Unthinkable (17 page)

_{The next day,}
Fenella didn’t go with the family to visit
the apartment that Walker had mentioned. She told them
that she was too tired.

When they had all left, Fenella climbed the rickety spiral
stairs and sat on the edge of her temporary bed. She took
out her leaf and held it between her palms. It sent out a low
soothing pulse; nothing that could be translated into words.

She truly was exhausted. After talking about Padraig last
night, she had lain awake, her heart hammering with remembered pain, even though she had put her leaf on the
pillow near her cheek. It had not helped that in the next
bed, Miranda was awake as well.

“Did he make you go to the faerie ball?” Miranda asked,
into the darkness. “After he killed Robert?”

“Yes.”
“How were you—what were you thinking?”
“That he might kill my father. Or Robert’s sister, Agnes.

He held out his hand again and I went with him. I said
nothing. I didn’t fight. It didn’t matter anymore, did it? At
least, I didn’t think it did.”

“I didn’t know that. I had forgotten that it was even possible.”
Fenella remembered nothing between finding Robert’s
body and then becoming aware of being in Faerie, with
Padraig. The pearls that she had broken were back around
her neck, tight. The top of her head was tucked beneath
Padraig’s chin.
He had thought he owned her. He had thought she would
be too broken to fight. The curse had come later that same
evening, when he learned it would not be so easy.
She said aloud, “It was four hundred years ago.”
Miranda had said no more. She remained rigidly still for
the rest of the night. Fenella remained awake as well.
In the morning, Fenella had placed her leaf on Miranda’s
clothing while Miranda showered. Then, even though the
shadows beneath Miranda’s eyes were dark, Miranda had
at least eaten an orange for breakfast before going off with
the others.
Can I see that thing? Ryland was on his hind legs, stretching up with his front paws on Fenella’s knee, straining
toward the oak leaf.
Fenella held the leaf where he could see it.
Let me sniff it.
“No. It’s mine.”
Come on. I won’t hurt it. Or take it from you. I promise.
He paused. Also, I don’t think I could. It wants to be near you.
Fenella put the leaf down on her lap. Ryland jumped up into
her lap and sniffed at the leaf delicately with his pink nose.
It carries a small amount of medicinal power. A simple
salve for the spirit. He cast Fenella a thoughtful look. It will
only work on those who are open to it.
“I’m surprised that it works at all, here in the human
realm.”
Why wouldn’t it? Humans have long understood the healing properties of plants, and only sometimes called it magic.
Yes?
Slowly, Fenella nodded. “I see.”
Ryland settled down next to her. Talk to me. You befriended the tree fey in Faerie?
“They befriended me,” Fenella corrected. She rubbed her
eyes. “I can’t say that I understand them. They so rarely talk,
and I have no idea what they’re thinking. But they were
kind.” She touched the leaf. “Are kind.”
I don’t understand the plant and tree fey well, either, Ryland admitted. They have always felt completely apart from
me, even though the old queen was part floral.
“You inherited none of that part of your mother, then?”
The cat’s muscles tensed. No. I did not.
Several minutes passed during which Fenella sat patiently.
She watched Ryland, and when at last he spoke again, his
words came in a confused burst, as if they had been imprisoned inside him awaiting their chance for freedom.
Originally, I thought my sister was all animal, like me.
But then her crown grew in as plant matter. Having inherited, who knows what my sister is now? She does not say; or
at least, not to me. He paused. The old queen grew a spine
of rock, like the dwarves. It happened after they allied with
her officially.
“Are you sorry to be all animal?” Fenella thought of
the fey’s disdain for those with unmixed blood; of how
Padraig’s almost entirely human appearance had marked
him as inferior. She had not realized that there were
other, subtler gradations of caste involved as well. She
had not realized that Ryland could possibly feel less-than
in any way.
They had called Padraig the Mud Creature.
Ryland drew his tail in tightly around his body. I am what
I am.
Fenella stroked the leaf.
