Radio stations across the globe had their feeds hacked by some kind of cyber breach. No one understood how. The stations weren't networked across time zones and continents.

"Once upon a midnight dreary, did I ponder, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious sigil of forgotten lore—"

The gruff voice recited some bizarre rendition of Poe's "The Raven".

"And the Hours, never flitting, are back to sitting, back to sitting

On the pallid Circle above forevermore..."

In the background, the twang of strings added vibrating punctuation to each line as the voice droned on.

_____

By means of Fourth's computer, Midnight had downloaded his recording into the webbing of the wide world. And his recitation invaded a multitude of radio airwaves like spidery tendrils.

I am the raven.

Thumbs hooked together, an amused Midnight splayed his gloved fingers and flapped his hands. The shadow puppet's wings flew darkly along the length of the bus station platform where he stood.

The sun shone bright overhead, and Midnight soaked up the rays with giddy delight. He'd been relishing the true light of day ever since sunrise. It was why he'd spent most of Fifth to Tenth's watches simply being outside.

He pulled Tenth's cellphone out from behind his breast pocket silk square.

[Text not delivered. Try again?]

So far, every Hour but one had possessed a cellphone. And just about every mortal Midnight observed this morning had one as well. The reverence afforded these devices by humans astonished him. They were the talismans of communion of this so-called modern age.

It turned out the ever practical Tenth's sleek and streamlined phone was also her Clock. Sleek and streamlined... much like Tenth herself in the sham of a mortal existence she'd been living as a professional athlete —a marathon runner in New York City to be exact.

The fleet of foot Hour's attire had been sleek and streamlined as well. Engineered for peak performance, Midnight read off the label of the neon green visor he'd acquired from her after indulging in a little cat and mouse game through the streets of the city. Alas for the Tenth Hour there was no outrunning Midnight calling. He'd ended the game in an alley behind a bodega on 21st Street —Best Sandwiches in Queens! —though Midnight could have done without the pickles in the Sub Haven.

He gave a quick swipe to his chin where crumbs lingered still in his beard.

The Hour without a cellphone had been Seventh.

Flickers of sun and starlight sparked behind Midnight's lenses as he rolled his eyes. A pot-bellied street mime performing in Prague? Of all the indignant buffoonery...

But oh, Seventh's Clock. Magnificent. Midnight had been most impressed. The silent clown of an Hour had made the towering, baronial clock of the old town square his own.

A shame.

The clock was reminiscent of the Circle given the presence it commanded... was, that is. Now? A ruin gutted by feathered cadavers after flock upon flock of convenient pigeons had launched from the town square, and like the good little commandeered suicide bombers that they were, flew hell-bent into the tower's works in barrages of explosive splatters.

Midnight held Tenth's phone at arm's length, the sole Clock he had yet to destroy because of the message on its screen.

A group of teenage boys waiting for a bus behind him murmured amongst themselves.

"Nice hat, grampa."

"Yo, is that a 12 Pro Max?"

"Looks legit."

"How come some whack job boomer's got one?"

Whack job? Midnight thumped his walking stick hard on the platform, then raised the tip to peer at it.

"Hmm, whack job. Perhaps that's not so far off."

The Supreme Hour spun on his saddle-shoed heels to face the group. "Gentlemen." He politely tipped Tenth's running visor that was on his head.

The boys eyed Midnight warily as he waved Tenth's Clock before them.

"There's something I can't figure out with my new phone. If one of you can explain it to me, I'll give you..." Midnight fished in his breast pocket once more to magically pull out two fifty-dollar bills.

"Straight up?" one of the group exclaimed.

"Mm, straight up."

The boys looked at each other. Finally, the biggest who stood a full head and shoulders over Midnight shrugged. "I'm down."

He strutted forward.

"What do you need figured out?"

"There's a message on the screen that states 'Text not delivered'?"

Midnight handed the phone to the teen.

"It's fingerprint locked, man."

"Ah, so that's it." Midnight slipped off a glove. Flicking the tip of his forefinger with his thumb, he pressed finger to screen which came to life and handed back the phone.

The teen started swiping.

"There's a bunch of speed dial calls made to...huh...what are these? Look like gang tags." He held the screen up for Midnight who recognized the sigils of some of the early morning Hours: First, Second, Fourth, Eighth.

My, my, Tenth, you were certainly multi-tasking while running away.

"Mm, yes, tags for a gang. You could say that."

The teen huffed. "Whatever. They're all no answers."

"The text?" Midnight prodded.

"Yeah, the text you wrote for..." the teen raised the screen up to Midnight again. Midnight chuckled. "That's Noon."

