Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from A Compendium of Supernatural Entities Found in the Government Girls Higher Secondary School by Kuzhali Manickavel, which is out now.

In the oppressive heat of a small Tamil Nadu town, strange happenings are common. And the local government secondary school is teeming with supernatural entities.

For Thamarai, an outsider considered strange by her peers, life is dreary and frustrating. She endures nosy neighbours and incomprehensible tuition classes. She despises the way her lecherous English teacher harasses the other girls in her grade. But when Thamarai finds a mysterious notebook full of descriptions of the school’s paranormal phenomena, she wonders if it may hold the key to escape…

EXCERPT

Introduction

The Government Girls Higher Secondary School – or GGHSS – is one of the most supernaturally infected places in the known and unknown world. Western concepts of the supernatural should not be used as a framework while exploring, documenting, or archiving the paranormal here; the entities of the GGHSS are decidedly unWestern, and cannot be measured by Western definitions.

The Association for Moral Upliftment and Universal Friendship (AMUUF) takes great pleasure in being the first officially recognized body to endeavour to categorize and catalogue the many supernatural entities that exist within the realm of the GGHSS. With our dynamic team of researchers, archivists and volunteers, AMUUF has achieved great things in the area of supernatural categorization. However, the monumental task of creating this compendium has not been without its challenges. Many volunteers, particularly those who have been raised in the Western school of thought, become confused as to how to identify supernatural phenomena if they do not fall into familiar slots like “vampire”, “haunted house”, or “Satan”. This situation is made doubly difficult by the fact that many volunteers know only one language: English. This monolingual handicap severely limits the words, sounds, and ideas they have at their disposal; however, it need not hamper them in doing their job. We have always encouraged such individuals to view absolutely everything as supernatural, and work backwards from there. For example, if one comes across a chair, one should understand that it can also be an undead carnivorous bird at rest, or a community hall haunted by paranormal mushrooms. One must never assume it is just a chair.

Even today, many of the paranormal phenomena of the GGHSS remain undocumented. It pains us to note that a number of entries are either incomplete or totally blank, simply because the researcher/archivist/volunteer didn’t feel like completing the task at hand. For example, the entries for a number of small, deceased gods, for the Giant Scrub Typhus Mites, and for the Ammapettai Fire Lizards could have been completed quite easily. However, the Ammapettai Fire Lizards entry has nothing more than a rough description of the entity’s toes, while the entry for the Giant Scrub Typhus Mites is made up of the words “The Giant Scrub Typhus Mite is…”, followed by at least twenty blank pages.

This brings us to our next problem. There is a good deal of documentation in this compendium that has been entirely made up, as a “joke”. While AMUUF is loath to point fingers, it cannot be denied that a majority of those accused are from our volunteer base. The task of removing these entries is a daunting one and continues to be a drain on our resources.

Despite the many challenges that we continue to face in our epic endeavour, AMUUF cordially invites you to be a part of this monumental work. Should you encounter a supernatural influence that is not listed here, feel free to make detailed notes of your experience in the pages provided at the back of this compendium. Notes should include clearly labelled diagrams, maps, lists, and bagged/sealed specimens. Please do not use ballpoint pen. Kindly include any and all discharge summaries or death certificates if applicable.

***

The bus entered the town, and instantly, Thamarai forgot where she had come from. Her old life seemed to fade away, leaving behind a vacuum that was already filling up with this new town’s witchy sunlight, smoke, and relentless holiness. She had been here before, when she was younger, but all she could remember from that trip was the heat, the crowds at the temple, and the priest who had conned her family out of five hundred rupees. This town would now be home for the foreseeable future.

There was no transition period, no time to work through the shock of being unceremoniously transplanted. Thamarai settled in quickly and quietly. Her new life was not terrible, but it was lonely and insignificant, dotted with only a few special occasions that involved wearing coloured dress or eating ice cream. Her parents had gotten work in two different towns so Thamarai had been sent to stay with an unmarried aunt, who provided her meals and slept in the hall at night. Thamarai attended the local government school for girls, as well as tuitions for maths, physics, and chemistry. She went to the temple on Fridays and watched the weekly televised Tamil movie on Sundays. Hers was an ordinary life, no different from any other local girl’s life.

Thamarai did not know her aunt well, but they soon settled into a routine that Thamarai found comforting. Her aunt was brisk and plump, always talking, always moving. She would watch the Sunday evening movies with Thamarai, every so often bringing out a small treat: a bar of chocolate, a bag of chips, a packet of Maggi, and on one occasion, a small glass bottle of Coke. She was sweet and unintrusive, and Thamarai decided she mostly liked her—except for her eyes, which were always hidden under round white reflections in her thick glasses. Thamarai had never actually seen her aunt’s eyes, and if she thought about this too much, it scared her.

Thamarai herself was an unremarkable girl: skinny, with good teeth and thin hair. She was not pretty, but in her new school, she often got compliments from the girls because she looked like a boy. Not like a boy play-acting as a girl; to them she seemed like an actual shy, mysterious, and violent boy. It was a quality that made girls stare at her. They would sometimes touch her cheek or shyly hold her hand. They would blush or become flustered when Thamarai smiled at them. Thamarai decided this was the best aspect of her new life. She liked to see what happened when she held a gaze for too long, or absent-mindedly touched someone and let her hand linger.

Thamarai was constantly falling in love. In school, she fell in love with sports girls, bold girls, repressed conservative girls, orthodox girls, mixed-caste girls, and homely girls. She would think about these girls all the time, looking at them covertly during class, and cringing each time one of them said or did something that shattered Thamarai’s beautiful idea of her. She fell in love in an intense and alarming way that would consume her completely, and then die away after a few days.

Thamarai even fell in love with the girls who made fun of her. They laughed at the parting in her hair, which was always crooked, no matter how hard she tried to straighten it. They laughed at the fact that she never put turmeric on her face or wore bangles. They laughed at her hands, which were always covered in ink even when she hadn’t touched her pen, and they laughed at her school uniform, which for some reason always smelled like kerosene.

