Earliest Inclinations
November 2249
"Ow!" Lenora jerked her pinched finger away from her screwdriver and glared at it. "Shoot your prisoner, why don't'cha?" She shook her wrist a few times, glad at least that the skin wasn't broken. If she'd had to go get a bandage, her mother would have found her taking things apart again, and then hoo-boy, there would've been problems.
"Sweetheart, what are you doing?"
Lenora glanced up at the tall, pale man, thick dark hair sprinkled with a few strands of gray, who was sitting down at the kitchen table next to her. "Hi, Grandpa. Didn't know you were over." She smiled at him, indicating the mess of metal and plastic in front of her with a wave of the screwdriver. "The clock's busted again."
"Piece of junk," Aiden Tovik agreed. "So you're trying to fix it, I presume?"
"Yup."
"Careful," he said, holding up one hand along with one eyebrow, an expression that his granddaughter knew meant amusement. His index finger was wrapped in a bandage. "That stuff's dangerous. I cut myself slicing carrots earlier."
Lenora's eyes went wide and she let out a yelp. "Jeez, Grandpa!" She hurriedly pushed the clock workings across the table. "Don't put your hand in there. You're gonna get copper all over the innards."
"What, no concern for your old bleeding grandfather?" Aiden said. "I should really be insulted." He leaned over and kissed the top of her head, covered in hair as dark as his own. Where was the little baby he'd met five minutes ago? Apparently, he'd blinked. Or something.
"Stop it!" Lenora swatted him away. "I know you can't die from a little blood, but the clock can."
"Well, maybe if I bleed all over it," he teased, "you can recreate the Statue of Liberty in your own kitchen, whaddya say? You could get in Guinness 2250." He reached for the clock, hand waving as though to wiggle his long, bony fingers around inside it.
"I said knock it off!" Delicate hands clamped down on his arm with surprising force, eliciting a wince. Lenora glared at him with brown eyes as dark as his own - and, he knew, fury that he had matched on numerous occasions. "Don't tease me, okay? I'm trying to fix it. I don't want blood in the clock."
Aiden snatched his hand back, folding his arms across his chest. "Young lady, what does your mother say about being rude to people?" His sharp features were suddenly cold, almost forbidding; Lenora's heart thumped hard in her chest. Uh-oh.
"I'm s-sorry, honestly," she whispered, her lower lip trembling between her teeth as her shoulders slumped. "I was j-j-just worried. You're scaring me, Grandpa."
"I don't mean to." Slanted eyebrows relaxed as her grandfather's thin mouth curled up in a slight smile. "Don't be scared of me, Lennybug. It's just Grandpa, remember? Your Grandpa who loves you." A comforting arm slung around her shoulders, easily enveloping them.
But Lenora wasn't so easily placated; even at twelve (twelve and a half, as she was wont to insist - woe betide any family member who lowered her age), she knew what was what. "You shouldn't've made that face," she muttered. "I was just trying to be safe."
Aiden chuckled. "Anyone ever tell you you're a little overprotective?"
"Uh-huh." She nodded; her own dark brows uncreased and she smiled, her face lighting up like the sky after the winter storm that had heralded her birth. "Dad says I'm ridiculous."
One of these days, he was going to have a talk with his son about the brain-to-mouth filter he apparently lacked. It ran in the family, though, so he didn't know how much he could do about the bluntness gene. "Ridiculous, huh? So," he continued, "since when are you such a little grease monkey?"
"What's a grease monkey?" Lenora asked. "Is that like a monkey wrench? I'm clean, I swear."
"No, no. It's slang for 'engineer.' Someone who designs and works with machinery," he elaborated, seeing her tilt her head in confusion. "Not the kind on the old-fashioned trains."
"Oh, so that's what I'm doing." Lenora pulled the clock back in front of her, like some sort of odd mechanical comfort object. She patted its face. "I thought I was just having fun."
Her hands were so sure already. Six years, Aiden thought, and she's out of here. The thought was more painful than it had been. "Look, wait a few years and I'll tell you about some places that might be good for you when you're older," he said. "But ease up on the screwdrivers until you have a little more training. I have it on good authority that your mother hates having messes on her good table."
She made a face. "Mom's so stodgy."
Stodgy? What was she, forty? "Where'd you learn that word?" he asked.
Lenora raised a We Are Not Amused eyebrow to rival his own. "From you."
