Chapter 12

Icarus hissed when the frame on the basement window cracked, echoing along the empty Church graveyard. He paused to listen for a moment before returning to his work, “Pale God’s going to invent a circle of Hell for this one.”

“We’re already damned,” Maren muttered. “Can’t get double damned.”

He slid feet-first into the rectangular space that used to house one of the few wood-framed windows left in the old building until a few moments ago. He paused and looked up at her halfway in, brow quirked, “If the Church is a home to all, can you ever truly break into it?”

She considered him for a moment before pushing his shoulder with her boot, “A theological discussion for the ages.”

He dropped as silently as he could into the basement room. Dust rose in thick clouds, furious at whoever dared disturb its slumber. Maren hit the stone floor in near-perfect silence and went still while her eyes adjusted to the dark. Storage—boxes and boxes untouched for what could be months or decades at the rate dust gathered on them. Icarus pressed himself to the door and listened, nothing but the faint glow of gaslight dancing in the hallway along the gap in the floor.

“Do we even know where we’re going?” He considered.

She thought, then nodded. Her hand closed on the handle and she eased the heavy door open, avoiding the cry of the old iron hinges as best she could. Maren mapped the layout in her mind and set off deeper into the lower chambers. He followed and glanced back in case there had been some other sneaking priests following along ready to take them out.

The lower chambers were a maze even to one who frequented them, which Icarus surely had not. Maren spent a great deal of time in them as a former Sister, but even with her sharp mind it was still a tangle of halls and turns and rooms that all looked the same to the untrained eye. She led him with a shaky confidence he disliked in his friend, but he followed her anyway. Torchlight and gaslamps flickered in sporadically placed sconces and cradles along the walls, but provided enough light and shadow to make their way around. 

They passed through a hallway pocked with recessed stones embracing icons of saints and angels he could name at a glance. Lazriel—fiery sword of the Pale God, archangel of heaven—seemed to be a favorite. Galriel, archangel of the Holy Cavalry. Esriel, archangel of the Pale Fleet. Infinite facades of angel-generals streamed past them as they moved in swift silence. All beautiful, all suspiciously similar-looking to the face of whichever Pope was in power during their carving. The vanity of man never ceased to amaze him.

Maren threw out an arm to halt him, a finger on her lips. She cocked her head and held her breath. The soft brush of footsteps on stone, a swish from a long robe, then another. Six pairs in all about to pass the entrance or, Pale God forbid, turn down their hallway and collide with them. She motioned and Icarus pressed himself back as flat as he could into the wall. A slight lip between the join where one hall intersected the other served as their best and only cover. His heart fluttered against his ribs like a wild bird that found itself captured in a bony cage. There was no plan if they were caught—hadn’t been much of a plan when he stormed dramatically out of Reed’s office, if he were being honest with himself.

Truthfully, he should have asked Reed more pointed questions—Eilonwy, her wretched brother, the Inquisitor. Absently, he thumbed the empty space the tab collar had once occupied. The only way to get any answers had clearly been to break into the church and sneak into its watery bowels to… well he was not exactly sure. The what would come to him when he knew it. For now, hunting down the lowest chambers seemed to make the most sense—secrets did love a basement.

Shadows fell along the pattern of light, long and ominous—tall headdresses, long robes, quiet voices. The first pair came into view—two nuns in hushed conversation. Never in his life had Icarus been so grateful for their enormous veils. Horse blinders, really, that blocked out peripheral vision. If the Sisters wanted to see them, they would have to turn completely like stiff, holy owls. 

Four pairs of nuns in total passed and they waited another series of heartbeats before Maren waved them onward. The chamber under the nave was enormous, dozens of torch-lined columns arranged in ribs supporting the lungs of the church. Every wall boasted several doorways, a bronchus leading away to another lobe. They stood obscured by one of the larger columns and tried to orient. 

“Left. Second door,” Maren whispered. 

The priesthood ran the show aboveground, but down in the lower chambers was the empire of sisterhood. The Church of Saint Lazriel was not a small building. By all rights, it was a small town within the city of Dublin, the Vatican in miniature. An iceberg of religious architecture, the building was only the tip of what lay underneath it. The Sisters of various Orders ran its organs, flowing through every mysterious layer like blood pumped by the heart of the calderist faith. Icarus knew little of the nuns, much to his shame in this moment, but Maren had been among their initiates. She knew these chambers enough to get where they needed to go—at least where she believed they did anyway. 

It was dizzying to try and map it in his head when he followed her. Doors, empty rooms, halls, chambers larger than the refectory itself. They blurred together as she led him down and down and down. His ears popped at one point. It was late enough they encountered few Sisters and fewer Fathers, but behind some doors they slunk against, Icarus could hear the whispers of perpetual prayers. A shiver spidered along the back of his neck. Nothing more unsettling than whispered prayers in the deep, dark belly of a church underground. 

