CHAPTER 5

SUMMARY: Quinn and Mercedes get a visit from Kat and meet with Sam, and Sam finds out about their past

WARNING: Religious overtones, cursing, recreational drug use

AUTHOR'S NOTE:I hope you enjoy the latest chapter and excuse any errors!

"Odors have a power of persuasion stronger than that of words, appearances, emotions, or will. The persuasive power of an odor cannot be fended off, it enters into us like breath into our lungs, it fills us up, imbues us totally. There is no remedy for it."

― Patrick Süskind, Perfume: The Story of a Murderer

SAM

I read Artie's email about a hundred times. I didn't know what to think. What he told me was just too bizarre. After I dropped off CJ, I drove around North Star trying to process everything. Then I thought of Mercedes' kind eyes and smile. I pulled over to the side of the rode and got out of my car. I lit a cigarette and stared up at the sky, trying to pick out constellations but I was never good at astronomy. I found what I thought was Pleiades.

I took another drag of my cigarette. Quinn was nuts in my opinion but no, I couldn't believe, well maybe I could. And Mercedes… she touched something in me. Those "Fabray chicks" as Artie called them, were glass and light and magic, already under my skin, especially Mercedes with her caring eyes and warmth.

"I'm warning you, Sam, stay away from them. You've been through enough."

I finished my cigarette, dropping it into the snow and grinding it out with my foot. I watched the glowing orange tip dissolve into gray ashes. I saw myself in the flames, willing to walk into something beautiful and not caring if I ended up in the ashes that remained. My phone vibrated. It was Artie. I pressed reject, got in the car and drove home.

ooo

MERCEDES

The first time I smelled love I was I was five years old and not sure what it all meant, I just knew my nose picked up on things other people's noses didn't. I knew little girls didn't smell death in a new car or know the grinning stranger on the elevator was broken hearted because of his scent. Yet this was my life.

On a hot summer day in 1988, Grandma Sadie dropped her handkerchief on our front porch; heat waves rippled in the air; and as she wiped the sweat from her wrinkled cheeks, the ice cream truck's loud bell startled her, and the white lace handkerchief fell from her grasp, I picked it up, and as soon as it's scent filled my nose: I knew she was in love. The fragrance was sweet like molasses and honeysuckle; and it was buried beneath the Dreft detergent scent that clung to her clothes, but somehow I discovered her love perfume. I asked her whom she loved, and she laughed.

"Chile, I love you and Quinn and all my family."

Even at such a young age I knew the difference between familial love and romantic love, the kind that made adults giggle and shoo you out of the room for "privacy."

"No, who do you love like Mama loves Daddy?"

She sat down beside me on the porch swing.

"Grandpa."

I wasn't satisfied with her answer.

"This man isn't in the grave yard."

She gave me the side eye.

"You been spying on Grandma?"

"No ma'am."

"Listenin' when you shouldn't be?

"Nope."

"Mercedes Rebbie Fabray, you better not be lying. I'll surely tan your hide."

"I'm not lying. I swear."

Suddenly, Quinn came walking up porch stairs, carrying a box of frogs, her hair a tangled blonde mess. Grandma had a fit.

"Gal, if you don't get those nasty things off this porch. Can't you play with dolls?"

Quinn was unfazed. She knew our grandmother's bark was bigger than her bite.

"They're sad. Can you sing to them?"

Quinn had a knack for finding sad animals. She always wanted to save them. Grandma Sadie wasn't having any of that.

"I've sang for politicians, lawyers, high-falutin' folks with PhDs, and millionaires, but I ain't never sang for no damn frogs! And I'm not about to start now!"

Quinn and I laughed because Grandma Sadie said damn. It felt naughty to hear her curse since she rarely did. One of the frogs jumped out of the box landing on her lap; she yelled and hopped off the porch swing, her two hundred dollar wig flew off, looking like a curly hairball in flight. Quinn caught it before it landed on the ground.

"Sorry, Grandma."

I picked up the frog and put it in the box. Grandma Sadie started laughing and we laughed with her, tears rolled down our sweaty cheeks.

"Bet you thought I was too old to move that fast!" she boasted as she put the wig back on again, covering up her cornrows.

And on that afternoon, Grandma Sadie gave her first concert to a box of depressed frogs (with me and Quinn as back up singers), and for the time being, she forgot all about my knowing she was in love.

One month later she married Mr. Joe, a retired accountant who sang like Nat King Cole and kept butterscotch in his pockets. Quinn and I were the flower girls and when she gave us a hug, telling us how pretty we looked in our purple satin dresses, I smelled honeysuckle on her skin.

ooo

Somebody knocked on our front door at 5:00 in the morning. Neither Quinn nor I wanted to answer it. The knocking persisted. I looked at Quinn who sat at the kitchen table sipping a big mug of coffee. I smelled violets.

"It's Kat," I said.

Quinn stirred her coffee.

"She can come back."

"She knows we're here."

"So?"

I got up from the table and went to the front door. Kat smiled when she saw me, her gray eyes bright. Snowflakes covered her black military coat. She held a large canvas.

"I feel amazing," she said.

"It's 5:00 in the morning."

"Can I come in?"

I opened the door wider, letting her inside the apartment. The cold air sliced through my robe, and I quickly closed the door behind her. Kat shook the snow off her coat and hung it up on the coat rack next to the door. She scanned the living room.

"Are we alone?"

"No, my sister is in the kitchen."

Kat's eyes fell upon the family photo hanging above the couch.

"The blonde woman is your sister?"

"Yes," I said, feeling a little defensive. I wasn't in the mood for a Different Strokes moment.

"You know what's funny? I just realized I never got you or your sister's name."

"I'm Mercedes and my sister's name is Quinn."

At that moment, Quinn walked into the living room, her neon-pink bunny slippers peeked out from underneath her long white robe. She rolled her eyes at Kat, shaking her head.

"You have no sense of time."

I winced inwardly and I hoped that Quinn's gruffness didn't hurt Kat's feelings. But Kat only laughed.

