Chapter 12- Fascination
H elen spent three days in Lemon’s lab mixing, tinkering, and grinding dried leaves with a mortar and pestle. She tried fresh oils, opting for a lighter apricot seed versus a grape seed oil. The jojoba oil held the fragrances much better, whereas the mineral oil was far lighter. At the current rate, she’d be dehydrated before she got the formula right or even knew if it actually worked.
Lemon, having not seen much of Helen for the past couple of days, wanted to check the progress of the greenhouse cataloging. She needed to stay on track for the training for the first month. Thus far, all the plants in the greenhouse were still alive, which weighed favorably for Helen. The second month, basic mixtures to slow down a potential threat were on the schedule. Month three would include making teas and potions to stop a heart. Curiosity led Lemon to the home lab where Helen had squirreled herself away. These were the days Dr. Myrtle had office hours on campus and was away from the farm during the workday. For three days, Helen had seemed focused on a project, slightly distracted and in her own head, a little thing which worried the person supposedly in charge of her training. Lemon located Helen in the rear of her lab and froze in her steps when she stumbled upon the odd woman.
Softly Lemon asked, “Helen, what are you doing?”
“Making a love potion, or at least I’m trying,” Helen replied, her brow crinkled in a concerted effort to add a droplet of cloudy liquid to the beaker on the counter.
Lemon pressed her lips tightly together and asked, “Okay, but why are only in your underwear?”
Helen looked back at her, “I got tired of taking off my pants to collect my nectar.”
Lemon stood immobile, staring at the woman. “By nectar... huh? Please tell me what I’m thinking isn’t what you are doing!”
Helen raised her head, looking at the woman as if she were pissed at the interruption in her scientific work. “Depends on what you’re thinking.”
Lemon’s eyebrows went up as she asked the question of which she was afraid to hear the answer. “Helen, are you pleasuring yourself to create this nectar?”
Helen scowled at her. “How else would I manufacture enough to go into my potion?”
Although Dr. Myrtle Kainker worked with students whose brains were still in development, this was a new one to her. She sighed deeply, concerned yet intrigued in the same breath. “Why in the name of Merlin’s beard are you putting coochie juice in a love potion? Or do I want to know?
Helen stared at Lemon as if the woman had asked the dumbest question in history. “Muscle memory.”
Lemon blinked several times, fascinated and terrified at the same time, “Explain please?”
“The strongest emotions tied to memory are taste and smell,” Helen said. “It’s like walking into the house after a hard day at the office and an apple pie comes out of the oven. Your brain recognizes the smell of baked apples, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Depending on whose recipe you use, there may be ginger or cardamon in the bake. Your brain equates the smell with yumminess, and you want some pie.”
Lemon walked all the way into the lab and took a seat. In her lifetime, she'd sat at tables and worked alongside some of the most brilliant minds in the world. She also considered herself blessed to be in a position to teach and train the next generation of chemists and scientists. However, never in her life had she met and worked alongside a thinker like the Cranberry.
“Putting your nectar in the formula—I assume for the man in your life—this love potion is supposed to do what, if I might ask?” Lemon said, waiting for the hilarity to roll off Helen's tongue.
“I'm going to make that sexy son of a gun want a mouthwatering slice of this pie,” Helen said, thrusting her hips forward. Lemon wasn't surprised to see the woman wearing a pair of pink cotton undies which came out of one of those packs purchased in a big box store.
Helen began to perform a suggestive wiggle about the floor, making Lemon create the sign of the cross with her fingers. She laughed as she said, “I rebuke you, Satan's little sister. What in the world is wrong with you?”
“That man knows how I smell; he also knows the taste of my pie,” she said, winking at Lemon. “My love potion is going to have the same effect on him as when you open a jar of banana peppers. His mouth is going to water.”
“Water finds its own level, Helen. Careful with that stuff,” Lemon cautioned.
“Hey, speaking of stuff, when is Mr. Bane, or the bane of your existence, coming back to get that pie? You know he wants it,” Helen offered, laughing. She also put on her pants.
