Excerpt: THE LAST HOUR BETWEEN WORLDS by Melissa Caruso
A whip-smart adventure fantasy packed with reality-bending magic, and sapphic romance, The Last Hour Between Worlds is the brilliant launch of a new series from David Gemmell Award-nominated author Melissa Caruso.
Read the first chapter of The Last Hour Between Worlds, on sale November 19, below!
REST WHEN YOU CAN
It’s easy to fall into the wrong world.
It happens most often to children. Their grip on reality is loose to begin with, and when their imaginations wander, sometimes body and soul will follow. I’ve seen it happen. One minute the kid is there, playing in the dirt and whispering to themselves, and the next they’ve slipped down into an Echo. You have a tiny window, maybe five seconds, where they go a little transparent around the edges; if you spot it in time and you’re fast, you can catch them. Otherwise someone like me has to go in after them, and that’s dangerous work.
Adults can fall between worlds, too, though it’s rarer. If you stumble into a spot where the Veil is frayed or torn, you may suddenly find that all the familiar things around you have gone strange and wonderful. Since Echoes are confusing, you might not be sure when it happened or how to get back.
Echo retrievals were always my favorite part of the job. In my years as a Hound, I’d rescued dozens of lost kids and a good handful of adults. I was the only active guild member with a perfect success record. When I brought them back home through the Veil between worlds, they all got this same dazed look at first—as if wandering through bizarre reflections of reality had changed them, and it seemed impossible that the world they’d left behind was still the same.
I felt a bit like that now. Two months at home with a newborn wasn’t quite like falling into another world, but I’d had almost as little contact with my old life. Being out in public at a party surrounded by people felt strange as a half-remembered dream.
I haunted the buffet like a ghost of myself, stuffing candy-sweet grapes into my mouth more out of nervous reflex than hunger. I only had a few hours of freedom, so I had to make them count—but blood on the Moon, I’d forgotten how to talk to people.
It would be easier if Marjorie’s year-turning party wasn’t so… stuffy. Dona Marjorie Swift was on the Council of Elders, and her social peers packed the ballroom: the solid, serious merchants and bankers of the class that ruled the great city-state of Acantis, dressed in elegant tailed jackets or pale puffy gowns, all of them striving to impress. One of their pocket handkerchiefs probably cost more than my entire outfit, even counting my Damn Good Boots (a precious find, knee high in soft leather, practical and stylish). This was the first time I’d been able to squeeze back into them after my feet had swelled up so much while I was pregnant.
I searched the room for familiar faces, but it was hard to pick them out from the sea of muted colors. You’d think everyone would dress more festively to greet the New Year, but it was still the Sickle Moon for a few more hours, and that meant sober restraint was fashionable—so, drab colors and under-seasoned food. Not that I could complain; I’d been eating odd scavenged scraps since the baby came, with no time to cook or go to the market. I could hope Marjorie would break out more interesting fare after midnight. Some of the more fashionable partygoers would have brought a sparkling white Snow Moon gown to slip into when the year turned, or a jacket that reversed to flash silver and crystal in the lamplight. I might get about one hour of a livelier party before I had to go home.
Still. It was a party, and I was here. Without the baby. Which felt more than a little like magic.
I’d hoped to see some of my friends from the Hounds, but the one Hound I glimpsed was Pearson, who only talked to me when he had a mission to assign. There were a few members of other guilds around; they might be my best bet. The guilds didn’t care how much money you had or what quarter of the city you hailed from, only what you could do. I spotted a couple of Butterflies—a well-known actor in a silky cape talking to a friend who defied stodgy Sickle Moon fashion with his vivid iridescent eye makeup—and a vaguely familiar shaggy-haired youth with some kind of guild tattoo on their hand, maybe a Raven.
And… shit. There was Rika.
She’d cut her black hair along her jawline, but I’d recognize her anywhere. I’d seen that wiry back disappearing through windows or over walls too often. Been too late to stop those slender fingers from plucking some priceless object from its protections one time too many. Her gown was all smoke and silver, draping around her like she’d only just formed in this layer of reality from one of the Deep Echoes.
Rika was no Hound, sworn to guard and protect and seek and find. She was a Cat, light and nimble, velvet and hidden steel, and she was trouble.
She’d been chatting with an older woman in a violet gown, but she broke off, rubbed her arms, and glanced around as if she felt someone watching. Before I could look away, her grey eyes caught mine across half the ballroom.
Once she might have slipped me a wink or a wicked smile—but it was the first time we’d seen each other since the Echo Key affair. The usually mischievous bow of her lips flattened, and she turned back to her conversation.
The slice of cheese I’d just grabbed crumbled in my fingers. I wasn’t ready for this. Not now, when I was a sleepless mess of underbaked feelings. There was too much I’d been trying not to think about before I went on leave to take care of Emmi, and Rika was at the thick of it.
Why was she here? Rika would never come to a party this rarefied for fun. She must be on business. And that meant she was here to spy, or to steal something, or maybe even to kill someone, though I’d never heard of her doing blood work. I had to tell Pearson. I had to figure out what she was up to. I had to—
No. I was on leave.
