Chapter Two: Clocks and Consequences
1477 Words
Eli wasn’t sure what was more unnerving: the antique globe that ticked when no one touched it, or the look in Alice’s eyes when she said “de-spike your signal” like it was as casual as brushing your teeth.
He sat on a velvet ottoman that felt too fancy for his jeans. The library smelled of old paper, beeswax polish, and a faint undercurrent of smoke, like a fire had burned here once and the memory still lingered.
Alice was pacing, her boots thudding softly on the Persian rug. She muttered to herself as she pulled a notebook from her cloak.
Pages flipped. Diagrams and notes. Eli didn’t catch much except “time echo,” “quantum variance,” and something that sounded like “butterfly-induced migraines.”
“So,” Eli finally said, “how does one go about un-spiking a time signal? Do we hit it with a hammer? Unplug the universe and plug it back in?”
Alice glanced up, her mouth twitching. “Cute. But no. We need a stabilizer. Specifically, a resonance key. It syncs your personal time signature with your originating point. Stops the ripple before it spreads.”
“Great,” Eli said. “Where do we get one of those? Sharper Image?”
She smirked. “Funnily enough, there was a prototype hidden in a grandfather clock. Unfortunately, it’s now in the possession of Lord Pembroke.”
Eli blinked. “Is that bad?”
“Only if you don’t like blackmailing aristocrats, crawling through crypts, or climbing a tower in the middle of a thunderstorm,” she said. “He’s a collector of temporal oddities. And a colossal jerk.”
Eli swallowed. “Okay, good to know.”
Alice knelt beside a cabinet and opened it to reveal a case of tools—screwdrivers, odd crystals, what looked like a portable sundial, and a long, ornate brass rod with switches along its side.
“Ever used a chrono-probe?” she asked.
“I’m barely qualified to use a microwave,” Eli replied.
She handed him the rod. “Point it at a temporal object. It hums if it’s active. Buzzes if it's volatile. Screams if we’re already too late.”
“Comforting.”
Alice straightened and pulled a dusty ledger off a shelf. “Pembroke keeps a private exhibit at his manor. We’ll sneak in tonight. It’ll be crawling with guards, but lucky for us, they’re bad at aiming and worse at critical thinking.”
Eli couldn’t help but stare. “You’ve done this before.”
Alice glanced over her shoulder, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. “Let’s just say I’ve stolen things from worse places. Also, I hate time cops.”
They spent the next hour going over blueprints Alice sketched from memory. The manor was huge—towers, parlors, a rooftop garden. Pembroke’s vault was in the west wing, protected by a ridiculous number of locks and an alarm system powered by unstable aetherium. Eli tried to follow, but most of it went over his head like a jet plane.
Eventually, Alice sighed. “Okay. We sneak in through the servant’s entrance, disable the main lock with the sonic cipher, and find the grandfather clock. You distract the guard with the mustache. He’s vain. Compliment it.”
Eli nodded solemnly. “Mustache compliments. Got it.”
They changed clothes. Alice produced a bundle of more time-appropriate garb for Eli. It wasn’t comfortable, but he had to admit, he looked cool. Like a Victorian street urchin crossed with Sherlock Holmes.
The night air was brisk as they left the estate through a hidden tunnel behind the library fireplace. The tunnel led beneath the gardens and out through a mossy arch near the edge of the forest. Moonlight bathed the world in silver. Owls hooted. Eli tried not to freak out.
As they walked, Alice explained more about time travel—how anchors worked, how personal timelines could stretch and fray if you weren’t careful. Eli listened, partly out of necessity and partly because her voice was fascinating. She had this way of making even the weirdest science sound poetic.
“Do you ever miss your time?” he asked quietly.
Alice didn’t look at him. “Sometimes. I miss warm pizza and terrible sitcoms. But... I don’t know. Time’s never felt very linear to me.”
“Do you ever think about going back?”