Finally, Maren motioned for him to help her open one of the many doors they passed. Its most defining feature, oddly enough, was how plain it was. Every other had a scorched sigil or carving of icons or some specially-cased hinge or knob. Not this door—plain wood, plain metal. Nothing about it was special and that’s what made it special. 

They eased it open and slipped inside, Maren closed it as quietly as she could. Icarus stared into what he had expected to be an empty room, which it was, arguably. Rectangular, dotted with only two torches despite its enormity. At the end, an arched doorway yawned the amber glow of distant fire beyond.

“This is as far as I ever got,” Maren whispered. “Whatever’s down there brings a lot of traffic with it. If there’s some hidden oracle of the divine, it’ll be that way.”

Icarus frowned at the lintel above the door, “I’ll say you’re correct.”

She followed his gaze and bit her tongue to stop from cursing—calderist sigils carved and inlaid with molten silver. Magic warded the doorway against those not permitted to pass the threshold. Maren’s calderism came as salt magic and exorcism, Icarus’s in angelic tongues and exorcism. Neither of them had the gift for breaking calderist sigilism. 

“Fuck,” he whispered.

“Fuck indeed.”

“We could break it,” he offered unhelpfully. 

She shot him a look, “Yes, stonemasonry is an often silent affair.”

He stared at the glimmering shapes, eyes narrowed, and slung open his satchel. Sigils were—in effect—just language. Language was tongues and calderist sigils likely were angelic language. He could navigate language. This was a matter of knowing exactly what script was written there and reversing its flow when he figured it out. He opened a copy of the Pale Doctrine and began to leaf through the pages. This was something he had wondered at for many years and never been given the chance to experiment with. Now that he was effectively cut off from the Church completely, who would stop him from trying?

Maren watched him, “I doubt a sermon will help, but do go on if you disagree.”

“Sigils are just words woven together, Mare,” he sighed. “I can do languages. I can unwind these. I just need to figure out what I’m speaking.”

She huffed and revealed she was a little impressed by the logic. Icarus rarely had an opportunity to use his calderist gift, it was often fairly useless and part of the reason he had chased exorcism to begin with. Ego was a hell of a drug and his could be measured in kilos, not grams.

He leafed through page after page, symbol after symbol, alphabet after alphabet. The Pale Doctrine was more than a holy text—it was also a manual for holy magic. The Church-sanctioned copies of the book itself were imbued with it, but it also gave instructions on how to wield it and the gifts of the Pale God. A giant magical tutorial booklet.

Maren’s hand was on his arm and her grip broke the focus he had carefully cultivated. She jerked him towards the corner closest to the door. He opened his mouth to scold her, then he heard it. 

Footsteps. Coming from the other end of the enchanted hall. 

Fuck, he mouthed at her. A finger flew to her lips and she slunk back deeper in the shadowy corner. He turned, letting his dark wool coat bear the burden of disguise. It was not perfect, but the room was poorly lit and it was all they had. In his head, Icarus offered a prayer for the hairbrained.

Voices carried, an indistinct murmur until they closed in—a woman and a man. An ancient Sister and an elderly priest. When they came into view, they were each carrying a torch. Icarus slinked closer to Maren to hide them from view and watched over his shoulder. The ring of gold firelight threatened the edge of their cloak of shadows, but never broke it. He swore internally he would light a votive and offer up several Hail Martines for the blessing of old eyes adjusting badly to sudden darkness. 

The pair lowered their tone as they approached the door, but he caught snippets.

“-never lasted in an earthly vessel this long.”

“I’ve concerns about what that means.”

“Perhaps Brother Athelde is stronger than we knew?”

“Or perhaps Mariusz is.”

The conversation cut off when the door shut behind them before he could catch anything of value. After a moment of listening for any stragglers, he exhaled and stepped back from their protective corner. Maren watched the door, the ghost of recognition haunted the edge of her expression. 

“What is it?” Icarus whispered, closer than he needed to be in case more came.

She shook her head, “I know the name but I can’t place it.”

“Athelde?”

“Mariusz.”

“Hm,” he concentrated on the slight tickle of familiarity, but had no time to pull it apart. He went back to his book and scanned the remaining appendices. The jolt of triumph in him almost came out in a shout. He tapped the page in victory and turned his attention to the woven silver symbols above the door. 