For the most part, Thamarai liked the new town. It initially seemed harmless, like a very old house. But strange things began to happen to her. Sometimes it was just unlucky strangeness: a pig would get its head stuck in the spokes of her cycle or a family of ravens would consecutively poop on her head. Other events were inexplicable: a crowd of children who all had hands where their heads should have been had once chased her while she cycled to school. Another time, while fishing in her bag for her pen, she had repeatedly pulled out handfuls of old teeth which tried to bury themselves into her palm like they were shy. There was the young man who had grabbed her arm at the railway crossing and then dissolved into a cloud of reddish dust. Another day, she had been alone at home when she had stumbled into a wall and remained stuck inside it for the whole afternoon.

And of course there was the incident with the old woman at maths tuition, which Thamarai did not like to think about.

The very first of Thamarai’s supernatural experiences took place a couple of weeks after moving, on her first day of 9^th standard. There had been no room for her in the classroom, so she had been relegated to sitting on the floor in the doorway. No one spoke to her, but everyone stared at her. She looked like them, but she was clearly not one of them; she was too well-nourished to be one of these girls—these girls with their anaemia, their fluoride-stained teeth, and their holes in their hearts.

She spent most of that day looking at the empty assembly ground that stretched hopelessly in front of the classroom. She memorized the pockmarks and scratches on the wall in front of her–the one crack that looked like a horse’s head, the other that looked like a laughing clown. She counted the tiny holes in the floor and the mounds of dust that lay nestled at the bottom of the door.

Feeling the stares of the girls around her, she decided to rummage through her bag like she was searching for something important. Inside was a cheap, plastic raincoat, a geometry box, her unused rough notebook,  her new textbooks… and something else. She frowned as she gingerly pulled out a very old and dusty botany record notebook.

She had never seen it before. Its binding was falling apart but somehow the book seemed to be holding itself together. Thamarai looked around her, to see if someone had put it in her bag by accident. A prank maybe?

She opened the notebook and saw intricate transectional sketches. These were not the usual drawings of shoe flowers and seed germination. Some of the diagrams looked like young girls and others looked like gigantic insects. The text portions almost read like botanical entries, except that they included warnings and danger rankings.

It’s just a book, she said to herself. I am not afraid of it. I’m not afraid of anything here. She leaned over and placed the notebook on the floor, next to the wall. Someone would eventually pick it up and deal with it.

She went back to staring outside.

Sometime later, when she looked in her bag again, there was the notebook, nestled under her plastic raincoat. For the next half hour, she kept putting the notebook on the floor against the wall, and it kept reappearing in her bag when she wasn’t looking.

She decided she would toss it in the drainage canal on her way home.

But after school, as she slowed her pace near the canal, someone chased her away, saying it was dangerous, and didn’t she have enough sense to stay away from places like that?

No matter what she tried, she could not get rid of the notebook. It became a silent, permanent fixture in her bag.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘A Compendium of Supernatural Entities Found in the Government Girls Higher Secondary School’ by Kuzhali Manickavel appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Fangs by K. L. Speer, which releases on October 6th 2026.

“Run, lil rabbit, before Wolf tears you apart.”

Twelve years ago, Ember Cutler obeyed her father and ran away from a devastating crime scene, but the girl who disappeared into the desert was not the same girl who came out. Now, she’s known only by the name “Bones.” When her older brother appears in her clinic at the Vault and abducts her at gunpoint, Bones knows her time has finally run out, and the past she tried to escape has caught up to her.

Taken by Wolf and his team of deadly bounty hunters, Bones finds her past and present identities colliding. With the help of her crew and its leader, Mac, Bones struggles to untangle who she is now from her trauma and grief. But the gods have taken notice of her—and her potential—and enemies new and old are circling.

When her magic begins to evolve in mysterious ways, Bones is forced to decide who she wants to be in the face of the terrifying forces that threaten to alter the entire world.

EXCERPT

Chapter 1

“Think you ran far enough?” asked Wolf.

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t remember a single word. I was ten years old again, staring into my older brother’s furious face, but he wasn’t a gangly teenage boy anymore. New scars marked his skin. He wore a dirty, worn green and brown uniform, a rifle strapped to his back and a pistol on his hip, along with several sheathed knives. A pair of goggles sat on top of his head, and his wavy brown hair hung long enough to cover his ears. The hardness of his green eyes made me feel sick.

“What? You got nothin’ to say to me?” He smiled with no humor in it. “After all this time?”

I stared at him, my heart lodged in my throat. He stared back, studying my face as though looking for something. Was he trying to find the ten-year-old girl he last saw? A low whistle came from the main floor of the clinic below us, and Wolf whistled back, then scanned the loft. There wasn’t much. My mattress lay on the floor, covered in Trey’s quilt, and my dresser stood in the corner. Wolf glanced back at me, his expression unreadable, then spun me around and marched me toward the loft ladder.

“We’re leaving,” he ordered. “Go down the ladder.”

I obeyed. Another man, with black hair pulled back into a messy topknot and dressed the same as Wolf, stood in the clinic holding a large rifle. He looked familiar, but the chaos roaring through my head made it impossible to place him. His face stayed expressionless as he shifted to put his body between me and the door. Wolf came down behind me, twisting my arms behind my back. I heard the familiar sound of a zip tie cinch shut and felt the plastic dig into my wrists.

“Not a word, you hear?” Wolf growled in my ear as he propelled me toward the door. “I don’t want to shoot my way out of here, but I will if I have to.”

He held a pistol in his hand. It had a silencer on it, and my heart seized with terror that Mac would return and—

I gulped in short, frantic gasps of air. I couldn’t watch another person I cared about get shot. Wolf and his friend hesitated, staring at me with furrowed brows.

“Quiet,” Wolf said as he shook me hard.

Almost as though a switch flipped, it felt like I was outside my body, watching. My gasping eased, an empty nothingness washing over me. They both stared at me for a second longer before pulling their goggles down and dragging me outside.

They slid through the shadows easily, and I stumbled along in a dreamlike state. After I tripped for the tenth time, they practically carried me, the toes of my boots barely brushing the ground.

