Waiting for the Moon

Edith touched her arm. "Turn around." When Selena

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failed to understand, Edith helped her move her position.

It felt instantly familiar, sitting on the circular opening, and she remembered what she was supposed to do. A second later, she felt a rush of moisture and the tinkling sound of water dripping on water.

"Good girl," Edith said, handing her some wadded-up paper.

Selena used the paper and stood up.

"Now, over here," Edith said, taking her by the arm. "Bathtub."

Selena stared at the white thing full of water and understood. "Bathtub." She walked toward it, noticing the heated, cloudy haze that clung to the surface of the water. She could smell the humid scent of it, almost remember the slick, hot feel of it against her flesh. She clutched the sleek white edge and started to climb in, but before her toe touched the water, she saw something that surprised her.

Behind the bathtub was a pink stone fireplace, with a small fire blazing in the grate. Above the mantel hung a huge mirror. Inside the glass, another naked woman was getting into another bathtub.

Selena stopped, staring at the glass. A swollen, purple face stared back at her.

She frowned. The woman in the glass frowned.

She turned to Edith, trying to ask the question. All she could manage was the word, "Who?"

Edith's laughter was low and rolling. "Why, 'tis you, lassie. Selena." She took Selena by the hand and led her to the glass.

"That's Selena in the mirror. You."

She stared at the face. Dark brown eyes stared back at her from a puffy, cut, discolored oval. Her face was purplish black, with seeping yellowish patches along her jaw. The skin was so swollen and bloated, there were no features left at all.

She remembered the word for what she saw. "Ugly,"

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she whispered. Tears caught in her eyes, blurred the image, and she was glad for them, glad for the soft veil they created. "Ugly."

"No, lassie, not ugly. Hurt." Edith touched Selena's cheek. "The ugly will pass when the hurt is gone."

Selena didn't need to understand the words. She could see the answer in the mirror. And finally she understood why Ian-God had left her.

Minutes crawled by on weak legs. Ian pulled his pocket watch out?again?and checked the time: 11:15.

What was taking them so blasted long?

"Apparently bathing the princess is a protracted procedure," Johann said. "No doubt she keeps drinking the water."

"Shut up, Johann," Andrew said, shooting a quick look at Ian.

Ian did his best to ignore them all. The crazies were in the drawing room with him, sprawled in corners and sitting on chairs and lounging in doorways. He felt their collective stare like a slow, suffocating weight on his throat.

He stared at the small, square board in his lap.

Square peg in a square hole. A child can do it, for God's sake. Even Maeve could do it.

"You're holding that damn game as if it were a sword," Johann drawled, strolling toward the fireplace. "She won't pass, you know. The poor incompetent still thinks her name is Ian."

Ian leveled a cool, contemptuous glance at the younger man. "She'll pass."

Johann's thin lips slid into a strained smile. "Ah, a dreamer. How quaint."