by S Bolanos
“The fact that you're even asking that, proves that you should stay here tonight. You have no idea the danger you’re in. This isn’t something you can bark at and expect them to back down. The less time you spend exposed, the safer you’ll be. I may not be able to do anything about what has already happened, but I can damn well make sure nothing else does,” he said fiercely enough to make me take a step back.
“But you don’t know any of that. You can’t know I’m in as much danger as you say. And who gave you the right to be in charge?” I asked, my blood boiling with indignation and barely suppressed terror.
He ignored the query and grabbed the keys from my flailing hands. The door barely had time to close before he returned. “Here you go.” He passed me the folded sweats and began rearranging the couch.
I glared at his back. He either didn’t realize it or didn’t care, because he continued to remove pillows and the back cushions from the couch. Rolling my eyes, I snatched the shirt from the table and went to change.
It would serve that bully right to have to sleep on the couch after this nonsense. Never in all my years has anyone manhandled me so much.
My angry thoughts were excellent company as I stripped down and put on the shirt. It was too hot for the sweats even after all of that, so I didn’t bother with them.
I’ll put them on in the morning.
“Everything okay in here?"
Startled, I pulled the shirt down as far as it would go. "Jesus, Michael!"
He shrugged. "I've seen plenty of naked women before. Besides, I think it's only fair."
My face burned, the comment adding insult to injury. Once I regained my wits, I stalked over and slammed the door shut.
Who does he think he is?
I switched off the lights then burrowed under the covers.
I hope he gets a crick in his neck from sleeping on the couch.
The malicious wish comforted me while I fought with the bedsheets. When I finally stopped moving, though, I realized the woody musk smell that was Michael’s scent surrounded me.
Well shit. How the hell am I supposed to sleep like this?
A short, quiet knock broke the silence as the door swung open without waiting for a reply.
"What?" I asked harshly.
Michael stood in the doorway, barely more than a silhouette. I couldn’t tell if it was a trick of the light or pure imagination, but his eyes seemed to glint yellow in the darkness. “I wanted to check if you needed anything.”
“I'm fine, thank you.” I started to regret wishing him ill in the face of his persistent kindness.
“Okay. Goodnight, Sara.” The door closed silently and once again, I was alone.
9
Test of the Senses
Dawn found me groggy and miserable. Thanks to being wrapped in Michael’s smell, when I wasn't dreaming of home, I was fending off hormone-fueled fancies. This wasn’t some office romance; this was the waking nightmare that was now my life.
Michael did everything short of turning into a literal ray of sunshine to shake me out of my funk, including encouraging me to ask more questions. But I didn’t have any and by five-thirty I was sliding into the driver’s seat beneath his watchful eye. Truthfully, I’d half-expected him to insist on either driving me home or following me there. To my surprise, he did neither.
It’s still possible I’m drugged beyond reason in the hospital, strapped to the bed, in the throes of a psychotic break.
I glanced up at Michael from behind the steering wheel. He gave a small wave and I turned my attention back to the road. Meandering to my place in a daze meant I had next to no time to get ready for work, but that didn’t stop me from standing listless in the living room. Even after a year, the space didn’t feel like home.
Sadness washed over me as I thought about calling my parents. What would I even say, especially after last night’s revelation? Convincing them I was fine was hard enough, but this…this was something else. Instead, I changed, pulled my hair back in a ponytail, and left for the office.
I parked the car in my usual spot, but it wasn’t until I got out that I realized Michael’s scent covered me from head to toe. Even the fresh clothes did next to nothing to diminish the cloud that seemed to encompass me. I pulled up a few strands of hair and sniffed them.
“I knew I should have taken a shower.”
Someone walking past cast me a wary glance and scurried faster. I quickly dropped the offending strands that seemed to be saturated in Michael’s scent.
“Great,” I mumbled to myself and made my way to the elevators.
To my infinite surprise, Charline’s boyfriend Ted held the door. “Hey,” I said, then stalled out. I’d never really talked with Ted one-on-one; Charline had always been there as a buffer.
He pushed his glasses up his nose and slid his hands into his pockets. “You look like you’re doing better.”
“Did you come with Charline to the hospital?” I asked, confused as to how he could know I was looking better.
“She said you got sick,” he stated blandly. Then again, everything about Ted was bland from his khakis and white button down to his brownish hair and eyes.
I so don’t get what she sees in him.
It occurred to me that this was a perfect opportunity to test my new senses. There was one huge problem: all I could smell was Michael. It was like he’d seeped into every pore. I groaned to myself and slumped against the metal wall.
“You good?” Ted asked without any inflection of actual concern.
“Yeah, not looking forward to today,” I responded honestly. Before he could ask what was so miserable about today, I asked a question of my own. “So, how are you and Charline doing?”
His shoulders stiffened and his gaze slithered away from mine to stare at the closed doors. He shrugged, but the shift in body language spoke volumes. The elevator stopped and the doors opened onto our floor.
“Just don’t hurt her, okay?” I said as he took a step out.
