#Review - A Burning in the Bones by Scott Reintgen #YA #Fantasy

Series: Waxways # 3
Format: Hardcover, 544 pages
Release Date: February 4, 2025
Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry Books
Source: Publisher
Genre: Young Adult / Fantasy

Ren’s quest to dismantle Kathor’s corrupt system comes to a head as political machinations and a mysterious disease take hold of the city in this edge-of-your-seat conclusion to the New York Times bestselling Waxways series.

After taking control of House Brood, Ren and Theo dreamed of using their newfound influence to change the rest of Kathor, but now they find their efforts being countered by the other great houses, who have no interest in a world where they enjoy less power.

No one understands that better than the Tin’Vori siblings. The return of their ancestral home was a decade in the making, but they’re eager to keep rising from the ashes. Nevelyn begins researching House Brood—and ends up face-to-face with an enemy that’s already slouching toward the gates of the city. The one enemy no one can avoid: a plague.

The victims experience strange bruising, an unquenchable thirst, and a temporary disruption in magic. When doctors trace the illness to its source, they find another mystery: corpses placed in strategic locations around the city. As Ren leads the hunt for the culprits, she’ll find herself two steps behind a devious enemy whose sights are set on an unexpected prize: the city’s magic.

Survival will require every ounce of their skill, every bond old and new, or else the future Ren and Theo have worked to build will burn down with the rest of the world.

A Burning in the Bones is the third and final installment in author Scott Reintgen Waxways trilogy. This book actually focuses on three main characters: Ren Monroe, Dr. Mercy Whitaker, and Nevelyn Tin'Vori. After taking control of House Brood, Ren and Theo Brood dreamed of using their newfound influence to change the rest of Kathor, including the way the Houses have kept control of Kathor and all of the power for far too long but now they find their efforts being countered by an unknown group known as Makers who seem to have revolution and the destruction of magic at the center of their cause.

In a different part of Kathor, Dr. Mercy Whitaker and her Paladin, Declan Albright, are sent to a small community that has been hit by a strange sickness that is spreading quickly. The victims experience strange bruising, an unquenchable thirst, and a temporary disruption in magic. When Mercy traces the illness to its source, she and Declan discover another mystery: corpses intentionally placed in strategic locations around the city. Before she knows it, Kathor is in the middle of a plague with a low mortality rate, but that destroys the infected's magic. Mercy gave nuance to parts of the struggles in Kathor and beyond that other characters were not privy to.

No one understands the struggles of living in Kathor than the Tin’Vori siblings Nevelyn, Dahvid, and Ava. Years ago, House Brood led an unprecedented raid to destroy a fellow House of Kathor. But the surviving siblings haven’t forgotten the horrors waged against their family. The return of their ancestral home was a decade in the making, but they’re eager to keep rising from the ashes.  Like fire, the Tin’Vori siblings are as dangerous as they are useful, both gifted in rare magics.  Nevelyn begins researching House Brood—and ends up face-to-face with an enemy called Makers that seems to be one step ahead of the major houses who control Kathor. What's worse, is when Ava is infected with the plague, Neve knows her home is in big trouble, and that is normally where you would find Ren. 

As Ren and Theo lead the hunt for the culprits, they’ll find themselves two steps behind a devious enemy whose sights are set on an unexpected prize: every person who has magic. Survival will require every ounce of their skill, every bond old and new, or else the future Ren and Theo have worked to build will burn down with the rest of the world. While these threads beginning with Mercy and Neve seem to be separate issues, they weave ever closer together with Ren's investigation leads to plenty of mystery and intrigue and also introduces a new villain and leaves one the main characters more of a hero than Ren in this story. 

Overall, adding Mercy's narrative to the story made the book stronger in my opinion. She is a specialist after all, and she also has a pretty interesting power that I won't spoil because the use of said power is the reason why things wrap up the way they do. It is fair to say that Theo and Ren's bond strengthens to the point where he can literally pull her to wherever she is in this world. There are quite a few sacrifices in this book, so be forewarned not to expect a normal ending to this series. Ren also has a bit of turmoil after learning that someone close to her may be involved with the Makers, and how she ends up resolving that issue tells a whole lot about Ren's growth.

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#Review - The Otherwhere Post by Emily J. Taylor #YA #Mystery #Fantasy

Series: Standalone
Format: Hardcover, 416 pages
Release Date: February 25, 2025
Publisher: G.P. Putnam's Sons Books for Young Readers
Source: Publisher
Genre: Young Adult / Dark Fantasy

The New York Times bestselling author of Hotel Magnifique returns with this stunning dark academic fantasy full of deadly magic and dangerous secrets, perfect for fans of Divine Rivals and A Study in Drowning.

Seven years ago, Maeve Abenthy lost everything: her world, her father, even her name. Desperate to escape the stain of her father’s crimes, she lives under a fake name, never staying in one place long enough to put down roots.

Then she receives a mysterious letter with four impossible words: Your father was innocent.

