found 911.

It rang once.

“Nine-one-one, may I help you?”

“Yes. Men have broken into my house. They’ve chased me down to the neighbor’s. They’re coming up the walk now. I need someone out here as fast as possible.”

The doorknob rattled. She stepped back, fear making her entire body cold.

” —located at 6611 Aker Road?”

Her neighbor’s address. “Yes. He’s at the door. Can someone hurry?”

“There’s a car in your area.”

A face pressed against the glass of the sliding patio doors. Shit. She hadn’t checked the locks on any of the other doors. Even if the door was locked, all he had to do was break the glass.

“Please hurry,” she said. “Please.”

“Someone will be there as fast as possible, miss. In the meantime, stay on the line —”

She set the phone down and groped behind her. Damn. She should have paid more attention when she was down here. Knives on the sideboard? No. But she needed something. Anything.

She reached up and her hand brushed something metal above the stove. Skillets. Cast iron. Heavy. She pulled the biggest one down as he yanked the patio door open.

He held up her towel. “Forget something?”

She froze, seeing not him, but the man who had grabbed her on the beach. A big man, bigger than this one, smiling. She couldn’t see his face now, in the dark.  But he was probably smiling too.

Her breath was coming heavy, her chest heaving. She had to move. Had to. He had already seen her naked. He had already done the worst he could do. Help was on the way. All she had to do was hold him off until it arrived.

A tinny voice echoed from the phone. He came closer, shaking the towel. “Thought you were smart, didn’t you? Thought we would never find you. Wet feet leave footprints, miss.”

Her arms ached from holding the skillet. She backed up until the wood counter dug into her back. She was breathing through her mouth, the air whistling between her teeth.

“Scared, huh? You got nothing to be scared about. Not yet. Not till my partner gets here.”

He hadn’t seen the phone then. In this dark corner of the kitchen, he probably could barely see her at all. He came forward, waving the towel like a bull fighter waved a flag.

“Hope you’re pretty. I like pretty women.”

Pretty. He had said that before. On the beach. She could smell him, the sweaty oniony scent of an overweight man. He would touch her and this time, sand wouldn’t dig into her back. The counter would.

And she was naked, just like she had been the first time.

“Got you trapped,” he said. He reached out and she swung the skillet at him, catching him full on the side of the head. The metal rang. He grunted and fell against the counter. The towel landed on her feet, the soft weave tickling the skin. She kicked it aside. He moaned again, and reached for the counter to pull himself up. She brought the skillet down, harder this time, and he collapsed against the floor.

A voice was yelling, outside. A man’s voice. She held the skillet against her shoulder like a bat, and stalked to the door. The other man stood in the driveway, his body silhouetted in the moonlight. He glanced in all directions, unable to see her or his friend. He was shouting his companion’s name — a word she couldn’t quite catch.

And then she heard sirens.

He wouldn’t find her if she kept quiet. But she had to protect herself. She had to make sure the other one wouldn’t wake up. She walked back in the kitchen. He hadn’t moved. He huddled in a near-fetal position, one arm trapped under his head. She crouched over him, skillet poised, like a child about to smash a bug.

The tinny voice still spoke from the phone. Even though she couldn’t hear the words, the sound comforted her. Someone was there. Someone was listening. The sirens grew louder.  Flashing red and blue lights illuminated the kitchen. Something dark streaked the side of the counter. The man’s hair had matted against his skull. His breath was raspy, difficult, as if his nose were plugged.

The door behind her opened and a light came on. She stood and whirled at the same time, skillet clutched tightly in both hands.

A policeman stood there, hands out. “It’s okay, ma’am. I’m here to help.”

She didn’t move. He came across the carpet slowly, facing her as he walked. He knelt beside the man and touched his matted hair. His fingers came away bloody. Two other policemen came in the doorway.

“He’s breathing,” the first policeman said. “But we’ll need some help.”

One of the others went back out the door. The first policeman stood. “We caught the other man on the road. You’re safe now. That was some pretty quick thinking.”

Her arms trembled under the skillet’s weight. She didn’t want to let it go. It was her protection. He came closer, reaching for her.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

“Your husband’s outside,” said the other policeman. “We met him as we were turning into the driveway. He wants to see you.”

Steve? She felt as if she were surfacing from a very deep sleep. Everything had to be okay if Steve was there. She loosened her grip on the skillet, and the policeman took it away from her as if he was afraid she would use it.

“Come on,” he said gently. “You’re safe with us. Do you have anything…?”

For a moment, she didn’t know what he meant. Then she glanced back at the man on the floor. His left hand lay flat on the towel. She shook her head.

He nodded to the other policeman who went into the bedroom. He returned carrying a pink chenille bedspread. With one hand, he extended it. She took it, and wrapped it around herself, wondering at the need for it. Would it embarrass them if she went outside naked?

“You hurt?” the first policeman asked.

She shook her head.

“Your husband’s outside,” the second one repeated.

They wanted her out of the house. Away from the man. That was good. She didn’t want to be near him anymore. She had shown him. She had finally shown him that he couldn’t hurt her, that he had no more power over her.

The night air was colder than she remembered. Five squad cars had squeezed into the small lawn, one parked on the baby pool near the swing set. Uniformed men huddled outside, talking. Steve stood with them until he saw her.

“Jesus, honey.”

He came over and put his arms around her. She realized for the first time that she was trembling. He caressed her face, then stopped when he touched the bedspread. It had slipped so that it clung to her like a cape.

“You’re not wearing anything. Did he—?”

His voice broke. She knew what he saw. More months of therapy. More months of darkness, of hesitant touch.

