The Clockwork Witch

By McKenzie Odom

How do I explain my children? They are Marionettes but so much more... I created them with a knowledge of gears, steam, and magic. As you can imagine such a skill set doesn't go over kindly with normal people. Add that to the typical high brow of Victorian Society and it's a perfectly volatile situation. The result of which is my untimel

• Language: English
• Publisher: Atmosphere Press
• Release date: Oct 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781647647247

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THE CLOCKWORK WITCH

McKenzie P. Odom

atmosphere press

Copyright © 2019 McKenzie P. Odom

Published by Atmosphere Press

Cover design by Nick Courtright

nickcourtright.com

No part of this book may be reproduced

except in brief quotations and in reviews

without permission from the author.

The Clockwork Witch

2019, McKenzie P. Odom

atmospherepress.com

On the street I am met with constant hostility

and I would have finally nothing else around me,

except my children who are trained to love

and whom I intend to leave as relics of my intentions.

A Fragment, by Robert Creeley

PROLOGUE:

The Great and Powerful Muse

In a history like ours, it is hard to discern fact; all perspectives are skewed one way or another, but to those who pay close attention, there are similarities. This is not your history, human. No, it is the history of those who intersect it, those whom you try to ignore because they scare you. You are so very easily scared by those you consider myth and legend. Did you know that even your fairy tales are shrouded in truth?

This story is one such tale of myth, legend, and child-like wonder, but it is one you have never heard. I am Gabriel Bose, one of the last Marionette People. We are on the verge of extinction because of you and your people who look on us as nightmares. It is told from our maker’s perspective in those early years. Her name was Muse Adelard, and it begins as many fairy tales do:

Once upon a time, there lived a lonely daddy’s girl with the purest heart, whose father gave her a doll resembling a jester with sweet green eyes and a charming smile. The little girl affectionately called him Pocket…

CHAPTER 1:

Lady Nocturne

It was a warm day in Spring when my father introduced me to Nocturne. She was olive skinned with ivory hair – though she couldn’t have been much older than my father. Hello, Miss Adelard, she said, crouching ever so slightly to my height and offering me her hand. I hid behind my father’s legs with Pocket, my Marionette, wrapped in my arms.

I didn’t like to meet new people, not since I had almost died. That was four years ago and when I had met Death himself. My father reached behind me, placing a gentle hand between my shoulder blades. I looked up to his blue gaze, one which I shared, and waited. Muse, he said, you needn’t be frightened, I’ve known Nocturne since before you were born.

It’s all right, Jacob, Nocturne said, standing up straight once more. She was about the same height as his chest, double my own as I stood at his hip. We will have plenty of time to get used to each other, she said with a lovely grin that touched her violet eyes.

My father nodded and said, Please, come in; Muse and I were just about to start dinner. He turned into the clocktower in which we lived. As a result, I was revealed fully to Nocturne who, glancing at Pocket, asked, Who is this handsome fellow?

His name is Pocket, I responded shyly.

Charming, Nocturne said, offering him her hand. I smiled a little and placed Pocket’s hand between her fingers shaking it up and down.

Nocturne was pleased and when she pulled her hand back waited for me to step through the doors before following. We entered the tower with it’s marvelous tick tick ticking. I loved the sound. It was so alive, so comforting; just like a heartbeat. Of course, my father had raised me that way in clock towers outside of the boundaries of the Revolutionary war. I had lived in clock towers my whole life, probably because that was where the townspeople thought a British engineer ought to be- locked away, in a tower. I was just his half breed offspring. My American mother had birthed me just after America had claimed its independence from Britain and perished two years thereafter from a lung disease that could be passed genetically. As a result, her ailment had very nearly killed me on December 5, 1780; my fourth birthday.

Nocturne, my father, and I sat at our humble but sturdy wood table and started eating. How are things at your plantation, Nocturne? my father asked, his short blonde ponytail bouncing as he looked towards her. My hair was several shades darker, and father had often called it golden brass. A consequence of working with the gears so often, treacle, I recalled him saying.

The apples are looking particularly ripe this year, so Charles should have an easy time selling them.

Who’s Charles? I chimed in.

Charles is my right-hand man, Nocturne said, he runs the house in my absence.

So, your husband? I asked trying to make sense of her explanation.

Nocturne laughed in a carefree manner and said, Oh, no, dear. I’m not married. The very idea of such a beautiful woman as Nocturne being unmarried both baffled and thrilled me.

Is that even allowed? I asked my dad.

He smiled wistfully and said, Yes, treacle, but I wouldn’t recommend it.

Why not?

It’s frowned upon, Nocturne answered in his stead.

Why?

Now, Muse, you mustn’t worry about such things. You’re far too young, besides what would your grandparents say? my father replied.

I grimaced and folded my arms across my chest in a pout. I didn’t like my grandparents; they thought father wasn’t fit to raise me. That’s why Nocturne was there in the first place. They had demanded that I receive some formal education in being a lady to let me remain with him. Nocturne clearly noticed the tension and said with a cheerful chirp, But I am being courted.

Oh? father and I both asked, though my interest was more sincere.

Oh, yes, by a very handsome man… a nobleman, in fact.

Gross, I said with a crinkled nose smile.

