Nicole Jarvis’ debut fantasy, The Lights of Prague, welcomes readers into an arresting and vivid historical fantasy world.

Set in 19th-century Prague, Jarvis’ careful and effective world building suggests an abundance of research and showcases her descriptive skill. In her version of the culturally rich European city, creatures from Czech folklore haunt its streets and endanger its citizens. Pijavice—vampiric monsters consumed by bloodlust—are particularly terrifying to those who walk alone at night. The Lights of Prague follows Domek Myska, an earnest member of the lamplighters, who in this world are also a monster-hunting secret society that keeps these creatures at bay, and Lady Ora Fischerová, a charming widow with her own ties to Prague’s supernatural underground.

The two protagonists’ paths cross and uncross as they each unravel the threads of a conspiracy that threatens the safety of the city, each bringing their own skillset to the fight to save Prague from doom. Their interactions exude chemistry when Ora’s playful flirtations bounce off Domek’s endearing shyness, a dynamic bolstered by how tangible and layered both characters feel when they are apart from each other. As the many secrets of her past unfold, Ora becomes especially engrossing. An intriguing cast of supporting characters surround the central duo, from a sentient and manipulative will-o’-the-wisp to an aristocratic pijavice who feeds on unwitting servants in his looming castle. Everything feels real, from the intriguing lore to the communities of people (and not quite people) who make up the gothic, powerful city.

The story unfolds at a measured pace, submerging the reader into moments of reflective exposition or lush descriptions of Prague. The book clocks in at more than 400 pages, and some of these passages can drag. Readers hoping for a fast-moving adventure might be left a bit wanting, but those interested in a story that’s meditative will enjoy spending their time in the world Jarvis has built. The Lights of Prague is an impressive and mature feat from a debut novelist.

P. Djèlí Clark’s A Master of Djinn is the literary equivalent of a cup of lovely mint tea: a refreshing, delightful and magical mystery to enjoy while absorbing vitamin D on a crisp spring day. The fourth installment and first full-length novel of Clark’s Dead Djinn Universe series, the smooth and welcoming A Master of Djinn provides the perfect amount of fan service to engage returning fans without alienating new readers.

In this fantastical version of our world, a man named Al-Jahiz tore a hole in reality in 1872, unleashing Djinn and magic across the earth. In the 50 years since, international governments have taken a variety of approaches to the new existence of the supernatural. In Egypt, magic has not only been allowed, but embraced. This decision put Egypt on the map as a world power, driving other countries (seemingly on the precipice of this world’s version of World War I) to meet for a peace summit in Cairo. The summit is only a few weeks away when a man claiming to be Al-Jahiz returned from the dead commits a series of grisly murders. Fatma, a famous agent of the Ministry of Alchemy, Enchantments and Supernatural Entities is assigned to the case. She is one of the Ministry's few female operatives, and her success has made her one of the Ministry’s favorite agents for difficult cases.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: How P. Djèlí Clark came up with the idea for his magical vision of Cairo.

Clark’s characters have wholesome, wonderful interactions with each other, never waiting long to address their interpersonal conflicts and always resolving on friendly terms. “Friendly” is an apt description of the book as a whole. While there is certainly conflict, tension and danger in A Master of Djinn, the reader will find themselves propelled along through the book by the likeability and relatability of Fatma. Even if you guess the plot's various twists and turns, Fatma’s endearing style, gruffness and no-nonsense approach make A Master of Djinn worth reading.

While A Master of Djinn admittedly breaks little new ground, Clark has created an engaging mystery and a vivid world with intrigue, arcane secrets and an epic climax.

Captain Kit Brightling is Aligned to the sea, and she is more than just the queen’s messenger. A captain in the Crown Command, she serves Queen Charlotte of the Isles’ interests directly. And after a successful sting on a smuggling operation produces a coded message from Gerard, the exiled emperor of Gallia, the queen has a new mission for Kit. She is to rescue a captured spy for the queen, and she’s to do it with the unlikeliest of accomplices: Colonel Rian Grant, the viscount of Queenscliffe.

The two instantly dislike and distrust one another. As a foundling tasked with making her own way in the world, Kit is mistrustful of the nobility, and as a former soldier whose friend’s life is in danger, Grant is suspicious of Kit’s magical abilities. But if Kit and her new compatriot are to be successful in their mission, they must trust one another. Because there are worse things afoot than a simple kidnapping. The exiled emperor’s plans could alter the very face of magic and endanger the Isles in the process.