“No,” she said.

He took his hands off her as if he had been burned. She stepped back into his arms, and leaned her head on his strong shoulder. “I mean,” she said, “that he didn’t touch me. He didn’t touch me at all.”

His body felt good against her bare skin, the rough cloth of his suit giving her comfort she didn’t know she needed. The bedspread fell, and as he reached for it, she stopped him. He finished the hug, clutching her tight, and then bent down.

“You need this,” he said and wrapped the spread around her.

She didn’t need it. Not like he thought. Not ever again. Roger had been right. She had faced the fear and conquered it.

And no one would ever be able to hurt her again.

Copyright © by Kristine Kathryn Rusch
Published by WMG Publishing
Cover design by WMG Publishing
Cover art copyright © KrisCole/Depositphotos

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.

 

Women in SF&F Month continues today with a guest post by Samantha Mills, plus a chance to win a copy of her upcoming book (whether you live in the US or not)! She is the author of the science fantasy novel The Wings Upon Her Back, a Compton Crook Award winner and World Fantasy Award finalist—as well as one of my own favorite books published in 2024 for its uniqueness and exploration of a variety of subjects, particularly its protagonist’s […]

The post Women in SF&F Month: Samantha Mills first appeared on Fantasy Cafe.

No book is ever long enough for the Book Devouring Horde! House Andrews gifted us a little more.

This bonus scene is safe after Page 438, last scene of Chapter 40 of This Kingdom Will Not Kill Me

Lady Maggie.

Doran jogged up the steps to the curtain wall and passed through the keep tower’s wide-open gates. After the bright daylight, the interior was steeped in pleasantly cool shadows. Summer was coming and with it, Kair Toren’s heat. Not that the heat bothered him, but he missed the southern coast. The low hills of the Golden Valley ringed in terraced fields that curved like ribbons along the slopes. The turquoise waters of Ceter Lake, where the air smelled of flowers and blooming trees. The golden sand beaches, gently sloping into a warm ocean filled with bright fish flittering through the translucent depths.

Kair Toren had a rougher coast, the hills more rugged, the sea darker with a harsher surf. The city itself felt rougher too, unlike the idyllic white walls of Dilem. He’d been in this damn place for too long. He knew he was homesick, and she made it worse.

Doran passed through the tower and stepped out onto the terrace overlooking the Citadel Garden. A large table waited for him by the stone rail, offering a glittering glass pitcher of red wine, another of water, and two plain wooden cups. Merro Ridan sprawled in one of the two chairs, his mane of blond hair hanging loose, Doran’s formal breastplate resting on the ground next to him.

Ridan gave him a wave. The wine pitcher sitting on the table was a third empty.

Doran took the other chair and nodded at the wine. “Started early, I see.”

“It’s fucking hot, and your armor is heavy. Do you want me to pass out from the exhaustion?”

“Keep drinking and you might.”

Ridan rolled his eyes, picked up a jug of water and splashed some into his cup. “Better?”

“I’m looking out for you. Be grateful.”

“Oh, I always am.” Ridan took a long swig. “Are you going to tell me why I had to drop what I was doing and play dress up?”

“What were you doing?”

Ridan grimaced. “Having a chat with our Redeemer guest.”

Ah. That. “Anything?”

Ridan shook his head. “It’s a waste of time. I can apply pressure, but you can always tell when a man won’t break. We’re not getting anything out of that one. We can either cut his throat or cut him loose.”

Doran stretched his legs. Trying to gather information about the Order of the Redeemers had proved irritatingly difficult. He appreciated loyalty, expected and respected it, but fanatics grated on his nerves. The way Redeemers revered Silveren was unnatural. He might as well be one of the saints.

He couldn’t get a read on the man. Silveren was… slippery. He trailed the Second Prince like a morose shadow, avoiding attention, dodging conflicts, like he was made of smoke. Half of the time, you forgot he was in the room.

They had invited one of Silveren’s kardars over for a stay. He wasn’t a prisoner, but he’d been strongly encouraged to partake of their hospitality. The man proved savvy enough to understand what the invitation meant.

Like most Redeemers, he had a sordid past. In his former life, he’d been in charge of a fort, tasked with collecting taxes from the nearby domains, which he had embezzled. That by itself was enough of a crime, but he’d dipped into the garrison’s supplies, and when the raiders came, the fort fell. He’d barely escaped Sauven’s wrath and found a place in the Redeemer Tower.

As potential informants went, he seemed like a sure bet. Greedy. Opportunistic. Untroubled by honor. And yet nothing they’d offered him so far had moved him to break his loyalty to Silveren. He was steadfast.

Doran poured a splash of wine into his glass. Looking for informants wasn’t uncommon. Silveren and he were playing an old game, and they both knew the unspoken rules. Killing the Redeemer kardar would escalate things. There would be a time for that later. For now, he would keep it calm and civil.

“Cut him loose.”

Ridan nodded.

That’s what Doran had always liked about him. No matter the circumstances, Ridan always preferred an underhanded solution. Scheming came to him like breathing, and combined with a healthy appetite for violence, he made for a dangerous opponent. But he didn’t let his urges cloud his judgement. Ridan wasn’t conniving; he was shrewd and calculating, the kind of advisor who never lost sight of the big picture. They were rarely at odds.

Ridan studied him now. “Do you want me to try another one?”

Doran shook his head. “Not now. Silveren will be wary. We have time.”

