Day 26: The Undetectables Conclusion

 Finally, The Undetectables concludes.

This has certainly been an interesting story—and that’s not praise I give lightly. While the ending does reveal the true identity of “The Whistler,” it turns out he isn’t who the Undetectables believed him to be. Unfortunately, the reasoning behind his actions feels ill-conceived and emotionally shallow.

The character of Jacob Gabert appears throughout the investigation but seems largely insignificant, mostly offering minor assistance here and there. As a result, readers—like the protagonists—are unlikely to give him much consideration. Yet once it's revealed that he is the villain, his presence retroactively gains weight. That said, his motives are where the narrative begins to unravel.

For comparison, take Barty Crouch Jr. from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. In the book, he’s implicated in the torture of Neville Longbottom’s parents, though he pleads innocence—particularly to his mother—suggesting he may have been guilty by association, not by action. His father’s political position made him a convenient scapegoat. The emotional rejection by his father becomes central to his later descent. Disguised as a trusted authority, he spends most of the fourth book secretly aiding Harry—not to help him, but to deliver him to Voldemort in hopes of being welcomed as a loyal son.

Jacob shares similar emotional wounds. He is the illegitimate son of Night Mayor Van Doran and a non-magical human woman. Rejected and emotionally neglected by his father, even when deemed "useful," Jacob begins to believe that summoning the Ternian—a triad of mythical goddesses—will grant him the recognition and belonging he has always craved.

But this motivation doesn't hold up under scrutiny.

First, the Ternian are described as a triumvirate—three divine beings, whether sisters or bonded allies, who symbolize balance and spiritual harmony. The number three has rich mystical significance: the Maiden, Mother, and Crone; the Greek Moirai; the divine trinity found in various esoteric traditions. The Ternian—Elizabella, Hexanna, and Blair—represent creation, healing, and protection. Their lore emphasizes peacekeeping between the magical and non-magical worlds. There is no precedent suggesting they would welcome someone like Jacob, especially not someone whose actions threaten that balance.

In contrast, a Quadernian would represent a fourfold power—creation, healing, protection, and destruction—signifying balance through tension. While the number four also has symbolic power (seasons, elements, directions), the Ternian are rooted in reverence and caution. They are not benevolent deities to be summoned for personal gain, but cosmic forces to be honored and feared.

Furthermore, Jacob’s ultimate confrontation with Mallory and Cornelia exposes the immaturity of his logic. As he prepares to sacrifice them, he laments that they missed the clues he left behind. Because the Undetectables were three women (mirroring the Ternian), he believed their ability—or failure—to catch him would be a divine judgment. If they failed, it meant the Ternian had not rejected him. This rationale is flimsy at best and egocentric to the point of absurdity.

Rather than a misunderstood genius, Jacob comes across as a petulant child—driven not by ideology or deeper belief, but by a desperate need to feel chosen, powerful, and significant. The fact that the Undetectables never cracked his riddles doesn’t signify their failure—it reveals Jacob’s illusions of grandeur. His plan, which could have shattered the balance of the magical world, was not a stroke of brilliance but a reckless tantrum masked in arcane aesthetics.

In the end, The Undetectables remains a compelling story, but its villain's motives lack the narrative maturity to match the world it so carefully built.

Finally, The Undetectables concludes.

This has certainly been an interesting story—and that’s not praise I give lightly. While the ending does reveal the true identity of “The Whistler,” it turns out he isn’t who the Undetectables believed him to be. Unfortunately, the reasoning behind his actions feels ill-conceived and emotionally shallow.

The character of Jacob Gabert appears throughout the investigation but seems largely insignificant, mostly offering minor assistance here and there. As a result, readers—like the protagonists—are unlikely to give him much consideration. Yet once it's revealed that he is the villain, his presence retroactively gains weight. That said, his motives are where the narrative begins to unravel.

For comparison, take Barty Crouch Jr. from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. In the book, he’s implicated in the torture of Neville Longbottom’s parents, though he pleads innocence—particularly to his mother—suggesting he may have been guilty by association, not by action. His father’s political position made him a convenient scapegoat. The emotional rejection by his father becomes central to his later descent. Disguised as a trusted authority, he spends most of the fourth book secretly aiding Harry—not to help him, but to deliver him to Voldemort in hopes of being welcomed as a loyal son.

