One Month Until The Reanimator’s Fate

December 28, 2025December 28, 2025 Kara Jorgensen1 Comment

We are officially one month out until the release of The Reanimator’s Remains (TRM #4), which you can preorder at all major retailers here. Since we are getting so close, I thought I would share with you the prologue to whet your appetite.

Prologue

The Cat Burglar

Mr. George Chadwick Livingston III’s home off Fifth Avenue contained many things: massive marble mantles imported from Italy, stained glass windows made in Tiffany’s workshop, enamel vases purchased from Faberge in the style of the Russian tsars, wardrobes filled with gowns from Worth and Doucet, antiquities looted from cultures around the globe, and the best display of good breeding and taste a first-generation steamer magnate could buy. What it didn’t contain was a bobcat, yet when the clock struck two, the wildcat slid out from under the sofa and regarded the man’s well-stocked library with a gleam in its eye. The creature purred as it silently padded to each door and confirmed that the room was locked and the halls beyond it were empty of people. The bobcat and Enoch Whitley, the man who shared a body with it, had waited nearly a month for this day, and they weren’t going to squander it by getting caught.

With a shove, Enoch forced the bobcat to relinquish its hold. Their body locked and convulsed like a machine in need of oil after weeks in bobcat form. They bit back a hiss as their skull split and the cat’s sharp canines retracted in favor of a row of square, crooked teeth. Across their body, their skin crawled as fur was replaced with flesh and greying brown hair, but the sensation was nothing compared to the pain of the breaking and remaking of bones and the tearing of muscle. Enoch clamped his mouth shut as the pain reached a crescendo that turned to nausea. He shouldn’t have waited so long to shift. He was too old, and at some point, waiting too long would be his undoing. Resting his head against the Indian rug, Enoch panted and shut his eyes until his heart quieted and the last echoes of the transformation passed.

If one of the maids had walked in, they would have found him as naked and vulnerable as a baby bird, but that was the price he paid for shifting. His lips twitched at the thought of being caught like that again as he forced himself upright, one spindly limb at a time. It had been a long time since he had been so careless. Touching his neck for his collar of clothes, Enoch found it bare and let out a disappointed hum. The damned cat forgot them. His spare clothes had been bundled around his neck when they snuck into the mansion weeks earlier, but somewhere along the way, they had been left behind. Enoch scratched at the stubble on his chin and tried to remember where his clothing might be. Clothes were too expensive to leave behind if he could help it. Unfortunately, when he was a passenger in the bobcat’s mind for too long, it was easy to forget inconsequential things like clothes or the days of the week. The bobcat cared only for sleeping, eating, and whatever quarry Enoch set its mind to. He and the bobcat were alike in that way; while the cat didn’t care a fig about books, it enjoyed the hunt.

Glancing up at the oculus high above his head, Enoch watched a flurry of snow twist and dance across the glass. It had been thoroughly autumnal when they snuck into the Livingstons’ manor, but he had barely noticed nature’s slow slide into winter while nestled in the bobcat’s mind. At least the rich man’s palace was warm even without a fire. No matter. If he couldn’t find his clothes, he would simply secure the book with a table cloth or rag and leave in furs again. He would just have to be careful that the book didn’t fall out or get wet. Enoch frowned but shrugged to himself as his not quite human eyes adjusted to the meager light. He would figure something out.

Drifting to the nearest shelf, Enoch ran his gaze over the rows of books and was relieved to find that the library had some semblance of organization. He couldn’t abide rich swells who couldn’t tell a folio from a grimoire and stored their books in the most asinine fashion. He sometimes stole more from people who organized their books by size or color on principle. Arranging books by their outward appearance showed their owners didn’t care about what was inside them, just how they looked. They were often the same people who ripped off the original covers and plastered on a generic piece of fancy dyed leather, so it matched their rug and couches. Enoch’s lip curled at the thought of the books he prized so dearly being pinned down and having their wings ripped off like a butterfly to satisfy some decorative fancy. It was sacrilegious.

As he moved to the next shelf, Enoch ran a loving hand over the spine of a book he already owned. He had taken his copy from a collection at a college in Poughkeepsie several years earlier, and while Mr. Livingston’s copy was in better condition, Enoch felt no need to take it. The knowledge inside was the same, even if the cover was crisper, but his esteem for Mr. Livingston and his book agent grew a fraction. The man may have known nothing of books, but it was obvious the person he hired as his agent did. His library wasn’t nearly as large or prestigious as that of the other robber barons who lived on Fifth Avenue, but the dearth of the collection along with the trophy pieces were well chosen to make him look sensible yet affluent. Giving his agent free rein to organize it as he wished had lent the library an air of discernment and forethought. So many people put books in alphabetical order to save time, and that was nearly as bad as grouping them by appearance. When Enoch had last been allowed in the Paranormal Society’s library, they had used the Dewey Decimal System, which Enoch disliked for his own reasons, but that had been a while ago. Resentment kindled like a coal in his breast, but he smothered it by focusing on his quarry. It didn’t matter if the society didn’t understand his mission; he didn’t need them or their books as long as he could still shift. With their hovering librarians, missing books were spotted so quickly, but in a library like this, a book could go missing and not be noticed for years, or so he hoped.

The man Mr. Livingston had hired to stock his library—Ramsey, Ransom, something like that—had sought out titles that were not fought over by the men of the Grolier Club, yet the books he had purchased were still fairly rare and in good shape with the occasional treasure. If Enoch had been a cat burglar with less scruples, he might have grabbed a few of the nicer boring books and lived off the proceeds for years. But that wasn’t what he came for. Silently padding up the curling iron staircase in the corner, Enoch’s eyes glowed in the meager starlight like a cat’s. The book he wanted had to be up there somewhere. On the first floor, the higher shelves had been used for flaunting the more expensive treasures, visible but not easily touched. If this were his library, he would put the more controversial books on the second floor, out of reach and out of the way of prying eyes. The bobcat purred in his head as they reached a corner that couldn’t be glimpsed from the floor below. There were saucy books that probably contained some interesting etchings or turns of phrase, things that could no longer be sold through the mail legally, but Enoch didn’t care about those. He needed a book for his research library, and for once, he knew exactly who purchased it. The only question was if Livingston or his agent truly knew what it was; that would change where they put it.

Enoch squinted and blinked, his eyes and brain struggling over the titles as he skimmed row after row of spines. When he set off to steal this book, he hadn’t expected to get stuck in the cat’s head for weeks, but fate had smiled upon him that day. He had been perusing the shelves of his favorite bookshop when Mr. Livingston’s agent came in to check on whether an order of books had come in. As soon as the proprietor mentioned The Corpus Arcanum, Enoch had been unable to rip his attention away. The book had been on his desiderata for years, and he needed it. The next night he broke into the bookshop and went through the man’s papers to find the buyer. What he hadn’t realized was that Mr. Livingston had purchased it along with several dozen others.

The rest of the books were mundane or illicit in far less interesting ways, and Enoch couldn’t help but wonder why he had purchased a book on magic. He thought maybe Livingston was a collector of esoteric books, not for what they contained but for their age or strangeness. The library so far hadn’t contained anything particularly interesting or useful to him. Perhaps, the agent had merely gotten a feeling that he should buy it. That happened to non-magical people sometimes. If their blood contained the dregs of magic from some long-dead ancestor, they were drawn to magical objects like moths to a flame even if they couldn’t use them.

