All persons shall be equal before the law, regardless of divine heritage or status of godhood.
Thatâs the idea, anyway.
Detective Sophia Akerele deals with the worst of divinity. Instead of chattering on social media about Apolloâs latest pop song, sheâs tracing magical weapons to local gangs⌠until she takes a fireball to the chest.
She expects an afterlife, not a job offer from an international law enforcement agency. The Furies give her a chance to finally make a differenceâto return to life with the power needed to tackle the worst supernatural crimes.
Her first assignment: Egypt, where a divine bomb throws her hometown into chaos. Sophia works alongside her cynical new partner, the local police, and an adventurous demigoddess with a doctoral degree in thaumaturgy. But that may not be enough, as she confronts organized crime, sinister gods, and, worst of all, the family she had to leave behind.
All persons shall be equal before the law, regardless of divine heritage or status of godhood.
Thatâs the idea, anyway.
Detective Sophia Akerele deals with the worst of divinity. Instead of chattering on social media about Apolloâs latest pop song, sheâs tracing magical weapons to local gangs⌠until she takes a fireball to the chest.
She expects an afterlife, not a job offer from an international law enforcement agency. The Furies give her a chance to finally make a differenceâto return to life with the power needed to tackle the worst supernatural crimes.
Her first assignment: Egypt, where a divine bomb throws her hometown into chaos. Sophia works alongside her cynical new partner, the local police, and an adventurous demigoddess with a doctoral degree in thaumaturgy. But that may not be enough, as she confronts organized crime, sinister gods, and, worst of all, the family she had to leave behind.
Two suspects had gone for their guns. One of them lay dead on the floor. The other howled and spat curses as the police disarmed him, his skin and clothes still smoking where a godborn officer had struck him with a lightning bolt.Â
Sophia scanned the room for threats as other officers cuffed the suspects whoâd been wise enough to surrender. Her pulse was pounding, her vision narrowed. Her ears rang from the gunshots and crackling thaumaturgy, the fractal afterimage of the lightning still floating before her eyes.Â
But there werenât any threats left to find. âClear!â an officer shouted, rounding the back of the van parked in the corner. Similar calls echoed from the other rooms.Â
Sophia let out a long breath as she holstered her gun. Slowly, the adrenaline began to fade, and she actually had a chance to take in the room. It was a garage, more industrial than the somber, customer-facing front of the embalmerâs office. Instead of bodies, though, the company van was loaded with weaponry, with more waiting on tables and in crates nearby. This place had been built for the cold business of death, but somehow, she doubted gun trafficking was what its designers had had in mind.Â
âAll right, people, you know the drill!â Sophia called out. âGet that man to an ambulance. Secure the other suspects, cordon off the building, and touch nothing you donât have to. Hashet, I swear to all the gods, if you walk through that blood spatter, this will be your last crime scene.â She headed for the van in the back corner and the crates stacked around it.Â
Letâs see what weâve got, she thought to herself.Â
The raid had gone by the book. Their entry had been quick and stunning, turning what could have been a deadly firefight into a few seconds of violence. No officers had been hurt, and theyâd found more evidence than expected. The captain would tell her that she should be proud.Â
But as she crossed the room, all she felt was disgust. A row of wheeled stretchers stood along the wall, holding reminders that she hadnât gotten there in time: a horned man whose chest was a ragged mess of bullet holes. A woman with deep blue skin, probably part frost giant, with a precise slash across her throat. Two humans whoâd gotten the business end of a shotgun. One had been partially prepared for mummification, but the thick odor of embalming fluid wasnât strong enough to completely cover the stench of death.Â
Sophia paused by the stretchers. No surprise finding corpses at an embalmerâs, but normally they hadnât been killed by the employees. Were they the bodies of rivals? Victims of a deal gone bad? Hapless civilians whoâd been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Hopefully forensics would give them some answers.Â