The Bright and Breaking Sea acts as an effective shot across the bow to introduce Chloe Neill’s latest series. Set in the aftermath of a fictionalized version of the first Napoleonic war, it’s full of comfortable tropes that Neill twists into something more complex. Her “brooding noble” is less brooding and more preoccupied with the traditional soldier’s mistrust of the navy and with his own estate issues. Espionage and pirates come aplenty, but there is no threat of mutiny aboard Kit’s crew. Neill doesn’t shy away from the occasional joke about class conflict, but she dispenses with the more heavy-handed and overdone tropes surrounding female characters in historical settings. While Kit does face some prejudice as a woman, the resistance she faces is as much because of her age and her status as a magic user as it is because of her gender. This change allows Kit to be more than just a “strong female main character” who has rebuffed traditional gender roles. She is instead a woman with a strong sense of duty to both country and family, a deep love of the sea and an endless amount of distrust for the nobility. In Kit, Neill creates a character who is lovable, easy to root for and believably competent.

The Bright and Breaking Sea is a rollicking book full of seafaring intrigue and fun from beginning to end. More Charlie Holmberg’s Paper Magician than Patrick O’Brian’s Master and Commander, it’s a light, thoughtful and occasionally thought-provoking book that focuses on relationships and internal struggles more than naval battles. For readers who love dialogue-heavy, character-driven fiction, this is a perfect fall read. Just be prepared to be heartbroken when the story (temporarily) ends.

Take a moment and consider the last time you studied medieval European history, specifically the advent of Hussite “heresy” in the wake of John Wycliffe’s translation of the Bible into the common tongue. Focus specifically on the years between 1400 and 1440, during which the first through third anti-Hussite crusades took place. If these inquiries bring specific, vivid events to mind, then The Tower of Fools by Andrzej Sapkowski will be a fitting read for an enterprising European history enthusiast such as yourself.

Set in the powder keg of 15th-century Europe, The Tower of Fools brings readers into a richly referential world of Christian history as it casually dissects the events leading to the Protestant Reformation. Often Sapkowski's references come audaciously close breaking the fourth wall (a character quite literally references nailing theses to a wall while coincidentally owning a cat named Luther). These references are spearheaded by our protagonist, Reinmar of Bielawa, who is an infamous seducer of married women and also a doctor, a student and a mage.

While the book is strongly grounded in the real events and politics of Catholic history in Europe, Sapkowski delights in depicting a range of magical abilities and creatures in his version of medieval Europe. His characters encounter the supernatural in a fairly believable way: with heavy skepticism, then fear, then denial and then, finally, acceptance. Magic, witchcraft and magical creatures enter and exit the story with such abruptness that neither readers nor characters have time to digest the last before the second appears before them. The supernatural elements, however, are not the primary crux of the story. The Tower of Fools deploys irony with the grace of a stampeding elephant, and, as such, our story centers on the king of fools, Reinmar. Reinmar embarks on a journey in which every wise character, force of nature, twist of fate and clear sign from God attempts to dissuade him from pursuing who Reinmar believes is his one true love, Adele. Adele is, naturally, a married woman, and Reinmar meets a motley crew of miscreants during his harrowing quest for her love.

The Tower of Fools clearly sets up for a series but provides ample entertainment as a standalone story. Sapkowski’s primary draw is his ability to weave rich historical context with a complex atmosphere of magic and superstition. The central characters are merely points of view that provide the reader a detailed perspective of the world; Reinmar and company are simple characters who grow little by the end of the story. However, this simplicity services the story Sapkowski tells, providing an easy starting point for readers to navigate the complex politics and superstition of the time period. While this is certainly not a slow read, Sapkowski does dole out plot points at a methodical pace. The first 300 pages or so pass before our central triad of characters meet up, and even longer passes before the larger subplots begin to come together.

Even with a fairly extensive understanding of Catholic history, I needed to keep Google handy while reading, and at one point I looked up a map of Silesia at the narration’s not-so-subtle prompting. Sapkowski often incorporates three other languages, and occasionally up to five, in addition to English: Polish, Latin and Italian primarily, with occasional French and German. He incorporates theology from early church figures like Augustine alongside the “modern” church leaders of the early- to mid-1400s, such as Wycliffe and Jan Hus and the Roman Curia. I would strongly suggest readers take the time to look up the words and references they do not understand. If all of these languages and references scare you—good. They should. The Tower of Fools is not an easy read, but it's quite rewarding for readers ready to take the plunge.

