Modern Science Fiction

Somebody thought it would be a great idea to send us to the Troll Court. Because somebody imagined I might be the perfect person to help with a certain wild and crazy plan of Their Majesties' concoction. They want to restore the lost city of Farringale. I can only say that I heartily approve. There is the tiny problem of how, of course; but who better to dig up the truth than the Society’s most colourful agents? Off questing we go, armed with a long list of questions, two winning smiles (well, three, if you count the Baron’s — and who wouldn’t?) and a certain Dappledok pup.

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.

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.

Twenty-two-year-old Beth Ann is content with her small-town life. That is, until the day America’s electric grid is destroyed by terrorists. What starts out as an inconvenience quickly becomes a catastrophe - not only do the lights stay off, but cars won’t run and phones are dead. The world screeches to a halt. Without communication and basic supplies like food and water, widespread confusion spirals into deadly chaos within days.

The Antichrist is a book by the philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, originally published in 1895. Although it was written in 1888, its controversial content caused its publication to be delayed. The German title can be translated into English as either The Anti-Christ or The Anti-Christian, depending on how the German word Christ is translated. Nietzsche claimed in the foreword to have written the book for a very limited readership. In order to understand the book, he asserted that the reader "...must be honest in intellectual matters to the point of hardness to so much as endure my seriousness, my passion."

Man sieht sich gedrungen wünschen zu wollen und sagen zu können, dass nach der akustischen Auseinandersetzung mit Nietzsches Unzeitgemäßen Betrachtungen jeder ein Stück klüger wird als er war – doch leider belehren uns Vergangenheit und Gegenwart eines besseren und lassen diesen unausgesprochenen frommen Wunsch wie eine Seifenblase im Orkan im Entstehungs-Ansatz zerplatzen. Je konkreter und klarer Gedanken formuliert werden, desto schwieriger sind sie zu verstehen.

Leonidas: I am a Dragon Prince of the House of Smoke...and I am cursed. Falling in love was never in the cards for me. An angry witch made sure of that - if I lose my heart, I lose my life. Only now, a treaty guaranteeing peace will die with me, unless I convince some hapless human to fall in love with me and bear my child - a dragonling born of magic and a love that's true. But I know nothing of love. Five hundred years of guarding my heart and opening my bed mean I've got zero chance at this.

Un clásico gótico de ciencia ficción de Mary Shelley.

I'm Colin McCool, world-class trouble magnet and druid apprentice extraordinaire. I survived my final confrontation with the Dark Druid by the skin of my teeth. But that stunt attracted the attention of some extremely nasty gods who now consider me a threat to their very existence. Hashtag FML, amirite? Now, I'm in a race to master the ways of druid magic, all while staying one step ahead of the immortal assassins trying to kill me.

Wherever he goes, the Dreamseller enchants, stirs up trouble, and inspires his listeners to search for the most important thing: the heart of the human soul. Every person he meets is someone who has abandoned their dreams and is struggling through life: a professor who has stopped pursuing his passions; a lonely alcoholic with no family; the elderly who have lost their zest for life. Through his wisdom, the Dreamseller helps them to look into their silent hearts and get to the root of their unhappiness.

Colin McCool has outwitted necromancers, sorcerers, fae assassins, and evil demigods...but can this journeyman druid survive a face-to-face fight with a god? If you enjoy urban fantasy novels that feature snarky male protagonists, then you’ll love this paranormal thrill ride with a twist of mystery and suspense. Because who doesn't love a down on his luck magician who has to fight to save the people he loves?

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.

Four years ago, somebody pinched perhaps the most valuable book in existence. Merlin’s personal grimoire. And the price they’re offering for its return is the kind we can’t refuse, so it’s Ves and Jay on the case. Except that there aren’t any clues. Seriously, not even a little one. Nothing’s going to solve this case but a Vesper-patented Crazy Plan, and it had better be a good one, for complications are sprouting like daisies. At least it’s a straightforward mission. There’s no earthly way this one’s going to turn my entire life upside down... right?

I haven't heard from my mother in six years—which is why I was surprised to receive a summons from her. The peremptory kind. With nothing but a set of map coordinates to guide me, what exactly was I to expect? The short answer? Trouble, for Mother Dearest is in rather a lot of it. And like daughter, like mother, for there’s a shiny artefact in the offing, and only a few gigantic lindworms in the way. Who isn’t up for a minor little challenge like that?

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.

Dispatched overseas — far, far overseas — we're in hot water. Again. Following in the footsteps of a long-lost king, we're on the road to the mysterious Vales of Wonder. The upside? It's a hot-bed of magickal marvels, the likes of which we've literally never seen before. The downside? Danger. Because who ever said adventure would be easy? Fortunately, we have help. One reviled but aggravatingly handy beast specialist: check. One world-famous, awe-inspiring, purple-clad troll scholar: check. One perambulatory, half-mad house with a crush on Jay: check.

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.

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.

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 her attempt to escape her sisters' Valentine matchmaking, Annie meets the enigmatic Eric, who she realizes could finally be the man of her dreams. In spite - or maybe because - of Eric's cryptic words and puzzling behavior, she finds herself immediately intrigued and drawn to him like no other man she's ever met. One night in Annie's sister's kitchen seals their fate, as the two lovers discover and explore the instant spark of heat between them. Their evening comes to an abrupt end when the mysterious Eric disappears into the night, and Annie realizes she doesn't know his last name! How is she to find him?