Now in paperback, the eighth book of the bestselling Rivers of London series returns to the adventures of Peter Grant, detective and apprentice wizard, as he solves magical crimes in the city of London. Peter Grant is facing fatherhood, and an uncertain future, with equal amounts of panic and enthusiasm. Rather than sit around, he takes a job with émigré Silicon Valley tech genius Terrence Skinner's brand new London start up—the Serious Cybernetics Company. Drawn into the orbit of Old Street's famous 'silicon roundabout', Peter must learn how to blend in with people who are both civilians and geekier than he is. Compared to his last job, Peter thinks it should be a doddle. But magic is not finished with Mama Grant's favourite son. Because Terrence Skinner has a secret hidden in the bowels of the SCC. A technology that stretches back to Ada Lovelace and Charles Babbage, and forward to the future of artificial intelligence. A secret that is just as magical as it technological—and just as dangerous. Praise for the Rivers of London series: "A low-income housing tower gone awry, an old enemy with a bone to pick...and a shocker of an ending— Broken Homes  is a delight. " —Charlaine Harris, #1  New York Times- bestselling author "The  prose is witty, the plot clever , and the characters incredibly likeable." — Time Out "This series is  a constant joy to read ....I’ve been looking forward all year to find out what happened next, and the book did not disappoint.” —Genevieve Cogman, author of  The Invisible Library "It's  witty, fun, and full of vivid characters , and the plot twists will keep even seasoned mystery fans guessing." — Publishers Weekly “The perfect blend of  CSI and Harry Potter .” —io9 "This book is, at its heart, a police procedural with an overlay of urban fantasy elements. The voice is persuasive and funny as all get-out, and the reader is engaged with the narrative from the very first page. Aaronovitch has written a diverse cast of characters who all feel like real people with their own specific motivations.  This book is simply wonderful. " — RT Reviews  (top pick) "The  most satisfying fantasy thriller  to hit bookshelves in quite some time." — SFX Magazine "The most entertaining book that I have read in such a long time....  It's very funny, it's very clever, it's very nicely written .... It's such a treat." —Nancy Pearl "Aaronovitch makes the story sing, building momentum until  the ending is literally breathless .” —SF Revu "Aaronovitch has a very witty, casual voice, with a tendency toward sarcasm and humor, which is threaded throughout  Broken Homes . And a few crazy  plot twists will devastate and delight fans  in equal measure." — RT Reviews Ben Aaronovitch  was born in London in 1964 and had the kind of dull routine childhood that drives a man either to drink or to science fiction. He is a screenwriter, with early notable success on BBC's legendary  Doctor Who , for which he wrote some episodes now widely regarded as classics, and which even he is quite fond of. After a decade of such work, he decided it was time to show the world what he could really do, and embarked on his first serious original novel. The result is  Midnight Riot , the debut adventure of Peter Grant. 1 January: Some Swans are White My final interview at the Serious Cybernetics Corporation was with the company's head of security himself-Tyrel Johnson. Mid-fifties, one of those big men who by dint of clean living and regular exercise have failed to go to fat and instead compacted down to the tensile strength of teak. Light skinned, with short gray hair and dressed in a bespoke navy pinstripe suit with a lemon cotton shirt and no tie. Since everybody else in the building dressed in varying degrees of slacker-casual, wearing a suit made a statement-I was glad I'd worn mine. Judging by the pastel-colored walls, the spindly stainless steel furniture and the words Ask me about my poetry painted along one wall in MS Comic Sans, I was guessing that Mr. Johnson hadn't decorated his office himself. I was stuck on the low-slung banana yellow sofa while he was perched on the edge of his desk-arms folded. Working without notes, I noticed. "Peter Grant." He spoke with a West Indian accent, apparently Trinidadian although I can't tell them apart. "Twenty-eight years old, Londoner, plenty of GCSEs, three C grade A levels but you didn't go on to further education, worked for Tesco, a couple of small retailers, something called Spinnaker Office Services-what was that?" "Office cleaning." "So you know your way around a mop?" He smiled. "Unfortunately," I said, manfully resisting the urge to add "sir" to the end of every sentence. Tyrel Johnson had stopped being a copper the year I was born, but obviously there were some things that never leave you. I realized that I might have to come to terms with that myself. "Two years as a PCSO . . . then you joined the Metropolitan Police and mana