I usually don’t like horror in any shape or form, but T. Kingfisher has found a way to make it enjoyable for me: a biologist main character, loads of humor and something so wild that I won’t ever be afraid of it happening to myself. The atmosphere made me quite anxious, even terrified, while reading, but the feelings didn’t linger, which is how I want it. I don’t want to say too much about the plot, but the story sets of when an archaeoentomologist, Sam, visits her mom only to find both the house and her mom altered in the quiet, perfectly normal Southern suburb. Vultures seem to be acting strangely as well…