In a mythical Scotland of long ago, a goddess’s mortal surrogate dies in childbirth and leaves behind a vindictive firstborn daughter who seethes in the shadow of her new divine sister, leading to a violent clash that leaves both sisters imprisoned in separate worlds.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from The Café of Infinite Doors by Zara Marielle, which releases on April 28th 2026.
Millennia later in San Francisco, sheltered, isolated twenty-three-year-old Marceline is desperate for a job, longing for a temporary escape from her controlling, toxic husband, Baxter. One evening, a magical café appears after Baxter strands Marceline on a desolate street after a nasty fight. Run by a quirky, mysteriously feathered woman named Lucretia, her partner, Kilda, and a gentle Tahitian man named Sylvan, the café holds the safety, comfort, and companionship Marceline has craved. Upon learning that the café’s door is a protected portal that opens to those in need, she joins the cafe’s staff behind Baxter’s back.
Several months after Marceline has found her safe haven, the portals to the café begin closing one by one and the cafe’s sourceless light goes from warm and honeyed to dim and shadowy. Evil is looming that will endanger not only the café but the world at large; if Marceline is to protect herself and her newfound family, she must choose herself for good and escape her marriage once and for all … or say goodbye to her hard-fought freedom forever.
Excerpt from The Café of Infinite Doors by Zara Marielle
Chapter 3
The Honda sped away, leaving Marceline shivering on the sidewalk. Within seconds she was soaked to the bone, the synthetic fabric of the minidress clinging to her skin. She blinked, wiping a soggy strand from her eyes just in time to be sprayed by a burst of filthy water from a speeding truck. Shocked, she shrank back from the street, tottering in her heels.
How would she get home? Her panic expanded, frenzied thoughts cluttering her mind. If only Baxter would buy her a phone—but who would she call? She trembled, exposed both to the elements and the sinister eyes she was sure watched her from every doorway as she paced the filthy sidewalk.
Shielding her eyes, she wandered to the end of the block until she found a pair of street signs. Folsom and 8th Street. It meant nothing to her without a map. A block or so to the right, cars zoomed across a freeway overpass. Was Baxter driving down that freeway now? No, impossible—he was trying to scare her, that’s all. He would never leave her.
She cradled her purse. There was nothing inside save a few crumpled dollars left over from her grocery allowance. No driver’s license or phone or credit cards. Still, holding something seemed to help.
Marceline scanned the street for an empty doorway—any outcropping that might provide shelter while she waited for Baxter to return. Across the street she saw a bus stop awning. Shivering, she braced against the downpour, heading for the crosswalk. When the light turned green she bent her head, hugging herself with goosebump-covered arms as she set one unsteady foot in front of the other. The judging eyes of the drivers prickled her skin. Part of her wanted to turn and ask them for help, but she knew better than to approach strangers.
The stilettos pinched her toes, and her feet pulsed with pain by the time she reached the other side. There were fewer lights here. More sinister shapes looming, blurred by darkness and rain. Pressing on toward the bus stop, Marceline did her best to harness her fear. To focus on her destination rather than the fact that she was vulnerable, a woman alone, scantily clad in a questionable neighborhood on a dark, rainy night.
She made it to the bus stop and ducked inside, anxious for shelter, for a schedule explaining how to get home—just in case. There was one, but it had been half-ripped from the scratched plastic wall, a mess of graffiti rendering its remains illegible. STOP OUT OF SERV, flickered the digital marquee above it.
Shit.
Marceline leaned against the shelter’s interior wall, face crumpling. She shoved her hands over her mouth to keep the sobs in.
That’s when the car pulled up.
“How much?”
The deep voice startled Marceline, who stiffened, terror flaring through her nerves. Through the blur of tears and rain, she could hardly make out the driver’s face—only a smear of gray—was he wearing a suit?—topped by shadowy dark hair. The car itself was obscured, too, but its low, angular body signaled expensive, sporty connotations.
“Come on, don’t be shy.”
Marceline shrank further into the wall of the bus stop, wishing she could vanish into it. Any response she might have given lodged dryly in her throat. Please go away, she pleaded silently, gaze locked on the puddles at her feet. Please go away, please go away . . .
“Let’s get you out of the rain,” the man said. A second later, the sound of a car door opening sent fear zinging up her spine.
That was what did it—that sound.
One moment, she was paralyzed by fear. The next, she was sprinting into the street as fast as her accursed shoes would let her. Cars honked and swerved as she dove between them, careening across the street without a backward glance. She needed to get far, far away, and quickly! Was he following her? Impossible to tell over the furious klaxons, the dizzying thud of blood in her ears.
An alleyway yawned open before her, and without a second thought she darted inside—only to trip on something solid. She flailed, trying to steady herself against a brick wall and instead landing directly on top of her obstacle: something damp, soft, and moving. Something alive.
“Get off me, bitch!” A pair of rough hands shoved her away, and Marceline scrambled to escape the huddled figure in a sleeping bag she was now splayed over. She launched herself off him, only for the heel of her damn stiletto to get stuck in a pavement crack. Her ankle erupted with pain as it twisted beneath her, sending her plummeting into a dumpster. The huddled figure shouted after her, a string of vicious, guttural swears clattering in her head. Shelter, she thought, frantic. I need shelter. She emitted a whimper, searching for a refuge, a safe haven.
And then, she found it.
A shining point in the darkness. The eye of a raven, lurking in the shadows. The bird turned, beak pointing across the alley like an arrow.
Pointing to a door.
It stood a mere five feet away at most. Its details hit her all at once: the carvings in the oak, the brass knocker in the shape of a fierce-eyed bird, turned green with age. Above it, a stained-glass transom, glowing orange and gold. How hadn’t she seen it? It stood ajar, warm light shining inside like an invitation.
Pouring her last ounce of strength into her legs, she half-scurried half-limped up the three steps toward the door.
It opened to receive her. The trash-strewn alley melted away, replaced by a sudden, blinding glare of golden light.
