REAP THE WHIRLWIND I FLYNN CARSEN

Between The Tik And The Tok

Between The Tik And The Tok

We make patterns out of stars
And we whisper little prayers
To be somewhere that we're not
And if we're good it will take us there...

As clouds of electrical energy began to gather overhead, Clara and the others took their positions, the students gathering in the centre of the room, at the heart of the pentagram. One by one, they raised their table legs, Clara the last, her arm shaking slightly. Then the storm struck, but instead of striking the students, it hit the table legs instead, illuminating each point of the pentagram.

Struggling to keep her balance, Clara closed her eyes, wincing as the force whipped through her hair like wind, nearly knocking her off her feet. After several long moments, the storm seemed to abate, Clara slowly opening her eyes again, too scared to see. But it was only to find herself utterly alone, the world existing in shades of grey, a state of existence that echoed the silence enveloping her.

"Nice place, isn't it?" Morgan said, making Clara whirl around. "It helps me focus, y'know?"

"Where is everybody?" Clara demanded, her voice strangely distant, sounding as if it was coming from far away.

"Don't worry, you did it," Morgan said, clapping her hands together. "You saved them all. So have a gold star on me."

"Where are they?" Clara repeated from between gritted teeth.

"Out there somewhere," Morgan said, glancing around her, "not quite sure where though exactly."

"And where are we?"

"Between the seconds," Morgan smiled. "Between the tik and the tok."

"Look, let's just finish this, shall we?" Clara said, cutting to the chase.

"Finish what, honey?" Morgan said, circling her.

"This," Clara said, pulling out Amy's phone.

"Oh, I thought you meant our little feudal feud," Morgan said, pretending to be taken aback.

"Why did you wake me up?" Clara said quietly, feeling Guinevere's ghost in her veins, stirring from her slumber.

"I thought it would be fun," Morgan said lightly, shrugging her shoulder.

"I'm the only one that can kill you," Clara said, her eyes flickering violet, "so why sign your own suicide note?"

"That was then, honey," Morgan said, looking bored, "now though is a whole other story. On your best day, you might be able to muss up my hair. Anything else is just wishful thinking on your part."

Clara just tilted her head to the side, a snakelike smile playing across her lips. The next thing Morgan knew was that she was dangling in mid-air, as though hanging from an invisible noose, her feet desperately trying to find solid ground, her hands flying to her throat, the life being choked out of her. "And not a hair out of place, honey," Clara purred, parodying Morgan.

Morgan tried to unleash on her own counter enchantment, but Clara just deflected it with a lazy wave of her hand.

"Stop humiliating yourself, dear one," Clara drawled, circling Morgan this time. "Just... let go."

"Gwen, please," Morgan gasped, feeling the magic turn sour in her veins, unable to find an outlet.

"Galeas wants me to kill you," Clara said, pretended to frown, "but that would be too easy." She raised her hand, Morgan collapsing onto the ground, her face bloodless, red hair tumbled, her green dress riding up her legs. "Your day is over," Clara said coldly, advancing on her, "so run, Morgan, hide. Seek shelter with the Fey or carve out a kingdom in the Mirror-Lands, finding refuge in reflections. I am banishing you to the Beyond. This world is mine, not yours."

"Noli timere malum," Morgan whispered, staggering to her feet, "sed time heroa."

"Sorry, I don't speak gibberish," Clara smirked.

"Get - what did he call himself? - Jenkins, to translate it for you," Morgan spat, "he'll understand even if you don't." And with that, she turned and escaped into eternity.