J.S. Barnes’ sequel to Bram Stoker’s Dracula finds Jonathan and Mira Harker having just returned to England after their horrific Transylvanian collision with the inimical Count Dracula. Their son, named for their tragically deceased friend Quincey Morris, is growing up. But the glow of their victory over the ancient vampire is soon tainted, as comrades die while speaking evil portents and young Quincey seems strange, even to his own mother. The Harkers and the remaining members of their circle reassure themselves with the knowledge that the Count is dead by their hand, and he cannot return from beyond the grave they fashioned for him. But there are shadows gathering in the deep Romanian forests, and they have designs on the world outside.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: J.S. Barnes shares what inspired him to revisit Dracula.

In Dracula’s Child, Barnes portrays vampires at their most sinister. They do not sparkle, nor do they enjoy shopping; rather, they hunger, and only the eldest and most disciplined among them can control the urge to feed. The gothic, almost oppressively macabre atmosphere is enhanced by Barnes’ revival of Stoker’s epistolary form. Not only is it an effective allusion to the original material, but telling this new story through diary entries, letters and newspaper clippings also forces the reader to experience the events almost in real time. There are no hints of omniscience; instead, Barnes is downright miserly with foreshadowing, offering only hints of what is to come. The result is both an admirable blend of horror and dark fantasy and an accurate reconstruction of the original’s mood.

However, Dracula’s Child is not just a sequel in form and cast, but also in its interpretation of its monster, and it is this quality that renders it particularly timely. Barnes extends Stoker’s underlying metaphor connecting vampirism to sexual abuse to include the seduction of social and cultural power. In Dracula’s Child, vampires do not merely threaten the life and well-being of their victims: rather, they seek to exert power over entire societies, and they are adept at wielding sensationalism, mass opinion and the levers of public policy to accomplish their aims. The reader is left wondering how their own society would react to a vampiric intrusion, or indeed, if the vampires are already here.

An Austen-esque romance, a heart-racing mystery full of dangerous twists and an anxiety-inducing yet enthralling family feud, Louisa Morgan’s The Age of Witches is anything but a traditional tale of good versus evil. This historical fantasy follows three strong-willed, Gilded Age New York women who share a common ancestor Bridget Byshop, executed as a purported enchantress during the Salem Witch Trials of 1692.

Morgan thrusts readers into the lives of these very different, yet appealing, characters right away. Frances’ struggles early on in life have caused her to constantly desire more, and her loveless marriage to older, nouveau riche George Allington has staled her passion for life. Annis is Frances’ headstrong stepdaughter, whose interests include caring for her purebred horses, overseeing their progeny and evading marriage and the control of men. Harriet is Frances’ cousin and Annis’ great-aunt, a revered herbalist who lives in the shadows but who seems to have a propensity for other miracles and mysterious happenings.

This energetically paced novel bounces between the three women’s lives, building to a battle over the use of their magical gift (or curse?) called the maleficia, a powerful strain of magic that leaves a dark imprint on the wielder and can tear the soul and conscience from one’s powers. It’s clear that while Frances is willing to utilize the family talent to her advantage—no matter the cost—Harriet and the newly-inducted Annis must discover how to stop her machinations before Annis is wed off for the sake of a title and financial gain.

The Age of Witches’ eloquent, flowery prose will please fans of Victorian British classics, and her detailed descriptions and attention to detail bring the locations and historical period to vivid life. New Yorkers will certainly recognize familiar locations in the picturesque setting, and for romance fans, the chemistry between Annis and an eventual suitor is palpable and skin-tingling. The Bishops’ magic is powerful yet elegant, far from some gaudy Halloween spectacle, and requires wisdom and skill to wield.

Morgan whisks up a tale of legacy and feminist might as the Bishop women take charge of their destinies—and sometimes the destinies of others. From eerie cantrips to lifelike manikins, the magic in The Ages of Witches relies on imagination, instinct and intuition. It all makes for a perfect brew of meticulous skill and focused intention as the Bishops battle over their entangled lineage and futures.