The crowd responded from various spots that it could.
“Splendid,” Aden yelled, his voice remarkably clear at such a volume. “Welcome to our impromptu circle!”
Another bout of applause filled the dome. Twist frowned in thought, suddenly quite unsure that the circle was an accident at all. Aden might well have been planning it from the moment the ship departed France.
Aden waited for the crowd to quiet before he spoke again. “I hope no one minds if I take the role of circle master.”
Shouts of assent called out from all sides. Twist set his jaw bitterly. There was no way this circle hadn’t been thoroughly planned.
“Lovely,” Aden said with a satisfaction.
Twist shivered. Aden had managed to fool not only Twist into thinking fondly of him but every man and woman in this enormous crowd as well. The might of this one man’s power and influence was suddenly clear and terrifying to Twist.
“Well, since we have such an enormous group here today,” Aden went on pleasantly, “I couldn’t possibly introduce each person to each other, nor could I ask anyone to remember that many names and faces.” A polite chuckle rippled over the crowd. “But I know that some of you are very interested to meet two men in particular.”
Twist’s gaze shot to Aden in alarm. An excited murmur rose out of the crowd, whispering like ocean waves, and Twist began to notice that many in the crowd were now peering curiously at him and Jonas. Another shiver ran swiftly up Twist’s spine at finding himself suddenly under so much scrutiny. Aden gestured for Twist and Jonas to join him on the platform. Although he appeared to be smiling at them, Twist could see the coldness hidden in his eyes.
Twist glanced at Jonas, finding his expression grim, while the illusion Twist saw in his eyes looked dangerously orange in color. Jonas gave a stiff shrug, clearly resigned to play the dancing monkey for Aden only long enough to find an opportunity to gut him for it. Jonas stepped over the gap and onto the platform and then turned to offer Twist a hand to do the same. Twist locked his eyes on Jonas’s, doing his utmost not to think about the enormous drop below that unprotected gap. He then forced himself forward and managed to set his feet on the platform before his fear could catch him.
The crowd had fallen silent, watching the men on the platform intently. Aden reached out and put a friendly looking hand on Jonas’s shoulder. Twist felt a flash of Jonas’s indignation in the buzzing at his neck, but Jonas didn’t shake off the touch.
“Let me introduce you,” Aden called to the crowd, “to Mr. Jonas Zephyr Davis. His Sight lets him see all the way to the planets, in perfect detail. But it also shows him the future on occasion.”
A gasp rippled over the crowd at this announcement. Jonas silently pulled his black, opaque goggles up from where they hung around his neck, to cover his eyes and blind himself from all of the eager eyes surrounding him. Aden smiled proudly to the crowd, clearly unaware or uncaring of Jonas’s discomfort. He then moved closer to Twist and raised a hand in gesture to him but thankfully didn’t go so far as to touch him.
“And this,” he called to the crowd, “is Mr. Twist. His Sight shows him the inner workings in anything he touches and makes him a very skilled mechanic. Rumor has it he can repair anything at all. But, more than that, I can assure you that this is the man who found and mended the fabled clockwork princess.”
Excited murmurs rose from the crowd. Twist fought to hold back yet another shiver.
“That living fairy tale,” Aden went on, “is on this very ship with us as well! She’s the charming girl made of copper and jewels who some of you might have seen about.”
Twist’s stomach turned when he understood the true reason that Aden had asked to dance with Myra at the ball. He’d only wanted to be seen with her, for people to now look at him with even more wonder and respect for being able to appear so casually with a fairy tale. He’d even had the cheek to ask Twist for permission, as if he wouldn’t have had his way with or without it.
“And now,” Aden called to the crowd, “shall we begin?” The crowd applauded and cheered again. “Wonderful,” Aden said happily. “Now, with a number this large, I think it would be best to break into smaller groups, at least initially.”