As we approached the gate, I didn’t notice the bodies until we were stepping over them. They lay in the shadows of the wall, and I couldn’t tell if they were dead or alive.

F***. Oh gods, please don’t be—

“Sable?” Wolf called in a low voice.

Another shadowy figure bled out of the darkness of the gate, startling me. The man holding my left arm released me and traded places with this third person—Sable, apparently. As Sable took my arm, I could barely see his features in the moonlight, making out long blond hair and lips that were frowning at me. The dark-haired man operated the pulley to open the gate doors just enough to fit a person, and Wolf and Sable darted toward the woods with me in tow. I craned my neck to look back. The gate inched shut behind us, closing with a soft thud. I had to bite back a gasp as the man rappelled down the wall with ease. There were no cries of alarm. No guards shouting. Nothing.

Please don’t be dead.

The dark-haired man and Wolf dragged me through the woods. Sable took up the rear, drawing the large rifle he carried on his back. I tried to keep up and cooperate, but I didn’t have night vision goggles, and stumbled over every damn tree branch and rock. Soon, they seemed to grow frustrated and started carrying me again. They moved so fast, and now that we were out of the hold, reality set in.

My brother was about to kill me.

I knew he would catch up to me eventually, but turns out I hadn’t been as mentally prepared as I thought. They looked like mercenaries. Was Wolf a merc now?

Wolf let out a low whistle, and an answering whistle sounded from somewhere ahead of us. A minute later, a figure appeared, leading a horse.

“Any trouble?” a male voice asked.

“No,” Wolf said. “Any updates?”

“All clear at home base,” horse guy responded.

“Are your bones full of air?” the dark-haired man holding my arm muttered. I glanced up to find him tilting his head, a slow smirk curling one corner of his mouth. “You’re a lot prettier than Wolf.”

“Shut up, Lee,” my brother growled, taking my arm from Lee and dragging me toward the horse. Terror had me light-headed. “If you think passin’ out is gonna help you, you’re dead wrong,” Wolf said harshly.

He reached toward me, and I instinctively jumped backward, only to crash into a body that grabbed me tightly by the shoulders. I froze in fear, and Wolf’s angry face swam in my vision.

“I wouldn’t try to run if I were you,” the person behind me said.

A quick glance revealed it to be the horse guy.

“Listen to Tuck. Or you’re gonna make this ten times worse for yourself.” Wolf lifted me onto the saddle. As he bent to make sure my feet were in the stirrups, Tuck joined Lee and Sable, and the three of them spoke in low tones while watching me. Juck’s voice echoed in my head.

Quit cryin’, Angel, or I’ll give you somethin’ to cry about.

As soon as Wolf finished adjusting the stirrups, we started moving again in a single-file line. Sable led the way, and Wolf walked behind him, holding the horse’s reins. I only knew Tuck and Lee were behind my horse because I glanced back and saw them. Somehow, the only sound was the horse’s hooves crunching through the snow. The zip ties stung where they rubbed against my skin. I wondered if the horse would bolt if I gave it a good kick, but I knew I’d probably fall off with my hands tied behind my back.

What would Mac think when he returned and found me gone? Would he assume I’d been called out to heal someone? Would he even look for me before morning? It wasn’t unusual for me to be out healing during the night. At this speed, we’d be far away by then.

That was for the best, though. Wolf was going to kill me. Like he’d said, my time was up.

Was this how Trey felt when he knew he was going to die?

I’ll find you again in another lifetime.

I struggled to wrestle my emotions down. It was harder than I expected; I’d gotten too used to letting them out. I had to fall back on my old method of reciting medical text in my head until I felt myself sinking into the vacant quiet again, the woods passing by in a dreamlike blur. By the time the sun began to rise, I was numb inside and out. I was only wearing a thin jacket and no gloves—fine for running around the hold while healing people, but not warm enough for an overnight trek through the woods in late winter. I couldn’t feel my hands anymore, and the adrenaline barely kept me awake. How far were they going to take me before they got it over with and killed me?

The sun had fully risen when they finally stopped. On one side of us was a rocky cliff with large boulders scattered about its base. Despite my effort to stay calm, my heart thudded out of control. This had to be it. This was where my brother would kill me.

The others shrugged their packs off, and Wolf came to the horse’s side. I was shaking like a leaf when he pulled me down. I saw his gaze narrow on me before I dropped my eyes. When he set me on my feet, my knees buckled, and he had to catch me before I ended up in a heap on the snowy ground. I could barely feel my ice-cold feet, and my legs were stiff and sore. Wolf dragged me toward the rocky cliff and sat me on a flat rock someone had cleared of snow.

“Don’t move,” he ordered.

I pulled my legs in and leaned forward, trying to stop trembling. We’d fought constantly, but Wolf had never laid a hand on me. The idea of him hurting me was worse than the idea of him killing me. His boots stayed before me for a few breaths, but then he turned and went back to the horse.

The other men were moving around the small area, getting food and water. I didn’t move. I knew better than to run. I’d be lucky if I made it five steps before one of them caught me. A gust of wind blew some of the powdery snow into my face, and I shivered, miserably cold. If only my hands were tied in front of me so I could try to warm them up. Jaw clenched to keep my teeth from chattering, I risked glancing up, scanning the three men who traveled with my brother. It didn’t look like they planned to make a fire.

In the morning light, I could see them clearly now. Sable’s long hair fell to his collarbones in a silky sheet, and his eyes were so pale blue they almost looked white. Tuck was the tallest and had brown skin; his head of messy black curls seemed permanently mussed. His glances at me seemed more cautiously curious, bordering on concern. Maybe he was the weak link in my brother’s group.

I glanced at Lee and tensed when I realized he was staring at me. His hair was pulled up in a messy topknot with a shaved undercut. He had high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes, and again, vague recognition tickled my brain. For a few seconds, I held his gaze, and then the memory crashed over me.

He was the prisoner from the cells at the Vault—the man who looked at me like he knew me, and Mac had later accused me of helping escape. So he had recognized me. I guessed that answered the question of how Wolf found me.

