Chameleon (The Ripple Series)

by Cidney Swanson

  “You’re free of her,” I said. “She … she’s dead now.”

  “Ah, freedom. La Liberté,” he whispered. “It has a good feeling, does it not, Jane Smith?”

  “Yes, Deuxième,” I said. Twin tears dropped from my eyes, landed upon his face.

  “Jane weeps,” he said.

  “Yes, Deuxième, Jane weeps.” Gently, I wiped the side of his face.

  “Do not weep, Jane Smith. Deuxième wishes to rest now. Speak to me of a resting place.”

  “A resting place?” I stammered, wondering what he wanted. And then a memory returned to me from last summer.

  “There’s a place in Yosemite,” I began. “A place where every summer the snow melt chases down into a shallow valley to become Illilouette Creek. Beside the creek it is so peaceful your heart aches.” I took Deuxième’s hand. “And the creek bottom is lined with rocks of every color you can imagine. Golds and browns and tans, pinks and yellows and creams, all spotted with shining bits of black embedded in the granite millions of years ago.

  “The water runs clear and pure, because it’s from melted snow, and sometimes you don’t think you’re looking at water at all. It’s like glass, that water, until a breeze comes singing down the valley, setting the trees alive with chatter.” I laughed, knowing I sounded ridiculous, but this was what I had to offer. “I have no idea what the trees are saying, Deuxième. It sounds solemn and peaceful, though. And the same breeze that makes the trees murmur comes down to the creek and wrinkles the surface so that you remember it isn’t glass at all.” Pausing, I heard a different kind of breath rattle from Deuxième’s lips, and I knew he was gone. The Well of Juno fell silent. I gazed at the fallen star in the pool beside his body.

  Sitting with him in the silent chamber of the well, I wept. “Rest, Deuxième,” I said at last. “Rest in peace.”

  I stood to leave, feeling a sudden surge of panic about Will.

  I don’t remember my race up the stairs, across the courtyard, and up the first few stairs in the tower. Will lay resting, his head pillowed upon Sir Walter’s jacket.

  Sir Walter looked up at me, his brows raised in a silent question.

  “Deuxième is gone,” I choked out the words. I couldn’t form sounds to ask about Will.

  The old gentleman closed his eyes, sighing, then turned back to his patient. “Will?”

  Will’s eyes, tired and strained, opened slowly.

  “It is time,” said Sir Walter.

  Will turned to me and I felt my face flush. I could think only of our kiss when I looked at him, but it was impossible to look away.

  Sir Walter waved the sal volatile below Will’s nose, and Will’s eyes brightened. He sat up, blinking in the sunlight.

  “Ready when you are,” Will said.

  Sir Walter nodded and explained to me, “Your friend will feel much better in his chameleon form. You and I, meanwhile, must bury poor Deuxième. I have asked Will to remain in physical contact with you whilst he is invisible. When you and I have finished our task, we shall join him to return to Mademoiselle Mackenzie.”

  I felt my cheeks burning hotter with the mention of physical contact, but nodded that I understood: this would be the best way to be sure Will remained “with” us. Then I thought of something. “Uh, Sir Walter?”

  “Yes, my child?”

  “We’ll need, like, a shovel or something, won’t we?”

  He smiled. “I have something else in mind. Come.”

  I stood to follow Sir Walter as Will rippled and disappeared. A moment later I felt the chill of Will’s touch upon my shoulder. A cold shoulder. Was there some awful symbolism happening here? Would Will brush our friendship aside now that I’d crossed an unspoken line by kissing him?

  He kissed you back! I tried to find comfort in the idea, but did kissing back count when you were only semi–conscious? I pushed the thoughts aside. I had a job to do.

  Sir Walter, as he crossed the barren courtyard, looked around as if to snatch memories from his former home. What would it be like if I came back to my house in Las Abs six hundred years from now? The pool would still be there, maybe, as a big hole in the ground. I shuddered again and jogged to catch up to the old gentleman.

  As we re–entered the chamber of the well and approached Deuxième’s body, Sir Walter sighed long and low. How many deaths had he seen, I wondered? And yet this thousandth death, of a man half his enemy, could touch and grieve the old man. My heart filled with love for Sir Walter.

