Seizure(40)

Then my ears detected trouble.

Voices. Close by.

Ashley, Courtney, and Madison. The Tripod of Skank was coming my way.

FRICK!

A fourth voice joined the babble.

“You girls are angels for stuffing all those envelopes.” Adult. Tenor. “Our mailings are vital to keeping the soup kitchens running.”

“No,” Madison cooed, “thank you, Pastor Carroll. It’s an honor to assist with your selfless efforts. If only we could focus on the Lord’s work every day.”

“Amen!” Ashley gushed. “Praised be his name.”

“Charity is hard.” Courtney. Moron.

“God bless you!” Pride swelled Pastor Carroll’s voice. “Enjoy the sweet tea and shade in the courtyard.”

Double frick! Incoming.

A set of footsteps receded. Safely alone, the Tripod abandoned their pretenses.

“Thought he’d never leave,” Madison said. “I’m sick of wasting my mornings in crappy churches. I should be sleeping right now.”

“These hands weren’t made for office work,” Ashley griped. “My manicure is ruined. I should send the bill to Pastor Creepy Eyes.”

“Blech!” Courtney made a dramatic gagging sound. “This tea was made with real sugar!”

“Gross.” I heard three separate splashes on the pavement.

“Why can’t my driver do these events?” Ashley whined. “He could represent me. What’s the difference?”

Expensive perfume wafted around the building’s edge. I braced for impact, flare senses humming.

They saw me at once. Triplet smiles revealed sets of perfect teeth.

“Boat girl!” Madison noticed my carefully sorted piles. “Collecting new outfits?”

“She’s stealing clothes?” Courtney, wide-eyed. “They shouldn’t let her work unsupervised.”

“Nice sunglasses, Ray Charles.” A sneer twisted Ashley’s beautiful face. “And it’s rude to mock the poor by dressing like them. Shame.”

A three-pronged attack is impossible to defend. I was about to retreat when Jason appeared, his jaw clamped in determination.

“What’s going on?” Looking hard at the Tripod. “Everyone being pleasant?”

“Just chatting.” Madison’s half smile never wavered. “Tory was explaining her trash-sorting system.”

Suddenly, my nose took in something beneath the perfume, a layer lower. An odor was seeping from Madison, acrid and biting, like the sourness of dried sweat.

Anxiety. She was nervous. Very nervous.

I searched Madison’s face, found nothing. Outwardly, she was her usual smug, condescending self. As if to mock my observation, she yawned.

But my nose was sure. Her cool was an act. Jason’s appearance had ruffled her feathers.

Curious, I tried to catch Jason’s underscent. It was brittle, like ashes mixed with hot cement. Anger.

My apprehension began to subside. Why should these tramps intimidate me? They were spoiled princesses, nothing more. I had abilities they couldn’t fathom. Could bite back just as hard.

Time to test my instincts.

“Jason?” I smiled wide. “Does your offer still stand?”

“Huh?” Jason. Blank-faced.

“Can I still get a ride home?” I added quickly. If his answer was no, I was about to look like a jackass.

I needn’t have worried.

“Yeah, of course!” Jason’s face brightened. “Maybe we can grab lunch on the way?”

“I’d love that.” I batted my eyelashes. Wasted behind the shades.

The nervous scent poured from Madison, intertwined with sour ropes of anger. Then a thorny new aroma entered the mix. Harsh. Slimy. Like crushed poison ivy mixed with mud.

Envy. Madison reeked of jealousy.

But the fa?ade never cracked. Madison cupped a hand to her mouth, whispered to Ashley, then giggled at her own wit.

Am I imagining these things? Is this how you go crazy, by thinking you can smell other people’s emotions?

I could feel my flare burning. Hidden behind dark lenses, I quickly tested my other hypersenses.

I could see a mistake in the cross-stitching of Courtney’s miniskirt, hear the tick of Jason’s wristwatch, feel grains of sand in my tennis shoes, taste molecules of grime floating from the trash bags.

Amazing. A vicious superbug might’ve mangled my chromosomes, but the side effects still blew me away.

And the powers never lied.

Trusting my instincts, I pushed forward with my ploy.

“I need to get these piles to the laundry,” I said to Jason, “but they’re way too heavy. I could use a little muscle.”

Jason straightened, masculinity at the ready. “No problem. We’ll knock this out in a flash.” He gathered a heap of pants. “Feel free to lend a hand, ladies.”

The Tripod stood frozen. Taking another deep whiff, I picked up new elements. Snow. Refrigerated orchids. Dead leaves.

Imperfect descriptions, but the emotions seemed clear.

Dismay. Disappointment.

The girls hated that Jason was helping me. Worse, he’d blown them off.

Tough luck.

Gathering a pile of sweatshirts, I moved toward the church without a backward glance. The Tripod ignored me, but the smell of disappointment cloaked them like a second skin.