"Look at this."

She turned the canvas around and revealed a painting of faceless, nude people holding hands as they flew upwards toward the sky against a hazy light blue background; they were young, old, black, white, fat, skinny.

"You painted that?" I asked.

Kat nodded.

"Yeah, can you believe it? I have all this energy."

She spoke fast, waving her hands about, silver bracelets jangled on her wrists. I stared at the painting. It was quite good for a girl her age. Quinn folded her arms and grimaced.

"Your version of the Rapture?"

Kat's smile changed to a frown.

"I dreamed it."

"So you came to show us this painting?" I asked.

"May I sit down?"

"Sure."

Kat leaned the painting against the wall and she and I sat down on the couch. Quinn plopped down in the adjacent loveseat.

"Well?"

Kat scooted to the edge of her seat, tapping her glittering purple fingernails against her knees.

"I can do stuff I couldn't do before."

Quinn glanced at me then said to Kat:

"Like what?"

"I can solve complicated math equations. I suck at math. At least I thought I did. I used to think I was ugly but now when I look in the mirror, I only see a beautiful girl. My ex said I changed. He wants to get back with me."

"Are you getting back together?" I asked.

"No, I can do better," She stood up and walked over to the window, and gazed out into the backyard, "I want you to tell me what you did. Will these feelings last?"

"We didn't do anything. We only showed you your true worth," I said, hoping the discussion would end. Things were already getting dangerous.

Kat shook her head, turning around to face me.

"Knowing my true worth wouldn't make me paint, she said pointing to the canvas, "Or change my face. I promised I wouldn't say anything and I haven't. But is this temporary? Am I going to crash?"

"We didn't give you drugs," Quinn said, her blue eyes grew darker with each word, "You're not going to crash. We said we would help you and we did. Be satisfied with that."

"I can't be. I need answers. I know it's crazy, but I think I can fly. I mean really fly like Superman."

Quinn stared at Kat.

"You can't fly. You're just discovering who you are and loving yourself so the energy is new. But you're human."

"Are you?"

"Quinn, could you help me in the kitchen?" I said as I rose from the couch, "I want to put on another pot of coffee and make everyone breakfast," I turned to Kat, "Do you like spinach omelettes?"

Kat walked over to me, grabbing my shoulders, her violet scent soon turned to burning wood.

"Just tell me what you are. Please."

What are you a bloodhound? Smelling everything.

What are you a freak or something?

What are you a baby? Stop crying, you fat heifer!

What are you, a witch? My mom says we can't play with you cause you see visions and that's the devil.

What are you crazy? Why do you and your sister talk funny and nobody knows what you're saying?

Her question was deceptively simple. The answer, of course, was not.

"What we are," I said, trying keep my voice from shaking as the memories piled up in my head, "are two people who cared enough to help you."

Kat let go of my shoulders.

"I'm sorry."

"I knew this was a mistake," Quinn said.

"I didn't mean it like that," Kat said, hanging her head, "When I don't understand something, I have to know how it works. And I think I can help people too. I feel powerful."

"Focus on yourself," I said, "Don't do anything foolish."

Kat nodded.

"Ok."

After we ate breakfast, Kat went home, leaving the painting as a thank you gift. As we loaded the dishwasher, I got a whiff of Quinn's pepper hot anger. My eyes watered.

"Calm down," I said.

Quinn poured detergent into the dispenser.

"I don't trust her."

"Quinn, we don't have much choice."

"We had a choice not to get involved," she said as picked up the sponge lying in the sink and began wiping down the counter, after a few silent moments, she added, "Kat talked about flying – "

"Yes and you stopped her. She doesn't know the truth."

Quinn turned away from the counter and looked at me.

"It's better that way."

I opened the curtains and stared out into the street. A group of kids passed by, clutching cups of Starbucks coffee and talking, they looked like a poster America's youth: color coordinated like a Abercrombie and Fitch catalog with perfect hairstyles and Crest fluorescent white smiles. I wondered if Kat knew any of them; something told me that she probably did; and they ignored her because she was too different. It wasn't her broken heart that drew me in; it was the loneliness.

"What about the painting?"

"What about it?"

"She dreamed it."

Quinn threw the sponge in the sink.

"I'm going to the studio. I have some bottles to make."

"I'll drive you."

"No, I'll ride my bike."

"In this weather?"

"I've ridden in worse."

"I'd feel better if I drive you."

Her scent grew less strong and changed to a sweet grass aroma.

"I'll call you when I get there."

She walked out of the kitchen. I poured another cup of coffee and sat down to the table. My mind drifted to flying. We lied to Kat to protect ourselves.

ooo

We were in the rose garden behind the Fabray mansion. Flashes of lightning filled the purple sky and thunder rumbled as we floated higher into the air. Our long, white cotton dresses fluttered in the wind, tickling our bare ankles.

Quinn clasped my hand.

"Cedes, we'll go to the moon."

Grandma Fabray, or Juniper as we called her, since she never felt old enough to be a grandmother, quickly corrected Quinn.

"Young lady, space travel is not on the agenda," she said, rising into the air with us, her long silver hair blowing behind her.

We loved flying in storms.

At ten years old, we had become quite good at flying.

"How far are we going?" I shouted above the rumbling thunder.

"You'll see," Grandma Juniper said and winked.

The cool raindrops felt good against my skin; that morning we had awoken to another heat wave, with temperatures rising to 103. It was the worst summer that Connecticut had ever seen. And the AC was broken, so our family roasted inside the mansion. Mama opened all the windows and told us to think cool thoughts. When the storm came late that afternoon, we begged Mama to let us go flying. All of us were sitting in the parlor playing Monopoly.

"Why don't you want to go swimming? Your father and I will take you when he gets home."

Juniper looked up from her newspaper.

"Leah, your girls are different."

Mama folded her arms and stared out the window, her eyes were sad.

"I know."

"When Jack married you –"

"I said I know, Juniper. I just want you to be careful. Storms are dangerous."

"They're protected."