Excerpted from Fangs by K. L. Speer. Copyright © 2026 by K. L. Speer. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Fangs’ by K. L. Speer appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from The Southern Sorority of Superstitious Witches by Katie Ortiz, which releases on October 6th 2026.

When Lucille, Catherine, and Victoria are invited to participate in a trial semester for women at Alabama’s most prestigious university, they each have their own reasons for accepting. Lucille wants freedom from both her father’s control and reminders of her traitorous first love. Catherine wants to escape an arranged marriage meant to halt her attraction to women. And Victoria wants to run from the guilt that haunts her after the death of one of her fellow mill girls.

The trial semester will determine whether or not women across the state will be allowed to attend other universities. But the enrolled women quickly learn that success is not guaranteed, and some of their male cohorts are determined to see them fail. When the men’s pranks go too far Lucille, Catherine, and Victoria form a coven under the guise of a sorority and call upon witchcraft steeped in the traditions of Southern folklore to fight back.

As they gather their fellow witches, they discover there is something darker at work at the university, a force that is determined to expel all the women at the university, and they’ll need all the allies they can get if they want to succeed.

For fans of Witchcraft for Wayward Girls and Weyward, this historical speculative novel explores the darker side of human nature and the ways in which women navigate—and survive—oppressive, male-dominated societies.

Loading…

Taking too long?

Reload document

| Open in new tab

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘The Southern Sorority of Superstitious Witches’ by Katie Ortiz appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Cursed City by Kate Golden, which releases on September 29th 2026.

Viv Abbot will do whatever it takes to rescue Reid Graveheart, the reformed Brood demon she loves—even if it means teaming up with his violent, unpredictable older brother, Deacon. Her uneasy truce with him offers Viv something Reid never could: the chance to embrace her darkness.

As the search for Reid intensifies, Viv and her friends must maintain appearances on Harker grounds while wading into Astera’s seedy underbelly with none other than the White Stag as their guide. But when a bounty on Viv’s head puts those she cares about most in danger, Viv will be forced to go to lengths she never dreamed in order to protect them.

With enemies closing in from all sides and a ticking clock on her life, Viv must save the Half City from destruction while surviving a betrayal that strikes at the heart of everything she’s fighting for. Because in a world where monsters wear familiar faces and temptation cuts deeper than any blade, making it through her second semester at Harker will take more than skill—it will take everything Viv has left to give. Who can she really trust in a city that thrives on lies?

EXCERPT

The sun is setting over Astera, and I am dying.

“It’s about your brother . . .” My voice is garbled by all the blood pooling in my mouth. Deacon—all hulking, demonic, six foot six inches of him—drags me through grime and snow to hurl me in-side his club. I land hard and my body shrieks in pain. Another bout of hacking results in a gory splatter of red on Fever Dream’s polished concrete floors.

Baz follows Deacon inside, as silent and looming as a shadow, his dark hair hanging mournfully in front of his face. He looks wary of me—violet eyes flitting back and forth between my crum-pled, shivering body and his menacing boss. A baby‑faced bar-tender leans over the bar with interest, fangs jutting from his mouth at the sight of my blood. An elegant, bronze‑skinned acro-bat peers up from her stretches on the raised dais where the DJ equipment stands.

“Speak,” Deacon commands. His pale eyes fixate on the sizzled flesh of my back—the place where I carry the deadliest spell known to man.

“The Brood . . .” My lungs crackle with each word. “When Reid—”

“What’s all that noise?” When I turn toward the voice I find Ward, the handsome werewolf bartender I met a week ago, coming out from a swinging door behind the bar. He’s holding a dishrag and a bottle of gin. His earthy green eyes widen at the sight of me. “Snow White?”

Deacon ignores him. “What happened to my brother, Vivienne?”

At that Ward straightens, leaves the bottle and rag on the bar top, and stalks over to Deacon’s side.

“He’s at the docks,” I wheeze. “Finn, the High Thane’s son, has him. Please, they’re going to—” I cough again. Dim lights and Grecian columns and the lofted ceiling swirl around me. “They’re going to kill him.”

A curse rips from Deacon, the sound rumbling through the club like an earthquake. Despite my best efforts, I cower at the fury rippling off his broad shoulders and stern jaw. “Heal her,” he com-mands. I’m not sure who he’s talking to, because my sight has faded into bursts and splotches. When I can no longer hold myself up, I slump to the floor.

Before consciousness slips away from me, I’m lifted by ice‑cold hands. From the weak hum beneath my skin, I know it’s a deviant, but I’m too depleted to squirm away.

“Don’t let any Brood in tonight,” Deacon growls. “Not until we return. And nobody breathes a word of this outside these walls, yeah?” Quiet murmurs of agreement. “And for the love of Christ,” Deacon barks to whoever is holding me. Baz, I’d guess, from the vampiric chill of his skin. “Don’t let her bleed all over the lounge.”

With that, two sets of feet file outside before the massive front doors swing closed with a hideous thud.

“Will they save him?” I don’t care what happens to me. But Reid, but Reid—

I don’t hear Baz’s response. Only the rushing of my desperate heartbeat, the shimmering twinkle of the syrabraxa below my skin, and the gentle thump of club music. Something warm and wet brushes my lips, and an endless void swallows me whole.

Excerpted from Cursed City by Kate Golden Copyright © 2026 by Kate Golden. Excerpted by permission of Ace. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Cursed City’ by Kate Golden appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Witch Daughter by Tanaz Bhathena, which releases on September 22nd 2026.

Rumors of witchcraft follow Princess Tahmineh like a storm cloud, making it impossible for her to secure herself a marriage or any kind of future. With her father, the king’s, health in question, it becomes shockingly clear how desperate her situation will soon become in his absence. If she doesn’t act now, she will quickly find herself destitute and desperate.

Tahmineh seeks out a prophecy, from which she learns she will fall in love with a warrior of great renown named Rostam and bear him a son. However, she is warned this match is a dangerous one for her. Heedless of the warnings, Tahmineh boldly orchestrates a meeting with Rostam and the two develop a close friendship and ultimately fall in love and marry. At the peak of her joy, Tahmineh gives birth to Sohrab, Rostam’s son.