Eyes closing, he took in a slow breath, then let it out. His hand hovered over the Pale Doctrine and its pages glowed ivory as he stretched his awareness into them, drawing up the gift he had been given by the Pale God. A breeze from nowhere ruffled his hair, the pages, his clothes. Maren watched unmoving, but kept the shotgun cradled in her arm ready if she needed it. 

Icarus whispered to himself. 

“Benedicta sint dona Patris Pallidi. Pare mihi, magistro verborum et omnium rerum dictarum,” he opened his eyes and tore the page from the book. It stiffened in his hand and he held it against his fingertip against a wall of empty space. 

The sigil writhed in his mind’s eye, a shadow of light overlaid onto the pressed silver. Each letter began to pull itself apart, unthreaded and unspooled. He saw several tongues woven together in its making. Most of them he knew, could pull from the Pale Doctrine and unmake them slowly. So he began. Each letter was like gunpowder beside an open flame, one wrong twist and the whole thing would blow them apart. He twisted the air with his breathy words, reversing the complex tonal speech they represented. Every layer a different alphabet, each a language layered upon itself, growing older as he peeled them back. 

He stumbled over the turn of an L into a T and the metal glowed a warning—not tripped, but aware. Alive, sensing his presence without being able to reach him. He was too far from the threshold for the sigils to feel his intrusion properly. He held the word on his tongue until the red-orange glow receded. 

At the third layer, sweat beaded on his forehead. He was sweltering. Damnable wool was lovely in the cold outside, but the slow warming and ever-increasing burn of magic flowing through his fingers turned its blessing into a curse. He tried to concentrate and ignore the salt that dripped into his eye. Almost done, one more layer of impossible rolls and breaths and tangled consonants. 

The third layer fell away and the fourth replaced it. 

The fourth in a language he had never seen. 

Not listed in the Pale Doctrine. 

His heart sank. Shit.

He didn’t have time for wallowing, much as he might want to. Everything in him screamed to complain to Maren and drop the work he had already poured literal sweat into, but he had come too far for this, dealt with too much, absorbed too many secrets and lies. One of the answers to his questions lay beyond this idiot, stupid, cunting door and he was damned if he would let a little scribble stop him from getting it.

He planted his feet and spread his fingers wide along the rigid paper in front of his outstretched hand. It flared with light for just a moment—a moment where he tilted his head and caught the ghostly image on the back of the page. 

Inverted. And mirrored. And the last of the alphabets in the Pale Doctrine. 

He grinned like a wolf in a henhouse. With a turn of his hand, the page turned upside down. He could make that work. He spoke in the rhythmic, soothing rumble of Old Maerlin—spoken language of the Pale Son Himself, lost in the centuries between His crucifixion and the founding of the Holy Church. Morphed and evolved and blended into the English used today in this very room, between that very nun and her priest. 

Icarus had been bored and lost a bet at cards in grade school that ended up with him studying the droll language for a month. He’d had to recite Psalm 16:4 in front of the class—the one about the generous size of ancient King Soloddin’s… well it’s not important. He got in loads of trouble, detention for weeks. But his calderist gift for language meant he never lost his ability to speak it. 

Mirrored and inverted, he righted the words slowly in his mouth before releasing them into the world. One by one, he peeled out the final layer of woven language in the sigils. They glowed again, angry and frustrated, but the glow diminished with each word he pulled free. 

He choked out the last and released his hold on the well of holy magic. The paper fluttered to the floor, Icarus dropped to his knees, and the silver toppled out of the carved sigils in a clatter. 

Maren froze. 

Neither of them moved. Despite his aching lungs, Icarus dared not to breathe. Every second they stood listening passed in agony. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. 

When Maren released her breath, so did he. His, unfortunately, doubled back on him in a cough he fought into submission. She touched his back and motioned towards the doorway. He nodded, trying to ignore the spasm in his chest, and she patted him as hard as she dared until he settled. 

Hand on his elbow, she hauled him back to his feet, “Impressive.”

“All magic has a doing and an undoing,” he shrugged, but the pride on his face was unmistakable. 

She stepped carefully over the fallen silver pieces and past the threshold of the hallway. Nothing struck her down, no alarm sounded, the torches along the wall beyond barely flickered at her presence. Icarus followed, trying to quell the tremor in his hand. This was a point of no return now—getting caught slinking through the lower chambers might have earned them a reprimand and a period of banishment, but knowingly removing what was likely a very important sigil set over a door to something very significant and dangerous was another thing entirely. This was excommunicable. 

And Icarus did not give a single shit. 

He followed Maren, lightfooted and lightheaded. The hallway wound in a lazy corkscrew, hiccuped by the occasional short hall or closed door. So many doors and hallways, a veritable honeycomb. He wondered at its ability not to cave in on itself. 