I got up from my chair and sat on Mama's lap, wiping her sweaty face with a tissue.

"Do you want us to be like other little girls?"

"No, of course not."

Quinn held my hand.

"We don't need to be like everybody else, right Mama?"

Mama smiled, giving us each a kiss on the forehead.

"You can go flying. But you have to promise to listen to your grandmother."

Juniper folded up her newspaper.

"For heavens sake, when have the girls ever not listened to me?"

"Please make sure nobody sees you," Mama said.

"Has anyone ever seen us?"

Mama shrugged her shoulders.

"Alright, be back in an hour."

Quinn and I bounced around the room. All laughs and giggles because an adventure awaited us.

Now as we flew upward toward the sky, the thunder and lightning thrilled us. This beat swimming any day of the week. Juniper guided us along. The mansion below grew smaller and smaller until it was a mere speck against a green landscape.

"Don't dawdle dearies, pick up the pace," Juniper shouted over the thunder.

And pick up the pace we did, Quinn laughed, her blue eyes glowed and then a lightning bolt struck us. I felt the familiar flash and tingle, our skin glowed and glittered as the current traveled through us, making us stronger. We let go of each other's hands and reached for the white-hot electricity, letting our hands glide through it.

Juniper nodded at us.

"Concentrate the force."

We focused our energy on the lightning bolt, as we touched it, it solidified, turning into small, iridescent crystal spears. We put as many as we could into our pockets, zipping them up. Then we followed Juniper into a blue storm cloud. Inside the cloud, it was like a dream, hazy and warm with flashes of light, and inexplicably no rain. We wanted to play. Our grandmother heard our thoughts buzzing and she said:

"Go on and play while I rest."

So we did somersaults and back flips, sang songs, and tried to collect the blue mist into our hands. It smelled like berries and storm water.

The blue mist clung to our skin as we flew home. Mama was waiting for us by the garden gate, looking up at the sky. As soon as we landed, she opened the gate and gathered us in her arms.

Juniper shook her head and sighed.

"Really, Leah, did you think we wouldn't come back?"

"My daughters are blue."

"Quite the observant one, aren't we?

Mama ignored her and we went inside the house. She tried hard to scrub the blue mist from our skin but to no avail. We looked like aliens or some sort of fairies. That night when Papa returned from his photo assignment in Vermont, he took one look at us and laughed.

"My girls can't stay out of the clouds."

He brought us a box maple sugar candy and while we sat on his lap, enjoying the treat, Papa kissed the tops of our heads and told us we couldn't leave the house until our skin changed back.

"You have to stay inside. I don't want anyone to see you. I'm surprised Mother took you so far."

"I want us to stay like this," Quinn said, unwrapping her second piece of candy, "We have the same skin and people won't ask if we're really sisters anymore."

"I like how it smells," I said.

"No matter what anyone says, we're a family," Papa said.

"I want to fly all the time," I said.

Papa got quiet and his eyes were sad.

"I think you should stop."

"Why?"

Before he could answer, Juniper came into the parlor, dressed in her orange silk nightgown, her skin was a lighter shade of blue than ours and her hair was in a long braid hanging down her back.

"Jack, let them fly if they want to."

"People won't understand."

"Our kind has survived for thousands of years without others understanding."

"There's not many of us left, I wouldn't call that surviving. Mercedes and Quinn have enough to deal with."

"Before people stopped believing in their perfection, there were more like us. They could return to their roots, if they choose to do so."

Papa hugged us close.

"I want my girls to live a full life."

"By asking them to deny who they are?"

"By keeping them safe. No more flying."

"This is Leah's thinking, isn't it? She knew our kind when she married you."

"It's what we both want. They can share their gifts in different ways."

Juniper sat down on the couch.

"If they stop flying they'll forget how."

"Maybe that's best."

"Don't you see, Jack? That's how it starts."

"How what starts?" Quinn asked, she squeezed Papa's hand, her eyes fearful.

"It's time for bed. Go brush your teeth," Papa said, kissing our cheeks, "Your mother and I will be up to tuck you in."

Juniper opened her arms and we walked over to her, giving her hug and a goodnight kiss. She smelled like the storm but underneath, I caught a note of her lemon sweet heartache.

"My precious children. No matter what they do to you. Never forget you're an Edenite." She whispered.

She rarely said what we were out loud. It was like revealing our secret. But there was power in claiming our identities.

"Edenites," Quinn and I said in unison, "We never suffered Adam's fall."

Juniper smiled.

"Born of perfection and self-love."

"They're a part of Leah, too," Papa said, "Her blood is in their veins."

"Weak blood," Juniper said, "She's too much of the ordinary world to understand."

"Never call Leah weak. She's strong and beautiful. That's why I married her. Don't be prejudiced."

Juniper released us from her embrace and gaped at Papa.

"Really, Jack, this has nothing to do with prejudice. I love Leah too, but she's making you believe the girls should sacrifice themselves to be empty like so many in this world."

Papa looked at us.

"Go upstairs," he said.

Quinn and I left the parlor, quietly climbing the stairs, listening to the argument erupting behind us. After we brushed our teeth. We went to our room and snuggled together on my twin bed. It was hard for us to sleep apart.

"Mama isn't weak," I said.

Quinn nodded.

"I know."

"Let's give her the lightning crystals."

"Ok."

Our bedroom door creaked open and Mama and Papa walked in. They kneeled beside my bed and kissed our foreheads.

"I'm not ashamed of you," Mama said, "No matter what Juniper says. But I know the world we live in, and I want to keep you safe."

Papa put his arm around Mama.

"At the end of the summer, we're moving to Canada. I got a job up there."

"I don't want to leave Juniper," I said, sitting up in the bed, "She'll be lonely without us. And I'm tired of moving."

"Think of all the new people you'll meet," Mama said as she stroked my cheek. "A new beginning."

Quinn and I looked at each other in the blue darkness, reading each other's minds. A new beginning to be outcasts once again, trying to conform to normal behavior. Papa heard our thoughts.