All too soon, Tahmineh learns the tragic second part of the prophecy. Father and son will meet as enemies in battle and one will die at the hand of the other. What follows is a mother’s desperate attempt to undo the threads of fate and try to protect her son at all costs.

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

“Do you like your hair, Your Highness?”

The maid who’d asked the question was a slip of a girl, her body still in that awkward adolescent stage of transitioning from angles to curves, her limbs trembling with uncertainty.

I examined my reflection in the bronze mirror she held up, taking in the loose black curls artfully framing my face, the thick braid woven all the way to my hips. Delicate brass butterflies had been pinned across the length of my hair at regular intervals, metal wings fiery in the lamplight.

“Why, Binaifer.” I raised a hand to my chest in mock astonishment. “You’ve outdone yourself tonight. You’ve made me look beautiful.”

This was not a real surprise. For all her nervous energy, Binaifer was the cleverest among the palace maids when it came to arranging hair, knowing exactly what styles suited my angular face. Garbed in my favorite green silk dress, the corset embroidered with red roses and the sleeves embellished with pearls, tonight I looked more like a forest spirit than the witch I was reputed to be.

“You are beautiful, Your Highness!” Binaifer’s round face beamed.

“Everyone says so!”

“Really? I thought they were calling me an old hag by now.”

Binaifer instantly began protesting this statement, brown eyes widening with alarm.

“Oh, don’t fret,” I said, gently squeezing her shoulder. “I am not fishing for more compliments.”

Certainly, by now, on the eve of my thirtieth birthday, I no longer held illusions about who I was nor how I appeared to my father’s court. King Arshak’s only daughter: the princess no man wanted to marry. The princess many called demon- born behind her back.

Under my touch, Binaifer slowly began to relax. She would be easier to soothe if asleep. Then I could slip past the barrier between wakefulness and slumber and walk into her dreams, unseen, assuring her that she was safe with me.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness.” Binaifer’s smile held the slightest hint of a tremor. “I know you are not like the other ladies of the palace. If not for you, I would not be here today.”

“You must not say such things,” I chided gently. “You are loyal and good. Any lady would be lucky to have you attending her.”

Yet there was truth to Binaifer’s words. I had seen the way ladies at court treated their maids— their withering rebukes, their backhanded slaps for the smallest mistakes. Once, years ago, when I’d tried to defend a maid from being unfairly reprimanded by a courtier’s wife, the maid herself had turned me away. “No need for you to step in, Shahdoxt,” she’d said, her voice polite but firm. “My mistress is right. I should have known better.”

The maid did not say it aloud, but I understood what she meant:

She did not wish to be saved by a witch.

With Binaifer, however, things were different. I’d first encountered her over a year ago outside the queen’s quarters: a small, scrawny thing being beaten within an inch of her life by my stepmother’s favorite lady- in- waiting, Banu Azad. Bruises bloomed across the young girl’s face and blood had begun to seep from her nostrils. I did not have to think twice. I stepped into the dimly lit corridor and shoved Banu Azad aside.

“Leave this girl alone,” I told the woman, my voice cold. “If you don’t, I will find out. And there will be consequences.”

What those consequences would be, I did not say. I did not need to. Banu Azad had erupted in outraged squeaks of protest, fear mingling with the hatred in her beady eyes. That day, I did not mind the rumors that constantly swirled around me— including the mistaken belief among the palace women that I could transform them into lizards or burn them to ash with the force of my gaze.

Leaving the queen’s lady to sputter unintelligibly, I had turned to a stunned Binaifer. “From now on, you work only for me, understand?” I had said. “I will speak to the king about it.” Neither Banu Azad nor my stepmother would dare kick up a fuss once I had Father’s approval— especially not over an ordinary maid.

“Y- yes. Yes, Your Highness!” the girl had sputtered in response.

No one dared touch Binaifer now. Not while she was under my protection.

Of course, my protection worked only because no one at court really knew what my powers were, their imaginations always conjuring worse things than what my own magic would ever be capable of.

Our world was divided into three realms: the celestial realm ruled by the yazata or angel, the human realm where we lived, and the underworld where the daeva or demons reigned. There were times, of course, when the inhabitants of these realms crossed paths. Most times in war, but a few times in love as well, the way my father and mother had. A human king and a pairika— an immortal witch from the underworld— their love resulting in the birth of a child who could cross over into the realm of human dreams.

My parents’ marriage did not last, my mother leaving the palace shortly after I was born for reasons no one really knew, my father remarrying a few years later. My stepmother hated me on sight, repeatedly trying to send me away. Father, however, protected me, brushing aside her protests about bad omens and my “vile daeva blood.” “I do not abandon my children,” he’d said sternly.

King Arshak was a man of his word and he’d remained steadfast as the years passed, even as the whispers about me grew at court. Even as princes, knights, and noblemen refused my hand in marriage, unwilling to have a witch’s daughter for a wife.

But my father was growing old now. There was no saying how long his protection would last.

“You look perfect for the feast.” Binaifer’s voice distracted me from my thoughts. A wide smile revealed the gap between her front teeth. The sight jarred me for a moment, reminding me of another young face. Another smile.

Noshir.

My ribs tightened. No. I could not grieve my little brother’s death tonight. Tonight, I would need all my wits about me— as was usually the case with family celebrations. I rose to my feet and clipped a small dagger onto my leather belt, its gold sheath pebbled like the feathers of a bird. Father had gifted the dagger to me when I’d come of age at fifteen, and it never failed to comfort me during these gatherings— a reminder that I always had the king’s protection. That I could use it to protect myself, if needed.

Pinching color into my cheeks, I determinedly stepped outside. The corridors were bustling with servants, most of whom ignored my presence. But Binaifer’s ministrations seemed to have an impact, for a few of the queen’s maids stopped to stare as I approached and bowed. I smiled, hoping my nerves did not show.