Eventually, he would have to take the Redeemers on, but open warfare was never his first choice. He preferred to trap and contain, and in the case of an entire knight order, the most prudent course would be to remove them from the field. An expedition outside the borders, a long campaign somewhere far enough away, something to keep them busy…

Eventually an opportunity would present itself, and the old buzzard sitting on the throne trusted him enough to be swayed. At the right time, it wouldn’t take much. A word, a carefully planned encounter, and the Redeemers would be off, leaving him free to fight his private war.

“Well?” Ridan toasted him with a cup. “Don’t keep me in suspense. Who is she?”

Doran smiled at him. “I have found the one.”

Ridan blinked. “The one what?”

“The one I want.”

Ridan choked on his wine. “Will wonders never cease? Come on, give us more. Who is she? Which family?”

“I don’t know.”

Ridan set his cup down with some force. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I looked into her and found nothing. She’s hiding.”

Ridan’s eyes lit up. “She’s a mystery then. You never could resist a secret. What’s her name?”

“Maggie.”

Ridan frowned. “Odd name. Where is she from?”

“I don’t know. She speaks like she’s lived in Kair Toren all her life, with the best tutors and a proper education, but she isn’t from the city. If she was, she would know what I look like.”

“Of course she would. Perhaps she would have commissioned a drawing of you. Pinned to a wall above her bed so she could gaze upon it as she pleasured herself.”

Doran allowed himself a small smile.

“Is she even a noble? Can you at least tell that much?”

“She is. And from a prominent family.”

“Oh?”

“It’s the way she speaks. She looks you in the eye. She doesn’t fawn, preen, or second-guess herself.”

Ridan nodded. “She isn’t checking in her head whether her words align with her conduct lessons?”

“Yes. She was guarded but sure. Several days ago, I went to see her with Berengur, and she was exactly the same then.”

Ridan sighed. “Still looking for his long-lost brother?”

“Not anymore.”

Ridan glanced at him, surprised.

“She told him where Pelegrin has been, and why he chose to stay there.”

She had told Berengur a lot more than that. The way she’d spoken moved him. He’d kept turning her words over in his head on the way back to the Citadel.

“How would she know that?” Ridan demanded. “I’ve had people looking for Pelegrin for months. Nothing. Not a trace.”

“You said it yourself. She’s a mystery.”

“A mystery with access to a wide web of informants?” Ridan tapped his finger on the table for emphasis. “This worries me. Is she an imperial agent?”

“No.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“She doesn’t have the ruthlessness.” Doran recalled her limping and smiled again. “She is smart and sharp, but there is little pretense there. She’s genuine.”

Ridan groaned. “By the Aspects. She’s got her hooks in you. And what did this paragon of virtue ask in return for Pelegrin’s location?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s worse. She’s playing the long game. What did she want today?”

“She came to warn me. We have a man hunter.”

Ridan sat up straighter.

They had run across that type of predator in Dilem. It was a gruesome affair, savage enough for Doran to seek outside counsel. Fortunately, a priest of the Scholar in Dilem had made a study of man hunters. They were rare, afflicted with a particular sickness of the mind, often unable to distinguish between lust and murder. For them it was one and the same, and they chased the thrill of torture and death as if possessed. Sooner or later, they made mistakes and they got caught, but not before they’d reaped their bloody harvest.

“This one hunts knights,” Doran said.

“Shuhoven,” Ridan breathed. “Damn. I never liked that asshole, but he was good.”

“So is the hunter. He has magic, and it makes him faster. Eliarde is his next target.”

“According to your Lady Maggie?” Ridan leaned forward, no trace of humor on his face. “Let me guess, she warned you and asked for nothing in return? Does this not worry you? You have been baited, you have taken the hook, and now she will reel you in.”

“Don’t get ideas.”

“Let me kill her. It will be clean and quick. Think of what’s at stake. Of what we’ve worked for. Think of how high you’re aiming. Why would she show up now, when you are on the cusp of attaining your goals?”

Doran shook his head. “You’ll understand when you meet her. Merro, I mean it. No accidents. Not a hair on her head. She is mine.”

“Fuck me.” Ridan stared at him. “Of all the women you have had, why this one?”

He had enjoyed many women. Some were beautiful, some intelligent, ambitious, innocent, dangerous. But he’d never wanted to take any of them home. The game of seduction had grown stale ages ago, so much so that he could predict how things would end from the first conversation. Years had passed since any woman could hold his interest.

There was something about Maggie that pulled at him. They sat in the garden, talking, and he kept picturing her on the balcony in Ar-Vellen, with the sapphire blue sea behind her. He wanted to show the castle to her, to see her smile at him, to carry her off to his bed and have her until she was exhausted.

If she hadn’t left, he could’ve sat in that garden with her for hours. She was gone now, and the moment he had loaded her into a carriage, he’d realized he’d wanted her to stay. He would rather be talking to her now instead of Ridan, and it irked him that she wasn’t here.

He didn’t feel like explaining all of that, and Ridan wouldn’t understand it anyway.

“It is reason enough that I want her.”

Ridan slumped in his chair. “I swear, you will put me into an early grave. Have you communicated your interest?”

“I hinted.”

“And?”

“She ran away.”

Ridan threw his arms up. “At last, there is justice in this world. The one woman you finally want doesn’t want you. I’ve changed my mind. I like her. Just a bit. Not enough to keep me from killing her…”

“Merro,” Doran sank some command into his voice.

Ridan grinned at him. “I got it, I got it. Not a hair on her head. Can I at least look into her? Is that allowed?”

“Yes. Find out what you can. Be discreet.”

Ridan put a hand on his heart. “When have I ever been otherwise?”

“I want to know who she belongs to, and where she comes from. Tell me as soon as you have something.”