"Shush, girls. It' won't be like that."

Mama grew frustrated.

"Don't shut me out."

She hated it when we used our telepathy since she didn't have our powers and couldn't be persuaded that the power was within her too. She and Papa sat on the foot of the bed.

"Leah, calm down. The girls are scared about bullies."

"Then speak out loud."

"Sorry, Mama," Quinn said, "We love you. We don't mean to do it."

"No, I'm sorry I snapped, but you have to tell me how you feel."

Mama and Papa stayed in our room for a long time listening to Quinn and I talk about our fears until our eyelids drooped and yawns escaped us.

"Go to sleep," Mama whispered and sang us a lullaby. Her voice carried us away from our fears much like flying did. Juniper said since we didn't suffer Adam's fall, we experienced the world the way humans were supposed to – attuned to all the senses around us, without barriers or self-doubt. We never believed we couldn't do something. We flew before we could walk.

ooo

Sam stood at the entrance of Fairy Park holding two bouquets of red roses. Quinn twisted her mouth in disgust.

"He thinks this is a date."

I stayed silent. I had no idea what Sam thought and I wasn't in the mood to quarrel with Quinn; she had been on edge ever since the Kat incident. Sam smiled and waved. He walked over to us and thrust the flowers into our hands.

"I hope you like them."

Quinn was careful not to touch his hands, and slowly took the roses, rolling her eyes, and not hiding her annoyance at the gesture. I thought it was nice thing to do and smiled back at him. His eyes looked greener than before. I supposed it was the green down coat he wore.

"Thank you, Sam," I said, inhaling their scent, and above the rose's usual floral aroma, I smelled Sam's anticipation tinged with anxiety, it was like burning leaves and fresh earth and then a note of cherry sweetness. I reached for his hand and squeezed it, feeling the calluses on his fingertips; his scent changed to popcorn and I felt a light, giddy, first date kiss feeling but then it went away. I had no time to form pictures and put it altogether. Sam held my hand for a second longer.

"You're welcome."

"We eat them," I said, without thinking.

"Huh?"

Quinn finally decided to join the conversation instead of scowling at us like we were unwelcome visitors in her home.

"She means we make candied rose petals. Have you ever had them?"

"Um, no, I can't say that I have."

"Let's go," I said, "I want to see the new sculptures."

Fairy Park was known for its ice and snow sculptures during the wintertime. This year the theme was Alice in Wonderland and the local artists went all out, even creating a sculpture of Alice's house that you could walk around in. Once we passed through the entranceway, I was happy to see that it wasn't crowded and Quinn could have some breathing room. As infuriating as she could be, I loved my sister and always worried whenever she got too overwhelmed, just like she worried about me whenever anyone threatened me; we protected each other.

Sam offered us his arms like a hero in a Regency romance novel.

"Ladies," he said, waiting for us to link our arms through his.

"Too much contact," Quinn said, "And this isn't a date."

"Never said it was," Sam said, then he looked over at me, the sunlight shining in his eyes, making them bright like emeralds.

"Well, Mercedes?"

I linked my arm through his, much to Quinn's disgust, and we continued on our journey through the park. The ice sculptures were gorgeous, especially the one of the caterpillar, sitting atop of the mushroom smoking a hookah. I touched the mushroom, my fingers tingled against the sparkling cold ice; Sam stood close beside me and covered his gloved hand over my bare one, squeezing gently.

"Come on," he said, slipping his hand into mine.

We kept walking with Quinn who trailed a little behind us. With her talent, she could put these artists to shame. Nobody could sculpt like my sister. As we were about to enter the Queen's castle, made of ice and snow, a young Asian man, in a black wool coat, came running over to Quinn.

"Quinn, he said, waving at her, "I didn't think you were coming."

He touched her arm for a second before pulling away. My sister didn't recoil at his touch, but she was tense. I held out my hand.

"Hi, I'm Mercedes, Quinn's sister."

"Oh, so you're Mercedes? I'm Mike Chang."

"He owns the glass studio I use downtown," Quinn said, staring at Mike for a moment, "He's a sculptor too."

"And this is our friend Sam Evans, I said.

The two men shook hands. Mike looked at the bouquets of roses me and Quinn were holding and gazed at Sam a little too long before releasing his hand. I smelled Mike's scent, it reminded me of a high school locker room, cement and chlorinated water; I felt his jealousy. He touched Quinn again, a brief, fleeting stroke on her elbow, and again, instead of backing away, she stayed put.

"We're going into the castle, care to join us?" Sam asked Mike.

Mike shrugged.

"Sure, why not?"

Sam smiled and led me inside the snow castle. Quinn walked in front of Mike and followed us inside. The castle had cathedral ceilings and tall ice columns were lined up on each side of the long hallway. An ice chandelier hung from the ceiling in the entryway of the first room at the end of the hall. Inside the room there was long dining room table and characters from Alice in Wonderland were seated around it: the Mad Hatter sipped a cup of tea, Alice had a plate of cookies in front of her and the Rabbit ate a bowl of soup. The detail was so meticulous and intricate that I thought the ice figures would get up and ask us to join them.

The bluish glow inside the castle reminded me of the blue mist storm cloud we played in when were little girls, my hands ran along the freezing walls of the castle, as memories flooded through me. Somehow Sam and I lost Quinn and Mike and ended up in a small room that looked like a library with shelves filled with blocks of ice carved into books. An oval shaped window was cut out of the wall, looking out into Fairy Park. I couldn't pick up on Sam's scent inside the castle for some reason. We sat down on a bench carved out of snow that was in front of the window and stared at the people walking past the castle. Neither one of us spoke until Sam's stomach rumbled.

"Sorry," he said, his cheeks turning pink, "I didn't have breakfast.

I stood up, pulling him along with me.

"Let's find Mike and Quinn and get something to eat."

"Mercedes?"

"Yes?"

