If the way Liba and Laya navigate goblin temptations and old-country magic gripped you, you’ll love how Miryem, a moneylender’s daughter, outwits a chilling winter king in Spinning Silver. Like the sisters’ shtetl on the Ukraine–Moldova border, Novik’s villages feel steeped in legend and prejudice; Miryem faces the same whispers and dangers that shadowed Liba’s family. Where Laya was lured by those fruit-sellers, Miryem enters dangerous bargains of her own—each deal tightening like the goblins’ snares—and must protect those she loves with wit and courage, much as the bear-strong Liba shields her swan-sister.

If Rossner’s lyrical voice—especially Laya’s songlike chapters—and the snow-laden woods around the sisters drew you in, The Bear and the Nightingale offers that same shimmering hush of winter folklore. Vasya, like Laya, can sense what others cannot: the old spirits in oven and stable. As a zealous priest and harsh winters press in (echoing the fear and suspicion that threaten Liba and Laya’s shtetl), Vasya must safeguard her family and the forest’s magic. The prose is as lush and incantatory as those goblin-fruit scenes, with danger and wonder twined together.

If you loved how Sisters of the Winter Wood stays close to two lives—the protective Liba and the impulsive Laya—this gentle, greenwood tale keeps its circle just as tight. Tobias, a quiet guardian of the forest, and Henry Silver, the curious folklorist who stumbles into his world, forge a bond that must face old curses and older legends. The hush of trees, the sense of a place alive with story, and the focus on a few hearts in peril mirror the sisters’ secluded border life and the private stakes of resisting those mesmerizing fruit-sellers.

If Laya’s near-fatal fascination with the fruit-sellers gave you chills, the opening novella of Lips Touch: Three Times (“Goblin Fruit”) hits that same vein—goblins who tempt a girl with sweetness that costs too much. Across the three tales, Taylor’s prose is as sensuous and incantatory as Rossner’s, and the heroines face choices that echo Laya and Liba’s coming-of-age—romance edged with peril, bargains that bite back, and the push-pull between longing and loyalty.

If the Shabbat warmth in Liba’s home and the stark threat closing in on their shtetl moved you, The City Beautiful channels that same soul: Alter Rosen, a Jewish immigrant in 1893 Chicago, is possessed by a dybbuk after his friend’s death and must hunt a killer. The story leans on ritual, memory, and community—much like the sisters’ reliance on prayer and tradition when their parents leave—and faces down antisemitism with the same defiant heart Liba shows when she stands between Laya and danger.