To uncover the truth, she poses as an apprentice for the Otherwhere Post, where she’ll be trained in the art of scriptomancy—the dangerous magic that allows couriers to enchant letters and deliver them to other worlds. But looking into her father’s past draws more attention than she’d planned.

Her secretive, infuriatingly handsome mentor knows she’s lying about her identity, and time is running out to convince him to trust her. Worse, she begins to receive threatening letters, warning her to drop her investigation—or else. For Maeve to unravel the mystery of what happened seven years ago, she may have to forfeit her life.

Emily J. Taylor's The Otherwhere Post is a mystery spanning different worlds, filled with dangerous romance, deadly magic, and Edwardian Dark Academia vibes. The story comes to us in Maeve’s third-person perspective. This is an interesting world. A world where the citizens could travel between three worlds (Inverly, Barrow, and Leyland) through doorways until seven years ago. Those doorways were burned, leaving the people in one of the worlds for dead. Now, the other two can only communicate through letters delivered by the Otherwhere Post, people trained in the art of scriptomancy, the magic that allows them to enchant letters and travel between the two worlds.

Seven years ago, Maeve Abenthy lost everything: her world, her father, even her name. Desperate to escape the stain of her father Jonathan Abenthy’s crimes, she lives under a fake name, Isla Craig, never staying in one place long enough to put down roots. She is ready to move on to yet another place when she receives a mysterious letter with four impossible words: Your father was innocent. Jonathan, a powerful scriptomancer capable of enchanting letters, was accused of unleashing Aldervine, a deadly plant with crawling branches that killed many, including Maeve. Although she was saved at the last second by a mysterious man, she witnessed the death of her aunt years ago. 

Maeve has had to change her name in order to avoid any comparison to her father. Maeve has been scrimping and saving every penny to leave her latest job and start a new life. On the day she’s ready to walk away from everything, however, Maeve receives an anonymous letter from saying her father was innocent. He didn’t cause the Aldervine to enter Inverly; he wasn’t responsible for the burning of the Written Doors. Maeve’s path crosses with the mysterious courier named Tristan who tells her the only way to trace the sender is by accessing the archives, a privilege only couriers have. To solve the mystery, Maeve decides to infiltrate Otherwhere Post by faking her credentials, references, and stealing another applicant’s identity. 

She also encounters Nan, who will become a key secondary character in this story, as well as her roommate. Tristan quickly discovers she’s faking her identity but, instead of exposing her, he’s intrigued and offers to help. To uncover the truth, she poses as an apprentice for the Otherwhere Post where she’ll be trained in the art of scriptomancy—the dangerous magic that allows couriers to enchant letters and deliver them to other worlds. But looking into her father’s past draws more attention than she’d planned. Her secretive, infuriatingly handsome mentor knows she’s lying about her identity, and time is running out to convince him to trust her. Worse, she begins to receive threatening letters, warning her to drop her investigation—or else. For Maeve to unravel the mystery of what happened seven years ago, she may have to forfeit her life.

Overall, this was a pretty entertaining story even though at times Maeve does some really stupid things which ends up getting her in trouble, especially towards the end when she finally understands what really happened 7 years ago. The mystery and plot twists were nice, and the romance wasn't over the top nor did it take away from the plotline. I would have liked to see more depth in the magical system. 

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#Review - Finlay Donovan Rolls the Dice by Elle Cosimano #Mystery #Humorous

Series: The Finlay Donovan Series (#4)
Format: Hardcover, 320 pages
Release Date: March 5, 2024
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Source: Publisher
Genre: Mystery

From New York Times bestseller and Edgar-Award nominee Elle Cosimano, comes Finlay Donovan Rolls the Dice—the fiercely anticipated next installment in the beloved Finlay Donovan series.

Finlay Donovan and her nanny/partner-in-crime Vero are in sore need of a girls’ weekend away. They plan a trip to Atlantic City, but odds are—seeing as it’s actually a cover story to negotiate a deal with a dangerous loan shark, save Vero’s childhood crush Javi, and hunt down a stolen car—it won’t be all fun and games. When Finlay’s ex-husband Steven and her mother insist on tagging along too, Finlay and Vero suddenly have a few too many meddlesome passengers along for the ride.

Within hours of arriving in their seedy casino hotel, it becomes clear their rescue mission is going to be a bust. Javi’s kidnapper, Marco, refuses to negotiate, demanding payment in full in exchange for Javi’s life. But that’s not all—he insists on knowing the whereabouts of his missing nephew, Ike, who mysteriously disappeared. Unable to confess what really happened to Ike, Finlay and Vero are forced to come up with a new plan: sleuth out the location of Javi and the Aston Martin, then steal them both back.

If Finlay can juggle a jealous ex-husband, two precocious kids, her mother’s marital issues, a decomposing loan shark, and find Vero’s missing boyfriend, she might get out of Atlantic City in one piece. But will she fold under the pressure and come clean about the things she’s done, or be forced to double down?