He hesitated and looked down.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

He glanced at me, and looked away, avoiding my gaze, before stepping closer, and touching my cheek. I knew Quinn would find us, our bond tethered us together, she would find us in this room with Sam leaning into me. Quinn would find us and… oh, I didn't care if she found us or not. Sam's pull was too great. He ran his hands through my dreadlocks, then he touched the outer shell of my ear. I shivered. I felt Quinn close by and I knew this would anger her. She was right. Sam's energy was like a hurricane. I felt my back press against the ice wall. He put his hand beneath my chin, raising my head, I looked up at him, and damn those green eyes ripped through me. I dropped my roses and put my arms around him. I knew that look before a kiss comes. Every woman who's ever been in love, or even like, knows that look, the kiss was short, sweet, tentative, like fumbling in the dark trying to find the light. When I opened my eyes, Sam backed away from me, his body trembling.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to –"

I wouldn't let him lie to me. He meant to kiss me. Just like he meant for us to be alone in this room.

"You meant it."

He nodded.

"Yeah. I did."

I looked over and saw Quinn standing in the doorway, her eyes were sad, then a flicker of anger flashed in them. It was the beginning of something she couldn't stop. I was about to say something to her when Mike appeared.

"Quinn and I are going to see the Lewis Carroll sculpture at the south end of the park, did you want to come?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but Sam interrupted me.

"Actually, we're going to get something to eat. Meet us across the street at the Glass Kitchen when you're done."

Mike smiled and he looked relieved. I thought he was handsome in a quiet way, with his warm brown eyes and gentle smile; he was the man you noticed after everyone left the party, the guy picking up the confetti. He had a way with my sister that puzzled me, it was almost as if he could speak the language of feral animals and gently tame her. He touched her coat sleeve.

"Come on, Quinn."

Quinn glanced at him but didn't respond. Instead she said to me:

"I think you should come with us first. Then we can all go together."

"Well, I'm really hungry, and I don't feel like walking to the south end," I said, feeling like an asshole, knowing my decision to go with Sam would feed her irrational anger even more. I was walking into the fire once again, and though we protected each other, she couldn't stop me, I was already shifting away. Her blue eyes grew dark. She walked over to me and whispered in my ear.

"Remember who you are and what we suffered."

I nodded. I knew she wanted to say something else because Quinn Latoya was never one to mince words, but now she only shook her head and walked out of the room with Mike behind her.

ooo

As we walked through the park, Sam said to me:

"Is being you like standing at a perfume counter? I mean that's how I picture it."

"What?"

"Sorry, I mean that, you smell all these different scents and everything."

"I don't know how to describe it. I guess it's sort of like that. Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

Sam chuckled and closed his eyes.

"I never thought you were the bossy type."

I bit my lip, trying to stop the tingle I felt in my stomach when he laughed.

"What do you smell?"

"Cigarette smoke."

"You need to quit."

"Whatever."

"I quit," I said, feeling a bit smug.

"Are you going to lecture me about lung cancer?"

"What else do you smell?"

"Meatloaf"

I squeezed his hand.

"We're close to the Glass Kitchen. Keep going."

"Pine cones."

"Anything else?"

A pretty, blonde woman holding a baby bundled up in a bright orange coat, bumped into us. She quickly apologized and moved along. Sam was quiet for a long time.

"Sam?"

"I smell baby powder."

"Are you ok?"

Sam opened his eyes and stared at the ground. I moved us off the sidewalk so people could pass by.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Sam –"

"Isabel always smelled like baby powder."

There was nothing I could say, so I hugged him. We held each other tight. I smelled his grief, gray wet stones and mud. After a while, he pulled away from me and we walked in silence. When we got to the Glass Kitchen, Sam opened the door for me, and made a sweeping, Sir Walter Raleigh gesture with his arms, directing me to go before him. Papa always said that no matter what century it was or how far women had come, a man wasn't a man unless he held a door open for his lady. I suddenly wondered what Papa would make of Sam.

The restaurant was half empty. A tired looking waitress with teased blue hair and varicose veins gave us two plastic menus and put us in the booth in the corner, leaving two glasses of water on the table. According to the locals, the Glass Kitchen has been around since 1955, and in all those years, the restaurant never updated its look. It had the same black and white tiled floors and red leather booths that it did the first year it opened. In the middle of the restaurant was the kitchen surrounded by a glass wall, so the customers could watch the cooks prepare the food. Most of the waitresses were past retirement age. Sam stared at the menu while I looked out the window, wondering what was going on with Quinn and Mike. Part of me wanted to release the mind block and send her a message. I knew she was angry with me. Did Mike know about her gift?

"Mercedes?"

I snapped out of my thoughts and looked at Sam. He smiled at me.

"What are you ordering?"

"Oh," I said and scanned the menu, "I'm getting the broiled Salisbury steak with onions."

Sam nodded.

"I'm going with the meatloaf stack with mashed potatoes."

"Are we old-fashioned or what?"

Sam took a sip of water.

"How so?"

"Most people our age wouldn't be eating in a place where the staff remembers the day Kennedy got shot."

Sam rolled his eyes and laughed.

"Point taken. But I like the food here. I sometimes come here to write. It's quiet."

The waitress came over and took our orders. After she left, Sam reached across the table and took my hand.

"Your hand is cold," he said.

"I hate wearing gloves."

He took my hands and sandwiched them between his own, slowly warming them up, the scent of burning wood wafted off of him. I felt his childhood memory of safety and calm mixed in with the thrill of first kisses and teenage angst.

"Kissing in front of the fireplace." I said.

Sam squeezed my hands.

"I can't hide anything from you, can I?"

"No."

He studied my face.

"You couldn't smell me in the castle."

"How did you know?"

"I sensed it."

"Is that why you –"

Suddenly, the waitress appeared with our food. The strong aroma of broiled meat and potatoes filled my nostrils. I was starving. Sam was about to bow his head and say grace, when he looked up.

"Oh, I'm sorry, it's just a habit of mine."

"It's fine, go ahead."

He smiled and said a brief prayer.

I felt Quinn close by. Her energy was scattered and anxious. I blinked twice releasing the mind block and sure enough, she spoke to me:

He knows.

