The Magician: An Epic Dark Fantasy Novel: Book One of the Rogue Portal Series by Courtney Herz

third of the way through, and Connor had no trouble believing that his roommate was capable of consuming and comprehending so much of the book in such a short amount of time.
                  When he'd woken up the next morning, he'd found that Stuart had left him a note on the nightstand where his dad's pocket watch normally sat. Having been so tired, he'd fallen asleep wearing it and, for the first time since college began, hadn't had any dreams.
                  The note had read:
                  Connor,
                  Was hoping we could chat later. Something interesting to share with you. Chinese and chit-chat, sans Kit, at six o'clock?
                  Stuart
                  Connor was happy to discuss whatever Stuart wanted to talk about. He'd also decided that Stuart was likely the only person trustworthy and open-minded enough to absorb the retelling of recent events without too much trauma or judgment. The note about leaving Kit out of this one pleased him even more, given that he was positive he'd have news on that front, as well.
                  It wasn't so much that he didn't trust Kit. He did. He even liked her. But until he found out just what she knew and how she knew it, he was in no mood to get too close.
                  He made his way through the crowd as he headed to the park at the center of campus. Part of him wanted to study the book off-campus, but another part of him wanted a better chance of running into Kit. Not immediately. But in time.
                  He'd packed a sandwich, the book, and the note from Stu in his backpack, and as he found a clearing under a large willow tree, he removed his pack, extracted the book, leaned against the tree trunk, and took a deep breath.
                  He touched the cover of the book, running a finger over the embossed cover. The hourglass on the front looked identical to the Sands he'd seen in the large room in his dreams. The supporting posts, as depicted, were ornate, just like the large version. And the hourglass was completely filled, from bottom to top, with no room for sand to drift from one chamber to another. That was the identifying feature of the Sands. All the other hourglasses housed on the walls of the dream room were in constant motion and demonstrated the ability to run out. The large hourglass did not.
                  As he ran his hands across the leather binding, allowing his fingers to trace the embossed patterns and words like a mouse in a maze, he felt his pulse quicken in anticipation of what the ancient book could hold. Of what could possibly be between its covers.
                  As though in response, he felt the now familiar warmth of the glowing pocket watch around his neck. The spreading warmth. The metallic sting that became stronger the more he handled the book. He didn't have to look at the pocket watch to know that it was glowing a fervent shade of blue.
                  Finally, he opened the book. He expected that opening the book might activate the pocket watch on an entirely different level. Had anticipated that it would glow more intensely, perhaps burn slightly. Maybe it would open involuntarily. Or find a voice and speak to him. At this point he expected all manner of things to happen.
                  Except for what did.
                  As he turned the page, his back launched into the tree, flattening him there and holding him down as though an invisible assailant feared he might run. His eyes slammed shut, and shaking hands grasped the book so tightly he feared it might crumble around him.
                  The noises around him - people talking, shoes shuffling across the pavement, leaves falling and skidding freely in the wind across jagged sidewalks that hadn't been paved in far too long - all swirled into one cacophony of distorted,