At least tonight’s feast would not be in the palace’s stuffy banquet hall. It was the eve of Nowruz, the spring festival that marked the end of winter. Several bonfires had been set up in the lawn outside, along with a long wooden pavilion, its pillars festooned with red ribbons and garlands of roses and the gold and ochre saman wildflowers that bloomed fragrant across our pastures, giving our kingdom its name.

Tonight, people would sing songs, make wishes, and pray to Ahura Mazda, hoping to leave behind their illnesses and misfortunes in the previous year. Already, minstrels had begun playing a lively tune on flutes, while a group of children took turns leaping over one of the smaller bonfires.

“Let your redness be mine!” the children chanted. “And my paleness be yours!”

I paused to watch. I, too, had been like these children once. Had joyfully chanted these phrases while leaping over the fire, imagining that my arms were wings. This was in the years before Father had married my stepmother. The years when the court saw me as only the king’s daughter— or so I thought at the time.

As I stood there, a small boy raced past and nearly tripped over his own feet.

“Careful!” I cried out, righting him with a hand. My smile faded when I saw the downward curve of his rosy lips, the stark terror in those big brown eyes as they locked on mine.

“P- please!” he cried out. “Please don’t hurt me!”

The words of reassurance caught in my throat. I stepped back, watching him run back to his friends, who were shooting me horrified glances. Demon, they mouthed to each other. Witch.

Had the boy simply run away instead of saying anything, I might have been able to retreat to the palace and lock myself in my room.

But now I had drawn the attention of the adults as well.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Witch Daughter’ by Tanaz Bhathena appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Morfran, Dark Lord Reformed by S. B. West, which is out now.

Morfran the Beheader is done being the Dark Lord of the kingdom of Ruthven. He’s tired of managing minions, and his wife, Queen Ravana, has officially exceeded his personal comfort level of evil. Yet when he books it for the hills with the hopes to live out his days disguised as a goat farmer, his aspirations are tragically cut short when Morfran’s former soldiers catch up with plans to behead him.

Morfran’s only chance at safety is to seek refuge within a tiny forest dwelling where no one recognizes him. But he quickly learns the village is the base for a brewing rebellion against his rule. And after he reluctantly saves said village from an attack, he’s voted the one to lead the charge. Against himself.

Morfran helps the rebels while planning to desert them at the soonest moment. But as he fights by their side, he discovers that they’re actually quite pleasant—especially the lovely assassin who has been out for his blood for a decade. Too bad Ravana has sent Morfran’s best men to nip the revolt in the bud, and too bad his unlikely allies would burn him alive if they learned he’s no hero, but actually their Dark Lord in disguise. Because even Morfran knows that only a hero would stand up to Ravana and fight for friends, and he’s certainly no hero.

Right?

EXCERPT

Dear Diary,

It is day two-hundred and forty-eight, and I am still not dead. Progress on the lute has been going melodiously well, and Benjamin has finally given birth to two kids. Their adorable bleats woke me up first thing this morning, and I can already tell it’s going to be a splendid day

A noise that sounded like a cat throwing up arose from the yard.

Morfran the Beheader lowered his quill, glanced out at the soft morning sunlight warming the yard of his property, and listened. From the barn, which he’d painted a quaint, pastoral red with the blood of highwaymen who thought him an easy target when he first moved in, he could hear it: the delicate bleeaat of Benjamin’s kids.

It wasn’t a sound he was used to. No, he was used to dying wails on some battlefield and piteous pleads of de-legged men who’d suctioned themselves to his boots as he tried to walk past, and their grunted oofs as he promptly kicked them off. But this—this little noise that was barely a noise as the wispy-furred kids curled up beside their mother’s belly—this was welcome music to his ears.

Content that they were well, he picked up a wedge of rye toast he’d topped off with his delightful raspberry jam recipe and savored the warm, sweet moment.

It’d been two weeks since he’d last seen another human face, and it was glorious. There was no ugly mug coming to tell him that the expected shipment of pikes and halberds was somehow lost in transit near the southeast coast. There’d be no one coming to tell him soldiers were complaining about having to march through the Marshes of Ret and getting soggy socks (though this was a mostly reasonable complaint). There was no one coming to tell him about an argument between his two best generals that “involved jealous feelings and a wench and a shiv and oh, we need to appoint two new generals because the argument is now over and neither of them survived the stab-happy wench.”

Here he could just be. The weather in the southlands was relatively mild, the winters wet and weak, and even during the chilliest of days there was the promise of sun. It provided bounteous opportunity for him to work on his tan, which he’d already indulged in, foil reflector and oils and all.

His farm was perfect as well; a steal of a bargain, it was. It only cost him the lives of the three others vying for the property, and afterwards he buried his sword (again) behind the barn and wiped his hands clean from their blood in the stream at the far end of the yard.

It was in that moment, as he watched the cold water wash the red from his hands, that he officially announced it to Benjamin.

“That’ll be the last of it.” He affirmed as the she-goat gnawed thistle weed by the bank. “For real this time. No more beheadings. It is unseemly and I recognize it can be upsetting for some people.” Then, as an afterthought: “And if I am to be just a goat farmer, such things might be an uncommon hobby and raise suspicions.” He paused, shuffled in spot, and amended. “I should probably stop killing people.”

After that he felt like a new man. He burnt his cloak and blood-stained gloves in the kitchen hearth that night, and the next day at market bought a set of peasant clothes complete with his own set of ugly peasant hose. Then he ditched the scissors and grew his hair out and even kept a trimmed beard, which he’d never had permission to do before, because Ravana despised facial hair. “It’s like kissing the rear end of a sweaty ox,” she’d complain. (How she knew such a thing, Morfran had always been too afraid to ask).

He had to look the part of a goat farmer: property, goats, and appearance. And when he gazed in the stream one morning after the makeover to study the man peering back at him—a lean, dark-haired rustic with green eyes—he hardly recognized himself.

Good. It meant his men wouldn’t either. As for Ravana…she’d recognize him. She had that uncanny ability of stripping down the truth within moments. She’d recognize him for sure. He’d just have to stay out of her sights, if she ever did leave Castle Atrago clear in the northlands.

