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Chapter 6
Elsa sat in the great room, editing her student’s manuscript, when a man in a long coat waltzed into the cottage. He hadn’t knocked. Elsa had no idea who he was. She glanced over her shoulder and noted Lijah, suddenly materialized from upstairs.
Good. The man’s arrival ended what amounted to a forced time out. When Lijah had dropped his ‘unique few’ bombshell, Elsa had flat out rejected the idea. Rationally, of course, and as gently as she could, which wasn’t very. She’d insisted Lijah was mistaken, about her certainly, about himself almost as certainly, and regardless whatever powers they may or may not have didn’t matter, not today, not in the modern world, and by the way, thank god for that. Lijah informed her that she would come to her senses, that her reaction was understandable albeit irrational and disappointing, and in the meantime, until she came around, he’d be upstairs getting some work done. Elsa had told him to go to hell.
But as predicted, time had done its work. Which was not to say that she suddenly believed him. She was as adamant as ever that whatever powers he had, or thought he had, she didn’t share. But. Scientists didn’t reject ideas just because they sounded absurd, or unfashionable. The risk was negligible; a private conversation, he’d made sure of that. Lijah as a rule didn’t make leaps of fancy. And he’d asked for help which constituted reason enough to give him a fair hearing. Mostly though it was the weird tattoo thing. Already she was obsessed with it.
“Well, this is a surprise,” said the stranger. Sarcastically? She wasn’t sure. He swept through the cottage checking for other occupants, cold air eddying behind him, while Lijah stood as stationary as a dock piling against an ocean swell. Elsa went to the front door, pushed it closed and returned to the sofa. Neither man spoke and neither took a seat. Taking their cue, Elsa too remained standing and kept quiet.
The man had been to the cottage before, that much was obvious. A relative, perhaps? He was physically quite different, stocky and blond compared to Lijah, tall, lean and dark-haired. But in demeanor they could be twins: alert, self-aware and self-possessed. She guessed from the way they regarded one another that their relationship had history, like brothers, absent the warmth of brotherly love. A falling out? Friends, turned foes? From what she’d seen of Lijah’s precautions, she doubted a true adversary could make it past the door. Or even onto the grounds. Hadn’t Lijah said, to find this place, you had to know exactly where to look? Which brought her full circle; this man had been here before.
Having completed his circuit the man turned his full attention toward them. His gaze skimmed over Lijah but turned languorous as he took in every inch of Elsa, head to foot and back again.
“Cute,” said the man.
Elsa straightened and jutted her chin at him. “Short.”
The man raised an eyebrow and regarded her more closely. “I could say pretty.”
She took a moment, pretending to reassess. “Short,” she repeated.
The man smiled. “Surely pretty warrants higher praise?”
“Short is higher praise. Honestly, my first thought was ‘squat’. I was being polite.”
The man’s smile widened reaching his eyes. “And if I’d said beautiful?”
Elsa tilted her head and considered. “I’d have said average.”
The man barked a laugh and Elsa grinned. They both knew, he was in no way average. Too handsome, for one: high cheekbones, squared jaw, and deep blue eyes, a stereotypical heartthrob. Which might have proved only mildly distracting except he was too vibrant and intense to be anything but striking. His presence crackled.
Lijah started to talk but the man spoke over him.
“You’re right, of course, beautiful’s too hackneyed, better suited to the weather. You… you require something more eloquent, something literary, something…”
Elsa couldn’t help but mentally fill in the blanks for him, listing the words she’d like to hear, anticipating which among them he would choose.
The man’s eyes lit up. “Che-ru-bic,” he said with careful enunciation.
Elsa frowned.
The man chuckled low, almost a growl. “Not the word you hoped for. Don’t you know, cherubic is polite for dishy and delicious.”
Lijah snorted, drawing their attention. Elsa, who’d warmed at dishy, frowned at Lijah. The man gave him another cursory scan.
“You’re gloved,” he said of Lijah. “For whom, I wonder?” He took another long, indiscrete eyeful of Elsa. “Introduce us, Lijah. I like this one already.”
This one? thought Elsa.
Lijah placed himself between Elsa and the man. “Now’s not a good time.”
The man slid him a sideways glance. “Tell me. Am I too early or too late? Because it feels like I’m right on time.” He stepped to the side to see past Lijah, then kept going, circling around Elsa, eyes roving, gobbling her up.
God. The way he looked at her. Worse, her own response. Flushed. Shallow breathed. Like some hyperventilating innocent about to be ravished by the rakish rogue. His look was predatory, erotic and, intellectually, grossly offensive. She squared her shoulders.
“Definitely too late,” said Elsa, catching Lijah’s eye. “Or to be precise, never a chance in hell.”
The man ceased his prowl, but not his ogling. If anything, her rebuff appeared to have sharpened his interest. He regarded her now less like a shopper perusing the wares, more like a thief targeting a treasure. She’d surprised him, which pleased her, although she wondered what interested him more, the lock on the safe or what lay within, the hunt or the quarry. Regardless, he was enjoying himself, seemed sure that hers was a lock he could pick. That confidence, far more than the leer, unnerved her. Elsa focused on Lijah, willing him to speak.
For several long moments, Lijah seemed to weigh his options, like a chemist determined to keep two volatile liquids separate and inert. He sighed. “Elsa, this is Peter Morrison, my cousin and consummate cad. Peter, this is Elsa Wright, my colleague and… consummate companion.”
Elsa smiled to herself, charmed by the label Lijah had given her, but held her posture erect. She nodded regally toward Peter and kept her distance. Peter nodded in return, lips twitching. Lijah drew Elsa to sit beside him on the sofa, leaving Peter the chair opposite, the coffee table situated between them. Peter removed his heavy, black, woolen coat, draped it over the chair back and took a seat. He wore jeans, pressed, a high-quality button-down shirt and performance fleece vest; the casual attire of a man with means.
“No use pretending to be something you’re not,” said Peter to Lijah. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Lijah didn’t respond.
