Unthinkable (20 page)

scratch and bite, all the while sending a stream of invectivelaced thoughts into her head. One curse was particularly
creative, having to do with the excretion of a fire ant army
that had picnicked on hemlock.

She tried to detach his claws from the rim of the cat carrier’s gate. “It’s moving day. Everybody will think it’s strange
if you’re not locked safely away.”

Ryland stopped struggling.
I suppose so. He looked sullen, however. Fenella pushed him the rest of the way inside
the carrier and clicked the gate shut.

Because of donations from friends and the community,
there was a surprising amount of stuff to move. A list on the
kitchen table had all the particulars. Fenella wasn’t sure how

many people and how many trucks were involved with the
move; she only knew that everybody was meeting here for
breakfast at seven a.m.

Zach was always awake early, before Lucy, before everybody.
Fenella stared pensively at Ryland. He scowled back.
I hate this cage. Also, I don’t think you’re putting me in
here because of the move. I think you’re up to something, and
you don’t want me to know.
“Not at all,” said Fenella gruffly. “I’m taking the good advice you already gave me. Seduction, remember?”
She met the cat’s stare through the bars of the cage.
But you need me to coach you through it.
“You told me that I already know what to do. It’s true.”
Do you have the perfume?
Fenella nodded. She had arisen last night and slipped
outside for the key ingredient. “Can’t you smell it?”
Did you tune it to Zach, specifically?
“Of course I did.” Although in fact she had forgotten.
Ryland paused for so short a time that it could have been
Fenella’s imagination. Then he nodded. It really is best.
Other things might work, but this definitely will. I only hope
it won’t be too painful for you.
Fenella was taken aback. Compassion? For her? From
Ryland? Surely not.
He curled up on the bottom of the carrier. She placed it
in the apartment’s downstairs bathroom and went into the
kitchen. She felt fine. Not nervous. Calm.
This would not be like the fire. There would be no deniability and no doubt about what she had done. There would
be no family afterward. Not for her, and possibly not for any
of them, either.
But maybe later they would heal. If any family could, it
would be this one.
She hoped.
Fenella pulled at the top of the coffeemaker. There was a
hidden compartment in which the coffee should be placed,
but she couldn’t find it. She hit the machine with her fist.
“Hey, Fenella. Morning. Let me do the coffee, okay?”
It was Zach, behind her. Her shoulders tensed. Perhaps
she wasn’t ready after all.
She moved a few inches to the left and watched as Zach
opened the coffeemaker. He reached for filters and coffee.
When precisely do you think you will be ready?
The snide voice wasn’t Ryland, of course; he was locked
away. It was her own internal voice, telling her what he
would say.
Because this was a good time. Zach was up. Lucy probably was stirring too, as this was moving day. She might walk
into the kitchen at any moment.
Zach was still dressed for sleeping, in sweatpants and a
faded, ragged T-shirt. His feet were bare, and his hair was
tousled, and his eyes looked tired. Still hesitating, Fenella
watched him measure coffee. He had strong forearms nicely
roped with muscle and arteries.
Fenella had envied Lucy before. Now she felt nothing
except the bleak necessity of going forward.
She stepped close. She brushed up against Zach, and saw
him glance down at her, startled at the contact. She smiled
up at him.
Then she cast out the fragile cobwebs of sexual allure.
It was a matter of intention, of eye contact, and finally, of
scent. Scent could not be defended against. Scent spoke
directly, animal to animal. Scent undermined and weakened and convinced.
A hundred small signs told Fenella that her message had
been received. The minute warming of Zach’s skin. The
involuntary change in his own scent. And of course the fact
that—you didn’t need Faerie training to perceive this—for
a few shocked seconds he ceased to breathe.
Fenella leaned forward, pretending great interest in the
coffeemaker. If Zach looked down, he would see inside
the gaping front of her shirt, where she was not wearing the
harness called a bra.
He looked down.
She possessed nothing that Lucy didn’t also have, but
what mattered, in the sexual trance, was that she was a different version. Different in shape and weight and texture.
Softer in some places, harder in others. Her skin had a
different tone and her sweat a different taste. The enticement, the promise, of the differences . . . all wrapped up
in the scent.
The scent.
Zach’s hands jerked and the coffee grinds spilled all over
the counter.
Fenella slipped her body between Zach and the counter.
She put her hands on his hips and held him unmistakably
against her.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then, to Fenella’s surprise, Zach broke away. A second
later, he was all the way across the kitchen. His face was
flushed. He looked horribly confused, and guilty, and angry.
And lustful.
Fenella smiled at him knowingly. He was still linked to
her; she could smell it.
Odd that he’d had the strength to break away. But it didn’t
matter, she told herself, so long as she kept her resolve. If
she couldn’t seduce him right here and now, on the kitchen
floor, then it would be soon. She would have lost the element
of surprise, but it would be made up for by the strength of
his imagination. She had sent the poison into his system.
He might struggle, but he wouldn’t escape if she acted soon.
He would fantasize meanwhile.
Zach had his spine pressed up against the refrigerator.
“We’ll forget this,” he whispered.
He’d have backed right out of the room, Fenella thought,
except that he wasn’t sure at the moment where the door
was located.
She shook her head. “I won’t forget.”
Deliberately, she turned her back. She bent to clear up
the spilled coffee grinds, aware of his gaze still on her body,
aware of the exact second he managed to flee the room.
Or had she let him go?
No.
Surely not.
She finished making the pot of coffee. After a while, the
first volunteers arrived.