Enoch had expected to stake out the house for a few days before stealing the book. What he hadn’t expected was the book agent to quibble with Mr. Livingston about the organization of his library. For days, the bobcat had sat under the sofa as books were taken down, reorganized, cataloged, and the new books unpacked. Eventually, the bobcat refused to stay still for so long, so they took to learning the routines of the household staff and family, which halls were safe to traverse in daylight, and when the master of the house would next be away on business. He had decided to wait until Mr. Livingston left for England to take the book. The man spent a great deal of time in his library, and Enoch feared that if he didn’t wait until the new books lost their shine, their absence would be noticed. A life of bibliomania had taught him that book lovers always came in from time to time to marvel at their latest purchases, turning them over in their hands, and feeling that swell of satisfaction that it was theirs. Enoch knew the feeling well. Every book he stole for his research library was a treasure to be stroked and admired until he went after his next quarry. It was only when a new book took its place that it became one of many.

Waiting to take the book while Mr. Livingston was away was the smart thing to do. He and the book man were the only ones who came into the library with any regularity, and by the time he returned, his latest purchases and their locations on the shelf would have dulled in his memory. After a month of lurking in the shadows, Enoch would leave the mansion with far less mice than when he arrived in exchange for the book he needed. All things considered, it seemed a fair trade, and it wasn’t as if Mr. Livingston could use the book anyway.

As Enoch reached the second to last shelf, his breath hitched at the sudden kick of adrenaline coursing through his veins. There it was: The Corpus Arcanum. After years of trying to get his hands on it, it was finally his. The title had been written on the ribbed spine in a bold, golden script by some enterprising librarian over a century ago, but it was still in its original binding. Wiping his sweaty palms across his leg, Enoch steadied his shaking hands before carefully pulling it out. It had been stuck between two mundane volumes from the Renaissance, so he quickly shuffled the other books around it to obscure the space where the tome had been. Sinking to the floor of the catwalk, Enoch stared down at his prize and ran a reverent hand over the black, goatskin cover. No wonder the book agent had bought it for Mr. Livingston’s collection; it was beautiful. He had expected it to be plain and ugly like so many magical books were, but it was covered in gilded arabesques and stars that reflected the intricacies of the work within.

The collected knowledge of magic in one thick volume, and now it was his. He had begged the librarians at the Paranormal Society to let him into the special collections to read it, but that cantankerous old prune wouldn’t let him. His research was never worthy enough to gain him entry, though he was certain old Turpin kept him out to keep him from gaining too much knowledge. Enoch ran his fingers hungrily down the book’s spine as the bobcat purred loudly in his head. He didn’t need the Paranormal Society anymore. He had a library of his own. One that would soon rival them if he could find a few more books on his desiderata. He would make them regret dismissing him.

Cradling the book close, Enoch returned to the first floor and swept his glowing gaze for anything he might use to tie the book to the cat. The covers on the tables would be missed, and when he rifled through Mr. Livingston’s desk, he didn’t find so much as a handkerchief. Why would he keep one on hand when he could merely order a servant to bring him one? Enoch shoved the draw shut with a grunt and closed his eyes. He tried to picture the house from the bobcat’s perspective; there was a linen closet a few hallways over near the dining room where there were plenty of napkins that wouldn’t be missed. To get there, he would have to take to furs again and leave The Corpus Arcanum behind. Cold sweat broke on Enoch’s back at the thought of putting the book back or not being able to return to take it. If a maid heard him rummaging around, she might chase the cat off or realize there had been a robbery. The binding creaked beneath his fingers. He couldn’t risk going into the bobcat’s head for weeks again to get another chance. He had to leave with the book tonight. He needed this book for his research.

Enoch’s gaze sharpened. That was it. He needed the knowledge within the pages for his research, not the book itself. He had at least two hours before the staff began to wake. That was plenty of time to confirm a theory or two and satisfy his curiosity in case he had to wait to come back for the book. Settling at Mr. Livingston’s massive desk, Enoch suppressed a chuckle at how ridiculous he must look. He much preferred his usual ritual of showing off his latest find at the Guttenberg Club and then reading it in their parlor with a glass of port. Then again, Benjamin Franklin supposedly did his best work in the nude, so at least there was precedent. Cracking the cover, Enoch’s heart fluttered in anticipation. He skimmed over the front page of The Corpus Arcanum, his eyes lingering on the book curse written in gilded ink.

He who steals this paper and ink

Into death he shall sink.

May he enjoy these words today

For he shall not live to see another day.

Such charming things, book curses. Too bad they didn’t work. If they did, he would have been dead long ago. Flicking through the pages, Enoch skimmed the headings for the information he needed most. His head swam with a heady euphoria he rarely felt outside his library. The Corpus Arcanum was perfect. It had everything he needed. It probably held the secrets that would unlock everything if he had more than one lifetime to study it. He kept catching himself stopping to read random passages, but he needed to keep moving if he wanted to get out before dawn. He would read it all in due time, he reminded himself. When the next two pages stuck, Enoch went to lick his thumb but froze. The cat growled in his head as he stared down at this hand. His fingertips, nails and all, were black with ink. He wiped his hand against his bare leg, but the color held fast. He distantly knew this development was alarming, but as long as the paper was free of smudges, he didn’t care. Wiping his finger against the page, the words beneath it bubbled to the surface. They shimmered with wetness before soaking into his skin, their meaning sinking into him like a knife. Enoch stared at it with equal parts reverence and horror. The bobcat released a low rumble, but Enoch ignored it. The book wanted to become one with him. It had chosen him. He had heard of it happening, but he needed to read it first before he could take on all of its knowledge. He would take care now and wear gloves when he brought it to his library. Yes, gloves…

He nearly set the book down on the desk when a shuddering chill passed through him and a cold sweat broke on his back. His fingers tightened on the cover of their own accord. He stared transfixed as the words at the top of the page glowed and rearranged themselves. The letters danced and swayed to an unseen metronome until the world around him faded away. They flickered into new phrases, new connections, new information no human had ever gleaned before. Enoch gasped. It was exactly what he had always wanted to know. The Corpus Arcanum drew him in and held him tight until he could see nothing but the threads of the hidden world that had become his life’s work. It was connected. It was all connected. Tears stung his eyes as they trailed down his cheeks in oily, black streaks. He had been right. He had been right about so many things.

His teeth chattered and his heart thudded in his ears, but it didn’t matter because he had been right. He needed to gather disciples. Yes, he would start a school. The knowledge was in his eyes, his mouth, his ears. The words swam in his vision and pulsed in time with his blood. He would teach others. He would pass— Bitter, metallic saliva pooled in his mouth, but when he tried to swallow it, he choked. Ink surged up Enoch’s throat, spilling from his lips in a torrent. He gagged as it poured down his chin and out his nose. The ink flowed from every orifice, but he wouldn’t stop it even if he could. The Corpus Arcanum was in him. They were one. Blood spilled onto the page and wicked the words away in a tide of black as whispers filled his ears and letter after letter flickered across his vision like a zoetrope. Meaning pulsed through his veins in time with the pump of his faltering heart. The bobcat tried to mewl a warning, but the sound died beneath the rising black tide. Enoch couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He didn’t have to. He knew everything. He finally knew everything. A beatific grin crossed his lips as his eyes rolled back in his skull, and he glimpsed the world he had longed to see.

