The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series) Read online

  Table of Contents

  THE CLOCKWORK CATHEDRAL

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  CAT’S PAW

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  LUNA PARK

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  THE SOUND OF WINGS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  A TWICE TOLD TALE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Author’s Note

  The Time Corps Chronicles

  Copyright © 2015 by Heather Blackwood. All rights reserved.

  First Kindle Edition: August 2015

  Cover and Formatting: Streetlight Graphics

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’
s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  THE CLOCKWORK CATHEDRAL

  Chapter 1

  “I’m already on my way home,” said Felicia Sanchez, switching her mobile phone from one ear to the other and leaning back in her seat on the bus. “And I have a huge paper to work on tonight. I can’t go back to the hospital.”

  “But you promised,” said her housemate, Doug, over the phone.

  His voice was nearly drowned out by the roar of the bus engine as it pulled away from the curb. The last of the boarding passengers took their seats and an elderly woman sat down beside Felicia. Doug had been looking forward to Comic-Con for months, and his Dr. Horrible costume would be nothing without the lab coat she had borrowed from her fellow medical student. She had remembered to get the coat, but then had left it in her locker at the hospital.

  “Can’t I get it tomorrow?” she asked.

  “I leave for Comic-Con first thing in the morning.”

  The air outside the bus window seemed to shimmer, like the waves of air rising over burning pavement on a hot day. But it was a cool February evening in New Orleans. The air moved at her eye-level, blurring her view of the cars on the other side of the street. Didn’t air only move in that manner when viewed against a horizon?

  “That’s weird,” Felicia murmured.

  “It’s not weird. I have to carpool and the drive to Houston will take most of the day.”

  “No, not that. Never mind.”

  “So you’ll go back and get the lab coat? I’ll make a mushroom and spinach quiche for dinner. And I’ll even whip up a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies. Then you won’t have to cook dinner and you can work on your paper all night.”

  Felicia sighed. Doug was a bit eccentric, but still a good housemate. He was quiet and always on time with his share of the rent and utilities. He had even been patient with her when she tried to play a multiplayer online game with him and couldn’t get the hang of shape shifting and casting spells simultaneously. On top of that, he occasionally packed her a lunch when he was preparing his own. She owed him, and she had made a promise.

  “Fine. I’ll head back at the next stop.”

  “Thank you! I’ll get started on dinner.”

  She hung up and noticed a fluttering paper sign tacked onto a telephone pole announcing a Civil War reenactment this week. That meant more tourists cramming into the city on top of those already arriving for Mardi Gras.

  Felicia checked her texts. One of her sisters asked for details on Felicia’s flight to Los Angeles. In two weeks, Felicia would be the maid of honor in her wedding in Los Angeles, where their family lived. Felicia would have to call her later and give her the flight details so someone could pick her up at the airport.

  Her mother had also sent a text saying that her father’s biopsy had shown a small skin growth to be benign. Felicia texted back that she was happy to hear it. The warm glow of happiness faded a little as she checked her voice mail and listened to a message from her ex-boyfriend. She would have to think about whether or not she wanted to call him back. She deleted the message.

  She checked her e-mail and must have made a little noise of delighted surprise, because the elderly woman beside her glanced over. It was an e-mail from Brazil, from a doctor who specialized in an experimental treatment for a rare form of bone cancer. Nathan, her three-year-old nephew, was receiving treatment in Los Angeles, and his prognosis was not good. Felicia hadn’t informed her sister, fearing that Nathan might not be a good candidate. But the doctor stated that he was happy to learn more about the case, and that Nathan might benefit from the treatment.

  Clutching her phone to her chest, she bit her lower lip. There was hope yet. She would e-mail the doctor when she got home and give him more complete information, including her sister’s phone number and e-mail address.

  Out the window, fewer than six feet away, a man rode on horseback. She wanted to yell to him to watch out, that he would get hit by the oncoming cars, but he and his horse seemed to be having an ordinary ride. His demeanor was relaxed, although his back was poker straight and he kept his eyes forward. He was dressed in some kind of nineteenth century clothing with a top hat, breeches and leather boots. He must either be one of the historical recreationists who made a living giving tours of the city or one of the tourists who came for the Civil War reenactment. But what he was doing on a horse in the middle of the street?

  “What’s that fellow doing there?” asked the elderly woman next to her.

  “Doesn’t seem safe to me,” said Felicia. When she turned back to the window, the man was gone. The woman beside her was rummaging through her shopping bag and had not noticed his disappearance.

  The next stop would be at St. Charles Avenue in the Garden District. Felicia would get off, cross the street and take the next bus back to Tulane University Hospital. It was now completely dark, and her stomach growled. Doug’s mushroom and spinach quiche sounded better and better.

