Unthinkable (9 page)

_{In the days}
that followed, Fenella tried to settle into her
pretend life with the Markowitz-Greenfield-Scarborough
clan. But all the while she was watching and thinking.

At first the household seemed like it was made of pure
chaos. There was all manner of movement and noise:
phones trilling; doors opening and closing; computers
beeping; floors creaking. Neighbors and friends frequently
stopped by without warning; suddenly you would hear a
strange voice call out, “Hello? Is anybody home?” and then
another person would be there amongst them all, and this
stranger too would be talking.

Always the talking, the exhausting talking. Nobody was
ever quiet for long in this house.
In the middle of it all was the child. Dawn waved her
hands and made burbling and cooing sounds. She cried and

she laughed. She was into one thing and then into another.
Even though she was really getting too big for it, everybody
was always picking her up—usually a split second after she
toddled into something she should not.
Everything revolved around the child. Where she was
and what was she doing. Who could be with her, and when.
What she was supposed to do, where she was supposed to
be, and with whom. Fenella wondered if it would be better
or worse when the child finally decided to start talking.
In any event, Fenella hoped that in the rush of things,
nobody noticed how she kept herself as far away from
Dawn as possible.
Threaded in among the constant household noise was
music. Much of it had to do with Leo and his musician
friends, but not all. Leo was teaching Zach to play the banjo,
and Lucy tended to break randomly into song, including
silly songs that she made up spontaneously. Miranda and
Soledad sang too, more conventionally, in the evenings
when the men played instruments. The two older women
had strong alto voices that contrasted with Lucy’s pretty
soprano, and the three could harmonize so angelically that,
if you had a heart, the sound would have broken it.
There was also mechanical music that came out of the
little personal devices that everyone carried around. This
modern recorded music was strange to Fenella; fast, with
insistent rhythms and lyrics and sometimes sections that
were spoken or shouted instead of sung. It could be compelling. One morning Fenella stood frozen in the kitchen
listening to a recording by a musician named Solange.
Fenella could understand only a word here and there—
rage, fire, and a chorus that accused someone of “just
waiting.” Fenella wasn’t sure what it was all about, and yet,
when the song ended, the music had wrung tears from her.
After that, Fenella hardened her heart against music.
Music was something the fey used. Indeed, Padraig had
used music against her, weaving it into the original curse.
Music was her enemy now, she felt instinctively. Even at
its angriest, music created rather than destroyed. Music
was the enemy of destruction. Music was the enemy of
death.
Eventually, the family’s seemingly chaotic movements resolved into patterns. On weekdays, Soledad went to her job
at the hospital. Miranda remained home and took care of
Dawn. Leo, Zach, and Lucy had complicated, ever-changing
schedules consisting variously of gigs, classes, and employment that earned money. Zach got these schedules from the
others on Sundays and posted everything for the week on
the refrigerator. Even the child had appointments: She went
to daycare two weekday mornings a week and was collected
from there by her paternal biological grandmother, Brenda
Spencer. There was also a weekly rotation of responsibility
for shopping, cleaning, laundry, and cooking.
Fenella sometimes found herself in the kitchen looking
at the complicated weekly plan with its neat little squares of
assignments. Did the plan make everybody feel safe? If so,
was there a piece in this pattern that she could simply remove, the way you might pull out one of Dawn’s toy blocks
