Impossible (17 page)

CHAPTER 40

When the creature who called himself Padraig Seeley drove up to the Markowitzes' house in Waltham at three o'clock that afternoon, exactly on time to meet Soledad, he knew immediately that no one was home. It wasn't only that there were no cars in the driveway, and no lights burning within the house. It was that the house also had that indefinable feel of temporary abandonment. He got out of his Range Rover and looked disapprovingly at the faded paint on the front door and at the old-fashioned mailbox next to it that Leo had set up, slightly askew, twenty years earlier. He didn't need to ring the bell; he knew no one would answer.

He narrowed his eyes and concentrated his senses, taking in the information that was available to him.

First, Soledad had completely forgotten he was coming. Padraig did not know why; just that it was so. Something had happened to make her forget, and not long ago either.

This was irritating—-he had looked forward to seeing Lucinda in person again—but had to be accepted. There were limits to Padraig's magical abilities when amongst humans, and normally, he had no difficulty accepting these limits because his power and influence over their weak, suggestible minds was still more than adequate. But Soledad and Leo Markowitz had proven unexpectedly challenging. Whenever Padraig was not present, their love for their foster daughter sprang back into precedence. He-knew, for example, that they were actively helping Lucinda with the seamless shirt project. That stupid boy Greenfield also appeared to be involved. Padraig might need to pay some attention to him. Make him go back to college where he belonged, for example. He had not bothered earlier.

He had not actually bothered to interfere with the activities of the Markowitzes either, beyond having Soledad keep him informed about every single thing they did. It was quite entertaining for him, to watch them scurry, all the while knowing what he knew. The curse—or the Game, as he liked to think of it—would prove impossible for Lucinda Scarborough to win. He knew this because he had set it in motion himself, centuries ago, and not one of the Scarborough girls had even come close on the very first task.

It was hard for him to remember now, but once upon a time he had truly cared for the strong-willed, pretty, and disrespectful Fenella. She had refused to understand how honored she ought to be. She had declared that she wanted a human life, with children, instead. She had even dared to choose a human lover and have a child with him, a daughter.

Well, Fenella had come to regret her decision, once she understood what it would mean for that precious daughter of hers, and all the daughters after. None of those daughters had even been allowed to choose their human lovers, the fathers of their daughters, as Fenella had. Padraig had chosen for them. It had amused him tremendously.

No, Fenella had not properly appreciated his power and her good fortune in having attracted his interest. Not until he had forced her to.

Lucinda reminded him of Fenella Scarborough, a little. It would be great fun to destroy her, once she had tried and failed to meet the three conditions of the Game. It would be almost as juicy, perhaps, as his initial victory over Fenella herself.

In a way, it was too bad that he had to wait, but it was the condition of the Game, after all. He could do nothing to Lucinda now. But her freedom soon would end. And then, one day, she would be madly singing the Scarborough song to her own daughter. It would be sweet. It always was.

He stepped closer to the Markowitzes' house and then sniffed the air, frowning. He could now taste an unexpected tang of magic within the house, and it made him pause. Whoever had worked the magic had done it recently. This person was not adept or powerful—not like him—and he would need to get closer to discern exactly what had been done, and by whom. What he could sense, however, was a distinct aroma of success.

This disturbed him only for a moment, and then provoked his curiosity. Was he in for a small fight before he inevitably won? He smiled. That would be quite amusing. It might be Soledad who was making the difference, working a kind of protective love magic to which many humans—especially, but not exclusively women—retained a weak, misunderstood access. A Scarborough girl had never had a mother helping her before, and he had wondered if Soledad's presence would make this particular victory even more interesting than it usually was.

Yes, this really might be the best Scarborough girl he'd had in generations.

He went up the walk to the front door of the house, placed the tip of his index finger on the lock, and tapped it gently. The lock clicked open. He walked into the Markowitzes' living room, glanced around it, and turned left unerringly to enter the dining room.

Yes. The dining room reeked with the magic that had been done here, and in addition, the desperate evidence was strewn all around.

"A shirt without needle or seam," he said aloud. "True, nothing was said about it needing to be attractive. But still." He put out a hand to touch the … thing—made of matted felting wool, still wet, that had been stuck to a male-shaped upper-body form that was composed of duct tape. The whole contraption was sitting on top of the dining room table.

But to his surprise, he was unable to lay a finger on it. It was as if the duct tape torso, covered in wet wool felt, lay under an invisible barrier. He compressed his lips in annoyance.