  “My dear Samanthe,” he began, “With your assistance, I propose that we ripple with Deuxième’s body between us and place him within these walls for his final rest.”

  “So, we’d have to be, like, both holding him, right?” I asked. “But what if we don’t ripple at the same time?” I didn’t want to think it through too carefully in case it involved something messy.

  “I shall time my shift to yours.” He smiled and added, “I am rather fast, my dear.”

  Yeah. I’d seen that a few minutes ago.

  We knelt on opposite sides of Deuxième’s body. As I slipped my arms beneath the body, I kept thoughts of kissing Will from materializing. Will’s wintry touch upon my shoulder meant he’d “see” what I thought. Instead, I let my eyes rest upon the water beyond Sir Walter. Wispy hints of steam rose off of the still pool.

  So peaceful, I thought. A sigh escaped me, and then I felt my flesh fading. Across from me, Sir Walter followed. Deuxième rippled with us, an airy nothing.

  “Arise,” said Sir Walter, his voice clear and firm within my mind. “We shall place him behind the Madonna.”

  As I glanced up, I saw a faded mural upon the chamber wall opposite us. We drifted toward it and then plunged within the wall. I smelled the chalk–dry whisper of stone.

  “Release him,” commanded Sir Walter.

  I let slip my hands. Goodbye Deuxième, I said in silence.

  I heard Sir Walter murmur familiar phrases. Latin, I thought.

  I saw a message scrawled in Will’s handwriting: He’s chanting a Requiem Mass.

  I waited, a silent witness. The solemn words rolled through me, and I thought of how this would please Deuxième, who had known so little of comfort or kindness. And then Sir Walter pronounced an Amen and it was time for us to depart.

  Our trio flowed silently upwards. Through dank earth that smelled like Sylvia’s garden when she turned it in early spring, through rotting leaves and the moisture of new growth. And then we burst forth into daylight.

  We’d emerged in smoke–tainted air beside the corpses of Helga and Sir Walter’s Citroën.

  I turned my eyes from Helga’s burnt skeleton.

  Will, Samanthe, called Sir Walter. If you will wait a few moments, I shall attend to this … mess.

  I felt Sir Walter pull away from us, coming solid. Repeating the water–ski maneuver I’d seen Helga doing earlier, Sir Walter scattered graveled earth, putting out the last bits of smoldering–car. Then, using a similar technique, he created a shallow grave and pushed Helga’s remains within. A few more moments and the bones and evil dreams of Helga Gottlieb lay buried beneath the graveled earth of Sir Walter’s childhood home.

  Sir Walter’s form wavered to rejoin us invisibly. “I am afraid that our return journey must be made without the vehicle.” I could feel something like a sigh of regret pass from his mind to ours. “As it is but five kilometers, I hope you will not mind.”

  Invisible is working well for me at the moment, wrote Will.

  I wondered what would happen when he had to solidify again.

  And, Sir Walter? Will continued. That. Was. Seriously. Badass.

  I felt the rumble of Sir Walter’s laugh. “I believe the two of you are aware of how swiftly it is possible to move in this form,” he said.

  Let’s go, wrote Will.

  I took a last look around while the wind whispered secrets through chinks in the castle wall. Then I felt the tug of Will’s hand within mine, and suddenly we were flying, soaring deliciously al
ong the winding countryside road. A pair of rabbits bounded away from us, terrified. The speed was glorious, and even without the pumping of heart, lungs, and legs, I felt a fierce joy I’d known only from sprinting full–out, holding nothing in reserve. In far fewer than the sixteen minutes, fifty–four seconds it took me to run my best 5K, we arrived at the small cottage.

  Will and I rippled back once we were inside the cottage. Mickie, aware of us though she had an arm over her closed eyes, spoke.

  “You’re back soon,” she said. “Was it that boring?” she half–whispered the question to us without opening her eyes as Sir Walter solidified and traipsed down the narrow hall.

  “Boring as hell,” Will said. He smiled my direction, white–faced, before collapsing onto a sofa across from his sister.

