#Review - Blood Oath by Steve Urszenyi #Thriller #Espionage

Series: Special Agent Alexandra Martel (#3)
Format: 304 pages, Hardcover

Release Date: November 18, 2025
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Source: Publisher
Genre: Espionage, Thriller

In this action-packed thriller, Special Agent Alex Martel's fight becomes personal when her father is abducted by rebel forces.

In the heart of Africa, CIA Special Agent Alexandra Martel’s safari with her father spirals into a deadly game of betrayal when he is kidnapped by rebels. Suddenly, her peaceful Serengeti vacation transforms into a desperate race against time. As the general is held by local rebels, Russian mercenaries and Chinese MSS operatives descend on East Africa, all hunting the military secrets locked in her father’s mind.

Alex assembles an elite team to navigate the treacherous terrain, but complications arise when her CIA boss, Caleb, shows up unexpectedly, stirring feelings she’s tried to bury since her husband’s death. As competing forces close in, Alex uncovers betrayals stretching from the Serengeti to the highest levels of global intelligence. Trust becomes as scarce as water in the African savanna.

With enemies converging from all sides, Alex must embrace her darkest instincts to save her father. But in a world where allies become enemies, and nothing is as it seems, how much of herself is she willing to sacrifice to honor the bonds of blood?

Blood Oath is the 3rd installment in author Steve Urszenyi's Special Agent Alexandra Martel series. Special Agent Alex Martel, a tough, skilled CIA paramilitary operative, Former FBI Agent, and sharpshooter who was awarded both the Purple Heart and Silver Star, is finally taking a well-deserved break: a photography safari in Tanzania's Serengeti National Park with her retired general father, David Martel. What begins as a peaceful father-daughter bonding trip quickly escalates into chaos when her father is kidnapped by rebel forces.

After her mother died unexpectedly, Alex and David formed a bond that neither would leave the other behind for any reason. "Blood of my blood, until my last breath." Complications arrive when her CIA boss, Caleb, arrives unexpectedly. Caleb and Alex have worked together for about a year, and Caleb wants more from their relationship. After David is kidnapped, they assemble an elite team to rescue the general, but betrayals are in abundance. Who can Alex trust? Nothing is as it seems. As Russian mercenaries and Chinese operatives swarm the region, pursuing sensitive military secrets held by David, Alex is thrust into a desperate rescue mission. 

Trust is scarce in this treacherous environment, forcing Alex to confront betrayals, alliances of convenience, and her own limits. The story explores themes of family bonds, honor, sacrifice, and the blurred lines between right and wrong in the shadowy world of international intrigue. Nearly everyone had agendas, and the novel features deception, betrayal, espionage, power, protecting political careers, national security, compromise, cooperation, and more. Alex Martel remains one of the standout heroines in contemporary thrillers. 

She's fiercely competent—a decorated sniper, combat medic, and operative—yet Urszenyi humanizes her by exposing her emotional vulnerabilities without diminishing her strength. This book makes her journey deeply personal, amplifying the stakes as she fights not just for duty, but for family. Supporting characters, including her father and various allies/antagonists, feel grounded and multifaceted, adding layers to the conflict. The ending of this book leaves hope that the author will write another novel. Too many secrets were exposed to leave them unanswered.

CHAPTER 1

SERENGETI NATIONAL PARK, TANZANIA

Somewhere ahead in the fog lurked her quarry, and as she stalked through the grass she remained vigilant, watching and listening for any hint that she had been detected. But only the muffled sounds of the savannah filled the air—the whispering rustle of the grass, the distant bray of a zebra, the low grunt of a wildebeest chasing off a rival. All other noise was muted as if swallowed by the fog that crept in and enveloped her.

Special Agent Alexandra Martel, contract CIA paramilitary officer, pushed forward. Each beat of her heart sent a rush of blood coursing through her veins, echoing in her ears like a Maasai drumbeat in the stillness of the heavy air.

Alex had always trusted her instincts. They had served her well as a young combat medic in her Ranger regiment, and with every posting and assignment ever since. Now, having lost sight of her quarry, she hoped those instincts wouldn’t let her down. But as the minutes ticked by without another sighting, she wondered if perhaps she had lost her edge, and the moment had escaped her. Maybe she’d been outsmarted. Maybe they were on to her. Or worse, maybe they had circled back and flanked her.

Then, as if someone had lifted a veil, she saw her target and adjusted her aim through her optics.

A little to the right, she told herself. And ever so carefully, she slithered sideways on her belly, making the required adjustments to bring her subject back into range and focus.

“Eighty-five meters,” called her spotter.

But Alex wasn’t satisfied. The thorny branch of a blackthorn acacia partially obscured her primary target through her lens, so again, she waited.

“Alex,” whispered her spotter. “Take the shot.”

Moments slipped by as Alex watched and waited for the image in her mind to align with the sight picture presented through her optics. Luck was the intersection of preparation and opportunity, and she was content to await a stroke of it to achieve success.

“Take the shot! You’re going to lose him.”

“Her,” she whispered.

“What?”

“It’s her, not him. Now be quiet for two seconds.”

She was losing time. The sun was setting, and the rays reflecting off the thin layer of fog set her subject off in a hue of golden light that wouldn’t last more than an instant. But the wind shifted behind them, carrying their scent on the warming air currents up the slight grade to the kopje, an island outcropping of ancient granite in a sea of grass.

The female leopard she had been watching through her camera’s telephoto lens pressed her nose into the air, lifting it to sniff the wind. Then Alex saw her chest give a slight heave. Though she couldn’t hear it, she knew the mother cat had issued a warning call to her three leopard cubs poking their heads over the edge of the rock high above. They scampered down the rock face toward their mother. Together, they disappeared into the many small trees, shrubs, and hollows that provided plenty of cover and concealment options from predators.

“I told you,” said her companion.

“For an old man, you can be such a twelve-year-old girl,” she said, noting his frown. General David Martel didn’t seem amused by the analogy—or the snipe at his age. “Truth hurts, huh, Pops?” she said.

“Yeah, well, the truth is you missed the shot.”

