Death and Coffee follows Prudence Barlow, a Puritan-era young woman whose mother is executed for witchcraft in 1661 Hartford—an injustice that leaves Prudence raw enough to bargain with something decidedly not holy. Centuries later she’s “Death’s representative” in 2024 New York City, hustling through an afterlife gig economy with a demon-horse ride named Goose, a glowing amulet that dispatches her to the newly doomed, and an Employee Handbook that reads like corporate cruelty turned into scripture. The novel ricochets between grim history and snarky modernity as Prudence collects souls, dodges petty reaper politics, and, most fatefully, falls for Daxone, a woman whose goodness hits Prudence like sunlight she didn’t realize she’d been missing.

My favorite thing about this book is its tonal nerve. Author Lisa Acerbo doesn’t sand down death into tasteful mood lighting; she lets it stink, joke, swagger, and occasionally ache. Prudence’s voice is sharp without being hollow, funny, yes, but also threaded with old grief that keeps resurfacing like a bruise you press even when you know it’ll hurt. And the workplace satire lands because it’s not just punchlines about policies; it’s about how systems (religious, civic, corporate, supernatural) metabolize human fear and call it “order.” Even the concept of depositing souls with routine, like taking out the trash after a shift, feels deliberately unsettling in a way that makes the comedy bite.

The romance is where the book quietly sharpens its claws. Prudence has been “alive” a long time, but emotionally she’s been running on fumes and caffeine, until Daxone. Their connection isn’t written as destiny-with-a-spotlight; it’s more like recognition, that rare moment when someone looks at your whole strange self and doesn’t flinch. The book makes a bold move in tying love to consequence. Prudence herself frames it with rueful clarity: “falling in love meant certain death,” and the detour they negotiate in the gray dampness of Purgatory feels less like a gimmick than a price paid for choosing tenderness over procedure. I also appreciated that the story keeps its secondary threads lively—reaper coworkers, territorial squabbles, and the looming sense that Death is watching, without letting them drown the emotional throughline.

This is for readers who want paranormal romance, urban fantasy, and dark comedy with a side of historical fantasy, and who don’t mind their magic served alongside content warnings and the occasional flinch-worthy image. If you like the bureaucratic afterlife mischief of Neil Gaiman (think Good Omens energy) but want it kinkier, bloodier, and more explicitly romantic, Acerbo’s lane will feel familiarly strange. Acerbo turns the afterlife into a workplace, and still makes it feel like a haunting.

Pages: 388 | ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0F3V7GD67