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
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
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