Clockwork Twist : Dreamer (6 page)

Twist felt at once hollow, and also filled to bursting with ice as he stood leaning heavily on the streetlight, on an empty and misty street he didn't know.  He had no idea how far he was from the house.  He had no idea what sort of social disaster he'd left behind him.  He had no idea what they must have thought.  All he knew for sure was that he was so far beyond his expertise that he felt exactly like a child.  He'd never been good at talking with people.  But this was a whole new level of undisputed failure.

The last few questions that they had asked him ran over and over in his mind, mocking him in their logical simplicity.  Why couldn't he just answer them?  Why did he jump and run away like a frightened little animal?  After all he'd been through with Jonas, Myra, the crew of the
Vimana
, and so many others, Twist had thought he was getting better at this.  He'd almost begun to think he could learn to be a working part of humanity—a true member of a group.  He'd dared to hope that he wasn't too far gone to actually connect.

His thoughts grew dark enough to swallow him whole; far darker than the starless black sky above, hidden in the thin mists.  Then, ever so subtly, he felt a stirring at the base of his neck.  Jonas was coming closer, out in the world beyond Twist's tiny puddle of amber streetlight glow.  For a moment, Twist wished he wouldn't be found.  Maybe he could just vanish into the mist and never have to hope and fail again.  Then the tingling grew warmer, softer, and edged with a gentle sadness that seemed positively bright against his own.

Jonas stepped into the puddle of amber light and looked at Twist silently, his eyes uncovered and glowing a soft green: almost Jonas's true color.  It was only then that Twist realized he wasn't standing up anymore.  He'd slid down onto his knees, leaning against the streetlight.  When he looked up, he felt the chill lines on his face and realized that he'd lost a few stray tears as well.  Recognition flashed through Jonas's eyes as well and Twist felt naked and idiotic.  He wanted to run again, but his body wouldn't move this time.

Jonas gave a quiet sigh and stared down at Twist for a moment longer before he finally moved.  He fell to one knee very close to Twist and reached out, pulling Twist into his arms.  Twist was too stunned by this to fight, and it only took an instant for his Sight to flood with white.  The cool comfort in the fog was so numb, so bright, and so empty that Twist lost himself in it completely.  The warmth of Jonas's arms seemed to wash over him as his steady heartbeat poured hot down Twist's spine.  It felt like a lifetime before Twist managed to find the seam between them again.  By then, the ice inside him was gone and the emptiness just a memory.

Jonas pulled away slowly, his hands moving to lie gently on Twist's shoulders.  It was only after Jonas moved his hand off of his neck—that spot that was always the source of the buzzing sensation—that Twist understood he'd touched it at all.  The white fog in his mind receded, but didn't leave completely, hanging at the edges of his mind.  He could see every dark thought still raged on behind it now, far away from Twist's sore attention.

“Come on,” Jonas said softly, staring at Twist with purple eyes now. “Let's go get you a drink.”

Jonas pulled Twist to his feet, tugged his collar into shape, and then led him down the street, with an arm over Twist's slight shoulders.  Figures passed them in the mist here and there, while other dim glows began to fill the street.  The noise around them was soft, but present.  Twist couldn't pay attention to where they were, or where they were going, so he let himself fall totally under Jonas's care.  Somehow, the loss of control didn't frighten him at all.  Eventually, they were inside again, out of the mist, and sitting down at a table.  There was cigar and pipe smoke in the air, and low conversations all around.

Twist focused his reluctant attention to his eyes and looked around as Jonas spoke to someone else.  They were in a dim little restaurant or cafe, sitting at a small table in the corner.  There were other people here too, all men, but only half of them seemed entirely awake.  Some appeared to be asleep sitting up, leaning back in their chairs with their heads bowed.  Jonas's hand was still resting on Twist's back, very near his neck.

“How do you feel?” Jonas asked Twist once the other person he was talking to went away.  His eyes were still a deep purple when they looked at Twist, and Twist felt the fog in his mind thicken when their eyes met.

“I … I'm not...”  Twist's words seemed to only tumble from his grasp.  He took a breath and tried again. “I don't know,” he said eventually.

“Did one of them touch you?” Jonas asked, his voice soft but unemotional.

Twist shook his head.