10 Reasons to Read The Reanimator’s Fate

December 7, 2025December 7, 2025 Kara Jorgensen1 Comment

Now that we are less than two months away from the release of The Reanimator’s Fate (TRM #4), I wanted to give you a few reasons why you should read it (or look forward to it):

Community– this book has a lot of focus on community, the importance of it, the different ways we are in community with each other in small spaces and the world at large.
Cursed objects– while there aren’t any haunted dolls or cursed gems stolen during colonization, there is some new magic in the way of curses, an antiquated method of magic that packs a punch.
Books, libraries, words– last book was very textile heavy, and this book is definitely more focused on the impact of books and words and the way we contain and share knowledge.
The origins of the Paranormal Society– we finally get some more background about how the Paranormal Society came to be and how it functions as a supernatural entity. It’s a little weird.
A look to the future– this story is very much about how we impact the world around us on a micro and macro level, so with fate being involved, there’s a lot of talk about Oliver, Felipe, and Gwen’s futures.
Growing some spines– as the cover may suggest, Oliver and Felipe both grow a spine and stand up to some people, real or imagined, in order to become someone new.
Felipe confronts some inner demons– this was definitely hinted at in book 3, but Felipe is facing down more of his inner demons and finally taking them on.
Prophecies– the prophecy from “An Unexpected Evening” rears its head. If you haven’t read that short story yet, I highly recommend doing so, especially since it’s free!
Oliver gets to tell people off– I don’t know about everyone else, but I really enjoy when Oliver finally snaps and goes off on people who deserve it. In this book, we have more than Oliver pops-off incident. Conversely, he also does a lot of heavy lifting for Felipe emotionally in this book, which feels like a good balance.
This is the final novel in the Reanimator Mysteries series– while there will be a short story collection with all of the in-between stories and several brand new ones, The Reanimator’s Fate is the last big story I have planned for Oliver and Felipe, so I hope you will come and see them off.

If any of this sounds interesting to you, I hope you’ll preorder The Reanimator’s Fate, coming out on January 29th. You can get it all major retailers, and the paperback will be out in January.

Or start the series with The Reanimator’s Heart in ebook, audiobook, or paperback (and in library systems).

the reanimator's fate · Writing

The Reanimator’s Fate (TRM #4) is on Preorder

September 28, 2025September 27, 2025 Kara Jorgensen1 Comment

The Reanimator’s Fate (TRM #4) is officially on preorder and will be out January 29th, 2026! You can now preorder it at all major retailers, including Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Apple Books, and more. The paperback version will be available closer to release day, but unfortunately, I cannot put those on preorder ahead of time. I also plan to put out the audiobook, but that usually lags a few months behind the ebook/paperback release.

cover reveal soon. preorder now, out January 29th.
autistic necromancer x undead ADHDer, mm romance, book curses and malicious magic, mutual aid, support, community, a new beginning, if im not a weapon, what good am i?, gwen to the rescue, the paranormal society is in peril, book 4 final book

Here is the new blurb for The Reanimator’s Fate:

An autistic necromancer, his undead love, and a future in peril.

The Paranormal Society has been Oliver’s home for over a decade, yet he still isn’t sure where he fits. At Gwen’s suggestion, Oliver joins the mutual aid committee, but between misunderstandings, sabotage, and a life-changing proposition, Oliver once again fears he is out of his depth. At least there’s one thing he can count Felipe and the cases they solve together.

Felipe has always been the one everyone can depend on, but after years of bloodshed, fighting, and death, the cracks are beginning to show. The gruesome cases that once sustained him, now fill him with dread to the point that he questions how long he can keep going before he breaks. But if he isn’t a weapon, then what good is he to anyone?

A sinister plot against magical folks is unfolding, one that threatens to destroy the Paranormal Society from the inside. Can Oliver and Felipe grow into the men they were always meant to be, or will their doubt spell their doom?

In the next month or two, I will have a cover reveal (I am eagerly awaiting to see what Crowglass Designs comes up with), and of course, I will release more snippets, tidbits, playlists, and more. Stay tuned for that!

If you haven’t read The Reanimator’s Heart, the first book in the series, you can find it at all major retailers and library systems in ebook, paperback, or audiobook.

Monthly Review

February 2025 Wrap-Up Post

March 2, 2025March 2, 2025 Kara JorgensenLeave a comment

Even though the US is a hot mess, I felt like February was far better than January. Maybe it’s seeing the push back, protests, and having judges rule in our favor that has heartened me. That or the spite inside of me has been kindled. That helps as well. Before we get going, let’s take a look at my goals for February:

Finish writing “AUE”
Edit “AUE”
Send it out to my newsletter peeps first (everyone else gets it a month later)
Reread The Reanimator Mysteries books 1-3
Start proofing the audiobook for The Reanimator’s Remains
Read 8 books
Blog weekly
Send out my monthly newsletter
Maintain my fragile sanity
Perpetually bug my congress people

Books

My goal was to read 8 books, and I read exactly 8. The links below are affiliate links, so I get a small kickback if you purchase the book through them.

Two Friends in Marriage (#3) by Jackie Lau- 5 stars, a lovely queer MF romance featuring a demisexual FMC and a bisexual MMC. Watching these two go from friends to married to lovers was just so sweet and cute. There’s also a giant penguin plush in the story who helps to sort of bridge the gap through cute and loving gestures.
A Study in Black Brew by Marie Howalt- 4 stars, a retelling of A Study in Scarlet (aka a Sherlock Holmes story) set in a world with multiple alien races, advanced tech, and of course, coffee/black brew. It comes out May 22nd.
Husband Material (#2) by Alexis Hall- 4 stars, a mm story built upon the structure of Four Weddings and a Funeral. Lucien and Oliver are simultaneously at their worst and best in this book, and while I enjoyed this one, the ending kind of annoyed me.
Textiles by Beverly Gordon- 4 stars, a coffee table-ish book about the history and cultural significance of textiles. This is less specific than Victoria Finlay’s Fabric, but it gives you a lot of rabbit holes to go down while doing future research. I believe it is out of print.
The Single Life (#1) by Akiko Morishima- 4 stars, two women who were penpals as children and realized they were lesbians through their letters meet up as older women. This is not a romance, but it’s sort of a slice of life as two queer women figure out what they want from the future.
The Single Life (#2) by Akiko Morishima- 4 stars, see volume 1’s review.
The Single Life (#3) by Akiko Morishima- 4 stars, see volume 1’s review.
Time Loops & Meet Cutes by Jackie Lau- 4 stars, I loved this book. It’s like 50 First Dates meets Ground Hog Day as a workaholic eats some dumplings and gets caught in a time loop where she befriends another time looper and desperately hopes the man she has fallen in love with her will eventually remember her or that they might have a future together. This book comes out May 6th, and I HIGHLY recommend grabbing it.

Admin/Behind-the-Scenes Stuff

Approved the first 15 minutes of the audiobook for The Reanimator’s Remains (TRM #3)
Wrote the rest of “An Unexpected Evening” (TRM #3.5)
Edited/Proofread/Formatted “An Unexpected Evening” (TRM #3.5)
Sent out “An Unexpected Evening” (TRM 3.5) to my newsletter subscribers
- I also posted the link for it in the freebie section of my website
Started working on the Court of Crows Stitch-a-long from FineFrogStitching
Agreed to take part in the Weeknight Writers Writing Roundtable on writing trans characters taking place on March 15th
- You can grab a ticket here or wait for the replay
Stayed on task/schedule with grading for my classes
Celebrated my partner’s birthday
Bugged my senators and congress person repeatedly about… everything. If you can, please reach out to them and try to push them to do the right thing (and praise them when they do- carrot and stick, my friends)

Blogs

Writing

At first, I was very upset that my brain utterly derailed from stress in January after *gestures to the White House*, but I think taking this extra month to work on “An Unexpected Evening” was worth it. The story is significantly better, clearer, and longer. Sometimes, taking extra time is dawdling or dealing with executive function issues, but other times, it really is part of the marinating process. This time it felt like those extra few weeks of marinating helped me to really nail what I was trying to say with Oliver and Felipe. It also made it clearer what I want to do with book 4 (more on that in the near future). I’m super excited for you all to read “An Unexpected Evening,” and I hope you will leave a review on Goodreads or Storygraph if you read it.