"Noon?" The teen grinned over his shoulder at the others who were all laughing and shaking their heads. The old man with a cane in the dapper suit and Nike visor was definitely whacked.

"Yeah, ok, Noon. The text didn't get sent. It's in the outbox."

Midnight smirked. "Outbox? Is that like an outhouse?"

"A what?"

"Nevermind," Midnight sighed. "What does it say?"

When the teen cocked his head at him, no doubt suspicious as to why Midnight wouldn't know what he'd texted if it was his phone, another fifty-dollar bill was produced.

The teen grinned as he read off the screen.

[Midnight gone insane! chasing me. cant get away]

"The text didn't go through, yeah."

"I got a bounced text before too," one of the other boys said. "Someone posted on Facebook that there's a problem with cell coverage this morning."

Midnight nodded quietly to himself.

"So I get the money?" The tall teen was all smiles when Midnight exchanged the bills for the phone, only to hurl the latter full force onto the platform.

"What the fuck?!"

Midnight crushed the phone with a twisting heel then kicked it onto the road in time for a bus to drive over it. Lowering his glasses, Midnight was now the one to cock his head at the boy.

"Oh fuuuck!"

The entire group of teens collectively turned tail and ran.

Midnight pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Passersby ignored the goings on. Another day in New York.

Noon.

Midnight was keen to pay a long overdue visit to his diurnal sister. But before he could get to her, he had to call on another first.

The electronic schedule overhead flashed.

"Next departure, 11 o'clock, sharp," he said to himself, and with a bounce to his step, melted away in the flow of passengers who'd just disembarked from the 10:21 AM Midtown Express.

_____

The deep lowing of the wildebeests across the river held a melancholy air, the whuffling snorts and grunts from the giraffes farther afield adding a mournful refrain.

Was a storm coming?

Park ranger Kanja Onyango squinted up at the sky. His soulful, teddy bear eyes crinkled at their laugh lines. Not a cloud in sight. Great. Now he was beginning to imagine things on top of everything else.

Kanja was in the middle of cutting apart a wire snare he'd found in some shrubs. Bushmeat poachers were becoming more and more brazen in their attempts to trap wild game. Wildlife sanctuaries meant nothing to them.

He snapped his hand back with a hiss. Clumsy! A sharp tip of wire had sliced into his palm. He sealed the wound with a glance.

What was wrong with him today? Ever since this morning, the Eleventh Hour had been fumbling about; dropping things, forgetting what he was about to do next.

Why just earlier, back at the ranger hut, he'd been on his way out only to blank out before reaching the door. He forgot completely where he'd been going. It had taken the pen he was holding falling out of his lax fingers to snap him out of his funk. Or rather, when he stooped over to pick up the pen and his gaze had fallen on the wire cutters on a hook by the door, next to his rifle. Yes, he'd been heading out to do his rounds of the eastern enclosure to check for fresh snares.

Done.

Kanja cracked his knuckles. His taut biceps stretched the sleeves of his dusty park t-shirt as he ran his hands over his tight curls before flopping his ranger hat back over them. The cutters tucked into his belt, he slung the rifle across his shoulder. The rifle was standard issue for rangers but not something Kanja ever needed. For the occasional run-in with poachers, the rifle was merely for show.

A slow smile of satisfaction spread across his face.

The Hours could not use their powers upon mortals so Eleventh got some of the park animals to lend him a hand at times. There was nothing quite like a snarling lion or a charging buffalo to put the fear of...a temporal god... in poachers unlucky enough to cross paths with him.

He started towards his jeep parked over the rise.

Despite how the day was going, at least Kanja hadn't forgotten about his niece's birthday dinner. He'd need to get ready in the middle of the night in his Here and Now to jump into Twenty-third's for their dinnertime.

And he hadn't fumbled with the child's gift when he'd wrapped it earlier either. The book he'd gotten Zoe was neatly bundled in a bright purple swatch of kitenge cotton on his desk. He'd included an olive wood carving of a giraffe too. In Kenya, the giraffe symbolized keen and gentle intent. Its long neck represented the link between sky and earth in certain African lore. One who can connect the material world to the heavens. Appropriate for the child of two worlds, no.

Eleventh looked forward to seeing his favourite sister and her daughter.

He looked forward to the pizza too, he had to admit, chuckling as he thought about the text from Twenty-third earlier about bringing Tuskers lager with him. The message had been followed by a string of purple heart emojis interspersed with beer mugs, and pizza slices, of course.