He turned and stared at me a long second, then walked away without a word.
That wasn’t awkward or anything.
I quickly exited the elevator and made a beeline for the bathrooms to do whatever I could to eliminate some of the scent clinging to me. There was no way I’d be able to get anything done, let alone do the homework he’d assigned me, if I was walking around smelling like him. I scrubbed at my face and arms with enough soap to drown a mouse, then all but stuck my head under the faucet to give my hair similar treatment. I offered a tight smile to a woman who had the misfortune to witness my impromptu bathing. She took one look at the soaked paper towels I was using to wring the wet out and turned right back around.
I quickly finished up, re-tied my hair, then meandered my way to my own department. Despite what Michael had said, I couldn’t help but feel like everyone knew, that they could see past the facade of normalcy to the new reality that had taken over my life. The people at the coffee bar gave me a wide berth. Kelly took one look at me and disappeared down a different hallway. Even in the confines of my cubicle, I could feel eyes on me.
The part of my brain refusing to accept any of this was convinced it was pure imagination, but I couldn’t shake the sensation. No sooner had I signed into my computer, than Bob appeared from his office. He seemed to hesitate before plopping yet another excessive tower of papers and saying something about a report.
I marveled as the teetering stack lost a few pages to gravity, not really absorbing any of what he told me. He stood there as if he expected a response. When I offered none, he turned and left. It wasn’t until the sound of his retreating steps disappeared that it occurred to me that I’d missed a prime opportunity to fulfill my homework assignment.
When did my life get so weird?
I buried my head in my hands and my wet hair slipped free of its band. The stubborn mess seemed even more rebellious, if that was possible. My nose twitched as a rich, buttery scent with hints of cinnamon and vanilla tickled the fin
e hairs.
Fresh cookies. Just what the doctor ordered.
"Hey, Charline," I said from behind my personal waterfall of misery.
"Oh! How did you know it was me?"
"That's easy, I could..." Smell you. "Hear you," I amended aloud.
Oh my god, I smelled Charline. How did I know it was her?
"Jeez, I didn't realize I made so much noise. Anyway, I was wondering if we were still on for lunch.” She sat on my desk and waited expectantly, no doubt already anticipating what I was about to say.
"I already agreed to have lunch with Michael."
"Did you now?" There was something in that. I glanced up from wrangling my damp hair to find her smiling triumphantly.
"Charline," I groaned.
"Oh no. No, you go have your lunch and we'll talk all about it later." Ominous promise delivered, she traipsed out of my cubicle with a tangible air of smugness about her.
Great. Isn't it bad enough that I have to cope with being a mythical creature, but Charline too?
That train of thought brought me back to how I’d known the scent belonged to Charline in the first place. Without even trying, I’d correctly identified it was her. But how? What did she smell like? I sampled the air that she’d recently vacated. Beneath the assaulting cloud of sharp perfume was a distinct flavor of honey and chamomile and something else—a hint of cinnamon along with an undercurrent of baking that had led me to believe initially that someone had brought cookies.
This might not be as difficult as I thought.
A few hours later, I found myself sitting across the table from Michael in a secluded corner of yet another deli.
"You can stop staring at me like that. I did my homework."
“And? Was it as hard as you thought it would be?" he asked with a level of conceit that rivaled Charline.
I glared at him and gave a begrudging, "No."
He arched an eyebrow.
"You don't have to be so obnoxious about it."
He shook his head and laughed quietly to himself. “Sorry. It’s just funny how hard you’re fighting everything. Sooner than you think, this will all become second nature.”
“That's easy for you to say, you were born with this. I’m still trying to figure out if I’m in a coma.” The comment earned me a few curious looks. I sank deeper into my plastic chair and plucked at the wrapper that had held a BLT with more bacon than any sandwich had a right to.
“Fair point,” he said, leaning forward and sliding the basket out of my reach. “Now who did you—?”
I quickly straightened back up. "Please, for the sake of what's left of my tenuous hold on reality, don't finish that sentence.” He cleared his throat and I rolled my eyes at the not-so-subtle encouragement. “Of course, the easiest person to start with was Charline. I tried to start with Ted in the elevator, but couldn’t smell a damn thing over—” I stopped mid-rant as I realized how that sentence would end. “Anyway, yeah, I started with Charline.”
I paused, not really sure how to go on. At yet another encouraging gesture from him, I threw caution to the wind.
“She smells like cookies. There was honey and chamomile and maybe cinnamon. But definitely baking.”
Michael's low laugh vibrated through the table. “Really?”
“Yes. Why? What does she smell like to you?”
“Charline smells like a massive assortment of spices to me. I'll have to keep a whiff out for honey though.”
“She doesn't smell the same to you? If everyone smells different to everyone else, how are you supposed to know if I'm doing it right?”
“Slow down.” He placed a warm hand over mine. “There are variances depending on how well you know someone, but the basis is always there and identifiable by anyone. You can't really do it wrong.” He squeezed my hand and then released it. “Now who else?”