“You mind?” asked Peter. He proceeded to take off his gloves, finger by finger, sheaths and all, and tossed them on the coffee table.
Lijah didn’t say a word, didn’t appear to react whatsoever, but Elsa was completely taken aback. Peter had asked ‘do you mind’ with the casualness of a smoker lighting up among friends. Try as she might, Elsa couldn’t master her reaction; she alternated between studiously averting her eyes and open-mouthed gawking.
Peter, though, acted as if stripping his hands bare in company was perfectly ordinary. She marveled at his performance, unable to imagine that anyone could, in truth, be that nonchalant ungloved in front of others. Even alone, in her own apartment, she didn’t lounge around gloveless; cooking dinner naked from the waist down would be more comfortable.
No-one spoke.
Elsa caught herself wondering whether Peter went commando too. She quashed the thought. A quick glance in his direction confirmed he was enjoying her discomfort. She sat up taller.
Still no-one spoke. Peter pulled out a sleek metal case from his coat pocket, selected a joint, and tapped it against the case to settle the leaves. He pawed his vest and pant pockets, then opened the drawer of the side table to retrieve a lighter and small ashtray. He lit and toked, holding the smoke in for a long count before exhaling and offering the joint to Elsa. She was tempted, by the smell, which was strong, sweet and earthy, and by her jangled nerves. She declined. Lijah partook of a single deep drag, knocked the coal from the tip, and set the tray aside out of Peter’s reach. Elsa regretted her choice. She’d never seen Lijah partake, not that there had been opportunity at work, but she should have guessed when Peter pulled the ashtray from the drawer; they’d done this before.
“So Elsa,” said Peter. “Why are you here if not for the shag?”
Lijah scowled but Elsa could appreciate a good double entendre. “What makes you think I’m not?”
Lijah pursed his lips, stifling his smile.
Peter laughed low and shifted in his seat. “Had you known of Lijah’s pastime, at least his useful one, you wouldn’t have passed up the chance to sample. His is by far the best weed in the region. The country. Possibly the continent although hard to prove.”
Elsa looked at Lijah and raised an eyebrow. Lijah tipped his head and spread his hands wide, acknowledging the truth of Peter’s praise.
“As for the other, you’re… too uptight and way overdressed,” said Peter, looking pointedly at their gloved hands. He spread his naked hands wide in a duplicate of Lijah’s gesture and leaned back in his seat. “I, you’ll notice, am not.”
Elsa startled then blushed, having noticed not only his salacious grin and exposed hands but the hard-on that pressed tightly against his pants.
Lijah launched from the sofa, grabbed Peter by the lapel, and hauled him to his feet. He held him inches from his face and spat through clenched teeth, “Don’t. Be. A prick.”
Elsa too leapt to her feet, ready to stave off a brawl, but Peter calmly held Lijah’s glare. This too, they’d done this before; she’d never seen or even imagined such behavior of Lijah.
Peter placed his bare hands overtop Lijah’s gloved ones and squeezed. Lijah winced from the pressure on his wound and Peter instantly released him and searched his face. Elsa watched intently as he slid his naked hand down the side of Lijah’s face, temple to jaw, and brushed his thumb across Lijah’s mouth. Lijah loosened his hold. The two men stood back from one another, their arms dropping to their sides.
Elsa had never seen anything quite like it; in moments their rancor had turned decidedly intimate, then as abruptly, diffused. But then she’d never met anyone like Peter. Except Lijah, she realized. The cousins were like two sides of a coin; Lijah heads, cerebral and controlled, Peter tails, wild and raw. Together the traits of one were revealed in the other: passion, control, tenderness, cunning.
Peter turned his attention to Elsa. “A consummate cad and a prick,” said Peter with a shrug. “No use pretending otherwise. Can I touch you?”
“Yes,” said Elsa, without hesitation.
“No,” snarled Lijah. He looked at her as if she’d volunteered to be dissected.
Elsa’s look in return said, ‘What? I’m just curious’. Lijah continued to glower, which she found obnoxious and overbearing, but took his point. Allowing Peter’s naked touch was a touch… imprudent. More like outrageous, she admitted to herself, and heretofore, unfathomable.
Lijah turned to Peter. “Sit.”
Peter ignored him. “So, what is she?”
“Do you have that tattoo thing?” asked Elsa.
“Whoa,” said Peter, and locked eyes with Lijah.
Lijah narrowed his eyes in return. “I needed stitches.”
Peter’s confusion deepened. “Her? You let her do it? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Hey,” said Elsa.
Peter’s attention swung to her. His eyes raked over her and he grabbed his crotch. “Impressive. Just one kiss and you have him thinking with his dick.”
“You’re Knower,” said Elsa, fighting his vulgarity with a bit of her own. Knowing the power of a near stranger was shocking; announcing it, shockingly offensive. But Peter had set the tone and she was absolutely certain of her conclusion. Peter hadn’t witnessed the kiss she’d shared with Lijah, but he had touched Lijah’s lips barehanded.
“Not that I blame him,” said Peter, plowing over her vulgarity as if inconsequential. “I’m beginning to think you’re more a Lolita than cherub.” He swaggered toward her.
Elsa’s brain raced. Nabokov’s Lolita? The character was a child, artless and vulnerable, but to Humbert, an irresistible temptress. It was a very specific and curious salvo in their name calling game, one that called out Lijah too – for what, weakness?, depravity? – as much as it maligned her. Not maligned. Touted. Peter appreciated the power of innocent prey over vile predator. Peter approached her, slow, smoldering and shameless, broadcasting another message; he could handle her and Lijah could not.
“Stop,” said Lijah through gritted teeth.
“Luscious,” said Peter, still advancing.
“Hm. Better than beautiful.” said Elsa. “Might get you… interesting.”
Lijah groaned. “Elsa.”
Peter now stood close enough to touch her but, with a glance at Lijah, made a point of not doing so. Instead he leaned in and spoke softly, although loudly enough for Lijah to hear. “Luscious… Juicy… Wet.”