and topple down an entire structure?
One day Fenella asked to help with cooking, and Lucy
took her into the kitchen. There, cautiously, following
Lucy’s instructions, Fenella turned the dial that ignited the
front left-hand burner on the stove.
She recoiled instinctively as a blue flame burst into being.
“So, there’s a pipe that feeds gas into the house,” Lucy
explained. “When you turn the dial for one of the burners,
the gas is released into the stove and it ignites to become fire
for cooking.” Confidently, Lucy twisted the dial, explaining
more while Fenella listened closely.
“Gas?” she asked. “This blue fire runs on the same fuel
as a car?”
Lucy shook her head. “No. The gas for a car is liquid.
Gasoline, it’s called. Actually, some cars use other fuels,
alternative fuels—”
“What? Why?”
“Well, gasoline is derived from a natural resource called
oil that’s running out. So there are experiments with using
electricity, and hydrogen, and, I don’t know. Other stuff. But
anyway, the house is heated with another kind of gas. Natural gas.”
Fenella listened intently.
“Natural gas is, uh, it’s a gas. Like air. It’s invisible. You
can set it on fire and it burns, and then you cook with it.
You turn it off when you’re done.”
“It’s not invisible.” Fenella pointed at the stove. “It’s blue.”
Lucy pursed her lips. “Okay. Yeah. The gas fire is blue
after it’s ignited. I don’t really know why.”
“But—”
“Fenella? I know how to turn on the stove and cook on
it. Period. Wait—gas has a smell, even when it’s invisible.”
Lucy sniffed, her brow furrowing. “It’s sort of metallic. Can
you smell it?”
Fenella nodded.
“I could maybe explain it better if I’d paid closer attention at school. In science classes.” Lucy twisted the stove
knob and the blue flames flickered lower and died. “But I
didn’t.” She turned away. “Let’s start cooking, okay? But first
I need that big pot.”
Fenella stared at the empty burner. There was nothing
to show a fire had been burning there a second ago. No
ashes. No smoke. But it wasn’t magic. It was a fuel from the
earth, put to use via principles of science. Not unlike the
way the old watermill wheel had worked, churning power
out of the river, back when Fenella was a child. Fenella
reached out—
Lucy was beside her, grabbing her wrist. “Don’t! It’s hot
still!”
Fenella froze.
Lucy let go. “Sorry. You wouldn’t touch a wood fire that
you’d just put out, either. It’s the same. A gas fire is dangerous—in the ordinary way—like an ordinary fire.”
Irrationally, Fenella felt like she wanted to touch the
burner even more now. Would her flesh burn if she did?
Yes, of course, but then she would heal, as she had healed
from the knife in Faerie. Why, this whole house could go
up in flames, with everyone in it, and still Fenella would
survive. She sighed.
Then her stomach did a nasty little flip.
“Explain to me again how it works?” said Fenella, urgently.
“All the details?”
Lucy shook her head. “Tell you what, Dad can show you
the apparatus in the basement. There’re pipes and a boiler
and, well, I don’t actually know what’s down there, but it’s a
mechanical system. Also, we have a book somewhere that
explains everything.”
“A book? Oh, good.” Consulting a book always made
Fenella feel closer to Minnie. Also, she liked the sound of
the words mechanical system.
“Yes. It doesn’t only explain gas heating systems. It explains how every kind of system works, including cars. And
there are pictures.”
“I’d love to read that book,” said Fenella sincerely.
“I should have thought of it before.” Lucy paused. “Don’t
take this the wrong way, Fenella, but you remind me of
Dawn. We need to be careful with you too. Accidents could
happen, simply because you don’t know what to be afraid
of.”
Fenella felt Ryland at her feet. He twined around her
ankles.
“But I’m not a child,” Fenella said steadily. “Don’t worry,
Lucy. I’ll be careful. I’ll make sure I know exactly what I’m
doing.”

