Unfurl (The Ripple Trilogy)

by Cidney Swanson

  We rented a big, black car that turned out to have a broken heater, stuck in the “on” position. Everyone peeled off jackets, but we ended up driving with the windows down to keep the temperature bearable. Bridget, who had been unable to sleep for any of the flight, finally took a Xanax from my sister, which, combined with the heat, sent her to sleep on the drive.

  Sir Walter’s plan was simple. Drive to Château Feu Froid, hide the car, ripple and find Gwyn, grab her, and get out. It was pretty obvious Hans had taken Gwyn to get Sam to turn herself in. For the millionth time, I wondered what Helmann wanted with Sam.

  We left our car hidden in an old tumbled–down garage about half a mile from the castle. Bridget, who was still mostly asleep, we covered with a pile of everyone’s coats.

  We had a little fracas there, when Mick started insisting she should be allowed to come along to the château. But in the end, she agreed to stay hidden in the outbuilding and keep an eye out for our return. We shifted a pile of boxes to hide her where she crouched beside a hole in the wall, facing the château.

  I told my sister that if something went wrong, none of us would be able to ripple her and Bridget to safety. They’d be on their own.

  “Well, then, you’d better make sure nothing goes wrong,” she’d snapped at me.

  I swallowed and hugged my prickly sister. “I love you, too, man. You know that.”

  The fight went out of Mick as I said this to her. Her chin got all quivery.

  “You’ve always been my life,” whispered my sister, hugging me back. She squeezed extra tight and then pushed me away. “Go on, now.”

  As Sir Walter and I glided invisibly to the château where Gwyn was being held, he explained that Helmann received the château as the gift of Charles the Sixth and had lived there with Elisabeth. When she left him, he no longer made his home at the Château.

  But he kept it, huh? I asked. That’s quite the accomplishment, keeping hold of a piece of valuable property through all the wars and stuff.

  It is more than I have done, said Sir Walter softly. But then, my cousin’s devotion to Elisabeth has always been strong.

  Feu Froid, I wrote. That’s “Cold Fire,” right?

  It was a name chosen by others, descriptive of its abandoned state, explained Sir Walter. He adopted the name some four hundred years ago.

  Every now and again, he’d drop something like that, all casual, and it would freak me that Sir Walter was so old. I wondered if Sam wanted to live that long? All’s I knew for sure was I didn’t if she didn’t.

  Are you ready?

  I thought of Angel Corps guy’s strange phrase: “I stand prepared.”

  Yeah, dude, I wrote. Let’s go.

  Chapter Thirty–Six

  * * *

  ON THE SAME CONTINENT

  · SAM ·

  If my best friend hadn’t been in a life–threatening situation, the video would have been almost funny. It was severely under–produced. Hans had tried cutting away at times but hadn’t quite gotten things right. He’d given Gwyn a script, but she must have repeatedly refused to read out parts of it. Once, there was an entire “I’m NOT saying—” before the clip cut off.

  In the end, however, the message was anything but funny: If you want to see Gwyn again in one piece, alive, meet me in San Francisco in two days. We had less than two days, seeing as the message had been sent nearly a day ago.

  It looked like I was headed back to San Francisco to rescue my friend.

  “Absolutely not, Mademoiselle,” said Christian when I told him of my plan to return to the Geneses lab. “You have established that your presence can be detected there. It would be the errand of a fool.”

  “I’m rescuing Gwyn,” I said. “I’m going to San Francisco, and you can stay behind if you don’t want to help me.”

  Christian frowned but didn’t try to argue. Instead, he asked me to play the video once more. He watched the tiny screen with intense concentration.

  “There!” he said. “Cause that section to repeat itself!”

  I fiddled with my cell and found the section he wanted to see. It was the moment right after Gwyn’s “I’m NOT saying—” When the recording resumed, the background showed more; you could see the edge of an elaborate fireplace behind Gwyn.

