In a shabby house, on a shabby street, in the new capital of Madrid, Luzia Cotado uses scraps of magic to get through her days of endless toil as a scullion. But when her scheming mistress discovers the lump of a servant cowering in the kitchen is actually hiding a talent for little miracles, she demands Luzia use those gifts to improve the family’s social position.

What begins as simple amusement for the nobility takes a perilous turn when Luzia garners the notice of Antonio Pérez, the disgraced secretary to Spain’s king. Still reeling from the defeat of his armada, the king is desperate for any advantage in the war against England’s heretic queen—and Pérez will stop at nothing to regain the king’s favor.

Determined to seize this one chance to better her fortunes, Luzia plunges into a world of seers and alchemists, holy men and hucksters, where the lines between magic, science, and fraud are never certain. But as her notoriety grows, so does the danger that her Jewish blood will doom her to the Inquisition’s wrath. She will have to use every bit of her wit and will to survive—even if that means enlisting the help of Guillén Santángel, an embittered immortal familiar whose own secrets could prove deadly for them both.

She’s done it again, folks.

“She” needs no introduction—but hey, here’s one anyway. Leigh Bardugo: fantasy superstar, gothic creatrix, master of thieves, infiltrator of secret societies… I’ve been a mega-fan for ages. You probably have too. And if you’re new to her work—well, I can’t imagine a more luscious and enchanting place to start.

Luzia Cotado—a lowly scullion in 16th-century Madrid—longs for a better life. Capable of conjuring small, almost insignificant miracles, she uses these scraps of magic and wit to seize her fate—and defy the systems seeking to hold her down. Luzia, you see, is Jewish—but has been forced to hide her true self, at risk of death. Yet, it’s from this same secret heritage that her magic sprouts. And once it blooms—not even the ever-creeping shadow of the Spanish Inquisition can stop it. Add in a handsome-but-cursed familiar, a supernatural tournament, and some of the most delicious prose I’ve ever read, and The Familiar is an opulent, ferocious novel. I adored it.

At its heart, this is a tale about the evils of colonialism. It’s about the many versions of ourselves that kings and conquerors have tried to stamp out. And beyond it all, it’s about the sacred, untamable power within the songs, stories, and memories our ancestors fiercely refused to relinquish.

According to Bardugo herself, she usually writes by daylight. But this book? This, she wrote only in the night. So go on. Let darkness fall. Discover—no, remember—where the real magic lies.