Extraordinary

by Nancy Werlin

  “And then Mayer saw that her skin was not simply the color of leaves, but was actually formed from leaves. And he saw that despite her womanly shape, the female was as much akin to trees and plants as she was to humankind. She was of the earth in a way that no human can ever be. And she was both frightening and glorious to behold.”

  “The queen of the faeries,” Drew said.

  “Yes.” Mallory nodded. “Never before had Mayer seen anyone—anything—so terrible, and yet so beautiful, as the queen. If his shock had allowed him to move, he would have fallen to his knees before her and worshipped her.”

  Phoebe’s jaw dropped. This had suddenly gotten even more offensive than she had thought it would. She wasn’t even particularly religious and she found it insufferable. How dare Mallory? But her parents were still smiling, still leaning forward in fascination. Somehow, Phoebe managed to keep silent.

  “Mayer saw that the other figures were, like the queen, only humanoid in the general shapes of their bodies—and not all of them, at that. Some, like the queen, seemed related to plants; others, to animals or birds. He saw hoofed feet, and feathered backs, and wing-like arms, and on one head, a set of powerful antlers. He saw skin like bark; wrists that blossomed with flowers. On one male, he saw the face of a ferret. They all swam before his eyes, a wealth of visual sensation and of life; the very pulse of the earth and of nature.

  “Watching, Mayer felt as if his senses were coming fully alive for the first time. He heard music, the sweetest strumming of strings and the highest, most delicate piping of flutes. Initially the music was faint and far away, but then it increased in volume and tempo.

  “The faeries began to dance, moving in complicated steps, twisting and twining around each other. Only the queen in the center did not move. She was the still center of the dance, and Mayer understood instinctively that the dance was in tribute to her and that it served a greater purpose.

  “He had forgotten his own fear and rage; forgotten his personal desperate hopes and dreams; forgotten his despair and his determination. He slipped away even from a sense of self. The tempo of the music and the dance increased; its movements grew faster and more complex; the bodies before him seemed to blur into each other and into the earth and the glade around them as they moved, joining together in ways that spoke of the intricacy of nature. Faerie laughter rang out, wild and filled with joy. A drum-like beat began, underlying the music with its insistent rhythm.

  “Mayer’s skin came to tingling, excited life all over his body. His clothing was suddenly an intolerable burden to him, and he tore it off. He felt the sweet air of the night breeze on every inch of his skin and knew no shame. He breathed the air in and it nourished him.

  “Without hesitation, Mayer stepped forward and entered the faerie dance. He entered the worship of the queen and of the earth.”

  And suddenly Phoebe could bear no more. “Oh, please!” She scrambled to her feet. “You can’t seriously expect me to sit still for another second of this. I’ve heard enough! Mallory, I won’t sit here while you insult our family with this. I’m leaving.”

  CONVERSATION WITH THE FAERIE QUEEN, 11

  “What is happening, Ryland?”

  “My sister is fighting me for the soul of the girl. Her weapon is truth. But do not fear, my queen. The girl will not listen to her. She does not wish to believe. I will win.”

  chapter 22

  There was a moment of shocked silence. Then Catherine stood up too.

  “Personally, Phoebe, I’m very entertained by Mallory’s story. Where’s the insult? It’s creative and fascinating.”

  “I think so too,” said Drew. Benjamin nodded.

  But Phoebe looked only at her mother. “All that stuff about Mayer worshipping the faerie queen? Mayer was a good Jew. That’s history. Also, can’t you see where Mallory’s going with this? It’s like something from the worst kind of trashy novel!”

  “You might know where Mallory is going,” said Drew mildly, from his seat on the sofa. “Or think you do. But I don’t, not for sure, anyway, and I’m dying to hear the rest. So don’t spoil it.” He smiled at Mallory. “I had no idea you were such a good storyteller.”

  His gaze went back to Phoebe and it was as stern as she had ever seen it. “Sit down again, Phoebe. Personally, I’d like to hear more about Mayer dancing naked with the faeries on Midsummer Night.”

