Chameleon (The Ripple Series)

by Cidney Swanson

  Mickie mumbled indistinctly, probably additional insults directed at her brother, and tiptoed a few feet farther into the cul–de–sac. “Will!” she called. “Ripple back, you troll–spawn!”

  “Come on, Mickie,” I called in a whisper. “There’s no one here.” A shiver ran along my spine as I spoke.

  “Just another quick sec,” said Mick as she ran a couple doors further down the alley.

  My forehead wrinkled with worry. I wished Will would stop trying to play super–hero.

  “No one’s here Mickie,” I said again. “They’re long gone.”

  Mickie turned back towards me, a defeated look on her face. I gave her a half–smile and was about to say something comforting when I saw her eyes grow wide with fear.

  Looking over my shoulder, I saw Helga’s blond henchman barreling towards us from across the busy boulevard. He paused mid–street as an angry motorist swerved, shouting French curses at him.

  Mickie spoke one word to me, over her shoulder: “Run!”

  Then she flew towards the blond man, waving her arms and shouting at the top of her lungs.

  Chapter Twenty

  PAYBACK

  “No!” I called as she ran towards the angry man. I dashed after her, my legs pumping crazy–fast. She didn’t have that much of a head start, but I tripped on the irregular surface of the old street and tumbled down, catching myself with my hands.

  Raising my head, I watched as something truly bizarre unfolded thirty feet ahead of me. The tall blond man seemed to alter his appearance as completely as possible. His face, which had been twisted with determination, softened and calmed. The mouth that had bared fierce canines a moment earlier relaxed. His shoulders slumped forward, and he seemed to shrink in stature as his gait loosened. Hands that had been clenched in tight fists now uncurled and dropped nonchalantly into his pockets.

  He had transformed from a raging fiend into a man without a care in the world. I felt like I’d just watched the Incredible Hulk turn back into a mild–mannered scientist.

  “Of course,” I whispered. I had just seen Ivanovich check out for the night and Deuxième come on duty. “Deuxième?” I called as I stood.

  Mickie got there moments before I did. Deuxième looked past her at me and then pulled one hand out of his pocket. In the three seconds that it took me to reach him, he grabbed Mickie, pushed up one of her sleeves, and injected her with something. She slumped immediately into his waiting arms.

  “No!” I cried. “What are you doing?”

  “This way,” he said in English, gesturing towards the alley I’d just left.

  “What have you done to her?” I called out, following him into the enclosed street.

  “She will be fine,” he said. “It is a short–acting sedative. She’ll awaken in another two minutes.”

  “What do you want?” I asked, backing away from him.

  “Deuxième wishes to speak with Jane Smith,” he said simply.

  “What did you have to go drugging her for?” I asked, my voice sounding angry.

  He looked bashful. “Deuxième is sorry for harming Jane’s friend. Jane’s friend will have a bad headache when she awakens.” He fumbled around in one of his pockets and withdrew a small vial.

  Instinctively, I jumped back.

  “This will take away her pain. Deuxième compounded it himself.” He looked pleased with himself. “It is very strong medicine for pain.”

  I took the small vial, doubtful Mick would accept treatment from such a source.

  He continued. “Deuxième reasoned that if Jane would send help to a stranger such as Deuxième when he was injured, then Jane is not someone to run away if her very special friend is unconscious.”

  I screwed my mouth into a tight knot and glared at him.

  “N’est–ce pas?” he asked in French: Right?

  “Of course I won’t run off with M—” I snatched back her identity as it dangled, caught in my throat. “With my friend in that condition. So spit it out. What do you want?”

  At that moment, Will rippled solid at the mouth of the alley. Swearing, he ran towards his sister and her captor, roaring like a wild thing. “Let her go this second,” he shouted.

  Deuxième retreated. “Stop or Deuxième vanishes with Jane’s friend,” he said to Will.

  Will hesitated.

  “That was a good trick you showed Ivanovich,” he said. “Ivanovich shared it with me. Now Deuxième knows how to take someone away with him when he vanishes.”