He understood, however. When the thing dried, it would be a vest-like top without a discernible seam. Wouldn't its lack of sleeves disqualify it from being a shirt? Apparently not, or he would have been able to touch it. A true seamless shirt it must be, then. The creation of which, done in this room, had released the magic that he could still sense, and which was now protecting the shirt. Therefore, it could be—it must be—that this disgusting item, though it was crude and close to unwearable, would, when finished, actually meet the first test of the ballad.

He touched his forehead, doffing an imaginary hat to Soledad. He had no doubt that this was her conception, and none either that the girl Lucinda would have actually done all the work. Under instruction, of course.

"The first test." He spoke aloud again. "This round apparently goes to you, Soledad Markowitz, and to you, Lucinda Scarborough. Though you will not know it, not for sure. And of course, you will win no more."

He smiled. He could afford to lose this little battle. It was not as if they would be able to proceed much further.

He left the Markowitzes' house as easily as he had entered it.

CHAPTER 41

"Are you sorry you proposed?" Lucy whispered to Zach as they walked side by side after Soledad to the small waiting room at McLean Hospital, where they would meet Leo. "It's only been a few hours, and we're in a psychiatric hospital."

Zach moved so that he gently bumped hips with Lucy. Actually, he almost couldn't stand not to be touching her in some way. It had felt wrenching, on the ride to the hospital in Soledad's car, to have Lucy in the front seat, apart from him.

He whispered back, "No. I'm glad they've found Miranda. If we get some time with her, I'm going to ask her for your hand in marriage. Formally." He had the satisfaction of seeing Lucy's jaw drop.

Then she smiled. "What? Just Miranda? What about my mom and dad?"

"I'll ask them too. Three at once. I'm good at multitasking."

Lucy bumped him hard with her hip.

He wanted to grab her. Hold her. Kiss her fiercely and tell her it would be okay. She was trying hard to appear normal, even making jokes, as things in her life got progressively stranger. Even his proposal, he knew, was yet another episode in a chain of weirdness.

And now this. What would it be like for Lucy to see Miranda here at McLean, knowing everything she now knew about Miranda, and with her own pregnancy visible?

How would Miranda react to seeing her daughter pregnant? Had Soledad thought about that when she'd insisted they come? Did she hope that Miranda would be more likely to reveal information once she saw her daughter's pregnancy?

Zach had no idea, but at least Lucy wasn't alone in facing any of it, and she never would be again, if he could help it. He was her fiancé. Soon, everyone would know, and as quickly as possible after that, they'd get married.

Zach was already planning strategies for the wedding, with many contingencies taken into consideration, including possible parental disapproval. Under the circumstances, though, he figured the real problem would be his own parents, not Soledad and Leo. Now he found himself half wishing his parents had already been told everything, all the gory, preposterous, and unbelievable details about Lucy's situation. It was going to be difficult to explain now. Maybe it couldn't even be done.

But he was old enough to get married without his parents' approval, and so was Lucy. If Zach had to break into his college funds to support them, there was no legal way to stop that either. Thanks to his grandparents, there would be enough money for three frugal years, he had calculated.

In his heart, though, he doubted that he'd have to figure-it out without his parents' advice. They weren't likely to turn their backs on him and Lucy or on their longtime friends the Markowitzes. There'd just be some drama to get through first.

And speaking of drama, Zach and Lucy had already agreed that they would tell Soledad and Leo about their engagement that very night. Of course, they hadn't expected the news about Miranda. They hadn't expected to rush off to McLean Hospital.

But here they were.

Soledad had come hurrying into the house bare minutes after Lucy finished piecing together the seamless felted shirt on top of the duct tape dummy. It had to be the ugliest garment ever made. Just before they heard Soledad, Zach had been giving Lucy a congratulatory kiss for finishing. They'd sprung away from each other instinctively, even though a second later Zach wondered why, since they didn't mean to keep it a secret, and a picture was worth a thousand words and all.

But Soledad was bursting with her own news. "Lucy, you have to come with me right away! Leo just called me from McLean Hospital. It's Miranda."

As soon as she had breath to continue, she did. "That detective Leo hired found Miranda at a shelter in Providence. And it turns out he knows some specialist on staff at McLean who got Miranda admitted there for evaluation under some special program.

"McLean! They're the best, Lucy. We could never afford it, but this doctor has a grant for indigent patients who fit a certain profile, and it turns out Miranda qualifies. If she cooperates. I know, she probably won't—but suppose she did? She has so far; she let herself be admitted. She signed the papers. And McLean is nice. Maybe she'll like it. We can go see her right now, if we hurry, and maybe this time …"

She'd taken a breath. "Hi, Zach." Then, at last, Soledad's gaze went to the duct tape mannequin with the felt shirt on it. "Oh. You did it." She squinted. "Hmm."

