Spare and Found Parts Read Online Free

it, with dexterity. Your ticking reverberates louder against the glass, and you are trying to ignore it, trying not to let it change the fabric of this quiet afternoon world. Nan doesn’t mention it (Nan never mentions it), and you are thankful to her for this. You are thankful for her pearly painted nails on your scalp, knowing and gentle. She hums a sweetness, and it gets behind your eyes and you feel better. You can barely hear yourself when you focus on her voice.
    You aren’t sure if you believe in magic, but you understand why people say she is an oracle. You understand why they gather in the garden after dark and listen to her prayers. You understand why people come to her with lost objects, broken hearts. Her hands are in your hair, and you are not a clockwork girl; you’re her grandchild, protected. The Pasture is endless, and thecity is nowhere in sight. You are warm in this prism. You could stay. You think about asking her if she’d let you. She might.
    You are without lessons for the season, without Oliver Kelly on weekends and your father’s watchful eye, his rules. You are without constant instruction or the fumes from the laboratory, the relentless stench of scorched metal. These things all fade into the concrete city beyond the horizon line of the Pasture.
    You wish you could show Ruby these rolling fields, this clear sky. Even still, you are happy. A quiet, ordinary feeling. Nan doesn’t say anything, you don’t say anything, and the pair of you are linked in the afternoon hush.
    Two of her maids bustle in just then, wheeling a gilded tea service. Healed, the pair of them, or just about; you can’t spot any augmentations. The elder of the pair, Lynn, who’s worked in the Starling house as long as you remember, begins to unload dainty porcelain towers of iced cakes, pink and white and mint. She transfers them to a glass table, low enough that neither you nor Nan has to bend out of your way to eat.
    The other girl you’ve never seen before. She’s a teenager, hair cropped close to a pixie face. You don’t get too much of a look at her before she exclaims, “Oh!” and drops a teacup. It smashes empty on the tiles.Her eyes are ice blue; you notice then—only because they’re all over you. Tick, tick, tick. They’re up and down the length of your scar, her pupils pinpoint, her mouth sour, open.
    She pales a little, bubbles, “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” blushing and stammering. She’s still staring, your neck, your chest, a moment, two, then blusters away, leaving the air thick and awful. It is too bright in here. Your skin is too tight. Lynn quickly picks up the pieces of the cup and, producing another, seamlessly pours tea and places two cups at the bottom of the cake tree. But all you can see is the new girl’s horror, her shaking hands.
    â€œI am so, so sorry about this, Mrs. Starling,” Lynn trills. “I warned Annie about Miss Nell, but she just wasn’t prepared. I’ll ensure it doesn’t happen again.”
    Nan does not say a word, but her hands are motionless on your head. Lynn leaves the cornucopia of tiny cakes and proud-bellied teapot on the table, curtsies, and wheels the service away.
    Tickticktick.
    You are old enough now that when adults talk as though you were not there, you are not oblivious. Instead, you are furious, and the sound your body makes is the music of that fury. Nan’s hands take up braiding again, and steam rises from the teacups.Perhaps you would like, after all, to go back to the city. You are not like the people in the city, but you are more like them than like the folk here. City people never look scared of you.
    â€œNot to worry. We’ll get you some nice, colorful scarves,” coos Nan, and you say, “Thank you,” but you mean, “Why didn’t you say anything?” and you mean, “Are you scared of me, too?”
    You don’t see the younger maid