Showing results by author "Charlotte English" in All Categories

Welcome to the Grand Masquerade Ball for the Wyrde…and Wondrous! It’s time to party like it’s 1820, and you know what that means. Rout cakes and punch, satins and silks, and flirting on the balcony under a star-washed sky. Decorous. Genteel. Lovely. Nobody knows who’s throwing this bash, but who cares? It’s the party of the century, and everyone who’s anyone is going to be there. Including, astonishingly, the Werths. Famous recluses they may be, but who can resist a mystery and a waltz? Not that everyone’s on their best behaviour.

As the pace of modern life accelerates, the old ways wither and die. But to the Society for Magickal Heritage, that just isn’t good enough.

Winter has come to Werth Towers, and brought a deal of trouble with it. Not that any of it is the fault of Miss Gussie Werth. To be a one-woman catastrophe might be seen as a misfortune, but really, there can be no hope of a cure. What with murderous Books on the rampage, Lady Maundevyle brewing plans for Christmas, and a couple of dragons on the loose, a quiet life is not likely to be had. Still, in times of crisis, there is always Lord Felix. The disreputable old revenant might have a few odd ideas; but you’re at Werth Towers, now. The merely unusual comes as a matter of course.

The Society for Magickal Heritage’s best agents are heading back into paradise. Giddy Gods help them all. No one ever said heroic adventure would be easy, but this is ridiculous. Magickal wonderlands aren’t meant to have a dark side. Heroes aren’t meant to get stranded there, either. Ves may be up for anything, but she hadn’t expected that pretty much anything would be up for her. And with a horde of unhappy spirits enjoying a direct line to Zareen’s psyche, it’s lucky she’s unbreakable... right?

Things are getting serious at the Society for Magickal Heritage. An ancient legend has plans for Ves, and Ves has plans for just about everything else. It’s time to take on the ultimate challenge—and hope for the best. What could possibly go wrong? Well, everything. As usual. But if old magick is going to survive in the modern world, it’s no use being cautious. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and Ves is giving it everything she’s got. But can she handle the cost? And can the cost handle her?

The fight to save British magick rages on—and it’s taking the Society’s beleaguered champions away from Home. Far, far away, to worlds long lost; worlds no one could ever have imagined existed. Dangers and mysteries abound, which is way up Ves’s street. Jay isn’t quite so sure. Severed as they are from the Society’s support, will magick’s unlikely heroes make it Home unscathed? It’ll be fine. After all, these lost magickal domains are the Society’s ultimate dream. What could possibly be so bad about that?

It’s winter at the Werth residence, and someone has turned up dead. Not that this is unusual. There’s Great-Aunt Honoria on the premises, after all. Only this corpse is freshly dead, and nobody knows how the lady came to be leaking blood all over Lady Werth's best parlour. The disastrous Miss Gussie confesses herself delighted, for nothing enlivens a dull week in February like a mysterious murder. And the culprit really ought to be discovered, for the circumstances suggest Lord Bedgberry might have had something to do with it…

It is not easy being the most supernatural family in England. Nell talks to the dead; Lord Werth is too often to be found out in the churchyard at the dead of night; and the less said about Lord Bedgberry, the better. Only Miss Gussie Werth has missed out on the family curse. She sups on chocolate, not blood; she's blissfully oblivious to specters (except for Great-Aunt Honoria, of course); and she hasn't the smallest inclination to turn into a beast upon the full moon and go ravening about the countryside.

Rumour’s got a lot to say for itself, and the message is clear: the regulator’s ready. You know. The magickal regulator. The bright and shiny thing with which we, Team Improbable, propose to restore magick to a fading Britain. Somebody’s got to test it, and that somebody is us. Which means wading into the depths of a long-dead realm that nobody’s entered in centuries. And I may have had some practice at that, but this time it’s different. This time, somebody’s still home. And they really aren’t happy about trespassers. Looks like disaster’s on the agenda. Again.

Imagine modern Britain without magick. No fae enclaves. No flying chairs. No magick wands. Giddy gods, no unicorns. Who wants to live in that world? Me neither. But with magick on the decline, that's the world we're ending up with. Meet the Society for Magickal Heritage. Our boss is a disembodied voice. Our headquarters is a sentient house. You could say we've a vested interest in keeping magick alive. Can a ragtag bunch of magicians, necromancers and fae prevail against inevitable ruin and decline? Hell yes. Try and stop us.