“For your information, I got some great shots.”

“Maybe, Little Miss NatGeo, but you also miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.”

“So now you’re channeling hockey wisdom?”

“If the skate fits…”

He was right, of course. Although she had gotten a few photos that would probably turn out well, she had been so focused on the great shot that she might have let the best of them slip away. But there was no sense telling him that and inflating his already robust ego.

She sat up and slung her camera over her shoulder, the long, heavy lens weighing down the front of her Nikon. She reviewed the images on the camera’s display. “Look at this one,” she said, tilting the screen toward him. “See how the light catches her eyes?”

It still amazed her that, after all these years, she still wanted her dad’s approval. She guessed she would always be her daddy’s little girl.

Retired US Army general David Martel leaned closer, his weathered face softening into a warm smile. “Beautiful shot, Allie.”

Alex grinned. For once, she wasn’t calculating wind speed or counting heartbeats between trigger pulls. No lives hung in the balance. There were no targets to eliminate. Just this moment of perfect stillness in the Serengeti, sharing her father’s company and the simple joy of photography—a passion she’d neglected during years of deployments and operations.

She had come out a few days ago to meet her dad for a safari vacation. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken a vacation, let alone one with her dad. Despite being unable to spend much time together over the past few years, they quickly fell back into their usual banter and good-natured chirping. They were having fun, and she found herself smiling more than she had in a long time. She was relaxed, enjoying her time with her dad.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get back to the truck.”

They didn’t hike far before finding the Toyota Land Cruiser, where their guide awaited their return. James was a native of northern Tanzania, descended from the Chagga people who inhabited once-sovereign kingdoms within the Kilimanjaro Region on the mountain’s southern slope. When he wasn’t guiding safaris, he still called the town of Moshi, two hours east of Arusha along the Arusha Himo Road, his home.

“I was wondering if I was going to have to send a search party,” said James, exuding a cheerful facade through a robust accented voice.

“Alex thinks she’s a famous nature photographer,” the general replied as they climbed into the SUV.

“My daughter has much the same delusions,” he said, shaking his head, his puffy jowls shaking as he laughed. “We are in Tanzania, David. Africa is a magical place that elevates notions of our own greatness.” He sniffed like a lion checking a scent on the breeze. “It’s in the air,” he said.

Alex sniffed the air herself. “The only thing I smell here, James, isn’t coming from any magical place I’ve ever been,” she said. “Mavi ya tembo.”

He laughed even louder. “Now I am sorry that I am teaching your daughter Swahili, General. When she starts speaking about elephant dung, I know she is becoming too fluent in our language!”

“She’s a fast learner, alright,” said David Martel. “Just a slow photographer.”

“You’re a pair of real comedians,” said Alex. “Home, James.”

“And you seem to have lost your sense of humor, Ansel,” Alex’s dad teased, summoning the legacy of the groundbreaking American photographer Ansel Adams.

“Yes, but I’ll have the last laugh when I’m awarded a prestigious juried prize for wildlife photography for my photos of the leopardess and her cubs.”

James and the general burst out laughing as they headed along the two-track red dirt road toward their lodge.

The Land Cruiser featured a closed-cab design with a pop-top roof, sliding windows, and creature comforts like air-conditioning and a refrigerator. Alex and her dad preferred to ride with the roof up and the sliding windows fully opened rather than with the A/C cranking. Most of the time, they stood with their heads and shoulders protruding through the opened roof, taking in the majesty of the land and on the lookout for animals. But, as it was getting late, the pair lounged in their seats, one on either side of a center aisle.

Alex picked a traditional Maasai shuka off the seat in front of her, then wrapped the red, green, and black cloth around her shoulders like a shawl. She leaned her head against the 4x4’s window. She had almost drifted off into a much-desired slumber when two staccato pops in rapid succession reached her ears. Immediately, she sat bolt upright in her seat.

“What is it?” asked James, who had caught her movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Did you hear that?” she asked.

“I heard nothing.”

“Hear what?” asked the general.

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#Review - You Can Scream by Rebecca Zanetti #Thriller #Suspense

Series: Laurel Snow # 5
Format: 320 pages, Paperback

Release Date: December 16, 2025
Publisher: Kensington
Source: Publisher
Genre: Thriller / Suspense

Twisted family relationships, sociopaths, and conspiracy theories abound in the icy Cascade Mountains of Washington State in New York Times bestselling author Rebecca Zanetti's heart-pounding series about an FBI profiler and her equally brilliant sister on the wrong side of the law. For fans of Karen Rose, Heather Gudenkauf, Allison Brennan, and Melinda Leigh.

Laurel’s family was never simple—but her half-sister, Abigail, a brilliant, unpredictable psychopath, just made it lethal. Accused of murdering their father, a man she always called a monster, Abigail claims self-defense. As the trial unfolds and long-buried family secrets explode into headlines across Washington State, Laurel’s hard-won privacy is shattered. And the nightmare is just beginning.

Even as Abigail’s trial consumes public attention, new dangers close in as the murder of a prominent scientist and the illegal poaching of a rare Pacific plant point to something insidious. Laurel turns to Washington Fish and Wildlife captain Huck Rivers, her partner in work and life, for help. But the deeper they dig, the more the case seems to echo the chaos unraveling Laurel’s world.

With danger tightening around her, Laurel faces an impossible choice: trust Abigail in one crucial, treacherous alliance, or risk losing everything. Her career, her relationships, even her life hang in the balance. The clock is ticking—and if the threat breaks loose, nothing will be fast enough to stop it.

You Can Scream is the 5th installment in author Rebecca Zanetti's Laurel Snow series. The series is set against the snowy, isolated backdrop of the Cascade Mountains in Washington State. Key Characters: FBI Special Agent and profiler Laurel Snow, Captain Huck Rivers of the Washington State Fish and Wildlife, FBI partner Walter Smudgeon, who is recovering nicely after being shot and finding a new lease on life with a new love in his life, and Abigail Caine, the twisted, likely sociopathic half sister of Laurel's who has been arrested for murder. 