Aden then proceeded to suggest that those with Sights that affected certain major senses cluster in various places and asked those with Sights that affected more than one sense—like Tasha’s, which seemed to gently enhance all of her senses—mingle about as they felt most comfortable. He then looked to Twist and Jonas with smug satisfaction.
“Now then,” he said to them, his lowered voice lost beyond the platform now that those in the crowd had begun to speak to each other again. “You two be civil. I’m sorry if you didn’t appreciate my earlier tone, but as you see, all of these people really were eager to meet you.”
Neither Twist nor Jonas made any reply.
“Well, go on, then,” Aden said, gesturing to the crowd. “Go mingle. Jonas, head over there to the vision section, and Twist, go over there to the touch section.”
“Exactly when can we leave?” Jonas asked, his voice thick with distaste.
“When I do,” Aden answered. “And not a moment before.”
Twist and Jonas then turned and walked out toward the crowd. Twist hardly noticed the gap between the platform and the floor this time, as he saw the huge group of people in the touch section turn to watch him approach.
“It’s truly an honor to meet you,” said a lady in a red dress, offering a handshake to Twist when he reached the edge of the crowd. “Your Sight must be impressive, to help you find and fix the clockwork princess.”
“Thank you,” Twist muttered in reply, offering a slight bow instead of taking her offered handshake.
At first glance, Twist guessed that there were roughly thirty people clustered together in this group. At the moment, they were all peering around each other to get the best look at Twist, and some were drifting dangerously close to him as if they meant to reach out and touch him. Knowing that they all had touch-related Sights, like his own, Twist was bewildered as to why they all seemed so eager to use them.
“Please!” Twist snapped as one man reached out an extended finger. “Please, don’t touch me,” he said, forcing his voice to soften politely. The man drew back his hand, looking startled.
“I thought you had a touch Sight,” said the woman who still seemed somewhat offended that he hadn’t accepted her handshake.
“I do,” Twist answered. “And that’s precisely why I’d like to avoid contact.”
“But the other man touched you,” mentioned another woman, this one dressed in trousers and a ruffled green blouse.
“He’s different,” Twist muttered, fighting hard to keep still.
The deepest part of his soul wanted only to flee all of this attention. The questions made him uncomfortable on their own, but he feared being asked the invasive ones that would surely follow at any moment. “You mentioned the clockwork princess,” he said, looking to the woman in red. “Would you like to talk more about her?” he asked hopefully.
“Yes, how does it work?” the woman asked with eager interest. “I saw it dancing with Aden last night. It looked so lifelike that I almost forgot it wasn’t human.”
Every “it” the woman spoke stung at Twist like a cloud of hornets. “Her name is Myra,” he said as politely as he could around the offense. “I can assure you, she is just as human as any other young lady.”
“Can I just touch your hair, please?” asked the man who had tried to poke him earlier, earning the man the instant label of “Grabby” in Twist's mind.
“No!” Twist snapped, aghast at such an odd request. He took a careful step away from Grabby as well. “I told you, I’d rather not.”
“What are you afraid will happen?” asked the woman who'd insulted Myra. “And why is the man with the future Sight so different?”
“Good heavens…” Twist grumbled to himself, rubbing at his brow with a hand. “Please, don’t ask
about that.”
“You’re not very sharing, are you?” asked the woman who didn't get a handshake, looking disappointed.
“No, I’m not. I don’t like answering personal questions. And I rather dislike these social events in particular. I wasn’t even going to come until Aden…insisted.”
The crowd around him seemed taken aback by his words. Twist instantly feared that he’d said too much.
A slight motion at the corner of his vision alerted Twist to the fact that someone had approached him silently from behind. He turned just in time to find Grabby now reaching out to within an inch of touching the small black curls at Twist’s otherwise exposed neck. Fright shot through Twist like a lightning strike, making him move faster than he knew he could. Twist spun and swept away two steps, swiftly raising his walking stick to point at the man’s throat like a sword, his feet apart, his balance set, and his heart pounding.
