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Miranda in Milan

Winner of the Golden Crown Literary Society Award for Science Fiction and Fantasy

On Locus Magazine's 2019 Recommended Reading List and the Nebula Award Suggested Reading List

One of Fantasy Literature's Favorite Books of 2019

Finalist for the Golden Crown Literary Society Awards in two categories: Debut Novel and Science Fiction/Fantasy

“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

Guest Editing



I wish I could spend all my time as a wolf. But my mother always told me that I mustn’t indulge myself too often. She taught me that escaping into my other self is lazy. It’s selfish, she said, and there’s always a price to pay for selfishness. —"Away With the Wolves" by Sarah Gailey



"The Potential Man"


In every laboratory, every experiment, there are two diametrical energies at play: chaos and control. The raw pandemonium of what is, and the diamond-sheen of what could be. And in between? Blood, bones, and broken hearts. Because no equation, no solution, will ever be able to contain the wild entropy of the human soul.

Rebuilding Tomorrow.jpg

"Nothing But Flowers"


What if the apocalypse isn't the end of the world? In this follow-up to Defying Doomsday, disabled and chronically ill protagonists build new worlds from the remains of the old. In "Nothing But Flowers," a community of disabled survivors must defend the thriving community on the Lower East Side of New York City they've built after disaster from the forces of greed and the lawyers who have emerged from beneath the earth to claim their hard-won home.



Zoe had met Henri at the office. Of course she had. It wasn’t like she went anywhere else. She’d thought Paris would be different than Arlington, Virginia, that she’d get out more, eat fabulous meals and meet fabulous people. But it was the same life against a different backdrop. She still spent most of her time hunched before a screen, combing through the sordid details of other people’s lives and tallying points to enter into the endless Ethical Empire database.

Short Stories

  • Winner of CRAFT's 2022 Amelia Gray 2K Contest 

  • Published in April 2023 with Author's Note

“Birds x Bees” is a sharply rendered story of a teenager’s speculative curiosity at sixteen, the most painful of ages, not dissimilar to a hundred bee stings down one’s forearm. I love a story which doubles as a bit of a science experiment, backing up claims with evidence as this does, while moving deftly through a good story. But experiments aside, the protagonist’s earnest attention to the world around her is what kept my attention and stuck in my memory—that, and an ending which would absolutely meet the qualifications for Esther’s carnal taxonomy.  —Amelia Gray


"The Choking Pearls"

  • Appeared in the NecronomiCon Providence 2022 memento book, edited by Jordan Douglas Smith, August 2022

Here below the surface of the earth, all is tar and bone.

            It’s what they’ve left us. Or it is the last of what we’ve kept: our ruined legacy, the reward for our slew of failed civilizations and a reminder of the eras when our bodies were considered more than resources to be harvested. We were people, back then: at least at times. At least to one another, in our enlightened moments. Now, to the drifting scavenge-ships that patrol the skies, sinking down to probe the layers of vitrea and aquea beneath the terra, we are only fodder.


"Gimme Sugar"


“I don’t know what made me go. I think it was the smell. It smelled like — like cinnamon. And
oranges. And honey — like honey warmed in the sun, somehow? Fresh. And Jesse. I realized it Jesse. Not how she smelled in bed, or when she came back from the gym, but how she would have smelled if I’d tried to bake her into a cake. Essence of Jesse.” She laughed, a strangled sound. “Does that sound insane? I don’t know anymore. But that’s what it was.”

  • 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.





  • 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.

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