“Oh for God’s sake!” said Lijah.
Elsa giggled, then took a step back, creating a more comfortable space between them. She gestured at Lijah. “He touched you. Your mouth. That’s how he knows about the kiss. What else does he know?”
Lijah considered his response. “About me, a lot. Too much. We grew up together. Or at least I grew up. His behavior is as puerile as ever. About you, so far, he knows very little. But if he touches you skin to skin, he’ll…”
“Make you gasp and pant,” interjected Peter.
Elsa flushed. Lijah seethed.
Peter guffawed. “Oh come on, panting?” he said to Lijah. “It’s the perfect play on words. Who could resist?”
Elsa’s forehead crinkled; she had no idea what he meant.
Peter looked back and forth between them. “Really? After what, years of infatuation, you haven’t told her? Well, if you can’t, I will.” Peter looked directly at Elsa. “Breathtaking. His word for you is breathtaking. Get it?”
Lijah looked to the floor, sighed heavily, then met her gaze.
Elsa saw anger and regret in his eyes, but not denial. ‘Breathtaking’ really was Lijah’s word for her. Which she loved, loved, but her thoughts raced forward. First, Peter had to be Feeler as well as Knower, there was no other explanation. Second, the revelation that there was a word, any word, that could be retrieved like a fact. Knower’s knew facts, events, things that occurred and could be observed: a broken arm, a graduation, a kiss. Feelers felt emotional content: pain, pride, lust. Peter’s touch had read Lijah’s feelings for her in the same way he’d known about their kiss, as something tangible and exact. With a jolt Elsa realized, he’d read Lijah’s thoughts. Not just an impression or abstract emotion, but the precise word, as if it had been penned in ink.
Elsa closed her eyes, palm up, demanding silence. As far as she knew, mind-reading was science fiction. Yet nothing short of mind-reading could label an emotion so precisely. Unless… Had the cousins talked about her previously; had Lijah bared his soul to Peter? Glancing at the two, she snorted, not likely. Both cousins stared at her, Peter amused, Lijah distressed.
“Don’t worry,” she said to Lijah, which seemed to distress him more. “Okay, let’s assume for the moment he’s Knower and Feeler.” She couldn’t believe she was talking about this. She couldn’t believe she was thinking it. “Crafter too? His hands aren’t calloused like yours.”
“I prefer touching softer things,” said Peter.
Elsa tried to stifle her laugh. Of course he’d say that. God.
“Be warned, Elsa,” said Lijah sternly. “I have the ability to control the extent to which I can be read. I can block most people entirely. Peter, less so. Partly because of our history. Partly because he’s naturally perceptive. Mostly, though, I can’t fully block Peter because his abilities rival my own. If he touches you…”
“He flatters himself,” interrupted Peter. “My abilities far exceed his. Virility alone speaks volumes.” Again, he posed for her: bedroom eyes, thumbs hooked in his pants, fingers aimed at his crouch.
Elsa laughed out loud. How could she not. She’d never met anyone so single-minded and cocky. Literally, cock-y. Not to mention barehanded. Barehanded! His manner was so uniformly audacious, his nakedness no longer surprised her. He was exactly as comfortable as he appeared to be. Rude, crude and socially unacceptable. On anyone else it would be repugnant. On Peter it was, at least at that moment, inexplicably endearing, like a puppy humping her leg. Not that she mistook him for harmless. Quite the opposite. She found him dangerously compelling; she felt charmed one moment, like a dog in heat the next. Even at his most repulsive, she couldn’t turn away.
“Elsa, I’m serious,” Lijah said. “You’re defenseless.”
Peter burst out laughing. “I would never call you defenseless, Elsa. I wouldn’t even think it. He underestimates you.”
“She knows what I mean,” said Lijah, and collapsed back to his seat on the sofa. “Stop manipulating her.”
It was so clear. A tired argument. Lijah had said this a hundred times before.
Peter considered a reply but chose détente and resumed his seat. Elsa folded a leg beneath her and sat at an angle in the corner of the sofa, her eyes on both of them. Lijah was correct. On both counts. Peter was trying to manipulate her; she wanted to know why? And she did know what Lijah meant. He respected, relied on and trusted her. When he said defenseless, he meant only that she lacked sufficient information to protect herself. She’d just as soon rectify that too.
“Don’t worry,” said Elsa again. “I may not be as defenseless as you think. You said you suspected…”
Lijah tensed. A loaded look warned her off.
She’d intended to say, ‘you suspected I share powers like yours’ but obviously he didn’t want her to share that with Peter. Interesting.
“… you suspected as much,” she said instead. “I have a few suspicions of my own. That trick, that Peter did, the Vulcan mind-meld? He read your feeling like a Knower knows a fact. I bet the converse must be true.” Her attention swung to Peter. “Can you know events like a Feeler feels; when you read that Lijah kissed me, did you experience it, the feeling, as if you’d been the one kissing.” She looked between them. “Knowers can’t do that. Feelers can’t do that. But being both Knower and Feeler must confer a power beyond the sum of its parts.”
“Oh baby, luscious and smart,” said Peter.
Elsa turned to Peter. “Lijah told me he’s all three: Knower, Feeler, Crafter, or maybe something else entirely. Which makes sense if each power transforms the other; he’s not just three in one, but something, I don’t know, different, more. You too, I assume. So, are your powers different in the same way?”
“No,” said Lijah and Peter at the same time.
Elsa laughed at their vehemence. “More alike than you care to admit?”
“Yes and no,” said Lijah. “Think of it this way. Two people with the same IQ, physique, and opportunity, but their personalities differ. Different preferences, different choices, different outcomes.”
“Okay, sure, your personalities are different. I had noticed,” she said dryly. “But you can both read minds?”
“If you mean…” said Lijah.
“It depends on…” said Peter.
Elsa interrupted. “I’m asking whether you can, not whether you choose to.”
Both men nodded.