âLooks like they were doing more than just running guns.â Her partnerâs voice brought her to a halt, and she waited for him to catch up. He stopped next to her and took in the bodies. âDamn shame.âÂ
Kofi Asenaâs gun, sword, and detectiveâs badge were twins to her own, and his skin was just as dark as Sophiaâs, but that was where their similarities ended. His features were uncannily perfect, as if sculpted from pure imagination instead of crude matter, and neither the heat nor the raid had left a single hair out of place.Â
He liked to say that his looks were the only thing his grandmother, a nymph, had ever given him, but even the most distant divine ancestry would have been enough to make him a godborn, with the ability to work his inborn divine power into miracles.Â
âWe should have thought of this sooner,â Sophia said. âAn embalmerâs office was a great cover. And it gave them the perfect way to get rid of their enemies.âÂ
Kofi massaged his upper arm, the site of an old bullet wound, the way he always did when he was contemplating mortality. âWe moved as soon as your informant tipped us off. Donât beat yourself up over a win.âÂ
A win. There were no pure, perfect victories, but looking at the bodies of the people sheâd been too late to save, it was hard to feel triumphant. With the last of the adrenaline draining out of her, mostly she just felt exhausted.Â
Kofi clapped her on the shoulder and jerked his head toward the loading dock at the back of the garage. âLetâs check out our haul.âÂ
Theyâd caught the suspects with enough equipment to outfit a small army. Pistols covered a table in the far corner of the room. Rifles and shotguns rested against the wall nearby, or leaned against crates packed with ammunition. The van parked in their midst had Royal Funeral Services printed on the doors in somber hieroglyphs, but it held no bodies. Just the real prize: a small collection of blades that shimmered with energy. Human criminals paid a premium for power they couldnât wield naturally, and with deadly miracles woven into the steel by godborn weaponsmiths, these blades were worth more than all the rest combined.Â
ââService fit for a Pharaohâ indeed,â Kofi said, chuckling at the slogan on the side of the van.Â
Sophia rubbed at her forehead. âHow long have we been doing this, Kofi?âÂ
He glanced at her, thoughtful. âWe kept a lot of guns off the street. Caught the assholes who killed those people on the stretchers. Kept them from killing more.âÂ
That was true, but Sophia found her gaze drifting past him, across the guns. Theyâd stopped these, but more weapons would find their way into Memphis. More killers would take the place of the ones theyâd caught. More bodies would be fished out of the Nile.Â
The gang war on the south side of the city was older than she was, and one raid wasnât going to stop it.Â
Kofi knew her too well for her look of professional detachment to fool him. âWeâre finally making a dent,â he said. âItâs hard for them to keep murdering each other if weâve cut off the supply of weapons.âÂ
âItâs one garage full of guns.âÂ
He grinned. âActually, itâs more than that. Follow me.âÂ
He led her back across the room, to where uniformed officers were securing the last of the suspects. âHim,â Kofi said, nodding toward a weaselly man cringing against the wall. âAllow me to introduce my new friend, Amarat Benesu.âÂ
 Amaratâs clothes were soaked with sweat, like heâd just come from a jog in the sun, and he was chewing his nails ferociously. He held out his cuffed hands as he saw them approaching. âPlease, you have to get me out of here! These people⌠You donât know what theyâve done!âÂ
âWeâve got a pretty good idea,â Sophia said dryly.Â
Kofi gestured at Sophia with an amicable smile on his face. âThis is Detective Akerele, my partner. Why donât you tell her what you told me?âÂ
âYou donât understand, I canâtââÂ
Sophia leaned in close and plucked at Amaratâs shirt, making him flinch. The sweat-stained fabric was stamped with the logo of the Centurions, the Roman mortal-league pitz team. Originally Maya, pitz had been the most popular sport in the world for more than a century and a half. The Romans hadnât fielded a successful team in all that time.Â
âI can see you have a history of picking the losing side,â Sophia said. âNowâs your chance to correct that mistake.âÂ
Amaratâs eyes darted to the other men and women cuffed nearby, and she could see the fight drain out of him. He lowered his voice to a whisper. âI can tell you whatever you want to know. Details. Plans. Whoâs supplying the guns. Just promise youâll keep me safe!âÂ
Sophia traded a look with Kofi, eyebrows raised. He smiled.Â
She patted Amarat on the shoulder. âYouâll be just fine. Give us a minute.â She pulled Kofi away. âThis is either a trap, or itâs bullshit.âÂ
