The world stopped on a pin in that tiny sigh between the ticks of the second hand of Wesley’s Grandfather’s grandfather clock. It pendulum froze in mid swing, twelve and one half strokes before midnight. Midnight could do that; it could let the dead walk and the unbewitched be bewitched. Midnight could stop hearts and start time and make miracles unfold. But those seconds before and after meant nothing in the grand scheme of time-magic. But somehow the world stopped. And did not start again until the Time King finished his falsetto rendition of an old familiar 80s power balad.