Unthinkable (7 page)

_{Neutering was exactly}
what Fenella thought. She told
Walker she would think about it. She didn’t look at Ryland
in his carrier as she said this, and while he refrained from
screaming at her again inside her head, nonetheless she
could feel his rage and fear. It felt a bit heady having this
kind of power—and over the brother of the Queen of Faerie
too.

She found herself wondering about his sister. Why had
the queen transformed and banished her brother, delegating him to help Fenella? Was it a trap of some kind?

“I need to check in with my boss,” he said. “Wait here for
five or ten minutes?”
Fenella nodded and gave Walker a bright smile. Walker
left, although at the last moment he gave Fenella another

half-shy, half-bold backward glance that brought a flush to
her cheeks.
When the door closed behind Walker, Fenella stooped
to peer into the cat carrier. Walker had placed it on top of
a counter that reminded Fenella of the uncannily smooth
surfaces in the Markowitzes’ kitchen. The cat’s white fur was
on end and his tail was low.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “If you were Padraig, I’d do it, but
you’re not. I’m curious, though. Would this neutering affect
you in your real form?”
No, said the cat, with dignity. But I am not interested in
having the experience.
“I understand.”
Fenella caught herself wondering about Ryland’s sex
life. All talk—at least among the tree fey—about the
queen’s brother was centered on his purported resentment
of his sister, his desire for power, and his cleverness. She
tried to think whether there were any other manticores at
present in Faerie. She didn’t know. She knew the form was
exceedingly rare. Perhaps he thought himself above others
because of it? Or perhaps, like the tree fey, his form of
sexuality was impersonal? But no, he was a mammal. Also,
there he was, shuddering at the thought of being neutered.
Attend, Fenella! Ryland’s tone was aggressive. You seem to
have forgotten that we have other business.
“I haven’t forgotten,” said Fenella grimly.
Then why are we here, getting me a medical exam we both
know I don’t need? Shouldn’t we be watching your family? Comparing notes on the ways in which they feel safe? Making a plan?
Fenella shrugged.
Ryland’s tone sharpened, as if he sensed what she was
thinking. You can’t possibly imagine you can do this without
me. My sister is right about that, even if she’s wrong about so
much else.
Fenella was curious. “What’s she wrong about?”
Never mind, he said dismissively. Politics. It doesn’t concern you.
“But you started to tell me.”
I didn’t mean to say that. I’m not used to censoring what I
say in my own head.
“Well,” Fenella said provocatively, “you might call it politics, but everyone knows you’re jealous of your sister.”
The cat snarled. I’m not! Listen, keep your thoughts about
her and me to yourself—unless you really don’t want my help
after all.
“But she said you had to help me. Isn’t that true?”
Yes, snapped the cat.
“Good,” said Fenella pleasantly. “Not that you’ve been
particularly helpful so far. Did you start that fight?”
It was self-defense.
“Really?”
The wise defense is a good offense.
“Is that so?”
The cat eyed her. We’ve moved away from the main topic,
which is: What are we doing here? Why aren’t we back with
your family figuring out how to destroy their safety?
“I wanted to get out of there,” Fenella replied honestly. “It
was overwhelming.”
Behind the wire mesh of the carrier door, Ryland’s almondshaped eyes met Fenella’s. He blinked slowly.
Oh.
They looked at each other.
His mental voice, when he did finally use it again, was
mild. Let me out of this cage?
Fenella unlatched the door. Ryland stepped daintily onto
the counter. Standing at chest level to Fenella, he stretched,
arching his fluffy white body and extending his front paws.
Coming out of the stretch, he caught sight of himself in the
mirror on the wall behind the counter. He snarled.
Fenella looked at the cat’s mirrored image. “You don’t like
your black heart?”
My sister has a juvenile sense of humor. The cat twisted
before the mirror, checking his appearance in one angle
after another. He shot out his claws experimentally and
with satisfaction. He raised his beautiful, white, fan-like
tail. Then, facing Fenella, he sat down on his haunches and
commenced to groom and to talk.
So. You’ve got cold feet. His tone was pragmatic. You’re
trying to run away.
“No,” Fenella said bleakly. “I know I can’t. I agreed. And I
want—what I want. There is no other way for me.”
The cat continued to groom. You’re distractible too. A
male. Who’d have thought it of you, after Padraig? I understand, however. He’s a healthy, strapping young fellow. He
takes care of animals! How sensitive!
Fenella glared.
With a delicate tongue, the cat licked his paw and used
it to smooth out the fur on his chest. The heart is growing
on me. Don’t you think it makes me look sensitive too? See, if
it’s a sensitive little friend you want, here I am. Pretend that
I am as I appear.
“I am not,” said Fenella between her teeth, “good at pretending.”
Really? Then why are we talking about the attractive young
animal doctor instead of our plan?
“You brought him up, not me.”
I was making an observation about your behavior, in case
you hadn’t noticed it yourself.
“I noticed.”
Excellent. So, to return to the main subject. Having now
met your happy, welcoming family, have you decided to give
up? Will you go voluntarily back to Padraig rather than hurt
them?
“No. I can’t.” Fenella reached behind herself with one
hand. She caught hold of the single chair that the room was
furnished with, and sat down on it. Too heavily; the chair
skittered on the smooth floor, bumping up against the wall.
She looked down, flummoxed, and after staring hard, identified the problem. The chair was on little wheels. How bizarre.
What purpose was served by wheels on a chair?
“I won’t give up,” she said, though her voice shook. “I
cannot fail this time.”
“Fail at what?”
Startled, Fenella looked up to find the door to the office
open. Of course, it was Walker. He smiled at her as if it
wasn’t odd to find her talking to her cat. And he didn’t
seem to mind when she ducked her head without answering him.
He said, “So, I have this pamphlet for you. It explains why
we recommend neutering.”
Notice his nose, Fenella. Somebody flattened him once. I
can understand. He’s annoying.
Fenella took the pamphlet. “Thank you.”
Walker moved past Fenella. “You let Ryland out, good.”
Ryland displayed pointed incisors to Walker.
Walker put on a pair of thick gloves. Ryland stood stockstill, visibly tolerating the human while Walker examined
his fur, his body, his legs, his mouth and teeth. He even
tolerated getting shots, a medical process which Fenella
watched with great interest, while thinking again about
Minnie. It was only when Walker took up the nail clippers
and held the cat down that Ryland let loose again with creative invective aimed into Fenella’s mind.
“This is a healthy cat,” Walker said at last. “A good weight.
Good teeth and gums.” He looked over his shoulder at
Fenella. “Where did you get him?”
Someone gave me to you, said Ryland sourly. A woman
who said she couldn’t keep me.
Fenella repeated it.
“Really? Near here? Where?”
You don’t really remember.
Fenella repeated this too.
“Oh.” Walker frowned.
Fenella said firmly, “He’s my cat now.” As Walker removed his gloves, she stood up and stepped close to the
counter, and then picked Ryland up in her arms. The cat
settled down against her chest, nuzzling close. She found
that, automatically, she was stroking him. His fur was lush
and soft, and her fingers sank in and disappeared.
She was going ahead. Of course she was going ahead.
And she’d be a fool not to use Ryland’s help as best she
could.
“Can you drive us back to the house now?” she asked
Walker.
“Yeah, sure, of course.” He looked frustrated. “I’m just
worried about Ryland getting along with Pierre. We have
boarding here. Maybe you could leave Ryland for a day or
two? There’s a discount I can get you—”
No, thank you. We’ll manage.
“We’ll manage,” said Fenella. “But thank you.”
In her arms, the cat purred.
And so, in the end, it was Pierre who went off to board,
an hour later. “Only for a few days, sweetheart,” Lucy
crooned to the visibly unhappy poodle as she prepared to
take him outside to Walker’s truck. “This way, Walker can
check your eye and make sure everything is healing the
way it should.”
Once Pierre was gone, Fenella released Ryland from his
carrier. She picked him up. He closed his eyes, as if he had
instantly gone to sleep in her arms, but she could feel he was
awake, alert, and monitoring everything.
Zach shrugged awkwardly. “Don’t worry, Fenella. Pierre
likes the kennel fine. They have a fenced backyard, and the
dogs are allowed to mingle. Pierre always makes friends.
And when he comes back  .  .  .” He glanced at the cat in
Fenella’s arms. “By the time Pierre comes back, we’ll have
figured out some way for him and your cat to get along. Or
how to separate them reliably. I have no idea how, exactly,
but we will.” He paused. “Like, maybe there’s some perfume
we can buy to make the cat smell better.”
“The cat smells bad?” Fenella sniffed at Ryland.
I do not! Ryland said indignantly. I’m very clean!
“To Pierre he does,” said Zach. “We could concoct something attractive. Essence of hamburger.”
“What?” said Fenella blankly.
“But we don’t want Pierre to eat the cat,” Lucy joked as
she came back in.
Zach pulled her against him. “Just my first idea. I have
plenty more. Is there something like catnip, only for
dogs?”
“Could we cage them side by side? To desensitize them?”
“While we read to them from The Little Prince.”
“Yes, good! The part about the rose.”
Fenella felt as if Lucy and Zach were talking in a foreign
language.
“I’m sorry,” Fenella said. “Pierre is the one who belongs
here in this house, not me or Ryland.” She swept her gaze
around the kitchen to include Soledad and Leo Markowitz.
“You’re all being so incredibly kind to a stranger. And her
smelly cat.”
I do not smell!
“You’re not a stranger,” Lucy said. “A couple of days away
won’t do Pierre any harm, and it’ll help you settle in. That’s
the most important thing.”
“Absolutely,” said Leo.

