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.

One moment, Susan Moore had a perfect life—a handsome husband, a fabulous career, wonderful friends, and a gorgeous home in Pacific Heights, San Francisco. The next minute, it was all gone. And Susan found herself in a straitjacket, locked in a padded room.

Someone paid the vampire king’s creepy son to turn me into one of the bitey undead. I’m not hanging about to find out who or why. The vampires want me to stay with them for one hundred years of indentured servitude but I have this thing about following orders so I ran from the streets of London to the wilds of Alaska. I have an eidetic memory and a can-do attitude. I can-do anything to get away from the vampire king. So when the Sheriff of Portlock, a hidden paranormal town, invites me to be his assistant, I say sure thing. It beats servitude hands down.

Aviva Fleischer hides a dangerous secret. She’s carefully concealing her infernal heritage, a.k.a. Cherry Bomb. Maybe it’s weird naming her demon side and referring to her in the third person, but guys do the same with their junk, and unlike most of them, Avi isn’t deluded about Cherry’s prowess.

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.

Welcome to The Slaughtered Lamb Bookstore and Bar. I'm Sam Quinn, the werewolf book nerd in charge. I run my business by one simple rule: Everyone needs a good book and a stiff drink, be they vampire, wicche, demon, or fae. No wolves, though. Ever. I serve the supernatural community of San Francisco. We've been having some problems lately. Okay, I'm the one with the problems. The broken body of a female werewolf washed up on my doorstep. What makes sweat pool at the base of my spine, though, is realizing the scars she bears are identical to the ones I conceal.

I wouldn’t say my life is a dumpster fire — but it’s far from typical. I’m frenemies with the local werewolves’ Alpha, my clients are shady as hell, and my magic falls firmly in the WTF category. Mephisto, my mysterious and powerful client, is more interested in my magic than the jobs he’s hired me for. And I’m pretty sure my court-ordered therapist thinks I’m an ass.

Lorelei Clay isn’t like other people. She isn’t even like other supernaturals. Her specialties are the nightmares of the living, communication with the dead, and cooking bacon until it’s golden brown and perfectly crispy—no magic required.

Remember that old line about how the only way out of the organization is in a pine box? Well, Rue Hollis spent 10 years thinking she had escaped the Black Hat Bureau, no coffin required. Then her former partner had to go and shatter the illusion by showing up on her doorstep with grim tidings.

I'm Bree, and I see dead people. Not all dead people. Only those with unfinished business. They're everywhere—I'll be eating my breakfast, and a poisoned heiress glares over my Cheerios. I've returned to my hometown of Grimdale to cat-sit for my parents while I plan my next move. I'm looking forward to raiding their fridge, hanging out with their two kittens, and staying far, far away from anything supernatural. But I forgot that I'm never alone in Grimdale. The three ghosts I used to play with as a kid are back in my life again. Only now I'm their age, and they're infuriatingly attractive.

In the past two years, I leveled up as a kick-ass urban druid and became the leader of the Fianna Warriors my ancestor Fionn mac Cumhaill needed me to be. The thing is—four months ago everything changed. The veil between realms came down. With dormant genes waking, the dominant races jockeying for their place in the hierarchy, and the world around us pulsing out of control with power, my position as the Fae Liaison of Toronto has gotten off to a chaotic start.

It's an ordinary day at Harry's Hair Stop until Imogene hears her favorite client's dying wish. Two days later, she finds herself in the embalming room at Greener Pastures Mortuary, bottle of hair dye and scissors in hand. Styling her client's hair for the funeral is creepy. She'd expected that. But she hadn't expected the body to buzz like it was loaded with corpse caffeine. Was it her imagination, or was something more sinister at play? Determined to prove her sanity, she teams up with the mortuary's handsome night watchman to investigate.

Rose Harkness is not just mortal. She’s half magician. And she’s in a lot of trouble. And by the way, she’s not a Harkness either. Her entire life, she’s been guarded, shielded, protected. She’s also been lied to… When a magical dragon emerges, Rose learns the truth. Now, she must leave the safety of her only home—and embrace her birthright. Can she do it? The House of Fourteen is relying on her. The Mortal Seven need her. Her real family, the Beaufonts, they can’t wait to meet her. Rose doesn’t know much about the world, but what little she knows will be turned upside down.