"Hideous, isn't it?" said Lucy chattily. "But it is seamless." She folded her hands together and moved her fingers nervously. Zach could see her knuckles whiten. Her voice, like Soledad's, was too rapid. "We were just wondering how we'll know if it worked. I guess we won't. I was sort of hoping for some magical sparkle or something. Ta-da! And a voice saying, You have completed task number one! But that hasn't happened. Not yet, anyway."

"I'm sure it's okay," said Soledad. But her voice was uncertain as she regarded the thing. "You could make another …"

Lucy's knuckles whitened again.

"I think it's great," said Zach. "It's going to fit me perfectly when it dries. And it's seamless and made without needles. Done."

Soledad was frowning at the shirt. "It shouldn't be allowed to dry out like that. It has to be washed in the machine, on the gentle cycle. The agitation action on the wet felt is what fuses the felt together. We—you—should run it through the machine now."

"Oh, right," said Lucy. "You did tell me. I forgot. Maybe the magical moment will happen when we take it out of the washing machine later on."

"Or not," said Zach heartily. "And that's fine, if there's no magical moment. It's magical right now, I bet."

Soledad's gaze darted from the shirt, to the door, and then back, indecisive, to the shirt. It was plain as could be that while she wanted to see the shirt finished, she also really wanted to go to see Miranda.

And, Zach thought shrewdly, also to see that new doctor she'd mentioned.

He remembered what Soledad had said about medications during the family conference. She'd be hoping now that that would be the way out. That this doctor at world-renowned McLean Hospital would find the right psychiatric drug to restore Miranda's sanity. And that medication would, of course, be the answer for Lucy too. If need be.

It was hard to pin your hopes on an ugly felt vest sitting clumsily on a duct tape dummy, when there was a specialist at McLean Hospital willing to talk to you. He understood that, and he wasn't a medical professional like Soledad.

"Can we put it through the washing machine later?" he asked her practically.

"Yes." Soledad looked relieved. "Of course we can. Even if it dries out in the interim, it'll still work. We could just soak it again before we take it off the dummy."

Zach had turned to Lucy. "Luce? What do you want to do? Soledad could go alone while you and I stay here and finish the shirt. If you don't want to go."

"Let's all go," Lucy said.

"Oh, there's no need for Zach—" Soledad began.

"Zach's coming with us," Lucy said firmly.

And he had.

Leo was sitting in the waiting room as they arrived. Zach imagined Leo's gaze flickered an extra time between Lucy and him. It was barely a second, though, if indeed it did happen.

Soledad wasted no time. "Can we see her?"

"As soon as she's finished with her evaluation. Dr. Sabada said he'd come here to talk with us then. I told him Miranda's daughter was on her way."

"Does he understand that you and I are family too?" Soledad sat down next to Leo.

"I explained the situation." Leo put a hand on his wife's shoulder. "He said we could see Miranda while she's here, so long as it's advisable for her to have visitors at all."

"How long do you think she'll be allowed to stay for evaluation and treatment?"

Leo shrugged. "It's unclear. But Soledad, it's not likely she can stay here for months."

"I know." Soledad's shoulders slumped, and then straightened. "But they could figure out something for her during the time she is here. Then we could try again having her with us …"

"Yeah. We'll see. Don't think too far ahead, honey."

Lucy, meanwhile, had taken a seat. Zach stayed upright. He felt better that way.

Then a woman in a beige suit came in. "Lucinda Scarborough?" Her eyes rested on Lucy, ignoring the others.

Lucy got to her feet. She saw the woman register her pregnancy in a swift glance, without her face otherwise changing.

The woman smiled. "You want to see your mother now? She's doing okay, by the way. And you'll meet Dr. Sabada too." She made a gesture toward the door. "We're going to another building."

"All right," Lucy said.

But Soledad had jumped up. "My husband and I are coming too. We're Lucy's foster parents."

Leo was on his feet too. "We're also Lucy's legal guardians. When I spoke to him on the phone, Dr. Sabada said we could all be treated as family for Miranda Scarborough."

There was no way he could count as family, Zach realized. Not yet.

"Oh." The woman smiled professionally. "I'll have to check, of course, but that will probably be fine. I'll come back in a few minutes."

"No, wait," Lucy said. "I'll go with you to my mother right now. My parents can join us after you do your checking."

"But, Luce—"

Zach's voice mingled with the similar, protesting voices of Soledad and Leo. But Lucy spoke right over them.

"I'd like to see Miranda without any of you there," she said. "Just for a few minutes, in private. You understand, right?"