_{That night Fenella}
could not sleep, though she was
again exhausted. She put on the borrowed pajamas and
climbed into bed. As the rest of the household settled, she
kept a small bedside lamp burning against the darkness. Its
low electric light illumined not only her own face and hands
as she leaned her back against the headboard, but also the
second bed on the table’s other side. Twin beds, Lucy had
called them.

Against the far wall was a bookcase that held great
meaning for Lucy. Lucy had demonstrated how the bottom shelf lifted out to reveal a hiding space. She had told
a long story—eyes welling up—of a shirt hidden in the
space, and a letter from Miranda describing the Scarborough Curse.

Fenella had nodded, pretending attention. In truth, she

had felt desperate to be alone. But now that she was, that too
was not much good.

Ryland was sprawled out extravagantly in the center of
the second bed, his white fur rising and falling with his
breath, his black heart-shaped bib partially obscured by one
outflung leg.

She was aware of her family also sleeping, trustfully, in
the other rooms of this house. She thought of Lucy’s face
when she’d said: We’d make room for all of them! Then, Soledad’s comment: I think we could manage.

“Fools,” she muttered. What were they
thinking, accepting her—and the cat!—on faith? How did they manage in
the world? Weren’t there lots of people who would take advantage of them? They should be more careful! The world
might have changed a great deal in four hundred years, but
people surely had not. It would do them good when their
experience with Fenella taught them to be wary.