Pizza was a food in the mortal world for which he shared the same taste indulgence as his sister —much as they shared the same taste in clocks. He smiled thinking about his wrought iron one on the wall above his desk. "Can you ever not copy your younger brother?" he'd teased Twenty-third when he'd discovered she'd gotten a wrought iron one similar to his a few centuries back.

Would she copy him again when he got a new one? Lately, he'd been considering changing his Clock. The Eleventh Hour liked change. He'd been one of the first of the temporal guardians to leave the Circle to live in the mortal world. And copying him once more had been his Twenty-third sister who'd followed shortly thereafter, dropping in for a "visit" at the very last minute of his first watch on Earth to surprise him.

How time flies. He couldn't believe little Zoe was turning three. No, wait, four —he gave his head a shake. Zoe was turning four.

Eleventh rubbed his brow with a frown.

He would never forget when he first learned of his niece's existence. It was when he'd shown up to surprise Twenty-third with a... with a...

Reaching for the water flask at his hip, Kanja took a long, thirsty draw. It was a habit he'd adopted so any other ranger passing by would see him behaving as any man would in the heat of the day.

He was relieved to see the jeep just as he'd parked it once he cleared the rise. The local monkey troupe liked to raid it sometimes when left unattended. At least none of the scoundrels had figured out how to start the engine... yet. Kanja's belly laugh filled the air at the image of monkeys flipping him the banana as they drove off on a joyride

He smacked his lips as he recapped the flask. Right then. What had he been thinking about just before? Hmm, there was still that section of fence to mend and some bush to clear before he could call it a day.

A quick stop back at the hut to pick up some more tools then he'd continue.

_____

The troupe of monkeys grooming themselves in a tree stopped to watch Midnight in silence when he appeared outside the ranger hut and entered.

A ceiling fan spun lazily overhead. The breeze it stirred caused the bottom edge of a poster on the wall to flap.

Nairobi - the City Under the Sun! Come visit the safari capital of the world!

He knew Eleventh wasn't there, having sensed the Hour not far off. Midnight wanted to scope out his Here and Now a little before confronting —he read the nameplate on the desk— Ranger Kanja Onyango.

The purple bundle next to the nameplate piqued Midnight's curiosity. He removed his glasses and picked up the card atop that had a smiling cartoon lion on its cover.

'Happy 4th Birthday, Zoe! Love, Uncle Kanja!'

Beside the bundle was a small case of bottles adorned with ribbon. A tag dangling from it read 'Happy 4th year of motherhood to my best copy-cat sister!'.

The tag was marked with the Twenty-third Hour's sigil.

Tires braked in a crunch of grit outside. Booted footsteps pounded through the doorway.

"Motherhood?" Midnight said without turning to look when the Eleventh Hour entered.

"Who exactly is Zoe, Uncle Kanja? A 4-year old child? Twenty-third has a 4-year old child? Is this some kind of joke?"

"Midnight?"

Eleventh swallowed hard. An icy numbness crept through his corporeal form as he stared hard at the Twenty-fourth Hour's back; numbness that exploded in a panicked rush of adrenaline when Midnight finally deigned to turn and face him.

What should have been Midnight's one eye of day and his other of night were now twin orbs of flaming stars.

And thus came the storm.

For every beast within earshot suddenly let loose in a furor of warning calls and cries. Danger! The Eleventh Hour had lived in close proximity to the wild animals for decades now. The creatures were more attuned to danger than he as an immortal ever was. Eleventh had assumed an existence in the Here and Now of this natural world. The animals had been born to it.

The hut door slammed shut with force.

And whether by reflex or borrowed instinct, Kanja hurled himself sideways to dive out an open window, tumbling into a shoulder roll on the ground to spring up and run into the trees. The monkeys overhead screeched and chittered as they scrambled away in every direction through the branches.

Noon! He had to reach Noon. No! Twenty-third! Midnight knew about Zoe. Eleventh had to warn his sister. But no matter how hard he tried, Eleventh couldn't transport himself away. The smothering weight of Midnight's power held him to ground. The Twenty-fourth Hour was too strong for him. Eleventh ripped open his side pouch to snatch his phone.

Forced to slow down to use the screen commands, a madly zigzagging Eleventh growled when his first call attempt went to Twenty-third's voicemail.

"Maya! If you hear this, get your daughter and hide! Something's gone wrong with Midnight. He knows about you and Zoe. Warn Noon! Stop Midnight from calling!"

He continued to hit redial, hoping beyond hope she'd pick up.

"ARGH!"

The cane that shot out from between two trunks struck Eleventh squarely between the eyes with its tip. Phone flying from his hand, Eleventh tumbled head over heels to crash onto the ground where he remained motionless.

Midnight stepped calmly out from behind the trees.