_{Fenella bided her time,}
holding her idea closely to herself, not even confiding in Ryland. “When I’m ready,” she told
him brusquely. She explained to the cat that she needed to fit
into the household and be above suspicion, so that, on the
other side of the first task, she would still be a welcome member
of the family. “I’ll be more prepared for the next tasks, whatever they are, if I first take the time to understand my family.”

So long as you let me help with planning before you do
anything. If you don’t let me advise you, you could make a
bad mistake.

Don’t forget that we only have three months. Seven days
are already gone.
“I haven’t forgotten. Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” It was a
phrase she had recently learned from Zach.

Fenella’s idea excited her. If she did it right, she would
fully meet the requirements of the first task. She would destroy her family’s safety, but nobody would be hurt.
She read the book Lucy gave her and felt her excitement
grow. The book was called The Way Things Work, and the
only problem was that it was so full of fascinating information that she found herself distracted from gas heating
systems. One beautiful October morning she took the book
out to the driveway, opened the hood of the family car, and
identified all the parts of its engine.
She also learned what she needed to know about the gas
heating system. She listened intently when Leo, as promised,
took her to the basement to explain the intricacies of furnaces.
“Does that make sense?” he asked when he’d finished.
Her eyes on the metal box that encased the central workings of the heating system, Fenella nodded.
“But you have a question.”
“Not a question.” Fenella shrugged. She couldn’t explain
her sudden urge. “May I touch it?”
“The furnace casing? Sure.”
Fenella put both hands flat against the metal box. Then
she stepped closer and impulsively laid her cheek against it
as well. She was going to betray the machine, she thought.
Betray its desire to do its job properly. She was conscious of
Leo watching her. She tried to smile at him.
She knew she ought to step away from the furnace. She
knew her behavior was strange, even for her. But she couldn’t
make herself move. I’m sorry, she thought to the machine,
and then she had to squeeze her eyes shut tight.
When she opened them, she startled. Leo was right beside her, inches away, facing her, mirroring her, with both
his hands and his cheek also on the furnace casing.
He held her eyes.
He said, “It’s not just a machine, is it? It’s like a heart.
It sings when it’s doing its job. Right now we can hear
the hiss of the steam in the water tank. But this winter,
when we heat the house, there’ll be other sounds. Different music.”
Like a child asking for a bedtime story, Fenella found
herself whispering, “Music?”
“Yes. It’s music of its own kind. You’ll hear a series of
clicks, when you first call for more heat. Sometimes you
hear banging, as the pipes convey the gas. It’s comforting.
Every time you turn up the thermostat, you hear these reassuring sounds and murmurs, bangs and clangs. They tell
you, yes, the heat is coming. The warmth is coming.” Leo
smiled at Fenella. “You’ll see. It is music.”
“Oh,” said Fenella. She felt obscurely lulled—and then,
the swift sure knowledge that Leo was someone she would
have chosen for family was abruptly unendurable. Fenella
pushed away from the furnace. Her voice came out shrill.
“I’ve got to go now.”
She fled upstairs, but she felt Leo’s compassionate gaze on
her back all the way. Her stomach knotting, she presented
herself to Soledad and asked to help out with cooking.
To her relief, however, she was turned down. Soledad said
firmly, “It’s too early for responsibilities, Fenella. Get accustomed to life here. It’s enough for you to tag along with
Miranda to the grocery store or the library. There’s so much
new stuff for you to learn.” She waved a hand vaguely. “We’ll
carry you, don’t worry. It’s what family is for. Next week
we’ll have family meeting and discuss how you’re feeling.”
“Family meeting?” Fenella was beginning to recover
from the rush of sadness she’d felt in the basement.
“We get together and talk once a month. One thing we
need to talk about is how we’ll get identification for you.
Zach says he has an idea, but I’m afraid to hear what it is.”
“Why?” Fenella was curious. “What do you mean by
identification?”
“Oh, never mind. It’s just, you know, a future worry.”
Soledad changed the subject. “Also, money is tight, so that’s
one thing we usually discuss at family meeting. Do you
understand about money?”
“Oh, yes,” said Fenella. Nearly every Scarborough girl
in history had lacked money. Minnie had described going
hungry as a child; she had had to scrounge for financial help
for nursing school. “Money is how you trade for the things
that you need. A few people have lots of it. Most people
have little.”
“I suppose money is one of those things that never really
changes.” Soledad put another piece of paper on the refrigerator. Monthly Food Budget, it said. Fenella looked without
comprehension at the number at the top of the page, and
then turned away.
In general, Ryland was behaving himself, at least. Most
days, he padded behind Fenella from room to room, watching and listening attentively and acting cat-like. He was