Hopes for March

Reread all of the Reanimator Mysteries books in preparation for book 4
Start outlining book 4
Write at least 10k words of book 4
Proof as much of the audiobook for The Reanimator’s Remains as I can
Deal with several doctor’s appointments this month (boo)
Have the Weeknight Writers event go well (March 15th)
Continue to bug my senators and house member
Read 8 books
Blog weekly
Send out my monthly newsletter
Maintain my sanity
Work diligently on my cross stitch project

Monthly Review

January 2025 Wrap-Up Post

February 2, 2025February 2, 2025 Kara Jorgensen1 Comment

How have these past two weeks been so, so long. Also, to everyone in Canada, Mexico, and China, yes, this is the stupidest timeline and the US deserves all the hate it gets globally. ANYWAY, let’s remind ourselves what I was supposed to get done this month.

Finish writing “AUE”
Edit and format “AUE”
Pay Q4 2024 taxes (bleck)
Set up my syllabi and Blackboards for my courses
Send out my newsletter (with “An Unexpected Evening”)
Start planning out TRM #4
Blog weekly
Read 8 books

Books

My goal was to read 8 books this month, and I read 10. All links below are affiliate links that give me a little kickback.

The Reckless Decade by H. W. Brand- 4 stars, a nonfiction book about the 1890s. This was WAY too timely for what’s going on. If you want a hint as to how we might get out of this, I think this book might be helpful to a point.
Calling the Spirits by Lisa Morton- 4 stars, a nonfiction book about seances throughout the ages. It starts with necromancy and goes all the way to modern ghost hunting shows. It was quite interesting and research for a potential book.
Toad Words & Other Stories by T. Kingfisher- 4 stars, I read books 3-5 in rapid succession, so I’m not sure which was which. Overall, I really enjoyed T. Kingfisher’s commentary on fairytales and her retellings.
The Halcyon Fairy Book by T. Kingfisher- 4 stars, see #3.
Jackalope Wives and Other Stories by T. Kingfisher- 4 stars, see #3.
Adrift in Currents Clean and Clear (#10) by Seanan McGuire- 5 stars,
Bryony and Roses by T. Kingfisher- 4 stars, a beauty and the beast retelling with a beast who has been stuck in a time loop for centuries and a gardening beauty named Bryony. This was a really interesting mechanism for BatB as it reminded me a bit more of Eros and Psyche, but I wish there was more emotional intimacy built between the MCs as that is my jam.
Fever by Jordan L. Hawk- 4 stars, a horror story set during the Canadian gold rush featuring a cabin in the woods, queer characters, and plenty of spookiness. This is good horror for people who are big babies… like myself.
Boyfriend Material (#1) by Alexis Hall- 4 stars, a disaster gay needs a fake boyfriend for a fundraiser and winds up fake dating a fussy lawyer. Soon, fake dating turns to real dating turns too real turns to much more. On one hand, I wanted to shake Luc, but both MCs deserve each other as they are both annoying.
She Loves to Cook & She Loves to Eat (#5) by Sakaomi Yuzaki, 5 stars, the two MCs finally move into together, so we get house hunting, LGBT+ struggles in Japan, and a hint at their new life together. This series is so sweet and cute, and the food always looks impeccable. I love how mental health and the characters’ sexualities are handled.

Admin/Behind-the-Scenes Stuff

Postponed the release of “An Unexpected Evening” because my brain broke somewhere around January 20th and didn’t recover in time to finish writing the story
Wrote some of “An Unexpected Evening”
Started zapping my partner’s face 3x a week because we must achieve gender euphoria, even in hellish times
Started working on a writing notebook to keep track of all my writing stuff for the next year (we’ll see how this goes)
The Reanimator’s Remains (TRM #3) made it to the next round of the Indie Ink Awards in several categories (a huge thank you to all who voted!)
Had several mental breakdowns due to the state of the US
Called my reps nearly daily about various issues
- Democracy.io can be very helpful if you want to email all your reps at once
- You can also call the Capitol switchboard and ask for your rep by name- (202) 224-3121
Paid my 2024 Q4 taxes (bleck)
Set up my syllabi and online stuff for my classes
Started teaching my classes
Kept up with my arm/shoulder workout

Blog Posts

Writing

When I tell you this month has been hard, I mean it. At the beginning of the month, I was struggling to get back into writing because I took a month and a half off after the release of The Reanimator’s Remains to avoid burnout. I needed the break, but the problem with a break is getting back into the routine of writing. I also ended up rewriting and restructuring “An Unexpected Evening,” which made it significantly better but threw me off my game. My confidence was mildly shaken by having to fix it, so when January 20th rolled around and all hell broke loose, my brain just noped out of writing completely. I kept hoping I could wrangle it, but if you have been following politics in the US, you can understand why this was nearly impossible (and made worse by my classes starting). I think I’ve finally regained equilibrium and am hopeful that I’m finally back on track for real this time. The good thing is that I think you will enjoy this silly story… novella? Not sure, it’s grown a bit according to my guestimated word count. I seriously appreciate all of you so much for your kind words when I announced that I had to push the short story’s release back.

Hopes for February

Finish writing “AUE”
Edit “AUE”
Send it out to my newsletter peeps first (everyone else gets it a month later)
Reread The Reanimator Mysteries books 1-3
Start proofing the audiobook for The Reanimator’s Remains
Read 8 books
Blog weekly
Send out my monthly newsletter
Maintain my fragile sanity
Perpetually bug my congress people

Writing

My 2025 Goals

January 12, 2025January 1, 2025 Kara Jorgensen1 Comment

I’m not always a fan of yearly goals. Truthfully, I prefer to do 90 day/quarterly goals, but since it’s the beginning of the new year, I thought it would be good to post my overall goals for the year. I have divided the goals into writing, publishing, personal, and other goals. In a perfect world, I will be able to write two full books this year, but these goals will probably be aspirational, and that’s okay. Something I’ve been trying to be better about is not beating myself up when I don’t accomplish everything I set out to do. As long as I do my best at the time, it’s fine, and it will eventually get done. Without further ado, let’s take a look at my goals for 2025.

Writing Goals

Write, edit, and publish “An Unexpected Evening” (about 10k, started it at the end of 2024)
Write, edit, and publish The Reanimator Mysteries #4 (100k+ words)
At least start writing Ansley and Joe’s story (80k? words)
Write, edit, and publish an epilogue short story for book 4
Write consistently throughout the year
Try writing two books at once (maybe)
Have 10 2k writing days
Have 3 5k writing days

Publishing Goals

Publish the audiobook of The Reanimator’s Remains (TRM #3) with Jack R. R. Evans as the narrator
Publish/send out “An Unexpected Evening” (TRM #3.5) to newsletter subscribers
Publish 1-2 books
- Definitely publish TRM #4
- Potentially publish Joe and Ansley’s book, though that may be next year
Make more money than I did in 2024
Potentially get a new cover for Kinship and Kindness (this may get pushed back to next year if Joe and Ansley’s book ends up being worked on late in the year)

Personal Goals

Work on my office since I stalled out on this
- Get rid of the old furniture
- Paint the walls
- Set up the new furniture
Get healthier
- Make more veggie-heavy dishes
- Continue to lift weights consistently
- Work up to 10 lb weights when I’m ready
Maintain my mental health
- Be social with my friends online and in-person
- Play games and/or refill the well
- Be cognizant of when I’m burning out and take steps to stop it

Other Goals

Read 100 books
Play/finish 3 video games (I will consider prolonged playing of an open-world game like Stardew as “finishing”)
Learn a new craft
Learn new cooking techniques/recipes
Blog weekly
Send my newsletter out monthly

More than anything, I hope 2025 is boring. I know we’re heading into turbulent times in the US and around the world, but I want everyone to reach out to those around them and find people to support them. Change starts with us, so I hope you all turn to the trans, disabled, and marginalized people in your lives and make decisions with their best interests in mind.

