Gwenna frowns. “I’ve never heard of fasting for Ash Wednesday.”
“It’s a…special thing,” I say. “Same as this.” I dig under the neck of my sweater and pull out the front piece of the scapular. Gwenna tips her head slightly, and there’s this little flare in her eyes—curiosity, intrigue.
Ow.
She glances at me—please, don’t, not in the eyes—and reaches her hand halfway between us. “Can I?”
I nod, and she takes the pendant in her palm to study it, which not incidentally draws me closer across the table. Towards her.
She smells good. Shesmellsgood. Crisp, but sweet. Like aranciata.
Aranciata’s my favorite.
“Huh,” she says, gaze intent on the pendant as she tilts it with her fingertips to read the inscription. “Si Deus Pro Nobis…”
If God is for us, who can be against us?
“It’s a reminder,” I say, looking just over her shoulder so I don’t have to look at her face and acknowledge that she has me, effectively, on a leash.
Crack.The pain is so bad this time it takes my breath away. I clench my jaw as it ripples away, and Gwenna must notice, because she drops the scapular.
“Lanz,” she says, direct and matter-of-fact. “Are you okay?”
“M’fine.” I stuff the scapular down the front of my sweater again. “I’m just…like I said. Fasting. Um, except for the communion wine, I guess.” I try to smile, but it’s not a very good joke. Or a good smile.
“You look…” She doesn’t finish the sentence.
Instead, she leans over and puts her hand on my forehead.
Her gentle, cool hand onmyforehead.
The relief is immediate. My eyes close of their own accord, my shoulders drop, and the crackling heat in my chest goes instantly, beautifully, ice cold.
I breathe out.
Perfect.
For two seconds.
Because then she releases me, and I want to cry out.
No. Come back. Don’t not touch me. Please.
I force my eyes open, although my eyelids now feel heavy as lead. I see Gwenna across from me, a vaguely puzzled expression on her face.
“You don’t feel hot,” she’s saying. “But you look…feverish. You should probably…”
I’m drunk. Or Ifeellike I’m drunk, anyway: all swimmy and loose andbetter.
When she touches me, I feel better.
When she touches me, I feel better.
My eyes blink shut again. Of course. Ofcoursethat’s how it works. Stupid fucking curse. Stupid, stupid fucking…
“Lanz?”
Her tone is mildly annoyed. I blink, refocus. Good. There she is. Still there.
