If what charmed you in The Assimilated Cuban's Guide to Quantum Santeria was its winkingly funny, pop-science-meets-mysticism vibe—where quantum ideas and orishas can share the same page—then All the Birds in the Sky will hit that sweet spot. Patricia (a witch) and Laurence (a gadget prodigy) trade quips and worldviews as their friendship—and an impending apocalypse—forces magic and tech into hilarious, tender friction.

If you loved how Hernandez threads Santería and city living—saints and orishas brushing shoulders with subways and bodegas—Daniel José Older does that with ghosts and loa on Brooklyn streets. Carlos Delacruz, caught between life and death, navigates turf wars among the dead with wry banter and swagger that echoes the streetwise spiritual misadventures you enjoyed.

If the bits in Hernandez’s stories where a saint or orisha muscles into a young Cuban American’s plans made you grin, you’ll love Jess in Black Water Sister. She’s harangued by her late grandmother’s ghost and strong-armed by a fierce local goddess into settling scores in Penang—mixing family drama, faith, and sharp humor with the same irreverent, intimate spirituality you enjoyed.

If the reality-bending premise of quantum rites and everyday rituals delighted you, Kelly Link’s surreal gems will feel like home. The TV show inside a story in “Magic for Beginners,” the pocket-universe of “The Faery Handbag”—these pieces deliver that same buzzy, playful uncanny where the rules never fully resolve, but the wonder (and the jokes) absolutely land.

If it was the collection’s mosaic—quick, tasty bites of Cuban/Caribbean-inflected fabulism—that hooked you, Skin Folk is a perfect next plate. From the jumbie-haunted “Greedy Choke Puppy” to the sly seductions of “Something to Hitch You Over,” Hopkinson offers story-sized jolts of myth, diaspora life, and mischievous humor akin to the flavors you savored.