Friday, 31 October 2025

REVIEW - THE LAST SANCTUARY BY KYLA STONE

  

Title: The Last Sanctuary (novel)
Author:
Kyla Stone
Genre:
Post Apocalyptic
Release Date:
31st October 2025

BLURB
Run to save your life—or stay and fight for what's yours.
Isolated at her family's wildlife refuge in northern Georgia, Raven longs to escape. Instead, she spends her days shoveling manure for bears, wolves, and a tiger. That is, until her father contracts the Hydra virus—a mysterious, lethal disease spreading across the country like wildfire.

Desperate to help him, Raven journeys into town to get medicine, only to discover the outside world is swiftly collapsing into chaos. There are no more police, no more laws, and no hospitals. No one is coming to help.

The wildlife refuge she once resented now offers sanctuary: plenty of food, shelter, and the safety of electrified fences. Using the skills her father taught her, Raven knows how to survive.

But the threat is just beginning, for a dangerous gang tracks Raven back to the refuge, and they'll stop at nothing to take what she has.

Raven can run. Or she can stand her ground, risking everything to defend the animals—and her home.

*This novel is the expanded, significantly revised version of a novella originally titled No Safe Haven.* 


REVIEW
First of all, I have to say I love the book cover. It depicts the feel of human loneliness yet being part of a hybrid wolf pack that the main character, Raven feels throughout the book at different stages. The cover also provide imagery to fit the scenes within the book too.

The “normal” world has ended. There’s a hydra virus rampaging through humans and animals alike. Theres no internet or services, no police to come to the rescue when marauding gangs take it upon themselves to steal whatever few supplies and possessions you may have from you.

Raven Nakamura lives at the Haven Wildlife Sanctuary, she has grown up there, first with both her parents and then with just her rather detached, brusque father, after her mother left him. Raven’s mother had asked Raven to go with her but she had stubbornly refused choosing the life she knew and the animals she loved instead. Raven has grown up working hard, helping her father, Kioka Nakamura with all the different animals at the sanctuary. Initially her father is quite blasé about the hydra virus simply thinking his workers not turning up for work have flu and are being lazy, but that changes when the head zookeeper contracts the virus. Kioka’s first reaction is to order the zookeeper to get off the property as he now realises the hydra virus does exist, however Zacharia is more like family, having worked there for years and Raven begs her father to allow him to stay. The deal struck with Zacharia is he must isolate away from them until the disease has run its course. Unfortunately, the disease clouds the Zacharia’s judgement and one day when Raven is feeding the animals he attacks her. His saliva being spat all over her face meaning now she is at a high risk of contracting hydra virus. Raven now face the wait to see if she will succumb to the deadly virus. Its in the following days Raven notices her own father, Kioka is ill with the hydra virus. After much debate and Kioka trying to forbid his daughter from going into town, she ventures into nearby Forsyth for some medication to ease her father’s illness. In the pharmacy the owner Phil Maxwell speaks highly of her father and willingly hands over some oxycodone pills to Raven saying he owes him a debt from many years ago. Phils son Carl is angry about his father just giving away what he considers vital supplies they could sell or use themselves. Raven is leaving the pharmacy when some bikers enter, so she hides behind some shelving and watches in horror as the biker’s demand everything the pharmacy has left. Phil attempts to reason with the bikers but they have guns and when Carl puts up a fight one of them shoots him!

Later as Raven returns to the Toyota Camry truck she has, she has an altercation with the bikers. Raven’s last words before she left had warned her to take the tranquiliser gun with her and this is what she uses to ward off the bikers as she leaves Forsyth at high speed.

Raven gives her father some of the pills which ease his pain, but nothing can cure the hydra virus and eventually Raven has to do the unthinkable and bury her own father. Raven may not have had a lot of demonstrative love from her father but he has given her survival skills and the backbone to make difficult decisions. Both skills Raven will come to rely on in the coming days. Even during her grief Raven doesn’t forget the animals, feeding them all in turn. Giving the extra jerky treats to Vlad the tiger, and the meat carcasses to the hybrid wolves Shadow & Luna along with tending the rest of the animals in the sanctuary.

It’s not long until the bikers arrive at Haven, having seen a leaflet for the Sanctuary listing the amenities there along with the animals, the bikers think they have hit the jackpot for food.