The Reanimator's Remains · Writing

A Preview of The Reanimator’s Remains

October 20, 2024October 20, 2024 Kara Jorgensen1 Comment

The Reanimator’s Remains (TRM #3) comes out on October 29th, so about a little over a week from now! In order to whet your appetite, I thought I would share another lengthy excerpt. This time from chapter one. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter One: Secrets and Surprises

Oliver Barlow did not keep secrets or enjoy surprises, yet he found himself eagerly doing both for Felipe. As Oliver buttoned his waistcoat, he went over the plan for that night’s outing once more. First, he would borrow one of the Paranormal Society’s steamers and take Felipe to the botanical gardens. Oliver wasn’t certain Felipe particularly cared about plants, but he enjoyed walking far more than sitting through a play. Besides, going to the greenhouses would be like visiting forests and gardens all over the world without ever leaving New York. Unlike at the theater, they could freely talk, and there was still a chance they could sneak a touch or kiss on a secluded trail. On the way back to the society, Oliver planned to stop at an Italian restaurant Louisa and Agatha had raved about. Felipe had mentioned wanting to have dinner there one day, but in the chaos of cases and meetings, they had never gotten around to it. Oliver wasn’t certain if the restaurant served dessert, so he double checked the maps in the archives to confirm there were places nearby where they could get an egg cream or some rugelach if Felipe was still peckish.

Oliver drew in a calming breath and shook out his hands to keep Felipe from feeling his anxiety on the other end of the tether. He didn’t need him running down to check on him and ruining the surprise. After listening to confirm Felipe hadn’t reached the laboratory or closet outside his basement bedroom yet, Oliver retrieved the strong box from under his bed. Tucked under papers and old photographs sat a ring box. A nervous smile crossed his lips as he turned it over in his hands. More than anything, he wanted Felipe to enjoy their outing because when they got back to the apartment, Oliver would give him a ring. Popping open the box, he marveled at the way the globe of polished amber set in gold caught the light. When he first saw the amber ring in a display case at the jeweler’s, he couldn’t get it out of his mind. Inside the fossilized resin were bits of ancient flower petals forever frozen in time, but what truly drew him to it was that the amber was nearly the exact shade of Felipe’s eyes when they caught the sunlight. He even got it inscribed with My light in the darkness to drive home to Felipe how much he meant to him. A man who reminded Oliver of all the beauty and softness in the world deserved a ring that reflected that light and life.

Oliver’s thumb drifted to the gold and black enamel band on his ring finger. Even though he wore it every day and kept it on a chain around his neck during autopsies, he still couldn’t believe it was there. He had never expected to be proposed to or to be proposing to Felipe. Men like them rarely found someone, let alone someone who wanted to stay with them forever. Oliver knew it was different at the Paranormal Society, that they could have some semblance of permanency and normalcy, but he never expected that he would find anyone who loved him like that. When Felipe had suggested they take a trip to Coney Island to relax, Oliver never thought it would end with Felipe presenting him with a ring and asking him to spend the rest of his life with him. Oliver swallowed hard at the memory. He would have given anything for that, proposal or not, but the ring with its grinning skeleton and Felipe’s message of Don’t go where I can’t follow was as much a memento mori as it was a memento vivere. If Oliver had his way, they would have so many more years together.

Shutting the ring away, Oliver shoved the strong box back under the bed with his foot. Felipe knew the proposal was eventually coming; Oliver had asked him if he could do it in return after all, but even if it couldn’t be a true surprise, he wanted Felipe to feel special and loved, the way he had made Oliver feel. At the clack of the laboratory door, Oliver stuffed the ring box into the jacket he left hanging on the desk chair and scrambled to his feet. He had just finished smoothing the wrinkles from his trousers when the bedroom door opened, and Felipe slipped inside with a tired sigh. His curly brown hair and suit were rumpled, and beneath his eyes, dark circles blotted his tan skin, but when he saw Oliver watching him, a relieved smile spread across his lips. Oliver crossed the room in two strides and caught his partner in his arms. The shorter man sagged against him in a boneless heap.

“That bad?” Oliver asked with a small smile.

Felipe grunted into Oliver’s chest. “You don’t know the half of it. You’re lucky you work down here. If it wouldn’t make a mess for both of us, I would fully retire now just to not have to deal with these meetings.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Everyone’s getting on my nerves,” Felipe replied, leaning into Oliver’s touch as he combed his fingers through his hair. “During the meeting, the head inspector let us know that a case is being transferred to us from the New Jersey Paranormal Society, so of course, everyone has to pipe up that they are too busy to take it. It couldn’t possibly go to them. Give it to someone else.”

“Do you want to take it?”

“God no, but I didn’t start griping about how we’ve been run off our feet since the Institute for the Betterment of the Soul case. Everyone is busy. Yelling at each other and fighting over whose case is bigger isn’t going to make us any less short staffed. Besides, it hasn’t even been officially transferred to our branch. None of us even know what the case is about, so why start making trouble before we even know what we’re up against?”

“I’m assuming there’s no corpse, or it would be my problem too.”

Kissing the top of Felipe’s head, Oliver inhaled the familiar scent of his aftershave mixed with coffee. When his lips traveled down Felipe’s cheek and into the hollow beneath his jaw, the other man’s hands tightened on Oliver’s back and a low moan broke from his throat. Oliver’s tongue rasped against Felipe’s stubble as his lover’s hands snaked under his waistcoat and down his backside. Halfway down the dark blue wool, Felipe’s hand stilled.

Opening his eyes, he pulled back to look over Oliver’s form. “You’re in your new suit.”

“I am,” Oliver replied with a sly smile.

Felipe stepped back to take Oliver in. His walnut brown eyes raked over Oliver’s form, pausing pointedly on his navy-clad legs and backside as he circled him. A blush rose on Oliver’s cheeks at the heat in Felipe’s gaze. Letting out an appreciative whistle, he ran his hands down Oliver’s sides before kissing him in that slow, deliberate way that made every thought scatter like billiard balls.

“And what’s the occasion for so much color? Last time I saw you, you were in work charcoal.”

“I thought we could go out this evening. I have a whole itinerary. Unless you’re too tired, of course. We could always put it off until tomorrow if you would prefer to stay in. I don’t mind waiting.”

You can read the rest of chapter one when The Reanimator’s Remains comes out October 29th. Preorder it here. Paperbacks will be available very soon.

The Reanimator's Remains

10 Reasons to Read The Reanimator’s Remains

August 18, 2024August 18, 2024 Kara Jorgensen1 Comment

As we get closer to the release of The Reanimator’s Remains (TRM #3), I wanted to talk about some reasons I’m excited for you all to read this book.