  “Midsummer Night 1772, to be precise.” Mallory was still using her storytelling voice.

  Catherine sat down.

  Temptation shimmered before Phoebe. Why not sit down again, with her parents and her two best friends, and listen, listen . . .

  A whisper in her inner ear. She doesn’t care about you. She’s trying to trick you.

  Phoebe stamped her foot like a toddler. “No! How can you guys not get it?”

  All four faces turned again toward her. The irritation on her parents’ faces was plain, while Benjamin only looked a little embarrassed.

  Mallory’s expression was a flat unemotional mask.

  “Then don’t listen, Phoebe! Go to bed instead,” Catherine snapped. “By morning, maybe you’ll be acting your age. Marl-lory, ignore her. Continue.”

  Bratty toddler, whispered the voice in Phoebe’s inner ear.

  “Phoebe,” said Mallory quietly. “Please stay.”

  The girls’ eyes met. Phoebe felt a pull—a desire to sit down again—to listen to Mallory’s voice—

  But Phoebe, you know she despises you.

  “No,” said Phoebe rudely, and stomped off. She raced from the cottage like Mayer himself running through the forest. She slammed the door behind her for good measure.

  Once outside, however, she slowed down to a walk. Up and down the road. Up and down the road. It was almost completely dark outside now, and if not for the lights at a couple of the houses on the road, and one streetlamp, she wouldn’t have been able to see anything.

  Phoebe felt that she knew exactly where Mallory’s story had been heading. Mallory was going to say that Mayer had had faerie assistance, magical assistance. That it was the faeries who gave him the extraordinary sons. Perhaps Mallory would even have implied that the faerie queen was responsible for the sons’ success, rather than Mayer and the sons themselves. Would she then say that the sons were part faerie, even, rather than human? It was not only insulting, it was demeaning. How could Benjamin and her parents not see that?

  Because, Phoebe thought with sudden clarity, they don’t imagine for a second that it could be true. To them, it’s only a story. Whereas to her—

  Phoebe discovered that she was crying. And the moment of clarity was gone now, leaving confusion in its wake. Impatiently, she smeared the palms of both hands across her cheeks and sniffed. What was wrong with her? It was only a story.

  Maybe it was some plot of Mallory’s to drive Phoebe crazy.

  Or maybe she already was crazy. Imagining Ryland was there, as she had earlier this evening. Imagining his voice in her ear. That was nuts, wasn’t it? And the garden inside the Tollivers’ house—no, no. She felt so confused ...

  After a while, she heard the soft sound of gravel on the road behind her, and turned. It was Benjamin, walking his bike. “Hi,” he said. He came right up to her.

  Phoebe was glad it was dark, so she wouldn’t have to look in Benjamin’s face and see what he was thinking of her. She was trying to figure out what to say when he spoke.

  “Pheeb, I have to go home, but I wanted to talk to you first. Are you okay now?”

  Phoebe felt tears threaten again. She didn’t want to let them out; for one thing, she knew they would embarrass Benjamin. So she stood there, holding the tears back, but because of them unable to say another syllable.

  “I guess not,” Benjamin said.

  Phoebe managed a hand motion meant to indicate apology.

  “You still up for birding in the morning?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll be here at six. And listen, Pheeb? Don’t bring Mallory.”


  Phoebe was so surprised that the lump in her throat receded and a few words made it out. “But you—and she—”

  “What are you mumbling about? There’s no me and her. There’s you and me. And there’s you and her.” He was trying to tease her.

  But this only made Phoebe’s anger resurface. The good news was that the anger made her able to talk again. “Benjamin, don’t humor me because I had a tantrum! Okay? She’s pretty and fascinating and you were staring at her like she was a model and you were listening to her like she was Scheherazade. You know you were. And you were dying for her to come with us tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, I was. But I’m not now.”

  A moment of silence.

  “Benjamin,” Phoebe blurted.

  “What?”

  “About Mallory.”

  “Yeah?”

  “We haven’t been getting along lately.”

  “You don’t say.”