Ridan beamed at him. “As you will, my lord.”

The post Bonus Scene: Not A Hair On Her Head first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.

LitStack Spots Here are a few other titles we’ve spotted and are adding to the…

The post Spotlight on “The Fifth Year” by Marlen Haushofer appeared first on LitStack.

I’m dreaming of my blankie…Eileen.

I think I begin to see why…

You stay away from Eileen!

Holy shit, dudes, it’s just a blanket.

I like pigs.

Weirdos.

I’m more of a towel man, myself…

Mark Frost co-created, co-wrote, and co-produced, Twin Peaks. That includes the 2017 reboot (which I abandoned early on. I’m a huge fan of the original series, but the restart did nothing for me.

He also wrote the two Fantastic Four films with Jessica Alba (which I said here, are better than people give it credit), as well as 42 episodes of Hill Street Blues, which was an extremely influential cop show in the eighties.

Frost wrote the dark James Spader movie, Storyville after Twin Peaks ended. And he also wrote a novel, which came out in 1993.

The List of 7 came about because Frost is a Sherlock Holmes fan. Not only is the novel’s protagonist none other than Arthur Conan Doyle and bits of his life are scattered throughout, but there are Holmes-isms aplenty. Thus, the book is a type of pastiche, though darker than any straight Holmes tale I’ve read.

A struggling young doctor who hasn’t yet created Holmes, Doyle receives a mysterious summons to what turns out to be a séance. Really creepy stuff happens, people die, a mysterious rescuer appears, and Doyle spends the rest of the book on the run from a dark conspiracy. Turns out that his completely fictional novel submission, The Dark Brotherhood, exactly mirrors a real group. And as you can guess by the name, it’s a really evil secret organization. Man, don’t you hate it when that happens!

Doyle’s rescuer, Jack Sparks, clearly has a lot of Sherlock Holmes in him, with some James Bond thrown in. And the main villain certainly brings to mind a ruthless Moriarty. Doyle is a pretty good version of, well, himself.

This is a pulp style horror yarn: More Clark Ashton Smith than Arthur Conan Doyle. It’s lathered in supernatural like a cheap medium in fake ectoplasm. Four hundred pages long, it rollicks along at a breakneck pace: another pulp characteristic. I think that Frost is an over-writer. He uses lots and lots of words. I don’t particularly mind his style, but it certainly feels a bit wordy. This book could be leaner. It works, but it’s noticeable.

I’m not much of a horror fan, but I am a great fan of Robert R. McCammon (I wrote about his nearly flawless ‘coming of age’ novel, Boy’s Life, here). The antagonist brought to mind the villain from his novel, Baal. And that ain’t nice. There is some unpleasant stuff in this book: there’s just no way around it. This secret group is evil.

Now, along with Doyle, we meet Bram Stoker, Prince Edward Albert, and a slightly renamed Sir William Gull (the latter two figuring prominently in the Royal Conspiracy theories about Jack the Ripper).

But you can’t finish a chapter without running into something Sherlockian, which is fun. Sparks has a place on Montague Street, he uses cocaine, he’s brilliant, he has a brilliant brother: you get the idea. The story also nicely dovetails into Doyle’s actual life.

After the main problem has been resolved, there are still a couple of nice little surprises left. If you don’t mind a supernatural edge to your Holmes-like story, this is a pretty good read. Frost really does keep things moving forward at a brisk pace.

I recommend The List of 7 as as a Pulp-style, supernatural thriller with a Sherlock Holmes/Arthur Conan Doyle overlay. That definitely works for me.

THE SEQUEL

Two years later, Frost followed up with a sequel, The 6 Messiahs.

Doyle is now an international success, though constantly pestered to bring Holmes back from his supposed death at the Reichenbach Falls. Jack Sparks and Eileen Temple, from the first book, had vanished from his life.

Doyle, accompanied by his (real-life) younger brother, Innes, is off to America for a speaking tour. Shenanigans on shipboard (I like that turn of phrase) draw Doyle into a plan to steal great religious texts as part of an evil plot. Really, Doyle can’t turn around without coming up against some great evil trying to take over the world. It’s like Miss Marple or bakers on Hallmark, finding a dead body every time they leave the house!

Turns out five folks have had dreams of a great black tower rising out of the desert and events bring heroes and villains together for an epic showdown. “Five,” you say? Yep, you’ll have to guess who the sixth messiah is.

Unlike List, Messiahs is very much an American/Old West adventure. And there’s a Mormon feel to the religious commune. It doesn’t feel as action-packed as its predecessor. This one moves forward at a more leisurely pace. I think it’s in part because there’s much less a sense of imminent danger for Doyle this time around.

Anyone who enjoyed List should certainly read Messiahs, though I think it is markedly the lesser of the two. Nothing wrong with it, just not as good a book.

Mark Frost will forever be known (with David Lynch) for Twin Peaks. But he’s also got a foot in the Holmes door with these two dark, Pulpy novels about Arthur Conan Doyle. I’d certainly like to see it become a trilogy, but after thirty years of silence about it, I don’t think so.

Check out The List of 7. You won’t be disappointed.

 

Bob Byrne’s ‘A (Black) Gat in the Hand’ made its Black Gate debut in 2018 and has returned every summer since.

His ‘The Public Life of Sherlock Holmes’ column ran every Monday morning at Black Gate from March, 2014 through March, 2017. And he irregularly posts on Rex Stout’s gargantuan detective in ‘Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone.’ He is a member of the Praed Street Irregulars, and founded www.SolarPons.com (the only website dedicated to the ‘Sherlock Holmes of Praed Street’).