  Mick opened her eyes, eyebrows raising in question and then alarm, taking in torn clothing, scratches, and the bloody bandage wrapped around her brother’s chest. “Oh my God! Will, what happened? Are you all right?” Mickie froze, temporarily at a loss for words. She inhaled deeply. “Okay. What. Is. Going. On?”

  Chapter Twenty–Six

  WHAT IT MEANT

  Sir Walter reappeared from the back rooms, carrying swaths of bandaging. Will, laying upon the sofa, looked like he could use medical attention.

  “How do I call 9–1–1 in France?” asked Mickie, her face pale.

  “Not necessary,” said Sir Walter, setting the assortment of dressings down upon the coffee table. “Nor advisable,” he added. “Samantha, if you will, please explain things to Mademoiselle Mackenzie. Will and I must leave our physical forms if I am to remove the bullet safely.”

  With no further word, the pair of them vanished.

  “Bullet?” asked Mickie, looking like she might be sick.

  I began the tale of all that had happened since we left the cottage. Mickie’s color returned as she punctuated my account with salty expletives. Since most of them were directed at Helga, I didn’t mind at all.

  “I guess invisible is pretty much the last word in surgery,” said Mickie when I’d finished.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, my gaze shifting to the couch across from Mickie, where I assumed Sir Walter was still treating Will.

  As I spoke, the air rippled and Will solidified. Sir Walter followed.

  “Had to be you that took one for the team,” Mickie said to her brother, sighing.

  Will smiled weakly as Sir Walter carefully re–dressed the wound, binding Will’s left arm in place against his chest.

  “How do you feel?” I asked.

  “Better,” said Will, looking dolefully at the restraint upon his arm.

  “One fortunate side effect of the timing of Will’s vanishing is that the bullet left no exit wound,” said Sir Walter. “Had he delayed another millisecond …” The French gentleman shrugged.

  “At least you got something right there, little bro,” said Mickie.

  “What did you do to me?” Will asked, looking at Sir Walter. “I feel really … well, I feel pretty good compared to back at the castle.”

  Sir Walter shrugged. “I have had centuries to perfect the art of healing as a chameleon.”

  “I felt all this tugging kind of stuff going on,” said Will. “But nothing hurt. You took the bullet out, didn’t you? I think I might have felt that.”

  The French gentleman nodded. “I knit back together what I could of your damaged flesh. It will be some time before you feel entirely back to normal.”

  Will’s face broke into a broad grin. “You are one talented grandpa.”

  We spent the remainder of Christmas Day resting beside the fireplace. Sir Walter showed me the woodpile—seasoned wood that burned hot—and I tried my best to care for Mickie’s cold and Will’s injuries. Our French friend declared he had additional work to do.

  “The smoke from the car–fire will have caught someone’s attention,” he said. “Although, as it is Christmas and my countrymen take their holidays seriously, I think we have a day’s reprieve before anyone travels to investigate. Enough time, in short, for me to disguise the true nature of our encounter and activities.”

  After Sir Walter left, Will told us more. “He’s going to bring down the castle.”

  “What?” I asked, overlapping with Mickie’s “How?”

  “Well, not the whole castle,” Will replied. “But he plans to cover the remains of the car by taking out a wall. He told me while he was doing surgery. I didn’t really understand the ‘how’ all that well. Something to do with rippling back and forth to imitate seismic activity.”

  “Of course,” said Mickie, rolling her eyes.

  “Whatever he’s doing, it will be thorough,” said Will. “He’s making sure no one poking around there will leak word back to Geneses about today. Apparently Helmann keeps an eye on the Well of Juno.”

  “Okay,” said Mickie. “I’ve had my fill of guns and danger. I’m going to bed, and I’m going to pretend my cold is the worst thing that’s happened to us today.” As she shuffled down the hall she called out. “I will kill anyone who disturbs me before morning.”

  I piled another log onto the fire, stabbed at the blaze with the poker, building it back to a roaring conflagration. Suddenly I felt aware of Will and our kiss and how we sat alone. My face burned from more than just the combustion upon the grate. I wondered what Will remembered. What he thought.

  And I knew it was time to settle this part of my life.

  “Will, what did you mean by kissing me back today?”