"Twenty-third has a child. How is that possible?" he said, ignoring Eleventh's form that went up in mist and dead silence fell over the park.

Eyes hidden again behind shaded lenses cast eerie halos about the rims.

He couldn't skip ahead on the Circle to call upon Twenty-third until he'd called upon all the preceding Hours first. It would take him to the near ending of the Day to get to her.

But that didn't apply to the child now, did it.

_____

She plopped the toilet brush and cleaner bottle back into her cart, wiping her hands dry on a towel draped over the cart's push bar.

"Alexa, play the local radio news," Maya called out.

"Okay," answered the virtual female voice from atop the kitchenette counter.

The 9 AM news report cut in.

'—ty roadwork department is at a loss to explain how major intersection traffic lights became unsynchronized causing this morning's rush hour chaos. Traffic tie-ups continue at this time and public work crews are busy trying to find the source of the malfunction.'

Huh. That explained the traffic jam their bus encountered which had Zoe arriving late to daycare. Maya had been forced to sprint to make her punch-in time at the hotel. She'd get the cupcakes for Zoe's party at her break instead.

'Some major carriers are reporting cellphone service outages—"

"Dammit!" Maya dropped the pillow case she'd been stripping off for a second time. Scooping it off the floor once again, she threw it roughly onto the gathered pile of bed linens which she grabbed and shoved into her cart's hamper.

'The Environment Bureau has issued a revised forecast for today. They're now calling for cloudy conditions with a 60% chance of showers throughout the afternoon and evening.'

Snapping out a fresh bedsheet over the mattress, Maya tucked in its corners.

'In international news, police in Stockholm are investigating an incident where witnesses claim a man in business suit and leather jacket visited different wards of a hospital claiming to be a doctor. The man allegedly gave advice such as bloodletting to release the bad humours and lobotomies for seizures. The man disappeared before security guards arrived. No one was reported injured.'

The duster swished over the TV set on the dresser, raising tickling whiffs of lemon polish. Catching her reflection in the dresser's mirror, Maya smoothed out her uniform with her free hand.

'Firefighters were called to an explosion at a popular coffee shop in one of Paris' central arrondissements. An eyewitness treated at the scene for burns and minor shock insisted to police that a man sitting alone on the terrace had blown up along with it after snapping his fingers. Forensic specialists are combing the debris for clues. Terrorist activity has not been ruled out.'

'On a lighter note... Authorities are calling it a prank but telecommunication experts are scratching their heads trying to figure out how someone was able to pull a poetry recital stunt over radio stations across the globe around 6 AM local time.'

The rest of the report was drowned out by the vroom of the vacuum cleaner. Maya tugged the power cord behind her hip as she thrust the nozzle under the bed.

Check-in was at 11 AM and the room was reserved for a 2-night business stay. Maya sighed. Hopefully the guest would be a woman. They tipped better than the men who often left nothing at all.

With a practiced flick of her wrist, Maya whacked the fly that had been buzzing around the room with a swatter she kept in her cart. The tiny corpse vanished up the vacuum nozzle.

The swatter was a far cry from the gavel she used to wield in her former life as an antiquities auctioneer, having started off with Sotheby's since its inception in 1774. There were days when she missed the thrill of the seated rows of buyers before her as she stood under a spotlight calling out the last minute bids... the last minute tension of calling out an auction in the traditional way.

Going once! Going twice! Sold!

But the eventual arrival of the Internet had changed everything. Just as the arrival of Daniel had.

She'd met Daniel Tremblay seven years ago in this Here and Now. He'd just been hired by Sotheby's as a consultant to build their online catalogues and bidding platform program.

The Twenty-third Hour had been caught off guard by the man with the tousled head of soft black curls and sea calm blue eyes who had asked her how she'd been able to reconfigure the bidding system to override the last minute alert notification. Busted! Living the last minute was her fix, and the annoying program spoiled it with its stupid alerts. She'd used her powers to mute the thing. Given her perfect sales record, no one had ever inquired about it.

Daniel had stood in her office doorway with a puzzled yet keen look in his gaze which she kept getting drawn into.

"Secret, eh?" he laughed when she didn't answer.

"Tell you what, Ms. Linden, let me buy you one of those overpriced lattes downstairs while you get to listen to me bore you with all kinds of technical explanations about how it shouldn't have been possible to do that."

He never did discover how she'd done it. Just as he'd never learned what she really was, despite the increasing number of lattes which became lunches, then dinners, then dates. And eventually their friendship became something else, and the personal became physical. The way his body had fit to hers as did his heart... she thought it was the most powerful magic she'd ever experienced.

