Zombie Apocalypse and Romance Fan? Then we must have “Land of the Beautiful Dead” on the shelves

There had been other names for them in the beginning, back when people thought they knew what the Eaters were, back when people thought they could be stopped with something as simple as a bullet to the brain. No. This was Azrael’s world and nothing died save by his word of release. You could break them, burn them, or just wait them out until they had rotted away to bones and could no longer come after you, but even then, whatever remained of them still retained some kind of horrible life. Lan could remember her mother pulling the teeth from a charred skull after a neighbor’s death and showing them to her, how the teeth had trembled in her mother’s hand, trying to come together and bite. There was no hope then, only the diminishing living, the growing ranks of the dead, and less and less unpoisoned land to share between them.

That moment when your favorite author writes a book that mentions stuff from your country

He closed his eyes and opened them again. It was not quite a blink. His smile never shifted, but his eyes glowed brighter. “I tired of that game,” he told her. “Perhaps too soon. Thy manner is much changed from those I once knew…the world has moved on, and thou art new-come to it, I think. How many years hast thou?”
“Why?”
“I do not lie with children, no matter how prettily they do beseech me at my bedside.”
“After centuries of retirement, you’d be robbing the cradle even if I said ‘a hundred,’” Mara countered. “So what difference does it make?”
He uttered a low, noncommittal sound and eyed her again, unabashed in his scrutiny. “And how art thou called, thee of so many years?”
“You’re the Master here. You can call me what you like.”

When you have Egypt and Aliens all into one, what more can you ask for?

New Cairo’s heart sometimes beat faster at night, its trillion eyes lit and blinked while warning signals beat out a tattooed rhythm to help night flyers navigate tricky perceptions of depth between the towers.  Those more active at night, the ones who could afford the power bills, came out and came alive in the throbbing pulse of the city while the poor ones struggled against the stifling heat in both day and night. Innumerable craft dotted the black skies, making the real stars indistinguishable and faint.