Book Extract: Flowers of Evil by N.L. Holmes

Published April 22, 2025 | By Laura

It’s a pleasure to be welcoming N.L Holmes to Novel Kicks as we shine a light her Hani’s Daughter Mysteries Series.

No Pyramids, Just Crimes Worth Solving

While most historical fiction about ancient Egypt fixates on pharaohs and pyramids, N.L. Holmes takes a refreshingly intimate approach: small neighborhoods, family entanglements, and the everyday tensions that lead to murder. Her four-book series follows Neferet and Bener-ib — medical women turned reluctant detectives — as they navigate deadly mysteries within the working-class community of Thebes.

Each installment, from Flowers of Evil to The Melody of Evil, presents a different crime, a new emotional layer, and evolving relationships. Holmes’s deep archaeological knowledge makes every page ring with authenticity — and the fact that these stories center queer women in the Bronze Age? Even better.

The books in the series include Flowers of Evil, Web of Evil, Wheel of Evil and Melody of Evil.

N.L. Holmes has shared an extract from Flowers of Evil, book one from the series. We hope you enjoy.

*****beginning of extract*****

“Can you do anything?” the woman cried tremulously, clutching at Neferet’s arm.

But Neferet could think of nothing encouraging to say. Her insides had that hollow, leaden feeling that meant the worst was about to happen.

“There’s no point in stitching up the outside,” she said gently. “He’s lost a lot of blood, and they’ve chopped him up pretty seriously inside. As the medical books say, ‘This is not a case I will treat.’”

The woman understood and began to whimper. She reached out a hand to touch her husband’s shoulder but then drew back as if she’d just discovered it was someone else. A gloomy silence fell over the group, broken only by the increasingly weak huff of the patient’s breath. His lips moved feebly, and Bener-ib leaned over his face.

“I think you’d better stand with him, mistress,” Neferet said. “His soul is ready to fly. He might have something to say to you.”

The woman drew closer fearfully. “Sen-em-iah, my brother, I’m here.”

At first, Neferet wondered if she’d misunderstood and the woman was really his sister—although from her age she might have been his daughter—but brother and sister were terms of endearment often used by married people. Everyone stood, hushed, waiting for a final word from the threshold of the other world. Sen-em-iah said nothing. His head lolled finally, and a tiny sibilance of breath escaped him.

They all stared at him expectantly until Neferet said in a quiet tone, “I think he’s passed to the West, mistress.”

She took the patient’s hand and pressed her fingers against the inside of the wrist. No pulse.

The woman stared at Neferet as if she couldn’t believe her. She made no move to wail or tear her hair.

“Who is he? Why might someone have done this?”

Since the wife was frozen, one of the servants answered. “Sen-em-iah son of Nakht is—was—Bearer of Divine Offerings of Amen, mistress. Chief florist of the Hidden One’s temple, like his father before him.

Yahyah. That explains why he was just coming home at this hour of the morning. Florists work all night, while it’s cooler.

“Who would want to kill a florist?” she asked. “They don’t hurt anybody.”

“Maybe it was just a random attack,” suggested another of the servants. “Maybe they were going to rob the master.”

“Were you all with him when he was attacked?”

“Not me,” said an older man. “I’m the steward. I came out with the mistress of the house when the others yelled. These young fellows are the litter bearers and bodyguards. Yes, they were with him.”

No casual robber would have attacked anybody protected by eight stalwart young men. And Neferet knew what the servants didn’t—the attacker had not just stabbed Sen-em-iah but had ripped viciously. He had aimed to kill.

The steward said, “We brought him all the way here because we didn’t know where else a sunu could be found at this hour of the morning. One of these fellows lives in this neighborhood.”

Bener-ib, who had been listening intently, leaned over Sen-em-iah and drew down his eyelids.

That gesture brought his wife out of her shock, and she began to cry, quietly at first, but soon she was howling, keening, raking at her face with her nails.

“Perhaps mistress would like to go home, notify the children?” suggested the steward, taking her by the elbow. “If we could leave the master here briefly until we can call the servants of Inpu…?” He raised inquiring eyes to the two sunets, one after the other. Already, he was edging the distraught widow toward the door. The block of servants crowded after them.

“Of course,” said Neferet. “Is it all right if we come by later to ask a few questions? We’ll have to report this murder, now that we’re involved, and we’ll need to explain what we see’s been done to the body.”

The steward nodded distractedly over his shoulder, and the entire crowd disappeared through the door. The woman’s wails trailed off as they exited the gate, and soon Neferet, Bener-ib, and Mut-tuy were left staring at one another in silence. The young girl’s eyes were round as plates and scalpel sharp.

Mangler had entered and was lapping blood from the smooth plaster floor, his tail wagging in pleasure at the windfall.

Neferet gave her partner a long significant stare. “Do you realize what this is? Our first murder case.”

“Our first? Will there be more?” Bener-ib said faintly.

“Look at that wound. Somebody wanted to be sure this florist died. Somebody who knew what they were doing. A soldier, maybe. A professional assassin.” Neferet turned to the body of Sen-em-iah, whose eyes had popped open a slit. He seemed to be watching them. “If only he could tell us who did this. I feel sure he knew. But he didn’t have any final words.”

“Oh yes, he did,” said Bener-ib, brightening. “I distinctly heard him say something just before you called his wife over.”

Neferet’s heart stepped up its pace. She seized Bener-ib’s hand. “He did? Quick, Ibet! What did he say? This could be the clue to his murder!”

Bener-ib looked around as if searching for witnesses to support her, then she pronounced firmly in her girlish voice, “He said… he said, ‘Sekhat. Rabbit.’”

*****end of extract*****

About N.L. Holmes –

N.L. Holmes is the pen name of a professional archaeologist who received her doctorate from Bryn Mawr College. She has excavated in Greece and in Israel, and taught ancient history and humanities at the university level for many years. She has always had a passion for books, and in childhood, she and her cousin (also a writer today) used to write stories for fun.

The inspiration for her Bronze Age novels came with an assignment she gave to her students one day: here are the only documents we have telling us about a certain royal divorce in Ugarit in the 13th century. How much can we say about what happened? It quickly became apparent that almost anything we might come up with was as much fiction as historiography!

Today, since their son is grown, she lives with her husband, two cats, chicken, and geese in northern France, where she gardens, weaves, plays the violin, dances, and occasionally drives a jog-cart. And reads, of course.

Connect with N.L. Holmes via her website.

The Melody of Evil, the latest book in the Hani’s Daughter Mysteries series was released in 2025. Click to buy on Amazon.