The two sisters at the center of the series are like two halves of one whole - one light, and one dark - one in law enforcement, the other a sociopath. This fascinating family dynamic set against a suspenseful crime mystery is sure to entice readers.  This book continues the high-stakes blend of psychological thriller, family drama, and slow-burn romance that has defined the series. Laurel, a brilliant but socially awkward investigator, finds her professional and personal life increasingly entangled with her half-sister, Abigail Caine—a charismatic, manipulative psychopath on trial for murder. 

As Abigail's courtroom drama unfolds, a sniper attack and a series of bizarre deaths pull Laurel into a new investigation involving a missing podcaster, suspicious scientists, illegal harvesting of protected plants, and potential experimental drugs. All seemingly can be tied in some way to Abigail, but Abigail is as slippery as an eel and has a script already written for how she wants things to work out in her favor and how many people she needs to use to get what she wants. The stakes escalate as Laurel navigates threats from multiple directions, all while dealing with her evolving relationship with local law enforcement officer Huck Rivers. 

Laurel remains a standout protagonist—logical, hyper-focused, and refreshingly neurodivergent in a genre often filled with cookie-cutter heroes. Her romance with Huck provides emotional depth without overshadowing the suspense, offering protective, tender moments amid chaos. Abigail is a masterful antagonist: morally gray, unpredictable, and utterly compelling, raising the tension whenever she appears. While Laurel once again rises to the top, it is Abigail who seemingly can walk on water without getting wet. It will be interesting to see how Laurel and Huck can finally defeat her.  

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#Review - Turns of Fate by Anne Bishop #Fantasy #Contemporary

Series: Isle of Wyrd # 1
Format: 528 pages, Hardcover

Release Date: November 11, 2025
Publisher: Ace
Source: Publisher
Genre: Dark Fantasy

A young detective investigating crimes of the uncanny will learn that bargains can change your fate—for good or ill—in this darkly enthralling fantasy from the New York Times bestselling author of the Others and the Black Jewels series.

Words have power. Intentions matter.

Most people come to Destiny Park for entertainment. They come to have their cards read to tell them a bit about their future. They come to walk through a beautiful park and to eat at the hotel’s restaurant. They come in the hope of catching a glimpse of the Arcana, the paranormal beings who rule the Isle of Wyrd.

But some people come to make a bargain with the Arcana—to change their fate. And some people come for dark purposes.

When Detective Beth Fahey is sent to Destiny Park to inquire about a “ghost gun,” she will begin a strange journey on which she must learn to navigate the Arcana’s unforgiving laws and dangerous attractions. Her search will draw her into seemingly impossible cases and the secrets of her own past as tensions rise between the Arcana and their human neighbors across the river.

For the Isle of Wyrd is a place where the dead ride trains to their final destinations, predators literally become prey, and seekers’ true natures are revealed in the ripples of destiny unknowingly stirred in their wakes.

Who will live? Who will die? And who will be lost in between?

Anne Bishop's Turns of Fate is the first installment in the author's Isle of Wyrd series. Twin Peaks meets The Twilight Zone in a unique premise that marries an eerie small-town mystery with the appeal of found family and dark fantasy and horror elements. The story is an urban fantasy that blends mystery, dark fantasy, and supernatural elements into a contemporary setting. Although I consider Detective Beth Fahey the primary character, the author introduces other characters to tell her story to add background and depth.

The narrative centers on Detective Beth Fahey, a young officer in a special unit called Precinct 13 in Penwych, investigating "uncanny" crimes in towns along the Fate River. Across the water lies the Isle of Wyrd and Destiny Park, a tourist spot where visitors seek tarot readings, scenic walks, or glimpses of the Arcana. Some, however, come to strike dangerous bargains that reshape their destinies—for better or worse. As the newbie, Beth is sent to meet with Lucas Frost and get answers about a “ghost gun” that was used in a recent murder.
Beth becomes the primary liaison between human law enforcement and the Arcana as strange incidents escalate: disappearances, bizarre transformations, and events tied to the island's influence spilling into the human world. Over the course of a year, multiple interconnected mysteries unfold, including personal revelations about Beth's origins. The story weaves procedural detective work with fantastical elements, exploring human hubris, the weight of choices, and the blurred line between justice and fate. 
Bishop excels at world-building, crafting the Isle of Wyrd as a place of beauty and terror where the Arcana enforce balance in unpredictable, often brutal ways. Fans of The Others will feel at home with the dynamic of humans underestimating superior beings, leading to darkly satisfying comeuppances. The atmosphere is enthralling—eerie, macabre, and immersive—with creative supernatural twists (think shape-shifting punishments and fate-altering deals). 
Beth is a compelling protagonist: resourceful, empathetic, and unafraid of the uncanny, making her a refreshing bridge between worlds. She needs to always remember that words have power and intentions matter. Humans who forget or disregard that often find themselves victims. Supporting characters, from Arcana figures like the Sorcerer King (Lucas Frost and his brother Jack) to human colleagues (Captain Charles Forrester), add depth and intrigue. The pacing builds steadily, balancing slower character development with tense investigations and shocking revelations. 
As a series opener, it sets up future books brilliantly, leaving plenty of mysteries unresolved while providing a satisfying arc. The blend of urban fantasy, thriller, and horror elements feels fresh yet familiar. Bishop's prose is evocative, and the themes of intention, consequence, and belonging resonate deeply. The multi-threaded plot and ensemble cast can occasionally jump perspectives, requiring attention early on. 

1

Detective Beth Fahey opened the next "solved" case file and wondered if reading through these reports was really necessary or if this was busywork her colleagues had found for the new, and only, female detective on the Penwych police force's special investigations team. She'd been told these files were examples of what the team investigated when called in by any of the police in the six towns located on the outer bank of the Fate River.

This case from the police in the town of Barker, for example.

A man who went out hunting with some friends had shot and killed a migratory goose (no mention in the file about whether shooting geese was legal at that time of year). Instead of taking the goose home, he gave it to his friends, because his wife was severely allergic to feathers.

