The Book of Autumn

by Molly O'Sullivan

Genres: Occult & Supernatural; Supernatural suspense; Gothic

Synopsis

For readers of Adrienne Young, Olivie Blake, Erin Sterling, Hazel Beck, and Leigh Bardugo's Ninth House, a spellbinding debut about ambition, privilege, second chance romance, and ancient magic set at an enchanted school tucked among the red mesas of rural New Mexico, where a formidable pair of magicians are summoned to pursue an alleged killer.

*A Publishers Marketplace BUZZ BOOKS Selection*

Try as she might, anthropologist Marcella Gibbons can't escape the fact that she's a dimidium, one half of a formidable pair of Magicians, forever tied together to enable the other's powers. After a tumultuous final year at Seinford and Brown College of Agriculture (and Magic) in rural New Mexico, Cella felt more than a little uneasy about returning to the sun-drenched desert campus ever again. She'd cut ties with her other half—the charming and rugged rancher Max Middlemore—and sworn off Magic, academia, and heartache for good.

Until Max turns up at her door, grinning under his cowboy hat for one last favor. Something is shifting at her alma mater, something bigger than anyone understands. One student is dead. Another is floating midair in the infirmary, growling guttural nonsense and terrifying the staff. Their best, perhaps only, chance to intervene requires Cella and Max to work together. But the origins of the disturbances lie centuries ago. To unravel them, Cella will have to confront the truth about her past—and Max. Because she might be challenging a power she could never rival alone . . .

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Release date: October 28, 2025

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 384

Sample

Some places never let go of you. They slip inside your pores, cling to your neck like a leech. And though you fight like hell to break loose, there’s no stopping it. The place is part of you now. It’s in your blood.

Seinford and Brown College was in my blood. That had to be it. Had to be how, despite a whole host of circulating nightmares over the last five years, it still had me here. Driving down this road, slowing as I reached the sign welcoming me to Marble County, New Mexico, which was nearly rusted off its hinges. Beside it was a spray-painted one that read JESUS HEALS.

I sighed and patted the steering wheel of the old pickup. “I dunno, Jesus, that might be a bigger job than you bargained for.”

My husky, Bear, barked in the seat beside me and stuck his head out the window.

Marble County, New Mexico, sat between the southwestern tip of Colorado’s border and the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Everything in the county was parched. Mesas towered over rust-red earth covered in creosote bushes and sagebrush. Stray dogs nosed the dirt for something to chew on, finding nothing but bits of tire from the surrounding farms.

In the distance, a wooden sign flapped against the gate of Ludlow Ranch.

I swallowed, talking aloud to keep my thoughts from racing. “This is going to be fine. One job, enough to set us up for a while, then we can move on. For real this time.” Bear howled with excitement at a cracker he found wedged in the seat, flipping it from side to side to lick off the salt.

The conversation stuck like a splinter in the back of my mind. I hadn’t even jumped when I saw Max standing outside the café two days ago, cowboy hat tucked low over his face, only too proud of himself for finding me again.

I blew out my cheeks, shoulders slumping. “I guess I should just give up on you people ever leaving me alone.”

“You’re a Magician, sweetheart,” he said, grinning and leaning against a wall. “This shit you can do isn’t going to just go away. And you’re too damn talented to drop off the face of the earth. Besides”—he tapped the envelope he was holding—“I think you’re going to want to see this one for yourself.”

I glanced down at the letter, now folded in the seat beside me. “Bear!” I wiped it with my sleeve, trying to save it from Bear’s drool. It had been a long drive from Portland, and we were both looking a little worse for the wear. There wasn’t much to it. Only:

Object Theory1 said everyone had a comfort object. A warm blanket or spot on the couch, a favorite book, a hammock under an old, creaking tree. Once upon a time, I was an expert in the theory, a budding anthropologist who loved her work and pushed hard for discoveries in the field. Now one of my own objects, the leather cord from an old journal, was wrapped so tight around my finger it could’ve snapped the bone in two. I’d jumped from job to job after leaving New Mexico, from working in a museum to a retail job to where Max ultimately found me, working at a coffee shop on the outskirts of Portland. Didn’t really matter what I did, as long as there was no Magic involved.

But no matter how far I went, Magic always found me. It leaked out of my fingers, flooding the exhibits and scaring the shit out of the museum’s visitors, or fried the cash register, or broke the espresso machine at work.

I couldn’t seem to escape, and so now here I was, trudging back to this damn place with my very last bit of gas and a grand total of thirteen dollars in the bank, and holding onto that leather cord for dear life. I swore to myself this was the last time, the very last time I’d be back. I just needed enough to get myself on my feet again, to repair the truck and cover a month’s rent or so, and then I would vanish for good, so far away they wouldn’t be able to bother me again. Far enough away that I could start fresh, that Magic wouldn’t get me fired from every job I had—far enough that even the nightmares couldn’t reach.

My truck rolled under the sign for Ludlow Ranch. Rust-colored dust kicked up behind us, coating a bull skull. What was once Ludlow Cattle Ranch was now Seinford and Brown College of Agriculture-though it was really Seinford and Brown College of the Three Arts.

“It is your alma mater,” Max had said that day, so quietly I nearly didn’t hear him, “and you’re still on the council. You must care at least a little about what happens there. We wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important. A student is unwell.”

“But why me?” I asked, aware of how close my pitch came to whining. I cursed the day I agreed to be on Seinford and Brown’s Advisory Council. Apparently, they all considered my appointment a life term, despite the fact that I hadn’t been to one of their stupid meetings in years. “I’m no doctor. My objects have nothing to do with medical aid. Th. . .