Chameleon (The Ripple Series)

by Cidney Swanson

  I turned back, confused or curious, I’m not sure which.

  “This has got to stop. Now!” Gwyn’s face was white with anger.

  “Gwyn,” I said, shaking my head. “You don’t understand—”

  “No, I don’t!” she shouted. “I don’t understand how someone as intelligent and strong as you can put up with this.”

  “I’m not—”

  Gwyn cut me off. “Not one more minute. You are done with him. Do you hear me? I’m calling the police. I’m calling Madame Evans. I’m calling—”

  “No!” I cried. “You’re not calling anyone. You don’t understand the first thing about my life or about Will.”

  “Oh, I understand plenty!” Gwyn’s face contorted with righteous anger. “Everyone says how you never had any friends after I left. We all saw how you hooked up with Will the minute he looked your way. Sam, I get it: you were lonely. It felt good to be noticed.”

  I shook my head in disbelief.

  “Some part of you decided you could live with the abuse if it meant you got attention from a guy. But he’s not worth it! No guy is. I don’t care how gorgeous his eyes are. He’s evil! And this has got to stop now!”

  I didn’t know where to start, how to set her straight. But I knew one thing: I would not let her smear the reputation of the most decent human being I’d ever met. I took a deep breath and said, as calmly as I could, “You’re wrong.”

  Gwyn grabbed me by the shoulders, spinning me around until I faced a mirror. “No, Samantha,” she said harshly, “That is wrong.”

  I looked worse than I’d imagined.

  Besides the injury that had trickled blood along one side of my face, there was a raised ridge over one eye, the skin furiously red. A smudge of dirt gave the appearance of additional bruising under my cheeks. My jacket had torn along the shoulder.

  I rubbed at the smudge, watching it fade.

  “What did he do?” she whispered. “Throw you down on the street?”

  “Will’s not the responsible party,” I began, but Gwyn interrupted me with a shriek.

  “You did not just say that!” She pointed at my face in the mirror. “The hands that did that to you are responsible. He’s got your mind so warped you don’t know up from down, Sam!”

  At this moment Mickie burst around the corner, evidently sharing a joke with Sir Walter.

  “Will’s racing us up five flights of—” Mickie stopped in her tracks. “Oh my God, Sam. What happened to you?”

  “What happened?” shouted Gwyn. “What happened?”

  Gwyn’s rant continued as Mickie examined my face, her fingers cool and gentle upon my skin.

  “Hello, I’m talking to you!” Gwyn shouted to Mickie.

  Mickie turned to Gwyn, as though noticing an annoying fly buzzing around. “I’m sorry, I’m sure whatever you have to say is very important, but it’s going to have to wait. Sam’s been injured.”

  Gwyn planted herself directly in front of Mickie.

  “No shit, Sherlock,” she said. “By your brother. What do you have to say about that?”

  “What?” asked Mickie. “Will’s been with us. I don’t know what you think you know, and honestly I don’t care. Sam’s my priority at the moment.” She attempted to brush past Gwyn and into the elevator, which had finally arrived.

  “Stop right there!” roared Gwyn.

  Our noise had at last attracted the attention of the clerk at the desk. He rounded the corner just as Gwyn finished shouting. The desk clerk was obviously not pleased with any of us.

  Sir Walter spoke with him so quickly that all I caught was something about “affairs of the heart.” This seemed to satisfy the clerk, who winked at our French gentleman and exited. Sir Walter, directing all of us to be quiet please, herded us onto the elevator and pressed the button for the fifth floor.

  Gwyn could not contain herself, however, and a shouting match ensued between her and Mickie.

  I slipped over to Sir Walter and offered an explanation of what Gwyn thought, and why she thought it, finishing just as the elevator arrived on our floor.

  “Ladies,” said Sir Walter in a commanding voice. “Silence, please. Samantha’s well–being is our priority here. I trust we are all agreed upon that point?”

  Mickie nodded curtly and Gwyn opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it and mumbled a “yes.”

  “Mademoiselle Gwyn,” said Sir Walter, with a tiny bow, “I beg you will excuse us for the time being.”