The next day, the wife heard strange sounds coming from their backyard and discovered their in-ground pool was packed with geese. In fact, their entire yard was packed with geese. When several geese rushed toward her in a threatening manner, the wife went inside, screamed for her husband, and managed to call emergency services before she began wheezing and struggling to breathe, either from the number of feathered assailants in her yard or from a panic attack.

Coming out of the family room to see what his wife was fussing about, the man heard her wheezing, saw the geese, and fetched his rifle instead of having the sense to stay inside and let the authorities handle rounding up the geese.

He stepped outside, raised his rifle, and was immediately attacked by several geese. The unanticipated attack threw off his aim, and instead of shooting any of the geese, he managed to shoot the fuel tank on his neighbor's fancy new grill. The grill exploded, and the resulting fire not only damaged the neighbor's house but cooked a couple of unlucky geese.

The special team was called in because the wife claimed she'd had her tarot cards read the week before by the acquaintance of a friend, and it had been predicted that a disaster would occur if her husband tried to shoot creatures that were unable to defend themselves. (There was some debate about whether geese qualified as "unable to defend themselves.")

An inquiry was made. After talking to the individuals who ran Destiny Park, it was concluded that, while the series of events was strange, the Isle of Wyrd was not involved, and neither the man nor his wife had made a bargain with the Arcana.

Beth shook her head. She didn't discount tarot readings or any other means of tapping into a person's intuition, but why did the towns around the Fate River need a special team to investigate things like geese in someone's yard?

Then again, this had been one of the few "amusing" cases she'd reviewed. The others . . .

How was anyone supposed to deal with what she'd seen in some of those crime scene photos?

Maybe that was the point of this review-to find out if she could deal with the gruesome cases the team was required to investigate. Last fall, there had been four detectives on the team, along with two officers and Captain Forrester. Something had happened. No one would-or could-say exactly what that was, but one of those detectives transferred out of the 13th precinct to avoid any contact with the team, and another detective was on extended medical leave and wasn't likely to return.

She had been hired to fill one of those positions. She'd been given a week to find a place to live in Penwych and get herself settled before reporting to work. She'd spent last week reading old reports and looking at crime scene photos. And yet when she studied some of those photos, she could almost see dark and seductive shapes in the background, could almost hear words whispered in a language that might be understood in dreams.

Looking beyond the deaths, she could almost see the terrible married to the sublime and hear the warning: they chose this.

Not thoughts she would acknowledge to the psychologist who had the task of assessing police officers' mental health. She was sure there was already a notation in her file about her interest in macabre imagery and dark fantasy artwork, courtesy of Bonnie Wilson, the woman she had lived with while growing up-a woman who preferred religious pictures that included self-flagellation and went beyond what Beth considered gruesome and gory.

Tom Castelletti, the team's senior detective, walked into the area of the 13th precinct that was reserved for the special team, glanced at Captain Forrester's closed office door, and placed a file on Beth's desk.

"This one is hot," he said. "Read it. I'll be back with Kuhn in a few minutes, and we'll do the coin toss to see who has to cross the river."

He left, glancing again at the captain's closed door.

The coin toss had been mentioned once before. Beth thought it was an odd way to decide which detective on the team had to interview . . . What, exactly? A confidential informant? A local politician? Another cop?

According to Castelletti, all the detectives on the team participated. The two most senior officers began the coin toss. It was elimination in reverse, where winning the toss meant you were excused.

Shaking her head, Beth opened the file and focused her attention on this current case. She read the information, then read it again. It had to be a joke, because what the autopsy said wasn't possible. Couldn't be possible, and yet . . .

The frisson that ran through her told her that what she was reading was true.

Tom Castelletti and Detective Ian Kuhn returned.

Castelletti gave her a long look, then gestured to indicate she should join them around the big evidence table. "You've read the file?"

"I don't understand it, but I've read it," Beth replied.

"One of us is going to have to cross the river and make inquiries." Castelletti studied her. "You remember what we said about the coin toss?"

She nodded.

Castelletti lost the coin toss to Kuhn, and Beth lost to Castelletti, who looked relieved and uneasy.

He's spooked, she thought as a door opened.

Captain Charles Forrester stepped out of his office and looked at his officers, his eyes almost, but not quite, skipping over her. "Who lost the coin toss?"

"Detective Fahey, Captain," Castelletti said. "She'll need to get her skates on if she's going to catch the next ferry and not get stuck doing an overnight."

Forrester stared at the men so hard that they looked away. Looked ashamed. "Neither of you was given this kind of assignment when you first joined the team."

"She wanted to participate," Kuhn protested.

She hadn't been told she had a choice. In many ways, Castelletti and Kuhn acted like she was a placeholder, like they didn't expect her to be around in a couple of months. "I can handle this, Captain."

Forrester turned his stare on her. "Can you? With me, Detective." He stepped over to her desk, scooped up the folder she had been studying, and went into his office. When she walked in after him, he said, "Close the door. Then tell me what this says."

When he held out the folder, she took it. "Gerry Palowski. Twenty-five-year-old male, unemployed. Is-was-living with a current girlfriend but had a five-year-old daughter with a former girlfriend. According to statements made by both girlfriends when they were stable enough to be interviewed, Palowski wanted to go to a party with his ex and 'have some fun'-and he wanted the current girlfriend to babysit his daughter. She refused to stay home and babysit, and then his ex refused to go to the party, and that deprived Palowski of his fun. The next day, Palowski purchased a gun-"

"Transacted for the use of a gun," Forrester corrected.

"-and went over to his ex's apartment, where he shot his ex and their daughter before going back to his apartment to shoot his current girlfriend for spoiling party night. No fatalities. All three people are in the hospital in serious condition but are expected to pull through."

A miracle by anyone's definition. At close range, Palowski should not have missed a kill shot once, let alone three times, but the bullets did something impossibly crazy in terms of entry and angles that left three people wounded instead of dead.

"And Palowski?" Forrester asked.

Beth hesitated. In the crime scene photo that was taken where he was found, Palowski still looked like a hard-living twenty-five-year-old man sitting in the park, sleeping off a bender or some drugs. But the autopsy indicated that all of Palowski's internal organs belonged to a man in his nineties and that he died of natural causes-if aging seventy years in a matter of hours could be considered natural.