Who knows? What are you talking about?

Sam knows something. I feel it.

I looked at Sam who tore into his meatloaf like it was his last meal before execution; his blonde hair fell into his eyes as he leaned over his plate. So unassuming, so ordinary… what could he possibly know?

Quinn, you're not the only one who feels things.

Cedes, listen to me. Your emotions drown everything out. Focus your energy, then you will see –

I don't need to see anything.

Why did you remove the block?

I wanted to check on you. Is Mike still with you?

No

Why?

I'll see you at home.

Sam snapped his fingers.

"Earth to Mercedes."

I blinked and looked away from the window.

"I'm sorry. I just zoned out."

"I didn't think I was that boring," he said, trying to joke with me, "Are you sure you're ok? Your food is getting cold."

"I'm fine. Just a lot on my mind."

"Is it about Quinn and Mike? Why don't you call her cell?"

"She's on her way home. They won't be meeting us."

"How do you know that?"

God, I had to be an idiot. How would Sam know I just spoke with Quinn telepathically?

"She's not good around guys," I said, "I figure she just went home. You know how female intuition is."

He didn't look convinced. Only confused. I began eating my Salisbury steak.

"This is good."

Sam smiled and patted my hand before picking up his fork again. After our meal, we had coconut cream pie for desert. Not much was said as we savored each bite of the sweet and decadent pie, but it was nice to be near Sam. It had been such a long time that I had that feeling of connection without being guarded. I almost felt sad when the check came. Sam insisted on paying. Even as I opened my wallet and offered to leave the tip, he shook his head.

"Put your money away."

Papa would love Sam. Mama would think he needed a haircut. I put my wallet back into my purse.

"Thanks, Sam."

He paid the check and we were about to leave when an older woman came up to the table. She wore a green sweater and long black skirt, her brown hair was streaked with gray and hung down her back in soft waves; and she had crow's feet around her clear gray eyes. She was probably pretty in another life.

"Excuse me," she said to Sam, "I'm sorry to intrude, but are you Sam Evans?"

He looked up at the woman.

"Do I know you?"

"You look better in person," she said, holding up a tattered, first edition copy of his novel Innocence Broken, she turned it around, pointing to his photo on the back, "I've read all your books. But this one is my favorite."

He blushed.

"Thank you."

"Could you sign it?"

"Sure."

She handed him the book along with a red Mont Blanc fountain pen. Sam stared at the pen.

"This is just like –"

"Melody's?"

"Yes."

"That's why I bought it. She's my favorite character."

"Oh, so, what's your name?" Sam asked.

"Mary-Margaret," she said, smiling a bit, "Straight from Irish-Catholic stock."

Sam signed the book and handed it back to her.

"Why is Melody your favorite character?"

She touched Sam's signature. Her fingers glided across the slanted script. I caught her scent – it was like burning rocks. I imagined her standing in front of a fire, her skin free of wrinkles, somebody touched her, who touched her… the burning rocks changed to autumn leaves. And then a man's scent came too. Irish spring soap, kerosene, tobacco, faint smell of old books, pages yellowed with age, ink smeared on his fingers. Smell of charred metal, something gold burning in a fire.

Mary-Margaret held the book to her chest.

"You don't know if she's good or bad and at the end you still don't know. The doubt draws me in."

"You doubt love," I said to Mary-Margaret, who looked at me as if I had appeared out of nowhere.

"What are you talking about?"

"You doubted the man who sat with you near a fire in the woods."

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. I didn't know what possessed me to tell her what I knew. I usually kept things to myself, ignoring the scents of everyone's emotions and stories.

Mary-Margaret shoved the book into her purse, avoiding my eyes. Her hand trembled as she zipped up her purse. Again, on impulse, I reached out to her and placed my hand on top of hers. The subtle tremors ceased but she wouldn't look at me.

"How did you know that?"

"I can't explain it."

She nodded and raised her head to meet my gaze. It was then that I felt there was something familiar about this woman. I couldn't place it. It was her eyes. The way she looked at me in that moment…

"I can spot charlatans."

"I wasn't trying to –"

She held up her hand.

"It's strange for someone to see me. He was the last one that did."

"Something metal burned in the fire," I said.

"It was the ring he gave me. But you would've figured that out eventually, with this thing you can't explain, am I right?"

Her voice changed, I knew that voice, a haughty New-England accent broke through and now it was more alto, lower register, and full of authority. She was pretending, why was she pretending? I concentrated, closing my eyes, and I smelled the blue mist from thunder storm clouds. I opened my eyes and said:

"I have to use the bathroom."

"Are you feeling alrigt?" Mary-Margaret asked me.

"Yes."

"Hmm, well I'm coming with you just in case."

"You don't look good, Mercedes," Sam said.

I rose from the table.

"I'll be right back."

Mary-Margaret followed me to the rest room. Once we were inside, I said:

"What are you doing here, Juniper?"

The woman before me changed into my Grandmother, her face and body morphing into their original form in a few seconds.

"Quinn contacted me."

"I hate it when you trick us."

"If you weren't so stubborn I wouldn't have to resort to trickery. Besides, I wanted to see for myself."

"See what?"

"How you're not controlling your impulses, and letting people see your gifts after all that happened. Quinn said you've been slipping lately. But that's not the only reason I'm here. Sam is charming and handsome, not to mention quite smitten with you, but you need to stay away from him."

I thought of the kiss in the castle and how his hand felt in mine. I couldn't pretend those feelings didn't exist.

"I make my own choices."

Juniper chuckled and touched my cheek.

"You children always think you know best. I see that lovesick shine in your eyes," she said, "I know it feels good now, but trust me things change."

"Why aren't you worried about Quinn and Mike?"

Juniper leaned against the sink.

"Quinn won't ever let him get that close," Juniper's blue eyes grew misty, and rainbows flashed across her pupils, the way they always did before she cried, "I never want you to hurt yourself again."

"I promised I wouldn't. Do you want me to never love again? Live my life alone, with no husband or family?"

