The roar from the main room of The Clock was half muffled by the heavy wooden door. Out there, the Merry Men were drinking, whoring, and singing off-key, celebrating a job well done. In here, in the thick, ale-scented air of the back room, it was time to earn the next pay.

  Robin leaned back in his chair, letting his eyes wander over the walls while Red id out the basics of the job. The three sisters had outdone themselves with the décor. Gears of every size covered the walls, some spinning slowly, others frozen in pce like captured moments. Clock faces were mounted at odd angles, their hands pointing to times that had never existed or hadn't come yet. Pendulums swung from the ceiling on chains of varying lengths, creating a hypnotic rhythm that never quite synced. The whole room felt like being inside the guts of some great timepiece, all brass and wood and the phantom tick-tock that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

  This was neutral ground, enforced by the three sisters who ran the pce. You settled your feuds outside, or they settled you.

  "So, the Hall of Records," Red said, swirling the wine in her cup. "The Keeper is a serious type. Prim, proper, and she is the image of governmental bureaucracy. She thinks she's a guardian of history, but she's just a lonely librarian with what we need." Red's smile was sharp, and Robin recognized that look. It was the one she got when she had someone exactly where she wanted them. "I've been working on her. She has a weakness for flowers and erotic art. We're going on a walk together. By the end of the week, I'll have the blueprints. She'll hand them over herself, thinking it's a token of our undying love."

  "Good," Big Bad growled, his cw-tipped finger tracing a circle on the map of the city spread before them. "Because getting in is the other problem. Jack's paranoid. He's got a detection field a mile around his home, powered by that golden harp of his. Anything that isn't on his approved list gets fgged the second it crosses the line. He'll know we're coming."

  Robin grinned, watching a gear on the wall complete another zy rotation. "That's why I like this job. It's always new and challenging. I'm gd that me and the Merry Men met you and Red years ago—keeps it from getting boring." He leaned forward, tapping the map. "We hit them hard, get the harp, and get gone before he can mobilize anything."

  The Wolf shook his head, his expression serious. "It's not that simple. The field is tied directly into the city guardian. The moment it pings, the city will go into lockdown. We'd be trapped. We need a way to get past it without it ever knowing we're there."

  The door to the back room swung open and Hickory glided in. She was an attractive mouse woman, like her sisters, all soft fur and curves poured into a scrap of green fabric that barely qualified as a dress. It was cut to her navel and so short it was a suggestion of modesty. She was barefoot as usual, her tail swaying seductively behind her as she moved between the tables.

  Robin watched her approach with appreciation. The light from the oil mps caught the gears on the walls, making them gleam like gold, and cast moving shadows that danced across her fur.

  She took Red's order first, then the Wolf's, her movements efficient and professional. But when she got to Robin, the act dissolved. She didn't lean over the table; she climbed directly into his p, straddling him and pressing her body flush against his.

  "And for you, Robin?" she murmured, her breath warm against his ear.

  As she began to list the night's avaible ales, his hand slid up the inside of her thigh, disappearing under the tiny hem of her dress. His fingers found her slick and ready, and he began to stroke her with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Her voice hitched, the practiced list of drinks becoming a breathy, uneven sound. She wasn't just taking an order; she was grinding against his hand, her hips moving in an unashamed rocking motion.

  "When you're finished with your meeting," she managed, her eyes gzed with lust, "me and my sisters were hoping you'd come upstairs. We want to show you something... new."

  "I might just take you up on that," Robin said, giving her a quick, soft kiss on the nose.

  He gave his drink order, and she practically melted against him. As she finally pulled herself away, he gave her ass a sharp, pyful swat. She giggled, shot him a look that promised pure sin, and sashayed out the door, her tail swishing.

  The Wolf watched her go, his expression amused. "Which one was she?"

  "Hickory," Robin said, taking a slow puff on his pipe. He gnced at the clock face nearest him—its hands were moving backwards.

  "They look identical," Big Bad grumbled.

  "You have to pay attention," Robin replied with a zy grin. "Dickory's the one who likes to bite."

  The Wolf snorted, but his expression turned pyful. "And don't forget your herbs."

  Robin blinked. "My what?"

  "Your herbs. From Rapunzel."

  Red's ugh was like bells, bright and mocking. "Oh yeah, I remember that look on your face when the three sisters came to you and told you they might be pregnant."

  Robin's easy smile faltered, and he felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. He shifted in his seat, his tone dropping from pyful to serious. "Yeah, well... I'm gd they'd just tapped a bad barrel of wine. Turned out to be a false arm." He rubbed the back of his neck, his jaw tightening. "I totally forgot that birth control herb Rapunzel gives me. I don't want to deal with child support. Everyone heard about the Fox, and he's fucking ruthless."

  The levity had drained from his voice. In their world, the kingdom's child support agency wasn't a joke. The Fox was one of their best agents, known throughout the realm for tracking down deadbeat parents with the kind of relentless efficiency that made even the Gray Hunt, take notes. The stories about him were legendary—and not in a good way.

  Red's smile turned wicked, her eyes dancing with mischief as she watched him squirm. "What's wrong, Robin? You don't want to be a daddy?"

  Robin's grin returned, though it was a little forced at first. "Not that kind of daddy," he shot back. "Though they do call me Daddy when we're in bed."

  The Wolf groaned and rolled his eyes, but Robin caught the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Come on, guys. Can we focus?"

  Robin chuckled and took another puff on his pipe, letting the smoke curl toward the ceiling where it drifted through the spinning gears. The Clock really was something—made you feel like time was just another thing the sisters controlled, bent to their will like everything else in this pce.

  The Wolf turned his attention back to the map, his cw tapping against the paper. "So we need a way to neutralize the harp's field without destroying it."

  "Or we need a way to fly over it," Robin said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. The gears on the wall behind the Wolf continued their eternal turning, marking time that didn't matter. "Littlejohn told me he might have an answer to that little flight problem you've been having."

  The Wolf's ears perked up, his full attention snapping to Robin.

  "I'm listening."