I was three hours into this book, curled up on my couch with Diego purring on my laptop keyboard (he's very helpful like that), when I realized I'd completely forgotten I was supposed to be working on a logo redesign. The client could wait. The Eastwood sisters could not.
Look, here's the thing about The Once and Future Witches: it made me feel things I wasn't prepared to feel on a random Tuesday afternoon. Alix E. Harrow wrote a book about witches and suffragettes in 1893 New Salem, and somehow it felt like she was writing about every woman who's ever been told to sit down, be quiet, stop taking up space. Abuela would have loved this one. She would have clutched her rosary at the witch parts and then nodded fiercely at every moment these sisters refused to break.
Three Sisters, Three Wounds, One Devastating Reunion
James Juniper is wild and angry and young. Agnes Amaranth is pregnant and terrified and trying to survive. Beatrice Belladonna is bookish and closeted and carrying secrets. They haven't spoken in years because of something terrible that happened in their childhood home—something involving their father that the book reveals slowly, like peeling back layers of scar tissue.
And honestly? The way Harrow handles their fractured relationship gutted me. This isn't a cute sister story where they bicker over boys and braid each other's hair. This is about women who hurt each other because they were hurt first, who have to learn that loving someone doesn't mean forgiving everything, and that sometimes the people who should protect you are the ones you need protection from.
I ugly-cried at least three times. Kept a mental tally because I'm unhinged like that. The scene where they finally—no, I can't spoil it. Just trust me. Have tissues ready.
Gabra Zackman Made Me Believe in Magic
Okay, so I'd listened to Gabra Zackman before in a few romance audiobooks, but this? She was fine in Filthy Fantasies, but that performance didn't prepare me for what she could do with material this layered. This was something else entirely. She doesn't just read the three sisters—she becomes them. Juniper sounds young and sharp-edged, like she's always ready for a fight. Agnes carries this weight in her voice, this exhaustion of a woman who's been surviving instead of living. And Beatrice—oh, Beatrice. Zackman gives her this quiet, careful quality, like someone who's spent her whole life making herself smaller.
The book also has these little spell rhymes scattered throughout—nursery rhyme-style incantations that the women use for magic. And get this: the audiobook has music during these parts. Soft, atmospheric music that made the hair on my arms stand up. It's such a small production choice but it transforms the listening experience. I found myself holding my breath during the spell sections.
At 16 hours, this is a commitment. I won't lie—there were moments in the middle where the pacing slowed and I had to resist the urge to speed up. But I kept it at 1.0x because Harrow's prose is too beautiful to rush through. She writes sentences that feel like spells themselves, and Zackman delivers them with this warm, clear voice that made me feel like I was being told a secret.
The Love Story That Wrecked Me
I need to talk about Beatrice and Cleopatra Quinn. (Yes, that's her name. Yes, it's perfect.)
This is a queer love story woven into the larger narrative, and it's handled with such tenderness that I had to pause the audiobook and just... sit there. In 1893. When being a woman who loved women could get you killed. Harrow doesn't shy away from the danger, but she also doesn't make their love tragic for tragedy's sake. It's hopeful and terrifying and real.
The chemistry is chef's kiss. The way Zackman reads their scenes—the hesitation, the longing, the moments where they can't say what they mean but you hear it anyway. My heart. MY HEART.
Who Should Listen (And Who Should Skip)
This book felt like a warm blanket and a battle cry at the same time. If you love historical fantasy with feminist teeth, if you want magic that costs something, if you need a story about women who refuse to disappear—this is your book.
But if you need fast pacing and constant action, this might test your patience. It's a slow burn in every sense. The magic builds gradually. The relationships take time. The plot doesn't rush.
Also, content warning: there's abuse (childhood and domestic), violence, and some dark moments involving self-harm. Harrow doesn't exploit the trauma, but she doesn't look away from it either.
I finished this audiobook at 2 AM, mascara tracks on my face, both cats staring at me like I'd lost my mind. Harrow did something similar to me with Starling House—that same gut-punch emotional precision, though this one cut deeper. And maybe I had lost my mind. But in the best possible way.
There's no such thing as witches. But after this book, I kind of believe there could be.