I’ll take Emmi, my sister had said. Go to the party. You need to get out of the house. But I’d better not hear about you doing a lick of work, or I swear to the Moon I’ll put hot pepper powder in all your tea.
I was here to have fun. To talk to people. Right.
It would be nice if I had any idea how to do that anymore. Socializing was a mysterious activity that Past Kem had done, irrelevant to Present Kem, who primarily existed to make milk and desperate soothing noises. Sure, a few of my friends from the Hounds had come by in the first week or two to meet the baby, some of them bringing gifts of varying appropriateness (my old mentor, Almarah, had been excessively pleased to give Emmi her first dagger, never mind that it’d be years before she could use it), but after that… well, it had been pretty lonely.
Apparently my sister had been right when she said I needed to get out of the house. It was unfair; no one that bossy should be right so much of the time.
I nibbled my cheese and wished I could drink. But my sister said the wine would get into my milk and be bad for Emmi, so that was out. I’d have to remember how to make words and say them to people all on my own.
“Kem. Hey, Kem. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
It was Pearson. He had a rumpled, worried look, all stubble and shadows. There was only one thing that ever meant.
“I’m not working.” I gave it a bit of emphasis in case he’d forgotten. “I’m allowed to go to parties.”
“Right, right.” He laughed, as if I’d made a joke, and took a sip from his wineglass. “Listen, do you want a drink? Can I get you something?”
“Can’t,” I said shortly. “Nursing.”
He blinked at me like some sad owl, and I relented a bit. “How are the Hounds doing?”
Pearson leaped on the opening. “It’s not the same without you. We’ve got lots of good people, everyone’s great, but nobody like you.”
I grunted. “No one who can blink step, you mean.”
“Well, yes, but also not much experience on hand at the moment. A lot of our best are on assignment outside the city.” He licked his lips. “So, you know, I was wondering—”
“Did you see me on the active roster, Pearson? No. Because I have a baby, remember? Small, potato-shaped human.”
“Right, of course, of course.” He said it in the vague way you might acknowledge the existence of hippogriffs, or some other animal found in distant lands you’d only seen in woodcuts. “Motherhood. Splendid. Only we’ve run into something that looks like it might be big—just hints, but maybe some kind of power game stirring in the Deep Echoes—and we’ve got no one available with much Echo experience, so of course I thought of you.” He flashed a tentative smile.
I gave him a flat stare. “It can’t be urgent, or you wouldn’t be at a party.”
“Probably not, no,” he agreed quickly. “So you could look into it in your spare time.”
“My spare time.” I rubbed my forehead. “You’re not a father, are you.”
“No, no.” He seemed alarmed at the thought. “A bit damp, babies. And loud, I’m told. Not really my area of expertise.”
“All right then, let me explain to you in four small words.” I raised four fingers and then folded them down, one after another. “I. Am. On. Leave.”
He sighed, and his shoulders drooped. “Can’t blame me for trying.”
“I suppose not.” I lowered my voice. “Did you know that Rika Nonesuch is here?”
“Really?” He was good enough not to peer around openly, but his eyes darted about the room. “She’s bound to be up to no good.”
I shouldn’t ask. It was too much like work. But I couldn’t help myself. “Any idea what she might be after?”
Pearson scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Could be looking to rob Dona Swift. Or to spy on the other City Elders—I think there are three of them here. Or she could be after the clock.”
“Clock?”
He tipped his head toward the far end of the ballroom. “This supposed antique grandfather clock Dona Swift bought off a sketchy dealer. You only have to look at it to know it’s not from this layer of reality. Could be a good fake, but I’d bet cold money it’s from an Echo.”
“That’s just what we need.” I shook my head. “Well, good luck. I’m not going to go finding things out on purpose, because I’m not working, but if I hear anything useful, I’ll let you know.”
Pearson nodded. “Thanks. Can’t wait to have you back, Kem.”
I grunted noncommittally as he moved off. There was no sense letting him know how comments like that currently plunged me into a whole inner crisis. Of course I wanted to go back to work; I missed the Hounds, missed seeing my friends, missed the excitement of a challenging mission and the satisfaction of a job done well. Stars, I missed just getting to walk around the city without a fussy baby strapped to me. But I also couldn’t imagine leaving Emmi. I hadn’t been away from her for an hour and it already felt weird to have my arms empty, as if part of my body were missing. I missed her funny little face, her wide wondering eyes, her tiny grasping fingers.
At the same time, damn. Damn. I could do what I wanted, and nobody was depending on me for every single little thing. I was just myself again, existing only for myself, for these few hours at least. I felt light and giddy, as if someone had untied heavy weights from my arms and legs.
Now, if only I knew what to do with all this freedom.
Dona Marjorie swept toward me with the inevitable momentum and grace of a galleon in full sail. Acres of suitably subdued forestgreen skirts puffed around her, sleeves and bodice trimmed with modest ivory lace; emeralds winked with a splash of cheeky color in the tower of elaborately coiled and woven braids of her iron-grey hair. Her round brown cheeks beamed, dark eyes sparkling. She always seemed so genuinely happy to see me, and I never could tell for sure if that was because I’d saved her son’s life or because she was just an absolutely delightful sugar puff who loved everyone. Probably both.