  Will cursed.

  In Deuxième’s arms, Mickie moaned softly.

  “Deuxième means no harm,” he said, stifling a yelp as Mickie, coming around, attempted to escape by biting her way free.

  “So let her go,” said Will fists clenching and unclenching.

  Deuxième shrugged. “Deuxième will do so after he has delivered his message.”

  “How about you let her go now,” said Will, his dark eyes flashing dangerously.

  “Let him talk, Will,” I said. “What do you want to tell us?”

  “Deuxième is behaving very, very badly today,” he said, doubt furrowing his forehead. “But Deuxième wishes to repay a debt. Ivanovich will be angry …” He hesitated.

  “Out with it, already,” shouted Will, barely able to contain his rage at seeing his sister struggling in Deuxième’s arms.

  “It is a message for Jane,” said Deuxième, wincing again as Mick kicked his shins. Deuxième hoisted her into a more secure position over his shoulder. She screamed in outrage.

  “Deuxième, can you please put her down?” I asked.

  “Does Jane promise to listen to Deuxième?” His hands were still preoccupied with a very enraged Mickie.

  “Just tell me what it is you want to tell me,” I said. “I will listen.”

  “Deuxième thought Jane might run away without this one to stay for,” he said, tilting his head to Mickie.

  “I won’t run away,” I said. “I promise. Just, please, let her go and tell me what you came to tell me.”

  Carefully, Deuxième set Mickie down as if she were made of porcelain. She got in one last kick to his shins and ran to her brother, placing herself slightly in front, guarding him.

  “It is about die Mutter,” said Deuxième. He had grabbed one hand with the other and now wrung them together, his distress palpable. “She will be very angry if she knows Deuxième warned you.”

  “Warned me about what?” I asked.

  He dropped his eyes to the ground, shaking his head from side to side. “Very angry. Very, very angry.”

  Slowly, I walked closer to Deuxième. “Your head,” I said, pointing to a butterfly bandage. “You were injured when the roof collapsed.”

  “Sam!” called Will. “Stop right there!”

  “It’s okay,” I said. I crept a few steps closer. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Je suis désolée,” I repeated in French.

  He switched to French as well. “She wishes to use you, Jane Smith. Die Mutter believes you are special. She believes you are unique. She believes that if you were to have offspring they would make better servants than poor Deuxième and Ivanovich.”

  I recoiled. This was what Helga wanted me for?

  “Sam,” called Mickie. “Please, back away!”

  “It’s okay,” I said, hoping I was right.

  “She wishes to capture you. Even though her father has forbidden it. Please, Jane Smith, be careful. Ivanovich had an assignment today: capture Jane Smith. He will have the same assignment tomorrow. And he knows where your group travels.”

  “He does? You do?” I asked.

  “Yes.” Reaching into his pocket, Deuxième pulled out another needle and vial.

  I yelped and backed away. Deuxième chortled like a small boy.

  “Not for Jane. This one,” here he touched the needle, “This one is for Ivanovich. Tomorrow morning, before Deuxième rests, he will have boarded a train heading far to the east and he will inject himself with this medicine.” His eyes twink
led with amusement. “Ivanovich will sleep all the day tomorrow. To Germany and beyond. Deuxième is making certain that Ivanovich does not do his day’s work tomorrow. Or the next day.” He laughed again.

  “Why are you telling me this?” I asked. “Won’t you get in trouble?”

  Deuxième’s voice dropped to a mere whisper. “Jane Smith saved Deuxième’s life. Deuxième does not understand why, but he is grateful. Deuxième is thanking Jane today. Merci,” he said, dropping his head in a slight bow.

  “De rien,” I said. “It was nothing.” My cheeks burned. I’d almost killed him and he wanted to thank me for saving him.

  He smiled sadly. “It was a great deal more than nothing. Deuxième understands about indebtedness.”

  As I tried to think of a way to apologize for bringing a roof down on his head, the air rippled and he disappeared.

  Will ran towards me, Mickie just behind him.