He finished the last of his raspberry toast and went to check on Benjamin, whose delicate head lay in her bed of straw, her tongue hanging limply out of her agape mouth like a fat pink worm plucked fresh from the garden.

Poor thing is exhausted, he thought with affection, kneeling before her and her two kids who’d fallen asleep while nursing. They’d be the first in a pedigreed lineage of goats he intended to establish here. In just a few years from now, roaming the green valley of his farm, there’d be hundreds of goats, an army of goats, and sheltered among them he’d build an empire on the finest damn raspberry jam the southlands had ever seen.

He’d already envisioned it. His jam would win first-place blue ribbon in the county fair, and it would continue to win for eleven years strong until a rival jam maker—he imagined it to be a stout woman with massive jowls whose fifteen-year-long title he usurped—would come back with a vengeance. She’d set his farm on fire and steal Benjamin’s kid (kids, he corrected, he hadn’t been expecting two) and everyone would be gutted when he became too distraught to make his jam. Then he’d find his second wind and go on a rampage searching for Benjamin’s kids and find them stashed away in an old butchery the woman sold them to. After rescuing them in the nick of time, he’d then unearth his buried sword and go find that jowly woman to deliver quick judgement. And as he’d raise his sword above her bedside where she slept he’d maybe shed a tear or two about how desperation had driven him back to a life he tried so hard to leave, but this was Benjamin’s kids, and he promised to protect them, and—

“Are you Bernard?”

The voice tore him out of his daydream so unexpectedly he leapt to his feet, growling and slashing out with an imaginary sword at the barn’s entrance where a man stood.

The man didn’t flinch. Instead his eyes rolled up towards the hayloft, and he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “drawing the short straw.” In his hands was a letter.

Morfran narrowed his eyes at him. “Did you stay off my lawn?”

“Yes.” The courier glowered. “It was hard to not notice the thirteen signs you posted that read ‘stay off my lawn.’”

Morfran nodded briskly, still distrustful. “Good.” He thrust his hand out towards the courier. “Now give it to me.” Peasant, he wanted to add, but he did have a disguise to maintain, so he kept his tongue begrudgingly still.

The courier stretched out his hand as if he were reaching towards a particularly slimy slug. Morfran raised his eyebrow and snatched it, glancing over the envelope. It was off-white, made of fine parchment, and when he turned it over, he saw something that raised the hairs on the back of his neck: a wine-red wax seal of a magpie eating a marigold.

“Get out.” He muttered, eyes fastened and unblinking on the seal. “I said get out! And don’t walk on my lawn!”

No reply. He looked up. The man was already gone.

He pressed his lips together, looking down at Benjamin. She’d woken from his outburst, blinking sleepy, incurious eyes at him. You doing all right there, Morfran?

I don’t know yet, Beni.

He slid his fingers into the envelope’s slit, breaking the seal. It could be a coincidence. It could be someone other than her, someone who used the same seal. Marigolds and magpies were common enough emblems. Originality was dead, anyways, wasn’t that the saying?

Then he saw the lone words, written in scrawled, feminine handwriting, and all hopeful doubts vanished away.

Found you.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Morfran, Dark Lord Reformed’ by S. B. West appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Etched In Ink by Corinne Price, which releases on

Everything Sybil Wyntres believed is a lie. The rune etched into her body, the magic she can’t control, even the order she once trusted. None of it is what it seems. Forced back into the Bastion she barely escaped, Sybil is sent across the fractured lands of Crae Vost with an ancient enchanter whose motives are as obscured as the truth she seeks. As whispers of the Void spread and their horrors grow less containable, Sybil begins to uncover a terrifying possibility: the enemy may not be what she was taught to fear.

Far beneath the world above, Raekin has lost everything. Dragged back into the Alpstraum by the noose he thought he had loosened, he is once again bound to the wire that broke him. All because he chose her. Now, marked by failure and forced into obedience, Raekin is sent to hunt the one person who may be able to unleash the nightmare of the Void onto the continent.

As their paths pull them toward the same unraveling mystery, Sybil and Raekin race against each other and the forces that control them to uncover the truth behind the tome that tore them apart. But Etched in Ink is a world built on control and cruelty: knowledge is dangerous. And choosing the wrong side may cost them not just their lives, but the lives of those living on the surface.

EXCERPT

Everything hurt. The slightest twinge in his muscles, in his skin, and he felt his stomach twist, seizing against sharp pains. They had carved him all over again. He’d felt every blade, every flame, every claw. He wouldn’t know how ruinous the damage was until he got out of the Alpstraum.

If.

            The pulse through his veins throbbed in tandem with his bound wrists. Wrapped behind the post, the wire tight, still singing with the acrid tang of the magic wrought into the iron. The scars the wire had bitten into his skin so many years ago no doubt re-opened and raw. The smell of blood was more overpowering than the decay. It surrounded him like a thick miasma, invading every sense of his body.

Taunting him.

Because it was right there. Encompassing everything around him, covering him. And he couldn’t grab it. He could use it to break the wire. Could use it to tear apart the post. With it and the earth below him, he could crumble this cave down on his body, snuff out the breath from his lungs, and leave the pain behind. An easy out that had always lingered in the background, but one he chose to ignore, focusing instead on making those that hurt him pay.

If only he could get the barest grasp of his magic. Not with the runes engraved on the walls, not with the wire tight against his wrists, cutting all ties to his magic like a severed limb.

When the Void came to him, weapons and claws sharp and ready to cleave through his flesh, Raekin almost felt relief. A break in the monotony that endless isolation had created, his own mind trying to turn against him. Delusion and reality becoming one and the same.

Those whispered taunts and shadowed demons no longer fed on Raekin, their reach fading with time. No longer keeping him in a constant state of terror. They couldn’t remind him of the bloodshed derived from his own hands, nor needling him with the mistakes he had made. Because he already knew. Even their threats of became redundant and expected, falling on him like the drips of water from the ceiling. The nightmares tried so hard to haunt him, but everything in him felt too numb to raise a voice in return.

When all you have for company is the never-ending darkness, eventually the nothingness fades and nightmares start to parade through the empty chasm you are left with.

