Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Have you been up there yet?” I ask, nodding toward the tower.
Saylor follows my gaze, tilting her head back to take in the impossible height. “I didn’t know you could go up there.”
“Most people can’t. But I have certain privileges in this town.”
Without waiting for her answer, I guide her across the square toward the heavy oak door set into the tower’s base. I run my hand along the weathered stone frame until I find what I’m looking for—a loose brick that shifts when pressed. The iron key hidden behind it is blackened with age, left there by whoever decided Grimlock’s clock should stay frozen at midnight.
“Blue, what are you doing?”
“Showing you something pretty amazing.”
The door opens with a groan that echoes up the narrow spiral staircase. Stone steps worn smooth by centuries of feet wind upward into shadow, lit only by narrow windows cut into the tower walls. Each step demands effort, and we’re both breathing hard by the time we reach the first landing.
“How many stairs?” Saylor asks, pressing her hand against cool stone.
“Too many to count. But the view makes it worth it. Promise.”
We continue climbing, the staircase growing narrower as we ascend. The windows become more frequent, offering glimpses of Grimlock spread below us in miniature. Houses and shops shrink to dollhouse proportions, connected by streets that wind through mist in patterns that make perfect sense from this height.
The mechanism chamber houses the clock’s guts. Massive gears and pendulums that haven’t moved in decades fill the space. Brass and iron components the size of carriage wheels stand frozen, their surfaces green with age but still magnificent in their complexity. The air here smells of metal and time, of machinery that once kept perfect rhythm for an entire community.
“It’s beautiful,” Saylor breathes, running her fingers along a gear wheel taller than she is. “Why doesn’t it work anymore?”
“The town decided they preferred time standing still.”
She gives me a look that says she knows I’m being deliberately cryptic, but doesn’t press. We climb the final stairs to the observation deck, and when we emerge onto the platform, Saylor’s intake of breath makes the entire climb worthwhile.
Grimlock spreads below us in all directions, a perfect circle of civilization carved from wilderness. To the west, the Pacific stretches endless and gray, punctuated by jagged rocks where waves crash in silent explosions of white. The harbor curves around the town’s edge, its piers reaching into water that disappears into mist.
To the east, the Witchwood Forest begins where Grimlock’s last houses end. Ancient trees stretch unbroken toward the horizon, their canopy so dense it looks solid from this height. Somewhere beyond those trees, past miles of wilderness that would swallow a man whole, the Crow have carved out their territory. They’re out there right now, in clearings we can’t see from here, planning their next move and counting their dead.
“It’s perfect,” Saylor says, gripping the iron railing as wind whips her hair around her face. “You can see everything from here.”
“That’s the point. This building was built as a watchtower, to spot trouble before it reached town.”
“And now?”
“Now it’s just a good place to think.”
She turns to face me, eyes bright with exhilaration from the climb and the view. Wind has brought color to her cheeks, and the way the afternoon light catches in her hair makes something tighten in my chest.
“Thank you for bringing me up here.” She grips the railing tighter, taking in the view again. “I’m falling in love with this place, you know. Grimlock. I can see why my father kept coming back here.”
“He really never mentioned it to you?”
“Never. Not once. But being here now, I can feel what drew him to this place.” She pauses, watching the mist roll in from the ocean. “I’m surprised I never even heard of Grimlock before. A place this beautiful should be famous.”
“That’s how the residents prefer it. We’re not exactly eager for tourist buses and vacation rentals.” I lean against the railing beside her. “Small town living works best when it stays small.”
“There’s so much I want to explore. The shops, the neighborhoods, those walking trails I saw marked on signs.” Her eyes drift toward the forest. “I’d love to go hiking in those woods. They look untouched.”
“No hiking in the Witchwood,” I say immediately. “But there is something happening tomorrow night in the forest. Something you might find interesting.”
“Oh really?”
“The Dryad’s Dance. It happens three times a year when conditions are right.” I point toward a section of forest closer to town, where the trees thin slightly. “There’s a grove where bioluminescent mushrooms grow. Tomorrow they’ll be at peak brightness, and the whole town turns out to celebrate.”
“Glowing mushrooms?” Her face lights up with genuine excitement. “That sounds incredible.”
“It’s quite a sight. Music, dancing, food you won’t find anywhere else.” I watch her carefully. “The folklore says the glowing mushrooms only light up when the barrier between our world and the fae realm grows thin. The paths they create through the forest are supposed to be doorways. Places where you can step from our realm into theirs.” I lean against the railing. “Most people just go for the party, but some swear they’ve seen things. Heard voices that don’t belong to anyone human.”