Raven has to think rapidly, be light on her feet and try to stay one step ahead of the bikers. One night she risks sneaking into her bedroom for her backpack packed with survival equipment. The very same backpack she had prepared to sneak off with before her father contracted the hydra virus. Whilst in the process of taking her belonging someone comes into the room, Damien Vaughn. It turns out he doesn’t mean her any harm and reveals to her that she needs to leave and get as far away as possible as she really doesn’t want the other bikers to catch her as they trade women and worse. Raven ends up being chased and mistakenly ends up in the hybrid wolf enclosure rather than the timber wolf enclosure she was going to. Following all the advice and instruction she can ever remember her father giving her, she makes herself small and unthreatening. Surprisingly the hybrid wolves, Luna the beautiful ghost like white alpha female and Shadow the black alpha male that lives up to his name end up accepting Raven into their pack!

Raven is still wondering if she has the hydra virus herself and decides of she may be going to die anyway she will take a few risks. She doesn’t want to leave the animals that she has cared for and loves at the hands of the bikers who wish to kill them to eat and for their pelts. It’s the last straw when she hears the timber wolves being shot at. Under the cover of darkness Raven slowly moves around the sanctuary and opens the animal cages and enclosures, the bonobos, the zebra, the remaining timber wolves, the leopard, bobcat, red foxes etc and the very last she frees Vlad the tiger.

I loved the character of Raven, the selfless, sometimes reckless acts she undertakes. Kioka Nakamura has raised a stubborn young woman with a strong sense of what is right and what is wrong. Raven has some really difficult decisions to make throughout the book. Raven could have taken her backpack and just left the animals. Raven did ponder if she was doing the right thing as these animals may have been caged for most of their lives but they are still predators. There are many times in the book where Raven definitely looks out for, and protects the sanctuary animals, even returning to Haven to rescue a captured one. There are also many occasions where the animals of sanctuary actually help or save Raven. Though Raven never forgets these are predatory animals she is dealing with, she trusts them more than the humans around her.

I really liked the character of Damien, he was part of the biker gang more by circumstances than choice and does attempt to help Raven more than once. It’s a shame he isn’t brave or confident enough to leave the biker gang behind him.

I also adored all the different animals and learning their characters and quirks. The way Vlad loved his jerky that Raven would take him and would chuff at her in such a way it was as if he was laughing.

The different character of the bonobos, the youngest one being cheeky Gizmo who had his own form of showing Raven his displeasure and then would be playful with her too.

Of course, my favourites of the animals were Shadow and Luna, who slowly accepted Raven into their pack as one of them, ending up with the three of them being that closely bonded none of them would hesitate to fight for the other if needed.

I felt the book was quite fast paced, I read it within a few of reading sessions. I thought the animals of the Haven Sanctuary were described in such a way that you felt you knew them as well as Raven. The world building was interesting and I certainly want to read more set in this world. The detailed descriptions of both the surrounding and events help you easily visualise them. Allowing the book to almost play like a movie in your head as you are reading it.

My first thoughts upon finishing the book were that I loved it and wanted more! This book, The Last Sanctuary is an expanded version of a novella which was called No Safe Haven. It is also set in the same world as The Last Sanctuary series which is firmly on my to read list after learning that Raven and Shadow appear in book two of the series!

Summing up, I’d have to say Raven is one tough young woman, she’d already been through a lot before the hydra virus hit but she certainly puts everything her father has taught her into practice and good use. It really is a case of survival of the fittest. Having said that Raven chooses to survive without hurting others or taking from them, unlike the bikers who see what they want and just take it without a second thought to the consequences. The brilliant irony within the book is that when Raven freed the caged animals because they were slowly being picked off and shot by the bikers, the bike predators became the prey of the animal predators. 

 


 

 

 

 

Monday, 27 October 2025

BLOG TOUR - JULIA SONG IS UNDATEABLE BY SUSAN LEE

  

"Introspective, funny, relatable, sexy—it's an absolutely perfect romance." —Christina Lauren, New York Times bestselling author of The Unhoneymooners
 

Title: Julia Song Is Undateable
Author: Susan Lee
Publisher: Canary Street Press
Release Date: 28th October 2025