He shrugged, smile never wavering. âYou should have heard what he was saying when I grabbed him. This could be the break weâve been looking for.âÂ
Sophia narrowed her eyes at him. âDid he admit to taking money from the Celts?â That would be a major coup for the police department, something more impactful than a simple bust. The Celtic government funneled money and resources to criminals throughout the Conclaveâanything to undermine their enemiesâbut their agents were rarely caught at it.Â
âNo. Think closer to home.âÂ
Sophia sighed. âIâm really not in the mood for yourâŚâ she trailed off, frowning. âSetesh?âÂ
Kofi grinned. âLike I said. This could be huge.âÂ
Sophia scoffed. âYou canât be serious.âÂ
âWhy not? Just because there arenât desert spirits running this place? You know heâs behind this.âÂ
âSure. This and every other arms deal and drug sale in Memphis. But thatâs not the same as proving it. Heâs been at this for centuries. Styx, weâd have a better chance nailing down the Celts.âÂ
âWhat if this is the break we need?âÂ
Sophia could see the eagerness in his eyes, the dream of being the one to finally tear the facade of legitimacy from the Egyptian god of the desert. It would be the Furies making the actual arrest, of courseâno one would send simple police after a godâbut the officers who cracked the case would never be forgotten.Â
She remembered what that righteous zeal felt like. It was a mystery to her how Kofi kept his optimism alive, when heâd been in the force as long as she had. She wasnât sure whether to feel jealous or sorry for him.Â
And yet, despite years of experience warning her off, she couldnât help but feel a tiny spark of possibility ignite inside her. So little of what they did made a difference. But thisâŚÂ
A smile found its way onto her face. âOkay. You could be right. Just donât get overconfident. Take this slow, do it right, and weâll see where it leads us. We canâ Hang on.â Her phone was buzzing in her pocket. She slipped it out, expecting the station.Â
A torrent of emotion washed through her before sheâd fully registered the name displayed on the screen. Fear and worry came first, followed by an undercurrent of rage. Kofi backed off, eyebrows raised. âIâll give you a minute,â he said. Sophia realized her jaw was aching, and she forced herself to unclench it.Â
She answered the call. âGahiji. Whatâs wrong?â He wouldnât call without a reason. Her heart thundered in her ears as her imagination spun possibility after awful possibility.Â
There was a nervous chuckle on the other end of the line. âAm I not allowed to call my sister unless somethingâs wrong?âÂ
Fear boiled away before the heat of her anger. Even Gahiji wouldnât be flippant in a real emergency. âAs if youâve ever cared whatâs allowed.âÂ
He scoffed, and she knew exactly the face he wore, all hurt indignation, as if nothing was his fault. âExcuse me for reaching out. Iâm trying to mend fences, and somehow Iâm the bad guy?âÂ
A uniformed officer Sophia knew gave her a worried look and mouthed, âEverything all right?âÂ
Sophia managed a tight smile and a nod before leaving the garage and heading for the front of the building, where she wouldnât be underfoot or overheard.Â
âYouâre the bad guy because youâre a criminal Gahiji!â she hissed, keeping her voice low. âStyx, what kind of example are you setting for your daughter?âÂ
Gahiji just sighed into the phone. She could picture him, all false innocence and pleading eyes as he tried to pick the right lie. He was probably getting ready whine again that all the good jobs were going to godborn.Â
The front office of the embalmerâs was hot, dirty, and unwelcoming. Probably to encourage law-abiding customers to find another place to handle their dead. It didnât help that the front doors were swinging open every few seconds, admitting gusts of summer heat as officers and EMTs went in and out. There was a radio on the front desk, ignored during the raid, with a news show still chattering away about Poseidon and Mazuâs joint campaign against ocean pollution. Sophia shut it off and parked herself in a corner, by a window that looked out on the street.Â
âIâm clean, Sophia,â Gahiji said finally. âOn the straight and narrow.âÂ
âOh really? So you werenât caught with stolen property a month ago? You arenât redoing your garage with money you make as a fence?â He tried to talk, but she kept going, speaking right over him. âMaybe Iâm just imagining the phone calls I get from Teshan asking where you are some nights.âÂ
She heard Gahiji swallow. âShe misses you.âÂ