  “I know this place,” said Christian. Looking solemnly at me, he spoke again. “Mademoiselle, returning to California will not help you to rescue your friend. She is being held at the Château Feu Froid.”

  “Cold Fire Castle?”

  “Upon my fifteenth birthday, my father presented me to my uncle L’Inferne at his château. It lies within an easy distance of our present location.”

  “Where?” I asked.

  “Outside the great city of Tours,” he said. “I will take you there.”

  “You will?” I asked in shock. “You said this was the errand of a fool just a second ago.”

  Christian shrugged. “To travel to the facility in San Francisco, where your very presence can be measured? That would be foolish. But no such means of detection lie within the ancient castle.”

  “What makes you so sure they haven’t put temperature detection in all their buildings?”

  “Forgive me, Mademoiselle. I thought you must have overheard what I heard the day your egg was stolen. The equipment to detect invisible intruders was designed solely for that building. It is unique in the world. Helmann meant to protect your jumelle—your clone. Perhaps he even expected treachery from within his own ranks. It could have been used against them.”

  “Okay, so what are we waiting for?”

  “The phone call to Sir Walter?” said Christian.

  I’d completely forgotten about him. I punched in the number. It went straight to voice mail. “No good,” I said, feeling anew the ache of my distance from Will, as if we still drifted on separating continents.

  “Let us leave a message,” said Christian.

  I passed him the phone, afraid my voice would crack if I tried to speak.

  “Meet your son and granddaughter where you took him upon his fifteenth birthday,” said Christian. He hit end. “You see? I learned from your clever message to your father.”

  Christian and I rippled and passed like ghosts out of the airport and onto the road to the château.

  Chapter Thirty–Seven

  * * *

  OBSESSION WITH NEEDLES

  · SAM ·

  We approached the castle at nightfall, passing like shadows through dusk. Neglect clung to the grounds; though we were within twenty miles of Chenonceau, it felt like another country. I expected wolves at every turn and shivered even without solid form.

  A single light burned on the second floor, flickering and golden. Firelight.

  She is within the great hall, spoke Christian.

  He’d recognized Château Feu Froid on video because of the stone fireplace behind Gwyn. Carved with griffins, gargoyles, and writhing beasts, it was horrifying and unique. We made our way up a broad staircase. The marble must have been beautiful once, but now it lay in filthy disrepair. I saw the paw prints of small animals in the dirt on one side.

  Christian and I passed through a set of massive oak doors, darkened with age and abandon. I scented rot along with the rich odor of oak. On the far side of the doors, however, things looked well–maintained. Thick carpets covered much of the stone floor. An ancient table ran the length of the room, pointing the way to the fireplace, where an inferno blazed. To either side of the hearth, large couches had been placed. And upon one of them, Gwyn curled, asleep.

  Dropping Christian’s hand, I ghosted forward.

  Mademoiselle, I beg of you, remain insubstantial still.

  Which was the last thing that felt right at that moment.

  Think, called Christian, Who has prepared the fire? And by whom is it maintained? She has not, surely, been left here alone.

  I froze. Gwyn didn’t know the first thing about making a huge bonfire like this one. She lived in an apartment over a baker
y. Fireplace–free.

  I beg of you, said Christian, allow me to attempt her rescue.

  I could do this much for him. Yeah, okay, I said.

  Christian rippled solid.

  He leaned over Gwyn’s sleeping form, placing arms around her, but when he attempted to bring her into invisibility, something went wrong. Christian disappeared, but Gwyn remained behind.

  Coming solid beside Gwyn once again, he tried to get a better grasp around her. I could feel how distracted he was by his previous failure. It confused him, made him less attentive than he should have been to his surroundings.

  Just then, in the wavering light of the fire, I saw someone else materialize behind Christian and jab his arm with a needle.

  Christian’s internal shock and offense echoed my own as he felt the shot pierce his arm. He collapsed onto the floor before the couch.

  I should have warned him! I, of all people, knew about the Geneses obsession with needles.

