Page 2 of Trapped By Clocks and Hearts

Curling into a lounging position on the edge of the couch, the cat licked a paw. “What are you going to do with that one then? Put it back inside her?”

The sorcerer shook his head. “It’s too risky.” Another commotion as of rolling thunder stole his attention and his gaze snapped up toward the sky.

The cat seemed unperturbed. “The Queen’s envoy nears. Maybe you can present the Queen that strange heart anyway.”

The sorcerer’s forehead creased in clear hesitation. He set the already occupied glass vessel on a table and stared at it in deep thought.

The cat noticed his gaze. “My mistress doesn’t have any more Heartlamps lying about in case you’re wondering. She sends only one, per the Queen’s request,” the cat relayed. “And even if you ask, she will need time to craft you another one—by which time that extracted heart will have long withered away.”

The furrow in the sorcerer’s eyebrows deepened. “Shut up and let me think, cat.”

The commotion outside the clock tower increased in intensity.

“Whatever.” The cat flopped to one side. “If anyone finds you with that rogue heart, guess whose head is coming off? The Queen grants you more freedom than most because of the nature of your existence and your duties, but surely a transgression such as this will not work in your favor.” The cat’s eyes lit up in a memory as it went on, “Remember what happened with the Knave of Hearts? Hoo boy! And he only stole those tarts, not totems of mystical power.”

“I said shut up, cat,” the sorcerer snapped. He squared his shoulders as he straightened up and took a deep breath as if to get ready. Then clutching the unbeating heart in his hand, the sorcerer raised his hand to his chest.

The cat’s yellow eyes widened as he watched.

Wincing, the sorcerer pressed his fingers through his clothes and against the resistance of his flesh. His hollow chest emitted a pale blue glow until his fingers were plunged deep inside—his form glowed brighter, just before chains of light streaked through the air and a rising gale whipped through the room.

Crackling electricity filled the dwelling within the clock tower, its brightness nearly blinding as it surged outward, and a pulsing wave of energy shunted through everything all at once. The sheer force of the magic threw the cat tumbling behind the couch with a screech.

For a moment, a pale blue shimmer covered the sorcerer’s entire figure.

Not hurt at all, the cat sprang up to peer over the back of the couch again. His eyes were wide as the glow around the sorcerer’s body began to dissipate.

“Whoa,” the cat remarked. “How does it feel to have a fresh heart in there after being empty all this time?”

Almost panting, the sorcerer straightened up again. His forehead still creased, he swallowed hard but did not respond.

The cat tilted his head again, the expression on his face a mix of amusement and awe as it breathed, “I can’t believe you just did that.”

The sorcerer shot the cat a glare that could cut but did not respond. With an easy wave of his hand, a cloak of shadow covered the form on the couch entirely before the girl disappeared from view, camouflaged. He turned to give the cat a meaningful look. “You will tell no one about this.” And with another flutter of his cloak, he spun around to head to the door to meet with the Queen’s envoy.

The cat mewled after him. “Hey, what about the girl?”

The sorcerer paused in mid-stride but for a moment. “I suppose we’ll have to wait for her to thaw out. And once I have my answers, I can kill her.”

Chapter 1 - Rabb

Icouldn’t breathe.

Almost imperceptibly slower today, the dull ticking of the giant clock echoed hollow around me. Creaks and groans filled the old tower’s structure, the gentle, rhythmic ticking and clinking of massive metal gears and mechanical workings, amidst the occasional howling winds of the remote corner of the land I called home.

Desolate.

Quiet.

It had been so for centuries.

And I liked it that way.

I grasped at the collar of my shirt in an attempt to catch my breath, to escape from this unknown stifling sensation.

I glanced up from my wooden desk to look around.

My loft was nestled within the top of the clock tower, its worn furnishings and faded velvet drapes from the tall windows blending seamlessly with the clock’s inner workings. Small. Functional. But the place was never so unkempt as it was today.