Guilt took root in her heart, just as he intended, but Sophia forced it away with a growl. âDonât play that card. Sometimes I think I talk to your daughter more than you do.âÂ
âLet me put her on, then. IfââÂ
âOh no, you donât get out of this that easily. You called me for a reason. What is it?âÂ
Another sigh. âI wanted to invite you over. Dinner tomorrow night, with me and Teshan. Meret too, if sheâs not busy at the shelter. I want to show you how things have changed. Iâm trying to be a better father.âÂ
âYeah? Is that you talking, or did Meret write you a script?âÂ
Gahiji chuckled. âWhy donât you ask Teshan?âÂ
âHey, noââ But he was already gone, shouting for his daughter.Â
Sophiaâs breath hissed out through her teeth, and she glared out the window. The sunset painted Memphis in shades of brilliant orange. In the distance, she could just make out the tops of the government centerâs ancient monuments basking in the light, framed by the massive skyscrapers of the last century. A handful of winged godborn soared through the sun-soaked air, the envy of the earthbound commuters trapped in rush-hour traffic below. Godborn and airplanes alike gave wide berth to the weather control towers that had been built around the circumference of the city in the last few years. Inside, crews of everyday humans without a trace of divine power could alter the weather with a few keystrokes. Just the latest marvel of modern thaumatechnology.Â
But the neighborhood around Sophia lacked both ancient grandeur and modern wealth. She had grown up in the Boneyard, and thirty years had changed exactly nothing. The streets outside were still cracked and dirty, and a familiar eye could pick out knotted black scars, built over but never truly repaired, from the dragonfire that had begun the districtâs rapid decline. The lights from the squad cars danced across graffiti and sun-bleached ads for cheap divorces and cheaper beer. A handful of people gawked, but most hurried past the crime scene with their heads down, barely risking nervous glances. The liveliest business in sight was the convenience store on the corner.Â
âAunt Sophia?âÂ
Just hearing Teshanâs voice was enough to warm Sophiaâs heart. And to send a tendril of guilt coiling through her. Her free hand found the multicolored cloth bracelet Teshan had woven for her years ago and began slowly turning it around her wrist.Â
âHey Whirlwind. Howâs it going?âÂ
The old nickname would normally earn her an eye roll, but she could hear the smile on Teshanâs face when she responded. âOkay. You coming to dadâs dinner thing?âÂ
âI donât know yet.âÂ
âYou can bring your boyfriend if you want backup,â Teshan said hopefully.Â
âYeah⌠We broke up. Just werenât right for each other, I guess.âÂ
âThatâs what you said about the woman before him.âÂ
Sophia winced. This relationship had been as short lived as the rest. Heâd accused her of losing interest as soon as the mystery faded. It was a familiar, tired refrain.Â
She cleared her throat. âSeriously, though, backup aside, thereâs a lot going on at workâŚâÂ
Teshan snorted. âYou donât have to lie to me. Iâve known how you and dad feel about each other since I was like eight.âÂ
âNo lie. The jobâs crazy right now. Lots of big cases, not enough leads.âÂ
âWhatever. It doesnât matter. Itâs just dinner.âÂ
The hurt in her voice made Sophia cringe. âYou know what? Iâll be there.âÂ
âYeah, okay.â Sheâd sunk back into sullen teenager mode.Â
âIâm serious, Teshan. Iâd love to see you.âÂ
âUh huh. Hope you solve your case or whatever.âÂ
âTeshanââÂ
Sheâd already hung up. Sophia ran a hand through her hair. Outside, someone hitched their gryphon between two cars and headed into the corner store. Unusual, in a neighborhood like this. Then again, car thieves just had to deal with locked doors and alarms. Anyone who wanted to steal a gryphon had a razor-sharp beak and a nasty set of claws to deal with.Â
The gryphon folded its wings. Then it twisted its eagleâs head to inspect the cramped parking space, scratched at its neck with a lion paw, and let out a frustrated cry.Â
âI know what you mean,â Sophia grumbled.Â
Gahiji fought dirty, like always. Maybe if he worried more about being a good father to Teshan and less about how to use her to guilt trip Sophia⌠She realized she had a death grip on her phone. Shoving it into her pocket, she turned away from the window and glared through the dusty collection of pamphlets on the front desk. Most featured picturesque scenes from the Duat and the Field of Reeds, but there were a scattering of advertisements for other afterlives, from Hades to Irkalla.Â