I am what I am! The cat burst out again. So I lack plant
and earth matter. But I’m older than my sister by hundreds
of years, I have far more experience, and most important—
isn’t it most important?—I did not falter and betray my own
people in the crisis. Kethalia was lost, do you understand? She
was lost in love and guilt. She was obsessed with her friend,
that redheaded girl. My sister could have ruined us all.
But she didn’t, thought Fenella, though she said nothing.
Ryland’s furry white chest was heaving. The black heart
seemed to inflate and deflate. You even saw her the other
day, Fenella, when she was wearing her human guise. Why?
Why is she thinking about humans and not about her own
people? What happens when there is another crisis? Would
my sister choose a human’s welfare over ours, as she once did?
Even if she has the flexible blood of a ruler—plant, animal,
earth, and stone—isn’t it the composition of her mind that
matters? Shouldn’t the mind of a ruler be unmixed in its loyalties? Shouldn’t it be inflexible?
The cat stood on all four paws, tail high, eyes ablaze. My
mind is unmixed. My loyalties are clear. He flung his head
back and yowled aloud, a long ferocious keening with a
shrill cry at its core. The cry was aimed directly at the leaf
in Fenella’s lap.
When he finally ceased yowling, the cat’s white-andblack body seemed abruptly to shrink in upon itself. Fenella
found herself tracing the veins on her leaf. The cat’s gaze
followed her fingertip almost hungrily.
“I thought your words sounded only in my own head,”
said Fenella at last. “Was that wrong? Do you think perhaps
the tree fey can hear you, because of my leaf?”
The cat looked rattled and unsure. But he raised his tail
defiantly. Perhaps not directly. But they are interested in what
you hear, Fenella. They are interested in what you experience,
and in what you think.
Fenella thought about this. Then she shook her head.
“No. They are only kind to me. They do not value my judgment any more than—well, than Lucy does.” She paused,
watching doubt flicker again over Ryland’s face, leaving him
looking curiously vulnerable.
I wonder, he muttered.
Fenella frowned. Had his brief contact with the leaf encouraged Ryland to confide in Fenella? She felt unsettled
by the glimpse inside Ryland’s head. She did not care who
ruled Faerie, and still less did she care about the philosophical question he had raised about the mind of a ruler.
But the tree fey would care, she thought. They would
have an opinion. They might even, somehow, have heard
him just now.
Also, she had a question of her own.
“Why are you here, Ryland? You seem to truly want to help
me now. Did your sister really have the power to force you?”
The cat’s chin jerked up. Fenella was sure she had presumed
too far, and that he would not reply. But then—because of the
leaf?—he answered. My sister will be sorry she made me come
and advise you. She will be sorry because everyone in Faerie—
not only the tree fey, but everyone—will see that, once again, I
can accomplish what she cannot. When you succeed, it will be
because I helped.
Fenella propped her chin on one hand. “But it seems like
she wants you to succeed in helping me. It was her idea in
the first place that you come with me.” She shrugged. “Of
course, she did say you have a talent for destruction. What
you will have done is to prove her correct. But . . .” Fenella
paused for thought.
The cat glared at her. But what?
“Well, the job of the ruler of Faerie is not about destruction. It’s about—”
I know what it’s about! Don’t you lecture me on the balance
of the earth! I have creative powers too!
“Do you?” asked Fenella curiously. “What have you invented, or grown, or nurtured?”
The cat jumped to the floor with an audible plop. He held
his tail high as he exited the room.
After a moment, Fenella slipped her leaf back into her
pocket. She stood up and stretched. She wasn’t feeling so
tired anymore. She wondered what the family was doing.
Did they like the apartment? Would they be back soon, and
would Walker be with them? Would Miranda be feeling
better after being out in the brisk autumn air? What were
they thinking about Fenella, now that they had heard so
much of her story?
Was there possibly a corn muffin left uneaten in the bakery box in the kitchen?
She went downstairs to look.

