New York Times bestselling author Shannon Chakraborty sets sail into the second adventure of pirate Amina al-Sirafi as her quest to track down magical artifacts brings her to the island lair of a sorceress whose woven enchantments are impossible to flee. Amina al-Sirafi thinks she’s struck gold. Tasked with hunting down arcane artifacts for the council of immortal peris, she can savor the occasional rollicking adventure on the high seas with her cherished criminal companions while still returning home to raise her beloved daughter, Marjana. But when Raksh, the spirit of discord with whom she is reluctantly wed, provokes the council’s wrath, Amina is charged with a seemingly impossible quest: steal a spindle capable of rewriting fate from a mysterious sorceress on an island no one can escape. Forced to leave Marjana—who is increasingly frustrated at being peddled what are clearly lies about her mother’s life and her own past—Amina finds her mission almost immediately thrown into peril. But deadly storms, an erratic poison mistress, and old enemies are the least of her worries. For the peris’ story is unraveling, hinting at a far deadlier game whose rules Amina must swiftly puzzle out. A game that sets her against an adversary more cunning and powerful than she has ever faced. A game that not everyone on her crew wants her to win.

In a United States not so unlike our own, the Department of Balance has adopted a radical new form of law enforcement: rather than incarceration, wrongdoers are given a second (and sometimes, third, fourth, and fifth) shadow as a reminder of their crime—and a warning to those they encounter. Within the Department, corruption and prejudice run rampant, giving rise to an underclass of so-called Shadesters who are disenfranchised, publicly shamed, and deprived of civil rights protections. Kris is a Shadester and a new mother to a baby born with a second shadow of her own. Grieving the loss of her wife and thoroughly unprepared for the reality of raising a child alone, Kris teeters on the edge of collapse, fumbling in a daze of alcohol, shame, and self-loathing. Yet as the kid grows, Kris finds her footing, raising a child whose irrepressible spark cannot be dampened by the harsh realities of the world. With a first-person register reminiscent of the fierce self-disclosure of Sheila Heti and the poetic precision of Ocean Vuong, I Keep My Exoskeletons to Myself is a bold debut novel that examines the long shadow of grief, the hard work of parenting, and the power of queer resistance.

The magical Quigley sisters return to bargain with fate once more in this follow-up to the “charming, uplifting, and utterly enchanting” (Lana Harper, New York Times bestselling author) national bestseller The Crescent Moon Tearoom.The Crescent Moon is thriving after a much-needed expansion, with the ladies who step through its doors continuing to seek comfort in the glimpses of their futures found in the swirls at the bottom of their teacups. Anne is leading the city’s witches as Chicago’s Diviner, Beatrix is swept away on a book tour across the country, and Violet has found her place with her feet swinging through the air above the circus crowds. That is, until the Quigley sisters find themselves stumbling on their chosen paths, and they are drawn back home in search of refuge in each other’s company. As Anne struggles to balance her growing responsibilities, Beatrix fears she has lost her gift for storytelling, and Violet is shaken after an accident at the circus, the future the sisters had drawn for themselves feels murkier than ever. And, when the threads of fate begin to unravel, Anne must lean on her sisters and team up with a mysterious—and oddly infuriating—necromancer to save the city from an uncertain destiny and help old friends find a happy end. With all three Quigleys back in the warm comfort of the Crescent Moon, they set out to bargain with Fate once more. But will the sisters find the courage to embrace who they have become while returning to what they left behind, or will the future unfold in a way that even a Quigley couldn’t have predicted?