by Nancy Werlin
The pain became a terrible itching.
Eventually she sat up.
Naturally, my sister took this particular form, Ryland said to Fenella conversationally. She would. But the good news is that we’ve made progress. One task down, two to go. By the way, Fenella? You did well. I’m proud of you.
Fenella could now bear to rest her forearms on her lap. The pain was nearly gone. She clung to the last few seconds of it as if it were the press of a dying lover’s kiss.
“How long do you wear your hair, again?” asked the girlwho-was-the-queen briskly. Only then did Fenella realize the queen was speeding her healing. She put up a hand to her head. She felt the lengths of hair grow and begin to tangle around her fingers. “Stop there,” she muttered when her hair tangled at the familiar length around her throat and down her back. The sounds caught roughly in the back of her throat.
The queen nodded. “You may dress.”
It took this for Fenella to realize she was naked. The clothes folded neatly before her were the same ones that she’d been wearing earlier in the day. Their originals would have burned off her body, yet here they were again anyway. She stood up awkwardly and put them on. Then, without thinking, she slipped a hand into her pocket, even though the abrasion hurt the tender skin on the back of her hand.
The leaf was there, soft, vibrating faintly. Alive. Hers. Her gift from Walker and from—she suspected—the tree fey. She sighed in relief, and looked around quickly. But though she saw a few trees, none were fey. She sat down again in the chair and looked at the pretty human girl facing her.
She remembered the stories about the queen that had flooded through Faerie. The queen must be wearing the guise of her alter ego, the teenage girl Mallory Tolliver. Naturally, she took this particular form, Ryland had said.
Ryland jumped lightly up into Fenella’s lap, where he briskly kneaded his claws through her clothes into the tender new skin of her upper thighs. She winced but did not stop him. He settled himself down like the most ordinary of lap cats, even purring.
So, was he fully reconciled to being her adviser? Now that he had seen that she really would go ahead and destroy?
Fenella felt sick. She wanted to push him off her lap.
She said to the queen uncertainly, “Did I really complete the first task?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve truly destroyed my family’s feeling of safety?” As she thought about it, Fenella was dubious. “I’m still not even sure what safety means. It was only a house. They loved it, of course . . .”
The queen nodded. “You must turn your attention to the second task.”
The second task would be harder. Fenella couldn’t help thinking of the first task that Lucy had performed: making a shirt without needle or seam. It had seemed impossible only at first glance; in fact, it was quite approachable, and other Scarborough girls before Lucy had succeeded at it, including Fenella.
Fenella had woven together thin, flexible green willow branches using her own hands. It had made for an awkward, ugly, and unwearable shirt. Fenella had despaired and taken it apart—only to discover later that it would have been sufficient. She had tried to tell Bronagh that you could be practical, not elegant, in your approach to the tasks.
But she could not, she would not, think of Bronagh. She would confine herself to remembering the lesson of that maddeningly easy first task—Minnie had simply used a crochet hook, arguing that this was fair because, properly, it was a hook and not a needle—and that the second task would be harder.
Fenella sat bolt upright. The cat mewed as she jostled him. “Wait,” she said urgently to the queen. “About that first task?”
“It’s done. Nobody was hurt, as you wished, yet your family’s feeling of safety has been destroyed.”
“But listen. I just had a thought. Miranda felt unsafe and afraid from the moment she saw me. She said so. She said that she could smell Faerie on me. What if—” Fenella was breathing quickly. “What if I had come to you after I first saw her? What if I had said to you that Miranda felt unsafe simply because I was there? Would that have fulfilled the first task? That alone?”
A pause.
“Why, yes,” said the queen. “Absolutely.”
Fury gripped Fenella. She grabbed the cat and hurled him from her lap. He landed neatly on his feet. She leaped up and faced him with her fists clenched.
“You were supposed to advise me! You were there! Why didn’t you say something?”
I didn’t think of that. Ryland gave a furry shrug. Besides, what you did worked perfectly well. What does it matter?
