Excerpts fantasy Read an Excerpt From Demons and Diplomacy by Megan Frampton A tantalizing pact between an ordinary woman and the silver-tongued son of the Devil is all that stands between Britain—and all hell breaking loose. By Megan Frampton | Published on July 14, 2026 Comment 0 Share New Share We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Demons and Diplomacy by Megan Frampton, a new fantasy novel out from Berkley on August 25. 1851, London. All supernatural species have emerged from hiding, a result of The Great Revelation, led by Her Majesty, the vampiric Queen Victoria, and her dhamphir consort, Prince Albert.Cora Hastings is the British government’s Species Ombudsman, a human tasked with keeping the peace between supernatural creatures. It’s run-of-the-mill work: enforcing the newly created shifting parameters, negotiating contracts between species, and generally making certain all Londoners are treated equally.That is, until the Devil himself decides he wants to leave his hellish home and see the results of Prince Albert’s greatest accomplishment, the Great Exhibition. His arrival could upset the uneasy peace between creatures, and worse—he’s brought his son.The Marquis of Hell is diabolically good-looking, unnaturally perceptive, and, well, a demon. Cora navigates her sinfully seductive diplomatic assignment as best she can, until she catches wind of a secret conspiracy set to come to fruition at the opening of the Great Exhibition. This leaves her with an impossible choice: Either Cora enters an unholy alliance with the Devil’s son, or she watches as her world is torn asunder…. Buy the Book Demons and Diplomacy Megan Frampton Buy Book Demons and Diplomacy Megan Frampton Buy this book from: AmazonBarnes and NobleiBooksIndieBoundTarget “Miss Hastings,” the marquis said, “come with me. It is not safe.” I glared at him, then at this hand still on my arm. “No, it is not. But how do I know it is safer with you?” After all, I had no clue how the creatures had gained access to this world from wherever they had originated. I shook his arm off. His eyes narrowed, and then he huffed out a breath before bending down to wrap his arms around my waist and hoist my body over his shoulders. I whacked him with my cane, right on his ass, but that did little to stop him. He carried me toward the entrance, then to the right, then plopped me down with little consideration for how I landed. “Just what—?” I began, then saw the harpy, the Devil, some of his entourage, the vicar—who seemed visibly inebriated—and a few frightened bazaar customers all gathered together. “How did it get opened?” the Devil thundered, plumes of smoke emerging from his mouth. I gathered that was what happened when he was truly angry. So perhaps this wasn’t his work? I’d assumed it had some connection, but he looked as perturbed as any of the other beings in the corner. Unless he was pretending to be outraged. That seemed above my pay grade, to be honest. “We’ll have to find out,” the marquis said grimly. “In the meantime, you stay here,” he commanded. He met my gaze. “Stay here,” he repeated in a stern tone. “Stay safe.” He whirled away before I could answer and headed back toward where the beings were streaming out from. I shrugged at the other people—and one devil—waiting there and took a deep breath before following him, wishing I had thought to ask our landlady if she had any potions that could disperse crowds of hellish creatures. I had my amulet, of course, but when Mr. Connors had given it to me, he’d stressed it was not to be used unless the situation was dire. I had to imagine the amulet’s effects might cause a diplomatic incident, especially if they affected the Devil. I was surprised the marquis seemed to be assisting those of us whose homes were here, not down below. Even more surprising was that the Devil was gathered with the other beings seeking refuge from the infiltration. If the Devil and his son didn’t know everything happening in their world, or at least couldn’t control it, then who knew what might happen, now that the barrier between the two worlds had been weakened? And who had weakened it? But on the other hand, were they even telling the truth? Definitely something to include in my weekly report to Mr. Connors. If I made it out of here. I watched as the marquis stepped on some of the beetle-like things with his solid black boots, flinching as they oozed a yellowish goo. But at least they didn’t move after. He had a particularly lethal-looking sword—where had that come from anyway?—and was lopping the heads off the demonish creatures as he strode forward to the portal. I had to dodge bouncing heads and flailing bodies, but they weren’t alive. Or at least I didn’t think so. I used my blade to do the same, though it was not nearly as effective as his. I spotted a table with a variety of parasols—not sturdy umbrellas to help with repelling rain but ornately decorated items a lady might twirl above her head when taking a stroll in the park. I picked up two and unfurled them, holding them out in front of me like an incredibly flimsy, albeit beautiful to look at, shield. The handles were slim enough for me to grasp in one hand, so I was able to keep hold of my cane, the blade still out, in the other hand. “Why aren’t you back there with the rest of them?” the mar-quis said, sounding exasperated as he lopped off yet another head. “I can handle this myself.” It did seem as though he spoke the truth. There were many fewer creatures than before, and the unending stream emerging from the portal seemed to have ended. “I rather thought you might need back up,” I said, pitching my voice louder to be heard above the noise. He snorted, apparently deeming my comment unworthy of actual words. But just then one of the beetle-ish creatures attached itself to his leg, making that clicking noise as it attempted to climb up. He shook his leg, still on the attack in front of him, but the thing didn’t release its hold. I whacked it with my cane, not yet using the blade, because I didn’t want to accidentally stab the marquis—not that I thought I would actually hurt him but because I imagined he might be peeved, and I didn’t want to further irritate him—but the thing didn’t budge. The marquis was still moving, advancing and attacking a few more of the head-lolling creatures, and I followed, still batting at it with the cane. I closed one of the parasols, then got close enough so I could wedge the parasol between the creature and the marquis’s leg, hoping I could dislodge it. I had no idea what it was trying to do, but it wasn’t wanted, either here in this church or on the marquis’s leg. Eventually, it released its hold and fell onto the floor. I took a deep breath, then stomped on it, relieved I’d worn sturdy boots so the extruding goo wouldn’t reach my foot. “Hastings!” the marquis yelled, and I looked up to see him at the head of the church, his hair blowing about his face by some sort of hellish wind, his back pressed against the altar. He jerked his head impatiently, and I scurried forward, waving cane and parasol about my person to fend off the intruders. “What is it?” I asked as I reached him. “I’m quite good at languages, if you need me to recite anything. Or execute a partic-ular movement, I am also good at mimicry.” I prepared myself to perform an incantation or rite, hoping that the aftermath wouldn’t stain my gown. It was one of my favorites—I wished I had worn the fussy housekeeper gown after all; that one would hide a stain better than this one. He gave me an odd look, then nodded to the far edge of the altar. “I need you to hold that edge closed so I can push the door shut.” No rite? No incantation? Not even a bit of hand-waving? I frowned, moving to the other side of the altar. There was an opening, and I could feel wind whooshing from it, though thank-fully there weren’t any more beings coming through. I pushed on the edge, as he’d said, and he leaned against the plank that would securely shut the door, once shoved through the metal chamber on my side. “There,” he said, once it had gone through. I blinked. “That was it? That is all that is needed to close the portal from Hell? I assume it was Hell.” One corner of his mouth twitched, as though he was about to smile, and then his expression smoothed out again. Drat. I was hoping to see what a smiling marquis might look like. “It was Hell, yes.” He exhaled. “And it was not our doing.” Excerpted from Demons and Diplomacy by Megan Frampton Copyright © 2026 by Megan Frampton. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. 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