To Play with Magic

I’ll be honest: I requested *To Play with Magic* expecting another ‘quirky protagonist gets powers’ romp, but Draith subverts that fast. The heroine isn’t just *flawed*—she’s actively *dangerous*, and the story doesn’t let you forget it. Her ability to stop time isn’t a cheap plot device; it’s a liability, a secret, and a weapon she wields with the caution of someone who’s seen what happens when magic backfires. Emmes’ narration sells this tension perfectly—her voice drops into a growl during fight scenes, then pivots to dry sarcasm in dialogue, making even exposition feel like a verbal sparring match. The catgirl sidekick (yes, really) could’ve been pure fanservice, but she’s given enough edge and agency to avoid feeling like a trope. That said, the pacing *does* stumble in the middle. Draith’s worldbuilding is dense—dragons as crime lords, interdimensional smugglers, a magic system with hard limits—and while it’s fascinating, the audiobook occasionally bogs down in lore dumps. A tighter edit could’ve trimmed some of the political intrigue that doesn’t pay off until later. And while Emmes nails the action, her male voices sometimes blur together, making it hard to distinguish minor characters in crowded scenes. But when the story *works*, it *soars*: the heist gone wrong in Chapter 12 is a masterclass in audio tension, and the final act’s time-loop twist had me rewinding to catch every clue. If you love fantasy that’s equal parts clever and chaotic, this is your next binge—but maybe speed up the playback during the dragon council meetings.