Waiting for the Moon

"Just before he pulled their little wings off, no doubt," Johann remarked, taking a quick sip of his wine.

Ian rolled his eyes. He should have known better than to try to observe his patient in this crowd. Johann was his usual surly, antagonistic self, except that he'd developed a sudden paternalistic streak for their damaged goddess. Maeve and the queen were predictably incomprehensible, and Selena ...

He sighed. She was somehow not what he expected. There was a sadness in her eyes that begged to be noticed.

He leaned toward her and pressed a hand to her forehead, feeling for a fever.

She gave him a quick smile that banished the sorrow from her eyes.

He drew his hand back, and she immediately frowned. As if she'd wanted something from him. "I'll get you some headache powders. We can resume our testing tomorrow."

"By all means, Ian, treat the body and ignore the soul," Johann said.

Ian slammed his journal down on the table and got to his feet. The fine Sevres china rattled. "Edith, send a meal to my room. Selena, I'll see you in the morning."

Selena stared up at him, a pathetic eagerness in her doe eyes. "Will you, Ian? Really?"

He didn't understand her question. "Eight-thirty in the parlor." He turned to leave.

She stopped him with a touch. Surprised, he turned back to her. "On the beach," she said in an unexpectedly firm voice. "I like the sunlight."

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It made no sense to him, but what did a place matter? He could study her anywhere. "Fine."

Without another word, he walked out of the room.

Chapter Fourteen

Selena sat on the bottom step, her knees drawn tightly to her chest, her arms looped around her ankles. Around her, the old house was quiet and dark. Supper had been over for hours, though the scent of turkey and cinnamon clung stubbornly in the air.

Something was wrong between her and Ian, and she had no idea what it was. All she wanted, all she could ever remember wanting, was his smile. When sh

e first woke up, he was there, always, sitting beside her, gifting her with a glorious, loving smile, touching her brow with his strong, caring fingers. She remembered how it had felt to bask in the warmth of his smile. Peaceful. Safe. As if nothing bad could follow or find her when Ian was there.

But it had all been an illusion, a creation of her battered mind. She wondered now if she'd imagined it all, if Ian had ever looked at her with the loving ga/e of her memories, or if it was all a lie....

How could she know? She was brain-damaged. Ian had said it often enough, as had Edith, and now Selena was well enough to understand what it meant. She accepted it as truth that her brain-the part of her that contained her thoughts and knowledge-was irreparably damaged. Her friends wouldn't lie to her about such a serious sickness.

So she was damaged, broken. But what did that 170

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mean? None of them could answer that. And now she was beginning to wonder, to question everything she knew and thought she knew. She thought Ian had once touched her with caring. But how could she know for sure?

The soft, tentative patter of footsteps broke through Selena's thoughts. She straightened. Hope filled her heart, sharp and painful. "Who is there?"

"It's me. Maeve."

Hope died. Selena slid closer to the wall. Maeve came down to the last step and sat down beside Selena, setting a candle on the floor in front of them.

Selena glanced sideways at Maeve, studying the older woman's profile. She'd learned in the last weeks that there were two Maeves in the same body. One was a bright, vivacious woman with a ready laugh and generous nature; the other was morose and withdrawn and self-destructive, a woman prone to talking to invisible people and kissing stuffed animals. Selena was trying to learn how to tell the difference.

"I thought you might still be up," Maeve said.

The soft tones of Maeve's voice filled Selena with relief. It was the healthy Maeve, the woman in control. Trying to smile, Selena rested her head on her friend's shoulder.

"Supper was very bad," Selena said dully. So different from what she'd imagined. In her daydreams of Ian's return, he always picked her up, swung her around, and held her closely. She'd never imagined the tension she felt in his presence or the objective coldness in his eyes. When he looked at her, all he saw was a damaged brain.