“So what does being Crafter bring to the table? That power concerns inanimate things, which by definition don’t have feelings. Although they do have histories. Like that rock you used to zone out.”
“Histories,” said Lijah. “And…” She recognized the tone, he was about lecture.
“Shush.” She hated being led by the nose. She gazed to the middle distance. “Objects have histories and…” She gasped. “Sentimental value.”
“This is like a wet dream…” said Peter.
Lijah gave him a dirty look, although his lips twitched. Elsa forged ahead.
“Being Crafter lets you Know or Feel a person through objects important to them. Or maybe just in contact with them, like a sniffer dog finds people through scent.” Elsa suddenly remembered Lijah’s openmouthed reaction to the news of the antique sleigh bed in her bedroom. He’d probably be able to experience every bout of boisterous sex she’d enjoyed in that bed. Or self-gratification. Or, the same of those before her: her parents, grandparents. Her father had been delivered in that bed.
The cousins were watching her curiously; must have seen her cheeks flush beet red then drain at the thought of what all that bed had seen. She wrangled her thoughts.
“Alright. So, stop me when I’m wrong. There are other people like you, not many. Some are more powerful than others. But you can block them. Which means you two are toward the top of the heap.”
Elsa paused, waiting, because the cousins were looking at each other pointedly. Neither spoke.
“You can use your powers on anybody,” continued Elsa. “Even people without your abilities. Why else be worried about Peter touching me?”
Again, the cousins shared a look.
“What?” she asked.
“What is she?” asked Peter of Lijah.
Lijah grunted. “Clever.”
“You don’t know her power,” said Peter to Lijah. “You fucking don’t know. How is that even possible; she asked about the vines?”
“The tattoo? Okay, so that’s interesting. I mean, I already figured out it was super-secret; he tried to hide it and you were shocked when I asked about it. But what has you stumped is how I can know about the… vines you call them, when he doesn’t know what I am. Meaning my power. Which he would, if we’d shown hands.” She looked frankly at Peter’s naked hands. “On Lijah, the vines only appeared when I touched him with my bare finger. So, that much is required; naked hand to naked hand. But it’s not sufficient; he blocked the vines from emerging, except… when he couldn’t. But regardless, that explains your confusion; for the vines to emerge, two people have to touch barehanded.” Elsa jerked. “Oh my God. The vines let you share power. Just like multiple powers can combine within a person, the vines let you combine powers between people. Which would? Magnify the power? Create a new power?”
Elsa looked to them expectantly.
Peter blinked, repeatedly.
Lijah cleared his throat. “Pure supposition, Elsa. You drew a conclusion based upon analogy. Completely data free.”
“Well, not completely data free,” said Elsa coyly.
Peter blasted Lijah a look. “She knows about the experiments? And she, what, volunteered to be the next in line?” Peter shook his head. “I don’t fucking believe it.”
Experiments? She was back in the dark. She only meant she’d paid attention; had seen and heard enough to fuel conjecture. Not actual data. Whatever experiments Peter referenced, she didn’t know about and definitely hadn’t signed up to be next in line. Lijah had said there had been others. And hadn’t that been her first thought, when he’d come to her apartment, that he could be conducting some sort of experiment? She hadn’t really believed it. Elsa’s stomach soured.
Lijah looked stricken. “What have you done?”
Peter didn’t answer and as far as Elsa knew, she hadn’t done anything.
Lijah’s shoulders sagged. “Why have you come?”
Because you invited me? thought Elsa. Which, in retrospect, was a piss-poor reason if his intention was to experiment on her, but before she could react to that thought, Peter spoke.
“Nona sent me.”
Nona?
Lijah blew out a long breath. “Fuck.” He dropped his head to his hands. He made a sound, a low growl that built into a burst of rage and frustration.
“That’s the good news,” said Peter. “If Nona had an inkling of what you’re up to, she’d already be here. The bad news being, she’s sure to find out. I might tell her myself. What could you possibly be thinking?” He scoffed. “As if I don’t already know. It’s the same fucking thing you’ve been thinking all along. Your life’s work. Your only pursuit.”
Lijah had used those exact words about his Thursday research, his only pursuit. Elsa had thought it ridiculous, an exaggeration. Peter, however, clearly felt Lijah’s statement was true, and for that, found him pathetic. What the hell was going on?
“Lijah,” said Elsa. “Experiments?” She heard her mother’s voice in her own, that same parental menace that brooked no resistance.
Lijah scrubbed his face, ran his hands through his hair. “I can explain.”
Peter guffawed. “You’re so fucked.”
“Elsa. Listen…” But then he stopped himself, stared at her, tried to see right inside her head. “When I was, when I blacked out, when you had full access, what did you do? Did you search my files? Did you find… something? My God, who did you tell?” Lijah spun toward Peter. “Is that what Nona wants, the data? Peter. We agreed, she can’t have it, can’t even know about it.”
“She knows,” said Peter. “Or suspects with enough conviction to act accordingly. Either way, she monitors your firewall and knew it dropped. What she managed to find before you locked the system back down is anyone’s guess. She sent me instead of coming herself. I’d say that counts in your favor.”
“What experiments?” asked Elsa again.
Both men stared at her, silent, calculating.
Elsa held her chin up, spoke to the room. “Lijah Elliott Morrison, access code…”
“Stop,” said Lijah. “Elsa, please. Stop. Give me a chance to explain. Yes, there were experiments. Case studies, really, conducted long ago with Peter’s help. They were… ill conceived…”
Peter snorted. “He means, illicit. And oh, so entertaining.”
“Poorly executed,” continued Lijah, “and terminated. Terminated, Elsa, years ago, never to be resurrected. You have to believe me. You are not here to be experimented on. Those experiments have nothing to do with you and why you’re here. They are wholly in the past.”
Peter laughed softly, shaking his head. Elsa had to agree; his begging beggared belief.
“What experiments?” asked Elsa a third time.
Lijah glared at Peter, jaw clenched. “I fucking hate you.”
