“The bells. You made them go off.”
Colton, lying on the floor, glanced at the clock face. Much to Danny’s alarm, and not so much to Colton’s, the minute hand had moved. The clock now read 1:27.
“It’s preparing for the half-hour ring,” Danny said. “You made it speed up.”
Colton’s eyebrows furrowed. “I can’t help that.”
“Well, fix it!”
The spirit sat up, his hair a mess, and closed his eyes. Danny watched as the minute hand slowly crawled back until it read 1:24.
“Better,” Danny said.
Colton opened his eyes. “I really can’t help it. It’s just a reaction. Like humans crying when they’re sad or happy.”
Danny wanted to be upset, to validate himself with anger, but instead his panic raised its head to sniff the air again. “I know,” he said even as his pulse beat a nervous rhythm. “It’s not your fault. We just have to be careful.”
Colton nodded with a faint frown, as if he didn’t quite understand the word.
Martinmas came and went. Toward the end of November, Enfield started to prepare for St. Andrew’s Day. Colton told Danny that the townspeople always made a festival of it, and he enjoyed watching the fun from his tower.
Danny could hear the celebration as soon as he drove into town that day. The village green was decorated with banners and wooden arches woven with purple and white flowers. Some of the townspeople played music, and a group of eight—all couples, including the recently married pair—were dancing in the middle of the green to the accompanying claps of the onlookers. Danny stopped and watched, and joined the applause when the dance finished. The couples were flushed and high-spirited, their eyes gleaming from the well-deserved attention.
“The men, now!” someone shouted. Other dancers came proudly forward, and the band prepared another song. A few saw Danny and beckoned him over, so he stepped onto the green.
“Join us in a dance, will you, love?”
“Oh, no, I’m horrid at dancing,” he said truthfully. “I’d like to watch, though.”
“Come on then, just one.”
“But—”
“It won’t hurt!”
“Really, I—”
Someone grabbed his arm. It was the handsome young man who had smiled at him before, all grins now. His brown eyes promised mischief.
“Just one dance,” the young man pleaded.
“I … oh, all right.”
The crowd cheered as Danny was led to the center of the circle. His face grew hot, but the young man squeezed his arm in encouragement before his hand slipped away.
The first note struck the air and the men took their poses. Danny was slow to follow and some of the watchers laughed, but unlike the laughs of Lucas’s cronies, it was an affectionate sound.
“Watch me,” the young man said with a wink.
The music directed their feet. Danny turned and lifted his arms when he knew he should, and though he stumbled, a beat off from the others, he really wasn’t all that bad. The young man grinned, and when they were paired, turned him around to begin the steps from the opposite side.
When’s the last time I danced? Danny wondered. He couldn’t remember.
He was flushed by the end, but more from exertion than embarrassment. He shook a few well-meaning hands and suffered some chatter, occasionally meeting the eye of the young man who had roped him in.
When he got Danny alone, he said his name was Harland. “You shouldn’t be cooped up in the tower today.” Another dance started, this time for the women. “Stay out here and have fun.”
“I’ll come back,” Danny promised.
It took another five minutes of wheedling to escape the green and head for the tower. He took the long way around so that no one would follow him, walking between neatly trimmed hedges spotted with white honeysuckle, breathing in the scent of flora under the sharp chill.
Something caught his eye and he slowed to a stop. Between the hedges stood an old, weatherworn statue.
Another shrine.
Danny studied the figure as he approached: a man standing with his palms supine, his face as blank as an automaton’s save for a bump that used to be his nose. A few fingers had crumbled from his hands, and a large chunk of stone was missing from his left leg. This close, Danny saw that the dais the man stood on was actually a clock face.
Aetas.
Carefully, Danny brushed his fingers over the smooth stone, feeling the indentation where the god’s eyes had been carved. The statue was forgotten here, tucked away in one of Enfield’s corners. He wondered if anyone came to visit it, if anyone still prayed to it. Then again, who would pray to a dead god?
Danny shook his head and moved on to the tower. His giddiness steadily returned as the music from the green grew louder. He took off his coat and draped it over his arm as he bounded up the stairs, humming the song the band had been playing.
“Colton!” Danny walked into the clock room and threw his coat on the box beside the door. “Colton?”