Look, I need to rant for a second. You know what's genuinely terrifying? Not the banished monsters stalking the night in this book—though those are delightfully creepy—but the fact that Part 2 is apparently harder to find than a good horror adaptation that doesn't rely on jump scares. I finished this at 2 AM, Shirley judging me from her perch on my bookshelf, and immediately went hunting for the continuation. The frustration is real.
But let's back up. Because despite that cliffhanger-shaped knife wound, Wishmaker: Part 1 does something I rarely see in fantasy anymore: it treats its supernatural blight with actual dread.
When Gods Come Begging
Eirian Frost killed her mother with a childhood tantrum. That's the hook that grabbed me by the throat and didn't let go. Not some prophecy-chosen-one nonsense where the protagonist is special because the narrative says so. No—she's special because her magic is chaos incarnate, banned for good reason, and the gods themselves are desperate enough to ask her for help. That's horror logic applied to fantasy, and I'm absolutely here for it.
The worldbuilding unfolds like something Shirley Jackson would appreciate—slow, deliberate, with wrongness seeping through the cracks. Famine. Stillbirths. A doomsday cult gaining power because of course there's a doomsday cult. That same creeping sense of civilization unraveling at the edges shows up in Lost World: A Novel, though there it's isolation doing the work instead of divine abandonment. The Prophet character operates on that particular brand of religious menace I recognize from my own childhood (thanks, evangelical upbringing, for making cult leaders hit different). His secret power to manipulate Eirian's magic? That's the kind of violation that makes my skin crawl in the best way.
Hilary H. White wrote this after losing her job during the pandemic, and honestly? You can feel that desperation in the narrative. The world is dying. The people in power are failing. The only hope is someone who's been taught her whole life that she can't change fate. That's not just fantasy—that's 2020 energy crystallized into fiction.
The Dual Narrator Gamble
Here's where I have to be honest about my limitations. The research on White and Wishard's specific performances is frustratingly sparse. What I can tell you: having the author narrate her own work is always a gamble. Sometimes you get the person who lived inside these characters' heads for years. Sometimes you get someone who should've stuck to writing.
At nearly fourteen hours, this is a commitment. The dual narrator setup suggests character perspective shifts—likely Eirian and either Viryda or Rowe getting their own voice. For a debut fantasy with a quest for an artifact called the Prism (which regulates life and death, because of course it does), that's ambitious. The Colorado Gold Rush Literary Award finalist status tells me the story itself has legs.
I listened during a late shift at the library, shelving returns in the dark stacks after closing. (Yes, I do this on purpose. Yes, my coworkers think I'm unhinged.) The atmosphere matched the shadows between the shelves—that creeping sense that something's watching, waiting.
That Cliffhanger, Though
Can't ignore this: Part 1 ends incomplete, and finding Part 2 requires detective work that shouldn't be necessary. That's not a storytelling complaint—that's a publishing frustration. If you're the kind of listener who needs resolution, be warned. This is setup. This is foundation. This is "here's your dread, now wait."
But the setup is good. The friendship dynamics between Eirian, Viryda Thistle, and Rowe Cinder feel earned rather than convenient. The magic system—chaotic, dangerous, banned—operates on consequences rather than convenience. And the Prophet as antagonist? He's not just evil for evil's sake. He wants something specific from Eirian's power, which makes him infinitely more threatening than a generic dark lord.
Who Gets the Invitation to This Particular Nightmare
Skip until Part 2 surfaces if you need complete stories. Same if you hate slow-burn fantasy that prioritizes atmosphere over action, or if religious trauma as horror fuel makes you uncomfortable—fair, but you'll miss something that actually understands that particular brand of dread.
But if you're like me? If you appreciate fantasy that borrows horror's best tricks? If you want a protagonist whose power is genuinely dangerous rather than conveniently controlled? If you've ever looked at the state of the world and thought "this feels like a supernatural blight"? Wishmaker gets it. Horror isn't about gore—it's about dread. And this book is drenched in it.
My podcast listeners are going to love this. Once I can actually point them toward Part 2, anyway.