His wondering nearly caused him to collide with Maren’s back. She stood straight as a rail, immovable as a mountain, staring around the corner of the spiral hallway’s end. Beyond the exit, another long, cut-stone chamber far better illuminated than the one overhead. He could see the glint of light off inlaid lines of brass in the tawny stone. Peering around her, he saw even more. 

The chamber was enormous, possibly larger than the Church itself. Three rows of three sisters knelt in supplication before a statue of Martine Magdala, Virgin Mother of the Pale Son. Candles flickered weakly before the statue set into mountains of wax, the bodies of their forbears molten and dripping to the floor in solidified puddles of pale yellow. Each Sister bore the emerald sash of the Order of Eternal Vigil around her waist, the nuns who kept constant prayers and vigils against the rise of the Stygian Lord and his agents of shadow. Wax magicians, all. 

“Why are they here?” He whispered. 

She shook her head. Eternal Vigil Sisters were kept near hellgates, suspected openings to the demon realm where their constant prayer battered back any demons that might spill forth. They were also found in places where demons could only be contained, not sent back. No matter how he considered it, they always seemed to be where demons were. 

“I have a terrible feeling,” Maren murmured, “that we will not like what we find here.”

They risked a shared step farther down, changing the angle they could see. Icarus swallowed a gasp. To the left of the praying Sisters, a set of double doors had been set into the wall. Ornate, shimmering with more sigilwork. This was more than just words written and coiled together—these were keys, glyphs, and runes. He recognized them from apocryphal texts stored in the library reserved for Church exorcists to study. Old, intricate shapes in six-pointed stars, etched with spiraling script around the edges. 

Containment. Command. Banishment. Warding. 

They did not bode well individually, together was worse. Flanking the haunting doors were four men—priests, draped in black, a rosary of jade and quartz around their necks. Loose black pants tucked into tall black boots, black shirts overlaid with a black and indigo tabard. Emblazoned in gold thread on their chests was the roaring lionhead, the symbol of the Warrior Priests. 

Each of them held an iron-tipped spear, an iron blade at their hip, and probably an iron dagger somewhere on their belt. A rare posting, hard to be accepted to, arcane even in this house of arcane and mysterious things. There was little chatter about them, nor of their order or how they came to be. Nobody knew how many of them there were—could be these four, could be four thousand. The Pope himself selected them and gave their posting. 

And his Holiness deemed four of them necessary here in this deep underground chamber while Sisters prayed in perpetuity against whatever was behind those doors. Four of them and a host of Sisters meant to guard whatever was behind that door. Icarus intended to find out what, precisely, they guarded.

Hello comrades! As I write this, October is on the horizon. We are currently halfway to our goal of 100 Rebel subscribers by the end of September. On the bright side, there is no hard cap on reaching that milestone. This isn’t Kickstarter! We will reach it when we reach it. When we do, I can make my case to Bindery that the Rebel Ever After community deserves to launch our very own publishing imprint. 

To entice folks who haven’t taken the leap to subscribe yet, I have a devious proposal. Introducing the RUIN ELLA'S TBR SUBSCRIPTION DRIVE. For every marker we hit on the way to 100 Rebels, I will read and react to a… punishing book. A book I know I will not enjoy. A book I will have THOUGHTS on. 

When we reach 60 paid subscribers, I will read Purple State by Dana Perino, the Fox News host and former White House press secretary for George W. Bush.

Words cannot express how little I want to read this “across party lines” novel about a liberal PR professional from NYC who moves to Wisconsin and falls for “a big-hearted, truck-driving guy who follows hockey, not headlines.” Is it fascist propaganda? Indubitably. Will I read it for the good of publishing progressive romance novels that do not urge women to give up their values and marry men who vote against their rights? Yes, I will. 

When we reach 75 subscribers, I will read The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks. Yes, that The Notebook.

I vaguely remember reading this book as a teenager at the public library and enjoying it a lot less without Ryan Gosling to stare at. I genuinely don’t know how this book holds up (if it ever held up??), but I trust Sparks to give me plenty of material to find frustrating. Especially because he's revealed a nasty bigoted streak.

When we reach 100 subscribers, I will read The Most Dangerous Games by MrBeast and James Patterson.

This cash grab slop is not a romance novel. That being said, it will drive me to the edge of my sanity, much to the delight of the Rebel Ever After discord community. The reviews are so bad, y'all. Just so, so bad.

Ruin my TBR pile for a good cause! You have your marching orders — subscribe if you haven’t already, recommend the podcast and the Bindery community to a friend who loves romance (or MrBeast??), and cross your fingers for my mental wellbeing. Let’s publish some books that make the world better.

(Also, just in case it needs to be said: Don't buy these books! These authors are bad people! If you want to read them with me, get them from your public library like I plan to.)