Fenella was incredulous. “I was trying to minimize the damage I did. You knew that!”
Even if I had thought of it, you had to figure it out for yourself. That’s the rule. Anyway, you were set on your path from the moment you learned about gas heating systems.
“But now my family is homeless, and I caused it. And I didn’t have to! There was a better way.” Fenella was panting. “It was a trick.” She whirled on the queen. “You tricked me! I thought I needed to do something active. Something physical.”
“What you do is your choice,” said the queen quietly. “Keep in mind that all choices in life are made in blindness to the full range of options. At least now, as you go forward, you will know to search for more . . . metaphysical answers.”
Fenella put her hand in her pocket and clutched her leaf.
“If you are still going forward?” asked the queen.
“Of course I am,” Fenella snapped. “I am not giving myself to Padraig. I shall see him dead. And I still want to die myself.”
“Well, then.” The queen glanced at her brother. “Perhaps you can take comfort that you were not the only one blind to a more benign path.”
Ryland bristled at his sister. He yowled something.
She yowled back.
Fenella wondered if she had been blind because of her own desire to burn in the flames. Even though she had known she would survive. Perhaps she had not quite believed it. All that lovely new technology. The dancing blue gas flames. They had seduced her.
She sat down again, heavily, on her chair.
She had done wrong. So wrong.
The queen rose from her throne and crossed to kneel next to Fenella. “Nobody was hurt. You may still cling to t hat.”
“Their home . . . it can’t be undone, and it was unnecess ar y.”
“I want you to see something.” The queen raised her hand to her face and licked her palm. She held it out before Fenella.
In the faint wet glistening on the queen’s palm, a tiny pattern formed. It was the street on which Fenella’s family lived. Little figures ran past; Fenella could see smoke.
“This is real?”
“Yes. This is what is happening now.”
There was no sound, only images. A fire truck racing down the street, and then another. Firefighters with hoses facing the house as it collapsed into itself. Crowds forming at a safe distance.
Her family pushing frantically through the crowd.
Leo and Soledad Markowitz standing side by side before the blazing, smoking ruins of their home. Lucy sinking to the ground at their feet, hiding her face, clutching Dawn against her shoulder. Behind her, a bulky, tense figure— Fenella’s heart paused—Walker Dobrez? But then the images shifted and he was gone.
Three firemen restrained Zach and Miranda as they argued and pointed. Miranda’s face was ravaged and Zach’s was gray as the firemen made discouraging gestures. Zach moved away and knelt by his wife and child. He said something. In Lucy’s arms, the child’s body went rigid. Lucy began rocking her desperately. Zach held them both.
Fenella grabbed the queen’s hand and fisted it shut. “This is supposed to make me feel better?”
“Did you see what I saw?” asked the queen. “It is your safety that they believe was destroyed. They believe you died in their home, on their watch. An accident.” She paused. “Or possibly a suicide.”
“What ar
e you saying?” Fenella let go of the queen’s hand.
“That they are thinking about you,” said the queen steadily. “You and only you. Their home is secondary. Life is the only loss that matters.”
“They will change their minds,” said Fenella tightly, “once they see that I am fine.”
Absolutely, said Ryland cheerfully.
“Yes,” said the queen. “You’re correct about that.”
Fenella lifted her chin. She said, “All right. The second t ask.”
If it is the destruction of life, she thought, I will not do it. I will go back to Padraig instead. The decision was sudden, but it felt good and it felt right. It gave her strength. She put her hand in her pocket to touch the leaf again.
“What must I destroy next?” she asked.
“Love,” said the queen.
“Love?” said Fenella incredulously.
“Love.”
Chapter 19
We had better get back to your family quickly, Ryland said, once they exited Faerie.
“I’m not ready yet.” Fenella touched the bark of a nearby tree, and put her other hand in her pocket to feel the soothing vibrations of the oak leaf.
Ryland paused, one paw still extended, the other three firmly on the ground. He turned his furry head to look at her.
