Chapter 1

When I was fifteen, my drunk father beat me so badly that I was barely clinging to life.

Clutching my entire fortune, ten dollars, I ran into the seediest corner of Albio, Raven Alley.

At the end of the alley, there was a clock shop that always opened after midnight. Rumors had it that the owner wasn't even human. He cast no shadow and never showed up during the day.

I slid my blood-stained dollars across the counter to him, begging him to protect me.

The pale, handsome man took the money. He neither agreed nor refused. He just fixed those deep gray eyes on me and asked three questions, "Are you afraid of blood? Are you afraid of dead people? Are you afraid of me?"

*****

The first time I met Samuel was on the coldest night in East Albio.

I was fifteen that year.

Fog crept up from the Graywater River, slithering along the streets.

Coal smoke stained the sky a murky brown, and the streetlights, swallowed by the mist, left only blurry yellow glows.

When I escaped from home, my left cheek was swollen, my lip was split, and my calves under the school skirt were mottled with bruises.

My father was drunk again.

He'd lost all the money he'd earned hauling cargo at the docks. When he got home, he tore the place apart, but failed to find the last three dollars my mother had hidden.

Then he grabbed her by the hair, smashing her head against the fireplace.

I rushed in to stop him, and then his calloused hand landed on my face.

The slap was so loud that for a split second, I couldn't hear my mother's sobs or the clatter of carriage wheels on the street outside.

He gripped my neck and said, "Irene, you look just like your mother. Born to be troublesome."

I didn't cry. Crying was useless.

In our home, tears only made the blows harder.

While my father was asleep, I fished a tin box out from under the bed.

Inside was the money I'd been saving for ages. Ten dollars in total.

I'd earned it by sewing buttons at the tailor's, delivering baskets for the bakery, and picking up coal scraps behind the church, saving up bit by bit.

I'd planned to save enough to buy my mother a wool scarf for winter.

But that night, I slipped the ten dollars into my pocket and walked into Raven Alley.

Raven Alley was the seediest place in East Albio.

There were underground taverns selling hard liquor, tattoo shops for sailors, shady brokers in black hats, women in red dresses, and a clock shop that only opened after midnight.

Word on the street was that the clock shop owner was downright scary.

He never showed up during the day.

His skin was ghostly pale, and his eyes were cold and deep as the winter sea.

Strangest of all, he cast no shadow.

Some whispered he was a runaway noble. Others claimed he was a killer.

And some, in hushed tones, said he wasn't even human.

I didn't care if he was human or not. People had already scared me plenty.

I just wanted something that would scare my father.

*****

A black brass bell hung above the clock shop door.

When I pushed the door open, the bell didn't ring.

Inside, there were no gas lamps, but just a few silver-white candles.

The walls were crowded with clocks: grandfather clocks, pocket watches, mechanical birds, and silver-inlaid mantel clocks. All of them ticked together, filling the shop with a delicate, endless ticking.

The man sat behind the counter, bent over a pocket watch he was repairing.

He wore a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his fingers long and slender, skin so pale that it was almost translucent.

He didn't look up when the door opened. "Young lady, it's not safe to be lost after midnight."

His voice sounded really nice.

I stood by the door, clutching the ten dollars in my fist. "I'm not lost."

He finally looked up.

His eyes were a deep gray, and in the candlelight, his pupils narrowed to tiny slits.

His eyes paused on the bruises on my face for a second. "So, what are you here to buy?"

I placed the ten dollars on the counter. They rolled for a moment before settling next to his pale hand.

I said, "I heard you charge for protection."

He raised an eyebrow.

I mustered my courage, my voice shaking. "Could you... protect me?"

For a moment, it felt like every clock in the shop skipped a beat.

The man looked at me, and after a long moment, he gave a quiet laugh. "For ten dollars?"

My face burned. "That's all I have."

He picked up the oldest coin with two fingers and held it up to the candlelight. "What's your name?"

"Irene White."

"Who hurt you?"

I kept quiet.

He pressed, "Your father?"

I looked up sharply.

He looked at me, his gaze calm, but it felt like he could see right through me.

I whispered, "If you don't want to, it's okay."

"How exactly do you want me to protect you?"

I thought for a long while.

I thought of my mother, beaten and forced to her knees.

I thought of the reek of whiskey on my father's breath as his hands closed around my throat.

I thought of the girls at school dumping my lunch into the gutter, mocking me for smelling like a poor kid.

Finally, I said, "Make them stop hurting me."

He set the coin back on the counter. "Them?"

I gripped my skirt. "Everyone."

He looked at me, his gray eyes deep as fog. "Irene White, do you know the rules of Raven Alley?"

I shook my head.

"There's no free protection here. Every bit of protection costs something."

I looked down at the ten dollars. "I'll work it off. I can scrub floors, run errands, and help out in the shop. I don't mind tough jobs."

He was quiet for a moment, and then suddenly asked, "Are you afraid of blood?"

I froze. "No."

"Are you afraid of dead people?"

"I've seen some."

"Are you afraid of me?"

I looked up at him.

He was so pale and cold, like some noble specter fresh from the cemetery.

I didn't know why, but I shook my head. "I'm afraid of going home."

His smile vanished.

Then he rose to his feet.

That was when I realized how tall he was. His black coat drifted through the candlelight, and there truly was no shadow.

He walked over to the door and turned the sign over. "We're closed for the night."

Then he glanced back at me. "From this moment until sunrise, you're under my protection."

I stared at him, still in a daze.

He took my ten dollars and slipped it into the inside pocket of his coat. "Remember, my name is Samuel Vane."

"Mr. Vane..." I said.

"Call me Samuel."

"Samuel."

"Mm."

He tossed a black cloak over my shoulders, the fabric carrying a faint, chilly fragrance. "Clean the blood off first."

I lowered my head and wiped the corner of my mouth with my sleeve.

He let out a soft sigh and brought over a warm towel. "Not like that."

He gently wiped my face.

I tried to hold back, but the tears still fell.

Samuel looked at me. "Does it hurt?"

I shook my head.

"Then why are you crying?"

I choked up, "No one's ever wiped my face like this before."

His fingers paused.

The countless clocks in the shop began ticking again.

After a long pause, he said in a low voice, "That ends tonight."