Gwen is on the case! In this book, Gwen gets to come along and be an active participant in the investigation since it’s up her alley. She may have gotten more than she bargained for.
More of Felipe’s backstory. We get to see more of Felipe growing up, for better or worse. Poor Felipe is going through it in this book.
ANGST. See above, lol. There’s a lot of internal angst in this book.
Quilts are important. Being a crafter and coming from a family of crafters, the idea of fabrics and quilts being passed down becomes an important part of the story. I love the idea of legacy and love being stitched into blankets.
A creepy forest. The Dysterwood is the star of this book, I think. If you liked the creepy cathedral in book one, you’ll love this forest. It has a lot of personality and creep factor.
Scandinavian influences. I’m bringing in the Scandinavian flavor for this book. It appears in some of Oliver’s history already, but there’s definitely more of it in this book, especially in the mythos influences and environment.
We learn about Oliver’s parents. They have been sort of shadowy, enigmatic figures in the series so far, so prepare to find out what happened to them. This feels sort of Hey, Arnold-ish, so prepare yourselves.
A proposal. If you haven’t read the short story, “An Unexpected Question,” you might want to before reading The Reanimator’s Remains because spoilers. But yes, someone is getting proposed to in this book.
Another dog. This one is named Argos, and he’s a large, brindle mutt that sort of resembles a hippo-shaped pit bull. As always, the dog will always be fine.
It’s the set-up for the final book. There will be one more book after The Reanimator’s Remains, and there are some hints in this book as to what will go down in the final/fourth book.

If any of this sounds interesting to you, I hope you’ll preorder The Reanimator’s Remains, coming out on October 29th. You can get it all major retailers, and the paperback will be out in October.

Or start the series with The Reanimator’s Heart in ebook, audiobook, or paperback (and in library systems).

The Reanimator's Remains · Writing

An Excerpt From The Reanimator’s Remains (TRM #3) Part 2

June 23, 2024June 23, 2024 Kara Jorgensen1 Comment

Last week, I posted the first half of the prologue for The Reanimator’s Remains (TRM #3), which you can read here. You can preorder The Reanimator’s Remains at all major retailers in ebook form. The paperbacks will be available in October, closer to the October 29th release date. Without further ado, here is part 2.

The hairs rose on her arms as she passed from the normal forest and into the other realm. When Joanna looked back, the path to the Allen’s was gone, and in its place stood a thick carpet of ancient trees and moss. Here, there was no smoldering house or in-laws to hunt her, and she didn’t know if that comforted or terrified her. The Lady of the Dysterwood did not like humans to intrude upon her domain, and those who did so uninvited rarely lived long enough to regret it. Joanna’s heart beat loudly in her ears as she tried to remember the direction she had come from, but everything seemed wrong. The trees felt different from the ones growing the Pine Barrens. The pitch pines and black oaks around her rose to monstrous heights, leaving only smudges of sunless, red sky. They seemed older, as if their roots ran far deeper than humankind, and they had tasted the marrow of the earth. The Dysterwood felt untouchable. No human would dare take an ax or fire to it, lest they be destroyed.

All around her the woods teemed with life. Moss, flowers, and scrubby brush grew so thickly on the forest floor that she didn’t dare move or disturb them. It should have been a peaceful place, but beneath its bows, Joanna felt a litany of unseen eyes watching her. Every tree and leaf housed the Lady’s retinue. Birds she had never heard before squawked high in the canopy while the insects and creatures on the ground clicked and hummed as if oblivious to her presence. Hesitantly stepping deeper into the forest, Joanna froze at the gentle patter of blood from beneath her petticoat.

More! the Dysterwood howled as the ground closed around her boot and yanked her to her knees. Intruder!

Joanna bit back a cry as she landed hard, her palms stinging with scratches. Blood wept from the cuts, and in an instant, all eyes were upon her. The creatures buzzed to the surface, and the trees hissed in anticipation of the Lady’s verdict. Before it could come, Joanna drew in a deep breath and ripped her foot from the muck.

Lifting her chin, she stared into the waiting forest and held up her hand to show the ring her husband’s family had passed down for generations before he slipped it to her. “Take me to the Lady. I would like to make a bargain.”

For a moment, the entire Dysterwood went still until, with a dull rumble, the forest floor roiled and parted. Wet, petrified boards and bleached, half-rotted bones rose through the moss, cutting a path between the trees like the spine of some ancient slumbering beast. Squaring her shoulders, Joanna stepped onto the first tread.

The Lady would see her.

***

Time flowed oddly in the Dysterwood. Joanna walked for what felt like minutes, and darkness descended thickly over the forest. Owls hooted and screeched in the pine trees, diving down on unseen prey. A flash of red or a flicker of motion would catch Joanna’s eye, but she didn’t dare step off the path or let her attention linger for too long. Keep to the path and no harm will come to you, Stephen had said to her, but she wasn’t one of them, at least not by blood. She had the Lady’s attention, but she didn’t doubt she would feed her to some creature for her entertainment if given the chance. As she passed through a thick copse, the sky brightened to the bruised red of sunset. The trees thinned, giving way to pockets of mountain laurel, bushes studded with white bearberries and fragrant, pink swamp azalea. Bees droned nearby, though Joanna couldn’t see them through the thickets of flowers.

Stepping onto the next plaque of bone, rusty red water pooled around the soles of her boots. Joanna drew in a ragged breath. The endless forest should have been a paradise, but beneath the cloying aroma of flowers was the earthy smell of rotting earth and peat. If she strayed from the path to pick a flower or follow an animal’s child-like cry, the hungry ground would swallow her up and drag her down. The bog yearned for more flesh, more iron, more, though she didn’t dare stop following the path of decay, even as her calves and core ached and the blood ran from her body in earnest. What other choice did she have? The Lady might toy with her and let her wander aimlessly through the forest for all eternity, but Joanna wouldn’t lay down between the pitcher plants and sundew and let the Dysterwood consume her until she finished her pilgrimage. Her thoughts flickered to Mercy and the baby, but she quickly banished them from her mind. In her domain, the Lady might know her thoughts, and she wouldn’t give her any more tricks to use against her. She had given Mercy and the baby the best head start she could. That would have to be enough.

When Joanna raised her gaze, she suddenly stood in the center of an empty glade, and the trees that had surrounded her only a moment ago now stood a furlong behind her. She shivered, despite the summer heat, at the wrongness of the clearing. Still water pooled on either side of her, leaving a strip of grass only wide enough to accommodate the treads of bone and wood. With every step, her feet sunk deeper into bog and the pounding of her heart grew louder in her ears. Her powers hummed a steady dirge as she crossed the narrow turf. Joanna told herself not to look, but she needed to know. Beneath the bog’s still waters, a man’s face stared back at her. He was pale and still as death, a ragged wound marring his neck. While his clothes were from decades before her time, the outline of his features reminded her of Stephen. She half-expected him to open his sightless eyes or rise to grab her, but he never moved. Bracing herself, she looked into the pool on her right, expecting to find another body. Instead, a woman’s reflection hovered beside her own.

“Do you like my collection?”

Joanna gasped and turned to face the Lady of the Dysterwood. Nothing Stephen had told her could have prepared her for that moment. The Lady felt limitless, too old, too much, magic made flesh, made shadow, a glimpse of something other that was beyond comprehension. Then, she pulled back and solidified into something approximately human. A shadow of a smile twisted the Lady’s lips as she watched Joanna’s breath hitch and her eyes widen with terror. She was beautiful in an uncanny way that Joanna feared hid sharp teeth or claws. Her copper hair had been woven into intricate knots and braids, while her heart-shaped face remained unmarred by age, she appeared far older than Joanna’s twenty-five years. Her clothes were a mockery of the sumptuous, crinoline-fluffed gowns wealthy women wore. The fabric of her dress was so deeply red it hurt Joanna’s eyes to look at, and the embroidery decorating the edges shifted patterns from flowers to hunting scenes to figures of death, and where there should have been a chatelaine or purse at her belt, a heavy gilt knife hung. Instead of a simple necklace or ribbon around her neck, she wore a heavy, golden, dragon-headed torc. When the Lady looked down at her, her pale eyes bore through her, weighing on Joanna’s heart like lead.

