Kelley Armstrong cut her teeth writing adult urban fantasy, then turned that experience loose on teens and basically said: what if X-Men, but the school is a fake psychiatric facility and the guidance counselor works for a shadowy science lab? The Darkest Powers trilogy (The Summoning, The Awakening, The Reckoning) is compact, fast, and very 2008–2010 in the best way—found family on the run, powers that backfire at the worst moment, and chase scenes that leave footprints. If your inner fifteen-year-old still wants secret labs and morally gray adults, this series is catnip.
What’s it about?
We start with Chloe Saunders, fifteen, film-obsessed, and suddenly seeing ghosts. A panic at school lands her at Lyle House, a “group home” with calm curtains and a heavy vibe. The staff says she has a disorder; the other residents say they’re just “troubled.” But the lineup is suspiciously genre-coded: Derek, a hulking, blunt loner who growls like a storm warning; Simon, his quick, sunny foster brother; Liz, sweet and jittery; Rae, who runs hot—literally; and Tori, prickly rich girl who is much more than a mean remark. The first days are pills and therapy and “get well soon,” until Chloe meets a ghost in the basement and realizes she isn’t sick. She’s a necromancer.
From there, book one turns the screws. Liz is “transferred” after an “incident,” and Lyle House pretends that happens all the time. Chloe starts seeing Liz again—in mirrors, down halls, begging her to listen. Meanwhile Derek and Simon push Chloe to look past the brochure: Lyle House is run by the Edison Group, a private research outfit tinkering with supernatural teens. Their parents signed papers once upon a time. The kids’ powers were quietly “modified.” It seemed like help. It wasn’t. Files are found. Lies pile up. A first escape attempt goes badly. Chloe and Rae are grabbed. Derek and Simon vanish into the city with a plan to meet later if “later” still exists.
Book two is a road novel with claws. Aunt Lauren—Chloe’s steady, practical guardian—reappears as the adult you want in a crisis and then, gut-punch, as part of the problem. She signed things. She believed the Edison Group could help. She also loves Chloe in a way that doesn’t neatly cancel her bad choices. A break for freedom turns into a city sprint: warehouses, buses, alleyways. Derek’s body is quietly betraying him—his first shift is coming on like the flu, and “werewolf puberty” is not gentle. Simon needs insulin and a plan. Tori, who used to smirk from across the common room, becomes an accidental ally because her mother has strings tied to the same puppet masters. Rae runs hot in every sense and doesn’t love choosing sides.
They find temporary refuge with adults who claim to be ex–Edison Group and now run a safe house. Names are offered, casseroles are served, and Chloe senses a familiar hum of control beneath the welcome mat. The middle stretch is all tension and discovery: Chloe’s necromancy is not just “I see dead people”—she can raise the dead without trying, and sometimes without wanting to. Derek white-knuckles through near-changes and starts trusting Chloe against his better instincts. Simon sketches, jokes, and crumples when the quiet gets loud. Tori throws sparks and lets you see the scared kid under the armor for two seconds at a time. As trust deepens, it also frays; someone is still reporting their moves. An ambush proves it.
Book three is the pay-off: plans, betrayals, and a laboratory showdown. The kids decide they can’t just run; they have to expose the Edison Group or they’ll be chased forever. That means breaking back in. On the adult side, loyalties finally sort themselves: some genuinely repentant ex-researchers want to help; others only want their patents and reputations intact. Aunt Lauren steps up in a way that hurts, then heals, then hurts again—she tries to atone with action, not speeches, and the cost is real. Inside the lab, Chloe’s powers spike: necromancy is loud, messy, and not very polite about consent—corpses get up, poltergeists tantrum, and the line between “helpful ghost” and “angry echo of a person” gets thin. Derek’s change becomes a fact, not a threat, and the aftermath is less “sexy monster” than “this is hard and he’s learning.” Simon discovers the limits—and uses—of being a sorcerer in a firefight. Tori’s witchcraft complicates, then saves, then complicates again. Rae faces a choice between safety and self. Liz, gone since the first act, comes roaring back in a way only a poltergeist can.
The trilogy ends with the kids claiming space rather than winning a neat victory. The Edison Group bleeds, but it isn’t eradicated; the experiment files are out; the world is wider and more dangerous. The found family is real now—frayed, patched, ride-or-die—and they have adults they can maybe trust and an address that might not blow up under them. It’s a “we lived; we’ll keep living” finale that clears the runway for spin-off books without undercutting what these three volumes earned.
What This Chick Thinks
Pacing that sprints and breathes
Each book reads like a weekend and a half. Armstrong skims the fat and still finds time for the small human beats—junk food, in-jokes, the way kids in crisis make a home out of a couch and a plan.
Powers with side effects (love this)
Chloe’s necromancy is scary, inconvenient, and morally thorny; Derek’s werewolf biology is biology, not wish fulfillment; Tori’s magic sparks when she’s least in control. The abilities feel like living with a condition, not wearing a cool cape.
Found family with teeth
The banter lands, but it’s the friction I bought: Adamantly independent Derek learning to accept help; easygoing Simon breaking when caretaking becomes too much; Tori’s prickliness as self-protection; Chloe’s people-pleasing giving way to leadership. They earn each other.
Adults are complicated, not straw men
I appreciated that some grown-ups mean well and still cause harm; others do harm and then do the right thing anyway. The ethical gray around “curing” kids by “modifying” them is the series’ spine.
Chase-thriller structure works
Tight spaces, quick switches in location, and a steadily widening conspiracy keep the tension up. It’s less “classroom magic system” and more “we’ll learn on the run,” which suits the characters.
Where it wobbles a little
A couple of side villains lean lab-coat cliché, and some plot turns click in right on cue because the genre demands it. Romance is a low simmer (which I like), but triangle-averse readers may side-eye a few beats.
Final Thoughts
The Darkest Powers trilogy is lean, fun, and sneakily thoughtful—YA paranormal that remembers teens are smart and systems can be scarier than monsters. It’s all momentum and messy affection, with enough ethical bite to chew on after the last chase is over. If you want something quick that still leaves a mark, this holds up.
Rating: 8.5/10
Try it if you like:
- The Naturals — Jennifer Lynn Barnes – Teens with dangerous gifts recruited by adults with hidden agendas; found family plus high-stakes cat-and-mouse.
- The Diviners — Libba Bray – Bigger, weirder 1920s vibe, but the same mix of ensemble dynamics, creeping horror, and power that doesn’t behave.
- The Mortal Instruments — Cassandra Clare – Secret-organization urban fantasy, chosen-family shenanigans, and abilities that complicate more than they solve.