Peter continued to chuckle.
“Look, Elsa, we’re taught, everyone believes, that we’re either Knower, Feeler, or Crafter, that there are three discrete, mutually exclusive powers and never the twain shall meet. Except, here I am, proof positive, that’s not true. My power, Peter’s, a few others, our power is boundless. Not infinite. But without boundary, blended across types. Which presents a simple question; if that’s true of us, might it be true of everyone?”
“The simple answer is No,” said Peter.
“The easy answer, the acceptable answer, but not necessarily the correct one. What’s more plausible, that people with powers like mine are wholly different, or that we, all of us, are fundamentally the same and the expression of my power is merely at the extreme of a continuum?”
“Anything’s plausible,” said Elsa. “It’s plausible you’re a mutant. Which would explain quite a lot.” She’d meant to be funny but then her eyes flashed sharp. “Which, actually, would explain why your cousin shares your ability. A genetic mutation, say, in your grandparents, right? Or further up the hereditary line, but regardless, an aberration, passed down through the generations?”
“See,” said Peter. “Even she figured it out. It’s that obvious.”
Elsa pulled a face at him.
“It’s that convenient,” said Lijah. “Particularly for those with my abilities. Why challenge the notion of genetic superiority when it allows the select few to wield their power hidden: unknown and unchecked. Far less convenient if we all share the same latent ability. How justify the status quo, if everyone has the potential to realize powers like ours? Even if unattainable, awareness alone of our shared nature would diminish the ability of the few to manipulate and control the many.”
“And so on, ad nauseum,” said Peter. “Nona calls it heresy. Personally, I find it tedious.” He’d twirled his finger, his naked finger, to emphasize his point, then kept twirling, slowly, when he noticed Elsa gawking. He locked eyes with her, giving her the come-hither look, reeling her in.
Elsa tore her eyes away from Peter and refocused on Lijah and his explanation. “Your life’s work,” she said. “To study the nature of our powers. You want to prove… the null hypothesis, that there is no difference between us. But there’s no need. Not since Enlightenment. We’ve already embraced the fact that we are the same, that we have equal potential to become what we wish. We cover our hands…
“We cover our hands,” interrupted Lijah, “so that we are not bound to society’s preconceived notions of what we can and cannot do. So, you’ve said. So, you’ve been taught to say, thanks to a state-sponsored program of voluntary ignorance. Don’t you see, Enlightenment dictates equality by burying self-knowledge, by covering our hands. Wouldn’t it be better to achieve equality through self-knowledge?”
“No,” said Peter.
Humor flashed between Elsa and Peter. Evidently antagonizing Lijah was a naughty pleasure shared between them.
“Says the beneficiary of the status quo,” said Lijah. If he was aware of the silent conversation between Peter and Elsa, he chose not to react. “Unknown and unchecked, Elsa. He can do whatever he wants. So far, he’s chosen philandering. Nona’s chosen world domination.”
“Hah,” barked Peter. “He’s not wrong.”
Elsa turned a shoulder to Peter and faced Lijah directly. “And you chose to study our powers. Which is banned, you know. For good reason. Pre-Enlightenment has a single story; people of one power oppressing those of another, and all the intervening bloodshed attributable to the struggle for ascendance. But hey, never mind that. You conducted experiments. I’m shocked, Lijah. It’s completely irresponsible.”
Lijah sighed heavily. “The experiments came later. I started with secondary sources, pre- and post-Enlightenment. I created a repository of historical documents, personal accounts, literature and scientific inquiry. My public research, including that which we’ve collaborated on, continues to expand that data resource. Taken separately, none of that data is secret or controversial. Taken together and organized for my purposes, that’s no longer true. It’s proved provocative, Elsa, hypothesis generating. To address those hypotheses, I needed primary data; I had to experiment. I started with myself to define the parameters of my own abilities. I compared myself to Peter…”
“And Nada,” said Peter.
The comment surprised Elsa. She couldn’t quite believe Peter admitted to adding nada, nothing, to anything.
“REnate,” said Lijah, as if for the thousandth time. “Grow up.”
“He’d have me go to school and learn solemn things,” said Peter to Elsa.
She caught the reference. Peter Pan. God, that fit. Heavy on the Pan. “Renate?” she asked.
“My little sister. She has our same powers although Peter made it his childhood goal to convince her otherwise.”
Elsa could imagine the entire dynamic; a trio of compatriots, Peter the tormentor, Renate the target, and Lijah the eldest, determined to protect her. Except not a trio; hadn’t he mentioned brothers? It occurred to her how little she knew of Lijah’s family. He’d never spoken of them. Nor had they discussed her own family. The topic just never came up. Which, in retrospect, was an omission remarkable enough that it had to have been intentional on Lijah’s part.
“Does your sister also live nearby?” she asked.
Lijah looked at Peter, quizzically, and then back at her. “Peter’s… nomadic. Just happened to be in the neighborhood. I have a large family but we’re all pretty far flung. Computer. Location. Re.”
The screen closest to the sofa came to life. It showed a map, zoomed out to the level of continents, then progressively narrowed to Europe, England, London, Kensington, all the way down to a street and building. Looked pretty posh. She could see a light on in the window. Real time precision satellite imagery. Incredible.
“Looks like she’s currently at our flat in London,” said Lijah.
“Currently?” said Peter with a scowl. “She’s been squatting there well over two years.”
Squatting. In a fancy flat. Elsa sensed that Peter’s disgust reflected jealousy of Renate, rather than censure of Lijah’s ignorance. She had so many questions. Was Lijah estranged from his sister? All of his family? Why hadn’t he mentioned his parents? And what of Peter, who just happened by. His brand of nomad had to be of the well-heeled variety. Lijah had never struck her as rich. Actually, his financial means hadn’t struck her one way or the other. But ‘our flat in London’, sure sounded like one of many. A cousin who gads about on a whim. And Nona, keen on world domination. His secrets, multiple domiciles, all the technology, they had to be expensive to maintain. She and Lijah had never spoken of family or money. Because they weren’t important or because they were?