  As the bus approached its stop, Felicia rose, excused herself as she squeezed past the older woman and moved toward the front of the bus. She gripped the overhead railing, steadying herself as the bus slowed. The air in front of the bus shimmered, and she saw the man on the horse through the front window of the bus. He was directly in the bus’s path.

  “What the hell?” yelled the bus driver, slamming on the brakes. A few passengers cried out in surprise.

  The horse shied and reared up, and the rider gave a shout as he leaned in and held tight to keep from being thrown. The horse bolted toward the sidewalk, the bumper of the bus missing it by inches. Felicia only had a moment of relief until the bus lurched hard, throwing her to her hands and knees. Some of the other passengers screamed.

  Felicia pulled herself to her feet, hanging on to the back of a seat. It felt as if the bus had hit something, but nothing had been in front of them, she was certain of it. The bus was now stopped and the air was shimmering in multiple places outside, as if a handful of pebbles had been tossed into a puddle and ripples were circling outward. The blaring car horns mixed with shouts and the high-pitched scream of a terrified horse. The animal tore down the sidewalk, its reins dangling and its saddle empty. Felicia spotted the rider lying on the pavement.

  “Open the door!” she commanded. The door swung open and Felicia jumped out. She knelt at the man’s side. He was conscious and trying to sit up.

  “Are you all right?” Felicia said.

  He nodded and rubbed at his back. “I’m sure I’ll be fine in a bit.”

  He had a strong Southern accent. She wanted to examine him for injuries, but he was already climbing to his feet. She offered him a hand up, and he stared at her in bewilderment for a moment before waving her away. He located his top hat and situated it atop his head.

  The bus was gone now, and in its place was an old-fashioned vehicle, the type that tourists liked to ride. It looked something like a stagecoach, but was much longer and was painted green with gold trim. Fancy gold script on the side read: Jackson Square, St. Charles Line. A seat for the driver was high on the front of the vehicle, and the driver himself scrambled down. Four horses were hitched to the front, and their restless movement caused the vehicle to roll forward a few inches. Felicia noted that the spindly wagon wheels were larger in the back than the front, and its side windows had no glass but were open to the warm, mid-morning air.

  Mid-morning air? But it was evening. Nevertheless, the sun was shining overhead and the streets bustled with activity. She felt dizzy and grabbed at a lamppost, noting vaguely that it was topped with an antique-looking gaslight.


  “An omnibus accident!” shouted a man behind her.

  “I’ve sent a boy already for the ambulance.”

  “Get out of the way!” shouted a heavyset man with a bushy gray moustache and muttonchops.

  “He’s a doctor,” cried a woman. “Let him through!”

  People poured out of the, what had the man called it? An omnibus? The man with the muttonchops and moustache knelt and examined an injured woman.

  Felicia knew she had to help. She was only a medical student, but she was of more use than the strangely dressed bystanders who stood around talking among themselves. She felt dizzy again and her stomach heaved. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath, determined not to vomit. She must have taken a blow to the head when she fell down on the bus. But she didn’t remember feeling any pain at the time. And her head didn’t hurt now either. But the nausea, dizziness and optical disorientation making evening look like mid-morning had to be a symptom of some sort of head injury.

  Historical recreationists poured from the omnibus. A woman in full skirts fanned herself and a man with a top hat offered his arm to her. A few other passengers were lying or sitting on the ground, but most were standing.

  The back of the omnibus looked like it had been hit by a …well, a bus. But where was her bus? And where was anyone who wasn’t in a historical costume?

  Rows of beautiful Garden District houses lined the street. The wrought iron gate of the one directly across the street squeaked open. A tall man in suspenders and striped brown trousers stopped and took in the scene. He was hatless, and his hair was wild, as if he had just gotten out of bed. He strode across the street toward her.

  “Are you all right, miss?” he said. He had an Irish accent. She looked down to see he was holding her by the elbow. She didn’t remember him moving to touch her. Did she look like she was going to pass out?

  “Why don’t you rest for a moment, lass?” he said. “You should come over across the street where there aren’t so many people.” She felt too dizzy and sick to protest. She allowed him to guide her to a quiet spot near a thick fence of brick and black iron in front of his house. She sat down and leaned against the fence, cradling her head in her hands. The world spun madly and the feeling of nausea overwhelmed her. Worse than that, there were people injured, and she was unable to help them.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” the man said, pointing a finger at her. He took a long look at her, then spun and rushed toward the crowd.

  Chapter 2

  Seamus Connor left the worst injured to the doctor and the ambulance workers who had just arrived. Thankfully, only two people needed to be loaded into the ambulance, both of whom were conscious. Once they were on board, the ambulance driver cracked a whip and a team of horses pulled them in the direction of the hospital.