adorable, as he had promised, but Fenella was privy to his
thoughts, which were not adorable. He poked fun at the
ragged way Leo dressed, opined that Soledad was too bossy
and that Dawn was spoiled, and, moreover, if the child
didn’t begin to talk soon, he would wonder about her intelligence. He also let Fenella know what his sharp ears had
picked up about Lucy and Zach. She sings to him in bed. She
makes up ridiculous songs about—
“Too much information!” Fenella had picked up this useful phrase from Lucy.
Actually, it’s not. We don’t know yet what will and won’t
be useful.
“I suppose.”
Fenella had to admit that in the absence of the dog
Pierre, Ryland was blending well into the household. He
bestowed irresistibly silky ankle caresses on everyone, was
praised for his neatness at the litter box, and especially
endeared himself by being sweet and patient when Dawn
petted him too enthusiastically. Also, though nobody but
Fenella knew about it, he managed to keep away from the
yarn in Soledad’s knitting basket.
I deserve a medal. I wonder if my sister knew I was going
to be beset by all the normal cat urges.
At this, Fenella smiled despite herself. She didn’t think
the cat’s obsession with yarn was entirely normal. She was
grateful for his presence, though, she realized. Watching
Ryland insinuate his way into the good graces of the family while she listened to his acid commentary helped her to
maintain the assessing distance she badly needed.
She could not afford to love them. She needed to be hard
as stone. She needed to remember she was not one of them.
The next evening, in the living room, something happened to help. Leo had his guitar, and Lucy was singing.
Then suddenly the two of them exchanged glances, nodded
at each other, and launched into a new song. It was a ballad
called “Tam Lin,” and it was plain that this moment was
planned.
Fenella knew “Tam Lin.” She knew it very well indeed.
Her fist clenched as Lucy sang the familiar opening, in
which a young girl named Janet is warned against meddling
with handsome Tam Lin.
Of course Janet does not listen.
Ryland was on Fenella’s lap. She felt him turning his head
to stare at her as her entire body stiffened. She thought
about pushing the cat away, about making an excuse and
leaving the room. Leaving the song. But instead she sat,
thrown back in time by the music, waiting with dread for
the moment in which it would become clear to Janet that
her hot new lover, Tam Lin, was the property of the faeries.
Then she knew she could not stand to hear it.
“Stop!” she shouted. “Stop this song right now!”
The music ceased so abruptly that Fenella’s ears seemed
to ring.
Everyone was staring, but it was Leo who spoke. “It’s
not ‘Scarborough Fair.’ It’s a different Child ballad. We
thought—we hoped—that it would be all right.”
“It’s not,” said Fenella. She turned jerkily to Miranda.
“Miranda, you don’t want to hear this either, do you?”
She was shaking. In her inner ear, the song continued
inexorably, the verses spinning onward.
Janet holding up her head before all the knights and ladies
in her father’s castle and proudly declaring her pregnancy.
Janet listening to Tam Lin’s precise and clear instructions
for how she could use that pregnancy to save him from the
faeries on All Hallows’ Night.
Oh, yes, Fenella thought. It had all worked out fabulously
for plucky, lucky Lady Janet.
“Fenella?” It was Leo again. “Of course we’ll stop. I’m
sorry. Lucy and I thought we could give the old music its
place back in our lives. We used to love the Child ballads
and we thought maybe we could reclaim this one at least.
Let the music wash through us and heal us. But we won’t
try, not if it hurts too much.”
Lucy leaned forward. “Fenella, do you realize? ‘Tam Lin’
is so different from ‘Scarborough Fair.’ Janet outsmarts the
faeries.”
“Like you did?” Fenella snarled.
There was a moment of shocked silence. “I didn’t mean—”
Lucy began.
Fenella cut in. “I know. I’m sorry.”
More silence.
“All right,” said Lucy finally.
“Maybe another time,” Soledad said. “With another song.
A different ballad.”
“Maybe,” said Lucy.
“Or not,” said Leo. Fenella felt him trying to catch her
eye, but she didn’t want to look at him. Tension continued
to fill the air.
Then Ryland, on the floor near Fenella, made a terrible
noise. The noise went on and on, drawing all eyes, until it
transformed into hacking, and Ryland deposited a small
hairball on the carpet.
“That’s my signal,” Fenella said. She picked up the hairball and regarded it dubiously. “Ick. I’m going to bed now.”
She escaped, throwing the hairball into the trash as she left.
The next day, Fenella declined to go with Miranda and
Dawn on their daily stroll. The moment the door shut and they
were alone, Ryland came into the living room and nudged her
ankles.
About last night, he said. What’s your exact problem with
that song, “Tam Lin”?
“It’s nothing,” Fenella said. “What does it matter, anyway?
It’s only music. I have other things to think about, more important things, and you know it.”
As the words left her lips, Fenella realized that she was no
longer alone with the cat. She looked up.
“Sorry.” Walker Dobrez was in the archway of the living
room, inside the front door, looking at her.