  “Sam!” she cried, throwing her arms around me. “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m … fine.” And mildly shocked by the turn of events, I thought to myself.

  “What did he say when he spoke in French?” asked Mickie.

  “We couldn’t hear him,” said Will.

  I still didn’t want to admit in front of Mickie that I’d saved the life of someone who worked for Helga. “Uh,” I said, “He wanted to warn me that Helga is on my trail.”

  “Warn you?” said Will.

  “Why would he warn you?” asked Mickie. “I thought he worked for her.”

  “He does,” I said. Inside my shoes, my toes curled and uncurled. “But I guess he doesn’t see eye to eye with her about everything.”

  “He doesn’t? Or Ivanovich doesn’t? Or both of them don’t?” asked Will.

  I frowned. “I think it’s just him. Deuxième. I think Ivanovich would hand me over in a heartbeat.”

  “The whole thing makes no sense,” said Mickie. “From now on, we stick together. Sir Walter, too. No more chasing voices in his head.”

  “That’s not reasonable,” began Will.

  “Reasonable?” asked Mickie, her voice shrill in the dark night. “Reasonable? What is reasonable about a thug rippling right in front of me and putting me in a fireman’s hoist? It could have been the other one. The Russian–guy.”

  From what I could gather, Mickie had missed the fact that she’d also been drugged. Maybe it was better that she didn’t know, all things considered.

  I wrapped an arm around Mickie’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” I said. “He’s gone. He only wanted to help.”

  “Any sign of Sir Walter?” demanded Mickie.

  The French gentleman rippled solid beside us. “I am difficult to see when I wish to avoid being seen.” Smiling, he turned to me. “Mademoiselle Sam, you handled that with great confidence and good judgment.”

  “I’ll say,” agreed Will.

  I felt a small happy fluttering in my stomach.

  “We could have used you back there,” said Mickie to Sir Walter.

  “If you had, indeed, been in need of me, I would have materialized sooner,” he replied. “Ivanovich and Deuxième have, the both of them, a quite healthy fear of me. Had I appeared, I think Deuxième might have transported you involuntarily. And, as I pointed out a moment earlier, Samanthe had things well in hand without my interference.”

  “She kept her cool, alright,” said Will. He mussed his sister’s hair, murmuring to her, “Unlike some I could mention.”

  “Ouch!” said Mickie. “Hands off the hair. My head is killing me.”

  I fingered the vial in my pocket. “Yeah, um, Deuxième said that might be a side effect.”

  “Of what?” asked Mickie and Will at the same time.

  “Uh, well, he kind of … drugged you,” I said to Mickie. “To keep me from running away without hearing him out.”

  “Oh,” said Mickie, frowning. “I don’t remember that part.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “He’s really fast with needles. You were out before I even caught up to you. He gave me something to take the pain away.” I held up the small vial of clear liquid.

  Mickie grimaced. “I don’t think so.”

  Sir Walter chuckled beside Will. “If it is of his own making, it will do exactly what he said it would do. And exceptionally well, I might add.”

  “I’ll stick with a Coke and some Advil,” said Mickie.

  “Let’s get out of here,” said Will. “Before Deuxième changes his mind.”

  I looked one last time down the dark alley, shuddering.

  Chapter Twenty–One

  COLD AS ICE

  Our group spent the Sunday before Christmas traveling to Annecy, the “Venice of France,” where we had a chance to breathe the chill air of mountains bordering Switzerland. Mickie kept a close eye on me, with all the water surrounding us, but I stayed solid, even when Will and I ran beside the lake, its dark waters haunting and pristine.

  There were no organized French Club activities the second day, and since the snow had accumulated during the night, we stayed indoors. Sir Walter planned to begin training Will and myself in self–defense for chameleons. We had plenty of room in yet another extravagant two–bedroom suite, which Sir Walter confessed to having arranged, both this time and in Paris.

  “I think,” said Sir Walter, “We should begin with a basic rescue technique. There are certain circumstances under which even chameleons find it difficult or impossible to ripple and thus might require assistance.”

  “That happens for me a lot,” I said, frowning.

