Chapter 46: Pollen and Flushed Cheeks
"Still... isn't it nice, now and then, to have a little time to yourself? Come by whenever you like. Next time I won't serve you coffee bitter as hemlock. I'll treat you to something that puts the life back in you, like a potion."
At that, Miru let out a short snort. She flicked the glass she'd set on the counter, and the ice left inside answered with a bright clink.
"Time alone? Don't make me laugh. I'm built to stick with my teammates and raise a racket. Chewing on solitude isn't my style."
The words came out like a jab, but the tail of her voice carried a warmth that had grown noticeably lighter. She slid the empty glass toward me and stretched both arms overhead, as if working out a kink.
"But, well... dropping in when I feel like playing hooky wouldn't be the worst thing. You said it'd be like a potion, right? I'm holding you to that."
Miru leaned across the counter and looked me straight in the eye.
"Next time I show up, if you put that hemlock in front of me again, I'll put a few air holes through that pretty sign you've dressed this place up with."
She shaped her fingers into a gun and made a light show of shooting me in the chest. Then, without a backward glance of regret, she turned and started for the door.
"I'm off. No telling what kind of mess those idiots are getting into."
She gave a casual wave over her shoulder. I watched in silence as she opened the door and stepped out, hoping that today's glass had eased, even a little, the weariness of someone who always walks in front and takes the bullets for everyone else. Lifting the empty spumoni glass she'd left behind, I quietly raised it toward the night sky beyond the window.
The next morning, Miss Shinano stopped by the café on her way to work, took a seat at the counter, and immediately began digging into what had happened the night before. I set the espresso machine to preheat and answered her carefully, circling around the truth: Hina had simply been unusually head-on that day, and Miru had talked her down and sent her off.
"Haa... honestly. With those walking disasters around, there isn't a single quiet moment, meow."
Miss Shinano let out a deep sigh, as if her head ached just thinking about it. She pressed a hand to her brow and gave a small shake of her head, then turned her gaze to take in the café's new interior at her leisure. Morning sunlight poured through the stained-glass windows over the solid-wood furniture, lending the room a rather old-fashioned grace.
"Still... those chick brats actually managed to put a proper space together for once, meow."
She accepted, in both hands, the coffee I had just pulled and the bundle of snacks I had packed with care.
"I'll enjoy this, meow. You keep at it too, meow."
On the surface it was the same blunt tone she always used as my senior, but the cat tail spilling out from behind her jersey swayed in a pleased little rhythm. She drew in a deep breath of the coffee's aroma, then stepped out the door with a gait noticeably lighter than yesterday's. Through the window I watched her back recede into the morning sun.
I finished putting the empty counter to rights, filled the case with the desserts I meant to serve today, and lined the freshly polished glasses in neat rows along the shelf. The European-style room that Miss Shinano and the chick familiars had dressed felt all the more peaceful, and handsome, once morning arrived. Beyond the glass, the still lakeshore lay spread like a painting, and inside, soft classical music filled the space. I smoothed the wrinkles from the tablecloths, then slowly wiped down the bar with a warm towel. It was a quiet, orderly morning, so calm that the uproar of the night before felt like a lie.
When the last of the preparations was done and I looked outside, the beautiful shore—trees and flowers in full bloom—was veiled in a faint yellow dust.
"Haha... pollen season's started."
Or was it only my imagination that the drifting gold looked strangely dreamlike? I had thought that even a magical girl would stay away on a day like this, the kind that dirtied clothes and tickled the nose. I was wrong.
The café door opened, and the hem of a pure white nun's habit stepped carefully inside. It was Sister Clara. A thin dusting of yellow pollen had settled over the veil covering her hair and across her shoulders. The moment she came in she gave a small cough and hastily brushed the pollen from her shoulder and sleeves with her hands.
"A-achoo! L-Lord... these fine, irreverent motes... they disorder my very breath..."
She looked up, the skin around her eyes faintly reddened, as if the pollen had had its way with her. And then her gaze met mine across the counter. In that instant, Clara went rigid.
A few days ago, at the lakeshore. She had mistaken the words I offered her beneath the moonlight for a confession of love and fled. That night had clearly come back to her all at once. Her pale cheeks flushed red in a heartbeat. Clara dropped her eyes to the floor in a rush and tightened her grip on the large cross at her throat.
"I-I am Clara, a servant of the Lord. B-Brother... have you been at peace since last we met...?"
The firm, strict voice I knew was nowhere to be found; what came out had shrunk into something small. Her gaze stayed fixed somewhere near my toes. She could not bring herself to lift her head, and only fidgeted with the hem of her habit.
"Haha... well. A lot has happened. Since you've come during the day, shall I bring you coffee and something to eat? The convent way? Or... the way girls your age usually have it?"
