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400 pages, Hardcover
First published September 12, 2024
‘Miles deep, where the bletting landscape of the Undermoor rots under its puddle moon, rain falls. Nancy’s magic easing the return of the dead. As hoof and limb and claw pass through the rippling sky they transmute into the glittering stardust they came from in drifts against the trunks of trees, settle between blades of grass until needed again.'
‘First come the smallest of them, the piskies. Lace wings fluttering at their backs. It’ll be them Pel’s keenest to speak to with their lights out in the bogs. They’re the ones that lead men astray in the night-time, keep a husband from a wife. No more reason to it than that they can, no morality here, no motive. It was they who swapped out Nancy as she lay mewling in her crib. […] Next are the spriggans, small and rocky fronted with quartz running across their backs in veins. Moss growing damp on their shoulders and a diamond in each eye. Creatures to watch closely. As troublesome as the piskies, but with a mean streak to boot.’
'“It is the Lord’s own [hand]. Vengeful and old. God had seen my strife, seen my effort to repair this place […]. Seen how I had been thwarted by a godless man. […] It is as Milton promised. 'Should intermitted vengeance arm against his red right hand.'”