She was quiet for a beat. “No. Not anymore.”
They reached Pembroke Manor just past midnight. The place loomed against the sky like a haunted castle in a thunderstorm—minus the actual storm. Yet.
Alice pointed to the servant’s gate. “We climb over, keep low, and avoid the peacocks. They’re loud and territorial.”
“You’re joking.”
“I wish I were.”
They vaulted the fence. Eli nearly sprained his ankle. Sure enough, a peacock squawked nearby. Alice glared at it. The bird fluffed its feathers and strutted away.
Inside, the manor was dim and lavish. Oil lamps flickered. Paintings watched them from gilded frames. They snuck down a corridor and paused at the vault door. Eli held the chrono-probe; it buzzed softly.
“Still safe,” Alice whispered. “Help me with the cipher.”
She pressed the device against the lock and began twisting dials. It clicked. The door creaked open, revealing rows of artifacts—hourglasses, glowing stones, mirrors that shimmered oddly.
At the back stood a tall, ancient grandfather clock.
“Bingo,” she said.
Eli approached. The chrono-probe hummed.
Alice reached behind the clock and pulled out a panel. Inside was a velvet pouch. She opened it—
—and froze.
“It’s empty,” she whispered.
Eli’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean it’s—”
A voice behind them said, “Looking for this?”
They spun. Lord Pembroke stood in the doorway, holding a brass key with a smirk that could melt glaciers.
He stepped into the room, flanked by two guards in sharp uniforms and sharper frowns. “I must say, I wasn’t expecting such a charming pair of burglars tonight. And with such creative accessories.”
Alice stepped forward, chin high. “You don’t know what you’re holding, Pembroke.”
“Oh, I know exactly what it is. A resonance key, is it not? Quite the curiosity. Stabilizes temporal anomalies. There’s a handsome market for such trinkets.”
“You can’t sell it,” she snapped. “You’ll destabilize the timeline!”
“I rather like chaos,” he said smoothly. “It keeps the market lively.”
Eli tried to subtly move toward a shelf of dusty tomes. Alice caught his eye and gave the smallest nod. He grabbed a heavy brass bookend shaped like a lion and hefted it behind his back.
“I don’t suppose we can persuade you to hand it over?” Alice asked.
Pembroke chuckled. “Not without something of equal value. Perhaps information. Or a favor. I hear time travelers make excellent messengers.”
Eli stepped forward. “How about this instead?”
And he threw the bookend.
It didn’t hit Pembroke, exactly. It hit a lamp next to him, which sparked and burst into flames. The guards lunged. Alice tackled Pembroke, snatching the key as they all fell.
“RUN!” she shouted.
Eli didn’t need to be told twice.
They dashed down the corridor, the alarm system now blaring a deep, echoing chime. Behind them, guards shouted. Eli’s heart pounded like a drum. They raced up a stairwell, through a ballroom, out onto a balcony.
Alice glanced around, grabbed a curtain, and tied it to the railing.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Eli said.
“Nope.”
She jumped. He followed.
They landed hard in a hedge. Eli groaned. Alice was already on her feet, dragging him toward the woods.
When they finally reached the tunnel and slammed the hidden door shut behind them, both were out of breath, scratched, and grinning like maniacs.
Alice held up the key. “We did it.”
Eli grinned. “I think I sprained every part of my body, but yeah. That was... incredible.”
They returned to the library, where Alice began syncing the key with the chrono-probe. It glowed softly, then pulsed with light.
“Your signal’s stabilizing,” she said, watching the readings. “One more spike like that and you would’ve unraveled into six different versions of yourself. One of them probably evil.”
Eli shivered. “Thanks for saving me. Again.”
Alice smiled, tired but triumphant. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, we find out what caused your jump in the first place.”
And as the candlelight flickered around them, Eli realized something unsettling and thrilling:
He wasn’t just tangled in time anymore. He was tangled with her.
- Writer