“You have that look, Elsa,” said Lijah. “You can ask. I’m curious about your family too.”
Really? Why? Question upon question. She hardly knew where to start: a family tree perhaps, his family’s real-estate holdings, last year’s taxes? None of which was germane to the topic at hand. No doubt that had been intentional too. Clever, clever Lijah.
“You conducted experiments.”
“Gotcha” said Peter.
Lijah sighed. “You started it, bringing up Renate.”
Elsa shot Peter a look, replaying the conversation. Clever, clever cousins. Allying themselves with one another, trying to distract her, while separately allying themselves with her. To what end? Without question, Peter was motivated by sex. With her. With anyone. And with an imperative as basic as breathing. Also, thwarting Lijah. Preferably using one to achieve the other. But why and for whom: Nona?, himself?, remained a mystery.
As for Lijah’s agenda, she hoped sex was in there, somewhere, finally, but felt sure his primary aim neither started nor ended there. What he wanted from her was an accomplice. First and foremost. By hook or by crook. Evidently, talk of the experiments fell contrary to that aim; he’d been dodging the topic ever since Peter brought it up. Lijah’s stricken look; his question, what have you done? Elsa had her answer; Peter had given her the thread she needed to pull. Had bringing up the experiments been a mistake, or Peter’s intention all along; was he an agent of chaos, or a devious mastermind? Those questions too would have to wait.
“So, you experimented on yourself,” said Elsa to Lijah. “Family members, and…”
“And… I discovered they had abilities, abilities I shared but had never thought to try. Which begged the question, if true of me, couldn’t it be true of everyone?”
“We would know,” said Elsa. “How could we not? Our power is not just an aptitude or inclination, it’s our identity.”
“Exactly,” said Lijah. “A mutable construct, like gender.”
“No. Simpler. Like sex,” said Elsa. Which was ridiculous, and she knew it as soon as the words left her mouth. She meant, one’s power was as self-evident and undeniable as gonads or a uterus, a simple, unassailable fact. Except, of course, there was zero evidence that one’s power was distinguishable biologically. By evoking the distinction between sex and gender, she quite neatly made Lijah’s argument for him.
Lijah didn’t have to voice his opinion; he had an eyebrow raised to the hairline. Peter’s heavy-lidded expression was just as predictable; did someone say sex? Before he derailed their debate, Elsa spoke.
“Point taken. Identities are personally and culturally defined, not anatomically. And yes, our understanding of gender has evolved from discrete and binary to include a continuous range between male and female, as well as points outside that range. But like you said, analogy doesn’t prove a point. There’s no evidence that power lay on a continuum. On the contrary, you, Peter, you’re the exception that proves the rule.”
Lijah glared down his nose at her in obvious disapproval. “Since when does ignoring the exception constitute proof? Since when did your thinking get so lazy?”
“Since when have you dodged the truth?” said Elsa, anger rising. “Oh wait. I’ll answer for you. Always. Maybe not direct lies. But secrets, lies of omission, clever misdirection, outright avoidance. Or maybe you’ve been lying to my face all along. So hard to know. At this point I trust Peter more than you. A cad and a prick, ‘who doesn’t pretend otherwise’.”
“He’s manipulated you, Elsa. Both of us. Don’t you see?”
“Give me a reason to trust you, Lijah. Tell me about the experiments and the data you’re so desperate to protect.”
Lijah ground his teeth. Succumbing, thought Elsa. Kicking and screaming, but finally, succumbing. Why was this so hard for him? If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was afraid.
“There was a time, years ago, that I solicited people to show me their hands so that I could study the nature and boundaries of their power.”
“Solicited being the key word,” drawled Peter. “By people he means women.”
Elsa raised an eyebrow. Peter’s inuendo aside, recruiting only women was unexpected. Type of power was equally distributed across the population independent of sex, race or any other biological characteristic. Meaning, a representative sample should include males and females in roughly equal proportion, overall and among the subgroups of Knowers, Feelers and Crafters. Studying only women limited the generalizability of the results. If there was a scientific rationale for doing so, she couldn’t think of one. The alternative was that he’d studied women as a matter of convenience. Lijah’s grimace confirmed the later. Is this what he meant by poorly executed?
“Okay. A convenience sample. Not the most robust design but common enough, especially as a starting point. How did you get them to volunteer?”
“A bottle of wine, some soft music,” said Peter.
Elsa blew out an exasperated breath and rolled her eyes.
Lijah however looked to the ground and remained silent.
“You can’t be serious? You’re telling me, what? You seduced women to enroll in your study.”
“Not exactly,” said Lijah quietly. “Participants did not strictly volunteer because they were unaware of their participation in research.”
Elsa couldn’t begin to respond.
Lijah looked up to meet her eyes. His voice remained soft, plain spoken, honest. “It was a different time, Elsa. But that’s no excuse. By today’s standards there’s no argument. The study was unethical; I did not obtain informed consent.”
“Lijah,” said Elsa quietly. “By any standard.”
Lijah nodded. “By any standard.”
Elsa looked away, her thoughts reeling. Voluntary and informed consent was the foundational principal of the ethical conduct of scientific research on humans. The principal was codified post-WWII in response to sadistic medical experimentation perpetrated by Nazis on Jewish prisoners but applied to any situation in which research or investigator interests superseded those of unwitting study subjects. The Tuskegee syphilis trials on African American men violated the principle by withholding known treatments in order to observe the disease’s natural progression. In the case of Henrietta Lacks, genetic information was taken and used without her knowledge or benefit.
Elsa looked at Lijah anew and felt her world stutter. She could not reconcile the man she’d known, her friend and mentor, the man who epitomized scientific rigor and integrity, with the man in front of her and his confession. She stood up. She walked into the kitchen, for no reason she could think of, and returned to the middle of the room. Lijah came to his feet, turned to face her, the sofa between them.
