A tense, gripping novel about a mother whose child begins to change in ways she can’t explain, from the national bestselling author of The Place Where They Buried Your Heart.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Pinfeathers by Christina Henry, which releases on November 17th 2026.
Nora Pacetti is a new stay-at-home mother—she’s tired but coping while caring for her happy, healthy baby, Olivia. But then one morning, something that looks like a feather starts growing out of Olivia’s arm. Or at least, that’s what Nora’s mother, Giulia, thinks. Nora thinks her mother has probably spent too much time watching conspiracy videos on YouTube.
Nora’s husband thinks Olivia needs tests, specialists, hospitals. But Nora senses that whatever is happening to her daughter needs to be concealed—and a mother’s intuition is never wrong. Soon sinister people begin asking questions about Olivia, and Nora starts to wonder if there really is something wrong with her baby. But she’s determined to discover the truth about her daughter . . . no matter the cost.
EXCERPT
She heard the rustling of a shopping bag and her mother’s foot-steps crossing the living room into the kitchen. Giulia would never dare show up at anyone’s home, much less her own daughter’s, without food. Nora wrapped Olivia in a hooded towel and lifted her out of the tub. A moment later, her mother’s soft tread was on the stairs.
Giulia entered the room just as Nora put the baby on the changing table.
“Hello, sweetie,” she said, kissing Nora’s cheek and bumping her daughter aside with her hip in the same motion. “You get her clothes.”
Giulia leaned over Olivia and tickled her cheek. “How’s my bella principessa?”
Her mother briskly rubbed the towel over Olivia. Nora handed her a diaper before getting out a striped one-piece with short sleeves and long legs but no foot coverings. Olivia hated footie pajamas. She’d fuss whenever she wore them.
“Nora,” Giulia said. “What’s this on Livvy’s arm?”
“I’m not sure,” Nora admitted. “She was screaming her head off this morning. At first, I thought it was her teeth. Later, I saw that . . . whatever it is. It looks like it might be a splinter, but I can’t think where she picked it up. It doesn’t seem to be bothering her now though.”
“Go get my glasses,” Giulia said.
Nora sighed, but ran downstairs to fetch her mother’s reading glasses from her purse. “Purse” was actually an optimistic word for the bag Giulia carried. It was a tote the size of an airplane carry-on and stuffed to the gills with every item Giulia thought she’d ever need when she left the house—her latest crochet project (in case she had a long bus ride somewhere), a novel (in case she had to sit in a waiting room), a drugstore shelf’s worth of medications and first aid.
Giulia always had an ice pack and a bandage in case a stranger’s child fell down on the sidewalk, a bottle of Advil for someone’s headache, a tampon if your period caught you by surprise. She carried two unopened bottles of water in addition to a refillable one and always kept a gallon-size Ziploc bag filled with a variety of snacks—packets of almonds, an apple, Picky Bars because she knew Nora liked them.
She also had a bunch of keys, some of which had a clear provenance that Nora could trace—the key to her own condo, the keys to Giulia’s town house and car—but there were other keys that went to other cars and other places. Nora didn’t know what these were for, and her mother would always act like she hadn’t heard her daughter when she was asked about them.
Nora had decided long ago to let her mother keep her own secrets, since she appeared to enjoy them so much.
Giulia was small and thin but very strong. She’d have to be to carry around this tote, Nora thought as she dug in the bag. As usual, Giulia’s glasses case had sifted to the bottom.
By the time Nora found it and returned upstairs, Giulia had finished dressing Olivia and was sitting on the floor with her, playing peekaboo. Nora knelt beside her mother and handed her the glasses.
“Hold her up, okay?” Giulia said.
Olivia put her hands over her eyes as Nora lifted her.
“Yes, peekaboo,” Nora said as Olivia took her hands off her eyes and giggled.
Giulia settled her glasses on her nose and took Olivia’s hand, lifting her arm up in the air.
“Let me see, principessa,” she said, leaning forward to peer closely at the black, needle-like object sticking out of Olivia’s arm. To Nora’s eyes it appeared to be protruding out farther than it had been earlier. She wondered if the splinter was working its way out of Olivia’s arm.
“There’s something strange here,” Giulia said. “Hold her still.”
Olivia started to wriggle and fuss, because it clearly wasn’t any fun to have your arm held over your head for an extended period of time.
“Shh, Livvy,” Nora said as Giulia leaned closer. After a moment Olivia managed to worm her hand out of Nora’s grip.
Olivia tapped Giulia’s head twice before her grandmother sat back on her heels. There was a pinched spot in the middle of her forehead but she smiled at the baby. “Nonna is not a drum, Livvy.” She leaned forward again, attempting to get another look as Olivia flailed her arms around, trying to break free of Nora’s grip.
“What is it, Mamma?” Nora asked. Something about her mother’s expression was making her nervous. “Should I call the pediatrician and make an appointment?”
Olivia kicked out her legs and made a whining sound. She’d had enough of being held.
“No. I don’t know. Maybe,” Giulia said.
It wasn’t like her mother to be indecisive about anything. There were few people on planet Earth who were as certain as Giulia was about everything, all of the time.
“Which is it?” Nora asked. “You know, you don’t know?”
She felt acid churning in her stomach. Did Olivia have some strange disease that Nora hadn’t read about in the baby-care books?
Had she missed some vital warning sign? Maybe she should have called the pediatrician right away after all.
“The trouble is . . .” Giulia began, then faded away, lost in some thought of her own.
“The trouble is what?” Nora asked, as she fought to keep Olivia on her lap. She felt her temper rise as Giulia prevaricated.
“The trouble is that it can’t be what it looks like,” Giulia said.
“And what is it that you think it looks like?”
Giulia looked at her daughter, her dark eyes grave. “A pinfeather.”