Jacob shares similar emotional wounds. He is the illegitimate son of Night Mayor Van Doran and a non-magical human woman. Rejected and emotionally neglected by his father, even when deemed "useful," Jacob begins to believe that summoning the Ternian—a triad of mythical goddesses—will grant him the recognition and belonging he has always craved.

But this motivation doesn't hold up under scrutiny.

First, the Ternian are described as a Triumvirate—three divine beings, whether sisters or bonded allies, who symbolize balance and spiritual harmony. The number three has rich mystical significance: the Maiden, Mother, and Crone; the Greek Moirai; the divine trinity found in various esoteric traditions. The Ternian—Elizabella, Hexanna, and Blair—represent creation, healing, and protection. Their lore emphasizes peacekeeping between the magical and non-magical worlds. There is no precedent suggesting they would welcome someone like Jacob, especially not someone whose actions threaten that balance.

In contrast, the Quadernian represent a fourfold power—creation, healing, protection, and destruction—signifying balance through tension. While the number four also has symbolic power (seasons, elements, directions), the Ternian are rooted in reverence and caution. They are not benevolent deities to be summoned for personal gain, but cosmic forces to be honored and feared.

Furthermore, Jacob’s ultimate confrontation with Mallory and Cornelia exposes the immaturity of his logic. As he prepares to sacrifice them, he laments that they missed the clues he left behind. Because the Undetectables were three women (mirroring the Ternian), he believed their ability—or failure—to catch him would be a divine judgment. If they failed, it meant the Ternian had not rejected him. This rationale is flimsy at best, and egocentric to the point of absurdity.

Rather than a misunderstood genius, Jacob comes across as a petulant child—driven not by ideology or deeper belief, but by a desperate need to feel chosen, powerful, and significant. The fact that the Undetectables never cracked his riddles doesn’t signify their failure—it reveals Jacob’s illusions of grandeur. His plan, which could have shattered the balance of the magical world, was not a stroke of brilliance but a reckless tantrum masked in arcane aesthetics.

In the end, The Undetectables remains a compelling story, but its villain's motives lack the narrative maturity to match the world it so carefully built.

Final Thoughts on The Undetectables

The Undetectables has been a fascinating and often ambitious story, one that doesn’t shy away from weaving together mystery, magic, and layered worldbuilding. Across its chapters, it delivered strong character dynamics, compelling female leads, and a setting where occult politics and investigative grit collide in satisfying ways. It kept me engaged, offered rich thematic material (like the post-Vampire War covenant and the role of magical ethics), and introduced lore that was genuinely intriguing.

However, the ending didn’t quite live up to the promise of the build-up.

The reveal of Jacob Gabert as The Whistler felt underwhelming—not because of the twist itself, but because his motivations lacked coherence and emotional depth. While the idea of a neglected son seeking cosmic validation could have worked, the execution was muddled. His attempt to equate his rejection with divine acceptance by the Ternian never felt earned, nor did it align with the mythos the book spent so much time developing. The goddesses were a force of balance, not salvation, and his understanding of them came across as shallow—even self-serving.

His comparisons to figures like Barty Crouch Jr. suggest that the narrative wanted us to see him as a tragic villain—but unlike Crouch, whose descent felt complex and tied to real-world emotional consequences, Jacob came off more as a delusional child than a truly dangerous mastermind.

In the end, The Undetectables was absolutely worth reading. It had a rich atmosphere, powerful themes about identity and justice, and moments of real tension. But its final note rang a little hollow—not because the villain was unexpected, but because he wasn’t compelling enough to carry the weight of everything the story tried to say.

Still, I don’t regret the journey. The lore, the women of the Undetectables, and the broader ideas about magical accountability were all strong enough to make this a story I’ll remember.

Day 25 The Undetectables

 Another day of The Undetectables draws to a close, with the conclusion set to arrive tomorrow. Theo’s arrest is resolved early on, as proof of his innocence is finally uncovered. But just as relief begins to settle in, the narrative takes a dark and devastating turn—Theo becomes the latest victim of “The Whistler.” His sudden death leaves all three girls shaken to their core.

We also learn more about the mythos surrounding the Ternion and its creation. It’s revealed that seven souls were required to bring forth the three goddesses. With Theo gone, four souls have now been taken—meaning one, or all three of the girls, could be next.

Theo’s death hit harder than expected. While he could often be frustrating, he was ultimately a loyal and caring presence—someone who loved The Undetectables like family. He was their emotional buffer, especially for Mallory, who often vented to him in moments of distress. His calming, if exasperated, presence brought much-needed levity, especially as the story grew darker.