“How did you get them to uncover their hands?” Casual sex was hardly a precursor to showing hands. Revealing something so precious and intimate normally came after long consideration. Unless… “Did you drug them? Force them? My God, did you rape them too?” Elsa stood shaking, arms clutched to her chest.
Lijah’s face collapsed; his body caved as if from a physical blow. “Elsa,” he croaked.
“Holy shit,” breathed Peter.
The silence that followed resounded.
Lijah gathered himself. He cleared his throat. “Elsa, I swear to you, each and every participant revealed their hands willingly. They weren’t students or minors or in any other way unduly vulnerable. They weren’t captive. No drugs were used. No force, threat or pressure. Requests were made of adult women, fully in command of mind and body. If and when… intimacies were shared, they were freely given.”
Elsa felt another tectonic shift, as if the world that had stuttered now resumed its steady spin. She didn’t feel relief exactly, more like recognition of something familiar, only without the gleam. What he’d done was unconscionable but not monstrous. Horror gave way to outrage.
“Consensual is not the same as consented,” she shouted.
“Agreed. Nevertheless, any harm was in principle, not body or spirit.”
“Are you sure? If they knew, would they agree? Researching powers is illegal, in the same way experimenting with human germlines is illegal. There’s no framework to protect against disastrous consequence to the subjects themselves or future generations. Characterizing powers, differentiating them, risks the egalitarian principles of Enlightenment. You know this. You didn’t tell them because you knew they would object. So instead, you made them unwitting accomplices to your criminal behavior. How many women were duped? Who did the deed?”
“Thirty women enrolled; 10 each Knower, Feeler, Crafter. Peter was instrumental in case identification. He has an uncanny ability to intuit people’s power, just by watching them, casual conversation, without touch.”
“Not Elsa’s,” said Peter. “Her power continues to elude me.”
“Recruitment was a joint effort,” continued Lijah. “Data collection fell largely to me.”
“Data collection. Shared intimacies. No way Peter missed out on that.”
“She knows me so well,” said Peter. “Joint effort. We double dated. I got the leftovers.”
As disgusting as the comment was, it put Lijah’s transgression in sharp relief.
Elsa turned on Lijah. “You. You had no right. Those so-called leftovers got exactly what they bargained for from Peter. A good fuck. Probably an exceptional one.”
“Transcendent,” interjected Peter.
“But you!” continued Elsa without interruption. “You stole from them, pretending to be something you’re not.”
The two stared at one another for a long time. Long enough for Elsa’s nostrils to stop flaring and her breathing to slow.
“It’s in the past,” said Lijah simply, arms wide, impotent against the truth.
“It’s unforgiveable,” said Elsa flatly, anger spent, feeling bereft.
After another long moment, Peter broke the silence. “So this is what the moral high-ground looks like. No wonder I never go there.”
Elsa felt sick. She couldn’t look at either one of them. “I’m leaving.”
Lijah collapsed in a chair, the one she already thought of as hers, the one at the corner desk he’d so thoughtfully arranged for her. It hurt, this feeling she had, and Lijah said not one word of protest or comfort. He just sat, absently playing with a pen on the desk while she gathered her things which were littered throughout the cottage as cavalierly as if she lived there.
Peter grew increasingly antsy, darting looks between them as Elsa prepared to leave and Lijah made no move to intervene.
“You can’t leave, you know, it’s too late,” said Peter to Elsa.
No reaction. Elsa started to pull on her boots. The pen tapped and twirled, tapped and twirled in Lijah’s fingers.
“Besides, you can’t. You don’t know how. He blindfolded you, right?” Peter turned to Lijah. “You blindfolded her, right? Standard operating procedure?”
Elsa stilled. Her skin crawled. Blindfolded. Could she be just like all the others. Lijah continued to toy with the pen, repeatedly extending and retracting the nib.
“Tell me you blindfolded her,” repeated Peter, his voice filled with menace as he rose to his feet. His presence swelled, larger than life.
Oh my God. Elsa had a sudden, desperate urge to flee the moment she realized that Peter might try to physically stop her. She looked to Lijah. He’d never force her, had assured her she could leave whenever she wanted. But he seemed wholly detached, unconsciously toying with that fucking pen. Of course, Lijah knew the truth. He had blindfolded her, and she had no phone. He knew he didn’t need to do a thing to keep her from leaving. Accepting that truth, she mentally abandoned him and turned to face Peter.
“Yes. He blindfolded me. Thanks for the reminder.” She tried to sound mildly annoyed, like a disaffected teenager. “I know I can’t leave-leave. I just meant go outside, get a breath of fresh air.”
“You’re embarrassed,” said Peter. “Don’t be. All that practice for his research, he could write the manual. Step 1, surprise subject into lowering her defenses. Step 2, offer to cook for her because, fun fact, our desire to be fed is even more instinctual than fucking. Step 3, get her invested in the process, willing to make a small sacrifice for the promise of reward. Step 4, delay the reward until presto, big sacrifice, she’s blindfolded and beyond the point of return. Stage 2, seduction, is light work after that.”
Elsa looked at Lijah, gears turning. “My apartment, on a Thursday. Scones. Asking me to leave my phone. All that time wandering in the woods.”
“He’s manipulating you,” said Lijah. His voice was cold, angry.
“Sucks for you, huh? Just the one kiss. If not for the accident and Peter’s timely arrival, we’d be well into Stage 2 by now.”
“He’s spinning a narrative, dropping a few facts in support of the wrong conclusion.”
“The wrong conclusion? What else could I possibly conclude?” She marched over to Peter and tugged on his sleeve. “Stand up, give me your coat. I need some of that epic shag. The joint, I mean, you letch. Come on, hurry up.”
Peter allowed himself to be divested of his coat, snickering at how she, at half his weight and obvious disadvantage, presumed to bully him about. He continued to watch in amusement as she shrugged into his oversized coat that sagged off her shoulders like a poncho. She scrunched up the sleeve to rifle his pockets, located the joint case and a lighter, and headed for the door.