BLURB
CEO seeks dating coach

Julia Song, CEO of Starlight Cosmetics, is at the height of her career. Then why does she feel like such a failure? Maybe because she’s thirty and single, with a terrible track record at dating. And in the eyes of her Korean family, that is just unacceptable. It never really bothered her—that is until her beloved grandmother drops the bomb that she is sick and her dying wish is for Julia to get married. Impossible. So in a moment of weakness, Julia asks her family for help. Set her up on three dates to help her find The One. But it will never work—Julia is undateable. If only there was a coach for that…

Tae Kim knows about the weight of familial expectation. He’s currently unemployed, living in his parents’ basement to care for his ill father. Sure, he’s become somewhat of a fix-it man for the Korean community around town, but that’s not a real job. And the pressure to get his life together is getting to be too much. So when the Julia Song—his childhood crush—asks for his help, it may be just the distraction he needs. He’ll do whatever it takes, even coach her for these three dates. Problem is, the more time they spend together and the closer they get, the more Tae wonders if anyone is good enough for Julia…including him. 



PURCHASE LINKS 
Bookshop.org
B&N
Amazon
  

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Susan Lee is the author of the critically acclaimed and reader favorite young adult romantic comedies SEOULMATES and THE NAME DROP. Her work has been featured in national outlets such as Buzzfeed, NPR, and Pop Sugar. Kirkus Reviews calls Susan’s voice “honest, fresh and thoughtful”. A graduate of UC San Diego, Susan built a career as an HR executive at some of today’s hottest companies, until she realized that writing stories was a more impactful and powerful form of resistance and change.


Now she channels her energy into writing Happily Ever Afters for those historically underrepresented in Romance. When she is not writing (or painfully procrastinating from writing), Susan can be found down the rabbit holes of her many obsessions including listening to Kpop, binge watching K-dramas, collecting sneakers, building mechanical keyboards, and obsessing over her two adorable, but ill-behaved chihuahuas.
 
AUTHOR LINKS
Author website
 
EXCERPT 


BRIBE BAGS

JULIA SONG HATED being the center of attention.

So standing here at the head of the conference table, expect-ant eyes of Very Important People all on her, was pretty much torture.

But Julia was the CEO of Starlight Cosmetics, this company was her baby, these VIPs the executives she hired to help grow the business. And the news she had to share with them was monumental.

She scanned her memory for the advice from her executive coach for this kind of situation. The only thing she could remember was, contrary to everything she’d ever been told before in her life, never try to picture your audience naked. It would make the nerves even worse.

And, of course, now that’s all Julia could think of.

She closed her eyes for a moment to clear her mind of all the unfortunate images fighting to run through her head.

What was that one thing her coach told her?

Squeeze your butt cheeks to hold the plank. Wait, no, that was her abs coach.

If the recipe calls for garlic, double it. Wrong again. That was her cooking coach.

Oh, screw it. What was the use of having all these people to help Julia better herself when she couldn’t call upon the advice when needed?

She cleared her throat and decided to wing it.

“I know you’re all busy, so I’ll make this quick. Look, it’s not how I wanted to do this . . .”

Her dream, rather, was to one day point at each of them and tell them an exorbitant dollar amount for a bonus. Enough money for them to buy new homes in the hills or on the beach, whichever they preferred.

“Wait—are you firing us?” someone cried out from the other end of the table.

Julia’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “What? No, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Always start with something personal and positive to get people excited about what you’re going to say. Oh yeah, that’s the brilliant advice her coach had mentioned.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so ominous.” Julia quickly backtracked. “It’s just that, well, at the risk of get-ting too squishy in a work meeting, I really wanted to thank you all for taking a chance on me way back when all of this was just an idea in my head.”

Julia swallowed the emotion building in her throat as she looked around at the team she’d put together to lead this company. They were the ones who took her idea to merge the best in the Korean skincare market with the high demands of the US consumer and built what was now one of the fastest- growing organic, clean K- beauty brands in America.

“I just want to tell you how much I appreciate your hard work and loyalty. I don’t know that any of us anticipated this kind of success. But honestly, none of it would have happened without each and every one of you and your contribution. And now, I have some really great news. As you know, Starlight’s Lotus Bamboo Essence was selected for Allure’s Best of Beauty awards. Which was a dream come true for us. But it doesn’t end there.”

Julia inserted the dramatic pause her public speaking coach had encouraged her to use. The looks of anticipation around the room fueled her excitement.

“I’m thrilled to share that the same Lotus Bamboo Essence has also been selected as one of this year’s Oprah’s Favorite Things!”

