Look, I need to talk about the whisper thing.
I went into Secondhand Spirits expecting cozy witchy vibes with a side of San Francisco atmosphere. What I got was Xe Sands delivering Lily Ivory's internal monologue in this breathy, hushed voice that had me checking my volume settings every twenty minutes. It's 2 AM, I'm in the dark (as one does), and I keep thinking my headphones are dying. They weren't. That's just... the choice.
And here's where I'm genuinely conflicted, because Sands clearly has range. Her Texas twang for Lily in dialogue? Charming. The way she differentiates the male characters - actually masculine, not that weird falsetto thing some narrators do? Solid work. Oscar the gargoyle-familiar gets this gravelly, comedic delivery that made Shirley (my cat) look up from her aggressive grooming more than once. But that whisper for Lily's POV narration... it's like listening to someone tell you a murder mystery while trying not to wake their roommate.
When Your Narrator Commits to the Wrong Bit
Here's the thing about horror and mystery narration - and yes, I know this is more cozy mystery than straight horror, but the principle holds. Tension requires contrast. You can't deliver everything at the same hushed intensity and expect the scary bits to land. Secondhand Spirits has genuinely creepy elements: missing children, vengeful spirits, vintage clothing that carries the psychic residue of the dead. (Shirley Jackson walked so Juliet Blackwell could run, honestly.) But Sands' pacing stays so relaxed, so even-keeled, that the mystery elements feel almost incidental.
The "smooth chocolaty voice" that some listeners praise? I get it. For the cozy moments - the vintage shop banter, the girl talk, Lily's longing for connection - it works beautifully. Sands nails the emotional delivery when Lily's isolation surfaces. But when children are disappearing from the Bay Area and our witch protagonist is supposed to be racing against something dark? Same chocolate smoothness. Same whisper. It's like drinking hot cocoa during a home invasion.
The Psychometry Gimmick Deserves Better
Okay, but the actual premise? Genuinely clever. A witch who can sense the history of vintage clothing and jewelry, running a secondhand shop in San Francisco? That's the kind of paranormal hook that makes me want to immediately text my podcast listeners. The fashion-as-psychometry angle gives Blackwell an excuse to thread in all these little historical details through the objects Lily handles, and when it works, it really works.
The problem is that at eight hours, this needed either tighter pacing or more atmospheric narration to carry the weight. Just After Sunset proves you can maintain that atmospheric tension even in shorter format—those stories never let you get too comfortable. You've got your love triangle setup (Max the skeptic mythbuster versus Aidan the powerful witch - and yes, I know which one I'd pick), your found-family vibes with Oscar, your small business owner trying to hide her supernatural identity. All the cozy mystery ingredients are here. They just needed a narrator who could shift gears when the plot demanded it.
Who's Going to Love This (And Who Should Run)
If you're the type who listens to cozy mysteries while doing housework and you want something that won't spike your adrenaline, Sands' delivery might actually be perfect for you. The even pacing means you won't miss crucial details while folding laundry. And if you've loved Sands in other audiobooks, give the sample a real listen first - some narrators just don't click with certain material, and this might be one of those cases.
But if you're coming to this for the supernatural mystery elements? If you want the missing children subplot to actually unsettle you? If you need your witchcraft to have teeth? The narration is going to fight you the whole way. I kept wanting to feel dread, and the performance kept handing me chamomile tea instead.
My Podcast Listeners Are Going to Be Divided
I can already hear the Discord arguments. Half my listeners will tell me I'm being too hard on a perfectly pleasant cozy mystery. The other half will agree that horror-adjacent content requires horror-adjacent commitment from the narrator. We'll probably do a whole episode on "when narration undermines genre" and this will be Exhibit A.
The book itself? Solid three-and-a-half stars. Blackwell knows her San Francisco setting, knows how to build a paranormal world without drowning you in exposition, knows how to write a protagonist whose isolation feels earned rather than manufactured. But the audiobook experience specifically? That whisper knocked it down for me. If you scare easily, this won't test you. If you don't, you might find yourself wishing it would try harder.
Shirley (the cat) fell asleep during the climax. Make of that what you will.