"You know that I want you both to marry and have children. Give birth to our kind. But Sam is too damaged with grief and an ex-wife on top of that. Besides he knows about your past."

I nodded.

"Quinn told me."

"And?"

"And I don't see how it matters. It hasn't stopped him. He came here today didn't he? Whoever I end up with will have to deal with our past and who we are."

Juniper put her arm around me.

"You saw what happened with Anthony."

"Yes and Anthony isn't every man."

"It's not just enough to accept you as an Edenite. They need to become one too."

"Mama never did and Papa loves her just the same."

"Things are different now. There are even less of us than ever before. People don't believe any more."

I didn't want the Edenites to die out any more than Juniper did. I wanted us to flourish. But not everyone was ready to possess their own power and gifts. They would rather believe in their limitations instead of their possibilities. Their minds were filled with fear, doubt, and insecurities. No room for believing beyond the physical into a limitless realm. But I wanted a family and I deserved that just as much as anyone else. Juniper lifted my chin with her soft, withered hand.

"I know what you desire. I hear your thoughts and feel your emotions. You and Quinn tried to do good work at one time and it cost you. Oh, and I don't blame you for helping that young girl in your shop. She would've killed herself, if you had not showed her the power within."

"Everyone is an Edenite if they choose to believe in their own power. That's what you always said anyway," I said.

She smiled and hugged me.

"You're right. And despite what Quinn thinks or feels, I think helping people is good, and you should continue, but be more discreet."

"You mean underground?"

She nodded.

"Yes, underground. No more telling random strangers about themselves. Get to know them first. Build a network quietly. Stick to adults."

"I will."

She pulled away to look down at me and kissed my forehead. I smiled at the love she sent through her touch.

"What about Sam?"

"His feelings for you are real. I just want someone stronger for you."

"Sam is nothing but strength which is why I'm drawn to him."

"That remains to be seen," she said, stroking my hair.

"Who were you before?" I asked.

"An old friend."

"Is she a life force now?"

"Yes. Most of them are."

I hugged Juniper close.

"I have to go."

She kissed the top of my head.

"You see the world from a distance rather than close up."

"Whether I see our world from afar or close enough to touch. I love it all the same. I won't hide in a shell."

"Ah, and now I hear your father's voice."

"I should go," I said again, giving her a peck on the cheek, "Sam is probably worried."

He eyes were sad.

"Be careful," she said and then she vanished.

ooo

Sam stood up as I approached the table.

"Mercedes, are you ok? You were gone so long that I almost went back there.

"I'm fine. Just an upset stomach."

He nodded toward the restroom.

"Where's Mary-Margaret?"

"She left through the back exit."

Sam narrowed his eyes.

"There's a back exit?"

Instead of answering him, I said:

"I need to get home."

"Ok, I'll walk you to your car."

"Thanks."

We left the restaurant and headed for the parking lot across the street. Sam grabbed my hand.

"Have you ever read my books?"

"I'm not much of a reader."

"Oh."

"But Quinn is."

Sam stopped walking and turned to face me.

"She thinks I'm going to hurt you."

"Among other things."

"What do you think?"

"I don't know."

When we got to the parking lot, Sam acted as if he didn't want to let go of my hand and I wasn't sure I wanted him to. I smelled dark earth and warm sunshine, green grass, and a note of wildflowers, I pictured a park or field, and then the scent of a woman's perfume crept in, I got a rush of his emotions, was it his ex-wife he was thinking of? Quinn tried to reach me again. I kept the mind block in place. This was mine. Whatever the hell this was, it was mine. Sam squeezed my hands and kissed my cheeks, his lips were soft and dry.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said.

"Tomorrow?"

He smiled at me, touching my face.

"Yeah, I'll pick you up at 8."

"I never said I would see you again."

"You didn't have to."

"What if I had plans?"

"You would've cancelled them."

"Arrogant, much?"

He kissed me on the lips.

"Definitely."

It began to snow. I looked up at the sky and remembered flying with Quinn and Juniper, snow storms were even better than thunder storms - so much beauty in the frozen crystals. I brushed a few flakes from Sam's blonde hair and he laughed. He was right. I would've cancelled my plans.

ooo

SAM

When I got home I read the information that Artie sent me again.

Port Deposit Dispatch August 16, 2012

The Ramsom Cliff Deaths Linked to Cult

"They come to our town, changing things, thinking they're better than us. Our children were fine before they came, talking crazy ideas," Mrs. June Ottley, the grandmother of the victim Natalie Duprey said. "My granddaughter believed in the Almighty God, never in trouble, then she said she could fly, could make crystals from tears."

Such are the words of many residents of Port Deposit, who are shocked by the deaths of four local teenagers: Natalie Duprey, Jane Sumner, Joe Frank, and Daniel Polnachek. At the center of this tragedy are Mercedes and Quinn Fabray, 25, though not formally charged, the parents of the victims have accused the sisters of allegedly starting a cult in their shop that lured in young people into believing New Age type ideas that led to their death.

The teenagers said they were learning about self-love and inner strength, finding the power within. The Fabray sisters, apparently held the secret to human perfection, according to the friends of the deceased teens.

Melanie Peters, 15, who was Natalie Duprey's best friend, is quoted as saying: "Natalie would go on about how, like, a million years ago, all humans didn't get cursed with like Adam's fall, something about the Garden of Eden. I thought she was on molly. Those sisters should burn in hell. They didn't push her off the cliff but they made her believe in bull shit, like flying and healing yourself."

Little is known about the Fabray sisters except that they own a perfume shop and are biological twins and not adopted sisters as many have thought. Many residents were shocked that the Fabrays would be involved in a cult.

"They're nice girls. Always pay rent on time," said Mr. Ralph Peters, 49, who is their landlord, "I don't listen to all this gossip. I have better things to do."

Some residents blame the teenagers for their deaths and not the Fabrays.