Finlay Donovan Rolls the Dice is the fourth installment in author Elle Cosimano's Finlay Donovan Series. 9 hours ago, Finlay and Vero Ramirez escaped a fire at the Citizens’ Police Academy where they were trying to out a compromised cop working for Feliks Zhirov. In a wicked turn of events, it's not who they thought, and he fled with a suitcase filled with money. Money Vero, who is Finlay's partner-in-crime, needs to pay off Marco Toscano. Now with Vero's friend Ike missing, and 72 to hours to payback Marco, it's time for a new plan. 

With the money gone, and Vero needing to clear her debts, Finlay Donovan and Vero plan a trip to Atlantic City which they tell everyone else it's a girls away vacation. It's actually a cover story to negotiate a deal with a dangerous loan shark, save Vero’s childhood crush Javi, and hunt down a stolen car―it won’t be all fun and games. When Finlay’s ex-husband Steven decides she can't leave town with the kids, he joins. If that wasn't enough, Finlay's mom appears to be having martial issues, and needs to get away. 

Finlay and Vero suddenly have a few too many meddlesome passengers along for the ride. Within hours of arriving in their seedy casino hotel, it becomes clear their rescue mission is going to be a bust. Javi’s kidnapper, Marco Toscano, refuses to negotiate, demanding payment in full in exchange for Javi’s life. But that’s not all―he insists on knowing the whereabouts of his missing nephew, Ike, who mysteriously disappeared. Unable to confess what really happened to Ike, since he might implicate her in another death, Finlay and Vero are forced to come up with a new plan: sleuth out the location of Javi and the Aston Martin, then steal them both back.

But when they sneak into the loan shark’s suite to search for clues, they find more than they bargained for―Marco's already dead, and there's also another body as well. They don’t have a clue who murdered him, only that they themselves have a very convincing motive thanks to one Feliks Zhirov. Then things get complicated when Detective Nick Anthony, Finlay's sister Georgia, Detective Becker, and FBI Agent Garret Stokes show up after receiving a tip that Feliks is in Atlantic City. 

Experiencing roadblock after roadblock from family, friends, lovers, and bad guys, Finlay and Vero are doubling down on this crapshoot with every gimmick and wild card they can line up. This isn't Penny ante poker they're playing and the stakes are high. If Finlay can juggle a jealous ex-husband, two precocious kids, her mother’s marital issues, a decomposing loan shark, and find Vero’s missing boyfriend, she might get out of Atlantic City in one piece. But will she fold under the pressure and come clean about the things she’s done, or be forced to double down?

While this book ends right where Finlay Donovan Jumps the Gun, this book is the opening for the next book in the series where readers may finally learn the truth about Finlay's noisy next door neighbor. We are also hopefully seeing another aspect of Finlay's life with not only Nick, but with her romantic suspense novel she's been working on over the course of this series. It would be nice if things wrapped up for Finlay, and she got a happy ending. 

CHAPTER 1

NINE HOURS EARLIER


Vero hadn’t so much as glanced up from the ransom note in her hand since we’d left her cousin’s garage, when she’d handed me the keys to one of Ramón’s loaner cars and slumped down in the passenger seat, reading and rereading the single sentence on the sheet of paper like it was a puzzle that might solve itself if she stared at it long enough. I turned down the long gravel drive, checking the number on the rusted mailbox against the address printed on the custody agreement my ex’s attorney had sent me before the holidays. As I rounded the last bend, I breathed a sigh of relief when Steven’s F-150 came into view.

I pulled the loaner car beside it and cut off the engine, ducking in my seat to get a better look at the two-story farmhouse as I took a moment to collect myself. It was eight thirty A.M. on a Friday in late January, but it felt like an entire year had passed since I’d seen my children yesterday.

“We should figure out exactly what we’re going to tell him before we go in,” I said, raking my soot-stained hair from my face, “to make sure we’re on the same page so he doesn’t suspect anything.” I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror. A pair of raccoon eyes stared back at me, and I wiped them with my smoke-blackened fingers. “Vero?” When she didn’t answer, I snatched the ransom note from her hand, folded it up, and stuffed it in the glove box. “Dwelling on that note isn’t helping.”

“They’re going to kill him, Finn,” she said in a small voice. A voice that should not, under any circumstances, come out of a mouth as big as Vero’s. An hour ago, she’d been cussing up a bilingual storm of expletives, threatening murder in two languages, ready to roll up to Atlantic City in body armor on the back of a white horse, rescue her childhood crush, and kick someone’s ass.

But then we’d found the ransom note tucked under the windshield wiper of Javi’s van:

You have seventy-two hours to pay back what you owe.

There had been no phone number on the note. No name. Vero hadn’t needed one.

She’d paled upon reading it, as if Javi were already dead. But she was moving through the five stages of grief way too fast, and she was skipping the most important one: bargaining.

“They’re not going to kill him. It’s not a condolence card, Vero. It’s a ransom note, which means Javi is alive and they want to negotiate.”

“We don’t have anything to negotiate with! If it was just about the two hundred grand, we could borrow it. Or steal it. Or come up with some kind of an installment plan using my inessential body parts for payment. But that’s not what Marco wants.”