“Good,” Jonas said.  He moved his hand off of Twist's back, down his arm, and to his hand without once breaking contact.  He slipped his warm fingers through Twist's and gave another sigh.

This new position was a lighter touch, and Twist felt his attention clear.  He slowly began to realize that he wasn't thinking properly at all.  Something was very wrong with him.  He frowned, wondering what it could be.  A moment later, someone came to their table and left two glasses.  Jonas picked one up with his free hand and gave it to Twist—still not breaking contact—and then took the other one.  He took a healthy drink of the honey-colored liquid inside, so Twist did the same.

The taste of the brandy hit Twist before the scent, and rolled warm down his throat.  Something about it seemed to steady him and Twist took another drink.  After a moment, he started to get a real handle on his situation.  He blinked a few times, looked around the pub again, remembered that it was probably after midnight by now, and then looked down to Jonas's fingers in his.  He looked up to Jonas, who was still watching him carefully.

“Don't we look a bit … odd?” Twist asked softly, glancing down to their hands.

“This is San Francisco,” Jonas said with a shrug. “I'm sure no one cares.”

“Ah,” Twist said, wondering what that meant. “Out there on the street, did you … embrace me?”

“I did not,” Jonas snapped quickly. ”I was just reaching for that spot on your neck.”

“Ah.”

“How do you feel now?”

“Numb,” Twist said, taking another small drink. “What's happening right now?” he asked, trying to sound calm, even though worry was starting to break through the white wall at the edges of his mind.

“I think you're putting yourself back together,” Jonas said.  When Twist looked up to him, he found a light smile on Jonas's face. “It's kind of interesting to watch.”

“I fell apart, did I?” Twist asked.  A recent memory wavered in the fog inside his head.  It seemed to be important, but Twist couldn't quite catch it.

“Oh yes,” Jonas said, nodding. “I think there're still bits of you on the pavement.”

“Ah.”  Twist tried again to catch at the image that eluded him, but all he got was more white chill. “So, why are you still holding my hand, then?”

“Because you're not done yet,” Jonas said, not moving. “I'm worried you might shatter again if I let go too fast.  We've got time.  Don't rush it.”

Twist closed his eyes and leaned his head in his other hand.  For some reason, it felt unreasonably heavy.  Without the rest of the world to catch at his weary attention, the soft rhythm of Jonas's blood pumping through his skin was easier to notice.  Twist followed the pulse idly, finding a heartbeat as well.  A flashing image managed to free itself from the fog.  A red house.  A number of people.  Questions.  The memory unraveled quickly.  Twist gave a groan and opened his eyes.

“Bloody hell, what did I do?” Twist said suddenly, staring into space.

“It's all right,” Jonas said softly.

“No, no, it isn't,” Twist said, rubbing at his face with his free hand. “Heavens above, I just bolted, didn't I?  I ran away.  All they were doing was asking me questions!” he said, glaring into space now. “I'm such a freak!”

“Hey,” Jonas snapped, drawing his eyes. “I told you.  I'm the only one who can call you that.  You're not allowed.”

“What does that even mean?”

“All right, so you did something weird,” Jonas said with a sigh. “It's not the first time, and it won't be the last.  Your whole life is weird, so it goes with the territory.  And who cares what those idiots think, anyway?  We're leaving this city in a few hours and you're not likely to ever see any of them again.  Don't beat yourself up over this.  You're too bloody good at it.”

Twist narrowed his eyes at Jonas. “You're never this forgiving.  What's happened?”

“You shattered,” Jonas said softly. “I've never seen you hurt that bad.”

Twist's gaze slipped down to his glass.  He finished it in one go, letting the brandy burn away the cold tightness in his chest.

“Look, you don't have to explain anything to me.  I understand enough just by looking at you.  I just want to know that you'll be all right if I let go.”

Twist gave a sigh and looked at their hands.  Jonas's fingers were darker than his own, tanned from a life in the sun.  Out at the edges of his own mind, Twist could see the monsters circling.  But now, he could see them clearly.  As much as he wanted to stay buried in the chilly bright fog forever, he knew he couldn't.  He moved his hand, gently pulling his fingers free.  Jonas let him, but watched him closely.