“You took something that belonged to me,” the Lady said, her voice as deep and cold as her domain. “Do you know what I do to thieves?”

Joanna’s throat tightened like a garrot as the Lady stepped closer. If Stephen’s family dealt with her for centuries, she could do the same. Her feet were numb in the cold water and her head swam with blood loss, but Joanna straightened her spine and met the creature’s gaze.

“I am not a thief. Stephen made his own choices. I took nothing he didn’t freely give.”

The Lady’s eyes narrowed, and the trees around the glen rustled with an unseen gust. “My patience wears thin, little thief, and your hunters draw near. All it would take is but a thought to bring them here. Tell me why you have intruded into my domain.”

“I would like to make a bargain.”

A chiming laugh escaped her lips. “And why should I bargain with you?”

“Because I have this,” Joanna said, holding up the signet ring.

“That ring buys you entry, not cooperation, child. Besides, what do you think you could possibly give me that I don’t already have?”

Rusty water lapped against Joanna’s calves as the Lady turned away. Joanna’s powers hummed in time with her hammering pulse. Something was down there, a hair’s breadth from her skin, waiting for the Lady’s signal to strike. Her mind raced. She had to say something. She couldn’t be bested by a capricious demon’s disinterest after all they had done. “Me. You can have me and all that comes with that in exchange for a new bargain.”

If you enjoyed this excerpt, I hope you will preorder The Reanimator’s Remains at your favorite retailer or add it to your TBR on Goodreads. If you haven’t read books 1 or 2, you can grab them in ebook, paperback, or audiobook. Keep your eyes peeled for the cover reveal in July!

The Reanimator's Remains · Writing

An Excerpt From The Reanimator’s Remains (TRM #3) Part 1

June 16, 2024June 16, 2024 Kara Jorgensen2 Comments

I’ve recently realized that I am sorely behind in doing promos for The Reanimator’s Remains (TRM #3). Well, technically, I have been, but only in my newsletter and on social media. The cover reveal for book 3 will hopefully be next month, but in the meantime, I hope you will enjoy this excerpt from the prologue of The Reanimator’s Remains, which comes out October 29th at all major retailers. You can preorder it now in ebook. Paperbacks will be available closer to release day.

Prologue

The Bargain

Clutching the baby to her chest, Joanna silently slid open the window and ran. Her breath rasped loudly in her ears, but it did little to block out the voices yelling out behind her in the house. Quick as a shade, she slipped between two buildings and sprinted for the cover of the churchyard. The old cemetery held its breath as the sun crept toward the horizon, though not a single soul gave her away as she picked between the crooked headstones and disappeared behind the old, abandoned church. The moment her back hit the blistered, whitewashed wood, a wave of pain ripped through her core. Clasping a clammy hand to her stomach, Joanna released a tremulous breath. She shouldn’t be running yet. If she was any of the mothers she tended to, she would have told them to get back in bed and rest as much as they can, but if she stopped moving, everything she and Stephen did would have been for naught.

Joanna bit her lip against the bitter burn of tears. Her husband was well and truly dead now, her mother beyond her reach, and the people she once thought might become her family hunted her. All she had left was the swaddled baby in her arms, and she wasn’t going to let anyone stand in the way of his safety. Peeling back the quilt just enough to see her baby boy’s face, she watched him puff out a sleepy breath. How he had managed to sleep through the chaos of their escape, she didn’t know, but she silently thanked the Lord for small miracles and sleepy newborns. If Joanna had her way, he would never know about any of this. He would grow up to live a normal, peaceful life.

He will grow up without you.

Her head snapped up at the rustle of leaves. Across the sea of graves, the forest beckoned in a hissing whisper. No breeze reached her in the old church’s shadow, yet the tallest black oaks stretched and swayed as if searching for her. The Dysterwood had thousands of eyes, thousands of roiling, susurrus servants eager to tell their master of the goings on of mortals. Joanna pulled the blanket close enough to obscure the baby’s face and tightened her grip. The wood didn’t know him yet, and it never would.

Peering around the edge of the church, Joanna confirmed no one had followed her to the graveyard before making a break for the cluster of mausoleums. All around her the ground hummed with the slumbering dead. If she paid attention, she could tell who they were and roughly how long they had been gone, but she didn’t have time to talk to them now. Her heart clenched as she passed the clustered rows of tiny headstones, some with nothing more than a surname and single date. If she had done nothing else during her time in Aldorhaven, she had tried her best to keep their number from growing. Hiding behind the second grandest mausoleum in the cemetery, Joanna bit back a whimper of pain at another yanking cramp. As if sensing her discomfort, the baby stirred. She patted his back and whispered sweet nothings into his ear until he quieted. Can he sense the dead too? she wondered.

Part of her had hoped he might have an easier life and grow up to be a plantmancer like his father, but she knew from the second she saw him that he took after her. Shutting her eyes, she inhaled the milky scent of his skin, and for a moment, she could pretend she had merely taken him for a walk to settle him and that one day she might stroll with him hand-in-hand through the graveyard and explain how their powers could be used to do good, no matter what anyone said. She pictured him grown with dark hair like hers and his father’s gentle, warm smile. He would be kind and smart and helpful. Her mother would make sure of it, even if she couldn’t.

Joanna flinched at the sudden shatter of glass followed by a cry of fire. Smoke rose over the far side of the hill as Stephen’s final trick destroyed their home and bought her precious time, yet she didn’t dare look back. The house and furniture the fire consumed were only things, things that could trace back to her life before Aldorhaven, she reminded herself, ignoring the lingering pain beneath her heart. From her high perch behind the tomb, Joanna could see the Allen’s cottage at the edge of town. She watched as the tall, stalwart figure of Jacob Allen ran out of his house and mounted his horse a moment after the fire bells sounded. Just as she hoped.

Gathering the remainder of her strength, Joanna sprinted past the empty tombs of the town’s founding family, away from the cavernous mouth of the Dysterwood, and through a loose bar in the ironwork fence. Half-sliding down the hill, she made for the shelter of the trees leading to the Allen’s home. In the normal thickets of the Pine Barrens surrounding the edge of the town, the creatures of the Dysterwood held no sway, though Joanna knew the eyes of the forest still trailed her as she reached the field behind the house. The knot in her chest loosened upon seeing Mercy’s chestnut Morgan standing in the field beyond. The horse’s ears stood erect and his eyes wide as he listened to the distant clang of bells.

The moment he spotted Joanna, the brown stallion ambled over from the pasture, eager to check her pockets for treats. For the first time all day, a genuine smile crossed Joanna’s lips as she patted Rasmus’s nose and rubbed the white streak between his eyes. The horse butted his head against her neck, and she hugged him tightly with one arm, wishing this didn’t have to be goodbye. Pulling back, Rasmus snorted and nosed the bundle in her arms curiously.

“Gentle,” she coaxed as she carefully pulled back the blanket to reveal the baby. The horse looked puzzled as he sniffed him, but when the infant briefly opened his eyes to stare up at the gentle beast, Rasmus lipped and snorted on him for good measure. Joanna laughed, but the sound was cut short by voices and smoke carrying on the wind. “Where’s Mercy, boy?”

“Over here. I’ll be right with you, Joanna.”