“He’s a loan shark and you’re in debt to him. Of course that’s what he wants.”

“Marco got every penny I owed him and more when his goons stole the Aston Martin from us.”

The Aston Martin Superleggera that had been “gifted” to me by a Russian mob boss felt more like a stone around our necks. If it hadn’t been purchased by the mobster and registered in my name, I probably would have let Marco keep the damn thing. But since our names were on the title and Vero’s boyfriend was in the trunk, we had two very compelling reasons to find it.

“This isn’t about money, Finlay. This is about an eye for an eye. Marco obviously took Javi because he thinks we have Ike. And since what’s left of Ike could probably fit in a ketchup bottle, I don’t think those negotiations are going to go very well.” I grimaced at the memory of Ike—or rather, Ike’s shoes—sticking out from under a pile of cars in Vero’s cousin’s salvage yard. It hadn’t been our fault he’d tried to kill us and accidentally ended up squishing himself. What I did regret, however, was asking the Russian mob to dispose of his body for us. In our defense, at the time, we hadn’t had much of a choice.

Vero turned to the window, drumming the passenger door with her soot-blackened fingernails as she gathered a breath. “This is all my fault. If I hadn’t asked Javi to fence the car, he never would have been there when Marco’s people came to steal it.”

“All that matters now is that Javi is alive,” I reminded her.

“What are we going to tell Marco when he asks about Ike?”

“I don’t know. I’ll make something up.” As a romantic suspense novelist, I got paid to make up stories. I’d come up with something. “The police only found Ike’s car burned in that field. They didn’t say anything about finding any remains inside it. For all Marco knows, Ike is alive. All we have to do is convince him we had nothing to do with his disappearance.”

“How are we going to do that?”

“We’ll figure it out once we get to Atlantic City.”

“You really think bringing the kids along is a good idea?”

“You really think we should leave them with Steven?” Steven had recently been the target of a contract killer called EasyClean. And EasyClean had seemed pretty convinced that Steven deserved it. “We have no idea what kind of shady business Steven was involved in. Delia and Zach will be safer with us. Besides, we’re not going to Atlantic City to start a war with Marco. We’re going to handle this using our words, like civilized adults.”

“I’m voting for a more violent approach. Maybe we should take the children to your mom’s.”

“My mother has enough on her plate.” My father had just passed a kidney stone that Bruce Willis and Ben Affleck could have blown up with less drama, and my mother had spent the last two days in the hospital enduring it with him. I hadn’t wanted to burden her, so I hadn’t bothered to call.

“What are you going to tell Steven?”

“The truth. That we’re exhausted, stressed out, and in desperate need of a vacation, and we’re taking the kids with us.” I opened my door, fighting my damp, stiff jeans as I climbed out of the loaner car. Vero followed, slamming her door a little too hard.

A curtain parted in one of the first-floor windows as I hauled our single piece of surviving luggage from the trunk. The front door swung open before I reached the porch. My ex-husband, Steven, stood in the frame, wearing his favorite threadbare plaid pajama bottoms with mismatched socks and a sleep-wrinkled undershirt. His eyes raked over my soot-smeared clothes, down the singed sleeve of my coat to the suitcase in my hand. Water seeped from my shoes as I dragged it up the porch steps.

“Jesus, Finn! I’ve been worried sick.” He ignored Vero’s snort of disgust as he grabbed me around the shoulders and pulled me into a suffocating hug. “I’ve been trying to call you since I woke up and saw the news. That citizen’s police academy was all over the TV this morning.” He held me at arm’s length, wrinkling his nose. “You smell like a chimney. What the hell happened to you?” I could only imagine what Vero and I must have looked like. Neither one of us had slept more than a wink the last two nights, and we’d narrowly avoided being burned alive less than four hours ago.

“I’ll explain everything after coffee.” Or at least, almost everything. Now was not the time to tell him that the local head of the Russian mob had tried to barbecue us because I had pissed him off. And it definitely wasn’t the time to tell him that Vero and I were heading to Atlantic City on a rescue mission because of a gambling debt to a loan shark she couldn’t pay back. Steven disliked my children’s nanny enough already. I saw no reason to add fuel to his fire.

I looked past him into the house as I came inside and set down my suitcase. Toy trucks and Barbie clothes and crayons littered the floor. My children sat amidst the mess, fighting over a Fruit Roll-Up.

“Give it to me!” Delia snapped. “I had it first!”

“No! It mine!” Zach grabbed a fistful of her short hair and pulled. Delia shrieked and started crying.

Vero reached for Delia and I reached for Zach, prying his grape-jelly fingers from his sister’s bangs and pulling the two children several feet apart. I commenced with my usual lecture, about how we use our manners and our words to get what we want. That violence isn’t the answer and it isn’t kind to hit. But the children had stopped listening, their attention turned to the TV.

“Look, Mommy,” Delia said through a sniffle, wiping her eyes. “It’s Nick.”

