"I was expecting a throne made from the skulls of your enemies."
"It can be arranged."

I’m not saying all of North Yorkshire’s magical population wants us dead. Just most of them.

Which is why we fled to Whitby, where no one should’ve been looking.

But lying low? Not our skillset. And when one of our last friends is taken by the sea, we can’t just walk away — especially since her partner is a reaper with a scythe that slices reality, and it might be our fault.

We’re not going alone. We’ve got a one-eyed pirate captain, a bloodthirsty parrot, and a deeply dodgy mermaid.

The storm of the century? Not stopping us.

The Black Dogs, the kraken cult, and the Sea Witch? Might be an issue.

Leeds is looking better by the moment…