Did you know that Ezeekat Press subscribers get an EARLY copy of all of our titles? The deadline to sign up as a paid subscriber and get a copy of The Misfit Witches of Marigold Island by V.K. Ruiz is TODAY!

At the $5/month tier you will get an exclusive advance digital copy of the book, MONTHS before its publication date in December

At the $12 and $25 tier you will get an exclusive advance PHYSICAL copy and your name in the book for making it all happen, MONTHS before its publication date in December

The early reader reviews for this one are so special already. Don't miss out on being to be able to be one of the first to visit Marigold Island.

What's the book about? Here is a reminder of your new cozy fantasy obsession:

Warm and witchy, The Misfit Witches of Marigold Island is a cozy fantasy and slow-burn sapphic romance for fans of The Spellshop and The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches.

A spell gone wrong leaves a witch powerless—but opens the door to a new kind of magic.

Paloma has spent a decade as a witch's apprentice, dedicating herself completely to the craft of spell casting. But even with her whole future planned, all it takes is one sneeze to send a spell awry, extinguishing her magic completely. Paloma's distraught: Without her powers, can she even call herself a witch?

At the gentle urging of her mentor, Paloma returns home to verdant, magical Marigold Island. There, she launches By the Broom, a successful courier service, and finds community in a house of other Queer misfit witches and their familiars—including a straw hat–wearing raccoon named Nori. Still, the ache of losing her powers—and her sense of self—lingers. Even a flirtation with Liss, the charming café owner whose chocolate chip cookies are literally enchanted to feel like a hug, can't quiet her grief. As she zooms around making deliveries, she can't ignore the blight creeping across the island—or the feeling that Marigold's magic is fading too.

Paloma's used to solving problems on her own. Can she learn to accept her limitations and trust her new housemates to help her save the island they all love before it's lost to them forever?

Thank you for all of your support on my imprint and for our authors, it means the world!

Jaysen

Our contributors have been busy reading some great titles!

Nox is reading Wild Seed by Octavia E. Butler (our September book of the month, make sure to join our Discord to join our discussion)!

Renee is reading Savvy Summers and the Po'boy Perils by Sandra Jackson-Opoku.

Jordy is reading Morfran, Dark Lord Reformed by S.B. West (and it's hilarious).

Rah is reading Yesteryear by Caro Claire Burke.

Mhairie is reading The House of Gardenias by Isabel Canas.

Casey is reading The Woods All Black by Lee Mandelo.

What book(s) have you picked up to read this week?! If you've read any of these titles, share your thoughts in the comments so we can discuss!

https://youtu.be/Zwq7vgjs-Ac

Link to new video!

Attention passengers, you may face some spooky turbulence when listening to Marcus Kliwer's newest work, Please Remain Seated.

I listened to this via Libro.fm ALC program. Thank you so much for my advanced listener copy.

AFFILIATE LINK: https://www.awin1.com/cread.php?awinmid=25361&awinaffid=3093079&ued=https%3A%2F%2Flibro.fm%2Faudiobooks%2F9781668143520

ALSO if you make the switch to Libro.fm for your audiobooks, not only will you be supporting Indie bookstores, but you can also get two free audiobooks when signing up! https://www.awin1.com/cread.php?awinmid=25361&awinaffid=3093079&ued=https%3A%2F%2Flibro.fm%2Fmembership

Plot

This audiobook follows three different short stories. One in the air. One on the land. And one in the sea.

AIR-- PLEASE REMAIN SEATED--This one follows a woman who misses her flight home. She's desperate to get one the same night and rebooks with an airline shes never heard of before... and she's the only passenger.

LAND--BACKROADS--A man driving late at night hits...something with his car. When he tries to see if he injured an animal, he finds that something dangerous lurks in wait.

SEA--ANOMALY--A deep sea dive with a first time diver goes horribly wrong...

My personal favorite was Please Remain Seated. The setting itself made me a bit claustraphobic, and the plot was off the chain--which made it so much fun. And not to mention spooky.

THEMES/TROPES

--Short stories

--Immersive audio

--Atmospheric horror

--Claustraphobic settings

WHAT I LIKED

All of these stories were fantastic. I loved how immersed I felt with the audiobook. There were sound effects and each story had a new narrator. It truly felt like I was watching a movie in my head. Kliwer always does a fantastic job at making unique and memorable characters.

OVERALL RATING

4.5/5 stars

OTHER BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR

We Used To Live Here

The Caretaker

It's that time of month again! Thank you for the great ideas for our September video. The comment section there is full of so many good recs :')

Am I going to become a manga girl after this?

