Fiction

Forthcoming

Miranda in Milan

On sale now worldwide from Tor.com Publishing

 

“Intriguing, adept, inventive and sexy.” ―NPR

“This luxurious tale gives Miranda a path to self-discovery, wrapped in the dark magic and manipulations on display in the original play. Duckett turns this secondary character into a heroine on her own journey for truth.” ―Library Journal, starred review

“Picking up where Shakespeare's The Tempest left off, this brief, potent gem paints a complete portrait of Prospero's daughter―her past, her future, and her love―as it explores the full range of her voice. A glittering fantasy-romance that delves into the dark corners of human nature.” ―Booklist

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Published

  • Appeared in Issue #24 of Uncanny Magazine in September/October 2018

  • Part of Uncanny's Disabled People Destroy Science Fiction double issue

Under cover of night, our village moves across the steppe.

Aliya leads the way. Her whistle is high and in harmony with the wind, so an untrained ear would ignore the sound. But we, the hushed and listening herd, heed the falconer’s call for what it is. Aliya trained golden eagles long before the invaders came, and her flock travels with us still.

We go to Grandmère’s house to ride the unicorns.

We only go once or twice a year, and it’s never enough. Riding the unicorns is the most fun a person could have, and I don’t know why we can’t do it every day. 

Call me lamia, call me lilith, call me nightmare, slattern, slut. I don’t subscribe to labels. I’ve moved around, through many lives, and they’ve always invented new names for me.​

When I care to name myself, “succubus” does just fine. It started out as a joke among our little group, the girls who have been doing this job for eons, and it stuck. When I tell you my name, the first time we meet, it’s always one I’ve cherry-picked for you.

  • Appeared in Issue #103 of Apex Magazine in December 2017

The problem, of course, is that the world ended. 

 

She’s lying in her bed, staring at the sloping scribbles on the ceiling. Downstairs, the party continues as ever. Voices rise from the parlor at all hours of the night, beckoning her with wild words she can’t quite make out. She needs to sleep, because tomorrow, she’s decided, is the day she’ll leave. Well rested, free of obstacles, she’ll walk out the front door: back into the world. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she’ll see things clearly.

 

 

 

 

Tem loved the mortuaries, though no one he knew was dead. Still he would beg to go, to grasp the hand of any adult willing to wind down those plush-carpeted stairways, past the sleek vaults, inviting and bright.

 

 “Sexagesimal

 

 

  • First appeared in Issue #40 of Apex Magazine in September 2012

 

 

 

 

To be trapped in one life–even a good one–suddenly seemed a horrible thing.

© 2019 by Katharine Duckett