If it was the way Last Call turned a real city into a battleground of hidden powers that grabbed you—the tarot-fueled turf wars, the sense that Scott Crane could turn a corner and stumble into a rite as dangerous as that final poker showdown—then Kraken delivers in spades. Miéville’s London seethes with rival cults and magical unions, and a missing giant squid sparks a citywide scramble that feels like the occult factions shadowing Crane’s path. You’ll get the same mix of esoteric lore, street-level danger, and the creeping realization that symbols and rituals aren’t metaphors—they’re weapons.

If you loved Last Call’s mythic scaffolding—the Fisher King overlay, the way tarot archetypes hitch rides in people and places—then American Gods hits that same nerve. Like Scott Crane’s dangerous ascent toward a crowned role, Shadow’s road-trip pulls him into contests and bargains among gods who wear human faces. The book echoes those charged, fate-bending confrontations you remember from the casino tables, with old powers staking everything on rituals and wagers that reshape the map.

If it was the intricate, rule-bound sorcery of Last Call—the tarot spreads, the dangerous rituals, the way a card draw could dictate a life—that thrilled you, Declare is a perfect follow-up. Powers maps espionage onto a precise occult physics, so every rite carries the same knife’s-edge stakes as Scott Crane’s climactic game: costs are exact, missteps are lethal, and history itself tilts when the ritual math adds up. You’ll feel that same goosebump logic of, “Of course this is how the world works—because it works too well.”

If you were drawn to the knife-edge mood of Last Call—the bloody consequences of dabbling in power, the menace coiled behind every ritual—Mike Carey’s debut will feel like home. Exorcist Felix Castor navigates jobs where the bill always comes due, much like how Scott Crane’s occult entanglements tighten with every hand he plays. The cases escalate into confrontations as tense and hazardous as that final table, with a moral grime that mirrors Vegas at its most unforgiving.

If you connected with Scott Crane’s uneasy discovery of the roles and masks he’s been wearing—and how identity gets rewritten by forces older than you—The Rook channels that energy. Myfanwy Thomas wakes amid bodies and letters from her former self, then must inhabit a powerful post she can’t remember, piecing together a past that keeps trying to reclaim her. It’s the same unnerving funhouse of selfhood that Last Call explores: you aren’t just playing a part; the part might be playing you.