Anyway, >HERE< is where you can submit your video ideas of October! Feel free to also spit ball/brainstorm in the comments or the dedicated channel on our Discord :)

Hi Friends,

I’m fresh home from NYC and Shelves and the City!

I can’t believe we are only two weeks away from the launch of our first book!

What Feeds Below has done incredible in pre-orders (so thanks to you!!) we are at 1260 and HOPING! To get to 1500 by launch date. If you’ve been waiting to preorder Bookshop has been sending out early. If you haven’t convinced a friend to preorder yet, now is the time!

Crossing all the fingers and toes that the first book from our imprint hits a bestseller list!

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

PS I got my physical final copy and loved seeing all your names on the Thank You page!

To see your name on the Thank You Page for Cracks, become a $12 subscriber today! 🌊🌊🌊

Hey y’all! Quick update! Molly and I have to move our Zoom call to next week. Launch day shenanigans took way more time than expected.

I’ll send you updated info over the next few days!

Thanks for your patience!

It's finally fall!

Check out this list of my favorite cozy fantasies, and feel free to drop your own recs in the comments!

It’s that time already to vote for next months fantasy and thriller/horror reads! I know I say this every month but I am literally so excited for every single book to choose from😅😅Everyone will get two votes, one for fantasy, and one for thriller/horror for those of you who read in both genres. Voting will end on 10/30!

Here’s your weekly round-up of brand new, progressive-leaning romances that you may not have seen on your Instagram feed. There are also THREE new releases by past Rebel Ever After guests hitting shelves this week! If I’ve omitted a title you feel passionate about and think this community will enjoy, please do share it in the comments. Reminder that I haven't read any of these titles yet, so this isn't an official endorsement unless noted. Click through to read the post on Bindery for my full commentary.

Prey For Me by Allie Oleander (Berkley) — I was blown away by Allie’s traditionally published debut Willing Prey last year. This follow-up sounds even spicier. We talked about kink, consent and dark romance on the podcast here!

Damned If I Do by Alexandria Bellefleur (Berkley) — A new paranormal M/F romance about the Devil’s right hand woman and her reincarnated husband, by a queer icon and REA guest. 

Isn't He Romantic? by Adib Khorram (Forever) — We stan Adib here in the Rebel Ever After community!! The third in the Love on the Vine M/M series goes back to Kansas City and stars fan favorite Arya. 

Well Versed by Jen DeLuca (Berkley) — I’m thrilled we’re getting a fifth renaissance faire romance set in the world of Well Met. Huzzah!

So It Grows by Andie Burke (St. Martin's Griffin) — This small-town, business-rivals-to-lovers contemporary M/F romance features bisexual and pansexual representation. 

You're The One That I Haunt by Katie Jung (Penguin Books) — Hot Ghost Fall continues with this romance about a woman who must lift her best friend’s family curse before his wedding by dealing with the ghost of his very hot cousin. But she doesn’t really want to stop the wedding… or get rid of the ghost. Love triangle with a hot ghost!!

Read My Lips by Jem Martin (Indie) — This queer contemporary romance features a deaf hero who fakes a relationship with his British Sign Language interpreter. Read My Lips is currently free to read on Kindle Unlimited.

Love Between the Lectures by Christie Curry (Alcove) — The marketing copy got me: “Sparks fly when a human sexuality professor is paired up with her former childhood crush to organize a sexual health event, until the university’s biggest donors—spearheaded by her conservative parents—oppose.”

Happy Tuesday, mis internet amigxs!

It's my birthday week! Here are some ways to celebrate with me (or help me celebrate)!

UPGRADE TO A PAID SPONSORSHIP ON BIEN LEIDOS

Upgrading to a paid level and helping me build up a community so we can become AN IMPRINT HERE ON BINDERY is the #1 way you can make my birthday dreams come true!

If you can't make a monetary commitment, sharing this newsletter with a friend and encouraging them to subscribe is a huge help as well!

BUY A BIEN LEIDOS T-SHIRT

WEAR YOUR LOVE OF LATINE LITERATURE WHILE YOU'RE OUT AND ABOUT! I know a pink cropped t-shirt isn't for everyone, which is why there are SO MANY amazing styles and colors, including sweatshirts and hoodies, to choose. You have until September 30th to pick up yours!

JOIN DISCORD BOOK CLUB DISCUSSION!

While the November book club poll is live here on Bindery, it's also up on Discord. In addition, we're planning a Bien Creativos night to reflect on Latinx Heritage Month over on Discord. Both polls end tomorrow. Come join the discussion!

As a reminder, our September fiction pick is The Grand Paloma Resort by Cleyvis Natera (Audiobook).