"Folks look for someone to blame. Nobody made those kids jump. They did that themselves, said Mr. John Styles,33, owner of the furniture store next door to the Fabray Perfume Shop, "Kids do crazy things."

On the night they died, the four teens met at Ramson Cliff, with the intent to try to fly. Other teens joined to see what would happen.

"We thought it was a joke, but they just jumped, I don't know. It happened so fast," a young girl said, who wished to remain anonymous, "I guess they believed in lies."

Others believed that the perfume made at the Fabray Perfume Shop contained illegal substances such as hallucinogens. The Port Deposit Police were unable to comment on the investigation but they assured the town that justice would prevail.

"We are working diligently to find answers," said Police Chief, Dan Hopkins, 45, "We are unable to comment further.

Meanwhile, the Fabray sisters have hired an attorney and closed the shop indefinitely. Both sisters refused to comment on the deaths or the pending investigation.

Cecil Whig December 25, 2010

Parents Charged with Infant's Death

Ameila Jayne Hill, the infant daughter of Elizabeth Hill 18, and her boyfriend Lance Smith 20, died in their home on Christmas morning. The baby was having trouble breathing and her parents refused to call 911 or go to the hospital. Instead they believed they could heal the baby themselves because of the teachings of a secret cult that has recently swept through Elkton and targets young people. The locals claim that the founders of this alleged cult are Mercedes and Quinn Fabray who run a bakery downtown on Booth Street. Amelia's great aunt, Patty Hill, said her niece is innocent and that her boyfriend lured her into the cult.

"They were always hanging out at that bakery with those strange women. Talking about flying and healing and other nonsense. I tried to get Elizabeth to stay away from that stuff but she loved Lance, and he sucked her into it."

The parents have been charged with involuntary manslaughter and are currently being held without bail. According to recent studies conducted by Pew Research Center, approximately a dozen children die each year in the United States when parents use faith healing instead seeking medical treatment for common ailments.

The Fabray sisters are under police investigation. Neither sister could be reached for comment. Many of the young people in Elkton would gather at the Fabray Bakery after school for meetings.

Nancy James, 17, a friend to the Fabray sisters offers insight, "It's not a cult or anything weird. They just care about kids. I got my self-esteem back because of them. I don't know what happened with Elizabeth, but I'm hoping everything will work out for her and I'm sorry that Amelia has passed on."

Little is known about the teachings of the Fabrays. Most of their "followers" are saying nothing to the media.

A funeral for Amelia Hill will be held this Thursday at Crouch Funeral Home.

Elizabeth's grandfather parted with these final words:

"I hope those women get what's coming to them. May that baby rest in peace."

ooo

All the stories had the same details, and while I couldn't deny that this was some crazy shit - I knew that Mercedes and Quinn Fabray were not cult leaders sending teenagers to their deaths. Whatever their beliefs were, whatever people thought of them, I only felt they wanted to do good and change lives. As many haters that they had; they had twice as many supporters, and they were never convicted of anything; I saw what Mercedes could do first hand and even Quinn to a lesser extent. I saw their magic and beauty, felt their energy in my veins. And of course, once I kissed Mercedes in the ice castle, all was lost.

ooo

A LITTLE HELP FROM MY FRIENDS

Artie called it whipped insanity.

"What if she has you jumping off a cliff," he asked one evening when he happened to pop up on my doorstep, with a six pack of Budweiser, some reefer, and a couple of sci-fi seventies movies. After a couple of beers and devouring half a tuna sub he found in my fridge, Artie hoisted himself from his wheelchair and settled on the couch with his bong.

"You see it's like this –"

"I've made up my mind," I said as I tried to decide between The Omega Man and Silent Running.

He took a hit and handed the bong to me.

"You're thinking with the wrong head."

"Do you want to watch Omega Man?"

Artie laughed and gazed up at the ceiling.

"Omega, what?"

"It never takes much to get you going, does it?"

He closed his eyes.

"I guess not," he pointed to the bong, "Well?"

I set the bong on the table and put the movie in the DVD player.

"Not my thing, you know that."

"I can't let you waste yourself."

"You're getting high like you're in Eric Forman's basement and I'm the one wasting myself."

"I love you Sam."

"Oh, Jesus."

"Him too."

"Artie –"

"No, listen. You're like my only friend besides Brittany and she's limited."

I opened up a beer and took a drink.

"That's sweet."

Artie made a face as if he tasted something sour, and scrunched up his lips.

"I wasn't going for sweet. Look they're crazy and dangerous. Stay away from them."

"They were never convicted of a crime."

"That doesn't mean they haven't committed one, just that they got away with it."

"You've never been around them."

He coughed through the haze of chemical smoke.

"I don't need to be around them. And neither do you."

"You gave me the information. I read it and made my decision. Nothing else needs to be said."

Artie stared at me. His brown eyes were glazed over in Mary Jane bliss.

"I can't force you to do anything, but I'm asking you to think twice before seeing that Mercedes chick again."

I turned down the volume as the opening credits to the movie began.

"Don't call her 'that Mercedes chick' she's a person."

"Hey, dude, I never said – "

"You didn't have to."

"Sorry."

"Let's just watch the movie."

We sat in an angry silence until Artie said:

"A baby died. Think about it."

I had thought about it. I also thought about Isabel. What if it had been her, but for some reason, I knew there was more to the story. There was too much good in Mercedes to think she would have a hand in something so heinous. Maybe it was how she reached me like no one else ever had. Maybe it was whipped insanity as Artie so eloquently put it long after the movie was over and we sat in the dark living room trying to keep our friendship and my senses in tact. Artie meant well. And I loved him too. But he couldn't rule my heart. Only I had that power. He smoked most of the weed and fell asleep. I covered him up with a blanket and went upstairs to my room. I turned on my laptop and I worked on my novel until the golden sunrise filled my bedroom. I heard Artie downstairs talking to Brittany on the phone. I smelled coffee brewing. I didn't bother re-reading my new chapters; I was down the rabbit hole with Alice, I had no idea where any of this was going, and I didn't care.

END NOTES: Thanks for reading!