_{The morning wore on.}
Fenella said no more to Zach.
She glanced at him from time to time, as if casually, while
people moved boxes and furniture in preparation for the
move. He did not look back, and he did not look well, and
he kept as far away from Fenella as he could.

Nonetheless, awareness ran between them, taut and thick.
She felt disembodied. Watching herself watch Zach.
Watching Zach watch Lucy. Once, she put her hand into her
pocket, where she had placed the leaf. She felt its tendrils of
calm, but they too seemed distant. The leaf could not, or did
not, tell her what to do.
I must go ahead, she told herself. I must. It will save Lucy
from Padraig. She knew it was true. But she tasted bile in
her throat just the same, pushing up through an unholy
stew of shame and despair, of anger and fear.

However, the stew contained something else, as well:
hope that she was making the right choice—the least bad
choice.
She clung to this like moss to bark.
Zach tried to stay near Lucy, which was not easy because
Lucy was always on the move. She had a pair of sunglasses
perched on her nose and a Boston Red Sox cap on her head.
Once all the boxes were gathered outside, she whistled—
startlingly loudly, with two fingers in her mouth.
“Miranda, let’s see, could you just take Dawn to the park?
Jacqueline and Soledad are driving to the new apartment in
Jacqueline’s car. You’ll be cleaning and then unpacking the
kitchen stuff, and making the beds. Fenella, you and I will
be based here for a couple hours, directing traffic. Amy and
Mark, I think you said you were willing to go to Somerville
to get those beds, right? Zach, I have you and Sarah taking
her parents’ van up to Portsmouth for the kitchen set. Then
you’ll stop in Newbury for the TV and bookshelves, and
then in Lexington for the toddler clothing. God, that’s a lot
you and Sarah are doing—is it okay?”
Zach hovered close to Lucy. “Why don’t you come with
me instead of Sarah?”
“I need to to clean up here and direct things.”
“Can’t Fenella do that? With Sarah instead of you?” Zach
didn’t look at Fenella.
Lucy shook her head. “I want to do it.” She consulted her
list. “Dad?”
“What?” said Leo, who’d been out on a gig until late. He
leaned against Soledad and issued a loud, fake snore.
“As soon as Walker gets here, you’re going with him in
his truck.”
Walker’s truck. Walker. Ferocious longing caught Fenella
unprepared. It seared through her, anchoring her again in her
body. Walker—that was healthy, that was right. Her whole
body knew it. Whereas this . . . this thing she was doing—
She summoned back the disconnected feeling of floating.
She reminded herself of the consequences of failure.
“You could nap for a few minutes, love,” Soledad was saying to Leo.
“No, our daughter won’t let me.”
“I could go with Zach,” said Fenella abruptly, loudly.
“Lucy, Sarah could be here with you.”
Zach’s eyes flared. “Um, I, well,” he stuttered.
Then he said, simply, “Lucy.”
Fenella was astonished that Lucy didn’t hear how his
voice caught as he spoke.
But Lucy was nodding abstractly, “Okay, fine, thanks,
Fenella. Zach, Fenella’s with you. Sarah’s with me.”
Zach went pale. For a fraction of an instant, he looked
across and met Fenella’s eyes.
And he gave up. She felt it happen. The darkest part of
Zach was in thrall to her. It was the impulse of chaos; and
because he was so young, it was a part of him that he had little knowledge of, and absolutely no experience controlling.
When it was over, Fenella knew, Zach would blame not
only her, but himself. He would spiral down relentlessly
into the darkness . . .
She knew what would happen. She could see it.
Zach confessing to Lucy. Lucy’s horror. How she’d run to
her parents. Their reaction. Zach being asked to move out.