Our September - October nonfiction sidequest is The Latinx Guide To Liberation by Vanessa Pezo (Audiobook).

In October, we're getting spooky with some gothic horror from Vincent Tirado, You Should Have Been Nicer To My Mom (Audiobook): Demons clash with inheritance claims as secrets unfold and violence is unleashed over twelve harrowing hours trapped in a house with the worst thing imaginable: family.

Join us anytime you want on Discord! We'd love to have you.

I wanted to mention a book I only just found out about that's releasing today. This is a nonfiction work that sounds incredible--

Latinx Encounters: How Mexicans, Mexican Americans, and Puerto Ricans Made the Modern Midwest (Latinx Histories) by Juan Ignacio Mora

Dystopian

Buzzard by Inez Ray (Audiobook) Bindery's very own @Michael LaBorn has his 3rd book releasing on his imprint

Young Adult Dystopian

To Our Untamed Core by Sonido Reyes (Audiobook)

Nonfiction

Racist by Design: Two Centuries of U.S. Immigration Control by Kelly Lytle Hernández (Audiobook)

Middle Grade

Mischief and Monsters by Adrianna Cuevas (Audiobook)

Young Adult

Perfect Liars: Lies and Secrets by Alex Mirez (Audiobook) 1st book in the Perfecto Mentirosas series and soon to be an Amazon Prime movie

xoxo,

Carmen

Hello angels!

Thank you for being a paid member to our Bindery at $12 a month. Did you hear the news? The Sustaining Member tier now gets 20% off at Sunny's!!!

The discount code for 20% off books and our merch for you to use at checkout will be MEGAANGEL20.

Feel free to use that at checkout whether you're buying books or merch!

Want to use your discount in-store? Just tell the bookseller at checkout that you're a paid Sustaining Member on Bindery and get 20% off. I've told all of my booksellers about this new change, but we won't know unless you tell us! Don't be shy about it, we want you to save your money.

Thank you for all your support, love you!!!

Hello angels!

Thank you for being a paid member to our Bindery at $5 a month. Did you hear the news? The Supporter tier now gets 10% off at Sunny's!!!

The discount code for 10% off books and our merch for you to use at checkout will be ANGELS10.

Feel free to use that at checkout whether you're buying books or merch!

Want to use your discount in-store? Just tell the bookseller at checkout that you're a paid Supporter on Bindery and get 10% off. I've told all of my booksellers about this new change, but we won't know unless you tell us! Don't be shy about it, we want you to save your money.

Remember, you can always get 20% off if you upgrade to the new tier, Sustaining Member.

Thank you for all your support, love you!!!

Tomorrow is Mabon, the Fall Equinox, and I'm celebrating in a few different ways this year. I wanted this to be the subject of my special post this week and post it earlier so you can actually do some of these things if you wish.

I'm mentally and physically exhausted. When my depression and CPTSD symptoms get worse, cooking and baking are two things that really help me. Unfortunately, spending too much time doing either can also cause my physical symptoms to flare up, so it's a constant game of finding a balance between doing things that make me happy and not completely exhausting myself in the process.

Me being a Libra definitely fits. ♎

I'm getting a head start today by making the pie dough and filling for my apple galette and prepping the vegetables for tomorrow's stew. That way, I can still enjoy cooking and baking without spending the entire day in the kitchen.

I wanted to share a few of the ways I'm celebrating Mabon this year, especially since not all of them require much energy or even leaving the house.

🍎 Baking an apple galette. Apples are one of my favorite parts of fall, and I've been looking forward to making this. I make one every season. I made an incredible blueberry almond one this summer.

🥧 Cooking beef stew with a puff pastry topping. A big pot of stew, a flaky pastry crust. A great way to incorporate seasonal vegetables.

🍊 Making a simmer pot. Cinnamon, apple, orange, and star anise. I love filling the house with the smell of fall, and this is such an easy way to make everything feel a little more cozy.

🕯️ Changing my altar from summer to fall. Putting away my summer decorations and bringing out the things that remind me of autumn. It's one of my favorite little seasonal rituals. Not that my entire home isn't filled with fall and Halloween decor year round.

🍁 Collecting a few fallen leaves and pressing them in a book. Something simple that gets me outside for a little while without requiring too much energy. Plus, I'll have a few pieces of this autumn to keep.

🌰 Carrying an acorn in my pocket all day. A little token of gratitude and a reminder to appreciate what I have, even when things are difficult.

📱 Harvesting the photos and videos off my phone. This one might sound a little strange, but I'm treating it as a different kind of harvest. I'll be going through my camera roll, organizing photos and videos, and setting aside things I can use for future social media posts. I've been trying to find ways to make creating content less exhausting, and having everything organized should help me spend less time on my phone and more time actually enjoying my life.