The crowd—which now surrounded him on all sides—gasped as one. Grabby stared back at Twist, frozen in shock.
“Damn it, man!” Twist bellowed at him. “Stop trying to touch me, or I shall defend myself!”
“I mean you no harm,” Grabby said in a frightened voice, his hands held up in surrender. “I just want to understand you. You’re not making any sense. If I could just feel the texture of your hair, I would be able to see your thoughts.”
“Stay the bloody hell away from me,” Twist growled, lowering his walking stick but holding his glare steady on the man. “If I’m not making any sense, then talk to someone else.”
“Why are you so angry, young man?” asked another man. This one was wearing a bushy ginger mustache and, by his accent, seemed to be an Englishman. “We are here as friends, not enemies.”
“He’s not angry,” said a woman in a black dress. It was only then that Twist realized she had been holding her hands open in the air, just an inch away from his arm. He backed away from her instantly, and she lowered her hands. “He’s afraid,” she told the others. “I can feel nothing but fear in his aura.”
Twist shuddered. “I’ll thank you to keep your hands out of my aura, madam.”
“What are you afraid of, dearie?” asked another woman. “He’s right,” she added, gesturing to the mustachioed Englishman. “We are all friends here.”
“You’re not afraid of your own Sight, are you?” a younger man in a Rook uniform asked jeeringly. To Twist’s dismay, a few of the others chuckled.
Twist glared back at the young Rook silently. Yes, he rather was afraid of his Sight. He had been for most of his life. Inanimate things were safe enough, and the effect of well-maintained clockwork on his Sight was divine. But human contact had terrified him since he was a child. The idea of telling these insensitive idiots any of that seemed absurd and utterly useless. Clearly, they would only laugh at him. None of them had a Sight as strong as his. None of them had even heard of a Sight so strong as to be a handicap. Jonas was the only one who would ever relate to him on that level.
As Twist failed to answer, the crowd around him fell quiet as well, each one slowly coming to realize that the young Rook's jibe had affected Twist badly. Grabby seemed to have melted into the crowd, but now the Aura Fondler stepped closer. She didn’t lift her hands but Instead peered at Twist in growing amazement.
“You actually are afraid of your Sight?” she asked him in a hushed tone. This time, no one chuckled, and some began to appear honestly curious “Why? Is it too strong for you to control?”
“Are you going to violate my aura again?” Twist asked her coldly.
“How old are you?” she asked, her excitement growing.
True fear flashed hot up Twist’s spine like a lick of flame. Whenever the strangeness of his or Jonas’s Sight arose in conversation with dragons and djinn, they had asked him exactly the same question. Twist now knew some of the reasons for the strange question, thanks to the mad story his grandmother had told him. Those magical creatures knew the story of his birth, of his mother’s murder, and the unique nature of his and Jonas’s Sights—apparently, they each carried only one half of the same broken fairy soul, unlike the complete souls of all other Sights.
Since his true name had been lost when his father had left him in the orphanage, only his age and the symbol on his pocket watch could now confirm who he was. Whether or not Twist believed any of the nonsense his grandmother had told him about evil fairies, the whole thing still unsettled him deeply. But this woman wasn’t a dragon or djinn or related to Twist in any way. How could she know the tale as well?
“You think this is the witch’s son?” the Englishman asked the Aura Fondler skeptically.
Twist looked to him in naked shock, while the echo of the same phrase—in the voice of a cross Chinese dragon, the brother of the dragon Twist had accidentally slain—played in his mind. He’d also found out from his grandmother that his mother had, in fact, been a witch. It was apparently her charm—the intricate design etched into the back of his pocket watch—that made him invisible to the fairies that wanted his death.
“All right, let’s see the magical pocket watch, then,” said the young Rook with a mocking air. “Go on. Show us the watch that hides you from evil pixies.”