_{Fenella had only}
finished half of the corn muffin when
Ryland came back to her. He practically spat.
We’re going out. My sister wants to talk to you.
“Oh, fine,” Fenella muttered. She didn’t even have shoes
on. What did the queen want? More importantly, why
couldn’t a human woman numbering four hundred years
die in peace? Why did so much have to be involved? Tasks
of destruction. Political wrangling. Terrible memories. Oak
leaves. Even cats and dogs. It made a woman want to retreat
into tinkering with a car engine. But she got up.
Because of the conversation she’d just had with Ryland,
Fenella found she was newly interested in watching the siblings interact. She would observe them closely. She would
be leaf-like.
Carrying the corn muffin in one hand and shoes in the

other, Fenella moved outdoors into the sunlight with Ry
land. She drew the fresh autumn air deeply into her lungs.
She felt newly aware of her body, of her muscles taut and
toned and ready. She had burned to death not long ago, she
thought. Incredible. She crammed the rest of her muffin
into her mouth, and licked butter and crumbs from her fingers. She tensed her legs, feeling that she could run miles.
Her body was healthy. It wanted to celebrate its existence.
It wanted—
Fenella had a stunning physical flashback to kissing
Walker. Walker, not Robert. Walker. Twining her arms
around him and pressing her body close. She could feel the
contours of his chest, and his muscles beneath the fabric of
his shirt. She could feel how he trembled as he responded,
and how the big corded muscles of his upper arms tightened
deliciously around her. Then there was the lush, enticing
curve of his lower lip, and how it had moved against the
sensitive nerves of hers. If only they’d been alone, Fenella
could have pressed in close—and grinned wickedly up at
Walker—
A needle-sharp claw dug into her ankle. Carry me.
“Let me get my shoes on.” Fenella stamped her feet into
her shoes. Luckily the cat could not read her mind. In any
case, she and Walker were just going to be friends.
But why was it best to give Walker up? To please Miranda?
Because Ryland said so? Or was it because she herself was
going to die? How did those things add up to saying no to
Walker? Fenella couldn’t remember.
Fenella’s hand went without thinking to her pocket to pat
the leaf. She thought of Miranda’s abject misery, and of how
it seemed there was no way to heal it. She thought of the
tasks ahead of her and behind her, and of how her family
would hate her if they knew how she was working to hurt
them. She thought of Padraig regaining possession of her if
she failed.
But then, compulsively and irrationally, she thought
about kissing Walker again. She took in one long, deep,
confused breath.
The cat was staring at her, narrow-eyed. She said briskly,
“Where’s the portal?”
No portal. We’re meeting my sister at a park here in the
human realm.
“Really?”
Ryland shrugged. That’s what she wants.
Fenella scooped up the cat and walked as he directed.
They ended up at a park located almost halfway between
the old burned house and the temporary church apartment.
The park featured a wide grassy expanse with swings, a basketball court, and a corner triangle that was fenced off for
toddlers. It had soft sand on the ground, a colorful plastic slide in the shape of a friendly dragon, and swings with
seats both small and large. Two small children were playing
there while their mothers stood nearby chatting. Fenella
glanced at the children and then quickly averted her eyes
from them.
A familiar female sat on a swing in the grassy area. The
queen, in human guise, pumped her legs to move the swing
back and forth. Her long hair drifted in the breeze she created with her movement, and Fenella could hear the creak
of the swing’s chains.
The queen put down her feet and brought her swing to
a halt. Her eye sockets were so deep, and the eyes within
them so dark, that for a second in the bright sunlight it
almost looked as if she had holes there instead. If the queen
was indeed playing political games with her brother, Fenella
thought, then she was not enjoying it.
“Hello, Fenella.”
Fenella inclined her head and dipped her shoulders in a
modest bow. She dumped the cat at the queen’s feet.
The queen gestured to the swing next to her. Fenella sat
awkwardly, twisting the swing so that she faced the queen.
The queen said, “My brother claims that your mind is
wandering away from your mission. Do you have a plan for
destroying love?”
Fenella gave Ryland a severe look. “I do.”
“What is it?”
“The dog.”
The queen blinked.
Ryland scratched expressively at his rear with a hind paw.
“My brother thinks this will not fulfill the conditions,”
said the queen neutrally.
“I think it will. Lucy loves that dog. He’s been with her
since she was a little girl. He can never be replaced. Also, no