Oh. Figured.
"Ow!" Lenora jerked her pinched finger away from her screwdriver and glared at it. "Shoot your prisoner, why don't'cha?" She shook her wrist a few times, glad at least that the skin wasn't broken. If she'd had to go get a bandage, her mother would have found her taking things apart again, and then hoo-boy, there would've been problems.
"Sweetheart, what are you doing?"
Lenora glanced up at the tall, pale man, thick dark hair sprinkled with a few strands of gray, who was sitting down at the kitchen table next to her. "Hi, Grandpa. Didn't know you were over." She smiled at him, indicating the mess of metal and plastic in front of her with a wave of the screwdriver. "The clock's busted again."
"Piece of junk," Aiden Tovik agreed. "So you're trying to fix it, I presume?"
"Yup."
"Careful," he said, holding up one hand along with one eyebrow, an expression that his granddaughter knew meant amusement. His index finger was wrapped in a bandage. "That stuff's dangerous. I cut myself slicing carrots earlier."
Lenora's eyes went wide and she let out a yelp. "Jeez, Grandpa!" She hurriedly pushed the clock workings across the table. "Don't put your hand in there. You're gonna get copper all over the innards."
"What, no concern for your old bleeding grandfather?" Aiden said. "I should really be insulted." He leaned over and kissed the top of her head, covered in hair as dark as his own. Where was the little baby he'd met five minutes ago? Apparently, he'd blinked. Or something.
"Stop it!" Lenora swatted him away. "I know you can't die from a little blood, but the clock can."
"Well, maybe if I bleed all over it," he teased, "you can recreate the Statue of Liberty in your own kitchen, whaddya say? You could get in Guinness 2250." He reached for the clock, hand waving as though to wiggle his long, bony fingers around inside it.
"I said knock it off!" Delicate hands clamped down on his arm with surprising force, eliciting a wince. Lenora glared at him with brown eyes as dark as his own - and, he knew, fury that he had matched on numerous occasions. "Don't tease me, okay? I'm trying to fix it. I don't want blood in the clock."
Aiden snatched his hand back, folding his arms across his chest. "Young lady, what does your mother say about being rude to people?" His sharp features were suddenly cold, almost forbidding; Lenora's heart thumped hard in her chest. Uh-oh.
"I'm s-sorry, honestly," she whispered, her lower lip trembling between her teeth as her shoulders slumped. "I was j-j-just worried. You're scaring me, Grandpa."
"I don't mean to." Slanted eyebrows relaxed as her grandfather's thin mouth curled up in a slight smile. "Don't be scared of me, Lennybug. It's just Grandpa, remember? Your Grandpa who loves you." A comforting arm slung around her shoulders, easily enveloping them.
But Lenora wasn't so easily placated; even at twelve (twelve and a half, as she was wont to insist - woe betide any family member who lowered her age), she knew what was what. "You shouldn't've made that face," she muttered. "I was just trying to be safe."
Aiden chuckled. "Anyone ever tell you you're a little overprotective?"
"Uh-huh." She nodded; her own dark brows uncreased and she smiled, her face lighting up like the sky after the winter storm that had heralded her birth. "Dad says I'm ridiculous."
One of these days, he was going to have a talk with his son about the brain-to-mouth filter he apparently lacked. It ran in the family, though, so he didn't know how much he could do about the bluntness gene. "Ridiculous, huh? So," he continued, "since when are you such a little grease monkey?"
"What's a grease monkey?" Lenora asked. "Is that like a monkey wrench? I'm clean, I swear."
"No, no. It's slang for 'engineer.' Someone who designs and works with machinery," he elaborated, seeing her tilt her head in confusion. "Not the kind on the old-fashioned trains."
"Oh, so that's what I'm doing." Lenora pulled the clock back in front of her, like some sort of odd mechanical comfort object. She patted its face. "I thought I was just having fun."
Her hands were so sure already. Six years, Aiden thought, and she's out of here. The thought was more painful than it had been. "Look, wait a few years and I'll tell you about some places that might be good for you when you're older," he said. "But ease up on the screwdrivers until you have a little more training. I have it on good authority that your mother hates having messes on her good table."
She made a face. "Mom's so stodgy."
Stodgy? What was she, forty? "Where'd you learn that word?" he asked.
Lenora raised a We Are Not Amused eyebrow to rival his own. "From you."
Oh. Figured.