Nothing's Improbable: Investigate

[Wyatt Wyborn]

((Moved from "Pursue" thread.))

Monday...

It had taken some time, but Wyatt was starting to adjust. No more chasing anything (cars, soccer balls, birds) or anyone (classmates, civilians, heroes) who happened to speed past him, awakening his predatory instincts. No more having to fight back the urge to gather females for his pack/pride/whatever it was that whatever he was wanted to form with them. He had joined a dojo (Lou's House of Kung Fu and Chinese Buffet in King's Row) and was learning a fighting style appropriate for an agile beast with tooth and claw. And he had mastered his new senses.

At first, it had been hard to adjust to his new senses. The increased night-vision was nice, but the increased hearing and sense of smell were mixed blessings. On the one hand, he had heard a lot of interesting private conversations lately (Josie Applegate and Victor Vanecek! Who would have guessed those two bookworms would be into that!?) but he also heard things he'd rather not hear, like insects scurrying in the dark corners beneath the counters and cabinets at the Donut Hole.

And smells. There were good smells and bad smells. Smells that were bad before were still bad, but somehow they didn't turn his stomach the way they used to, so that part wasn't so bad. But the good smells? Food could work him into a total frenzy (though brocolli was now moved into the category of "bad smells"). But food wasn't the best. The best was girls.

Girls smelled terrific. Beyond the vanilla or sweet pea or lavender that they thought was their fragrance, each girl had a scent that was disctinctly hers, and those scents were hard to define. Clover flowers and rain? Sweet potatoes and warm sand? If they only knew how those undefinable fragrances could drive him wild...

Boys had their scents too, and while it was handy to be able to know who was coming around the corner by his smell (Wyatt was still avoiding certain football players when possible), they just weren't as interesting as the girls.

But not all smells were associated with known quantities. Always there were odors that Wyatt picked up that he couldn't quite place. Mystery scents. And those worried him. What if he was smelling some subtle toxin? When he came across a "mystery scent" he always made sure to make a memory of it so that maybe he could identify it later.

He had smelled a mystery smell in Steel Canyon Sunday afternoon. It wafted on the wind, competing with automobile exhaust, restaurant kitchens, ozone, and money. It didn't come from anywhere, or lead anywhere. It was just there, underneath a mountain of other smells.

Then in the science lab the next day, he smelled it again. It hung in the room, trying but failing to blend with the sulphur accident from Friday's class, the perfumes and body sprays of the students, the smell of graphite and paper. It didn't come from anywhere or lead anywhere. It was just there underneath a mountain of other smells.

He smelled it again in another class that afternoon. And then again in the hall on the way out after school.

He made memories of the scent, and linked them all together. It had to mean something.