The fog lifted slowly, fading into nothing, and the darkness rolled in.  Twist shivered against the sharp chill of his own thoughts and feelings.  He closed his eyes and focused on the buzz at his neck, clinging to the calm that remained there.  After a moment, the roar of the change died and he felt his own heart steady.  He opened his eyes, prodding gently at the sore spots in his mind.  It wasn't nearly as comfortable as the view from the fog, but he was all right.  Jonas waited before he took the hand—which had been hovering close to Twist—finally away.

“Good,” he said, giving Twist a light smile. “No more Sight circles for you, got it?”

“Agreed,” Twist said with an emphatic nod. “I've learned my lesson.  I'm not a real boy yet.  Not nearly.”

Jonas laughed and shook his head. “Well, admitting you have a problem is the first step.”

Twist smiled back at him and silently wondered why nothing Jonas ever said truly managed to offend or harm him.

As Twist followed Jonas up the stairs at the back of the theater, he began to get nervous again.  Tasha had seen him run away from the Sight circle like a frightened rabbit.  Worse, she might have told Myra.  If she had, then Myra would be worried for him.  At that moment, Twist didn't want her sympathy or concern.  He just wanted to bury himself in her bright, sparkling, childlike joy and never come out again.

“Do you want to hold my hand again?” Jonas asked as they reached the still-closed door.

“No, no, I'm fine,” Twist answered, shaking his head. “I can't lean on you all the time.” It wasn't hard to figure out that Jonas could sense his tension, and Twist tried to calm it himself so that Jonas wouldn't worry either.

“It's all right, if you change your mind,” Jonas said before he opened the door.

Twist followed him into the apartment and found the scent of something freshly baked hanging warmly in the air.  Tasha and Niko were talking quietly in their room, and the rest of the apartment showed signs of recent packing.  Things that had lain out in the open were gone, while small bags and trunks nestled together in corners.  There were sounds coming from the kitchen as well.  Twist shut the door behind him.  At the sound of its closing, Myra's copper face appeared around the kitchen doorway.

“Oh!” she chirped brightly before disappearing again. “Hold on!  Just a second...” A moment later, she reappeared with a plate of blond, soft, gently steaming cookies in her hands, and a smile as warm as the Cairo sun on her gleaming metal face. “Welcome home, Twist,” she said, stepping closer. “Have a cookie.  They aren't too sweet, I promise.  But I put lychee in them, and pistachios too.”

Twist stared helplessly at the vision of abject sweetness before him.  Myra's hair was tied loosely back, and a white apron hung from her waist, over her fluttering dress.  Her intricately jointed metal hands wore flour-covered gloves, and there was a smudge of white at her cheek.  Twist had marveled at her natural beauty and grace from the first moment he'd seen her, but this warm, gentle, and welcoming image nearly brought tears to his eyes.  He hastily sucked in a deep breath to steady himself.  While he'd been wallowing in self-loathing and struggling to cope with his own shortcomings, she had been baking him cookies.  She knew well that lychees were his favorite.

Apparently unaware of her effect on him, she beamed proudly as he reached out to take a cookie.  It was oven-fresh and almost too hot for his fingers, but it melted into vanilla-scented bliss on his tongue.  Chewy chunks of warm lychee and the nutty crunch of the buttery pistachios finished the flavor brilliantly.  Myra giggled at the smile on Twist's face.  She took his arm and led him to sit at the table as her pride and glowing joy prickled gently over his Sight like spring rain.  She put the plate down on the table and then turned, sitting herself on Twist's knee, and took off her gloves.  She gave Twist another cookie and smiled as he ate it.

“Are the cookies too sweet?” she asked while she toyed with the soft black curls behind his ear, sending tiny, delicious shivers over his skin. “I got the recipe from a lady in the shop and she said they wouldn't be.  I asked Niko to test them for me, but really I just had to guess.”

Twist tried desperately to find a response for her, but only one thought found its way to his lips. “Why are you so good to me?  I'm boring and awkward, and I don't know anything.  I'm certainly not handsome.  I'm just a dull, short, clockmaker from London.  I've never done anything in my life that could make me worthy of your most fleeting attention, let alone...”

He waved a hand at the bliss and cookies surrounding him.  Myra stared at him as if he'd suddenly started talking about space aliens.  She shook her head and put her hands around the back of his neck, resting her arms on his shoulders.

