When Sage goes to check on Lucy, her fellow werewolf friend, she finds dangerous, enigmatic warlock Oren in Lucy’s Manchester, England, apartment. He’s investigating her brutal murder to determine if it’s an Upside, or human, crime, or a Downside, or supernatural, one that would fall in his jurisdiction. Though Oren feels something about the crime scene is off, it’s Sage who discovers the supernatural link. Roderick, Oren’s captain in the Arcānum (paranormal police), knows Sage—she’s applied many times, but the Arcānum only hires warlocks. Still, he gives her Lucy’s case as a trial, forcing solitary Oren to take her on as a temporary partner. The slow-burn first third of the book introduces the secret supernatural society while the investigation unfolds and the characters’ interactions reveal Sage’s survivor’s guilt–induced motivations and peel back Oren’s prickly layers. The immersive worldbuilding mitigates the slow initial pace and Oren’s not-so-pleasant personality until the heroes begin to thaw toward each other in a rewarding development. Once the murder mystery plot picks up steam and complexity, the narrative tension builds until the climax, which is a mixed bag—the solution to the mystery is nifty but comes via a villain’s monologue and relies on a foundation of side characters’ work rather than the protagonists’ efforts. Most characters present white.

Reem lives in a bustling, tightknit urban neighborhood; the young narrator adores the community’s Eid traditions, including Mama’s delicious, buttery cookies. But Reem and Mama are moving away just before Eid, and the child is crushed. “Al harakah barakah, Reem. Movement is a blessing,” says Mama. Even with a bigger kitchen to bake in, Reem isn’t so sure. Sensing Reem’s melancholy, Mama suggests they make a batch of cookies together in their new home. Reem finds almost all the ingredients—but wait, where are the walnuts? The cookies won’t be the same! Mama comforts the emotionally overwhelmed Reem with her own story of moving as a child and with advice that taking old traditions somewhere new can make them even better. Reem embraces change, adapting Mama’s recipe with delectable results, and finds someone with whom to start a new tradition: spotting the crescent moon that signifies the start of Eid. Drawing from her own experiences, Dutka gently delivers a compassionate tale of resilience and introspective growth, emphasizing the adage that “home is where you make it.” Firdauzia’s digitally created illustrations, dominated by purples, blues, and greens, focus on facial expressions and body language to convey Reem’s roller coaster of emotions. Reem and Mama have light brown skin. An author’s note offers a sweet message of hope, followed by a recipe for ma’amoul, the story’s unnamed Eid cookie.

A brainy, hands-on child who saw patterns all around her, Marjorie Rice (nee Jeuck, 1923-2017) grew up fascinated by both geometry and art. As an adult, she read one of her son’s science magazines and learned that while all three- and four-sided geometric figures could be tessellated (or tiled together) endlessly without gaps, the same could be said of only a scant handful of pentagons. Notwithstanding her lack of formal training, Marjorie attempted to find other pentagons and succeeded, by inventing a systematic method that the author describes in detail. Alznauer wisely suggests that, worthy as her discovery was, even more laudable was the fact that she was motivated not by profit or prestige but, like all true “amateurs,” by love for the challenge and the beauty of the results. Bron reflects the latter in illustrations that incorporate most (or perhaps all) of the 15 possible tessellating pentagons into floors and backgrounds, into floral displays painted by Rice herself, and into views of her animated, slightly disheveled figure busily engaged in the daily business of running a household while thinking, envisioning, and sketching out ideas. Alznauer’s cogent, absorbing text captures Marjorie’s excitement and offers easily understood explanations of the math involved.

An author’s note at the book’s beginning observes that, for kids, the line between funny and not funny is meant to be constantly tested. Enter David. Written entirely in admonishments by authority figures such as parents and teachers, the book stresses that David makes mischief not for the sake of being a nuisance, but more because it amuses him deeply (even if he’s the only one who’s amused). He might blow bubbles in his drink one moment or perform a cannonball in a crowded pool the next. The narrators—generally unseen, though readers catch glimpses of adults’ hands and legs—protest, “That’s not funny!” or “You always go too far!” Still, David can’t seem to stop himself, which sometimes leads to painful consequences, like getting his head stuck between the bars on a porch or inadvertently wedging a peanut up his nose. A final admittance by a caregiver that sometimes David is funny (“What am I going to do with you?”) caps everything off warmly. While there’s little to distinguish this from previous David books, Shannon still knows how to appeal to readers. In the energetic, highly expressive art, David is tan-skinned; the supporting cast is diverse.

In the village of Cosham, farming couple Jon and Margaret Turling are consumed by grief for their 12-year-old son, Willem, who died of a fever. Desperate, they seek the help of a sorcerer, Cain Caradoc, who agrees to raise their son from the dead in exchange for a sliver of his soul. Unfortunately, Willem has been dead for a year, and what rises from the grave is not exactly pretty…and is not welcome in Cosham. The intelligent, uncannily strong, but malformed being with Willem’s face and memories takes on the name Once-Was-Willem and begins a new life in the deep forest, making friends with the other strange creatures he encounters. Meanwhile, Cain Caradoc settles in the fortress of a local bandit lord, built atop an immense power source: the sleeping skeleton of Yaldabaoth the angel. Seeking to harness this vast power for himself and gain the immortality he’s always dreamed of having, Caradoc prepares to make a significant sacrifice of children’s souls, which he intends to glean from Cosham. The desperate villagers appeal to Once-Was-Willem and his new friends for aid, attempting (mostly without success) to swallow their fear and distrust of these monstrous beings—feelings which are mutual. Author Carey demonstrates again that he contains multitudes, jumping from subgenre to subgenre. Also as always, he uses a fantastical setting to consider societal and moral quandaries; in this instance, he explores complex issues of compassion and forgiveness in the wake of (literally) murderous prejudice and intolerance. Despite the story’s high body count, its take on those issues is weirdly optimistic and heartwarming.