Page 1 of Trapped By Clocks and Hearts

Prologue

Agust of wind blew the heavy steel hatch open. Metal hinges creaking with age, the door slammed back against its frame built into the top-level dwelling of the ancient clock tower.

A forbidding structure standing tall in the middle of a vast desert, the tower’s massive clock face momentarily lit up with a flash of lightning as the centuries-old spire almost succumbed to the onslaught of unnatural forces of magic that whipped against its façade.

Light rain pattered against the railing of the rigid balcony twisted around the dwelling, accompanying the crackle of thunder and more lightning.

With a flutter of a thick, hooded cloak and pale, blond hair, the shadowy figure that rode the ominous, rumbling clouds rolling in drifted closer.

The entire surroundings seemed to hush as he touched down on the balcony. Still in a fog-like cover of black smoke, it was difficult to make out his entire form, except that he appeared to be carrying something large in his arms as he walked through the door.

“You’re late.”

The hooded sorcerer glared at the tone of judgment from the disproportionately large head of the fuzzy cat that was lounging on the ratty couch in the cramped space of the dwelling. Despite being matted in places, the cat’s fur swirled with different patterns of luminous whorls in shades of violet accompanying the animal’s movements.

The sorcerer should have been bemused at the judgmental, critical tone of the cat, who should presume that he was late when they’d had no prior appointment whatsoever. Moreover, he didn’t own the cat. Nor had he been expecting the cat to have been waiting for him.

But his mind was otherwise largely preoccupied.

His deep voice gruff, the sorcerer nudged the animal off the couch with the toe of his boot. “What are you doing here?”

The cat hissed as he jumped away, padded paws landing with soft thumps on the bare, wooden floor. “My fair mistress sent me to check on you, as usual.”

Tail swishing to and fro, the cat pounced onto the back of the couch to watch as the sorcerer set the frigid body of the young woman he was carrying down onto it.

“Aren’t you supposed to leave the bodies where they were?” the cat drawled. “The wretched Queen only needs their hearts.”

Shrugging his hood down, damp hair in his eyes, the sorcerer bent beside the couch with a frown to assess the girl’s condition.

Ice covered her from the top of her long brown hair to the toes of her tasseled shoes. Unconscious, eyes closed, her face a pale blue, she appeared ghost-like, as though petrified, even perhaps already dead. Her stiff white lab coat overlay an off-white frilled shirt and suspenders over moleskin pants. Edges heavy with water, her hair and clothes were beginning to take on a glossy quality as the ice melt dripped on the floor.

The cat tilted his head. “You’re already the best assassin in the land. Do you still need to be such an overachiever?”

The sorcerer narrowed his stormy blue eyes. “Don’t make me kill you, cat. If memory serves, you are down to significantly fewer than nine lives.” With a rustle of his cloak, he drew out a container, a glass sphere framed with an ornate, polished brass metal cage adorned with intricate filigree patterns.

What sat within the sphere was a bean-shaped lump—about the size of a fist.

Such an object should have looked ordinary.

Except that it flickered with a deep, fiery orange glow, casting a dim light across the room as the object throbbed within the almost opaque glass.

“Oh, good, you’ve got the Heartlamp,” the cat had begun to remark. “The Queen’s envoy is on their way to investigate your delay—” The sorcerer slipped his hand into his pocket again and retrieved yet another bean-shaped lump.

Except this one was different.

The cat stopped short, eyes widening. “Whoa, what the hell are you doing with one of those outside a Heartlamp? And in your pocket no less!”

“This one is hers.” He gestured to the motionless form on the couch.

Unlike the first lump, this one wasn’t glowing dim like an ember, nor emitting a subtle halo of wispy smoke. It didn’t throb as though alive. It merely sat like a rock in the middle of his palm.

Eyeing the rock, the cat scoffed. “What’s wrong with her heart? You can’t bring it to the Queen like that.”

“It’s not empty.”

“It looks empty,” the cat pointed out. “It’s useless.”

Pressing his lips together, the sorcerer stared at the heart in his hand. “I sensed a veiled power,” he relayed. “And when I took it out, I…” He stopped short and met the cat’s curious gaze, as if then deciding that now was not the proper time to get into it. “That’s why I took longer. I needed to find another girl to fetch another heart.” He gestured to the occupied Heartlamp. “The Queen still needs one.”