City of Iron and Dust

by J.P. Oakes

Genres: Dark Fantasy; Supernatural suspense

Synopsis

"A fantastic book, full of wit and sharp humor, City of Iron and Dust careens through a modernized faerie at a breakneck pace, full of verve and unforgettable characters. Oakes spins a smart, electric, and sometimes snarky tale, showing that the beating heart of modern fantasy is alive and well."—John Hornor Jacobs, author of A Lush and Seething Hell and The Incorruptibles



The Iron City is a prison, a maze, an industrial blight. It is the result of a war that saw the goblins grind the fae beneath their collective boot heels. And tonight, it is also a city that churns with life. Tonight, a young fae is trying to make his fortune one drug deal at a time; a goblin princess is searching for a path between her own dreams and others' expectations; her bodyguard is deciding who to kill first; an artist is hunting for his own voice; an old soldier is starting a new revolution; a young rebel is finding fresh ways to fight; and an old goblin is dreaming of reclaiming her power over them all. Tonight, all their stories are twisting together, wrapped up around a single bag of Dust—the only drug that can still fuel fae magic—and its fate and theirs will change the Iron City forever.



Contains mature themes.

Release date: July 6, 2021

Publisher: Titan Books

Print pages: 400

Sample

Let Me Tell You a Fairy Story

(or, It’s Not Epic if it Doesn’t Have a Prologue)

Once upon a time there was the world that was. And you’ll hear that it was golden, and that it was beautiful, and that it was everything else that everyone always says it used to be. Specific examples, however, will not be provided.

Once upon a time there was the world that was. And then it went away.

The goblins came from the North. In the world that was, this was something that happened from time to time, and this attack, like the others, was looked upon with something like pity and something like dismay. A few troops were sent to dismiss the problem, as they usually were.

But this was no longer the time that was. And the few troops were not victorious, and the goblins continued their march south.

In the wake of this defeat, the fae flung around recriminations: this was the result of poor leadership; this was the fault of some sidhe’s agenda, or this brownie’s ineptitude; this was all somebody else’s fault. The goblins did not care, though. The goblins kept on marching. So, more troops were sent.

And still this was not the time that was. This was new. This was a hundred goblin tribes sick of being relegated and subjugated finally united under the banner of one. And that one was Mab. And Mab swept the fae troops aside like so much dust collected at her feet.

Then the war was on in earnest. And perhaps it was a war of good against evil. But perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps it depended whose side you were on.

But no matter whose side you were on, it was Mab who ended the war.

They called it Mab’s Kiss. Three great fae forest cities gone so quickly their inhabitants didn’t have the time to scream. Magic more powerful than any the fae had left. And right alongside those cities, the fae’s willingness to fight disappeared too.

And so, the unthinkable was thought, and the fae lost the war.

The goblins built cities of cold iron then, of steel and glass. They encased those cities in great metal walls. Inside them, they cut down every tree. They herded the fae into slums and forced them into factories. They bent their heads beneath the twin burdens of labor and poverty.

The fae cried out as it happened. Enclosed within these metropolises of iron, they reached out for their magic. But they felt nothing. They could do nothing. The great iron walls kept them cut off from the earth, and the trees, and all the magic they had once known. Their magic had been amputated.

But as the fae writhed, so the goblins thrived. They innovated. They built shopping malls, and microwave ovens, and combustion engines. They invented guns, and subcultures that celebrated guns. They aired 24/7 news channels. They sold each other mortgages.

And so, the world that was went away, and the world that is began. And in this new world, there was one city that rose far to the west. There was one city that gleamed bright across the stumps of a thousand felled trees. The Iron City.

In this city, in this new world, there are five towers, one for each of the great Goblin Houses. And everyone in this city—goblin and fae alike—looks up at them and knows in their hearts that these houses are the axle upon which all their lives spin.

Just because everybody believes a thing, though, does not mean that it is true. The end of the world that was should have proven that. Complacency, though, is such an easy sin.

Rather, there is another tower upon which all should look. This one is not so great. This one is dirty, and squalid, and nothing more than the stunted aspirations of a desperate developer who went to an early grave. Atop this tower is a penthouse, which—despite its name—is as small and filthy as the tower to which it belongs.

Inside, this penthouse is full of blood.

This is closer to the truth. This is closer to the core of it all.

Deeper into the apartment, beyond the still-cooling aftermath of violence, hidden away, still waiting to be found, is a package. It is a small thing, not even as big as a gym bag, and unassuming in the way such things often are.

It is a package bound in plastic wrap and brown tape. It is a package full of white powder, and it is the axle that the Iron City spins upon tonight. And as it turns, it ushers in not the world that was, nor the world that is, but the world that is yet to be, and tonight not everyone is destined to live happily ever after…