“I thought you could use some art for your room.” It was all he said, but even she could hear the layers of unspoken understanding beneath the words. When she raised an eyebrow in question, he just motioned for her to look back at the painting. “Go on,” he added. “It’s yours. Take a goodlook.”
Not quite sure whether or not she was imagining the mischievousness in his voice, Jo nodded, turning back towards the painting and taking a stepcloser.
It really was remarkable work, his artistic talent obvious. He’d managed to take an image straight from her mind and render it in near perfection with what looked to be no more than a handful of colors. In fact, the more she looked at it, the more she felt as though she was looking not at a painting, not even at a photograph, but at amemory.
She remembered quiet drives through the endless ribbon of road that was Long Horn, the wind turbines gently spinning as her mother drove past. As Jo looked closer, she could even see them, strips of white paint just barely interrupting the distant expanse of burntsienna.
She remembered heat lightning cracking open an indigo sky, distant flashes of yellow sparkling with an aura of purples and pinks, swirls of light in rainless and cloudlessheavens.
Empanadasandsopapillasand hot chocolate with cinnamon coated her tongue. Abuelita’s old quilt in all its sturdy, faded familiarity fell in comforting weight over her shoulders. The rumble of her father’s dirty pickup reached her ears. Jo felt her mother’s hands in her hair and her arms around her waist and all the indescribable feelings that summed together, formed the essence ofhome.
Colors became sensations that evoked memories she’d long and momentarily forgotten but had never stoppedtreasuring.
Her shoulders sagged under the soothing touch of nostalgia, the image on canvas blurring into her own recollection. There was a word for this feeling, she realized, something she hadn’t felt since she got here. Something she hadn’t felt in a long, long time,even.
Contentment. Not happiness, but a calm acceptance that her situation in life wasn’t just “not so bad” but pretty good,even.
It felt like letting go. And she feltbetter.
She didn’t need to ask to know that Nico’s magic had something to do with this. She could practically feel it vibrating beneath her skin, calming nerves she’d only been minutely aware were so frayed. In the back of her mind, she wondered if she should be upset, having her emotions manipulated so easily and completely. But this hadn’t felt like Wayne’s magic, struggling against invisible tethers. Every sensation was wholly hers; the painting merely brought them forth, played up certain things and dialed down others. Alongside the acceptance of it all was a deeper sense of genuineness, an offering of Nico’s that felt like more of a gift than anexploitation.
This was his way of welcoming her to the Society. This was his way of making her feel more athome.
So, with eyes still blinking from the fresh feel of hot air, the scent of desert still clogging her nose, Jo turned away from the painting and walked up to Nico. Without warning, she wrapped her arms around his waist, feeling him tense in surprise. Quickly, however, he eased into the embrace, hugging her back tightly and withoutrestraint.
He smelt like fresh paint and cedar, his arms strong and warm. The realness of him brought her back from the deluge of memories, but did not sever the sensation of peace those images left in theirwake.
After a long moment, Jo pulled back, running a hand over her face to check for any stray tears. Dry—looked like she was solidly back on the right track when it came tocrying.
“Thank you,” she said, keeping as much appreciation in her voice as shecould.
That knowing smile on Nico’s face only grew in response, his eyes crinkling at thecorners.
He’d never know it, but he’d given her the greatest gift of all—cementing her resolve for what she must do next, regardless of the consequences. She may not exist, but that didn’t mean she was ready to turn her back on the home sheknew.
Chapter 13
Rec Room
THE MANSION WASquiet and the world outside its windows was dark—leading Jo to believe that it was, indeed, nighttime. Her watch corroborated the fact, reading just after midnight. But Jo still felt like she had to sneak through thehalls.
She didn’t want anyone bothering her. And, in a house filled with people who didn’t need sleep, a distraction could come from anywhere—like Nico. Though that earlier distraction had been just what she needed. It had been a reminder of what she’d sacrificed for, and what she’d still fight for with any tools at herdisposal.
Through the Four-Way, Jo’s persistent stride didn’t slow until she was standing in front of one of the recreation rooms. The empty shelf practically beckoned her to relinquish her watch and unlock the door. She’d seen Takako do this and while it seemed simple enough, Jo didn’t know what to expect solo. Nerves settled low in her gut the moment she tugged on the band of her watch and pulled it from herwrist.
It seemed strange that something so small could suddenly mean so much. In many ways, that watch was everything to her now (even if she didn’t fully understand how it worked as a portal to the real world), and she was just about to leave it out in the open. Even with Takako’s guarantee that no one else could touch it, she couldn’t help but feel possessive, maybe even a little reluctant to allow it to leave herfingers.
But Jo had a mission, and that far outweighed any fears she could have. She pulled off the strip of fabric and set it on the shelf, took a breath, and slowly inched the dooropen.
A low whistle escaped her lips; she certainly wasn’tdisappointed.
Wall to wall were various pieces of tech. It was the elaborate set-up she’d been dreaming of after all, and then some. There were multiple towers attached to twelve monitors, stretching above two separate desks so she could run two entirely separate rigs at once, with a rolling chair to swivel between them. Routers gave her little neon-green winks, assuring her that she could connect to the world beyond. Brand logos she’d only dreamed of affording glinted at her in the low-light.
Honestly, it was a technophile’s wet dream, so far beyond anything she could have hoped for that Jo could only stand there and gape, practically salivating. Even with limitless imagination, she would never have guessed the recreation room could provide what was beforeher.
Once the initial shock wore off, Jo swallowed down her excitement and settled herself into the rolling chair, sliding with a small huff of laughter from one row of monitors to another, larger desktop screen. She reached for the pair of over-sized headphones that were hung on an eerily familiar peg in the perfect place, and pulled her jacket sleeves up to the second knuckle on her thumb. Even the chill wasfamiliar.
The computer was already running, a soft hum filling the room, and when she went searching for suitable software, it appeared all her favorite programs were alreadyinstalled.