“Not pixies,” snapped the Aura Fondler. “Pixies are nearly harmless. It’s the fae that want to kill the witch’s son,” she added, smiling now. “And the watch is just a watch. It’s the charm carved into the back cover that hides him from the fae.” She turned her mildly amused face on Twist. “Isn’t that how it goes?”
“What the hell are you all talking about?” Twist blurted out, desperately clinging to denial as his mind whirled with terror.
“Oh, you must know the story!” the Aura Fondler said excitedly. “The witch’s son took on one half of a fae soul, and an unknown other took the other half, because the two children were born at the same moment as the murder of the fae on the night of November 17, 1852. Now, the Winter fae want their fellow back unharmed, and the Summer fae want it destroyed forever. But both children were lost, and now no one knows where to find either one.”
“He does look the right age,” mentioned another man.
“It’s also said,” continued the Aura Fondler, “that although each child took only one half of the broken soul, their resulting Sights are stronger than normal and might even be dangerous to them. That’s how the witch was killed. She foolishly asked the fae what was wrong with her newborn son’s Sight and so told them exactly who he was and even gave them his name.”
Twist bit his tongue to keep himself from shouting at the woman to defend his mother. It took his entire will to hold himself silent as he heard the exact same story his grandmother and Idris had both told him, now recounted by a stranger. How could they all know the same tale if it wasn’t at least partly true? Twist began to feel dizzy and focused all of his attention on remaining on his feet.
“Do you mean to say that you believe any of those silly tales?” the Englishman scoffed. “I’m a man of science, myself.”
“But he just said he’s afraid of his Sight!” the Aura Fondler said with entirely too much fascination and glee. “You tell us, Mr. Twist. Is it all true? Are you the witch’s son?”
Twist stared back at her in naked horror. His instincts screamed at him to deny it all. But his experience held him silent. What if it was all real?
“Don’t tease the poor man so,” another woman said with a French accent. “It’s just a story. There’s no such person as the witch’s son.” She looked levelly at Twist. “Isn’t that right?”
Twist looked back at her, stunned to find an escape before him. “Yes, of course,” he answered, struggling to keep his own voice level and failing somewhat. Twist pulled in his fractured will and forced his face to be still and his breathing to calm while his heart continued pounding. “It’s just a story. It’s absurd.”
The Aura Fondler pouted at him as if he’d just insulted her cat.
“I’m glad to hear you say so,” said the jeering young Ro
ok. “You were starting to worry me for a moment there.”
“Have you heard?” asked the Frenchwoman. “Some people are even making little charms of their own, like the one on the watch you’re supposed to have,” she added to Twist, “and wearing them to protect themselves from fairies.”
Her words ended in a laugh, and many of the others around Twist joined in with her. The Aura Fondler, however, glared and sourly muttered, “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a bit of fiction.”
“Go on then,” the young Rook said to her. “Let’s see your charm. You’re the type to have one, aren’t you?”
“I see no reason to deny it,” she replied proudly.
As she spoke, she pulled a thin silver chain up from under her collar, revealing a small, coin-like silver charm that hung from it. Twist instantly recognized the symbol as the same one that was etched into the back cover of his pocket watch—the same symbol his grandmother had insisted be tattooed onto Jonas’s arm, to protect him from evil fairies as well.
“I don’t care if it’s real or not,” she declared defiantly. “I simply enjoy the story. It makes the world seem more magical and interesting.”
Twist fought to hide a grimace at the thought that his own mother’s murder might be a source of entertainment to this woman.
“Wow…” the young Rook said, grinning at her.
“Now, don’t be so rude,” grumbled the Englishman. “The lady has every right to enjoy the tale. It’s perfectly harmless, after all. And no one needs your opinion on the matter, young man.”
“Of course,” the young Rook droned, looking not at all changed. “Excuse me, madam.”
The Aura Fondler nodded, but her expression remained sour. “Thank you, sir,” she said to the Englishman.
“I can’t abide a rude child,” the man replied with a smile to her. “Now, what of your Sight, madam? You sense auras, do you?”
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