“I’m thinking,” said Fenella.
The longer you delay, the more suspicious—
“This won’t take long. I have a question about the destruction of love.” Fenella’s hands trembled on the leaf. “My presence alone made Miranda feel unsafe. So: Can my presence alone fulfill the second task too? If my family feels unsafe and afraid because of me—and we know they will—then they won’t love me anymore. Destruction of love. Done. Right?”
She held her breath.
Love must first exist, said Ryland. In order to be destroyed. “Miranda loves me.” Fenella’s voice was uncertain, though.
“The others—I don’t know. But Miranda. At least, she loved me once. When we were together in Faerie.”
This is so not my area, complained Ryland.
“I’m only asking you about the logic.”
I understand. I don’t know. Let’s go see your family. Then you can tell me if Miranda, or anybody else, loves you. If you think so, you can ask my sister if you can simply do nothing and call the second task complete. He paused. I doubt it, okay?
So did Fenella. But she held on to hope nonetheless.
She came running up to the ruins of the house with the cat in her arms. Most of the crowd had dispersed; only the firefighters, the immediate neighbors, and Fenella’s family were left.
No Walker Dobrez. But she could not afford to think about him.
She called out. Her family—Lucy, and Zach, and Soledad, and Leo, and Miranda—turned. Their mouths dropped open. Shock filled their eyes. Shock and relief.
Then—within seconds—another emotion crept in.
They surrounded her, though. There were exclamations. There were hugs. There were even nods of understanding, as Fenella explained that she had gone off to the parade; that she had looked and looked for everybody there; that she had not at first thought the sounds of the fire engines had anything to do with her.
“But then,” Fenella said, “I heard somebody say the name of the street. And I ran . . . What happened?”
It was Miranda who said, after the tick of three long seconds, “They’re saying that it was a gas explosion.”
“Oh,” said Fenella.
Miranda said nothing more.
No one did.
They looked at her.
Fenella said, “I read about explosions. I read it in my book.” She immediately knew that this had been a mistake. But then, anything she said would probably have been a mistake.
There was silence in the circle around her. Lucy glanced at Zach. Zach half turned and looked at the smoldering house, and so did Soledad. Leo had already stepped fully away. He was holding the child and looking only at her. In that moment Fenella realized that, in fact, Leo had not been among those who had hugged her.
Yes, Fenella had certainly destroyed safety, and not just for Miranda, but for them all.
Miranda was the only one who met Fenella’s eyes. She did it only for the barest moment.
“We need to figure out what to do next,” said Lucy, at last. “The police told us about the homeless shelter. They would have room for all of us, for a few days. Or we could go to Sarah’s. Only thing is, there’s only one guest room there. They have some air mattresses, though. Also, Walker said he has a sofa bed.”
Walker, thought Fenella. She had the wild urge to speak up, to say that she could go sleep on Walker’s sofa bed—it would get her away from her family, which suddenly she desired more than anything. She did not belong here, with them.
But she had a job to do. She could not leave that job.
If she did leave, she would be not with Walker, but with Padraig . . .
She bit her lip, frozen, bewildered—and terrified. She felt as if walls had started to close in on her.
Zach said, “Brenda Spencer has a nursery already set up for Dawn. We could go there, Lucy and Dawn and I.”
“There’s my friend Jacqueline,” said Soledad thoughtfully. “She has a pull-out bed.”
“Mrs. Angelakis offered us a room too,” said Leo. “Listen, let’s get ourselves situated somewhere for tonight, wherever we can, however we can. We can regroup in the morning.” There was silence.
Don’t worry, Fenella, said Ryland. They can hardly throw you out. They wouldn’t, anyway. They’re suspicious, but they haven’t even talked among themselves yet. They have more important things to think of than you.
“We really have to split up?” asked Lucy.
Leo nodded. “Probably. For tonight. Until we figure out a plan.”
“I don’t want us to split up,” said Lucy. “I’d rather we all be together at the shelter. Let’s call everyone we know first, and ask for help.”
