Time pulsed and lifted all around him, a feeling so similar to falling that he nearly threw up. It was almost like Khurja, almost that same sharpness, but not quite. Intoxicated with the power, Danny tried to reach for the time fibers. To pull them and morph them into a different shape.
A scream tore through the air, and Danny was yanked away from the clockwork. He nearly toppled over the railing into the pendulum pit below. He held onto the railing and gaped as a middle-aged woman wiped his blood off the central cog.
She spun around and glared at him, swearing in a different dialect than Urdu. Her golden hair was tied back into a loose bun, her body round, her face puffy around the cheeks. Her skin was a dark tan, more bronze than brown, and her eyes were amber. She wore a faded yellow sari.
“I’m sorry!” Danny tried to say around her yelling. “I’m sorry—maaf kijiye!”
She stopped at last, her jaw clenched. Danny righted himself and wiped the last speck of blood from the cog. He shuddered to his toes, and the world shuddered around him.
“I wanted you to come out,” he said. “It was the only thing I could think of.”
She huffed and looked up at Meena. The girl stared down at them, mouth agape, the whites of her eyes more visible than her dark irises.
“Meena? Please come down,” Danny called to her. “I don’t speak her language very well.”
“Who … Who is she?” Meena croaked.
“The spirit of the tower.” Then, because he couldn’t resist: “I told you they existed.”
After getting over her initial shock, Meena acted as a translator between Danny and the annoyed spirit, occasionally interjecting her own responses. The spirit’s name, like her tower, was Aditi.
“She says she has been the guardian of this tower for too many years to count,” Meena said, her eyes never leaving the golden woman. The spirit stood with her chin up, as if she enjoyed the attention. “She does not like that you forced her to come out. What did you do?” That last question was solely Meena.
“Uh.” The wrist wound had clotted, and he hid it behind his back. “I can explain later. Please ask her about the intruder.”
What followed was a long conversation in Hindi that Danny could barely understand. The women glanced at him a couple of times.
Meena switched to English. “She says she doesn’t know. She remembers someone on the roof of her tower, but by the time she went up to confront the intruder, they were gone.”
“And there’s nothing altered in her tower? Nothing out of place?”
Another exchange, and Aditi shook her head.
“Odd.” Danny rubbed a hand over his thigh, thinking. The other two carried on without him. He was happy to let them, until he heard his name.
“She wants to know how you knew she was here,” Meena said. Judging by her narrowed eyes, she wanted to know the same thing.
“Tell her—” What could he say? “Tell her that I’ve spoken with others of her kind. Maaf kijiye,” he said again to the spirit.
“She says it is all right,” Meena translated under Aditi’s words, “but that you should show more respect in her tower.” Meena arched an eyebrow at him, and he shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Fair enough. Ask her again about the trespasser. Any idea of what they were doing on the roof?”
They went around in circles until Aditi grew tired of them and made a shooing gesture. Meena asked if they could come back, and Aditi agreed, but only if they gave her an offering.
“An offering to a clock,” Meena murmured as they left. “How strange.” She stopped Danny before they walked through the door. “You owe me answers.”
He swallowed. “When we’re back at headquarters.”
They reported to Captain Harris that they had seen nothing amiss. He asked the question running through their own minds: If time still ran strong through Aditi’s tower, why were they here?
A diversion, maybe? Danny’s stomach began to squirm as he thought about Daphne farther south.
Harris reminded the pair to take an escort if they decided to roam around the city. Danny just wanted to lie down, but Meena’s persistence kept him from his desired nap. She came to his door barely five minutes after he had returned to his room.
“Can’t I get a half hour to myself?” Danny complained. “Concussion, remember?”
“I’ve never seen anything like that before,” Meena whispered. “You just knew she was there. You knew how to make her come out. How?”
He sighed and gestured to a chair. Meena took the seat, but didn’t take her eyes off him.
Danny sat on the edge of his bed and clasped his hands together. “Like I said, I know a few clock spirits back home.”
“How many have you spoken to?”
“Three.”
“Are they all like her?”
“No, not really. They all look different, and have different personalities. One is a man, another is a woman, and … another is a boy. About as old as me.”
Meena studied his face, and he worried what she saw there. “Tell me about them.”
He told her about Big Ben in London, and about Evaline and the disaster involving his father in Maldon. By the time he described Colton, Meena sat mesmerized, her mouth slightly parted.
“I’ve mostly spent time with Colton, the spirit of the tower I watch over back home. He’s always curious, and asks a lot of questions. Not like—” He nodded in the direction of Aditi’s tower. “I don’t think any two spirits are the same.”
Meena played with a fold in her sari. “I always thought the spirits were just stories. Something the older ghadi wallahs told the young ones for fun.”
“I thought the same, once. Colton was the first spirit I ever saw. Well, I saw Big Ben when I was younger, but I didn’t know he was a spirit until later. But Colton decided to show himself to me.” Danny stared at his fingers. “I was grateful that he trusted me enough. That he spoke to me like he cared about my life.”
After an uncomfortable silence, Danny looked up and met Meena’s eyes. Her face no longer held wonder, but suspicion.
“Danny,” she said slowly, taking something from her satchel, “you admitted there is a boy you love back home.” She unfolded the paper in her hands. “Is this boy also a clock spirit?”
Danny’s heart sank as Meena held up the drawing of Colton.
“You dropped it in Aditi’s tower,” she said.
Damn it. She stared at him, waiting for an answer.
“What would you do if I said yes?” he asked softly.
Meena stood and dusted off her sari, then pierced him again with dark, intelligent eyes. “I am not Danny Hart, so I cannot make decisions for you. But if I were you, I would stop this. I may have only just learned about the spirits, but I know enough that they should not be tampered with.”
“It’s not tampering—”
“This sort of union cannot end happily. You must see that. And if you can’t, then I will pray until you do.”
“Meena …”