Excerpts fantasy Read an Excerpt From The Fox and the Devil by Kiersten White An obsession with an immortal serial killer entangles a vampire hunter’s daughter… By Kiersten White | Published on February 11, 2026 Comment 0 Share New Share We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from The Fox and the Devil, a sapphic gothic fantasy by Kiersten White, out from Del Rey on March 10. Anneke has a complicated relationship with her father, Abraham Van Helsing—doctor, scientist, and madman devoted to the study of vampires—until the night she comes home to find him murdered, with a surreally beautiful woman looming over his body. A woman who leaves no trace behind, other than the dreams and nightmares that now plague Anneke every night.Spurred by her desire for vengeance and armed with the latest forensic and investigatory techniques, Anneke puts together a team of detectives to catch this mysterious serial killer. Because her father isn’t the only inexplicable dead body. There’s a trail of victims across Europe, and Anneke is certain they’re all connected.But during the years spent relentlessly hunting the killer, Anneke keeps crucial evidence to herself: infuriatingly coy letters, addressed only to her, occasionally soaked in blood, and always signed Diavola.The closer Anneke gets to her devil, though, the less sense the world makes. Maybe her father wasn’t a madman after all. Diavola might be something much worse than a serial killer… and much harder to destroy. Yet as Anneke unearths more of Diavola’s tragic past, she suspects there’s still a heart somewhere in that undead body.A heart that beats for Anneke alone. The Paris Exposition Universelle, April 29, 1900 As the crowd screams, all Henri thinks is that he’s going to be in so much trouble when his parents find out. He closes his eyes, trying his best to undo what happened. Unwind his day. End up anywhere but here. The Paris Exposition Universelle— the fair— open at last. Henri had skipped school and walked across the new bridge, with its flying golden horses and naked nymph ladies and delicate glass cattails he wants desperately to steal and secrete away to his own room. He’d gone right by the Grand and Petit Palaces, no interest in waiting just to see some fussy art. The international houses along the river intrigued him, though. They’d only been up for a month and looked so permanent. It makes him sad that they’ll be gone at the end of the year. He had skipped along them, picking which one he would live in so they couldn’t take it away. The Swedish pavilion, with its towers and wooden bridges and bold yellow paint, seemed the best choice. Everyone says there’s nothing this year quite so impressive as the Eiffel Tower from the last fair, but Henri was only a baby then. He’s grown up with that jumble of metal bars and doesn’t think it’s anywhere as fancy as the moving sidewalk encircling the grounds. He’d ridden it around and around, proud of himself for being clever enough to sneak on. It was almost as good as the Ferris wheel. If Henri had enough money, that’s where he’d be now. Not here. He can’t be here, he doesn’t want to be here. He wants the fair to be glorious and fun and exciting. Paris, bursting at the seams with visitors, the world flocking to see his city strutting like a peacock. Maybe he’s still on the sidewalk. Maybe none of this is really happening. Henri squeezes his eyes shut even tighter, feeling the swaying movement, hearing the clatter of the wood slats as they pass over the track. But the screams keep cutting in. He should have stayed on the moving sidewalk. He should have gone to school this morning instead of skipping it. He should never have been so desperate to see the giant painted globe. It’s all the globe’s fault. A spherical building looming near the Eiffel Tower, so bafflingly large, so beautifully painted. His mother had declared none of them would go near it because of the zodiac symbols decorating the exterior. Fortune telling is the devil’s work, she always says. It’s how he lures you in. Maybe she’s right. Because Henri had been lured. He’d walked all around the globe, neck craned up to stare at the paintings. As he walked beneath the floating concrete entrance ramp, there was a rumbling and a cracking and then— Henri tries to move. He opens his eyes. They’re gritty and blurred, but above him he can make out the bars of the Eiffel Tower, painted orange at the base fading to yellow at the top. That’s where he’ll go next. Climb up and spit on the people milling about beneath. Then sneak into the House of Optics to watch the dancers parading in the dark with their glowing costumes. Boast to all his friends that he’d seen them. Lie about what he’d seen, too. He’s always been good at taking a story and making it seem more thrilling or dangerous or interesting. He’s halfway into dreaming about what he’ll do next when a dragging, rattling sound distracts him. It’s coming from his chest. He needs to cough but he can’t. It smells like dirt and dust and blood and he can’t feel his legs anymore. Henri can’t imagine his way out of this. He’s on the ground, the floating concrete ramp is in pieces on top of him, and he can’t feel his body. Buy the Book The Fox and the Devil Kiersten White Buy Book The Fox and the Devil Kiersten White Buy this book from: AmazonBarnes and NobleiBooksIndieBoundTarget There’s a dust-covered hand next to his shoulder, more gray than pink, like a statue had wandered free of a building and dropped a piece of itself here to keep him company. He wants someone to move the hand, because that’s the only way he can be sure that it isn’t actually his own. He keeps staring at it, willing it to twitch, but nothing happens. Does that mean it is his, or it isn’t? “Whose hand is that?” he tries to shout, but he can’t draw enough breath to form the words. All that comes out is a low, creaking groan, like a door in the darkness swinging slowly open. He doesn’t want to know what’s behind the door. As he tips his head back and searches the crowd, trying to find someone to help him, one face stands out. One face in the dozens, looking on not with horror or fear or panic, but a simple, pleased smile. That face leans closer until it’s all Henri can see. A new smell cuts through the dust and the blood. A sweet scent, almost like his mother and her rosewater perfume. Henri wants his mother. He wants to say he’s sorry, he should have listened, he’ll listen from now on. But he knows he won’t be able to. Henri’s certain now what’s behind that creaking door opening in his body. At last, he feels fear. His mother was right. The devil is here. And Henri is trapped by the icy claws of death, that cloying rose scent, and those bottomless eyes staring down at him. Two nostrils flare as a deep breath is drawn. “Yes,” a voice says, caressing Henri’s clammy skin with pleased tones. “Yes, I’m going to like it here.” Excerpted from The Fox and the Devil, copyright © 2026 by Kiersten White. The post Read an Excerpt From <i>The Fox and the Devil</i> by Kiersten White appeared first on Reactor.