Annie Sky

I’ll admit, I side-eyed the ‘magical mirror’ premise at first—it’s been done. But *Annie Sky* won me over by making the portal *unsettling*. The mirror doesn’t just transport Annie; it *judges* her, its tarnished surface reacting to her fears like a living thing. Szedlak’s worldbuilding is sparse but effective: the ‘unfamiliar world’ isn’t over-described, which lets the audiobook’s atmosphere shine. That said, the first hour drags a bit as Annie (and the listener) fumble for footing. The payoff comes when Phoenix enters—his voice, rendered by Pennington-Baird with a smoky cadence, is the audiobook’s secret weapon. He’s not brooding for brooding’s sake; there’s a rhythmic confidence to his lines that makes you lean in, even when the dialogue veers into slightly purple prose (‘Your eyes are the color of storms I’ve drowned in’—okay, Phoenix, dial it back). The narration’s strength is its *physicality*. Pennington-Baird doesn’t just read the supernatural elements; she *embodies* them. When Annie touches the mirror, her breath hitches. When Phoenix’s wings rustle (yes, he has wings), you *hear* the feathered weight in the narrator’s throat. My main critique? The climax feels rushed after so much slow-burn tension. The final confrontation with the villain—who’s deliciously creepy in earlier scenes—wraps up almost clinically, like Szedlak hit her word count. Still, the epilogue’s quiet ambiguity sticks with you. And for fans of clean romance with bite, the will-they-won’t-they between Annie and Phoenix is *chef’s kiss*—all longing glances and charged silences, no insta-love here. If you like your fantasy romance with a side of existential dread and a narrator who treats every word like a spell, this is your jam.