There was a silent pause of shock, followed by an eruption of applause and cheers, high fives, and hugs shared around the table.

“We’ll need to reforecast sales projections. We’re gonna blow up with the exposure . . .”

“We’re gonna have to update a comms plan . . .”

“We have to think of how we add this to the packaging design . . .”

“We need to make sure the supply chain can handle the increased distribution . . .”

“Oprah still has major influence on Gen X consumer spending. It’s a big win for a product . . .”

Yup, that was her team . . . no- nonsense, capable, loyal, honest . . . and the hardest- working, most talented people in the industry. And they were all business, just like her.

Her chest swelled as she watched them leave to get back to work, patting each other on the back as they walked out, taking the noise with them.

Julia started this company at only twenty- six years old. She’d disappointed her parents by changing her major from pre- med to business administration. She lived off ramen and PB&J sandwiches for a good year just to scrape by as she worked tirelessly to research the hadn’t exactly welcomed her with open arms. And she stomached the start- up community’s boys’ club as she tried to secure funding for the company.

And four short years later, they were on the verge of something huge. Hard work and dedication had brought them to this level of success. So yeah, she was proud of them, proud of herself. And at only thirty, she was finally in a position financially to take care of her family without worry.

When the last person left her office, Julia turned to look out the windows, the hustle and bustle of Santa Monica ten floors below. She took a deep breath.

“That’s right, motherfuckers,” she screamed, while pumping her fist. She shook her hips back and forth, adding in some aggressive hair throws and, why the heck not, followed it with a body roll. “Oh yeah, uh- huh . . .”

“Oh dear, that’s something I’m not likely going to forget seeing.”

Record scratch.

Julia halted her celebratory dance and quickly patted down her hair, trying to tuck her I- knew- I’d- regret-these bangs behind her ear as her assistant, Annette, entered the office.

“Unlike what your schedule says on paper, you’ve only actually attended that hot yoga class once. Should you really be try-ing to move your body like that?” Annette asked. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“You’re fired.”

Annette passed her the cup of black coffee in the Morning Person mug that she knew was a lie, along with a multivitamin and a probiotic. Breakfast of champions.

“Just remember that I know where the bodies are hidden. Oh, and I have those pictures of you from that one holiday party . . .”

“Okay, fine, you can stay,” Julia conceded.

“Is it a good time to ask for a raise?”

Julia tried to shoot Annette a glare but couldn’t keep back the smile. It was a secret to no one that Annette was invaluable to the Starlight team, and most days she was the one bossing Julia around. Julia shook her head and took a seat at her desk. “Can you forward the O magazine email to the team so they know all the details?”

“You betcha,” Annette said. “Have you told your folks yet?”

“No, not yet. I don’t think they’d even understand what a big deal this is.”

“Make sure to tell them.” Annette wasn’t only her assistant, she was also her work- mother as well. “Oh, and here is the updated short list of investors we might want to approach for global expansion. One bad meeting doesn’t have to halt progress.”

One bad meeting was an understatement. The last time Julia had met with an investment firm for an informational meeting, they kept asking about her significant other, driving home that they were a family- run business built on traditional values. They looked at her as young and inexperienced not because of her age— she knew plenty of male CEOs who were thirty— but because she wasn’t married with children. In their eyes, Julia wasn’t reliable because she wasn’t settled . . . settled down, that is.

Her accomplishments, alone, weren’t enough.

I’ll show them, she thought to herself as she gritted her teeth. Julia grabbed the list from Annette with a little bit more force than necessary and nodded. “Thanks.”

“Hey.” Annette softened her voice like she so rarely ever did. The one word in that tone made Julia surprisingly emotional. “It’s a good day, boss lady. You should be proud.” She patted Julia on the shoulder before walking back to her desk just outside Julia’s office


Excerpted from JULIA SONG IS UNDATEABLE by Susan Lee. Copyright © 2025 by Susan Lee. Published by Canary Street Press, an imprint of HarperCollins.


 

 

 

Monday, 6 October 2025

BLOG TOUR - HIGHER MAGIC BY COURTNEY FLOYD

  

"Higher Magic is my catnip. By what dark arts I know not, Floyd has summoned up a wonderful wizard-grad-school slice-of-life, replete with organizing, romance, anxiety, camaraderie, and courage. More please!" —Max Gladstone, NYT Bestselling Co-Author of This is How You Lose the Time War

In this incisive, irreverent, and whimsical cozy dark academia novel for fans of Heather Fawcett’s Emily Wilde series and R.F. Kuang’s Babel, a struggling mage student with intense anxiety must prove that classic literature contained magic—and learn to wield her own stories to change her institution for the better.