  “I should not bother trying to escape in the manner in which you appeared,” said a voice similar to Hans’. “Do you notice the heaviness in your arms?”

  “What have you done to me?” asked Christian.

  “Ah, French, are you? Hmmmm. I expected an American. A girl in fact. Did Samantha send you in her stead?”

  “I was paid by an American of another name,” replied Christian. “It appears I was not sufficiently informed as to the difficulty of my task.”

  “Hmmmm. Yes, we never are, are we?” mused the man. “I’m pleased to see you retain the use of speech. I shall have to compliment my brother on his improved pharmaceutical.”

  Could this be Franz? I wondered.

  “Why can’t I disappear?” asked Christian.

  “I’d rather not discuss that. Proprietary, you see. However, I’m very proud of the little invention that prevented you from stealing my brother’s hostage. It’s a weighted blanket which has been fashioned into a garment. She weighs in excess of two–hundred kilos at the moment.”

  Sam, do you hear? Attempt not to take Gwyn with you, warned Christian.

  Got it, I replied.

  “Will she not suffocate?” asked Christian. “There is no payment for me if she dies.”

  Clever, I said to Christian, impressed at how he lied and kept his cool under the circumstances.

  Franz chuckled. “The weights are behind and not upon her. But, my friend, I do not think you will be collecting payment in any case.” He leaned forward. “Tell me truly, though, is Samantha not here with us?”

  “I was sent by Bridget Li. So, unless she lied to me as to her true name, I am unacquainted with any Samancha’s,” replied Christian.

  “Or Samantha’s?” Franz rubbed his hands together. “What I wouldn’t give for one of my father’s devices, to search the air temperature.”

  “What will you pay me to carry a message back to this girl’s mother?” asked Christian.

  Franz laughed. “I like you.” He laughed again. “Truly, I do.” His face shifted from amusement to something more business–like. “However, as I can by no means trust you, I shall not at present offer you employment.”

  Franz dug in various coat pockets. “Ah, here it is,” he said, retrieving a revolver. “Now then, how about you start telling me the truth about your association with Samantha.” He paused to aim the revolver at Gwyn. “Or I shoot her.”

  I screamed my distress in silence.

  Christian’s face remained impassive. “Neither of us will be paid, I think, if you kill her.” He shrugged. “Or perhaps I am mistaken.”

  Franz shifted the revolver to point it at Christian. “You, my young friend, are a very shrewd man.” He lowered the weapon. “Indeed, I am not authorized to kill her. And I might regret killing you so early in our acquaintance. However, I must restrain you.”

  Saying this, Franz removed a roll of duct tape from his coat and taped Christian’s wrists and then ankles together, securing him to a leg of the couch.

  “We shall see what Hans says about you,” said Franz, smiling. “I should sleep, if I were you. Keep your strength up.” His grin turned hideously feral and I saw the clear resemblance to his siblings.

  As Franz turned to pile more wood upon the blaze, I heard Christian speak within my mind.

  You must leave, Mademoiselle. I felt his fear that I might refuse.

  How can I? I asked.

  We were most foolish not to contact my father first. With additional assistance, perhaps we could have disabled this person.

  My heart sank as I saw the truth of what Christian said.

  Mademoiselle, you must call my father and continue calling until you reach him. Do you understand?

  Yes, I replied. But I’m only going far enough so that I can’t be overheard talking on my cell.

  Christian paused and I could tell he wanted to tell me to run far, far away. But he must’ve known I wouldn’t leave him and Gwyn in this state.

  I observed a small garage, perhaps a quarter mile from the château if you travel back along the drive, said Christian. Will you do me the great kindness of placing yourself thus far distant until our friends can assist you?

  Sure, I said. I didn’t remember any garages, but if he said it was there, I’d find it.

  I slithered out of the room and down the marble staircase, noticing the rotted out balustrades as I descended. Along the drive I raced, finding the building just as Christian had said. I glanced around quickly, making certain I was alone. Then, after rippling solid, I reached for my cell phone and slowly, carefully, keyed in Sir Walter’s phone number.

