She tucked her napkins inside her tote and twisted to check on him. “Are you okay?”
“F-fine.” He waved off her concern. “Just, uh, allergies.”
“I’m sorry.” Her nose crinkled. “Maybe some water might help?”
“I certainly hope so,” he said fervently.
Maybe because she had the school library’s brick-like copy ofCurdledin her bag right now, the zipper balked when she tried to secure it again.
“Crap.” Digging past spare tampons and hair elastics, a bottle of generic Tylenol, the book, the cheeses, and a foldable comb, she unearthed the main problem. “Here. Hold this, please?”
She shoved the item in his hand, and he stared down at it.
“One second.” Hastily, she reconfigured the contents of her tote. “Okay. I think everything will fit now.”
He didn’t seem to hear her.
“This is”—he ducked his dark head to peer more closely at the item cupped in his hand—“what appears to be wedges of Swiss and Brie driving a convertible.”
“Yup.” She plucked the plastic figurine from his palm. “It was a birthday present from my younger brother. You get the joke, right?”
Absolute mystification had creased Hugh’s forehead. “What joke?”
“ ‘Cheeses Take the Wheel’?”
If anything, his frown deepened.
Eager for him to understand and appreciate the gift, she pushed the tiny button on the side of the convertible, and a tinny-sounding plea for Swiss cheese salvation began playing.
After several moments, he said, “Yes. The cheeses are controlling the automobile via the steering wheel.”
Apparently SERC-affiliated demons didn’t keep up with popular music.
The figurine’s sound promptly slowed to an excruciating low drone before dying entirely. She deposited the malfunctioning tchotchke into her tote with a shrug. And luckily, her zipper cooperated this time when she closed up the bag.
He’d angled himself on the sofa to better watch her. “You have a brother?”
“Two.” She settled down next to him again, placing the bag at her feet. “And one sister.”
The lingering creases across his forehead smoothed, and his lips curved in a smile of startling sweetness. “I have a sister too. My twin, Eloise.”
“You two are close?”
If so, she was glad for them both. Because her parents couldn’t afford unnecessary travel costs, Gwen hadn’t seen her own siblings in over two years, not even for summer or winter breaks.
As he nodded, they both shifted minutely on the couch—and suddenly, his knee was nudging hers again. Neither of them looked down, but neither of them edged away either.
Antsy with nervous anticipation, she tugged at the hem of her slightly-too-small dress and tried unsuccessfully to suppress the flush prickling her cheeks and ears. Only to jerk in startlement when his hand caught at hers.
Gently, he clasped her wrist and turned her palm upward. “That looks painful.”
Together, they studied the scabbed slice wound there and the reddened skin around its edges. The unmistakable physical evidence of her many blood offerings to the prophetic Powers.
At the reminder of what would be happening soon in the echoing auditorium just beyond this cozy waiting room, some of her effervescent excitement went flat. “My family really needs my test to go well today, so I’ve been practicing a lot at night on my own.”
Not because she didn’t understand how to prompt her visions. Because she’d desperately needed a big revelation that shecould sneakily substitute for one of her normal, piddling prophecies during the verification test. The main result: Her hand hurt even more than normal.
She had diddly-squat. Her test tonight would be disastrous, both for her and everyone she loved, unless something unexpected happened.