Joanna turned, her heart lurching at the sixteen year old’s sudden appearance at the barn’s entrance. No matter how many times she did that, Joanna never grew accustomed to it. Mercy’s dark blonde hair clung to her face in the summer heat as she set the pitchfork against the wall and wiped her hands against her well-worn trousers. Swallowing hard, Joanna tried to commit Mercy Allen to memory. She was only a few inches taller than Joanna, yet she was stalwart and strong in a way she could never be. She moved through the world with purpose, when she let people see her, but the more days she spent in Aldorhaven with her father, the more patches of her that became threadbare under his gaze. If she didn’t get out soon, whatever life Mercy yearned for when she donned her brother’s hand-me-downs and galloped full speed past the house and into the pine barrens would be gone. As Mercy quickly washed her hands and face at the pump, Joanna readjusting her grip on the baby and confirmed she hadn’t lost her purse or knife in her haste. No, Mercy and her son would have the chance to have a life they could never know here.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting. My father left to deal with some crisis in town. Did you hear the—” Mercy’s brown eyes brightened with excitement as soon as they landed on the bundle in Joanna’s arms. “You had the baby!”

“Sssh!”

“Sorry,” she said softer with a wince. Gently shouldering Rasmus out of the way, Mercy peered down at the baby as he yawned and hunkered further into the quilt. “Oh, Joanna, I’m so happy for you. What’s their name?”

“He doesn’t have one.”

“Why not?” Mercy asked, gently stroking his dark hair with two fingers.

“Because I can’t know it.” Mercy’s head shot up, but Joanna held her gaze and nodded toward the woods. When Mercy opened her mouth to speak, Joanna cut her off. “Stephen’s dead. For real this time.”

“We knew it was coming, but still, I’m so sorry, Joanna. Did he get to see—?”

“Yes, he did, but now, they know,” Joanna said, the words tumbling together as she spoke. There was so much to explain and so little time. “Within moments of Stephen dying, they showed up, just like he said they would. I don’t think they fully understand what Stephen and I did yet, but when they do, they’ll come for the baby. You’re the only person who knows he’s alive, besides me and Stephen, and I need you to take him far away from here. I have money for you.” Pulling the heavy purse from her pocket, she shoved it into Mercy’s hands. “There’s enough there that you should be able to pay for the ferry, board Rasmus, and buy anything you need to start a new life, the one you’ve always wanted. My mother will understand and help you. She will let you stay with her until you’re on your feet, but you must take him and ride to the Camden as fast as you can. If you leave now, you can make it to the last ferry to Philadelphia and be at my mother’s not long after nightfall. There’s a note for her in the purse that explains everything. Her address is on it.”

Opening the pouch, Mercy choked. “Joanna, this is a small fortune. I can’t take this. How will you—?” Her eyes widened in understanding. “No. You can’t do that. He… he’ll need his mother.”

“I have to. Once they realize what we’ve done, they will be out for blood. Mine or his. That’s why I can’t name him. If they get it out of me, they can find him.”

“Then, come with me,” Mercy pleaded. “We can all fit on Rasmus.”

“I will only slow you down, and you’ll need all the speed you can get.”

“But I don’t know how to hold a baby. What if I drop him?”

“Mercy, I’ve seen you ride with a basket of eggs. I’ll make sure he’s strapped tight to you, but you need to go soon if you have any hope of escaping.” Glancing at the smoke-streaked sky, Joanna calculated the meager time she had left and turned back to Mercy. “I’ve never had a sibling, but of all the people in this world, you are the closest I have ever had. I would never ask this of you unless I had no other choice, but you are the only one who can escape the wood’s notice. It will be hunting me after what I’ve done, but it hasn’t sunk its teeth into the baby yet. You both can be free.”

When Mercy’s features tightened with fear, Joanna pressed her hand to her cheek and whispered, “If you love me, you will leave this place and live well. That is my greatest hope: for my boys to live well.”

“Are you sure there’s no other way?” Mercy croaked. When Joanna nodded, Mercy sighed and hung her head. “I’ll get my things.”

“Please be quick.”

Grabbing her saddle bags from the barn, Mercy disappeared into the house. As the door shut behind her, a wave of exhaustion passed over Joanna. She leaned against the side of the house out of sight, letting the baby’s full weight rest against her chest. The fear that had propelled her from the mob had finally been spent. Her arms shook with fatigue and blood dripped down her leg and clung to her petticoats while cupboards opened and shut inside the house. With every second she waited for Mercy, the baby seemed heavier and the rippling pain in her core grew stronger. Joanna screwed her eyes tight and released a steadying breath. She only needed to hang on a little longer. Soon, it would be over, and it would all be worth it.

The wind blew down the bank and through the trees, bringing with it the acrid tang of smoke and the sound of Stephen’s sister yelling her name. Tightening her grip on her son, Joanna peered around the corner of the barn, but thankfully, no one was there. Daphne’s only allegiance was to her family, and no bond of motherhood or feigned friendship would stop her from dragging her back. The door to the cottage whined as Mercy stepped outside. Before she could call for her, Joanna emerged from the shadows. In her brother’s clothes with the too long trouser legs rolled beneath her boots and a derby squashed over her hair, Mercy could easily pass for a boy in the evening light. Giving Joanna a stalwart nod, she strapped her bags to the saddle and prepared Rasmus for their ride. The horse looked nervously toward the Dysterwood, but Mercy whispered to him and stroked his neck until he quieted. Stepping back from him, Mercy held Joanna’s gaze but neither moved nor spoke.

Joanna twisted her fingers into the quilt and swallowed against the knot in her throat. She knew the time would come to let him go, but it still felt too soon. Everything she and Stephen had done had been for this moment when they could send him somewhere far away, where he would never know of Aldorhaven or the fate that would have awaited him if he had stayed. He had the chance for a life his father never did, and she needed to let him go. Pulling back the quilt, Joanna tried to memorize his face as she had Mercy’s. He was so new. He had no name or features she could pin down as coming from her or Stephen, but he had his life. And it would always be his own. Joanna kissed his forehead and readjusted the blanket around him until he was swaddled tight. Beckoning Mercy closer, she pulled the shawl from her shoulders and threaded it around Mercy’s middle under her coat. She carefully tied the bundled blanket into it and stepped away before she could change her mind.

Embers blew on the wind as Mercy gingerly swung into the saddle and turned Rasmus toward the road. “You can still come, Joanna.”

“You know I can’t.” At the hesitance in her eyes, Joanna called, “Mercy, after you get settled, promise me you won’t look for me. Forget I or this place ever existed.”

“I promise I won’t look, but I’ll never forget.”

Joanna stood rooted at the gate as Mercy gave her one final, long look before spurring her horse to a trot. She tried to keep her gaze trained on Mercy’s back as Rasmus picked up speed down the road, but her eyes kept sliding off as if they weren’t there. When she could no longer find them beyond the distant clack of hooves, the pain in her heart lessened a fraction. If she couldn’t see them, then hopefully, the wood couldn’t either. Godspeed, Mercy. Tears burned the backs of Joanna’s eyes, but she quickly blinked them away and headed back to the road. At the top of Cemetery Hill, a lone figure appeared between the tombs. Joanna’s heart lurched in her throat as Stephen’s father stepped from the shadows. Before he could see her and call out to the others, Joanna took a deep breath and plunged into the Dysterwood.

If you enjoyed this excerpt, I hope you will preorder The Reanimator’s Remains at your favorite retailer or add it to your TBR on Goodreads. If you haven’t read books 1 or 2, you can grab them in ebook, paperback, or audiobook. Stay tuned for the second half of the prologue next week.