They gather at night.
The steady click keeping them in time, unified, controlled. Their maker made them that way.
As more Londoners disappear, their numbers grow.
One has joined their ranks. A special one, with power more potent than any other. Old warlock magic, and something else... an enchantment wound so tight it’s near impossible to unravel.
And only Eleanor Chance – the girl they call the Oracle – has a hope of saving these unfortunate souls...
... souls that are burdened with the slow death from a clockwork heart.
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
The clockmaker smiles.
‘You will be special.’
His eyes are trained on the tiny cogs and gears. He lowers in a small brass part and caresses the spring with practiced ease.
The clockwork heart starts ticking.
At the centre of the miracle lies a tiny crumb of carmot, no bigger than a grain of sand. No more is needed to give it life.
The clockmaker smiles again.
‘Yes, you will be special.’
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