But she was wrong.

When she'd sensed the growing life inside her, she panicked at first. Immortals were born of the firmament of the Heavens. Pregnant?! How could she become pregnant, nevermind from a mortal man?

Daniel had been ecstatic. He planned to launch his own business. It was why that fateful day he'd been driving six hours straight to get home after having had two days of back-to-back investor meetings in separate cities.

Maya had never been able to get into a car since.

Daniel was gone. And so were the high energy days of auctioneering.

The job of a hotel maid afforded her the stability and flexible hours needed to provide a steady homelife for Zoe. And like her First brother had said, it allowed Maya to live quietly under the radar for now until such time as she could decide a future for herself and her daughter.

"Earth to Maya!"

"Huh, what?"

Gracie was leaning on the room's open door frame with her arms crossed. "You asked me to come by when I finished my first round of rooms."

"I did?"

The other maid tsked as she entered. "What gives, Maya? You planning on the guests making up the bed themselves?"

Maya blinked at the bed which had half a folded blanket and no pillows on it. She could have sworn she'd done it up. Gracie opened the closet to get the fresh linens from the shelf.

"Grab your corner," she said to Maya. "I'll help."

Together, the women made up the bed.

"Uh, you forgot to put the dishes away too," Gracie said, looking at the counter.

Sure enough, a clean stack of dishes sat by the sink.

"Hey Maya, aren't you a little young for senior's moments." Gracie laughed, watching a flustered Maya slam cupboard doors closed as she put the plates and cups back.

"The reason you wanted me to come by, could it have to do with Zoe's birthday?"

Maya hooked the vacuum cleaner to the side of her cart.

"Zoe's birthday? Mmm, no, I don't think so." She gave the room a quick once over. "I'm done with this one."

Gracie scanned Maya's room chart taped to her cart. "Why don't I help you finish your last one and then we can go grab lunch together. We can go over some of the details for my bachelorette next week."

Maya's smile faltered. That's right. Gracie's self-organized bachelorette. I forgot. Ugh. I need to get a gift still, don't I.

"Sounds good," Maya said.

"Alexa, shut off."

"OK"

_____

A kids' party mix played over the classroom's computer speaker.

Bright balloons and streamers decorated the 'Happy Birthday Zoe!' banner strung around the table edges.

The children were helping themselves to the sandwiches and juice boxes laid out on a purple table cloth, along with the chips and cut fruit in bowls.

All except the birthday girl.

A quiet Zoe stood staring out the window of the back garden, her toy projector held tight in her arms. She'd begged her mother to be able to bring it to daycare, and after showing it to her classmates and teachers, she carried it with her.

"Zoe?" one of the daycare teachers approached her. "What's wrong, honey? You barely ate any of your birthday lunch."

Zoe didn't reply. The little girl kept looking out the window.

The teacher crouched beside her. "Your mom must be running a little late," --as usual-- "I'm sure she'll be here soon, Zoe."

"It's not really my birthday yet, Annie. I was born at the last minute."

"Oh? I didn't know that." Annie faked a smile. Something about the child had always struck her as odd. Her colleague Pauline was convinced the girl was gifted, given the level at which she could read and write, but Zoe's mother always seemed less than interested in getting Zoe tested whenever it was suggested. The girl had a strange manner about her, sometimes speaking like a normal kid, other times, like an adult. But Zoe was always well-behaved and not a troublemaker. The teachers and the other kids all got along well with her.

A movement outside drew Annie's gaze to the view of the window. A large, black bird sat on a tree branch.

"Were you looking at that big crow, Zoe?"

The child's grey eyes narrowed. "It's a raven."

"Oh, a raven."

"Someone's going to call for me," the little girl said.

"Call? Did you want to try and call your mom?"

"She forgot her phone in the kitchen," Zoe answered.

"Zoe, it's your birthday lunch. Come have a sandwich, ok?"

With a deep breath, the little girl nodded and allowed herself to be led back to the group.

Pauline was busy wiping BBQ chip smudges off one of the boy's cheeks.

"Shouldn't Zoe's mother have been here already to drop off the cupcakes for the party?" Annie asked in a quiet voice.

Pauline shrugged. "Ms. Linden is always last minute."

"Yes, but now she's well past late." Annie glanced out the window Zoe had been at. The raven was gone. "Zoe says her mother forgot her cellphone at home so we can't call her directly."

Both women started when there came a loud tapping at the front door.

Zoe, who'd made her way unnoticed to stand behind them, clutched her projector tighter.

"Quoth the Raven," the little girl whispered, "'Nevermore'."

*chapter header photo credit: jayred65