If I could catch a break, that’d be sweet. It’s also highly unlikely. I’m Cleopatra O’Keefe, and after my last world-bending Keeper shenanigan, I thought humanity and the magicals finally settled into a peaceful coexistence. Zeus in a thong, was I ever wrong. Now I’ve got the four sides–earth, water, fire, and air–squaring off, zero idea what might pull them together, and a ticking time bomb, all courtesy of Uranus. He’s the weirdness variable in our planetary meltdown. All I know is that I get a single shot. Time to figure out how the pieces fit together and get them in the correct order so the planet doesn’t go POOF. To keep it interesting, an unknown malady sidelined my hard won allies and alliances–now each leader lays comatose, zonked with the swirling stars of Uranus lodged in their eyes. Not helpful. Did I mention the monsters? What’s a world’s end scenario without enormous, slobbering, chompy beasts who are practically immortal? Sticking a pin in them? Oh, yeah. Easy peasy. No problem whatsoever. Crud. This is a job for bourbon; might as well pour a double.