  Mickie was shoving me through the door. Inside, Will stood grinning.

  “Told you I’d beat you,” he said. Then his expression changed. “Sam! What happened?”

  Behind us, Sir Walter had succeeded in closing the door on Gwyn. “And now, perhaps Mademoiselle Mickie, you might turn your attention to our injured friend?”

  “Sam?” Will waited for an explanation.

  While Mickie bathed my face with a warm washcloth, I began to explain about my trip to the underground ossuary. I had only gotten as far Deuxième’s secret phlebotomy lab when we were interrupted by a knock upon the door.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Mickie, rising to answer the door.

  Will took over cleaning my face, his touch even gentler than his sister’s.

  Sir Walter joined Mickie at the door. It was Gwyn. And she wasn’t at all concerned with keeping her voice down.

  “I demand that you release Sam this minute,” Gwyn said. “Let her go free or I shout ‘til I lose my voice.” I could imagine the fire in her black eyes.

  Mickie threw her hands up, muttering, “Do we need this? Really?” while Sir Walter beckoned Gwyn.

  “Would it please you to join us, Mademoiselle?” he asked politely.

  “What?” said Gwyn. “Oh. Yeah, why not?” She crossed the room and glared at Will. “You hit her and then everything’s fine because you clean up after yourself? Is that how you operate?”

  Will’s face flushed deep red; it seemed he remembered what I’d told him last fall about Gwyn and her suspicions.

  “Okay,” I said. “Listen, this has got to stop!”

  All eyes turned to me.

  Gwyn looked startled but pleased.

  I took a deep breath. “Mickie, Gwyn here thinks that your brother and I are together and that he hits me.”

  Mickie’s jaw actually fell open.

  “Yeah,” I said. “So I need to know what we can tell her so that she stops walking around giving Will the evil eye,” I said. “Because I, for one, am not okay with Gwyn thinking stuff like that about Will.”

  The room fell silent. Sir Walter cleared his throat and we all turned toward him.

  “If I might offer a suggestion,” he said, his voice quiet and even, “I have always been a proponent of telling the truth.”

  “You’re joking,” said Mickie.

  “Mademoiselle Samanthe,” he said, “Would you say of your friend Mademoiselle Gwyn that she is trustworthy?”

  “Sure,” I said, thinking of all the hundreds of things Gwyn knew of me and had never told anyone. “But, it’s not like it’s my call to make. I mean, not just mine, anyways.”

  “I have been a reader of personages for a very, very long while. This is a young woman who deserves to hear the truth. And, in fact, it is evident to me that nothing less than the truth will satisfy so true a friend,” said Sir Walter, smiling at Gwyn. He then turned his eyes upon me. “If I might have your permission, my dear?”

  He wanted to tell her. Well, who better? Maybe he’d thought of a way to explain things without explaining everything.

  “Be my guest,” I said.

  Sir Walter cleared his throat and addressed Gwyn. “Your friend Sam possesses genetic material which is highly, ah, desired by certain unscrupulous individuals. One of whom has attempted to harm her this evening, if I understand correctly.”

  I nodded in agreement.

  “Would you say that the threat to your person remains immediate?” asked Sir Walter.

&nb
sp; “Um,” I said, considering how much to reveal. “I’m safe at the moment.”

  “Excellent,” said Sir Walter, turning once more to Gwyn. “As the three of us are most anxious to hear what has befallen Samanthe this evening, might I request that you allow her to tell us this without interruption?”

  Gwyn crossed her arms and frowned, but nodded her agreement.

  I picked up my story from where the man I recognized as “Ivanovich” had abducted me. I didn’t mention rippling as I felt a little confused by exactly how much “truth” Sir Walter thought we should be sharing at the moment. I also left out how I’d called emergency services to rescue Deuxième. I didn’t think Mick would react really well to that part, and I didn’t want to give Gwyn more cause for thinking Will’s family members were volatile.

  “Did he recognize you?” asked Will when I’d finished my story.

  “He recognized me as ‘Jane Smith,’” I replied. “He didn’t seem to know me as, er, Sam–who–hides–well.” I hoped Will understood my reference to the most recent time we’d run into Helga’s henchman. Just another thing I had to keep hidden from Mickie.