  Phoebe laughed. It was a little, choked laugh, but it was a laugh. And then somehow, even in the dark, she knew Benjamin was grinning at her too.

  “Six a.m.,” he said. “Painted bunting. You’ll feel better when you see him, you really will.”

  “All right,” said Phoebe. She knew the painted bunting wasn’t going to help. But still she would go.

  She watched Benjamin get on his bike, wave at her, and then she listened to the sound of his pedaling until he turned the corner.

  Eventually, Phoebe walked home and saw that the lights in the living room had gone out. Her parents and Mallory must have gone upstairs to bed. She forced herself to go back in. She climbed the stairs and steeled herself to peek inside the half-open door of her bedroom.

  Mallory was in the second twin bed in Phoebe’s room. She was lying on her side curled up and facing the wall, with the covers pulled up around her. She had left the small nightstand light on for Phoebe, and it was clear from her rigid posture that she was wide awake.

  Waiting? Was that why Mallory hadn’t taken the guest room?

  Phoebe turned away and crossed the hall to the bathroom. She had been in there for ten minutes and was brushing her teeth when she heard a knock. “It’s just me,” said Catherine. “May I come in?” Without waiting for an answer, she did. She came right up behind Phoebe at the sink and met her gaze in the mirror.

  Phoebe continued brushing her teeth.

  “Mallory didn’t finish telling her story,” Catherine said after a minute. “She said she was tired, but I think it was because of you. She wanted you to hear the story.”

  Phoebe indicated that she couldn’t talk because of the toothbrush.

  Her mother sighed. “Phoebe? There’s something very wrong between you and Mallory. Right?”

  There was no possibility of lying, not with Catherine looking directly into her eyes. Phoebe nodded reluctantly, but with the movement, relief unexpectedly began to course through her. Even if she could share just this one part of the tangled web she was in—

  Catherine said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Phoebe’s mouth was still full of toothpaste. Carefully, she spit and began to clean up. Yes, she did. She wanted to talk. Desperately. But—

  “No,” Phoebe said. “It’s just one of those things. I wish you could help, but Mallory and I will have to figure it out by ourselves. Or not.”

  Catherine put one hand to her temples and rubbed them. “You’re sure? I could even talk to Mallory for you, if that would help. If you would tell me what needs saying?”

  “Thanks, Mom. But I have to handle it myself.” Phoebe felt as if her brain were entirely disengaged from that confident, sure voice coming from her throat. “I can’t act like a baby with Mommy taking care of everything. And yes, I know I did act that way tonight, and I’m sorry. All the more reason for me to change, right?”

  A moment of silence. “I don’t know,” said Catherine. “That’s the kind of thing that sounds good, to take care of it yourself. But you have to be wary of making rules like that. Sometimes you need other people. You shouldn’t scorn their help.” Her eyes were sharp on Phoebe’s face. “The thing is, too many girls lose good friends at your age.” Another pause, and then, as if casually: “Often, it’s about a boy.”

  Phoebe winced. But she said nothing.

  Catherine sighed. She reached to hug Phoebe, and Phoebe was relieved to find that to this, at least, she could respond honestly. She hugged back, tight. She clung for another second even after her mother loosened her grip.

  “Good night,” said Phoebe. “Sleep well.” She watched her mother leave the bathroom.

  Once her mother left, she understood that really she had done the right thing. It was better that she hadn’t said anything. There would have been no way to explain without telling too much, far too much, and maybe even sounding insane.

  Also, she was drooping with weariness. She switched off the bathroom light and made her way to her own bed, across the room from Mallory, who now did seem—thankfully—to have fallen asleep. Her breath was even, like a metronome.

  A minute later, Phoebe too had fallen into an exhausted sleep.

  CONVERSATION WITH THE FAERIE QUEEN, 12

  “But Ryland, you won.”

  “Temporarily, yes. But now the girl has yet another friend for support. And she nearly talked to her mother about what she was experiencing. And then there is her father. There are too many people from whom she could potentially draw resolve, and since I can no longer rely upon my sister—in short, my queen, desperate measures are now necessary.”