In an icy, Victorianesque world, a harsh god rules, and He has one law: a life for a life. Konrad Savast is the Malykant: detective, judge and executioner in one. It's kill and be killed in Konrad's world, and his unhappy duty to mete out his Master's implacable justice. The body of an aristocrat lies in the mist-shrouded reaches of the Bone Forest. Her killer has signed their own death warrant; but first, Konrad must learn who could have wanted the delightful Lady Rostikova dead...

In an icy, Victorianesque world, a harsh god rules, and He has one law: a life for a life. Konrad Savast is the Malykant: detective, judge and executioner in one. It's kill and be killed in Konrad's world, and his unhappy duty to mete out his Master's implacable justice. When three people turn up dead, their immortal souls missing, Konrad’s got a strange case on his hands. And it’s clear that it’s got something to do with the theft of a great and valuable diamond from one of Ekamet’s wealthiest citizens…

In an icy, Victorianesque world, a harsh god rules, and He has one law: a life for a life. Konrad Savast is the Malykant: detective, judge and executioner in one. It's kill and be killed in Konrad's world, and his unhappy duty to mete out his Master's implacable justice. The body of an aristocrat lies in the mist-shrouded reaches of the Bone Forest. Her killer has signed their own death warrant, but first, Konrad must learn who could have wanted the delightful Lady Rostikova dead. With a pair of ghosts to assist him, Konrad will hunt stop at nothing to finally bring them down.

Winter has come to Werth Towers, and brought a deal of trouble with it. Not that any of it is the fault of Miss Gussie Werth. To be a one-woman catastrophe might be seen as a misfortune, but really, there can be no hope of a cure.

Stranded far from home, and unable to return, I am in bigger trouble than ever. I know I say that a lot, but this time it's really true. Not that there aren’t advantages to my particular predicament. If one must put up with a dangerous degree of magickal potency, one is duty-bound to…put it to use, no? Who knows what could happen?

Things have been quiet at the Society lately. Too quiet. It couldn’t possibly last. When a griffin appeared in the Yorkshire skies, it could only mean bad news. There’s only one place in Britain it could have come from and that’s the lost kingdom of Farringale. It’s a dire warning, and there’s worse to come. Turns out we aren’t the only people with an interest in the age-old city of the trolls. Farringale lies under attack—and these people will stop at nothing to take control of its treasures. It’s time for a showdown—the deathly serious kind.

It’s all very well deciding to build the means to save British magick. Top marks for ambitious goals! ...But there are one or two obstacles in the way. For one, said means does not yet exist, and it’ll take a genius to sort that one out. Luckily, we’ve got one of those. We call him Orlando. For another, nothing at all can be built without materials, and no common-or-garden commodities will do. It’s got to be silver. The impossibly rare, virtually extinct kind. This one’s on me, Val and Jay.

As an agent of the Society for Magickal Heritage, I, Cordelia Vesper, have an important job: rescue endangered creatures, artefacts, books and spells wherever they are to be found. It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to keep British magick alive. So we rescued a valuable book from a long-lost library, only it proved to be unusually... chatty. And it's got a foul mouth, too. What manner of weird magick is this? Somebody else thinks it's pretty interesting, too. Ancestria Magicka, they call themselves. Brand new. Big trouble.

Fresh from an involuntary crash course in the Stranger Arts, I've a new mystery on my plate: the inexplicable reappearance of a particularly fantastic magickal species. Which is great, don't get me wrong. Rescuing magickal beasts is what we do around here. But the Dappledok Pup hasn't been seen since the seventeen hundreds; so how did we find one, alive and kicking, over two hundred years later? And this beast has a talent for sniffing out treasure, no less. Happenstance? Maybe not.

Stranded far from home, and unable to return, I am in bigger trouble than ever. I know I say that a lot, but this time it's really true. Not that there aren’t advantages to my particular predicament. If one must put up with a dangerous degree of magickal potency, one is duty-bound to… put it to use, no? Certainly nothing insane, irresponsible and potentially life-threatening. As if. But we'll need every possible advantage in the Hyndorin Mountains. For there, hidden behind layers of secrets, could be the answers we are looking for.