  Gwyn shook her head and sank into a chair. “So you’re telling me someone’s been trying to kidnap Sam because she’s got freaky genes?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “The same someones who killed my mom and my friend.”

  “That was a drunk driver,” Gwyn said. “An accident, right?”

  I sighed heavily. “When I told you about it, I thought it had been an accident. I’ve since learned that my mom and I were targeted because of my genetics. When they killed Maggie, they thought they’d killed me.”

  “And now, with the passage of several years, it appears that Samantha is once again in jeopardy. Only, this time, these same personages wish to take her alive,” said Sir Walter.

  Gwyn seemed to be considering my story. “What about the bruises on your face the day after your birthday?”

  “That was the very day I learned someone wanted me,” I said. “The same man who abducted me this evening gave me those earlier injuries.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell me?” asked Gwyn, throwing her arms up in exasperation.

  “It’s complicated,” I said. “Other people’s lives are tangled up in this as well.” I didn’t mean to give anyone away, but Gwyn saw my eyes dart to Will and Mickie as I checked how Will’s sister was taking this.

  Gwyn’s brows drew tightly together as she stared from me to Will to Mickie. Then her eyes flew wide. “Omigosh! It’s them! They’ve got what you’ve got, too. That’s why you guys are hiding from your dad, isn’t it? So he doesn’t sell you out to the guys using Sam as a punching bag!”

  She paced in a tight circle around the sofa and coffee table as we sat in stunned silence.

  “So, what is it about your genes? Have you got the cure for cancer or something?” asked Gwyn.

  I glanced over to Sir Walter.

  “A trustworthy ally is a powerful resource,” he said.

  He wasn’t going to make this easy for me. I would have to decide whether to let Gwyn hear the whole truth or not. I turned to Mickie and Will, trying to telegraph, What do you think? to each of them. Will nodded and his sister shook her head.

  Great.

  I looked Gwyn in the eye. I wasn’t sure I saw the “powerful resource,” but in her wrinkled forehead and worried expression I saw the “trustworthy ally” just fine.

  I cleared my throat and spoke. “I can turn invisible.”

  She stared at me, raised one eyebrow and guffawed. “Yeah, right.”

  “Hey,” said Mickie. “She just let you in on a secret that people have died for. Show some respect.”

  “Women die at the hands of their abusers every year, in secret,” Gwyn retorted. “If I seem skeptical, it’s because what Sam just said is about as likely as me sprouting a pair of wings.”

  Mickie and Gwyn argued back and forth while Will tidied up his sister’s supply of first aid items and rinsed the washcloth now stained with my blood.

  And I realized that if I wanted Gwyn to believe me, I was going to have to show her what I could do.

  I focused my mind on the sound of the water in the basin, watched as Will wrung the cloth out, bright drops—now clear—scattering on the porcelain. He cranked the taps round and round to turn the water off. I watched his long fingers, the scar that I’d never asked about running along his left thumb. I remembered those fingers upon my face just now. Remembered his hands pulling my face to his when we’d kissed. I sighed, let my eyes fall shut, and I felt my body tumble away from me.

  Gwyn interrupted my reverie, shouting in frantic Chinese: “Wo De Tian A!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE MOON AND THE STARS

  I may not have known Chinese, but no translation was necessary at this point. Will crossed to Gwyn’s side, trying to calm her down. Mickie threw her hands out in an I–told–you–so gesture. Sir Walter smiled and stroked his goatee, looking bemused.

  “Come back!” Gwyn’s voice came out in a strangled cry. “Make her come back!” she said to Will. “I believe it—all of it. Just make her come back.”

  I rippled back into my solid form which occasioned another round of frantic Chinese as Gwyn bounced on her toes and flicked her hands like she wanted to shake something sticky off of them.

  “That was—” she broke off looking around the room as if the words were hiding somewhere behind the furniture. “That was wrong, Sam.” She pointed and shook her finger at me. “Don’t you ever do that again without warning me first.”

  I didn’t have it in me to point out that I had warned her.