He organized Black Gate’s award-nominated ‘Discovering Robert E. Howard’ series, as well as the award-winning ‘Hither Came Conan’ series. Which is now part of THE Definitive guide to Conan. He also organized 2023’s ‘Talking Tolkien.’

He has contributed stories to The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories — Parts III, IV, V, VI, XXI, and XXXIII.

He has written introductions for Steeger Books, and appeared in several magazines, including Black Mask, Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine, The Strand Magazine, and Sherlock Magazine.

You can definitely ‘experience the Bobness’ at Jason Waltz’s ’24? in 42′ podcast.

 

Official Rachel Aaron WebsiteOfficial Travis Bach WebsitePre-order Death Has Joined The PartyRead the first two sample chapters over hereListen to an audio sample narrated by Nicholas Cain
Rachel Aaron and Travis Bach have announced a new series which is a whole new genre for both of them. Behold the fantasbulous cover of the MANA RUNNERS Book 1 titled Death Has Joined The Party which releases tomorrow (April 7th 2025)



OFFICIAL BOOK BLURB: Welcome, sentient races one and all, to the centennial season of the greatest collaboration between mortals and gods! The most thrilling, most deadly, most watched spectacle ever put on in any realm…Mana Runners!

The infinite dungeon below Whitepeak, the famous City of Wizards, has reset itself once again, bringing new traps, new monsters, and new, never-before-seen challenges to this historic event. All of your favorite champions from Season Ninety-Nine are back and ready to face what is sure to be the most difficult season of Mana Runners ever attempted. From the lowest Copper Tier to the Platinums who shine at the top, every Runner is ready to lay down their lives defending you from the monsters that lurk beneath the mountain.

All of their sacrifices shall be recorded in the pages of history, but only those blessed with unique powers from the gods can reach the deepest floors. It’s the event that brings sentient races from all over the world together! The spectacle no one can afford to miss! And you can watch it all live thanks to Whitepeak College of Wizardry’s revolutionary sendernet: the only Sending spell network that broadcasts the can’t-be-missed action of Mana Runners straight into your home!

(The Mana Runners Centennial Season is produced by the Whitepeak Dungeon Committee and the Coalition of Rightfully Aligned Gods. Remember, the gods are always listening, so be sure to pray for your favorite Mana Runner to earn them blessings as they battle the unthinkable dangers of the Endless Dungeon!)

Reading Level: Adult
Genre: Science Fiction
Length: 365 pages
Publisher: Tor Books
Release Date: September 28, 2021
ASIN: B08QGJDSCK
Stand Alone or Series: Sttand Alone
Source: Borrowed ebook from Kindle Unlimited
Rating: 5/5 stars

“Shizuka Satomi made a deal with the devil: to escape damnation, she must entice seven other violin prodigies to trade their souls for success. She has already delivered six.

When Katrina Nguyen, a young transgender runaway, catches Shizuka’s ear with her wild talent, Shizuka can almost feel the curse lifting. She’s found her final candidate.

But in a donut shop off a bustling highway in the San Gabriel Valley, Shizuka meets Lan Tran, retired starship captain, interstellar refugee, and mother of four. Shizuka doesn’t have time for crushes or coffee dates, what with her very soul on the line, but Lan’s kind smile and eyes like stars might just redefine a soul’s worth. And maybe something as small as a warm donut is powerful enough to break a curse as vast as the California coastline.

As the lives of these three women become entangled by chance and fate, a story of magic, identity, curses, and hope begins, and a family worth crossing the universe for is found.”

Series Info/Source: This is a stand alone book. I borrowed this from Kindle Unlimited on ebook.

Thoughts: This is one of the odder books I have read. I thought I was starting some sort of sci fi read, and it kind of is that, but it is so much more too. There is an ex-violin player cursed to send souls to hell, an alien running to Earth to protect her family by getting them set up to run a donut shop, a violin maker who is plagued by her family past, and a transgender runaway trying just to get people to accept her for who she is. It was a lot, but I was impressed with how seamlessly the story was woven together and by how hard this was to put down. It is a very different story, and I was impressed by how unique it was. I loved the ending as well.

The story follows three main characters. Katrina Nguyen is transgender and has runaway from an abusive home; she is incredibly talented at playing violin but struggling to make ends meet. Shuzuka Satomi is looking for her last victim; she made a deal with the devil and has delivered six of the seven souls she promised. Lan Tran is trying to run a donut shop, which is tougher than it sounds since she is an alien refugee fleeing a war and she is trying to provide for her whole family. All three women become entangled together, and things don’t turn out how any of them expect.

The writing is very well done and flows well. We jump between three main different viewpoints (with a couple others thrown in), but the story never feels fractured or hard to follow. This was a story that kept me interested and guessing; I struggled to put it down. I have honestly been struggling a bit with finding books that really grab me; sometimes, everything I read seems like something else I have already read. This book stood out from the crowd by being unique and different as well as thought-provoking and entertaining.

I really loved everything about this book. The characters have a lot of depth and are interesting; the story had a lot of different threads and they are masterfully woven together; and I just never knew what was going to happen next, so the story kept me interested.

There are heavy themes here around being people cruel to things/people they don’t understand (especially regarding people from a different background, women, or people with different sexuality) and around being true to yourself and finding a family and place where you belong. They were addressed very thoughtfully and wrapped in with an intriguing story.

My Summary (5/5): Overall I really loved this strange book about donuts, aliens, music, and souls. This was very well written, had excellent characters, and a unique storyline that was masterfully woven together. I would recommend this if the synopsis sounds intriguing to you and will definitely keep my eye out for future books by Aoki.