"You'll note that the report speculates that the same ghost gun used for the shootings has been used in other unsolved cases over the past eighty years or more."

"Ghost gun? An illegal firearm?"

"More than that. The gun comes from the Isle of Wyrd. It can't be traced or found beyond that point-and it always returns to the island after being used."

"So you know where it came from."

Forrester nodded. "I even know who, most likely, sold the use of it to Palowski. Having lost the coin toss, you are going to Wyrd to find out the terms of use and confirm that the gun returned to the island."

"I'm going undercover to try to purchase one of these ghost guns?"

"No." Forrester's voice turned sharp. "There is no such thing as undercover in Wyrd. Pretending to be someone you're not would be a death sentence for people like us."

"Like us, sir?"

"Normal people." Forrester hesitated. "People who aren't part of the threads that make up the supernatural on that island. There are other places like it around the world, but in this part of our country, the uncanny is concentrated on Wyrd and then ripples through all the towns on this side of the river." He stopped and seemed to focus on his breathing before he continued. "Have you visited the Isle of Wyrd, Detective Fahey?"

"No, sir." There hadn't been time for sightseeing between her hurried move to Penwych and reporting to work.

"Then let me explain what you're about to face."

Forrester took out his wallet, removed two fifty-dollar bills, and held them out to Beth. "Take it," he said when she didn't move. "I'll put in a chit for it."

"I can . . ."

"The ferry makes a trip across the Fate River every hour on the hour between sunup and sundown. When you get to the pier where the ferry takes on passengers, you'll see a booth where you'll exchange the money for the coins that are used on the island. Ask for six gold coins and eight silver coins. The gold coins are worth ten dollars; the silver are five dollars. The ferry usually costs a silver coin, but if the Ferryman asks for gold, don't argue."

A coin for the Ferryman? Was Forrester kidding? "They have flexible fees?"

"For everything."

"Why couldn't the patrol boat take me across the river?"

"Even a patrol boat doesn't dock anywhere on that island without an invitation," Forrester replied quietly. Then he continued in a normal voice, "You'll probably be met by Lucas Frost. He rules Destiny Park and sometimes acts as a liaison. Tell him we have a shooting with a strange outcome and think a ghost gun was involved." Forrester gave her a hard look. "Whatever he tells you, accept without question."

"Why?"

She had the impression that her captain was trying to decide how much to say.

"The Arcana control Destiny Park and the pavilion. Their influence extends over the whole island, but the pavilion is where they make transactions with people like us."

"Meaning non-supernaturals."

"Yes." Forrester let out a careful breath. "By our standards, they are amoral, but they are honest and honorable in their own way. Any bargain they make with you, they will keep. It just might not be in the way that you expect. And you had better keep any bargain you make with them, because if you fail, they can be unforgiving and brutal when extracting compensation." He paused. "The Arcana are very dangerous. Never forget that, Detective. When I say your fate lies in their hands, I am not exaggerating."

"Yes, sir."

He held out a hand. "It's forbidden to bring a weapon to Wyrd. The Arcana will overlook a pocketknife because they consider that a practical tool, but they won't overlook a gun, not even for a cop. I'll keep yours secured until you return."

Beth gave him her holster and weapon.

After locking them in a drawer in his desk, Forrester said, "Ask the questions you're allowed to ask about Palowski and the gun. If there is time, see a bit of the park while you're there to get a feel for the place. Then get yourself back here."

"If I miss the ferry, is there a place-"

"I don't care if you have answers or not, you will make damn sure that you don't miss the last ferry."

His anger was a heat that filled the space between them.

"Why is it so important?" she finally asked.

"Because things . . . change . . . on Wyrd after dark, and you don't want to be there when that happens."


Charles Forrester escorted Beth Fahey to the patrol car that would take her to the ferry’s pier. Then he returned to his office and closed the door before making the phone call.

"Frost." A voice that resonated with a power that made people hesitate to enter shadowy places.

"It's Charles Forrester." No response. There wouldn't be. The Arcana didn't waste time on small talk. "My new detective is on her way to the island to ask for your assistance in confirming some details on a case. She's green as grass and unfamiliar with Wyrd."

"You know how things are done here."

"I do. I'm asking for your understanding if she makes mistakes when dealing with you or your kin."

"When is she due to arrive?"

"She'll be on the next ferry."

"Soon, then."

"Yes."

"Anything else?"

Charles considered the question carefully. You never accused the Arcana of wrongdoing. They didn't care about such things when it concerned the mundane world. The Arcana in Destiny Park simply facilitated people who either tried to change their fate or wanted to fulfill their destiny. "A man from King's Hill has hired a private investigator to find his missing spouse. I have an appointment with the PI and should have more details later this afternoon. Apparently, the wife is mentally fragile, which is why the husband is particularly concerned about her disappearance-and why the PI is checking in with police stations all along the river."

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#Review - Kirkyards & Kindness by Kelley Armstrong #Historical #Mystery

Series: Rip Through Time #4.5
Format: 158 pages, Kindle Edition

Release Date: December 2, 2025
Publisher: K.L.A Fricke Inc
Source: Amazon
Genre: Historical / Mystery

Mallory Mitchell and Dr. Duncan Gray take a break from investigating murder to find the most famous dog in Victorian Scotland.

A year ago, twenty-first-century detective Mallory found herself in 1869 Edinburgh, in the body of Catriona Mitchell, a housemaid working for Dr. Duncan Gray, a pioneer in forensic science. Shortly after she arrived, she made the unfortunate acquaintance of Catriona’s former criminal mentor, Davina, an entanglement that nearly got Mallory killed. Now she’s about to meet Davina again.

Greyfriars Bobby has disappeared. The little terrier is already a legend, and Davina has made a tidy living showing him off on graveyard tours…while picking the pockets of her guests. When the elderly dog vanishes, Davina calls in a favor from her old student. Mallory agrees to help find Bobby in return for the one thing she’s been unable to get from Davina—the mysterious Catriona’s life story.