And because Theo was already dead—a ghost—no one thought he could be killed again. It was reminiscent of that moment in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets when Harry notes that Nearly Headless Nick couldn't be killed like the living students, because he’s already passed on. That same logic applied here—right up until it didn’t. Even the girls didn’t see it coming.

Theo may have often felt like a lingering houseguest, but he was the comic relief of the group—the heart, in many ways. Whether he was offering his “two sets” of ears to Cornelia and Diana after a murder, or hugging Cornelia and volunteering to accompany her to give a police statement following Becket’s death, he showed up for them, time and time again.

It feels like a loss—to the characters, and to the story. But there are hints that his departure may not be permanent. That offers a flicker of hope.

Shortly after, Cornelia vanishes. It’s assumed she’s gone to visit Becket’s grave. But as Mallory and Diana race to piece together what they’ve learned—particularly about how The Whistler kills—they make a shocking discovery. Evidence now points to the Night Mayor, Van Doran, as the possible culprit.

Unfortunately, by the time they reach him, he’s already dead.

This changes everything. It means the real Whistler is someone they never even considered—someone who’s evaded suspicion until now.

The twist is a smart one. The idea that the girls may be the final three souls to fulfill the Ternion’s summoning has been building steadily, and this final redirection doesn’t feel out of left field—it feels earned. That said, most mysteries at this stage would already have their culprit narrowed down. The Undetectables keeps its cards close to the chest, and with the end fast approaching, I’m genuinely eager to see how it all resolves.

Day 24 The Undectables

Only four chapters today, but each one is pivotal, as they involve the death of one of the prime suspects.

The investigation continues with no clear confirmation of who The Whistler is. As mentioned in the previous entry, the Undetectables have narrowed the list of prime suspects down to three: D.I. O’Sullivan, Night Mayor Van Doran, and Becket Kingston—Cornelia’s vampire boyfriend.

Becket makes an appearance in this section, and Mallory witnesses him biting Cornelia’s neck—an act that directly violates the covenant established after the Great Vampire Wars. Since the war, vampires have been strictly forbidden from taking blood, as part of a broader rule that prevents all occult beings from causing harm to humans or other beings.

This ties into a theme I’ve discussed before: the limitations placed on occult beings in this world. Vampires, in particular, got the short end of the stick. Although they retain immortality, their powers—once derived from blood—are now suppressed. They’re nearly indistinguishable from “apparants” (non-magical humans), apart from their longevity. Interestingly, drinking animal blood doesn’t appear to be a viable loophole here, likely because even that would be considered a form of harm (even if it could be justified as pest control).

This differs from how vampires are handled in Rainbow Rowell’s Simon Snow trilogy, where animal blood is a feasible alternative. In that series, Baz’s ability to age and die naturally after switching to animal blood becomes an emotional point, as it allows him to grow old with Simon. In contrast, the vampires in this world are trapped: immortal, powerless, and forbidden from pursuing their nature. It’s no wonder that this would feel like an existential insult.

Another fascinating detail is the effect that drinking blood has on vampires in this universe—it’s treated almost like a drug high. If blood is a source of magical power, then the euphoric rush they experience could be a byproduct of that forbidden magic surging through them.

When the truth about the incident comes out, both Diana and Mallory express their disdain for Becket, calling him a condescending creep. Surprisingly, Cornelia begins to see their point. But before she can officially break up with him, she receives shocking news: Becket is the latest victim of The Whistler.

While accompanying Cornelia to the police station for questioning, Theo inadvertently implies that he might have had motive or opportunity, and is promptly arrested.

So, one suspect is eliminated—and two remain, both with potential motives. But what’s even more alarming is that this is now the second person close to the Undetectables to be killed. The first victim was a near-stranger. The second had ties to Cornelia and Diana, though Mallory was more distantly connected. This third victim—Becket—was someone Cornelia had been intimately involved with.

With Samhain approaching fast, it’s clear someone is working behind the scenes, trying to ensure that the Undetectables fail. The stakes are no longer just supernatural—they’re personal.

Day 23 Book 6: The Undetectables

 Things are thickening as The Undetectables mourn the most recent murder, each expressing their own forms of distress over the unfolding horrors. No solid leads have emerged, even after speaking with police officials who are also investigating the case.