I’m really sorry that you are having such a long wait for the Book#4 edits to come back. I can understand your frustration with the publisher and a nagging doubt that the suggested Edits may somehow impact on the story-line of Book #5!

I always imagined that there was a close relationship between publisher and author, with the story coming from the author and the publisher (maybe) advising on current popular demand & crosschecking for internal typos plus continuity. Is there no way you can nudge them into saying just what/why the delay is?

[Perhaps a stiff email/letter from Charles Ashford would do the trick?]

The January-February issues of Analog Science Fiction & Fact and
Asimov’s Science Fiction. Cover art by Tithi Luadthong and Dominic Harman

We’ve settled into a new reality with Analog and Asimov’s SF. Both magazines are consistently running more than two months late, but both are at least on a predictable schedule, arriving regularly in two-month intervals. Readers more observant than I have pointed out that the publisher, Must Read Magazines, has removed the cover date and Next Issue date from the covers entirely, which was probably a good idea.

They do provide semi-regular updates online, and on March 31st Emily Alta Hockaday, Managing Editor at Dell Magazines, posted this in the Analog Science Fiction and Fact Magazine Fan Club on Facebook in response to a question on postal delivery.

We’re in the process of switching printers — both because of print quality and the delays we’ve experienced with them. Once we have the contract with the new printer figured out, I’ll have warehouse dates to share for both March/April and May/June.

Hopefully that change will help them gradually get back on schedule. In other news, Sheila Williams continues to recover from the brain aneurysm she suffered two months ago. She remains hospitalized, but her family posts occasional updates, including the delightful photo of Sheila below.

The unstoppable Sheila Williams, in a photo posted by her daughter Irene (with the caption “Felt cute might delete later”). That stare!

Until Sheila returns, Emily Hockaday continues to act as interim editor of Asimov’s.

As usual, the latest issues have plenty to offer science fiction fans, including new stories by Alexander Jablokov, William Preston, Adam-Troy Castro, Susan Palwick, Sean Monaghan (twice!), Jack Skillingstead, Will Ludwigsen, Lavie Tidhar, James Sallis, Mark W. Tierdermann, Geoffrey Hart, Matt McHugh, Jo Miles, Rich Larson, and many more.

Victoria Silverwolf at Tangent Online enjoyed the latest Analog.

“Sin Eaters” by Mark W. Tiedemann is the lead novelette. A police officer rescues alien children from a man who kidnapped and tortured them. The adult aliens refuse to press charges. The officer tries to figure out the motives of the man and the aliens, while dealing with his own emotional trauma. This is a powerful story that deals with issues of guilt, atonement, and psychological healing in a thoughtful and mature fashion. It also provides an example of true, profound friendship, rarely seen in fiction.

In the novelette “The Origami Man” by Doug Franklin, a fishing boat discovers what seems to be a drowned man in the middle of the ocean. The being turns out to be alive, and something other than human. It goes on to interact with the man who found it in a special way. At first, the mood is that of a horror story, with the entity compared to a zombie or a shape-shifting alien. The conclusion changes the tone drastically, in a way that some may find a bit too sentimental. The story is most notable for a vivid portrait of its Alaskan setting.

“You Who Sought the Stars’ Distant Light” by Stewart C. Baker is narrated by what was once the mind of a human being, now the consciousness of a starship. It defends itself against an intruder, only to discover its former relationship with the person invading it. The revelation of the narrator’s previous life, now forgotten, offers emotional appeal.

“Unsung” by Derrick Boden features a man who has been genetically engineered and prosthetically enhanced to become a military cyborg, destined to be a hero in a war taking place across the solar system. He participates in many battles, becoming less human each time, until he learns the truth about his origin and purpose. This is a dark, cynical story, with multiple deceptions involved in the plot.

The title character in “And She is Content” by Frank Ward is an artificial intelligence running a starship while the crew and passengers are in hibernation. Once a century during the long voyage the people wake up and enjoy the pleasures of a city created for them. The AI panics when the journey is complete, now that she has no purpose and will lose the company of the ship’s commander. This is a romantic science fiction story, reminiscent of Anne McCaffrey’s 1961 story “The Ship Who Sang” and its sequels. The once-a-century city is compared to the one featured in the 1947 musical Brigadoon. The AI and the Commander are referred to as the famous medieval lovers Heloise and Abelard. These allusions create a wistful, nostalgic mood that will appeal to softhearted readers.

“Linka’s Out” by Rich Larson takes place on a mining planet. The protagonist travels to the planet’s prison to meet the title character when she is released. The reunion leads to a shocking conclusion. This is a gloomy and hopeless tale, set on a harsh world dominated by an autocratic corporation. A hint to the story’s mood appears very early in the text, when the reader learns that the bodies of dead workers are recycled into raw material. The discovery that the main character makes at the prison is particularly gruesome.

All the characters in “Iron Star Swing” by Kate Orman are beings made up of subatomic particles, although they appear to each other as people or even as inanimate objects. They live on the surface of the sun, which is now a black dwarf in the immensely far future. They feed on neutrinos that reach the sun from stars that become novae. The plot involves a wounded warrior in a war that has lasted trillions of years and a young being who sometimes takes the form of a boy and sometimes of a firetruck. As can be seen, this story is most notable for its bizarre setting and characters.

Read Victoria’s complete review here.

The new Asimov’s is reviewed by Mina at Tangent Online. Here’s an excerpt.