Title: Higher Magic
Author:
Courtney Floyd
Publisher:
MIRA
Release Date:
7th October 2025

BLURB
First-generation graduate student Dorothe Bartleby has one last chance to pass the Magic program’s qualifying exam after freezing with anxiety during her first attempt. If she fails to demonstrate that magic in classic literature changed the world, she’ll be kicked out of the university. And now her advisor insists she reframe her entire dissertation using Digimancy. While mages have found a way to combine computers and magic, Bartleby’s fated to never make it work.

This time is no exception. Her revised working goes horribly wrong, creating a talking skull named Anne that narrates Bartleby’s inner thoughts—even the most embarrassing ones—like she's a heroine in a Jane Austen novel. Out of her depth, she recruits James, an unfairly attractive mage candidate, to help her stop Anne’s glitches in time for her exam.

Instead, Anne leads them to a shocking and dangerous discovery: Magic students who seek disability accommodations are disappearing—quite literally. When the administration fails to act, Bartleby must learn to trust her own knowledge and skills. Otherwise, she risks losing both the missing students and her future as a mage, permanently.


PURCHASE LINKS
Bookshop.org
B&N

ABOUT THE AUTHOR 

Courtney Floyd is a neurodivergent fantasy author who grew up in New Mexico, where she learned to write between tarantula turf wars and apocalyptic dust storms. She currently lives at the bottom of a haunted mountain in the woods of Vermont with her partner and pets. Higher Magic is her debut novel.

Courtney has a PhD in British Literature and a penchant for irreverent literary allusions. Her short stories have appeared in publications including Fireside Magazine, Small Wonders, and Haven Spec, and her audio drama, The Way We Haunt Now, is available wherever you get your podcasts. Find her online at courtney-floyd.com


 
EXCERPT 

CHAPTER ONE

You should be writing. hexing people who tell you that you should be writing.

—NOTE ON THE BLACKBOARD IN THE MAGE STUDENT COPY ROOM, EDITED IN ANOTHER HAND

 

THE CLASSROOM DOOR SHIMMERED, AND I SCOWLED AT IT. Twenty minutes ago, the door had been normal. Mundane, even. A steel slab with a hydraulic hinge that had a nasty habit of seeming to swing slowly shut before slamming all at once. It opened onto a fluorescent-lit room overstuffed with motley desks and accessorized with a decrepit whiteboard. Inside, I’d drawn my containment circle using a piece of chalk pilfered from the lecture hall down the way and cast my working. Then, I’d stepped out for a coffee.

Now, two minutes late to my own class, I pressed my palm to the door and felt a frizzle of static ghost its way up my arm and into my hair. My bangs went blowsy. I swatted them out of my eyes and shook the sting from my hand.

So much for making a professional first impression.

Of all the ill-starred winter terms I’d experienced in this program, this one was already well on its way to being the worst, and it was only day one. If I was being fair, it wasn’t the door’s fault. Someone else teaching in this room had thrown up a ward to penalize late students. I was going to have to take it down, or spend the next ten weeks fighting with it. But I wasn’t in the mood to be fair. Not with an 8 a.m. class to teach and a meeting with my advisor immediately after.

Sighing, I levered the door handle down and pushed through the field of prickling magic. Thirty-five

heads—according to my course roster—swiveled in my direction as I stalked toward the front of the room. I pretended not to notice them, smoothing my bangs with my fingertips in an effort to compose myself.

“Hey! The professor’s going to be here any minute, dude. Stop messing around,” someone called out.

As a young, femme, and heavily tattooed instructor who habitually dressed in faded jeans and the nicest clean top I could find in the laundry basket—today’s wasn’t wrinkled . . . much—I was used to that reaction. Instead of replying, I set my satchel on the long table that served as the room’s makeshift lectern and fished out a dry-erase marker.

Concerned whispers soughed through the room. I ignored them, scrawling information on the board:

Spell Composition I

Under that, I added:

Ms. Dorothe Bartleby (she/her)

As I wrote, the whispers quieted until the only sounds were the squeaking of my marker and the high-pitched flickering of the fluorescent lights.