Lemon was still staring at Helen, who looked so normal, sweet, and kind. Inside the conundrum of wily hair and cute little kitten covered sneakers was a woman whose brain also found its own level. The fascination with the way Helen's mind worked kept Lemon on the hook. Looking at the lab, Lemon softly said, “I am still stuck on you out here pleasuring yourself to extract bodily fluids.”
“Bodily fluids outside of the body tend to crust and harden, you know like snot or a booger,” Helen said, pouring the liquid into a glass bottle with a roll-on stopper. “If I use it in liquid form and add it to a lightweight oil, it will bind to the oils. I read that in a book you wrote that I found on the shelf over there. You're really like genius-level smart. Half of that stuff in the book, I had to bypass, because I was like, duh? So, I went with what I could comprehend. I know the simple actions of making scented body oil. I plan to roll this potion on my pulse points, then reheat it to 98.6 degrees as I move about. My man will catch the scent, go all caveman, drag me off, and wear me out. I'm looking forward to that this weekend. I miss him. I assume giving me the weekend off means similar plans for you two.”
Lemon was in her own thoughts. She wanted to speak to Helen but wasn't sure how much to divulge. Lemon didn't have many close friends to share such a conflicting detail about her life. However, she had Helen. A loud sigh left her mouth.
“Oh, spit it out,” Helen said.
“The Archangel picked him as my husband,” Lemon said.
Helen turned to look at her. “You know, I can see it.”
“You don't sound surprised.”
“Lemon, Myrtle, Dr. Kainker, come on. He is dropped in your lap by a tornado, stays ten days, the girls like him, and he's not eyeballing them like a snack he plans to sneak in to nibble on after everyone has gone to bed. He steers clear of you and his first clarification of whom he could be was a phone call to the Archangel where he told us the man says hello. Then there was Delgado bringing you what you needed for your experiments based loosely on a suggestion by Mr. Bane,” Helen said. “He speaks to the nerd in you, but he also speaks to the woman in you.”
“You know about the Delgados?”
“No, I looked him up on my handy dandy Technician laptop. You know that laptop even gave me that boy's blood type. His Daddy, the Lance man, that dude is finer that spider silk and all dangerous looking with some kissable lips,” Helen said, moving on in the conversation. “So, when's the wedding?”
“This is really blowing my mind right now,” Lemon replied. “You're so nonplussed by all of this as if you've seen it before. And Micah’s father is The Fer de Lance .”
“Because I have. More than likely, when Mr. Bane arrives, he will come with documentation of your name change,” Helen chuckled. “You get a husband and he gets the family he wants. Didn't that Delgado kid say the same thing?”
“Seems like everybody knows what's best for me, but me,” Lemon stated, looking at her feet.
Helen had spent too many years nursing her cousin Cherry's fragile inner child. The last thing she needed was to spend the next two months being the crying shoulder for a woman who played with snake venom. Evidently the Archangel knew Lemon well enough to select a man for her, the question was, how well did Lemon know the Archangel?
She asked, to ease into the conversation Lemon didn't want to have, “How long have you known The Archangel?”
“Since I was 13. He is a few years older than me,” Lemon said.
“Ah, so you're the same age as the Shakespeare-loving brother,” Helen said, subtly hinting she knew the family.
Lemon, surprised at Helen's knowledge of the details of the family, asked, “You know Bleu?”
Helen smiled and told her, “I also know Mile Marker, as well as his blue berry muffin baking wife. Whatever you do, don't eat those muffins. I didn't know you could have blue poop. I went to wipe and thought I needed a trip to the emergency room.”
Lemon burst into laughter. “I have never met anyone like you, Helen,” she paused and asked, “Why did you ask how long I've known him?”
“Because he evidently knows you well enough to pick Jared Bane to be a husband and a male role model for those girls. Mr. Bane has already taught them basic self-defense moves, how to check the oil and fluids in a car, and how to change a tire. The Archangel knows what you need in your life, and he's sending it.” Helen said. “Question for you, my brainiac of a chemist: tell me the one memory when that man became your hero. It shouldn't be hard since you trust the Archangel.”