Some attention has turned to the mysterious symbol connected to the Ternion—the goddesses Elizabella, Hexanna, and Blair—who were once tasked with uniting all of Occulture. This leads the three girls to suspect that someone may be orchestrating the recent deaths in an effort to summon the Ternion. The only question is: Who would go to such lengths—and why?

Naturally, the girls each have their own theories. Among the prime suspects are Night Mayor Van Doran, whom Cornelia despises due to his corrupt political dealings, and Becket, Cornelia’s vampire boyfriend, whom Diana dislikes—not just for being a man, but also for his sketchy demeanor and possible secrets. Mallory, meanwhile, suspects D.I. O’Sullivan, a female detective inspector whom both Cornelia and Diana are fascinated by. Mallory’s suspicions stem from overheard police comments following the most recent murder.

Personally, I believe Van Doran is a plausible candidate. He stands to gain the most from summoning the Ternion, especially if he seeks power beyond what Hellmouth politics can offer. His odd behavior and need to secure re-election certainly cast shadows of doubt. Yet… he feels too obvious. Almost like a decoy.

Becket also raises red flags. The Ternion rose at the end of a Great Vampire War, after which vampires—and many other beings in Occulture—were forbidden from harming humans. Given lingering tensions and the fact that vampires lack innate magical abilities, some might see the current occult order as a bitter insult. Becket, as Mallory notes, has a flimsy alibi for the recent death. And while he does possess a calculating mind and a tendency to belittle those around Cornelia, he feels more like a mid-boss villain—the one who gets arrested just before the true mastermind is revealed.

That leaves D.I. O’Sullivan. She's by-the-book, abrasive, and visibly frustrated by the Undetectables’ interference. Occulture and humankind exist in a fragile peace, but prejudices still fester beneath the surface. Cornelia herself recalls feeling ostracized in college when her dormmates discovered she was a witch. It’s not far-fetched to imagine that a non-magical human—or someone aligned with that ideology—would try to eradicate Occulture entirely by harnessing forbidden power. And perhaps, they’d want to test potential opposition before making their final move.

Then there’s Mallory.

She lives with Cornelia and Diana, but her chronic illness, emotional fatigue, and fear of abandonment have left her raw. She feels left behind, tiptoed around, and sometimes bitter toward her companions. There’s a key moment where she enters Cornelia’s “bug room” and causes a mass die-off of a species critical to the investigation. The act appears rooted in jealousy and spite, and even Mallory acknowledges it as unforgivable. Yet… subtle hints suggest she may not have been acting entirely of her own volition. Perhaps her inner turmoil was manipulated—used as a weapon by someone lurking in the shadows to slow the investigation.

And all the while, the clock ticks toward Samhain.

As I mentioned in an earlier posting, this book blends the whimsical mystery of Scooby-Doo with the progressive tonal maturity of Harry Potter. In the first Harry Potter book, the villain is practically telegraphed—understandable, since the story is filtered through the naïveté of an eleven-year-old protagonist. But as Harry grows, so too does the complexity of the narrative: heroes become morally gray, and villains gain dimension.

Meanwhile, Scooby-Doo always introduces the same three archetypes: the sheriff, the red herring, and the actual villain. The gang often suspects the red herring because they’re the one acting strange, trying to push them out of town. Similarly, Van Doran, Becket, and D.I. O’Sullivan each fit a familiar mold: the corrupt politician, the shady boyfriend, and the overzealous inspector. All are compelling suspects. All are suspicious. But in classic mystery fashion, only one can be the true mastermind—or none at all as there are other potential villains hiding in plain sight that the girls haven't yet considered to be "The Whistler".

And that’s what makes this story so delightfully unpredictable.

Day 22 The Undetectables

 The chapters I read today focused on the newly reunited quartet: Mallory, Cornelia, Diana, and Theo-the ghost who has to perpetually exist as a furry. Each of them brings a distinct energy and skillset to the group, and it’s becoming more apparent with every chapter how necessary their individual strengths are to navigating the layers of this increasingly strange case. After gathering what little they could from the first crime scene, they spend a tense evening analyzing the evidence in detail. Unfortunately, despite their efforts, no definitive conclusions can be drawn. The murder remains a cipher.

