She searched the store for an owner, finding the counters left unattended and the maze of warm shelves absent of souls. Over by a decorative pine tree, a toot filled the shop, and an infant-sized toy train rounded on a silver track amidst the prickly branches. Tufts of glitter spat from the train’s pipes as it disappeared back beneath a curtain of green needles and came out the other side, aiming toward a staircase at the store’s edge.

Stealing one last glance at the empty Stratford street, Kaley followed the train.

The locomotive lit the way up the stairs with pea-sized headlights and into an unlit hall where a glow seeped beneath a large door. Kaley did not notice the train wander off, its horn disappearing from her mind. An embellished “W” was painted on the door’s wooden exterior.

For a reason she could not explain, Kaley felt she ought to knock. But the moment her knuckles tapped the wood, the door swung open, and light filled her vision. She shielded her eyes, peering through the radiance at the slender silhouette of a creature with violet wings. She was sucked in by a warm wind.

SEVERAL FULL QUARTERS LATER

AND YET, ALMOST NO TIME LATER AT ALL

(TIME IS A FUNNY THING)

Kaley flipped a page aged with water marks and crinkles. A low hum accompanied the book; constant, warm, and soothing. Her finger followed the lines best it could with the words hopping about and the sentences curling into twists, creating a path one had to turn the book upside down to follow.

“Have you heard about the magic cylinder that plays to the heartbeat of the Truth itself?” a book whispered from the stack to Kaley’s right. “Painted red to hide its power and—”

“Quiet,” Kaley scolded the book, for ‘twas the seventh time that pesky thing had interrupted her reading that morning. Kaley was certain she would slap it across the time pocket if it did not shut up.

“Have you heard about the magic wreath that—”

“Un—real.” Kaley dropped the book in her hands and reached to dig the chatty Volume out from the pile so she might stuff it under a blanket.

A sharp pop reverberated through the time pocket, and her fingers stilled. Kaley’s gaze darted to where a smoky haze leaked through a fresh crack in the pocket’s shell. This new crack was larger than the thread-thin ones that had appeared over the last two quarters. She jumped when it popped again, watching the crack channel across the shell. A shard of the pocket broke off and her heart stopped.

A breath of wind rushed in from the unlit basement beyond, brushing along Kaley’s neck. She stared at the gap—just big enough for her to slip through, should she wish to try.

But she could not. Before Porethius Plum had left Kaley to read through the Volumes of Wisdom, the fairy had instructed, “Do not leave this time pocket for any reason.” For, as Porethius was not a true time overseer, she had not been able to stop time completely outside of the pocket she had created—only slow it down. ‘Twas why the thing kept cracking.