Vero angled for a better look at the flat-screen on Steven’s wall. “I didn’t think it was possible, Finn, but your boyfriend’s even hotter in high definition.”

Delia looked up sharply, the Cupid’s bow of her mouth turning down when Steven stormed into the living room and turned off the TV.

It had been the same clip of the same news broadcast we’d heard three times on three different news channels on the drive here: Detective Nicholas Anthony of the Fairfax County Police Department fielding rapid-fire questions from a gaggle of reporters about the shooting at the citizen’s police academy yesterday. About the wounded officer’s condition. About the mysterious fire at the academy earlier that morning. About Feliks Zhirov’s escape from jail two nights ago, and if Nick suspected the Russian mobster had anything to do with any of it. Nick had danced around their questions like a pro, distracting them with an Oscar-worthy smile and throwing out the occasional “no comment” when misdirection hadn’t worked.

I touched my lips as his face disappeared from the TV screen. They were still chapped and swollen from our tryst in his room last night and our handful of hurried kisses as I’d departed the academy grounds that morning. I hated that I missed him already. That we were less than twenty-four hours into a relationship and I was already regretting the lies I would have to tell him when he finally managed to break free of the media circus to call me.

Vero smirked at Steven. “That particular shade of jealousy really suits you. It complements your pajamas and the bloodshot color of your eyes.”

Steven flipped her the bird behind the children’s backs.

Delia wrinkled her nose at Vero. “You and Mommy need a bath.”

Vero planted a sooty kiss on her cheek. “We most certainly do.”

“But first, caffeine,” I said, setting Zach down and kicking off my damp shoes.

“You heard the woman,” Vero said, snapping her free fingers at Steven. “She wants coffee, and I don’t smell any brewing in here, so why don’t you go make yourself useful while I get the kids dressed and pack up their things?”

A vein bulged in his temple as Vero took the children upstairs. He dragged me into the kitchen while she herded them into their rooms. “You mind telling me what the hell is going on? And what’s she doing here?”

“The police academy shut down a day early, so we came straight here to pick up the kids.”

“I know that, Finn. It’s been all over the news. Does this have anything to do with Zhirov?”

“Yes,” I said frankly, removing his hand from my arm and searching his cabinets for coffee filters. “Feliks showed up at the training center last night looking for someone. He shot Nick’s partner and started a fire. Don’t worry,” I said before Steven could ask, “he wasn’t there looking for me.” That was only partly true.

Steven slunk to the window and peered between the curtains as if he expected to see Feliks lurking in his shrubbery. “Whose car is that?”

I poured a carafe of water into the pot and switched it on. “It’s a loaner. Vero borrowed it from her cousin’s garage. I’ll take the kids’ car seats from your truck. What?” I asked at his indignant look. “You’re not going to need them.”

“Where’s the minivan?”

“At my place.”

“Why didn’t you bring it?”

“Because the garage was closer to your house and it made more sense to come straight here,” I said, pulling two mugs down from a cabinet.

“Or because Zhirov’s loose and you didn’t want to go home?” Steven pushed the cabinet shut when I didn’t answer. He leaned in to my space. “You’re scared of him, aren’t you?” he asked, hovering over my shoulder as I turned to the fridge. “That’s what all this is about? You’re scared Zhirov will come after you.”

“I have no reason to think that.” I hid my face from him as I rummaged for the milk. “Feliks isn’t even in the country anymore. The FBI says he was spotted in Brazil. We have nothing to worry about.” I weaved around him, carrying the carton back to the coffeepot. “As soon as the kids are dressed and ready, Vero and I will take them and go.”

“The hell you will! You’re not going anywhere as long as that psycho is out there! You and the kids can stay here with me. And she,” he said, stabbing a finger at the ceiling, presumably toward the children’s bedrooms, where Vero was hopefully packing their bags, “can drive that car back to her cousin’s garage and stay with him.”

“I’m not staying here,” I said, pouring two cups of coffee and splashing a heavy pour of milk into both. “And Vero’s not staying at her cousin’s.” I dumped a spoonful of sugar into the second mug as Steven reached for it.

“What are you doing?” he asked, pulling a face. “You know I don’t take sugar in my coffee.”

“It’s Vero’s,” I said, snatching it away from him. “And we’re not staying at home. It’s been a stressful week and we both need a getaway.”

“Getaway where?”

“I don’t know. I was thinking the Jersey Shore. Maybe Atlantic City.”

“In the middle of the winter? Isn’t it a little cold for the beach?”

I shrugged.

“Fine,” he said, reaching over my shoulder and pulling a travel mug from the cabinet, “then I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t come with us. It’s a girls’ trip.”

“And you can’t take our kids out of state without my permission.”

“Says who?”

“Says my attorney.”

“When did he say that?”

“In the fine print of our custody agreement. Which you signed, by the way, so don’t get any ideas about sneaking off to New Jersey without me.”