Regardless of his detachment, his body still shook. Still trembled under the waterlogged wrap around his eyes. The cold. The pain. The waiting. It built up over time. A separate voice that now screamed into the void, one that sounded terrifyingly like his own, but did not come from his throat.

The hard, cracked ground beneath him curved from years of Etched scrambling away from their tormentors. Remnants from the last visitor to his darkened cell amalgamating into a fetid puddle within the crevasse. The memory of it soaked into his brain much the same as the water slowly rotting his skin. A heavy, woolen rag had been draped over his face, head yanked back with such a force his neck cracked, water poured over the fabric while he choked. Drowning, but unable to die. Over and over and over and over—

            Stop. Please stop.

He shifted his body. He had to. The movement of his pain from one extremity to the next was the only thing to signify that time was still passing. There was no world to him anymore, just the darkness of the fabric around his eyes. He knew there were torches that surrounded him, just out of reach. He saw them when the fabric was torn from his face, the light burning his eyes when Naz’Tak returned to goad, or gloat. He never asked questions. His underlings did that when they—

Drowning drowning drowning drowning drowning

            —brought their bulky reptilian hide down this far. Always about Kreb. Always about her whereabouts. He stayed strong. He lied. Said he didn’t know. Didn’t know what had happened. Though his underlings were moronic, Naz’Tak certainly wasn’t. He’d seen what had happened. Seen the way Raekin had looked at Sybil. Raekin tried to shield her with his fury, mask it all behind a veil of anger and vengeance. But it hadn’t been enough. Naz’Tak had seen through it like a shoddy curtain.

Naz’Tak wouldn’t let that go so easily. But through all the torment, all the torture, Raekin was strong, defiant. Letting it wash over him as he held his tongue.

Until they cut it.

This excerpt is from Corinne Price’s new book “Etched In Ink.” Reprinted with permission from Corinne Price

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Etched In Ink’ by Corinne Price appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Well we are delighted to be sharing an excerpt from The Wretched Divine by Adalyn Grace, which releases on September 22nd 2026 and is available for preorder through Hachette UK. For further purchase links, including for other countries, exclusive editions, and more, please visit Adalyn’s website here.

Now, read on to discover the synopsis and the excerpt!

Aurelie Chantelune was born to serve. Raised as a knight in a kingdom ravaged by demons, she’s spent her life honing her blade, driven by the memory of the monsters who tore her family apart and by the knowledge that she’s one of the few who can stop them.

If Aurelie can claim her first kill, she’ll inherit a legacy passed down through the Chantelune bloodline: a soulbond with Yuriel, an angel whose power is vital to her kingdom’s survival. But when those she loves begin turning into the very monsters she’s sworn to destroy, Aurelie is forced to seek help from the last place she ever imagined. Desperate, she forges a second and far more dangerous bond with Severin, a demon she can hardly trust, but who claims to know how to end the war for good.

With their lives and fates entwined, Aurelie, Yuriel, and Severin must team up to hunt down a cure capable of turning demons back into humans. But the more they learn about one another and the deeper their relationships grow, the more Aurelie begins to question the war and her place in it. With both of her bonded on opposing sides, she’ll have to make a choice: continue to stand with the angels, or risk everything by trusting a demon.

The post Exclusive: Read An Excerpt From ‘The Wretched Divine’ by Adalyn Grace appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Hellbound by Stephanie Binx, which releases on August 25th 2026.

Hell is empty, and all the devils are here, but nobody knows why—not even the devils themselves. Now sadistic demons roam the earth, offering small fortunes to any mortal sucker dumb or desperate enough to die on their behalf as they retrieve artifacts from a Hell they can’t recall. Washed-up journalist Marian Meyer is one of those mortal suckers dying for a living as she fetches clues for a demonic puzzle that she doesn’t care to solve.

Riddled with debt she’ll never be able to pay off and guilt over her mother’s death, Marian made her first lucrative deal with a demon and never looked back. Never mind that being a Hell-diver means that she must voluntarily drown herself or that the human body wasn’t meant to die more than once—and she’s definitely feeling it.

Unfortunately, the last time Marian went to Hell, she came back wrong. Memories of that night are missing, and she’ll do anything she can to find them, including teaming up with one of her mysterious (and oddly alluring) demonic patrons, Mr. Vale. But when their tenuous alliance thrusts Marian even deeper into a world of betrayal, humans with strange powers, and demonic politics, she’ll have to decide if allying with Mr. Vale is her ticket to freedom or damnation in disguise.

One part slow-burn romance and one part acerbic wit, Hellbound is a dark contemporary fantasy romance perfect for readers who prefer their casts morally gray and the stakes sky-high.

The following excerpt takes place after the Prologue

Loading…

Taking too long?

Reload document

| Open in new tab

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Hellbound’ by Stephanie Binx appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Immortal Rose by Alexandra Bracken, which releases on August 18th 2026.

Members of the ancient Rosebourne family have a strange gift born of a fairy ancestor: the ability to infuse fragrance with magic capable of manipulating mind, body, and emotion.

When a shocking murder leaves the kingdom of Albion vulnerable to a coup, royal spymaster Hugh Thornton seeks the one person who can help: Viola Lockwood, the last living Rosebourne and secret heir to a fraught legacy.

Livid at the silver-eyed aristocrat who had her thrown in jail to force her compliance, Viola nevertheless comes to an agreement with him. In exchange for crafting Immortal Rose, the singular perfume capable of saving Albion, illegitimate Viola can seize the life–and fortune–that should have been hers.

As Hugh and Viola race to find the perfume’s lost fairy ingredient, hidden deep in Albion’s dark underbelly, neither can deny the scorching attraction building between them–especially as the attempts on Viola’s life grow increasingly brazen.

But a terrible truth lurks in the heart notes of their kingdom–and while every bargain has a cost, Immortal Rose may demand more than Hugh and Viola can ever pay.

Loading…

Taking too long?

Reload document

| Open in new tab

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Immortal Rose’ by Alexandra Bracken appeared first on The Nerd Daily.