What is uncovered, however, is the origin of the strange symbol carved into the victim’s chest—a chilling sigil representing a triad of goddesses said to be the chosen daughters of the Morrigan and Hekate. According to myth, they were formed after a violent vampiric war, chosen as peacekeepers and harbingers of judgment. It’s an ominous connection. The presence of such a symbol implies ancient magic, long-buried allegiances, and perhaps a ritualistic or even divine motive. And yet, despite that mythological context, no one can determine what kind of magic was actually used—or what sort of being was responsible The magical signature is either masterfully hidden or entirely absent. For now, the trail has gone cold.

One of the things I really admire about this story is how it handles the presence of magic. Unlike many fantasy novels where magical solutions abound and resolve conflicts too conveniently, this world treats magic more like a complicated science—or even a flawed philosophy. It exists. It matters. But it’s not a fix-all. The investigative methods the characters use—observation, logic, gut instinct—mirror those of traditional detective stories. Magic isn’t treated as a shortcut; it’s a secondary element, and often unreliable. That creates an incredible sense of balance between the fantastical and the real.

In fantasy, that balance is hard to strike. If magic is too plentiful, it loses meaning. If it’s too rare, the setting risks feeling generic or underutilized. Here, the story avoids both pitfalls. Magic is accessible but not effortless. It functions more like an academic discipline—one that requires intense study, dedication, and natural aptitude. Some characters struggle with certain forms of it, much like people might struggle with mathematics or writing. Others find it intuitive but still imperfect. This approach makes the world feel more believable, and it makes success feel earned rather than conjured.

With the investigation at a standstill, the girls are encouraged to take a break—though Mallory, ever the skeptic and reluctant leader, resists. They end up attending a local concert, hoping for a brief escape. But that temporary detour creates new emotional complications. Mallory discovers that Cornelia has been romantically involved with a vampire, and her discomfort is palpable. The revelation doesn’t just surprise her—it subtly fractures the dynamic within the group. Trust becomes slippery. Secrets begin to accumulate. It’s a reminder that this isn’t just a murder mystery; it’s also a story about friendship, change, and the quiet tension of growing apart even while working together.

Then the story takes a sharp turn. A second murder occurs—another victim bearing the same occult markings. But this time, it’s personal. The victim is someone the girls knew. The sense of grief and guilt is immediate, but so is the rising urgency. The killer, now clearly aware of their involvement, leaves a message behind: solve this case by the given deadline, or more blood will be spilled. The investigation is no longer optional. It’s a countdown.

What’s especially interesting is how the killer’s pattern, at least for now, defies logic. The first victim was a non-magical human. The second, a fairy. There’s no clear connection—no species bias, no shared occupation, no ritualistic requirement that ties them together. At a glance, it feels random. But according to the book’s synopsis, this serial killer will eventually be known as “The Whistler" because of whistling sound the victims hear before death.

If I have any reservations at this point, it’s the pacing of emotional escalation. Introducing a victim with personal ties to the protagonists this early—just twelve chapters in—feels a bit rushed. In most murder mysteries, the “personal death” is reserved for the midpoint or near the climax, used to solidify the main character’s emotional investment. It serves as the turning point, raising the stakes and ensuring they can’t turn back. When it happens too early, it can feel unearned—or like the story is burning through its biggest moments too quickly.

That said, I can see why the author made this choice. At this stage, two of the girls had started to drift from the case. With no leads and no momentum, interest was waning. The second murder acts as a narrative jolt—a brutal incentive that forces them back into motion. If the first murder was meant to test the waters, to see if The Undetectables would reunite at all, this second one is the reason they’ll stay. It’s a reminder that the stakes are real, and that this killer isn’t working in the shadows anymore—he’s watching them.

There’s no doubt more deaths will follow. Whether they will follow a thematic pattern, a personal vendetta, or a ritualistic purpose remains to be seen. But what’s certain is this: the game has begun, and the rules are about to change. The Undetectables are on the trail now, not just out of duty or nostalgia—but because they have to be. And that pressure, that escalating fear, is what makes a mystery like this so gripping. Because the next victim could be anyone. And the clock is ticking.

Day 21 The Undetectables

 I was only able to cover three chapters today, but they’re already getting the story moving.

Mallory has just reunited with her two companions, each of whom has their own reasons for returning to Wrackton. After learning about a request for the services of The Undetectables, the three young women find themselves in the office of Wrackton’s Night Mayor. He informs them of a recent death—occult in nature, involving a non-magical employee from his office. He can’t confirm how long ago the death occurred or the exact circumstances, but insists it must be solved and kept under wraps as soon as possible, especially with his reelection looming.