“Prom,” Lemon spoke softly. “I wanted to go to the prom, but because we lived in Amish country, and the school I attended was predominately white, my Gran said I couldn't go. He called to check on me and I was crying. I explained everything and on prom night, he showed up to take me.”
“Oh, come on. You're leaving out the details,” Helen chuffed.
“Fine, he arrived in a white stretch limo, holding a dozen roses and a fairy princess prom dress,” she said. “He was dressed in a white tux with shiny white shoes, and his hair was slicked back on his head. He rarely wears contact lenses, but that night he did. I went to the prom with the Archangel.”
Helen's eyes were wide, as if a bit of the juiciest gossip ever was about to land at her feet, “Wait, can he dance?”
“Oh yeah,” Lemon said, laughing. “That's when I decided I wanted to have his babies. The way that man moves on a dance floor is sin personified. Girls at my school were trying to cut in and ask his for a dance, but his eyes were only for me.”
“Keep going; did you get to bump uglies, feel what he was working with it, get in some tongue action with Preacher Boy?” Helen asked.
“No!! And you've got a nasty mind!” Lemon said. “He was a gentleman who walked me to the door when it was over. I thought he would want the dress back, but I still have it.”
“Nooo! Ooh! Ooh!Oooh!” Helen shouted. “You should have a small wedding ceremony and wear it when he marries you and Mr. Bane. It would come full circle for him. He would crumple inside of that dark heart of his and maybe actually cry some of those tears he's been holding inside for way too long.”
Lemon's face turned serious. She eyed Helen with a newfound appreciation and understanding which hadn't been clear before now. The woman was odd, but observant. The next words Lemon spoke were carefully measured, “I thought I was the only one who saw that in him.”
“Everyone sees it in him, Lemon,” Helen said. “He shows up when you're at your lowest and hands you a shiny object which fascinates you and your broken winged arm flap. He makes you believe that even with that crumpled wing, you will still be able to fly. The only thing he doesn't ask is for you to come down to Georgia and play in this little guitar competition he's putting on.”
“You think he's the Devil?” Lemon said with a chuckle.
“I think he believes in his heart that what he's doing is right. Whether it is for the right reasons or the wrong reasons, it doesn't matter. He's seen some things which made him put together this team of deadly do-gooders,” she said. “The real question is, and no one ever wants to ask, if you make 1,000 of the dissolving bullets per year, who the fuck pulls the trigger to use them? You only have two trigger pullers on your crew, Bad Apple and now me. Is Mr. Jared part of the boots on the ground team who storms the castle to rescue the maidens in distress?”
“You're frightening in your thought processes.”
“No, I am a realist,” Helen said. “This training program I'm in isn't totally to teach me what you do. One of the reasons, I was sent to you is for the very reason that we are doing right now.”
“To what, talk to me?”
“Yes,” Helen said. “We can have an open, honest conversation that you can't have with anyone else. Yes, the little Hispanic chick Passion Fruit is on your team. The woman who looks like she heads up the Junior League in St. Paul...yeah, Sour Grapes, could you talk to her about this?”
“No, I couldn't.”
“I, on the other hand, have been sent on this tour of ‘Meet the Killers’ to bond with each of you. Let you teach me and let me get to know you.”
Lemon said, “So you don't need to learn about poisons.”
“Technically, no.”
“Why not?”
“When I need a bullet to melt inside of a creep, I'm going to call you and order one. What do I look like, making my own when that is actually your damned job,” Helen said. “Yeah, it's cool to know this stuff, but I'm better on my feet and on the move. I will never have a greenhouse with wolfsbane and hemlock. I may plant some tomatoes in a raised bed, maybe, possibly...and that's that.”
“So, you feel you were sent here to get to know me?”
“And to be your bridesmaid,” Helen said, laughing and doing her awkward sexy wiggle dance again.
“Chick, I will make you a cup of tea and make you drink it at gunpoint,” Lemon told her, laughing.
