If you loved how Rhiow’s team quietly keeps Grand Central’s worldgate humming beneath New Yorkers’ feet—and how that work pulls them down into the perilous Downside—then you’ll relish the plunge into London Below in Neverwhere. Richard Mayhew stumbles through secret doors into a city of rat-speakers, assassins, and living markets, much like the way the feline wizards slip behind the world’s wallpaper. The same blend of wonder and menace you felt facing the Lone Power’s incursion is here in Richard’s quest to help Door survive the hunters who prowl the tunnels and bridges of a city most people never see.

Part of what makes The Book of Night with Moon sing is the depth of its cat-world—the Speech, the Oath, and the rituals that guide Rhiow, Urruah, and Saash as they patrol the worldgates. Tailchaser’s Song gives you another fully realized feline civilization: clans, myths, and songs that feel as textured as the Old Speech itself. Following Fritti Tailchaser on a quest across wild territories into the shadow of ancient powers scratches that same itch for meticulous nonhuman worldbuilding you felt in every hallway of Grand Central and every law-bound word of wizardry.

If the rigor of the Speech—the way one true word can steady a failing worldgate or call down the Lone Power’s notice—captured you, Le Guin’s true-naming magic will feel like coming home. In A Wizard of Earthsea, Ged learns that every name has weight, every working a cost, and a mis-spoken spell can unleash a shadow that stalks him across islands, much as a single bad choice can ripple through wizardry in Rhiow’s world. The discipline, the ethical boundaries, and the elegant sense that words make the world are all front and center.

If the camaraderie between Rhiow, Urruah’s sarcasm, and Saash’s prickly brilliance made every perilous descent to the Downside feel bearable, you’ll click with the Night Watch. In Guards! Guards! Captain Vimes, Carrot, and the rest of the Watch fumble and wisecrack their way through a conspiracy that lets a dragon terrorize Ankh-Morpork—very much like patching disasters before ordinary citizens ever realize how close they came to catastrophe. It’s that same ensemble energy: flawed pros, gallows humor, and a city that only survives because a small crew shows up when it counts.

Rhiow’s team races to repair the Grand Central gate before the Lone Power’s forces spill through; Sabriel likewise sets a determined heroine on a time-critical journey across the Old Kingdom to halt the Dead and find her father. Sabriel’s crossings into Death—wading through its cold, current-swept gates—echo those tense passages into the Downside, where a single misstep can end everything. The clockwork urgency, the perilous thresholds, and the sense of custodial duty to keep the living world safe should hit the same sweet spot.