  “Ah, yes,” said Sir Walter. He smoothed his goatee thoughtfully. “And yet, you had the ability to ripple from a young age, did you not?”

  “It happened once, for sure, just after I lost Mom,” I agreed.

  “But she didn’t get in years of practice, like Will,” said Mickie.

  “That will have made the difference,” said Sir Walter. “It is unlikely, Samanthe, you will ever have the facility that your friend Will enjoys.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I muttered.

  Sir Walter chuckled. “Forgive me. Your own abilities may develop significantly. However, Will ree–pills like no one I have ever before seen.”

  “Will had trouble rippling once,” said Mickie, her brows drawn tightly together.

  “I did?” asked her brother.

  “You were five,” she began, “Dad rang the doorbell and you were all excited to see him. I told you not to open the door, but you did anyway, and he clocked you before you could get away.”

  “Yeah, I remember that,” said Will. “Mick was shouting at me to ripple away after Dad hit me, only I was like, I don’t know, too tired or something. I just couldn’t make myself disappear.”

  My stomach clenched. It was wrong that a five–year–old wasn’t safe opening the door to see his dad.

  Sir Walter spoke. “If a chameleon retains less than complete consciousness, rippling becomes nearly impossible.”

  “Well, for sure my head spun in circles when Dad hit me,” said Will.

  “Your face looked so white,” Mickie murmured, the memory still raw.

  “Loss of blood, being nearly asleep, over–exertion: any of these can make rippling difficult,” said Sir Walter. “I carried smelling salts for many years in case I should need to revive myself. Perhaps we would all be wise to do so once again.”

  “But back to Sam,” said Will. “She can get better if she keeps practicing?”

  “Of course,” said Sir Walter. “In fact, I think we should allow Sam the first opportunity to attempt the rescue technique of which I spoke.” He turned and smiled at me. “Mademoiselle, having already been a victim of this technique, I believe you understand the principles.”

  I stared at him blankly.

  “When Deuxième stole away with you, yes?” said Sir Walter.

  “Oh,” I said. “You want me to try taking someone with me when I ripple?”

  He executed a tiny bow. “If you w
ould be so good as to take hold of Mademoiselle Mackenzie and ripple away?”

  “No, no, no,” said Mickie, holding her hands up as she backed away. “This body is off limits, thanks very much.”

  Sir Walter raised one eyebrow and Will turned away, chortling.

  “There may come a time when it would be well for Samanthe to ripple away with you,” said the French gentleman.

  Will rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Mick, that was years ago.”

  “Not going to happen,” she said, crossing her arms.

  Will groaned. “It was only bad ‘cause you had the stomach flu.”

  “Yeah, well I didn’t think much of your cure,” Mick grumbled.

  “One time I grabbed her out of the kitchen when she was about to puke all over the table,” said Will.

  “He didn’t bother to mention that bodily functions would resume as soon as we came solid again,” said Mick, thwacking his arm with a pillow.

  “I didn’t know,” Will admitted. He was trying hard not to grin.

  “Mickie,” I said, attempting to not sound demanding, “I’d really like the chance to try this while there’s no lives hanging in the balance.”

  She turned her head to one side, sighing heavily. I thought I could bring her around.

  I spoke again. “I don’t know if I’d be here today if your brother hadn’t rescued me using this technique.”

  One of Will’s hands flew to his forehead. His sister looked over at him, first curious, then suspicious.

  “Will?” Mickie’s voice came out in a low growl. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

  Will scuffed at the carpet. “No.”

  Suddenly I remembered that Mickie didn’t know about the trip Will and I had taken to Helga’s lab. That she wasn’t supposed to know. Ever. “Oh, crap,” I mumbled.

  “Will?” Mick’s voice raised a few decibels.

  She was working up a full head of steam. This wasn’t going to be pretty. I hoped maybe I could deflect some of her anger from her brother.

  “It was my fault. I talked Will into going back to Dr. Gottlieb’s lab,” I said. “I knew she had all these other black books like the one we got from Pfeffer, and I wanted to get them.”