When both my nerves and the room were well and truly calm, I turned back around with a flourishing bow that triggered the working I’d cast earlier.

Students gasped and giggled as syllabi winked into existence above each occupied desk and slowly fluttered into place. They wouldn’t be as impressed if they knew my housemate, Cy, had given me his spell for the working just a couple days earlier. Still, their delighted bafflement was almost enough to make me smile, despite the morning’s irritations.

“My name is Dorothe Bartleby, but you can call me Ms. B.”

I paused to gesture at the board. “I teach Spell Composition I. If you’re here for another class, this is your cue to exit.”

A couple of students scurried out of the room as inconspicuously as possible. Which of course meant that the sound of their packing, bags zipping, and sneakered tiptoeing on the waxed vinyl flooring was so loud it was pointless to continue until the capricious classroom door swung shut behind them.

The remaining thirty-three or so students watched me warily. Smiling, I reached for my heavily annotated copy of the syllabus.

“This course is part of a learning community with Ms. Darya

Watkins’s Herbalism 101. The work you do in Spell Composition I will complement your work in that class. By the end of the term, you will have drafted and revised two academic-quality spells.”

The corresponding groan came from nowhere and everywhere at once, an overwhelming expression of sentiment that shuddered me back into freshman year. My shoulders tensed with the sense-memory of panicked drafting, late-night grappling with the arcane rules of the Mage Language Coven’s style guide, the growing certainty I’d never be a real practitioner because I couldn’t even format my grimoire citations correctly on the battered electric typewriter I used for my assignments.

I took a breath and dropped my shoulders, forcing myself to focus on the students in front of me. Someone had helped me, and I would help them. They might still hate the class at the end. Hec, most of them probably would. It was a gen-ed, designed for gatekeeping and consequently loathed by the student population. But they’d make it through. I’d see them through.

Quiet settled in as I regarded them.

Tangled auras, pained grimaces, sleep-crusted eyes . . . This group was so starkly different from last term’s Spell Composition I students that I couldn’t help a sudden rush of sympathy. There was something special about the off-cycle students, the unwieldy or unlucky or un . . .something few who’d fallen out of the campus’s natural rhythm. And it wasn’t just that I had recently become one of them.

Students who took this course in fall term, as admin recommended, tended to be bright eyed and happy-go-lucky, brimming with the magic of sun-dappled October days and pumpkin-flavored beverages. But it was January, skies glowering with rain clouds, and these students were in for a bumpier ride. They knew it. And they’d persist, despite it.

I looked at them and they looked back at me, wearily expectant.

“Most of my students come to class with a very specific preconceived notion,” I told them. “Maybe it’s self-imposed, or maybe it’s something you were told again and again until it stuck.”

I stalked back to the board and scrawled a giant number across it.

“According to our preclass survey, eighty-five percent of you self-identify as ‘bad spell writers.’ That’s bullshit.”

The class gasped and tittered.

“You’ve been hexed, or hexed yourselves, into believing one of the biggest lies in academia—that there’s only one kind of ‘good spell writing,’ or that only certain kinds of practitioners can be good spell writers. Bull. Shit.”

Fewer titters this time, because I’d gotten their attention. Hexing was a serious accusation—workings intended to cause harm violated the student code—and right about now they’d be trying to sort out whether I meant it literally or metaphorically. The thing was, it didn’t matter whether someone had literally hexed them to think of themselves as bad spell writers. The only thing that signified was that 85 percent of them did. It was part of the story they’d learned to tell about themselves. And reality reshapes itself around stories.

“Does anyone have a hunch about why I’d say that?”

Silence. Stillness. As though I was a predator who could only hunt when prey was in motion or making sound. I folded my arms and waited, even though the approximately seven seconds that went by felt like an eternity.

Finally, a hand climbed skyward.

“Yes? You in the striped shirt. What’s your name?”

“Alse. Um, Alse Hathorne.”

“Hi, Alse. Any thoughts?”

“Well . . .” Alse fidgeted with their glasses and scrunched their face, as if uncertain whether their thoughts were worth sharing. “It’s okay to speculate. Take a wild guess.”

Alse huffed. “Okay, thanks. It’s just . . . When you said spell writing isn’t just one thing, it made me wonder what actually counts. Like, am I writing when I’m flipping through old grimoires for research? Does daydreaming about what I want my spell to do count?”