  “It seems your sister was right when she said this girl was not quite what we were looking for.”

  “None of the Rothschild girls have been, my queen, these last two hundred years and more. Time runs short.”

  “I know.”

  “I will make this girl fit our needs. I can do it if she will cling to me alone. She must have no one else to turn to.”

  “What is your plan?”

  “I will take her mother from her, which will also effectively remove her father. With your permission, my queen. My queen? What is it? Please, take my arm.”

  “I shall be better soon. It is only—sometimes I wonder how it is that I have wandered so far down this road, and taken our people to such a desperate place, and you and your sister to such evil doings.”

  “Not evil, my queen. Necessary. My queen? May I do what must be done?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “It will require even more energy.”

  “I know. Ryland?”

  “Yes?”

  “Be as merciful as you can.”

  “No. To leave the girl with any hope is dangerous.”

  “Indeed. You are right. What a terrible tangle. I sicken myself, Ryland. But we have no choice.”

  “No. None.”

  chapter 23

  The early light filtered into Phoebe’s bedroom and she awoke feeling hopeful. She slipped from bed, dressed hurriedly, and was out of the room within minutes, relieved that Mallory had not stirred, but also feeling a little more generous toward her.

  Phoebe had to acknowledge that she had probably overreacted to Mallory’s story last night. She had been too sensitive. Possibly, she thought, she’d been jealous of how effortlessly Mallory’s storytelling had enchanted Catherine and Drew and Benjamin. Well, she would let it go now, and when she got back after birding, she’d apologize to everyone.

  She grabbed some bananas from the kitchen, located her binoculars, and was ready with her bike when Benjamin arrived. Half a minute and they were on their way.

  There was something miraculous about Nantucket on a beautiful morning. It promised to be a perfect island spring day, with the sun climbing up in a blue sky and the air just the right temperature for a light jacket. They had a mild wind at their backs as they pedaled east toward ’Sconset. Benjamin had bungee-corded his telescope and its tripod on the back of his bike and hung his binoculars around his neck so he could get to them fast, but Phoebe put her own binoculars in
her front bike basket with the bananas and her other things. She found them too heavy to wear for long.

  After about a mile of riding side by side, Phoebe asked Benjamin, “The bird’s been hanging out by the pond, did you say? Or is he right in Hoicks Hollow?”

  “By the pond. At least, I hope he’s still there.”

  “How far is it again?”

  “About nine miles. We can rest partway if you need to.”

  “No. I’d hate to miss him because of a rest.”

  “We won’t miss him. Hey, you have your inhaler and stuff, right?”

  “Yes. But I feel fine. I won’t need a rest.”

  And she didn’t. When they got to Sesachacha Pond, they left the bikes at a small parking lot and Phoebe let Benjamin go ahead as they tramped around the edge of the pond. Benjamin had his binoculars raised to scan the nearby grasses and trees. Ten minutes later, without needing to look at Phoebe, simply knowing exactly where she was, Benjamin spoke, using the soft voice he always used in the field.

  “I’ve got him. Not too far from where he was yesterday. Polite of him, huh?”

  Phoebe spoke just as quietly as she raised her binoculars. “Where?”

  “See that tall marsh grass over to the left? The large tree branch just above? Follow it out to the fork. He’s about an inch above the fork, just sitting on a branch, waiting to be admired.”

  “I’m not seeing—oh, yes! Wow. Wow!”

  The male painted bunting was just gorgeous. He cocked his little blue head, fluffed out his green wings, and displayed his red breast.

  “He’s posing for us,” she said to Benjamin.

  “Full breeding plumage. He’s looking to impress a female. Too bad.”

  “Yeah. Poor thing.”

  Involuntarily, Phoebe sighed. The bunting had wandered far from home and there was little likelihood of a mate for him here. He’d have to find his way back south, to his breeding grounds. Birds and their migrations were so mysterious, so miraculous, but sometimes it just didn’t work out. A bad wind, the wrong direction—there were always birds that lost their way completely and never found home and the mate they sought. Still, Phoebe thought, it was clearly simpler for birds than it was for humans.