Sophia barely saw them. She was tired of this case, tired of fighting with her brother, tired of working herself to the bone just to see more killers pop up like hydra heads to take the places of the ones she put away. She just wanted to go home and spend some time with a cold beer and her sketchbook.Â
But it wasnât fair to take all of that out on Teshan. Sullen teenager or not, the girl was right. However busy she was, however she felt about Gahiji, Sophia should be there for her. If she wrapped this scene up quickly, she might have time to run to the store and make Teshanâs favorite pie before tomorrow night. It was the best peace offering she could think of.Â
She turned and headed back into the garage.Â
The last few suspects were being marched toward the doors. Forensics had arrived to process the scene, and they had opened the garage door in the back so they could get at all sides of the van. Kofi still stood by the wall, talking quietly to Amarat.Â
Sophia stepped around Kofi, seized Amarat by the shirt, and pressed him against the wall. âSetesh. Talk. Now.âÂ
He winced, sputtering. âI donât knowââÂ
âYou were happy to talk to my partner here. As long as we kept you safe, right? Well, youâre safe. Most of your friends are cuffed. The restâŚâ She glanced at the bloodstains left behind by the suspect whoâd been shot. âWell, letâs hope that he picked an afterlife already, or heâs got a lot of paperwork ahead of him.âÂ
Amarat held up his hands pleadingly. âYou donât understand! Itâs not them Iâm worried about.âÂ
âGood. You should be worried about buying yourself some leniency. Because the way things stand, itâs not looking good for you. I count four victims and a lot of guns over there, and those are just the ones in this room.âÂ
He gave her a plaintive look, the same one Gahiji wore when he was begging for a favor. It made her blood boil. âPlease, Iâm not one of them!â Amarat said. âA friend brought me on for this one job, okay? Thought I could make some quick money!âÂ
âIâm not hearing anything that will put Setesh behind bars. Are you?â she asked Kofi.Â
Amarat shivered. âDonât you get it? The way these guys talked about the boss, it was likeââÂ
Amarat jerked back against the wall, almost tearing free from Sophiaâs grip. The front of his head exploded, spraying her and Kofi with gore.Â
Only then, an instant later, did the deafening crack of a gunshot register in her ears.Â
Oh my goodness, oh my goodness. It's been a while since a book completely swallowed me up, and a LONG time since I've been so giddily, happily in love with a setting, plot and set of characters. Death by Miracle's biggest flaw is that the synopsis and marketing for the book aren't selling it, but that's what reviewers are here for. So here's all the reasons I absolutely adored this book.
First off, the worldbuilding in Death by Miracle is absolutely magnificent. There's an art to avoiding infodumps while still making a populated world that feels just as big as our own, and Brown nails it. Whether it's casual mentions of the multiple afterlives (afterlifes?), the range of personal names used by minor characters, the references to the Roman Mob, or the Lakota pushing back against Aztec dominion, every bit of history, politics and language in this book is imbued with research, meaning and consideration. Brown even makes a point of prefacing his glossary with an explanation of the balancing act between original/local names and more accessible names, the latter usually being imposed by colonial forces. The gods and godborn are so well integrated into the setting, but not just that - the changes they would make to the world are followed through, a daunting task that must have taken a long, long time to write.
A world without characters, though, is just a setting for a tabletop campaign. Sophia Akerele is a Black bisexual police detective given the opportunity to become a Fury and right some of the wrongs in the world. Of course, she accepts. Caelistra is her grouchy, older Fury partner. But my favourite is Ixtele Tinaalto, a professor of thaumaturgy originally from Maya, with a deft sense of humour and a gushing enthusiasm that spills off the page.
I could go on and on, but to get to the point: if you like mythic and/or urban fantasy, worldbuilding that actively works against colonialism, and imaginative takes on modern gods, pick up Death by Miracle. You won't regret it.
(A few trigger warnings, for those who need them: It's fairly violent, includes character deaths, and while it's not explicitly called this, one character is in an emotionally abusive relationship with another that both he and the narrative are clearly very uncomfortable with. This is by no means a complete list, but it hits some of the big ones.)