Luna Thorn appeared in a swirl of pink lights with no memory of where she came from or why she was suddenly in Detroit of all places. Now, years later, she’s positioned herself as a beacon of good in a very dark place. That means it’s time to figure out where she belongs. With the help of the friendly neighborhood reapers, Luna is about to embark on an adventure that will have her traveling through time and facing the sort of terror that she never expected to come up against.

Kit McCafferty's life is quiet, unremarkable, and filled with cat hair. In the magical city of Coldstream, located on the border between Scotland and England, Kit is viewed as little more than mildly eccentric and mostly harmless. She passes her days caring for her family of five cats, feeding the local feral moggies, and maintaining relatively good relations with her neighbors. All that changes, however, when a teenage werewolf shows up at her door in the desperate hope of renting out a nearby vacant flat.

Mary Frances Talbot—Frankie—is a necromancer, probably. Hard to say since she never met her parents. She can see the dead, talk to the dead, and a few other things that aren't strictly legal. It's fine. No worries. As long as she doesn't get caught. The whole not getting caught thing was going well until Samuel Harrow blew back into town wearing a Savannah Police Department uniform. He might be a witch, but he hates magic. He's not a fan of Frankie either. Which explains why he's her ex.

McCall Richter finds criminals, con men, and deadbeats better than anyone else in the empire. She’s proud of her success and that she owns her own spaceship, especially since she struggles to understand human motivations, can’t tell when people are lying to her, and is horrible at recognizing faces. Being autistic in the empire is frowned upon—and there’s a handy normalization surgery to correct it—but she’s managed to prove her worth and avoid irking the tyrannical regime.

Okay, I might be seriously under-qualified for the job of Enforcer, I'll admit. The Enforcer is supposed to be a human, for starters. It's usually an ex-special forces guy with big muscles and even bigger balls, and a knack for sorting out petty squabbles between the witches and vampires and shifters in the city. And I'm just a technically dead nail tech—an animated skeleton with a talent for illusion magic and gold gel manicures. But I've recently discovered that I can manifest some pretty big muscles of my own. I've already got the big balls, so I'm halfway there.

I was burned at the stake at fourteen... I was drowned in a lake when I was twenty-four... At twenty-seven, I was stoned in a public square... I have died a hundred times in a hundred different ways, usually at the hands of the humans I've tried to save. But when a pregnant young woman finds her way into my tattoo shop with a demon on her tail, things go from bad to worse. Being a centuries-old witch isn't going to help me—nothing will.

Immortality sucks. Just ask Imogen Gray—over two hundred thousand years old and teetering on the edge of total insanity. All throughout history, she's been hunted by an ancient creature who finds her and rips her to pieces every time she dares to access her deepest powers. But Imogen always regenerates. Slowly. Painfully.

Ellie Gleason has protected the town of Samford, Alabama, for decades. It's not as glamorous as her glory days as the WitchLight Hub, but it keeps her active during her golden years. Life is good. Well, it's okay. It could be bloodier with a smidge more gore, but retirement is meant to be low-key. It's not like her fragile bones could handle the strenuous hunt for monsters anymore, even if her current duties are dull as dishwater. But when her great-nephew shows up on her doorstep in tears, begging for help, Ellie straps on her beloved shotgun, Bam-Bam, and gets the coven back together.

I can turn into a housecat. It’s a fun magic, except in a world filled with vampires and werewolves, it doesn’t exactly make me a powerhouse. Instead, the supernatural community has classified me as an outcast, which means one thing: picking on me is open season all day, every day. The local fae are the worst of all, and it’s during one of their regular “capture the cat-girl” sessions that I shift into my cat form and meet HIM for the first time.

The horror of waking up from the best dream ever and remembering you're a monster is indescribable. My soul is screaming for mercy, for forgiveness, for redemption…but I know I'll never get it.

If no one knows that you saved the world, does it really count? Eight years ago the world almost ended and Max lost everything, accused of betrayal and failure. Now working as a Marshal, keeping the city and its people safe from supernatural dangers, Max thinks she's broken all ties to her past. She's just trying to do her job and live her life.

The fact that she’s a werecat is just something she’s had to live with Alone in her territory, she’s lived a secretive life for six years: under the radar, avoiding her past and the baggage that comes with it. Trouble finds Jacky, though, in the form of an 11-year-old girl and a werewolf turf war just outside her borders. Forced to honor an ancient treaty and the Laws of the supernatural world, Jacky swears an oath to protect Carey Everson, the human daughter of a local werewolf Alpha from Dallas.

Everyone’s welcome at the Stag—vampire, wolf or human. As long as they don’t make trouble. Or ask too many questions about what we’re selling out of the back room. I keep the beers coming, and in return the town keeps my secret. But when a gang of deadly vampires shows up at the bar, it’s clear they’re not looking for a drink. They want to take my business. Or my blood. But this is more than just a shake down. All over town, people are dropping like flies. Disappearing or attacking their neighbors. It’s like they’re possessed. And someone—or something—is pulling the strings.

Meet Darby. Coffee addict. Homicide detective. Oh, and she can see ghosts, too. There are only three rules in Darby Adler's life. One: Don't talk to the dead in front of the living. Two: Stay off the Arcane Bureau of Investigation's radar. Three: Don't forget rules one and two.

By night, they fight in a dangerous game of cat-and-mouse. By day, they are friendly next-door neighbors. Neither of them know that their alter egos are archenemies. I’ve spent my life training in the family business of slaying vampires, but I’m tired of all the death. I want to prove we slayers can help society, not just break it. I start my new life by joining the Magiford supernatural task force, which exists to protect humans and supernaturals from harmful magic.

Okay, I might be seriously under-qualified for the job of Enforcer, I'll admit. The Enforcer is supposed to be a human, for starters. It's usually an ex-special forces guy with big muscles and even bigger balls, and a knack for sorting out petty squabbles between the witches and vampires and shifters in the city. And I'm just a technically dead nail tech—an animated skeleton with a talent for illusion magic and gold gel manicures. But I've recently discovered that I can manifest some pretty big muscles of my own. I've already got the big balls, so I'm halfway there.

Immortality sucks. Just ask Imogen Gray—over two hundred thousand years old and teetering on the edge of total insanity. All throughout history, she's been hunted by an ancient creature who finds her and rips her to pieces every time she dares to access her deepest powers. But Imogen always regenerates. Slowly. Painfully.

The horror of waking up from the best dream ever and remembering you're a monster is indescribable. My soul is screaming for mercy, for forgiveness, for redemption…but I know I'll never get it.

Being a private investigator wasn’t supposed to be complicated. I expected cheating spouses and missing pets like BonBon, a kidnapped ‘pure-bred Schnoodle’ with a ruby-studded collar. What I didn’t expect was a desperate elf on my doorstep, begging for help to find her missing parents. Nor did I think that my search would drag me back into the magical world I’d tried so hard to leave behind.

I’m Lucy, alpha werewolf of a pack that hates me. I inherited the pack when I mercy-killed the current alpha at his behest. I did the right thing, but it’s left me head of a werewolf pack who resent that I still live and breathe while their old alpha doesn't.