Dawn’s bewilderment at the disappearance of her father.
It was even possible that Zach, full of self-hatred, would
then—
Yes. The ripples of destruction would spread outward and
destroy them all, shattering the Scarborough-GreenfieldMarkowitzes. Even if, eventually, Fenella had an opportunity to explain, it would be too late and it would do little
good.
Fenella would not have to watch for long, she told herself. She would be dead. She would get the third task done
as quickly as possible and then she would die, so she would
feel nothing. Nothing—
Walker was there.
The floating feeling that had protected Fenella dissolved
completely. Her body tensed with awareness. Walker was
close behind her, so close she could reach out a hand and
lay it flat against his chest. It seemed to her that his presence
filled the entire room. She turned to look at him; she had to.
“No, no,” Walker said. He had never looked happier.
“Send Leo with Zach. Fenella can come with me.” He had
Fenella’s elbow cupped warmly in his hand. She turned with
him. She moved with him. She let him steer her toward his
truck.
And—deliberately or not, she was never sure—she let the
thread of power between her and Zach snap.
She stumbled. She would have fallen except for Walker’s
arm coming around her in support. “You okay?”
Fenella didn’t answer. They had reached the passenger
side of the truck. The seat was already occupied. The dog
Pierre stood on the seat with his head hanging out the open
window, his one good eye fixed yearningly on Lucy, who
had just come outside too.
The dog barked.
Across the yard, Lucy looked up, saw him, and smiled.
The dog scrambled through the open window of the truck,
leaped down, and raced to her.
Pierre.
Her alternative plan formed instantly in Fenella’s head.
She looked up at Walker. “Can I drive?”
“I’d better do it today.”
“Come on. You know I’m competent. I’ll enjoy it so
much.”
He held out for a few seconds more, looking down into
her eyes. Then he grinned. “All right.”
“Great. I need to get something from the house first—I’ll
be right back.”
Fenella passed Lucy and Pierre on her way in, and then
again on her way out. The dog was up on his hind legs, licking Lucy’s face. Lucy had her arms around him. She was
ruffling his head and laughing.
Lucy loves that dog, Fenella reassured herself. That dog
loves her. It will count. It must count.
Please, oh, please.
Nobody was looking when Fenella climbed behind the
wheel of the truck, and Walker got in on the passenger side.
Nobody watched while Fenella adjusted the mirrors. Nobody paid attention as she started the engine and backed
competently out of the wide driveway of the church.
She paused, then, foot on the brake.
Everyone—Zach, Soledad, Leo, Miranda holding Dawn,
and the crew of volunteers—was listening to Lucy. Pierre
lay contentedly on the ground with his chin resting on the
toe of Lucy’s sneaker.
Walker said, “Fenella, turn left at the end of the street and
then—”
He never finished his sentence. As he spoke, the cat
slipped around the door of the apartment, which Fenella
had left ajar. Ryland raced directly toward Pierre, making
the kind of noise an ordinary cat might make if he were
being boiled alive.
The dog leaped to his feet. Dog and cat collided into
each other, amid snarling and barking. A whirling dervish
of tumbling fur moved across the fading autumn grass so
quickly that it was difficult to recognize where one animal
began and the other ended.
The sharpest possible gaze, however, might have noticed
that it was the cat controlling the direction of their combined movement.
Into the road.
Walker swore, reaching to unlatch his seat belt. Before
his fingers could connect, the mass of frenzied fur rolled in
front of the truck.
Fenella shifted gears and stomped on the accelerator.