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#Review & Excerpt - I Died for Beauty by Amanda Flower #Mystery #Historical

Series: An Emily Dickinson Mystery # 3
Format: Paperback, 352 pages
Release Date: February 25, 2025
Publisher: Berkley
Source: Publisher
Genre: Mystery / Historical

When a blaze takes both a neighbor’s home and his life, Emily Dickinson and her maid Willa have a burning desire to crack the case in this new historical mystery from Agatha Award–winning author Amanda Flower.

Amherst, 1857. The Dickinson family braves one of the worst winters in New England’s history. Trains are snowbound and boats are frozen in the harbor. Emily Dickinson and her maid, Willa Noble, have never witnessed anything like it. As Amherst families attempt to keep their homes warm, fears of fire abound.

These worries prove not to be unfounded as a blaze breaks out just down the street from the Dickinson in Kelley Square, the Irish community in Amherst, and a young couple is killed, leaving behind their young child. Their deaths appear to be a tragic accident, but Emily finds herself harboring suspicions there may be more to the fire than meets the eye. Emily and Willa must withstand the frigid temperatures and discover a killer lurking among the deadly frost.

"Long years apart can make no breach a second cannot fill; the absence of the witch does not invalidate the spell." Emily Dickinson

I Died For Beauty is the third and apparent final installment in author Amanda Flower's An Emily Dickinson Mystery series. This historical series features Willa Noble, maid to iconic American poet Emily Dickinson, who solves mysteries with her new employer, even though Emily's family tends to look down their noses at the relationship between the pair. This story takes place in Amherst in the year 1857. The Dickinson family braves one of the worst winters in New England’s history. Trains are snowbound, and boats are frozen in the harbor. 

Emily and Willa Noble have never witnessed anything like it. There is a sharp class distinction between Emily’s upper-class family and the hired help. Emily’s family, especially Emily's sister Lavinia, can’t understand why Emily is friends with someone beneath them. Willa's boss, Margaret O'Brien (who was a real person), is often curious, and maybe jealous that Willa spends too much time with Emily. Willa is stuck in an impossible position. She is well aware the Dickinson's see her as someone beneath their class. Emily loves her family but is headstrong, confident, and full of ideas and opinions. 

She is full of ideas and opinions that many consider bold. Her determination can be daunting to others. She doesn’t like rigid structures and has a keen sense of justice. As Amherst families attempt to keep their homes warm, fears of fire abound. As the Dickinson's are asked to help out a poor family in town by taking them food and other supplies, they are also awakened in the middle of the night by the ringing of bells – a house fire is blazing in the middle of town. Thanks to Carlo, Emily’s Newfoundland dog (a real dog who followed Emily all over town), Emily and Willa discover a child, Norah Rose, in the woods. 

Her parents appear to have died tragically in the fire, but Emily finds herself harboring suspicions there may be more to the fire than meets the eye. While Emily's sister-in-law, and likely only real friend Susan, takes Norah Rose in temporarily as they attempt to find relatives for her to live with, Emily and Willa must withstand the frigid temperatures and discover a killer lurking among the deadly frost. As with previous novels, Flower tends to add real-life characters to her story, like Lucy Stone, who was one of the first women in the US to travel around the country fighting for women's rights. But as always, it is not the men who are the problem but the women. 

Over the course of the story, and searching for the reason for the deaths of Norah Rose's parents, it seems as though Norah Rose will only speak with Willa, which makes for a very interesting dynamic later in the story. I found the ending to be pretty emotional. If you've read this series from the beginning, Emily seems to have had agoraphobia and only left the house with her dog, who she later penned a poem after he left this world. Meanwhile, Willa has been avoiding Officer Matthew, who wants more from her. With Norah Rose in the picture, could it be that Willa will finally take the plunge? 

Note: Each of the three books in this series was named after poems written by Emily Dickinson. 

I died for Beauty - but was scarce
Adjusted in the Tomb
When One who died for Truth, was lain
In an adjoining Room -

He questioned softly "Why I failed"?
"For Beauty", I replied -
"And I - for Truth - Themself are One -
We Brethren are",  He said -

And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night —
We talked between the Rooms -
Until the Moss had reached our lips -
And covered up  - Our names - Emily Dickinson

chapter one

I'd never been this cold. Despite the three pairs of stockings on my feet, I no longer felt my toes. Nor could I feel my hands with two pairs of mittens on them. I looked down at my hands from time to time to reassure myself that I still held the market basket. It was not as heavy as I hoped nor as full as my employers would have wished.

The trains had stopped running days ago. Snowdrifts up to ten feet high blocked their path. It was the worst winter in my memory or in the memory of anyone I knew. We all felt the pinch from the Cold Storm of 1857.

December had been snowy, but it seemed that January was taking it upon itself to prove it could surpass the very worst of weather the last year or even the last decade had to offer.

Here in Amherst, the mercury was twenty degrees below zero, but I also heard that the same temperatures were crippling points as far south as Washington. The cold was torture here, but at least we expected harsh winters. It must have come as a shock to the Southern belles and fine gentlemen in the capital.