Michael and I had lunch together every other day during which he’d quiz me mercilessly about all things were. If he’d had it his way, it would have been every day, but there was only so much I could take. Thankfully, today was an off day which meant I got to have lunch with Charline instead.
As I joined her at the elevator, my stomach gave a loud grumble. I was already ravenous despite the numerous snacks I'd taken to eating throughout the morning. She eyed me skeptically and it reminded me of the way Ted had looked at me the other day.
“Question for you,” I started.
“Shoot,” she said, pressing the button impatiently.
“How are you and Ted doing?”
Her brow furrowed and her happy demeanor dipped. “Okay, I guess.” The response was almost the verbal equivalent to Ted’s.
“You know you can talk to me. Granted, I’m not any kind of relationship expert, but I can listen.” I might not be Ted’s biggest fan, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t be a supportive friend. She gave me a warm smile, which I returned.
“So where will it be, doll?” she asked as the doors slid shut, completely evading my offer.
“There’s a deli across the street that I think might even impress you,” I said, and let it drop. If she wanted to talk to me about it, then she would.
She laughed. Impressing Charline with food was no easy task. “I’m glad you could pencil me in,” she teased as the doors slid open on the ground floor.
I scoffed and led the way across the street. “You make it sound like you never see me.”
“It certainly feels that way lately,” she replied.
She placed her order for a salad while I debated getting two sandwiches instead of one, then we grabbed a table.
“Well, the service at least is impressive. But I thought you didn’t like roast beef,” she commented as I took a massive bite.
I shrugged. “Michael introduced me to it.”
“Uh huh. You sure do seem to be spending a lot of time with him,” she sing-songed, waving her fork like some kind of magic wand.
“I already told you, we’re friends, that’s it. Nothing more.” I couldn’t very well tell her the real reason we were spending so much time together. “People like Michael Howell are not interested in people like me.”
She scoffed. She’d never be convinced of anything short of scandalous.
“I don’t see why you have to be so down on yourself all of the time. You’re very pretty, Sara.”
I snorted.
She ignored my rude sound and went on. “Besides, nobody spends that much time with someone they only want to be friends with.”
I rolled my eyes and skipped trying to convince her this wasn’t some contrived romance or that Michael would never think of me that way.
10
Practice Makes Perfect
After three weeks, I could identify anyone by smell and worked on waiting to address people until they entered the realm of normal human perception. Of course, I got the most practice with Charline as she routinely popped in to chat towards the end of each day.
Right on time, Charline sauntered into my sad little work space, preceded of course by smells that belonged more to a bakery than a person. I saved my current file and spun around to face her as she leaned against the wall.
"So, I talked Ted into taking me to that fancy new Italian place on Donahue, but now I can't figure out what to wear. What do you think?" she asked as she filed her nails.
"I think it's a miracle you get anything done when you’re always over here," I poked.
"No, not about that, Sara. The dress?" she asked, her voice laced with exasperation.
"What about the red one with the slit skirt?"
"No. I think I'll wear that new green one," she mused to herself.
I shook my head.
I don’t know why she even bothers asking.
At that moment, Michael popped his head in, his large frame effectively filling the doorway. I was a little surprised that I hadn’t smelled him first, but then again, Charline’s scent was a little all-encompassing.
"I think green would look great, Charline,"
he said, flashing her an award-winning smile.
"Why thank you, Michael, you’re sweeter than a peach," she preened.
"You’re welcome. Sara, are you busy tonight?" he asked, turning back to me.
Before I could answer, Charline’s pointed toe found its way to the back of my calf. The gleam in Michael's eye made it obvious that he hadn't missed her well-meant encouragement. "No. Why?" I gritted through clenched teeth.
"I was hoping we could go out to dinner tonight."
"Oh, sure," I said without having to think about it.
Guess we’re upping our smelling game from small places to big ones.
"Great, there's a new Italian place that I heard was really good. I'll pick you up at seven." With that, he sauntered off.
"Ah-ha!” she exclaimed triumphantly the second he vacated the immediate vicinity, waving her nail file in my face like she was brandishing a sword. “Sure, there's absolutely nothing going on between you two.” The emphasis was a bit much, but there was no stopping her. “Sara's got a date,” she crooned. “Ooh, maybe we could do a double! Wait, no, never mind. I think Ted and I are due for a more serious talk.” Her happy expression melted into a frown that put a crease between her eyebrows.
"It’s not a date," I snapped. Werewolf hearing aside, the last thing I wanted was to let her go on like this where the whole office could hear. I should have waited.
Michael rematerialized in the entry, scaring me half to death. "Of course it’s a date, and I fully expect you to get all fancied up." And like that, he was gone again with as much warning as he’d arrived.
The look on Charline’s face surpassed description. "I guess we should start worrying more about what you're going to wear," she said wiggling her eyebrows.
Someone, please shoot me now.
Being picked up at seven was not exactly conducive to looking ‘all fancied up’ as Michael expected. Nonetheless, I raced home and took the fastest shower in recorded history. Consequently, I was done early and had a full half-hour in which to fret.
