Unthinkable by Nancy Werlin

safety as the gray light of
early morning filtered into the room and, softly, the door
opened. She looked up.
It was Miranda, standing in the doorway holding a
suitcase.

Chapter 11
Fenella stared at Miranda and Miranda stared back.
    Miranda looked every one of her thirty-eight years and
then some. Like her daughter, she’d cut off her previously
long brown hair, but in contrast to Lucy’s glossy cap, Miranda’s hair was so short that it clung tightly to her head
and was decidedly more gray than brown. The gray was
in keeping with her face. Miranda had been exposed to all
weathers during the years she’d done her best to watch over
Lucy and the Markowitzes from afar, and her skin had suffered from it, with lines permanently engraved around her
eyes and mouth. She was as bony and skinny as ever too. In
fact, Miranda looked older than her curvy friend Soledad,
who was actually the elder by more than ten years.
    Unconsciously, Fenella’s hand went to her own smooth
cheek. She was the one who ought to be a bent-over crone.
    She wished she were. Better to have your experience written plainly on your face and body, so there would be no
mistakes. So that certain unexpected temptations—such as
appreciation of Walker Dobrez, the apprentice animal doctor—would not happen.
    Ryland opened his eyes.
She’s home early.
He jumped lightly down to the floor and vaulted onto
Fenella’s bed instead of Miranda’s. The gesture of courtesy
surprised Fenella; then she remembered Ryland’s intention
of being adored by everyone. But Miranda did not appear
to have noticed the cat. She was still frozen in the doorway
in complete shock.
Fenella got up, the too-long legs of the borrowed pajama
pants falling in folds over her feet. She took an uncertain
step. “Hello, Miranda. It’s really me.”
A knot of disappointment was fast forming in Fenella’s
throat. Was Miranda not happy to see her? They had been
friends and allies and family, in Faerie. It had not been the
close friendship Fenella had with Minnie, because Miranda
had left to watch her daughter from afar whenever she was
permitted—and that was often, for Padraig had not found
Miranda much to his taste. But still, the friendship between
Miranda and Fenella had been real and true. When Miranda was freed, Fenella had kissed her brow.
“I will be so peaceful in death,” Fenella had told her.
“I will always remember and love you,” Miranda had said.
“Live your life,” Fenella had responded. “Go to Lucy. Be
happy, Miranda.”
They had cried together, for joy, before parting for what
they believed to be forever.
Miranda said, “You’re not dead?”
“No. It’s something to do with the initial spell Ryland
cast. I’m free,” she lied. “I get to go on with my life, like you.”
When Miranda said nothing, and her face stayed stiff,
Fenella made a helpless gesture. “I’m sorry to intrude on
your life here. I suppose you don’t want a reminder of the
past.”
Don’t apologize, said the cat tartly. You have every right
to be here.
I do not, thought Fenella.
Miranda dropped her heavy suitcase and wrapped her
bony arms around herself. “What aren’t you telling me,
Fenella? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing! I was released from Faerie. I got here yesterday. Where else would I go?” She heard the defensiveness
in her own voice. “They—your Lucy, and everybody—have
been so kind to me.”
Fenella waited tensely as Miranda moved to the second
bed and eased herself down to sit on the edge. She looked as
if, with a moment’s warning, she might run.
“Fenella?” Miranda said at last. “I can smell Faerie on
you, and it—it makes me feel queasy.”
Fenella was shocked. “You can?”
“Yes.”
“I—I don’t know what to say. I bathed with hot water last
evening in that shower thing. There was lavender soap.”
“It’s not a bad smell,” Miranda said uncertainly. “It’s
woody, like trees. Maybe like willow, and