Daverby swore to get his lost love, Emery, back from the monsters that stole her—but when there are dozens of unexplored worlds out there, finding her might be harder than he anticipated. With Talia at his side, he voyages the portals, relentlessly seeking Emery—but there’s a Hunter after Talia, a Hunter who will stop at nothing to make her answer for her crimes.

Desperate to get her voice back, Lissa makes a deal with one of the monsters—her voice will return to her, but only if she can convince one of the Players to fall in love with her. Setting her sights on Tarek, the leader of the surviving Players, she plunges into their midst on a fool’s errand—learn music, win his heart, or forever become the slave of monsters.

Drex lost his youth and freedom to save the world of Adonta, but he and his father know that this is only borrowed time. They must find a more permanent solution before it’s too late. The word of power is the only answer—but Drex is running out of time, and his heart would rather explore his new feelings for Dulcinea, the lost Player, than save the world.

Surrounded by monsters, the mercenaries and the Players must unite, or fall. But they never expected so many enemies—or for it to be so difficult to find a solution.The sky is falling… 

• 213 pages
• 58,020 words
• A million characters
• Five girls who wouldn't ever tell you how they really feel
• Five guys who want to make it better but do Not Know How
• Some monsters
• Some nightmares
• Fun times
• Escapes

LE CHARACTERS

He reached down and picked up a tiny box. “What is this?”
“I’m not sure.” Dulci frowned and leaned in to consider it. It was a rectangle, small enough to fit in his hand, but clearly heavy. He flipped it over, and in the center was a small metal crank.
“Well, bottoms up.” Drex twisted the tiny crank with his free hand, leaning against the shelf to keep from falling, and then turned the box over.
Nothing happened.
Dulci took it from him, flipped it again. Nothing.
She frowned. If it had a crank, it surely did something. She turned it back over and opened the top of the box.
And music poured out.
Dulci gasped and set it down, quick, but the music didn’t stop. It poured out like a waterfall—a song that she didn’t recognize, something she didn’t know, but beautiful. It tinkled like the bell over the door, soft and sweet.
They could get arrested for owning this.
Dulci found she didn’t care.

Tarek sat at the piano banging as hard as he could with his bleeding left hand. His right hand had always been the one that gave him trouble, but today, his left hand ached almost more than the other. It was bleeding, too, his fingertips so swollen and broken from hitting the keys so often that they were streaming blood. Kerby had passed out over his flute a few days ago, just run out of breath and fallen to the floor in a heap. The music had all stopped for a moment, and everyone had gasped.
But somehow, the sky held firm.
Eventually, they were going to run out of strength. He already knew it. Tarek tried to line his shaking right hand up over the keys, because who cared at this point if people saw it? His pride didn’t matter when compared to the fact that everyone in this room, everyone in the world, would die if they stopped playing.

“Emery, for the love of all blood, put your sketchbook down!” Mother pushed back her auburn hair, put her hands on her hips, and stared down her nose, shaking her head.
She couldn’t move. Her fingers were locked around the pencil, staring down at the sketch once again. The sketch of the boy she didn’t know and didn’t recognize. More a man than a boy, but… she still could not get him out of her head after all this time.
“Who’s that?” Mother raised an eyebrow.
She shrugged. “I… I don’t know.” Better that than to say he was the boy haunting her dreams, the man she could not quite see, the one who lurked just beyond the edges of memory.
Mother bent down and shoveled several loads of dirt into the wheelbarrow. Father dealt with the fields for their profit, but the garden was Mother’s job, and their only source of food during most seasons. “I need your help, darling.”
“I can’t stop.” She rose slowly and set the pencil down. Even still, she could not finish the drawing. Today his nose was wrong, but sometimes it was his shoulders, sometimes his neck. Sometimes his hair just did not line up. Every day she tried to draw him.
Every day she failed.

Another life goal to check off: Getting arrested in the wrong world.
Daverby paced laps around his cell, grumbling loudly under his breath. Oscar, sitting on the cot, watched him with interested eyes.
“Is this a normal thing you do at home?” he asked after a few minutes. “Walk circles and yell curses?”
“What, you don’t do that here?” Daverby glared at him. “It’s a rather stimulating activity. Gets your mind off your surroundings.”
“But you’re only talking about the fact that you’re stuck here.” Oscar squinted.
Daverby went back to pacing without another word. If someone didn’t want to tell him about this, fine. If no one wanted to get him out of here, fine. He’d get out of here sooner or later, whether he had to do it himself or not. He’d told them his only contact was a Jeremiah the Gatekeeper in Adonta, and when he’d mentioned that he was from Adonta, everyone had fallen back, whispering.
“You are arrested for helping fugitives,” droned the magistrate when they stood before him, and Daverby fought not to roll his eyes.
“I didn’t realize they were fugitives,” he said. Like that would improve it.