  A small car was parked in the garage and I huddled beside it. It looked empty. I heard the dialing–pips on my cell.

  From inside the car, another phone rang. My call went to Sir Walter’s voicemail after a few rings. Frustrated, I hit redial. I was going to get his attention no matter how many calls it took.

  The phone in the car rang again.

  And it all clicked into place.

  I rippled to pass into the car. Coming solid, I hit redial again. From inside a man’s all–weather coat, the phone in the car rang again. I fumbled and retrieved it from a pile of coats on the back seat. My number scrolled across the “incoming call” screen.

  Sir Walter! I cried out with my thoughts.

  To my great surprise, he replied. Samantha?

  He heard me!

  A small noise of joy escaped. I wasn’t alone in this after all!

  And then, in the back of the car, something shifted. Something that snored. It became something that woke up and stared at me. Then the glazed eyes closed again.

  “Bridget?” I whispered in shocked amazement.

  Chapter Thirty–Eight

  * * *

  SAM IN MY ARMS AGAIN

  · WILL ·

  There we were, all ready to stealth our way invisibly inside Château Feu Froid when Sir Walter made this gasping noise.

  What’s up? I wrote on my imagined note pad.

  Mademoiselle Sam has preceded us, evidently, replied Sir Walter.

  Sam’s HERE? I wrote.

  Apparently, said Sir Walter.

  This was such amazing news, I thought my old friend was maybe imagining it. But some small part of me that had been squashed down inside my sneakers for the past month started jumping up and down, ready to believe.

  Your friend tells me that she is with our vehicle at present, said Sir Walter, And that Chrétien has been captured and lies unable to ripple in a room with Gwyn and—another of Sir Walter’s little intakes of breath—with Franz.

  Crap, I wrote.

  Indeed, replied Sir Walter. I have informed her as to our whereabouts, and she should be joining us momentarily.

  My invisible heart thumped in my invisible chest. So to speak. Sam, here with me, was too good to be true. Of course, I wouldn’t exactly be able to see her and hold her.

  Ah, said Sir Walter, And she has evidently awakened Mademoiselle Mackenzie from an unintended nap. Bridget sleeps
more soundly. The French gentleman allowed himself a brief laugh.

  Is Sam here for Gwyn? I wrote. She must be, right?

  Ask her yourself, said Sir Walter.

  And just like that, I felt a subtle shift in the air beside me. Sam? I wrote. Remembering how she’d been able to understand sign language, I spelled out her name. Sam?

  Right here, came her words, flashed upon a tiny screen which superimposed itself over my vision.

  This isn’t how I imagined our next time together, I signed, But I’ll take it! I’ve missed you so bad, Sam.

  Me too, she typed.

  The three of us made a rescue plan which would require rippling solid, and man, I was looking forward to feeling Sam in my arms again. I wondered if I could get a quick hug before we rescued Chrétien and Gwyn.

  But when we got to the top of the stairs, to the room where our friends were being held, we got an unwelcome surprise.

  Chapter Thirty–Nine

  * * *

  BLOOD OF THE DE ROCHEFORTS

  · SAM ·

  Hans? I cried out in shock. Why hadn’t I noticed his thoughts?

  He leaned over the long table dominating the hall. Eyes closed, fists boring into the table, he was relaxing. His emotions weren’t intense, which explained why I hadn’t noticed them.

  Sir Walter spoke within my mind, and Will’s: Do not blame yourself, Samantha—I felt him not, either. But this changes things. I do not believe it would be wise for Samantha to appear in Hans’ sight.

  He’s right, Will signed. Sir Walter and I can take on Hans and Franz alone.

  Between them, Will and Sir Walter refused to let me help, now that Hans was here. We separated so that they could attack Hans and his brother. I could still hear Sir Walter’s thoughts clearly, but Will’s presence receded, becoming only a sensation that he was near.