  “Omigod, omigod, omigod!” She gave her hands a few last shakes and collapsed into a chair beside Sir Walter.

  “I should have told you earlier,” I said.

  “Are you crazy?” asked Gwyn. “I don’t want to know this! I mean, I wanted to know what was with you and Will, but I’d much rather go back to living in a world where people don’t have the ability to—ew!—do that thing!”

  “Ripple,” said Mickie. “It’s called rippling.”

  “It’s freak–o–zoidal, is what it is. But why would someone want to kidnap you?” asked Gwyn, shaking her head. “Oh—wait—they want to use you for secret government work or clone lots of Sams for a drug lord army, right?”

  “Something like that,” I replied.

  “Okay, but what does this have to do with shooting cats?” asked Gwyn. “Are you going to tell me that was the bad guys chasing you and Will?” She wrapped her sweater around her tightly and let out a moan. “Oh, crap—Will, you do this too, don’t you? I get it, I get it. You all do this ripple–thing.”

  Will looked at his sister, who glared at him and shook her head “No!”

  “My sister doesn’t have the gene,” Will said. “The rest of us do.”

  “Oh, great,” said Mickie. “This is just terrific. Could we maybe get the desk clerk back up here and tell him, too?”

  “Mademoiselle Mackenzie,” said Sir Walter, his tone low and soothing, “The time for secrets is passing. It would be well for us to have someone in Las Abuelitas whose eyes are open. Your French instructor says this young lady’s mother knows everything that occurs in your small town?”

  “Nothing happens in Las Abs without Bridget Li knowing about it,” confirmed Gwyn. “But I still don’t understand … I don’t see why you couldn’t have just told me it wasn’t Will.”

  “I tried,” I said, tears brimming in my eyes. “But I had to keep Will and his sister safe.”

  “Oh, God, I’m such an idiot. Will, you don’t have to ever speak to me again. I’ll understand. You, too, Mickie.”

  “You were trying to protect someone you loved,” said Mickie, sighing heavily. “If anyone can understand that, my brother and I can.”

  “No worries, Gwyn,” said Will, holding out his hand. “It’s in the past—shake on it.”

  Sir Walter asked if he might clarify a few things about
my encounter with Deuxième.

  “Of course,” I said, wiping my eyes.

  “You say that he displayed a completely separate personality? Distinct from the man whom you previously encountered?” asked the French gentleman.

  “Yes. In fact, he said there used to be a third, er, him. Someone named Bruno who went nuts from Helga torturing him.”

  Sir Walter nodded thoughtfully. “These are persons with whom I am familiar. I had thought them twins or even clones. So, Helga Gottlieb has been breeding creatures who require no rest, loyal to her alone. Her father would not be pleased to know this.”

  “That’s biologically impossible,” said Mickie. “Humans can’t survive without sleep.”

  “I suspect,” began Sir Walter, pulling at the hair upon his chin, “That they serve her invisibly for part of each day. That might provide all the rest required by their, that is, by his body.” He looked up to me. “But enough talk of these evils.”

  Mickie looked relieved to hear this. “Thank God you got away, Sam,” she said.

  “It is indeed providential that the chamber collapsed upon your abductor,” said Sir Walter. “Nonetheless, I shall be listening for his thought signature.”

  “You won’t let anything happen to Sam, right?” asked Gwyn, her eyes brimming. “You have a plan, don’t you?”

  Sir Walter smiled. “I have many plans, all of which are directed towards providing safety for your friend, my dear. And now, I believe, it is time for all of you to rest and for me to think. Since I do that best without the demands of a physical form, I shall now ree–pill, which will also allow me to more easily ‘hear’ the thought signature of Helga’s creature, should he venture forth.” He bowed to Gwyn. “If you will permit me?”

  “Uh, totally. I’ll just … look the other way,” said Gwyn. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” said Sir Walter, vanishing from sight.

  “Omigod, Sam,” said Gwyn. “I think my brain’s going to explode. And you say you went down in the catacombs? Did you want to scream or what? You couldn’t pay me enough to set foot down there!”

  “People get seriously lost in the catacombs,” said Will. “There’s like, miles of tunnels.”