“What are you talking about?” she asked him with a smile. “You're none of those things.  I think you're wonderful.  Now, do you like the cookies or not?” she asked, her glittering blue eyes warning now.

“Your cookies couldn't be more perfect,” Twist said, with all the honesty in his soul. “And if you were any sweeter to me I'd surely melt into the carpet.”

“Good,” she said, grinning proudly again as her delight rippled, like sunlight on water, over his Sight. “Have another,” she said, picking up a cookie. “How was your meeting?” she asked, full of innocence and curiosity.

Twist suddenly realized that Tasha hadn't said anything.  He could definitely hear her speaking softly with Niko in the other room.  She'd had plenty of time. Twist's memories of his evening felt sharp and cold in the warm haze of Myra's presence.  He took another bite of his fantastic cookie to wash it away.

“Jonas was right,” he said, trying not to let the whole truth show on his face. “It wasn't very fun at all.  I don't want to go to anything like that again.”

“Oh, what a shame,” Myra said, looking disappointed.

“How was your night?” Twist asked, looping his arms around her waist. “I want to hear all about it.  I missed you.”

“Really?” Myra asked, smiling bashfully as a jolt of joy ran over her thoughts. “Oh, I didn't do anything interesting.  I just packed a little, and made you cookies.  There's more in the kitchen.  I thought it might be a nice snack for the trip tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Twist said, from the deepest depths of his heart. “You're so thoughtful.”

“You are nice to think about,” she said, petting at his hair gently.  Something in her eyes—a subtle darkness, a flash of fire—made Twist's heart leap into a higher speed.

Tasha's laugh sounded from the open doorway as she and Niko entered the room, talking happily in Serbian.  Tasha stopped short when her eyes fell on Twist and Myra and her face washed over with surprise.

“Sorry,” she said, a smile blooming now. “I didn't know you were...  Excuse us,” she said, already pushing Niko back into the other room.

“Wait, what?  No, it's not...” Twist tried to say something coherent, but his words still felt like they were a bit jumbled.  Myra pulled back from him slightly, sitting up straighter with her hands on his shoulders now.

“You're sure?” Tasha asked hesitantly.

“Here, try a cookie,” Myra said, picking up the plate and offering it to Tasha with a smile.

“Thank you,” Niko said, stepping around her to take one.  He took a bite of it with a deeply pleased tone and gave Twist a jealous look. “You know you don't deserve her, right?” he asked darkly, with a nod at Myra.  Myra gave a
tsk
.

“I keep trying to tell her, but she just won't listen to me,” Twist said earnestly.

“Oh it’s not true!” Myra said, slapping at Twist angrily, while he felt only mirth bubble over his Sight. “Stop that,” she warned. “Or no more cookies for you.”

“I'm sorry!” he said quickly, forcing his face to look frightened around the smile that simply wouldn't leave him. “I take it back!  I'm magnificent!”  Niko laughed under his breath.

“Well, all right,” Myra said, looking at him suspiciously out of the corner of her eye.

“Oh, what is that?” Tasha asked, thoughtfully chewing at a bit of cookie. “Is it the lychee?  The vanilla?  There's a flavor in here that's simply delightful.”

“It's love,” Niko said around the last of his cookie.  Myra's eyes shot to him in shock.

“Must be,” Tasha said, smiling at Twist.

“That's it,” Jonas said, suddenly entering from the other bedroom.  Twist realized then that he hadn't noticed Jonas leave the room.  “Myra, can I try one of these fabulous cookies, please?”

“Of course!” Myra said, hopping off of Twist's knee to offer him the plate.

Jonas took one and his face washed over with wonder as he took a bite. “Oh wow,” he toned. “That
is
good.”

“Naturally,” Myra said. “I made them.”

Twist could only smile as he watched her boast about herself so easily.  When he caught Tasha's gaze for a moment, he saw a subtle hint of carefulness in her gaze.  She hadn't forgotten anything, but she somehow seemed to understand that he didn't want to dwell on what had happened.  For the moment, it appeared that she would pretend that nothing had happened at all.

Her attention to detail, fueled by her well-refined Sight, had always told her everything she'd ever needed to know about Twist.  To his confusion and admiration, her actions towards him were never anything but kind.  Twist began to wonder what she saw in his details.