She opened the brown box by the rear wheel of the bike and examined the contents. New pistons and piston rings. Looking up, she wondered how much of the task she could complete before the sun rose—if staying busy would keep her mind off her problems, even for a few hours.
As a little girl, months of her life had been spent in her father’s garage, working on his car, his bike, and his boat. All things motorized had been his passion, and the long hours of earning her father’s approval had translated to a love of working with her hands and an appreciation for machines. A certain catharsis could be found in dismantling and reassembling a device, removing the cancer that had broken it and making it whole once more.
Though she kept the bay cool, working made her hot, and sweat soon ran down her sides. Dana stripped away her shirt and worked on the piston assembly in just her bra and jeans and eventually just her bra and panties. Her skin was marked with grease, her hair pulled back into a ponytail to keep it from her eyes. Her eyesight was blurring, a function of being awake for nearly twenty hours. Her next job didn’t start until one in the afternoon, so she couldn’t care less about sleep. She was going to miss her classes tomorrow, but she doubted anybody even noticed at this point.
As she sat on the cool floor, her legs slowly going numb beneath her, the pistons faded from sight, replaced by the scent of the ocean, grains of sand beneath her feet. Watching dolphins breach the cool Pacific waters, she felt a firm yet feminine hand rub her lower back before moving up toward her shoulders. It caressed her cheek and then pulled, trying to position her to be kissed.
“Alex,” she whispered, closing her eyes, afraid to see her dead lover again.
The clattering of her ratchet startled her awake, her forehead against the frame of the bike. She had fallen asleep, if only for a few minutes. Too tired to continue, she stood, leaving her work where it was, knowing it wouldn’t be disturbed. The widow never came in here, and Dana’s friends never dropped by anymore. Climbing the stairs to her loft, sadness sucked Dana down, more powerful than gravity. It was nine steps to the top. She counted them, determined to at least crawl into her own bed.
“What the fuck?” Suddenly, she was wide awake, staring at the large object taking up the corner of her loft. She recognized it immediately as the grandfather clock she had seen last week in the spooky old house with the new owner, Mike. It stood next to her desk, an envelope taped to the front with her name written on it in cursive.
She pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t still asleep. The surge of pain up her arm informed her that she was, indeed, still awake. She opened the envelope and pulled out a small white sheet of paper from inside, torn from a notepad. The words were in cursive, tall letters that made her think of a fountain pen.
Can you fix me?
Dana looked at the back of the paper, but nothing else was written. When she peered inside the envelope, her jaw dropped. She pulled out the small stack of twenties, counting them in disbelief. There was just over a thousand dollars there. Looking inside the envelope once more, she found an antique key. The widow must have let Mike drop off the clock while she was out.
“Okay, beautiful,” she said, stroking the smooth wood of the grandfather clock. Dana had hoped Mike would take her on for some home repairs, extra money to make her dream a reality. “First thing tomorrow night, I’m going to find out what makes you tick.” All thoughts about Alex and the motorcycle vanished, new thoughts of researching gears and pendulums entering her head. She tucked the money and the key into her nightstand before lying on top of the covers to let sleep claim her. She pulled a pillow over from the other side of the bed, inhaling its long-gone fragrance.
“Goodnight, Alex,” Dana whispered, her voice echoing softly across the loft. As she drifted to sleep, her brain tricked her into thinking she heard the clock ticking.
THE LIBRARY
Mike held the small sledgehammer in both hands, dubious that he would be able to strike another living being with it, much less a Minotaur. Still, it was better than nothing.
He’d debated purchasing a gun but knew next to nothing about them other than to point the long, skinny end at stuff he wanted to kill. Lack of education aside, Naia had warned him against such a purchase for the sole reason that she had no idea what other creatures may be lying in wait within the house’s walls, and the last thing they needed was another Jenny-type situation with the addition of a firearm.
That and Naia had informed him that the odds were good that Tink would take it apart anyway just to see how it worked.
“Husband ready?” Tink asked. They were standing in the hallway, and her hand was on the doorknob to the room just down the hall from his. Sighing, Mike nodded. He wasn’t ready. He had absolutely no idea what they were in for. Tink cradled her crossbow