“The Greenway” by Susan Palwick is an odd story, but it grows on you. The narrator is alone with her two children when the caravan comes bringing the “greenway” with it. We learn that all people eventually begin to sprout plants (a new meaning for “gone to seed”), which slowly kills them. But the sprouting bodies bring a new fertility that is spread every spring by the caravan. The bitter-sweet ending stays with you.

“Ecobomb” by Alexander Jablokov is an invasion story that doesn’t take itself too seriously. The aliens are truly alien, sending “ecobombs” to change the ecosystems on the planet they are invading. But the humans on the Earth adapt to the changes and start working with the new flora and fauna to create hybrids. They create biocomputers and, through cooperation, they not only survive but are ready when the alien invaders arrive. The story grows on you like an unpleasant fungus.

“The Man with the Ruined Hand” by Sean Monaghan starts with a heist in the middle of a desert of a distant planet. Cliff is sent to catch the thief but finds himself in the middle of a double cross. It feels like the author wanted to create a Philip Marlowe vibe, but Raymond Chandler did it better.

In “Replacement Theory” by Jack Skillingstead, Tyler suddenly starts seeing everyone around him as monsters, including his girlfriend Emma. Does he have a brain defect or is he surrounded by aliens? Then he meets someone else with the same problem. But who can he trust?

“The Imaginative Youngster’s Handbook to UFOs” by Will Ludwigsen is one of those short stories I really like — a wonderful surprise. What starts off reading like a book for intelligent and imaginative youngsters slowly gains an emotional depth that is truly heart-rending. We begin to care very much about one particular child, who experiences abuse and bullying in their daily life, yet who manages to keep wonder alive inside themselves despite their loneliness. There is gentle humour and questioning of things adults hold to be self-evident but, mostly, there is compassion and a desire not to be a person who hurts others just because you have been hurt yourself. What’s particularly well done is the mix of a child’s logic with adult understanding. I would read this more than twice!

“As Long As We’re Still Here, We Might As Well Dance” by Adam-Troy Castro continues our descent into grimness. We watch the last moments of two people who did not flee when the Nihilators arrived to destroy and “repurpose” their city, including anyone left alive in it. We see love and defiance, and an unwillingness to die. The real tragedy is that both protagonists stayed because each in their own way believed they deserved to be damned.

“The Lady in Camo” by John Richard Trtek is a detective story with references to Blade Runner, Chandler, and Sherlock Holmes. Jack Twice is hired to find a missing person. It’s a world filled with clones, soft deaths and partial resurrections. I wanted to like this story but just couldn’t fully engage with it. The last few lines are good, making you wish the rest of the story had lived up to them.

Read Mina’s complete review here.

Here’s all the details on the latest SF print mags.

Analog Science Fiction & Fact Magazine January/February 2026 contents Analog Science Fiction & Science Fact

Editor Trevor Quachri gives us a tantalizing summary of the current issue online, as usual.

This issue’s opening salvo of 2026 stories continues right on into a furious fusillade of fiction next issue, including:

“Sin Eaters,” by Mark W. Tiedemann: how do you investigate — let alone prosecute — a crime when the societal standards violated are so alien that we can hardly recognize them?; A slick interstellar heist (…or is it?) in “The Starworthy Slip,” by AC Koch; a particle-scaled solar fable in “Iron Star Swing” by Kate Orman; a sweet burgeoning romance that mingles with a perspective on a deep geological timescale to reveal something else entirely, in Peter Medeiros’ “A Future Full of Glaciers”; a salvage crew that thinks they’ve found signs of intelligent life only to realize that the life may have anticipated them more keenly then they’d like, in Geoffrey Hart’s “Monkey Trap”; a look at the realities of building permanent settlements on the Moon, in “Homes Away From Home,” our Fact Article for the issue, by Michael W. Carroll; and more, from Doug Franklin, Howard V. Hendrix, Theodora Suttcliffe, Sean Monaghan, Matt McHugh, and others, plus, of course, all our regular columns, including an additional Guest Alternate View from Richard A. Lovett on AI and conspiracy theories (sadly, ever more relevant by the day); as well as our annual Index and Analytical Laboratory ballot.

Get your copy now!

Here’s the full TOC.

Novelettes

“Sin Eaters” by Mark W. Tierdermann
“The Origami Man” by Doug Franklin
“Monkey Trap” by Geoffrey Hart

Short Stories

“Salary Man” by Matt McHugh
“You Who Sought the Star’s Distant Light” by Stewart C. Baker
“Artificial Cupidity” by Hayden Trenholm
“Still Cold, Still Losing Air” by Sean Monaghan
“A Goodbye at the End of the Universe” by Ian Baaske
“Silver Hands” by E.L. Mellor
“Unsung” by Derrick Boden
“A Future Full of Glaciers” by Peter Medeiros
“Flag Lamp” by Jonathan Olfert
“Recognition Memory” by Benjamin C. Kinney
“Jack Cade’s Rebellion” by Philip Brian Hall
“A Chatbot’s Guide to Self-Respect” by Jo Miles
“Like Father, Like Son” by Theodora Sutcliffe
“And She is Content” by Frank Ward
“Linka’s Out” by Rich Larson
“Iron Star Swing” by Kate Orman

Probability Zero

“Jiggity Jog” by Dan Mark Baldridge

Science Fact

Nor Any Drop to Drink by Kevin Walsh

Special Features

The War, Astounding, and Campbell by Edward M. Wysocki, Jr.
Me-N-You-Genics by Howard V. Hendrix

Poetry

Escape Pod by S.L. Johnson
The Bones They Left by Stanley Poole

Reader’s Departments

Editorial: The State of the Union by Trevor Quachri
In Times to Come
The Alternate View by John G. Cramer
In Memoriam: J.T. Sharrah by Emily Hockaday
In Memoriam: Bruce Boston by Emily Hockaday
Guest Alternate View by Richard A. Lovett
Unknowns, edited by Alec Nevala-Lee: Time Lapse by Todd McClary
The Reference Library by Sean CW Korsgaard
Brass Tacks
2025 Index
Analytical Laboratory Ballot

Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine January/February 2026 contents Asimov’s Science Fiction

Sheila Williams provides a brief summary of the latest issue of Asimov’s at the website.