Kelley Armstrong's Kirkyards & Kindness is a 158-page novella in the author's A Rip Through Time series, set after Death at a Highland Wedding. Mallory Atkinson continues to settle into 19th-century Scotland while keeping her secret of time travel, which only 3 people know. She remains stuck in the body of 19-year-old Catriona Mitchell, working for Dr. Duncan Gray, a pioneer in forensic science. To date, she remains unaware of Catriona’s past, though the criminally-minded Davina has much she could tell. This is where part of this story is driven. 

Mallory needs to know about Catriona's past so she can avoid the pitfalls that may have affected Catriona. Meanwhile, Greyfriars Bobby, a popular terrier, has disappeared from the cemetery where he stood in silence. Davina seeks Mallory’s assistance, as the little pup has helped bring in a large sum of coins and has helped Davina trick hapless people who agree to graveyard tours. Mallory decides to take up the case, bringing Dr. Gray along with her, hoping this will cement a promise that Davina will share the truth about Catriona’s past. 

This is the third novella in this series, and it doesn't push the romance possibility between Mallory and Duncan forward. We know Isla will likely get married soon, which means things will have to change for Mallory and Duncan. These novellas give us glimpses of the minor cases for Gray and Mallory, who have become famous thanks to Jack, the infamous crime writer, and focus more on them than on our other characters. The ending is also warm and happy, thanks to a bit of surprise for a little girl. 

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#Review - A Grim Reaper's Guide to Cheating Death by Maxie Dara #Cozy #Mystery #Paranormal

Series: A SCYTHE Mystery
Format: 288 pages, Paperback
Release Date: December 2, 2025
Publisher: Berkley
Source: Publisher via NetGalley
Genre: Cozy Mystery / Paranormal

When a determined killer targets her brother, a grim reaper risks everything to save him in this delightful cozy mystery.

Nora Bird works for S.C.Y.T.H.E., which might seem odd for someone as terrified of death as she is. But ever since her parents died in an accident when she was six, she's been obsessed with avoiding risk, and what better place to learn how to cheat death than the company that employs the nation's grim reapers?

The work enables Nora to learn all about the myriad ways you can kick the bucket, which is comforting...until one day, a file crosses her desk with a name she recognizes. Her twin brother’s.

The twins haven’t spoken in six months, but Charlie is all Nora has left. Completely against her cautious nature, Nora steals the file and flees, racing to her brother’s house. She begs him to trust her that his death is imminent, and they hit the road (with his parrot, Jessica, who has plenty to say) in an attempt to evade both death and S.C.Y.T.H.E., whose sole mission of collecting souls has been disrupted by Charlie’s continued existence.

Alas, every time Nora saves him, a new cause of death appears in his file. Someone is determined to take Charlie out, and Nora will have to use everything she's ever learned about death to discover the culprit.

A Grim Reaper's Guide to Cheating Death is the second installment in author Maxie Dara's S.C.Y.T.H.E. Mystery series. In the world of Maxie Dara's A Grim Reaper's Guide to Cheating Death, death isn't just a shadowy figure with a scythe—it's a corporate bureaucracy complete with HR complaints and performance reviews. This cozy paranormal follows Nora Bird, a risk-averse grim reaper whose orderly life unravels when her estranged twin brother's (Charlie Bird) name pops up on the "to-die" list. 

What ensues is a high-stakes road trip laced with family secrets, quirky sidekicks, and near-death mishaps. Nora Bird is the epitome of caution personified. Orphaned when her parents perished in a freak accident on her birthday—a trauma that has her double-checking smoke alarms and avoiding ladders—she's channeled her thanatophobia into a job at S.C.Y.T.H.E. (Secure Collection, Yielding, Transport, and Handling of Essences), the bureaucratic backbone of modern reaping. 

Nora's role in the Department is the cushiest gig: logging essences from the already-departed, far from the adrenaline-fueled chaos of unnatural deaths. It's a safe haven for someone who treats life like a minefield, complete with her meticulously organized planner and aversion to anything spontaneous. That fragile equilibrium shatters on her 24th birthday when Charlie Bird—her free-spirited, estranged twin—appears on her doorstep, slated for an unnatural demise at the hands of a shadowy killer. 

Charlie is a charming slacker with an African grey parrot named Jessica, who hasn't spoken to Nora in years. Their childhood bond fractured after their parents' death, leaving Nora to cling to control while Charlie embraced chaos. Now, with Death itself breathing down her neck, Nora must break every S.C.Y.T.H.E. protocol: she steals Charlie's file, goes AWOL, and embarks on a cross-country chase to unravel why a killer is targeting him—and how it ties back to their family's buried secrets. 

When the two decide to disappear to Virgo Bay, where their father was from, they discover some big mysteries with their family that add complications to and beyond Charlie’s conundrum. Shockingly, they find his brother, their paternal grandparents, a great-grandfather,  and lots of cousins.  The attempts on Charlie's life continue. Consider this a very unique road trip: coming into yourself, overcoming your fears, and finding some humor thanks to a parrot named Jessica. 

Nora learns a lot about herself and renews her relationship with her brother, which has been languishing. Charlie has been living his life to the utmost all along, while Nora has been hiding in safety.  It would be a lot more fun to connect with the relatives if one of them wasn't trying to kill them. I have to say, the addition of Jessica made the story fun to read. The mystery was pretty good right up until the revelation. In fact, anyone in Virgo Bay could have been the enemy. The ending was interesting, and I am curious if this was a duology or if the author expects to write another book.  

Statistically speaking, you're more likely to die on your birthday than any other day of the year. Unfortunately for Nora Bird, her parents beat the odds and died on her birthday instead. Eighteen years later and that gray mid-November air still weighed heavy as she shut the day behind her with the swing of a pigeon-graffitied glass door and began the daily trek up the stairs to her office.