“A chick has to catch me first,” Helen said with a wink attempting to do her sexy wiggle once more. “I'm good as hell with those knives. If you show me how to lace the blades with venom safely, I will go hunting tonight to find a Field of Flowers to shut down and cut up a lowlife scum sucker so that his flesh can rot from the neurotoxins. Which venoms did that Delgado kid bring?”
Lemon held up her hands, “Jesus, calm yourself, weirdo! And stop trying to dance, because you have zero rhythm. How can you not have rhythm?”
Helen took a moment to allow the space between them to settle. Words needed to be shared, and she had a few to add to the conversation. The journey was deeper than two women building a friendship.
“What I have learned about the Archangel and watching him work is that he's criminally methodical,” she told Lemon, leaving out her relationship to Cherry and her cousin being married to the Archangel's cousin. The Archangel had also sent paperwork and arrived to marry Cherry to Mr. Slow. He was methodical in a way that made Helen nervous. “The girl was sent to you while I was here and on the day Mr. Bane was leaving. She came from a Field of Flowers nearby that was shut down. All of this is a freaky circle. When you find out what Mr. Bane is running from, you will have your answers. The next question is, which arm of the military did he work for and how does HE know the Archangel?”
“I don't think I like you,” Lemon said. “I'm starting to love you and that twisted brain of yours, but please, don't let me catch you in my lab again extracting your human nectar. Also, you need to wipe down everything your naked ass touched and stop it. Adding that to a potion is witchcraft. Just stop it, but let me know if it works on your man. You know, for research purposes.”
“Roger that,” Helen said, breaking into a laugh. “That is going to be his go-to with you from here on out. Your life is about to get really interesting.”
****
D INNER WAS A SOMBER affair. The girls were missing Mr. Jared, and thus far, Lemon hadn't told them about his expected return, in case things went ass left. Helen also needed a quiet moment to check in with her cousin Cherry, whom she called first, but wished she hadn't called at all. The conversation centered around the changes in her nipples and libido and her hunk of a husband. As usual, Helen held the phone and listened. The idea of moving to Indiana suddenly seemed far more appealing than being the crying shoulder for her cousin again.
The next call went to the man himself, indicating she had the weekend off. His only words were to send a text that said, “See you at home on Friday.” She loved the idea of walking into a new space they could decorate together. A warm, squishy feeling hit her middle. It was a bracing for the next call. Helen pressed 1 on the Technician phone and waited for the gruff voice of Azreal, her handler.
“State your need,” the voice said.
“No need, just checking in,” Helen said. “Lemon gave me the weekend off, and I'm heading into Plainville, Indiana to decompress. I should return to Lemon's on Sunday night.”
“I didn't give you the weekend off,” the voice said.
“Okay, so do you want me to work the area over the weekend and look for more warehouses?” Helen asked.
“No, you don’t need to be running around on the loose unsupervised. Take the weekend,” the voice said. “I also need to wire these bonuses to your account.”
Helen held the phone and asked, “What bonuses?”
“The three warehouses. The Powers that Be was impressed that it was done with no loss of life. You were awarded ten for each.”
“Ten what?”
“Thousand,” the voice said. “I'm wiring it to your account later today.”
“Shut up! That is so cool; wait, did Yield and Apple get a bonus too?” Helen wanted to know.
“No, the work was done by you. You did the closings. The bonuses are for you,” the voice said.
Helen held the phone. In her mind, Bad Apple sent her with an assist from Yield. The money would be a bonus and nothing she was expecting. Therefore, she felt it necessary to do what was next. “Boss Lady, I have a request.”
“State your need.”
Helen asked, “Please wire four of that to Yield, then a thousand each to Apple, and his contractor Ricky. Drop a thousand to Pear, and can you set up a small money market accounts for the boys at Apple's place at a thousand each as well?”
“I can,” the voice said.
“Thank you. I will leave here on Friday around noon and be back on Sunday at dinner. Anything I need to know about those caterpillar bitches?”
“You're funny. No,” the voice stated and ended the call.
“I'm growing on her,” Helen said.