“Yeah,” said Zach. “Somebody might have space for all of us. Or know somebody who does.”
“But we need three bedrooms,” said Miranda.
“Two bedrooms and part of a basement, or a sofa.”
“Let’s go over to Mrs. Angelakis’s and talk,” said Soledad. “See? There she is.”
Fenella saw the neighbor waving from her front steps. She was holding her door open and gesturing at a platter that she was also holding.
“Look at that,” Zach said. “Mrs. Angelakis has a Boston cream pie.” It wasn’t much of a laugh he gave then, more of a chuckle.
Then, somehow, for no reason, all of them burst out laughing. Laughing and crying, really, but mostly laughing. All of them except Fenella. Then they were all moving across the street in a great big group, clumped together, holding hands and shoulders. Leo was even calling something out cheerfully to Mrs. Angelakis about the pie.
Fenella trailed behind, feet dragging, Ryland in her arms. She watched Miranda’s straight back in front of her.
They’re fine, see? Ryland spoke impatiently. They’re going to eat pie. I bet they have shelter for the whole family figured out by suppertime. Including for you. It’s just like you hoped. Cheer up!
It was all true.
But Fenella felt terrible, wrong, doomed.
Chapter 20
It was past midnight at the start of a new day, the first day after the fire. Ryland’s prediction had come true; the family was still more or less together, in a temporary apartment belonging to Soledad’s friend Jacqueline’s church. Fenella was even still sharing a room with Miranda.
The apartment had once been a large garage and still showed signs of its previous incarnation; one wall of the lower level was a double garage door. This downstairs section contained a kitchen with a table and a sitting area with a sofa bed. The upstairs, reached by a spiral staircase, held a bedroom for Miranda and Fenella, along with a small bathroom. Soledad and Leo were in a bedroom in the church rectory next doo
r.
They would be able to stay here for a few days.
Fenella knelt in the dark on the cool white tile of the upstairs bathroom. She was eavesdropping on Lucy and Zach, using a spyhole Ryland had found. It was where the pipe of an old-fashioned radiator entered the bathroom from downstairs. Sound traveled right up the pipe. Also, because the hole was wider than the pipe, it afforded Fenella a partial view of the room below.
There, in the dim light of a floor lamp, Lucy and Zach sat facing each other on the thin mattress of the sofa bed. Dawn lay on the bed with her parents, her arms flung outward, surrounded by pillows.
“You should try to sleep,” Lucy whispered to Zach.
Zach’s voice was tense. “I don’t want to. I need to keep watch. I want to keep the light on, and keep Dawn near, where I can grab her in one second flat. Not to mention you.”
Lucy took a deep breath. “It’s going to be all right, isn’t it?”
A pause. “Yeah. It’s only things that were lost. Nobody was hurt. We’re together. We’ve been through worse, you know we have.”
Fenella felt Ryland nudge her.
“But it was our home! It’s not only our things. It’s also, well, I’ve never belonged anywhere else.”
“Oh, Luce. Come here. Home isn’t a building. Home is us.”
Yes, thought Fenella fiercely. Please.
“Yes and no.” Lucy’s voice was muffled against Zach’s chest. “At least Pierre was safe at the kennel. What if he’d been in the basement?”
“Everybody is all right, including Pierre.”
The two figures below moved closer, clinging. Fenella’s fingers curled tightly into her palms. She hoped they wouldn’t make love. If they did, she’d pull Ryland forcibly away from the peephole.
No. Lucy was crying. Crying with great big hiccups. Zach stroked her back and murmured something too softly for Fenella to hear.
Out of nowhere, rage bloomed in Fenella. Lucy was getting comforted! Lucy with her loving husband and her lively, curious daughter, whom she would never have to worry about losing—her daughter, whom she could plan on seeing grow up, day by day, year by year. Lucy would get to watch Dawn become an adult and choose a life for herself. Lucy would not have to watch her daughter be destroyed.