All three of us couldn’t help but laugh at my reaction. It was good of my father to keep Nocturne nearby in those days, otherwise I never would have listened to a word she said. In truth, I found her a bit intimidating. She was so elegant and independent from the other ladies I knew. When dinner was done, my father had me clean the dishes while he walked Nocturne home. She lived three houses away from the tower and by herself.

I finished doing the dishes and headed up to the clock face where dad and I slept. I sat on my bunch of blankets and played with Pocket by his cross. He walked about and performed a little dance. You’re such a good dancer, Pocket, I said to him with a giggle. He smiled back at me with his jester grin and gave a little head bob. Me? You know I don’t dance, Pocket. I’m not graceful enough… He stared at me with blank green eyes until I relented. Fine, but if I trip, it’s your fault. I then propped him against the wall and danced around in circles following the shadows of the gears reflected on the floor.

My father arrived just as I did a clumsy little leap and, with a chuckle, scooped me up in an airplane. I squealed in delight for a few minutes until he rested me on the floor once more. He knelt to my height and, tapping my nose gently, said, Time for bed.

I nodded, picked Pocket up, and climbed under my covers. He was not comfortable persay, being predominantly made of wood, but his thick velvet clothes kept me from getting splinters. My father then gently pulled my covers up a bit more and, kissing the top of my head, said, I love you, treacle.

I love you too, Daddy, I said, hugging his neck with one arm.

He pulled back and, sitting by me, said, When you start your lessons with Nocturne tomorrow, try to remember that this is important, all right? Even though I love having you around as my little wrench monkey, your grandparents have a point, you need some formal training.

I know, Daddy. Just promise me the gears won’t stop without me.

Never, he said, then retired to his own bed.

I closed my eyes and fell asleep dreaming about the first time I died and, consequently, met Death. I was laying across the same covers while father rested his eyes. The air smelling of medication, oil, and, wood. I was having a hard time breathing, especially as the air turned more stale, bitter; accompanied by a shape that appeared out of the shadows at the corner of the room. He bore a striking resemblance to a man, except he was too pale, too gaunt, and as he drew nearer, I knew that he was distinctly human. We locked eyes, his a deep green that one could drown in, and without a word, he shook his head and walked back into the shadows from whence he came. A simple task for him, as he was darkly dressed with even darker hair.

I woke with a start and turned back to my father’s sleeping form. He was breathing deeply, and the air seemed warmer because of it. I looked up to the glass of the clock face above my head where the moon shone through and, rolling over, closed my eyes again. I had told my father of the strange man who had visited me that night and he told me, No doubt it was an Angel. Coming to bless you with a swift recovery. If I had told anyone else they would have, no doubt, said Death was a demon, which is why I rarely paid attention when my father and I attended church; they were often full of themselves and refused to acknowledge the evidence. Especially since, shortly after my father told me, I did recover.

The next day,

Nocturne arrived quite early, about 5 AM, and I began my education in properness. We started simply with dance, art, sewing, and music. Each time, I seemed to find some way to break the instruments I was supposed to be using – the shoes, the brush, the violin, and the needle. Nocturne would quickly wander off to find me another one, and by the time she returned, I had already repaired and modified the tool for automation. Nocturne seemed to find this natural talent fascinating and ultimately decided that the feminine arts was not the type of education I needed. What can I say, father had instilled in me an enduring fascination with mechanics, and I was good at it. Truly, I could have assembled a clock by myself.

Thus, Nocturne changed my lessons to more academic pursuits. She started to teach me math, science, history, and the like. This too, I excelled at. Nocturne was amazed at my intellect and, as a result, brought up a different kind of education to my father. I wasn’t meant to hear it, of course…

I sat on the stairs several flights above the dining room. The tower was mostly made of stairs after all, the center being entirely empty - save the top floor. I was 10 or so then; Nocturne had been tutoring me for about two years. I tried to keep out of the line of sight as I eavesdropped on their conversation.

Jacob, it occurs to me that your daughter is exceptional… Nocturne began, and I smiled. "As such, I believe I would like to teach her something different..."

For the first time since Nocturne had arrived, I heard my father’s voice become unpleasant, No, Nocturne.

I frowned, obviously father knew what different would entail, but I hadn’t the foggiest idea. Had the two discussed this previously? It seemed likely. I leaned closer to the railing to see if I could read my father’s face. The railing creaked, and I tensed, but neither one looked towards the sound. You have done a fine job with her. She is intelligent, and I don’t give a flying frog’s breath what her grandparents say, she doesn’t need to be a parrot of politeness.

On that we can agree, Nocturne, but this discussion isn’t happening, my father said, preparing to leave the room.

Jacob, she started to argue again, but then a loud crack filled the air. The railing on which I had been leaning gave way. I screamed as the wood bent around me, scraping at my arms. I tried to grab at pieces, hoping one of them would somehow catch me.

Muse! My father cried out, rushing forward to catch me. I closed my eyes, panicked, as air rushed past me. All at once the wind stopped, but I hadn’t felt the groan of my muscles against the hardwood floor. I hadn’t felt the sickening snap of broken bone that should have followed. I opened my eyes as I fell like a feather into my father’s waiting arms. Nocturne’s hand was stretched towards me delicately.

"She really is quite a clumsy