The emotion overload has calmed down considerably, leaving in its wake an eerie normalcy. I’ve eaten breakfast, exceeded my daily run quota, and given blood. Day goals done and dusted.

Closing my eyes, I practice my Sense Sight. It allows me to use people’s emotions as a navigational tool. Declan and Kiley are presenting their newest show set, so I see them first. Barry and Tally are MIA. Technically, they aren’t missing. They’re where they usually are. Tally’s bedroom. Ryan and Mel are playing Chess. Seems they’ve reached a stalemate. Mom and Dad are sitting on a loveseat facing the water. Also a stalemate. Derry’s on the opposite end of the couch I’m sitting on, nodding off. He’s exhausted but afraid to miss anything. I’m trying my best to avoid eye contact with him. Everyone’s accounted for, minus Brody. He’s at the cabin sleeping. Good. He needs to rest. Their authenticated safety warms my tinder heart. Again, a grease fire scent accosts my nostrils. I sniff aggressively. “Do you smell that?”

Declan stops playing, and Kiley steps closer. “What’s wrong?”

Derry sits up straighter. “What’s going on?”

A new smell replaces the first. Electrical fire. I blow out through my nose to divert the stench. “Burning,” I announce.

“What’s burning?” Kiley asks, confused. The smell intensifies.

“Wires burning, like something electrical short-circuited.”

“I don’t smell anything,” Derry states impassively.

Declan draws a big whiff. “Same.”

“Me either,” Kiley confirms.

“It’s gone now.”

“Has this ever happened before?” Derry leans toward me. I lean back.

“Right before the electrical fire, I smelled a grease fire.”

Declan finger-drums his thighs. “What were you doing when you smelled it?”

“She had a smug smile on her face,” Derry mutters.

I glower at him. “Not smug. Content. I was thinking how nice it is knowing everyone’s safe.”

“Is it the first time you’ve smelled that?” Kiley redirects.

I frown. “Electrical fire, yes. Grease fire, no.”

Declan whistles low. “When was the first for grease fire?”

I sigh. “This morning.”

Derry frowns, too. Great, now we’re frown twins.

“Are you as overwhelmed as you were before?” Ryan’s checking my temperature, connecting dots. “You seem more at ease.”

“I am more at ease. I’m no longer holding in the emotions, so they aren’t lingering. Neither are the smells.” Keeping everything out was becoming more and more difficult, but it seems the feelings I’m currently processing aren’t all jamming together, clogging up my grates. My decision to end the romantic side of things with Derry has sorted my emotional constipation.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“You’re undergoing a lot of changes,” Ryan reminds me. “This is just your body’s way of organizing the emotions you’re experiencing.”

“Emotion by smell association. Not a fan.”

He smiles warmly, and his assumption is validated when a pleasant scent permeates the air like a warm fireplace crackling in a family room. This time, it comes from where he’s standing. At least they aren’t all terrible. “Comfort equals fireplace,” I declare.

“Why now?” Derry remarks.

“She threw a tantrum last night, rivaling even mine.” Tally excels at grand entrances. “Careful, Flamerina. You’ve leveled up.”

Tally’s probably right. The blaze bullet I dodged last night is a reasonable catalyst for my new ability. My logical brain is rearranging things to be cataloged and digested. Still not a fan. I prefer the floral spices.

Shop talk never interests Barry, so he changes the subject. “Fajitas?”

“Only if you make them hot.”

“I’ll make them so hot you’ll seem Arctic!” he muses.

“I’ll help,” Derry offers.

“I won’t,” Tally notes, plopping down beside me on the couch. “Miss me, Supernova?”

I roll my eyes.

“Of course you did.” She flips her hair over her shoulders. “I mean, just look at me. What’s not to miss?”

I scoff.

“Take a big snuffle of me, and tell me what you smell,” she encourages.

“No!”

“Chicken.”

“Fajitas,” I deadpan.

She points to Mom and Dad. “What’s up with them?”

I shrug. “Enjoying the show.”

“I was thinking—”

“Hah!” I bark. “That’s why I smelled something burning.”

She shakes her head, unamused. “Call me crazy, but what if we put Brody to good use?”

I tip my head closer. “I’m listening.”

“Electro-shock therapy.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Crazy like a foxy lady,” she counters.

Her idea actually has merit. What harm could it do? Maybe it’s just the jolt Mom needs to rejoin reality. Slightly problematic on the Brody control side. Getting him to the point where his electrical surges are contained will take some work. Major bright side: Tally’s idea gives me something I desperately need. A new goal.

“The crowds will not rejoice,” I caution.

They’ll be downright against the whole notion if for no other reason than Tally instigated. She isn’t known for her thoughtfulness. Kind of what I like most about her, to be honest. She brings balance.

“Let me deal with them.” Her lashes flutter. “Reigning Drama Queen Supreme. Your little stunt last night cost me serious ratings. Just get your baby seal buddy here. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“He’s sleeping.”

“So?”

I lift a brow. “You want to be the one to wake him up?”

She balks. “Better not.”

“Hey, Tally?”

Her eyes narrow in warning, wary of what sauce is shooting out of my mouth next. Could be any flavor, really. Salt. Jalapeño. Sugar. “Yeah?”

“Good looking out.”

“Shut your trash mouth,” she chastises. “You’ll be the death of my reputation. No clue why I tolerate you.”

I smile brightly. “Because you love me.”

She pats me on the head. “You’re not well.”

“Obviously.”

“So, fireplace? What’s up with that?”

“I prefer it to the grease and electrical fire.”

She huffs. “If fireplace is comfort, what’s electrical fire?”

I smell it again, this time from her, and it clicks. “Confusion. Contemplation.”

“Grease fire?” she challenges.

I rub circles on my pants. “Regret.”

“Story there?”

I shrug.

Her eyes are giant saucers. “I wonder what everything else smells like.”

“I’m not eager to figure it out.”

“You always did have a thing with your nose.” She crinkles hers. “Guess that’s what you get for sticking it in everyone’s business.”

I glower at her, and she grins. “Can you smell yourself?!”

I take a hard sniff. Apparently, I can.

“What was it?” she chirps excitedly.

“Hot garbage,” I mumble.

“Let’s play this all day!” she suggests. “Hot garbage is annoyed or angry. Which were you? Annoyed or angry? Your face is the same for both. I can’t tell.”

“Let’s not play this all day.”

“Only you can prevent forest fires,” she repeats in her best Smokey Bear voice. “Definitely annoyed. Hot garbage equals annoyed.”

“I hate you.”

Smell-o-vision is Tally’s new favorite game. After sufficiently annoying me—she isn’t really happy until she succeeds in that—we settle in and wait for Kiley and Declan to resume the show. Mmm. Fireplace. I like it.