Clara's shoulders flinched. She snatched the hands she had laid so neatly on the counter down beneath her knees and clutched the cross again. The chair was a little high for her small frame, and her dangling feet swayed, ever so slightly, in the air.
"Th-the convent way, you say... You must mean bitter tea and coarse bread, that one might keep far from the pleasures of the flesh and practice abstinence."
She tried to make her voice solemn, but the ends of her words trembled thin with fluster. Her gaze, busy wandering so as to avoid my face, came to a dead stop at the illuminated dessert case beside the counter.
"However... if a servant of the Lord is to lead lost lambs onto the right path, there are times she must experience in her own body, and thereby understand, the worldly culture they enjoy. As it is written in the Gospel of Matthew, the tenth chapter and the sixteenth verse: be wise as serpents, and innocent as doves..."
Clara nodded with grim resolve, like someone who had just solved a formidable theological puzzle.
"Therefore... if you, Brother, truly—if you truly insist... th-then, for today alone, I shall graciously accept refreshments in the manner of those my age."
The words sounded grave enough, but her eyes, fixed on the case, were already lost in the temptation of sugar and cream.
"This is by no means a surrender to worldly sweetness. It is solely an act of sacred, faithful observation, undertaken that I might understand the world!"
Apparently satisfied that her own rationalization had come out rather well, Clara cleared her throat and drew her back up straight. The deep red still burning in her cheeks, and the two feet fidgeting in empty air, rendered that pious, grim display hopelessly unconvincing.
"Right. I'll make you something that suits you perfectly."
I pulled a shot of espresso, folded in steamed milk, and crowned it with a generous foam. A light dusting of cinnamon finished a cappuccino that was neat, and very much the sort of thing people liked these days. Beside it I set madeleines I had baked ahead of time, and carefully slid the plate in front of Clara.
"A cappuccino and madeleines. The cappuccino takes its name from the habit worn by the Capuchin friars... and the madeleine, too, comes from the shell shape that pilgrims used to wear upon their cloaks."
The explanation had barely ended before Clara's golden eyes went perfectly round. Her gaze, which had been wandering without a destination between the display and the tabletop, caught on the milk foam mounded over the cup and the shell-shaped cakes on the plate. The hands that had been gripping the cross now folded devoutly before her chest.
"Th-the Capuchin order... the scallop shell of the Camino de Santiago...!"
A deep awe lay over her voice.
"To think there is fare that carries a history so sacred..."
Clara shut her eyes tight, her lips moving as she offered a sincere grace before the meal. Once she had made the sign of the cross, she carefully took hold of the cup. One sip. Soft milk foam and fragrant cinnamon touched her lips, and as the rich espresso flowed into her mouth, her shoulders gave a visible twitch. Then she bit into a shell-shaped madeleine, and her pale brows curved with pleasure.
"This softness, this sweetness... surely it is the Lord's mercy, sent to comfort the steps of pilgrims who walk a hard road..."
She murmured it with her face thoroughly disarmed.
"You came in the morning today? Doing a magical girl's work and a nun's work both—isn't that difficult?"
At the question, Clara stopped chewing. She set down, with care, the cup she had been holding in both hands. A trace of soft milk foam clung to her upper lip, but she did not even think to wipe it away. She only looked up at me with the flustered eyes of someone who had committed some great sin.
"Th-that is... Brother. I believe a misunderstanding must be set right."
She touched the cross and lowered her gaze a little.
"I call myself a servant of the Lord, and yet... I am not a nun who has taken formal vows. I am only a student, living in the dormitory of a theological school and studying doctrine."
The small confession done, Clara's cheeks warmed faintly again, whether from shame or something near it. Afraid I might think she had meant to falsify her station, she hurriedly clutched her white veil and the hem of her habit in both hands and went on.
"This attire, as well... is so that I may use my power rightly. For my prayers to manifest as magic, I require a medium by which I can gather my own heart into a piety without flaw. Only when I wear the habit and hold the cross does the faith within me become armor, firm and unshaken."
Having rushed to explain herself, Clara straightened her posture and let out a small sigh. The slight droop of her shoulders suggested that, in her own way, the burden ran deep.
"Of course, keeping the strict dormitory rules of the theological school while also carrying out my duties as a magical girl... is truly a heavy cross. At night I must pass judgment on the Aberrations, and in the morning I must rise in time for the first prayers."
Her voice trailed off. Then, all at once, Clara shook her head and clasped her hands together.
"Ah, no! All this hardship, too, must be a holy refining the Lord has sent down, to temper the patience I lack. Lord, forgive this lowly servant, who nearly let complaint pass her lips..."