person loves as completely as a dog loves.”
The queen said nothing.
“His name is Pierre.” Fenella lifted her feet and let the
swing untwist itself, so that it faced straight ahead. “He has
an enormous heart! He loves his life. He loves his people.
They love him. His death would matter.”
“It might work,” said the queen, though her voice was
doubtful.
Ask my sister this. If killing the dog doesn’t work, where are
you? Can you try again?
Fenella told the queen what Ryland had said.
“No,” said the queen. “If you fail at the second task, it’s
over. So you must be careful what you choose.”
Fenella sat in silence.
There are other options, said Ryland. I can give you a hint.
There’s an important love story at the heart of that family. A
little deception, a little seduction . . . A marriage blows apart.
“You mean the Markowitzes,” Fenella said, deliberately
obtuse. “They hold everything together.”
You know who I mean.
Lucy and Zach, their fingers interlaced.
Fenella turned to the shadowed eyes of the queen. “Your
brother thinks that I should try to destroy Lucy and Zach’s
marriage. Well, I couldn’t. They’re bonded by what they’ve
been through together; what they’ve proven to each other.
They’ll be together until death. I couldn’t pull them apart.”
The queen closed her hands around the chains of her
swing. She walked her feet backward in the dust and began
swinging again, saying nothing.
If you got one to betray the other, there would be a spiral of
destruction, mused Ryland. Fighting over the little girl. Soledad and Leo and Miranda taking sides. Acts of retaliation.
“I don’t have the power to do that.” Fenella gripped the
metal chains of her swing. “I want to kill the dog. Listen,
they have these things, cameras. I could record the dog
dying and make Lucy watch.”
Ryland’s furry little face scrunched. That’s sick.
Fenella’s shoulders slumped. It was. She knew.
For a time only the gentle creaking of the queen’s swing
sounded. Then the queen spoke.
“I myself,” said the queen quietly, “have intentionally done
something destructive to someone I loved. So I understand
that it is not easy. It may help you, in a perverse way, to know
that you will certainly suffer also, both in the doing and long
afterward.”
Here we go, said Ryland disgustedly. My sister’s guilty
vocal stylings about her little friend. I told you, didn’t I,
Fenella?
“I can’t do what Ryland says,” said Fenella to the queen. “I
wouldn’t even know where to start.”
Ryland sniffed.
Don’t lie. Not to us, not to yourself. You know how to break
up that marriage. There you were, yesterday, pressing right up
against Walker.
“Walker—that’s different.”
Men are all different, and yet they are alike. You know
what to do. Padraig made sure of that. The right herbs, the
right situation, and you could make Zach unable to resist you.
“No. Zach loves Lucy. She’s the only one he wants.”
You can make him forget Lucy for long enough. You’d enjoy
it too. You crave a man. You’re actually pretty frisky, for a girl
who wants to die.
“No!” Fenella lashed her voice like a whip at Ryland. “If
you’re so smart, if you know everything, if you’re such a
good adviser, then why can’t you come up with a creative
destructive idea! But you can’t, can you, Ryland? You haven’t
got it in you!”
She felt the queen’s dark eyes on her. Abruptly, the queen
brought her swing to a stop.
“Fenella? I didn’t come here today to go over your options with you. There is something new I must tell you. In
the breaking of your life-curse, there is more at stake than
your own future.”
“What do you mean?” said Fenella warily.
“It turns out the two curses are entangled.”
Fenella stared at the queen. She knew the feeling that was
stealing over her. She knew it well.
She waited for the blow, and then it came.
“Having begun to break the life-curse, you have re-armed
the family curse. Now, if you fail to break the life-curse, the
family curse will be reinstated. Padraig will have not only
you, but also the others. Lucy—and the child, Dawn. It will
all come back again.
“So you must not hesitate in your tasks of destruction.
You must succeed for your family’s sake, as well as your
own.”
“No,” said Fenella.
“Yes.”
“But you never said this before.” Numbness warred with
a sense of betrayal. For some reason, she had trusted the
queen. “You must have known!”
The queen shrugged. “Believe what you like, so long as
you believe also what I say now.” The queen’s voice grew
harsh. “Come. You know us. You should have expected a
twist along the way.”
Fury filled Fenella. “There has already been one twist!
This is the second. How do I know there won’t be a third?
How do I know this will ever end?”
“I promise it will end,” said the queen. “When you have
completed the third task.”
“It will end when I am dead,” said Fenella bitterly. “As I
have always known.”
She jumped from the swing and strode away.