Posing as medical students, the trio visits the crime scene to learn more about the deceased. There, they find a strange symbol carved into the man’s body—one that Mallory vaguely recognizes but can’t quite place. The mystery deepens quickly, and with limited leads, the girls must rely on their wits, intuition, and long-dormant detective instincts.

Though brief, the opening chapters begin to reveal each woman’s unique deductive skills. The Undetectables was a business the girls started when they were just 14, back when they were full of youthful confidence and curiosity. It never took off, but now, in their twenties and still struggling to make ends meet, they’re deciding to risk everything to give their childhood dream one last shot. There’s something deeply tender—and brave—about that choice.

This story hits close to home. In my own life, I’ve been seeking employment, but often find my applications lost in limbo. When I do manage to get an interview, I’m frequently passed over in favor of someone else. It’s left a noticeable gap in my work history that I’m constantly trying to explain or make up for. I’ve been attending college, studying digital art and design to build tangible skills—but without work experience, it’s hard to gain traction. The creative field is so competitive, and even when you put your best effort forward, it’s easy to feel invisible.

That’s why I think this story matters to me—because it's about trying again, even when it feels hopeless. It’s about reclaiming old ambitions and making them fit into your present reality. There’s power in saying, “I’m not done yet.” And that’s what Mallory and her friends are doing. Maybe, in some small way, that’s what I’m doing too.

Day 20 The Undetectables by Courtney Smyth

 In honor of Pride Month, I’ve decided to pick up a couple of LGBT+ fiction novels. While I’ve read books that fall under this genre before—and have long enjoyed fanfictions that pair same-gender characters—I’ve recently been more intentional about exploring queer-centered narratives. Fans of my posts on Substack have probably noticed my appreciation for shows like Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss, where many of the main characters are members of the LGBT+ community. I’ve always had a deep respect for writers and media that are inclusive and welcoming toward that audience.

One of the books I’ve picked up this month is The Undetectables by Courtney Smyth. Smyth is an emerging author whose magical mystery series of the same name blends murder, magic, and queer romance. She’s been writing stories about spells and sleuthing since the age of ten, and her debut novel in this series came out in 2023. The third installment is already slated for release this coming September.

I’ll say upfront—this book won’t be everyone’s cup of tea. The best way I can describe it is: imagine if Harry Potter merged with the investigative hijinks of Scooby-Doo, then threw in a generous helping of sapphic romance. The setting is a magical version of England, filled with very British humor, which swings between bone-dry sarcasm and off-the-wall absurdity. At times, the story dips into such bizarre territory that it might throw off readers who prefer a more grounded or serious tone.

The main cast revolves around three witches:

• Mallory Hawthorn, a forensic science expert grappling with fibromyalgia

• Cornelia Broadwick, Mallory’s impulsive love interest who is just as likely to kiss someone as she is to punch a cop

• Diana Chung Merryweather, a stylish and level-headed makeup artist turned magical PI

Adding a touch of the surreal is Theodore Wyatt, a ghost (and non-magical person) who died at a Samhain Ball while wearing a cat costume—yes, he’s still stuck with the ears. He’s equal parts dramatic roommate and lingering reminder of the trio’s first unsolved case.

The story opens with the girls as teenagers launching their amateur detective careers. After a flash-forward of six years, we find them estranged and living separate lives: Cornelia has pursued entomology at university, Diana is working as a makeup artist, and Mallory remains in their eerie hometown of Wrackton, worn down by chronic illness and loneliness.

As someone with disabilities myself, I found it meaningful that Mallory’s fibromyalgia is portrayed with nuance and empathy. While I don’t have fibromyalgia, I live with diabetes and a seizure disorder—both of which come with their own daily challenges. Mallory’s pain, fatigue, and depression are deeply relatable, and I appreciated that her condition wasn’t sidelined or romanticized, but woven into her character’s reality.

Theo, meanwhile, provides a curious mix of comic relief and emotional anchor. Though he died during the girls’ first (failed) case, he’s remained with Mallory like a haunting mascot—part ghost, part companion, part reminder of unfinished business. His melodramatic personality and ever-present cat ears strike a balance between quirky and tragic, adding depth to the supernatural tone of the book.

The plot thickens when a mysterious death draws the trio back together: a man has apparently died after biting off his own tongue in response to a mysterious whistling sound. It's gruesome, strange, and just the kind of case that only magical PIs like the Undetectables could attempt to solve.