It was just after seven a.m., and the corporate-beige halls of S.C.Y.T.H.E.-Secure Collection, Yielding, and Transportation of Human Essences-were still holding their breath between shifts. Nora liked this part of the day best, when the world was empty and belonged to no one in particular. She tucked herself into her office on the top floor of the building. It was a room with no windows, which had served its previous occupants just fine since they were mostly mops, brooms, and the odd bucket. It served Nora just as well. No natural light meant no sun exposure, and no sun exposure meant less risk of skin cancer, something the fluorescent bulbs that buzzed from their rectangular homes on the ceiling never threatened.

In the middle of Nora's desk sat a cupcake frosted with bright blue icing. She cocked her head at it. Ran a finger through the icing and examined it with narrowed eyes. The food dye Blue No. 2 had been found to contribute to brain tumors in rats. She wiped the icing on the rim of the garbage can under her desk, wrapped the cupcake in tissues, and threw it away too, making a mental note to thank Larry, janitor extraordinaire, for the gesture.

Then she got to work.

It always felt fitting for Nora to work on her birthday. It had long been a day marked by death, and after all, that was the nature of her business. Beside the now vacant spot where the deadly cupcake had just sat rested a pile of manila folders that reached to Nora's chin. The day's cases were patiently waiting to be sorted into their designated department-Natural Causes, Murder, Accidental Deaths-and assigned to specific agents. It was an easy job for Nora, almost mindless at times. Each file needed to be matched with the most appropriate person to collect the soul and bring it to the next stage on its journey. And Nora had studied the agents' files thoroughly enough to matchmake with the prowess of her bubbie.

Moira from Accidental Deaths had studied proctology before coming to S.C.Y.T.H.E., which made her disconcertingly comfortable with nudity, so Moira got the shower falls and toilet mishaps. Ricky from Murder went to school with the kids in most of the major mob families in town, so he got the mob hits and a chance for a quick class reunion to boot. It was easy. Routine. Almost formulaic. Sometimes all Nora had to do was glimpse a single word in a file-"peanut" meant she was dealing with anaphylaxis, which would go to Jorge, who had an unexplained vendetta against legumes and would be the most likely to empathize with anyone who fell victim to one.

Nora skimmed the file of an essence who would definitely be handled by Heart Attack Harpreet in Natural Causes and let her mind drift beyond the four walls of the former broom closet. Nora had been working as an administrative coordinator at S.C.Y.T.H.E. for nearly two and a half years and was finally content with her life. Not happy, exactly. That felt too high stakes. But her dream of pursuing architecture was fading nicely, and the loneliness that came from losing her parents at eight and the grandmother who raised her a few years back didn't sting as sharply as it once had. Her apartment was fine-nice, even, now that she had some art on the walls and a few plants that hadn't yet died despite their best efforts.

She hadn't texted Charlie yet. That was something she should do, probably. Maybe. Unfortunately. It was his birthday too. Though he hadn't texted either, and it didn't seem fair that she had to be the one to send the first text every year.

She opened her phone to Charlie's contact profile. The dumb picture of him with a Fruit Roll-Up hanging out of his mouth like an endless tongue. Their last text exchange, one year ago to the day.

Nora: Happy birthday!

Charlie: HBD butthead

Then silence. She scrolled up to find a similar exchange from the year before that, and the one before that, and several prior, and nothing in between. She closed her phone and returned to her files. Charlie had always been a mystery to Nora, which in and of itself was a mystery to her. Twins were supposed to have something in common, weren't they? And yet, despite sharing a womb and half of their genomes, they couldn't have been less alike. Nora liked facts and statistics and a world that made sense, while Charlie . . . Charlie Bird . . . Charles Ezra Bird was . . . written on the file in Nora's hands.

Nora stopped her daydreaming and sank back into reality, hard. She stopped skimming the page and read it properly, certain she must have mentally inserted her brother's name since he was on her mind. And yet, no matter how many times she reread the name at the top of the file, it never morphed into something different and unconnected to her. The ink was stark and confident.

Case # 73588

Charles Ezra Bird

Age: 26

Cause of Death: Struck by Vehicle

Time to Collect: 11:15 a.m.

Location: Calton Avenue

The walls of the dark, windowless office marched towards one another, trapping Nora inside. She could almost hear them stepping forward to suffocate her, which wouldn't do much good since she'd stopped breathing all by herself.

Statistically speaking, you're more likely to die on your birthday than any other day of the year. But Nora couldn't let that happen. Not again.

Without thinking, without breathing, Nora stuffed Charlie's file under her arm and fled the broom closet.

2

Case # 36658

Mary-Beth Duke

Age: 83

Cause of Death: Struck by Vehicle

It was the third case Nora had sorted after joining S.C.Y.T.H.E., and she'd thought Mary-Beth's death an easy enough one to avoid. The octogenarian had been on her way home from a farmers' market when one of her freshly acquired peaches tumbled from the top of her bag and onto the road. Mary-Beth chased after it, and within seconds both were asphalt cobbler. Nora was still under a probationary period, with her supervisor, the ever-disinterested Janice, sitting beside her at the already cramped desk. It wasn't until Nora sorted the file into the "Natural Causes" pile that Janice perked up enough to tut at the new hire. Mary-Beth's case, she explained, belonged in "Accidental Deaths." But to Nora, there was nothing accidental about it. You cross the road without looking both ways and then both ways again, well, you experience the natural consequences. Everyone knew that. Someone would have to be pretty careless to ignore the cause and effect in a situation like this. Someone like Charlie.


“You need to get in the car. Right now.”

By 8:20 a.m. Nora had crossed town at a safe but rapid pace, trudged through the heaps of rusting, tetanus-encrusted car parts on the lawn, and summoned Charlie to the peeling front door of the little clapboard house he shared with four roommates who seemed less than pleased to be woken up before noon. Charlie, for his part, wore a crooked smile beneath a layer of grogginess. His yellow-blond hair, brassy from years of bleach and various dyes, leapt from his head in no less than six different directions. He ran a hand through his red-tinged goatee, currently accompanied by specks of morning stubble on his cheeks. His white T-shirt was stretched out of shape, and his flannel pajama pants had holes in unfortunate places. He smelled of weed and pepperoni pizza. And he was all Nora had left.

"Uh?" Charlie mustered at last.