“I’ll be on the porch,” she announced. “By the time I get back you had better both be prepared to cut the bullshit if you have any hope of gaining my cooperation. In the meantime, consider this. I learned something late last night. There’s a reason Peter can’t read me. I’m not nearly as powerless as you think.”
Elsa yanked open the door, stepped out and slammed it shut behind her. Shit, shit. She hoped that little bombshell wouldn’t backfire on her. If it worked, she’d have enough time to work out an escape while they argued over what she meant and what to do about it. If it didn’t, then all she’d managed was to give them another reason not to let her go.
She’d taken Peter’s coat to nab his phone in the hope it wasn’t as securely protected as Lijah’s. She needed time to access it, and therefore a place to hide, preferably one where she could watch what they were doing. If she couldn’t get Peter’s phone to work, maybe they’d lead her in the right direction. The coat, though, was too cumbersome to wear. With a shiver she shirked it off and stuffed it out of sight under the porch. She wrenched the ax from the nearby splitting stump, and as stealthily as she could returned to the porch to slide the long shaft through the front door handle preventing them from pulling the door open.
The cousins were arguing now, their loud voices muffled and indistinct through the insulated walls of the cottage. She circled around to the back of the cottage, keeping low, out of sight of the windows. She thought to block other exits, but there weren’t any, which struck her as incredibly unsafe. What if there was fire? The rattle and bang of the front door as they encountered her makeshift lock interrupted that ridiculous train of thought. She was running out of time. She scanned frantically for a place to hide and considered making a run for the woods but rejected that option immediately. Not only would she risk being seen, but she’d probably be caught on camera. In fact, she had to be on camera already. Nothing she could do about that now except hope that Lijah didn’t think to use his own damn security system.
She heard first one then the other of the cousins tumble and crash onto the porch. Duh, through a window. How had she not thought of that? She opted for the roof, using the wood pile, gutter, door lintels, and whatever else she could find to scamper up to the second story roof and tuck behind the chimney. They called for her, shouted directions at one another and then ran in opposite directions all the way around the cottage trying to figure out which way she went. More shouts and then they split up, Peter disappearing in the direction of the solar field and Lijah across the clearing toward the hedgerow. Well that wasn’t very clever; they hadn’t thought to check the roof but were checking very specific locations. Thanks to her bird’s eye view, they’d shown her not one but two ways off the property.
Getting away was the first step; she still had to find her way back to civilization. She pulled out Peter’s phone which she’d tucked in her pant waistband to keep close and warm. To her surprise the phone was bare bones; a cheap model, no case, and no personalized home screen. It also looked brand new. A burner phone? Even those had telephone and location services, which was all she needed. Unbelievable. Three tries at a factory standard passcode got her in. No service. No surprise there, not with all of Lijah’s fancy security. But once off the property she could use it to make her way home. All she needed now was a chance to make a break for it, preferably before she froze to death.
She got her chance about 10 frigid minutes later. Both men were some distance from the cottage and were moving away from the spot in the hedgerow Elsa guessed had egress from the property. She didn’t think she could climb down from the roof; her hands were too frozen but given the relatively shallow pitch of the dormer and porch roofs on the front side of the cottage, she could slide down the successive snow topped roofs from top to ground. They wouldn’t see her until she cleared the cottage and with luck, they wouldn’t hear her descent. She went for it, much faster than she intended and with a god-awful racket. She heard them shout and took off running.
The snow was drifted deep in that spot. She wasn’t fast enough and they weren’t far enough away.
“Stop it. I swear to God, stop it,” yelled Elsa. She stood, gasping, arms tight against her body, clutching her own elbows. It was freezing. She was terrified. And there were two of them, flanking her, slowly moving toward her.
“Elsa. Calm down,” called Lijah. “We’re not going to hurt you. Look. You’re freezing. I have a coat for you. Your heavy mitts are in the pockets. I’m throwing it to you, okay. We’re not going to hurt you.”
Elsa was too damned cold to forego the coat. Warily, eyes darting frantically back and forth between them, she grabbed for it, pulled it on, and plunged her aching hands into the deep pockets. Keys. Had to be car keys. She couldn’t believe her luck. Didn’t dare believe it, lest they see it written on her face. She checked the sensors. Yellow. Lijah had seen her check; he knew, she knew, someone was nearby. She backed away quickly. Peter called out but Lijah silenced him with a gesture. Glancing over her shoulder, she adjusted her trajectory to the right. Lijah and Peter moved right too, keeping their distance, keeping her centered between them. She spun and took off straight away, and they launched after her.
They were abreast of her now, at 3 and 9 o’clock and a good 10 feet distant. She wasn’t going to make it. She spun on her heel, slipping to her knee in the snow, then bolted like a sprinter off the block, this time toward the solar field and alternate exit. The cousins reversed direction. Lijah came down hard on his hip and scrabbled for purchase but Peter gained on her. They were running full tilt, when Peter took her down by the knees. She kicked franticly, her boot connecting with his face and he rolled away. Elsa was back on her feet, dancing away from him as he rolled over onto his back. My God, she’d really hurt him. His lip was split, and blood smeared his face, poured from his nose, and painted the snow crimson.
She looked up wild eyed, stuck in place, and watched Lijah fast approaching. One second. Two. Lijah drilled her with his eyes, then over his shoulder, right at the hidden exit, as if gauging speed, angle, distance, the likelihood of her success. He put on a burst of speed. When close enough, he lunged but tripped over Peter. Elsa flew into action. She ran back to the exit like she’d never run before, with huge strides and arms pumping. She crashed through the hedgerow tunnel, scraping her face and tripping to her knees, but scrabbled immediately back to her feet, burst through and kept on going.
Not until the secret tunnel was well out of sight behind her, did she slow enough to pull out the burner phone to get her bearings. Thirty minutes later she left the woods through the bittersweet gate and headed for the car. Lijah and Peter hadn’t followed her. If there had been other hikers in the wood, she never came upon them.