We have a lively bunch of stories in our January/February 2026 issue! John Richard Trtek’s novella teems with intrigue, deceit, danger, and the mystery of “The Lady in Camo,” while Alexander Jablokov’s novelette, “Ecobomb,” is a tense yet often amusing tale about the unanticipated consequences of an alien invasion!

William Preston tells a moving story about a dying man, his sister, his robot double, and his best friend in “Stay”; James Sallis’s characters calmly face alien visitors and the death of half of humanity in “And We Will Find Rest”; in his first sale to Asimov’s, R.T. Ester tells a complicated tale about “The Tourist”; also new to Asimov’s, well-known author Adam-Troy Castro’s characters enjoy a final day of freedom in “As long as We’re Still Here, We Might as Well Dance”; some young men experience serious breakdowns in Jack Skillingstead’s “Replacement Theory”; a woman faces an unusual condition in K.A. Teryna’s lovely story about “All My Birds” (this tale was translated from Russian by Alex Shvartsman); another woman faces mysterious strangers and an illness along “The Greenway” in Susan Palwick’s new story; Sean Monaghan reveals why you shouldn’t trust “The Man with the Ruined Hand”; a woman copes with an extreme fetish in “The Moribund” by Lavie Tidhar; and Will Ludwigsen charms us with “The Imaginative Youngster’s Handbook to UFOs.”

Robert Silverberg’s Reflections considers: “The Multiplicity of Mermaids”; James Patrick Kelly’s On the Net looks at AI audio and says, “Welcome to Just Okay”; Kelly Jennings’s On Books reviews works by Mary Soon Lee, Ray Nayler, Chuck Tingle, Charlie Jane Anders, and others; Kelly Lagor’s Thought Experiment shines a light on “Bradbury and Truffaut’s Empathy in Fahrenheit 451”; plus we’ll have an array of poetry, our yearly Index, and our 40th Annual Readers’ Award ballot!

You’ll find our January/February 2026 issue on sale at newsstands on December 8, 2025. Or subscribe to Asimov’s—in paper format or our own downloadable varieties — by visiting us online at www.asimovs.com. We’re also available individually or by subscription via Amazon.com’s Kindle Unlimited, BarnesandNoble.com’s Nook, and Magzter.com/magazines!

Get your copy now!

Here’s the complete Table of Contents.

Novella

“The Lady in Camo” by John Richard Trtek

Novelettes

“Ecobomb” by Alexander Jablokov
“Stay” by William Preston
“The Tourist” by R.T. Ester
“As Long as We’re Still Here, We Might as Well Dance” by Adam-Troy Castro

Short Stories

“The Greenway” by Susan Palwick
“The Man with the Ruined Hand” by Sean Monaghan
“Replacement Theory” by Jack Skillingstead
“The Imaginative Youngster’s Handbook to UFOs” by Will Ludwigsen
“All My Birds” by K.A. Teryna (Translated by Alex Shvartsman)
“The Moribund” by Lavie Tidhar
“And We Shall Find Rest” by James Sallis

Poetry

Monster by Megan Branning
The Freetown Bar and Bookstore by M.C. Childs
Thirty-Six Views of the Milky Way by Connor Yeck
Closing Time by Brian U. Garrison
Humans Make Anything Their Pets by Dawn Vogel

Departments

Editorial: WorldCon Extraganza by Sheila Williams
Reflections: The Multiplicity of Mermaids by Robert Silverberg
On the Net: Welcome to Just Okay by James Patrick Kelly
Thought Experiment: Bradbury and Truffaut’s Empathy in Fahrenheit 451 by Kelly Lagor
2025 Index
Asimov’s Readers’ Awards Ballot
On Books by Kelly Jennings
Next Issue

Analog, Asimov’s Science Fiction and The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction are available wherever magazines are sold, and at various online outlets. Buy single issues and subscriptions at the links below.

Asimov’s Science Fiction (208 pages, $9.99 per issue, one year sub $57.75 in the US) — edited by Sheila Williams
Analog Science Fiction and Fact (208 pages, $10.99 per issue, one year sub $57.75 in the US) — edited by Trevor Quachri
The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction (208 pages, $12.99 per issue, one year sub $46.95  in the US) — edited by Sheree Renée Thomas

The January-February issues of Asimov’s and Analog are officially on sale until mid-February, but since that was almost two months ago and the magazines are still on sale, I suspect they’ll be on shelves a little longer than that. No word on when to expect the next F&SF, but let’s say 2027 to be on the safe side.

See our coverage of the November-December 2025 issues here, and all our recent magazine coverage here.

In reply to Jonathan.

Sales are fine, yes. And the book’s definitely coming out – the contract’s signed and the publication date is set for this November. They’re just being slow.

How frustrating! So sorry. Hopefully you’ll get the edits soon.

This just seems so strange. I thought sales on the new series were going well. I’m certainly planning on continuing to buy each book as it comes out! Is the publisher putting this on a back burner?