Their tone was half-sincere, half-sarcastic, but I could work with that. I smiled, waiting to see if any of their classmates had a response before sharing mine.

A blonde in a pink tie-dye T-shirt waved, excited.

“Um, yeah, Reed here. Like, are we writing when we select spell ingredients?”

More hands flew up, and for a little while I forgot it was an ill-starred term. I lost myself in discussion.

 

BLEAK REALITY CROWDED BACK IN AS MY STUDENTS FILED OUT OF THE classroom. In a matter of minutes, my advisor would be giving me the come-to-Hecate talk I’d been dreading since last term. Her email yesterday hadn’t said that, but I could read between the lines of her vague Let’s chat. Can you stop by my office tomorrow?

A knot formed in my stomach as I repacked my satchel.

Every mage student got two attempts—and only two—to pass the Branch and Field exam, our program’s version of the qualifying exam that marked the transition from coursework to dissertation work. I’d failed my first attempt, and this term I’d get one last chance to convince my committee that I had what it took to be a mage.

Except, I wasn’t certain I believed it anymore. I had magic, sure. I was one of the lucky few born with the ability to see past consensus reality to other possibilities. But I didn’t belong here. Not really. Not in the way my housemates did. They were stars in their respective branches, innovating and winning awards. I was squarely middle-of-the-pack among my fellow Thaumaturgy students. A mediocre practitioner in a branch that I’d heard laughingly referred to as the underwater basket weaving of Magic more times than I could count. It wasn’t true. Thaumaturgy was so much more than a catchall for the bits and bobs of magical scholarship that weren’t interesting or important enough to make it into the curricula of Necromancy or Alchemy or even Divination. But my branch’s undeserved reputation didn’t help my confidence.

And now Professor Husik wanted to chat. She was going to tell me I didn’t get a second attempt, after all. That my first try had been so egregiously bad the committee wanted me to pack my things and go. I was so engrossed in the thought that it took me a minute to notice the student who’d stopped in front of my desk, smiling nervously. I blinked a few times, forcing myself to refocus.

“Sorry—”I dredged my memory for the student’s name “—Alse. Do you have a question?”

Alse rummaged in their bag. “Not a question, really, just, uh—”

They handed me a piece of paper and backed away quickly, as if the slightly crumpled page was actually a detonation charm. A ghost of static tickled up my arm as I skimmed the photocopied text, achingly aware that I was going to have to sprint to my advisor’s office to make it on time.

It was an accommodation letter. The requests were common ones: time and a half on exams, an extra week to compose spells, use of an object-based sensory working to manage attention and focus.

I looked up. Alse had used the time to shrink into themself.

“Thank you.” If only I could will away their nerves with my smile. “I know these letters don’t always give me a full picture of how I can best support you. I’d love to chat about that. Can you make it to my office hours today?”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“My last professor nearly exploded when I gave her the letter.”

I couldn’t help but wince. Some faculty took the letters as a personal affront, rather than expressions of students’ desire to be able to actually do the work.

“Is everything okay?”

Alse shrugged. “Sure.” Their tone wasn’t convincing, but every nerve in my body was shouting at me to get moving.

“Okay, good. The directions to my office are in the syllabus. Now, I apologize, but I have to run to another meeting.”

I was halfway down the hall and already out of breath by the time that traitorous classroom door slammed behind me. When it slammed again, signaling Alse’s departure, I’d rounded the corner and hauled open the stairwell door.

I swore under my breath as I climbed. Most elevators on campus were too old and slow to be relied on in a rush. But teleportation wasn’t an option—not even for disabled students.

A group of them had lobbied administration for a change to the policy last year. Their requests were met with a volley of excuses. Teleportation was banned in the student code of conduct due to its disruptive nature and disrespect to the hallowed halls and grounds of this fine institution. It was federally restricted. Over and above all that, though, it was expensive.

I shoved the thought aside, taking the stairs two at a time. I had until the last full moon of term to pass my exam and convince my committee, and myself, that I deserved to be here. That I was ready to advance to mage candidacy, write my dissertation, and join the ranks of full mages out in the world.

I didn’t have time to worry about anyone else’s problems. Even without my advisor’s cryptic summons, I had more than enough of my own.

Excerpted from Higher Magic by Courtney Floyd. © 2025 by Courtney Floyd, used with permission from HarperCollins/MIRA Books.