Why Mabon?

I don't celebrate Thanksgiving. Mabon is my harvest celebration. We decorate our bar with candles, flowers, and then put on a relaxing YouTube fall background too with calming music.

For those unfamiliar with it, Mabon is a modern Pagan celebration associated with the Autumn Equinox, when day and night are approximately equal in length. It's a time to recognize the changing seasons, reflect on what we've harvested throughout the year, practice gratitude, and prepare for the darker, quieter months ahead.

I love that it falls at a time of balance. Light and dark, activity and rest, holding on to what matters and letting go of what doesn't.

And this year, that feels especially relevant.

I'm trying to appreciate the things that bring me happiness while also recognizing that my body and mind need rest. Sometimes that means spending an afternoon baking something delicious. Other times, it means putting a few leaves in a book, curling up with my cats, and calling that enough for the day.

I don't need to do everything on my list to have a meaningful Mabon.

I'm sharing these little rituals in case anyone else is looking for ways to welcome fall, whether you celebrate Mabon or just really love this time of year.

Do you have any fall traditions or little rituals you look forward to every year?

We're back and settled, past the jet lag and catching up on work (kinda), and ready to read some doggone books this week so let me know what you're reading in the comments and I'll give the rundown of everything I got goin' on!

READING

REVIEW

EAST OF EDEN by JOHN STEINBECK (literary fiction)

Progress: Finished

Just finished this morning and need to sit with my thoughts before saying anything major about it or slapping a definitive rating on it, which should tell you that it's not a slam dunk 5* for me but it still may be 5*. I will say that I loved slowly working through it felt totally immersed in the world Steinbeck crafted for these excellent characters. Cathy was my favorite of the bunch and I support all of her wrongs. More thoughts on this coming soon but yeah, pretty solid pick by the Fiction Sickos Book Club and I'm hyped for the Netflix adaptation.

FIFTH SUN: A NEW HISTORY OF THE AZTECS by CAMILLA TOWNSEND (narrative history)

Progress: Finished

I've already done a full review for this and mentioned it multiple times over the past few years but seriously, read it and join the discussion with the History Sickos Book Club! One aspect I really appreciated was how far after 1521 Townsend goes as she details the fight to keep the Aztec/Mexica/Nahua history alive from their perspective, which made this book possible.

A FIRE AMONG CLOUDS by CAMILO MONCADA LOZANO [Book 1, Codex Black] (graphic novel)

Progress: Finished

Gorgeous artwork, a fun and action-packed story, and I loved the historical context bit at the end of this. If you're reading Fifth Sun you should definitely read this alongside.

BERSERK: VOL 22-24 by KENTARO MIURA [Deluxe Edition Vol. 8] (manga/grimdark fantasy)

Progress: Finished

It took football coming back for me to realize why I haven't read as much manga lately, and it's basically I typically read it during football Sunday, as it's easier to look up from. I just put up a video explaining my thoughts on the stretch that begins the Falcon of the Milenium Empire arc but the TL;DR is WE ARE SO BACK!

PREVIEW

On Wednesday I'll be putting up votes for both book clubs so that may alter how I go about picking my next books but what I do know for sure is that I'll be reading The Sixth Extinction: An Unnatural History by Elizabeth Kolbert in the interim. And yeah I'll hit up Berserk Deluxe Vol. 9 on Sunday.

IT'S SCOUNDRELS RELEASE WEEK!

I can't believe it's finally here! A Complement of Scoundrels by S.V. Lockwood, our publishing imprint's first fantasy book release, is out tomorrow! I'll be taking a trip to my local bookstores to see who has it in stock (it looks like a few do!) and I'll be shooting an unboxing video for the Influencer Box that I just received today.

I would love to see pics if any of you spot it in the wild as well. And if you missed the news, yes, there's an audiobook and it's also available for pre-order. Pre-orders and first week sales are massive for a new release so if you haven't got your order in, please consider picking it up this week!

EVERYTHING ELSE

• Game of the Week: I'm trying to get a win with every civilization in Civilization VI and have 24 to go. That's only about 240 hours or so of gameplay (more if I turn off Science victories like I have for some as a change-up), nbd.

• Show of the Week: Gotta catch up on Ted Lasso and I'm watching Physical 100: Mexico, which had a bizarre moment where a luchador unironically did a flying headscissors in one of the competitions, which, cool?

• Movie of the Week: Hoping I have time to see the theatrical release of the old school Ghost in the Shell.

Our October theme is SEASON OF THE WITCH. We never get tired of reading witch stories, and 'tis the season! Leave your suggestions below and we'll vote on our October book of the month next week!