"You. Car. Now," Nora tried again, her relief at seeing him alive wrestling with her annoyance at his general existence. It wasn't just his death she needed to protect him from; by going against company protocol, she would very shortly need to protect him from an inevitable pursuit by S.C.Y.T.H.E. as well.

"So weird to actually see you here. Is this, like, a birthday thing?"

"No, Charlie," Nora said. "This is not like a birthday thing. This is like a life-or-death thing. This is like a 'you're going to get hit by a car at eleven fifteen a.m. and die' thing. Just. Please. I don't have time to explain it right now, I just need you to trust me."

Charlie let out a laugh that would have been a snort from anyone else. "This morning, huh? Nor, you need to cool it with the 'everyone's going to die all the time' schtick, man. Or at least wait until the birds are up."

He turned to shut the door, then added, "Oh, right. Happy birthday, butthead," before he disappeared behind chipped sea-foam paint.

Nora stood on the porch for a moment, hands balled so tightly into fists that her fingernails left little half-moons in her palms. She could feel two and a half decades' worth of sibling rage crawling through her like those little green army men Charlie used to play with at Bubbie's, the ones he'd throw at her while she was drawing to get her attention. Their plastic faces were always poised for battle. But so were her crayons.

Nora unclenched and dug a package of vitamin lozenges from the purse on her shoulder. She loosened one and hurled it at Charlie's window to the left of the front door, at the top of the house, the blinds shut. She threw another and another, their taps growing louder with her increasing force. Finally the blinds separated and Charlie poked an eye out. Nora threw another lozenge for good measure. Charlie reappeared at the door a moment later.

"Dude."

"Charlie." Nora forced her frustration down, just like she always did with Charlie, and went for a different tactic. It was tricky. S.C.Y.T.H.E. policy meant she couldn't share the nature of her job with anyone. But then, S.C.Y.T.H.E. policy also strictly forbade employees from taking any documents off the premises, much less preventing an upcoming death, so one more breach wouldn't make a difference at this point. Besides, she was running out of time. The day shift started at nine a.m., and when none of the Collections Agents had cases on their desks, someone would visit her office and alert her boss, who would inevitably cross-reference the files on her desk with the master spreadsheet, only to find the pile one case short. From there it was only a matter of time until S.C.Y.T.H.E. would track her down. She was breaking not only the most critical company rules but the very laws of life and death. It wouldn't be easy to get away with. Her head spun at the gravity of the situation.

"Charlie, I need you to listen to me. My job . . . I . . ." I work for a company of modern-day grim reapers and according to Death itself, you're slated to die today, was what Nora wanted to say. Instead she said, "Yes, actually, this is a birthday thing. Happy birthday. We're going away for a while. Starting right now."

Charlie examined his sister for a long moment. They hadn't seen each other in roughly six months, spoke rarely and had even less to say. Nora braced for a very warranted refusal, or at least some mild scrutiny, but instead Charlie's inspection face softened into an oversized smile.

"Cool."

"Wait, what?"

"Like a road trip or something?"

"Uh, sure," said Nora, still catching up to the situation. "Yeah, like that. So let's go."

Charlie shrugged. "Sweet, let me just pack a few things. And there's room for Jessica too, right?"

"Jessica?"

"Yeah, you'll love her, she's hilarious."

Before Nora could reply, Charlie had shut the door again.

"Charlie," Nora called through the door, banging a fist against it despite the risk of infectious slivers. This was ridiculous. They needed to be on the road right now to avoid both S.C.Y.T.H.E. and whatever car was going to hit Charlie, and now he was not only taking his time packing for a road trip but also apparently planning to bring his fling of the day along. She knocked again. "Charlie! Charlie! Charl-"

The door opened again and Charlie emerged, still in his pajamas, an unzipped, half-full duffel bag over one shoulder, a cage containing a large gray parrot in his hands.

Nora blanched. "What the hell is that?"

"This is Jessica," Charlie said, with a look that said "duh."

"You can't bring a-" Nora caught herself. "Right. Great. Can we go please?"

"You're not even going to say hi to her?"

"Charlie, we don't have time for this."

"Nor, it's, like, dawn, what could you possibly be in such a rush for? Come on, you're an aunt now, won't you at least-"

"Hi," Nora said tightly, bending down to the cage from a safe distance. "Hi, Jessica. Nice to meet you." Then back to Charlie, "Let's go now, please."

Charlie closed his eyes contemplatively and held a finger up to Nora-whether to tell her to wait or shut up she couldn't tell.

"Fucking hell, Char-"

Charlie shoved his held-up finger directly into Nora's face. Nora had to swallow down the urge to bite it.

After a beat, a high-pitched squawk emerged from the cage. "Hi. Hi. Fucking hell."

Charlie burst out into his snort-laugh.

"It talks," Nora blinked at the bird. "Perfect. Okay, can we go now?"

Charlie shrugged, but before he could open his mouth, Nora had hooked an arm under his and was hauling him and Jessica towards the car, the open road, and safety.

"So why the kidnapping?" Charlie turned in the passenger seat to face his sister as they crossed through town towards the highway.

Nora kept her eyes on the road. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about how the last time we celebrated a birthday together we had an Elmo cake and you cried because I ate the piece with the balloons on it. So what's up? Like, actually up."

Nora let her eyes slip momentarily to her brother. Then to the clock on her dashboard. It was just after nine; only two hours before Charlie Bird was meant to die.

"You wouldn't believe me."

"Try me."

"Charlie."

"Nora. C'mon. What, you on the run from the law or something?"

A swarm of black-clad S.C.Y.T.H.E. operatives filled Nora's mind's eye, their glistening onyx SUVs practically materializing in the rearview mirror. She blinked hard to chase them away. Because S.C.Y.T.H.E. operated outside the laws of society, the company had its own enforcement team ready to crack down on anyone in the organization who played too fast and loose with the laws of mortality. They were rarely used, but there were rumors of some kind of soul-abduction scheme that got dismantled at a S.C.Y.T.H.E. office in a different state last year. And if those rumors were anything to go by, Nora dreaded being their next target.

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