“Signa Kembral!” She threw her arms wide; I accepted her hug, a little embarrassed, as her voluminous skirts enfolded me. “I’m so glad you came. How’s little Emmelaine? Is she sleeping?”
“No,” I said, letting two months of despair come through a bit. “Not so you’d notice.”
Marjorie shook her head. “Oh dear. Do you want me to send someone over to take her for a while so you can rest?”
“She screams like she’s on fire every time I leave the room, and I doubt I could sleep through that, but thanks for the offer.”
“Well, you just relax and enjoy the party, then.” She patted my arm, then dropped her voice nearly to a whisper. “I’m glad you’re here tonight. Just in case.”
“What does that mean?”
Marjorie laughed, lifting her painted nails to her lips as if I’d made a slightly off-color joke. “Oh, you know, politics always get a little intense at the year turning, that’s all. Everyone’s all fired up to charge out the gate with new legislation and new alliances as soon as it turns from a Sickle Moon to a Snow Moon, and the knives are out. It’s good to have level heads like yours around. Don’t you worry about it—focus on having a lovely night!”
My smile slipped from my face as she moved on to greet her next guest, her voice rising in welcome. Great. My first time in public in two months, and I’d picked a night when Dona Marjorie expected “politics” to get so wild my skills might be needed—and I doubted it was because she wanted a third at tiles. Maybe I should have worn my swords.
Suddenly a low, harsh, brassy music jarred the ballroom. It shook deep into my bones, reverberating in my teeth, seeming to come from the air itself. Just a handful of notes, each a deep bong like a punch to the stomach—and then silence.
A hush fell over the gathering, the kind that comes when a large number of people all hold their breath at once.
The clock. That had been the simple melody the city bells played before tolling the hour; it must be the grandfather clock Pearson had mentioned. He wasn’t kidding about it being from an Echo, with a chime like that.
The whole party waited, but no hour rang. The room’s other and more mundane clock, a marble antique on the mantel, still showed about ten minutes shy of nine o’clock in the evening.
A smattering of nervous laughter rose up, like a handful of pigeons taking flight to the ballroom’s high ceiling. The murmur of conversation swelled back into its usual busy clamor, everyone no doubt telling one another Oh, it’s just the clock.
I resisted the urge to go look at it. That would be too much like work. If it were dangerous, I’d feel obliged to do something about it; if it presented a puzzle, I couldn’t resist trying to solve it. No, I absolutely should not cross the ballroom, weaving between partygoers with one muttered Excuse me after another, waving away a servant offering a tray of drinks, nudging an errant chair aside with a swish of my peacock-tail scarlet coat. The last thing I wanted to do was lurk around waiting for the crowd drawn by its disconcerting chime to dissipate, giving me a clear view of it at last. And under no circumstances should I approach it so close that my breath misted on its glass face, staring at it in fascination.
Fine. Fine.
I could see what Pearson had meant. The basic shape of it was dignified enough, a grandfather clock with a cabinet of shining dark wood, its round face gleaming. But the carvings surrounding the face were twisted and phantasmagorical, with staring eyes and strange creatures climbing and writhing up into a spiked crown. Each number was in a different style and size, some of them crazily elaborate or tilted off-kilter. The three hands formed wickedly sharp spears of shining steel that patrolled the numbers menacingly, threatening them with impalement.
A single fine crack marred the face, running from top to bottom, starting at the number twelve and snaking down like a bolt of lightning. Iridescent colors showed in the silvery ribbon of broken edge embedded in the glass. I reached out, curious, and ran a finger down its length to see if I could feel it.
The glass felt slick and unbroken. But I pulled away a bloody finger.
I cursed and sucked it. That was stupid, Kem. What did I think would happen, petting broken glass?
“Well, well. If it isn’t Kembral Thorne, in the flesh.”
That was the last voice I wanted to hear right now. She’d come up behind me without making a sound, and it was too late to escape.
I forced myself to turn slowly, as if I wasn’t surprised, to face my nemesis, Rika Nonesuch.
In the Deep Echoes, no one can save you.
Star investigator Kembral Thorne has a few hours away from her newborn, and she just wants to relax and enjoy the year-turning party. But when people start dropping dead, she’s got to get to work. Especially when she finds that mysterious forces are plunging the whole party down through layers of reality and into nightmare.
One layer down: It’s no big deal. Stay alert, and you’ll be fine.
Two, three layers down: Natural laws are negotiable, and things get very strange.
Four layers down: There are creatures with eyes in their teeth and walls that drip blood. Most people who fall this far never return.
Luckily, Kem isn’t most people. But as cosmic powers align and the hour grows late, she’ll have to work with her awfully compelling nemesis, notorious cat burglar Rika Nonesuch, for a chance to save her city—though not her night off.
For more from Melissa Caruso, check out:
Swords and Fire
The Tethered Mage
The Defiant Heir
The Unbound Empire
Rooks and Ruin
The Obsidian Tower
The Quicksilver Court
The Ivory Tomb