I was grateful Horace, the Dickinsons' grounds keeper, had shoveled a path from the street to both the front and back doors of the homestead. Without that cleared path, my skirt would have been soaked through in no time at all. Even so it was narrow, just wide enough for one man to pass, so I had to grip my skirts and hold the market basket out in front of myself like I was making some sort of offering to the winter gods that caused this weather. The way I held my arms out reminded me of the mummy illustrations in the volume of ancient Egyptian history in Mr. Dickinson's library.

Margaret O'Brien, the head maid at the homestead, met me at the back door that led into the laundry. She took the basket from my hands so quickly I felt a sharp pain in my stiff fingers. "Get in here before you let the heat out," she said in her Irish lilt.

I stepped into the laundry and made sure the back door was firmly closed behind me. I placed the heavy blanket back in its place at the foot of the door to keep out the draft. I removed my bonnet, cloak, mittens, boots, and two pairs of stockings, which I tucked into the boots. When I was out of the boots, I changed into my house shoes. It was a relief to not be buried under so much fabric, but much of the cold that the cloak held at bay hit me like an icy wave crashing into Boston Harbor.

In the kitchen Margaret unpacked the basket. "Where is my molasses? And where is the cinnamon I asked for?"

Emily Dickinson came into the kitchen just then, quietly and lightly as she always did. She moved around the place like a house wren that popped up here and there on an unexpected branch in the garden.

Emily was the eldest daughter in the house and the most puzzling of the Dickinsons. While her sister, Miss Lavinia, was straightforward and direct, Emily tended to weave her thoughts into verse and she felt no need to explain in common language their meaning or purpose.

"Willa," she said with a smile. "You're back. You must be frozen to your very bones. Margaret, set a stool by the stove, so she can warm herself."

Grudgingly, Margaret started to walk to the stool.

I hurried on unsteady feet stiff with cold. "There is no need. As soon as I start working, I will warm up quickly."

Emily eyed me as if she was not so sure of that, but to my relief, she didn't argue with me. It was my wish not to annoy Margaret any more with my unusual friendship with Emily than she was already. The more special treatment that Emily gave me as her friend, the more Margaret O'Brien resented me.

I knew a second maid claiming an upper-class educated young lady as a friend was unexpected to say the least. However, over the last two years that I had worked in the Dickinson home, Emily had become my friend as much as she could be, considering our stations in life, and I was appreciative for the bond. She was there when I lost my brother, Henry, and I would always be grateful to her for that.

Emily looked over the items that Margaret unpacked from the basket. "Where is my coconut?"

I started to boil water on the stove to wash the breakfast dishes that I had left undone to run to the market. Usually, the market boy delivered to the homestead. With the harsh weather, all deliveries save the milkman had stopped. That was a blessing as it was so cold that our cow had stopped producing milk.

"I'm sorry, Miss Dickinson," I said. "But the grocer told me that there was no coconut in all of Amherst. With the cold, the trains can't make it in. The rails are too icy for clear passage, and the ones that are not icy are blocked with fallen trees or feet of snow."

Emily sighed. "I suppose there go my plans to make a coconut cake for supper in order to raise all of our spirits. I was very much looking forward to doing that. Baking is the very best way for me to let my mind wander and discover new poems that are waiting to be written. Baking and being in the garden at least. It seems with this weather that option is off the table as well."

"We have the ingredients for your black cake," Margaret chimed in. "I believe there is just enough molasses left. You can bake that and let your mind wander to your heart's content." She added this last bit with a touch of disapproval in her voice that Emily either didn't notice or simply didn't care about. I guessed the latter as there was very little that my mistress missed.

"Are we nearly out of molasses too?" Emily asked. "What is the world coming to?"

Margaret shook her head. It was times like this when I longed to be able to read her thoughts. I was certain that she had a few things that she wished she could say about Emily's comment.

Emily clicked her tongue as if in dismay. "What will become of us when there is no molasses or coconut?"

I bit the inside of my lip to stop myself from saying many people live without these luxuries. In fact, I had never even known of coconuts until I began working at the Dickinson home. They were so exotic to me. Having grown up with nothing gave me a perspective that Emily didn't have. I did not hold it against my friend, but it was a painful reminder of the vast chasm between our life experiences.

"I'll make some sort of pound cake instead," Emily declared. "Something simple, yet bright and festive. We should save the molasses as there is no telling when we will get more."

"Surely, this cold can't go on for more than a day or two more," Margaret said.

"You have said that for two weeks, Margaret, and it has given no indication of stopping. The papers say it could go into March. Father has been watching the barometer in his office and makes doom-filled pronouncements about the weather to come."

Margaret sniffed. "I don't know how that gadget of gears and dials can predict the weather. Only a well-aged farmer can do so accurately." She said this like that was all she had to say on the matter.

"It's science, Margaret, and is much more reliable than an old farmer licking his finger and holding it up in the wind. Father sounded quite confident about the weather to come."

Margaret crossed herself. "Let's all pray that it doesn't come to that."