  His features flicked through several emotions. “Um, is this a trick question?”

  I kept my expression calm, waiting for his response.

  His face flushed a deep red. “Geez, Sam. How many things can a kiss mean?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think I came up with about five last fall. ‘I like you,’ ‘I want you,’ ‘I wonder what that lip gloss tastes like,’ ‘I wonder if she’d let me.’” I hesitated then murmured quietly, “I love you.”

  Will averted his gaze, staring at a lace doily on the coffee table. “So, yeah, all the above except for the lip gloss one. Guys seriously hate that stuff.” He ran his good right hand through his hair and closed his eyes as though to focus. “I meant all those things, Sam. Both times. I know you don’t feel that way for me. Obviously.”

  My heart swelled with hope, but the words that spilled out sounded irate. “How would you know that? Ever thought about asking me?”

  “That was me asking you, last fall.” He frowned. “And you answered. You gave me a peck on the cheek, like you were my sister or something.” His face twisted with aversion.

  He’d misinterpreted my kiss, the one that meant “I love you, too.”

  “Not to mention,” Will paused, shaking his head. “You rippled. You hated it so much you ran off.”

  “I … what?”

  His eyes examined the carpet as he murmured, voice soft. “And I’d appreciate it if you found another way to get mad enough to ripple, or whatever that was today.”

  “I didn’t ripple to get away, last fall.” I said, my world turning topsy–turvy. “And I didn’t kiss you to get myself mad enough to ripple today.” The idea was ludicrous.

  “Well then, what the hell did you run off for the first time I kissed you?” Will asked. “Obviously you didn’t like it back then. And what was today about? Pity–kiss for the dying boy?” Hurt and anger colored his tone; he wouldn’t look at me.

  “You—I—you’ve got everything completely wrong!” My voice had grown loud. How could Will be such an idiot? I dropped to a whisper, suddenly aware of his sister. “I did not kiss you out of pity!” The idea was so crazy I didn’t even know where to start.

  “So you tell me,” Will said, lowering his voice and meeting my gaze. His brows drew together in a frown; I didn’t know what I saw there. Resentment? Confusion? He repeated his demand: “You tell me what those kisses meant to you.”

  My throat threatened to squeeze shut. I hated the ridiculous tears form
ing behind my eyes. “I like you,” I choked out. “Okay?”

  “You do?” Shock washed all other emotions from his face.

  “Yes, you dweeb,” I said. Somehow I’d crossed the couple of feet between us. I knelt beside Will’s couch. I’d left anger and hurt back at the fire, new emotions taking their place. “And I want you.”

  “Yeah?” A ridiculous grin broke across his face.

  I felt like someone who opens their wallet and finds it full of hundred dollar bills.

  I leaned in close so that he could hear as I whispered. “And I love you.”

  “Oh. Wow.” When he spoke again, his voice rasped low and husky. “So we should kiss again. To see if I can catch all that correctly this time.” His dark eyes bored into mine, hungry.

  I ran fingers down the angle of his jaw, stopped my thumb to trace his full lips, leaned to whisper in his ear: “Listen very carefully.”

  I closed the space between our mouths.

  And in that moment I unlearned months of yearning, unlearned the you can’t haves and the you shouldn’t wants. Because all I had now was everything. And all I wanted was Will’s skin touching mine like this forever.

  Heat warmed my belly, spread out through the rest of me like wildfire. And then I noticed the absence of heat from the fireplace; I’d slipped into invisibility.

  “Oh,” he whispered, re–entering the world minus me. “You blissed out. Like, like … staring at Illilouette Creek.”

  I shimmered back inside my skin, a smile on my face. “Yeah,” I said.

  “Oh … wow.” He looked dazed. “You … you rippled last fall because you liked it when I kissed you.”

  I nodded, smiling back. “Want me to show you again?” I leaned in to his face, flushed with surprise and happiness, and kissed him. I like you, I want you, I love you.

  After I’d reappeared a fourth or fifth time, Will reached for my hand instead of my mouth. Pressing his head back into the pillows of the couch, he looked at the ceiling, slowly shaking his head back and forth. His smile grew to a boyish grin.