Margaret would have never made that gesture in front of any other member of the Dickinson family because it would only be a reminder that she was Irish Catholic at heart. It would make their Calvinist sensibilities most uncomfortable. As Emily had no interest in organized religion and followed a belief system of her own creation, it had no effect on her. She didn't even mind that I was raised Baptist, which some members of the Dickinsons' church found appalling.

Margaret caught me listening to their conversation. "Willa, get on with the dishes and when that is done, dust and polish in the parlor as long as the family is not in the room."

I nodded and set to work. The hot water seeped into my frozen skin, and it was both painful and welcome.

Shortly after Margaret and I returned to our daily tasks, Emily left the kitchen, saying she would be back in the late morning to bake her pound cake, as they did not take as much time to make as her coconut cake would have.

When I finished the dishes and had dried them and tucked them away, I went through the dining room into the parlor. I was happy to see that everything in the dining room was polished and put away. Typically, that was my task, but Margaret had taken it upon herself when I was at the market. I would thank her for it later even though she would outwardly scoff at the gratitude while inwardly enjoying it.

I was just stepping into the family parlor when the terrifying scent of smoke tickled my nose. I hurried inside the front parlor to find an ember from the fireplace had made its way through the screen and smoldered on the edge of the carpet.

I stamped it out with my shoe with my heart beating out of my chest. Had I not been there at that very time, there was no telling what would have happened.

I pulled my foot away from the spot and there was the faintest of burns no larger than a penny on the colorful carpet. I wondered how I could remove the stain without anyone being the wiser.

My hopes to keep the incident quiet were dashed when Mr. Dickinson stormed into the room. "Do I smell something burning?"

Emily and Miss Lavinia were just steps behind him.

Mr. Dickinson was not a large man but formidable all the same. He had a receding hairline, and what hair he had on the sides of his head stuck out in triangular tufts. His brow was heavy and thick as were his sideburns. His nose was pointed and sharp, almost like a beak. He was the very last person that I would have wanted to find me in this current state.

The urge to place my foot back over the burn spot was overwhelming, but I stopped myself. I did not want to look like I was covering something up as though this was my fault.

"Willa, are you all right?" Emily asked.

"Yes, miss," I murmured, and kept my eyes pointed at my shoes.

"What has happened here?" Mr. Dickinson asked. "Have you burned a hole into the carpet, you careless girl?"

I could feel my body quake, and I willed it to stop. I was about to be sacked. I just knew it. Honestly, it was a miracle that I had lasted two long years. I thought most of that had to do with Emily's intervention when it came to her father.

She came to my rescue again. "Father, please. Willa would never do that!" She nodded to me. "Willa, tell us what happened."

"Thank you, miss." I took a breath and was determined to keep my voice steady. "I had just come into the front parlor to start the dusting when I smelled a hint of smoke. I saw an ember had come through the gate and fallen to the carpet. I stamped it out with my foot." I held up the toe of my shoe as if that was proof in some way. "It must have just happened as I was coming into the room. I was grateful I was here, miss. Most grateful."

"As are we," Emily said. "The whole of the house could have been lost!" She turned to her father. "See, she saved us all!"

"When was this hearth last cleaned?" Mr. Dickinson asked.

It took me a moment to realize that he was speaking to me. The father of the home rarely addressed any question to me. If he wanted information from me, it was relayed back and forth through Margaret and at times, Miss Lavinia.

"Yesterday morning, sir."

"But not today?" he roared. "Why not?"

"The fires were made in haste, sir," I admitted. "I had to go to the market as there is no delivery due to the cold."

"That is not acceptable. Every hearth must be cleaned every day until this weather breaks. I will not lose this house after I spent a lifetime earning it back. More people die of fires than the cold," he snapped. "Remember that."

I swallowed. My throat felt swollen, but I managed to speak. "I can clean the hearth now, Mr. Dickinson, if it is your wish."

"I expect you to," he said, and left the room.

Miss Lavinia, who was dark-haired and petite like Emily, if a bit thicker, made a move to leave the room and stopped in the doorway. "Don't let Willa cut corners, Emily, simply because you think of her as your friend," she said snidely, and left.

Emily patted my arm. "Do not worry about them, Willa. I still believe that you are a heroine."

"I don't feel like one," I said.

"You cannot put a fire out a thing that can ignite," she said, and left the room leaving me to wonder what fire she meant.

chapter two

When the family left the room, I began to roll up the hearth rug and set to work. As there was already a fire in the hearth, I would have to snuff it out before cleaning. The fire's remnants would be hot, but I didn't believe I had any other choice in the matter but to set it to rights. I had to clean it quickly and set the fire again before the room grew too cold to stand.

In an hour, I scoured the hearth from top to bottom and front to back. I'd never done such a thorough job cleaning a fireplace before, but Mr. Dickinson's mention of fire scared me. In my mind's eye, I could still see that ember smoldering on the carpet.

Emily's large brown dog, Carlo, wandered into the room when I was in the middle of cleaning. He flopped in the family parlor in front of the piano. The pocket doors between the two rooms stood open. Until I was done with the task, no member of the family would come into the parlor for fear of getting soot on their clothes.

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