Sometimes, Georg wanted to send all of them back to sleep, like Katrin. Georg wondered if the command to awaken the Angels might also be the same one that would put them to sleep. But he didn’t want to do that. In the ideal future, the one for which they were all laboring, none would be master of another. This was the point of Georg’s great plan, after all.
Still, it irked Georg to have to keep such a tight watch on someone who was an ally. He expected peril from outside, not from within. Georg wondered, and not for the first time, if it had been a mistake to send Raoul to Friedrich and Günter. Well, clearly it had been a mistake—the mission had ended in failure. But might Georg’s siblings have caused Raoul to see Georg in a different light? A less flattering light? Raoul had given no hint that this was the case. Just tonight he’d spoken derisively about all the uncles, including Pfeffer. Raoul’s latest complaint had been they never got any time off, and Raoul had said he might as well be in servitude to Uncle Pfeffer, like Günter and Friedrich.
Did Georg take time off? No, he most certainly did not, he’d told Raoul. Raoul had taken back the insulting comparison to Pfeffer, but the slur still rubbed. Georg was no Pfeffer. Georg was prepared to make all humankind his equals.
Just not yet.
Georg knew his long-awaited future would never arrive if each Angel had an equal say in what had to be accomplished and how it should be done. No, for now, Georg had to lead them all forward. They had nearly completed the manufacturing of the drug in sufficient quantities to pick their first targets—to begin the transformation of humanity. This very night, in fact, Georg had finalized his choice of location for a first demonstration of his great work.
He had wanted to pick Las Abuelitas, California. Oh, that would’ve shown Pfeffer and de Rochefort! There would’ve been such poetic justice in striking first at the very center of caméleon elitism. In fact, maybe he should reconsider. Maybe they should target the small California town first. Georg allowed himself to bask in the daydream for several minutes. But then he reminded himself of all the reasons they had chosen the island of Santa Maria de los Milagros. It was small. It was contained. The inhabitants were desperate for clean water and would accept Georg’s charitable gift of water tanks without question after having been slammed by two hurricanes in a row last fall. And who better to reward with a gift that would mean an end to the hunger and the over-crowded living in the tent slums to which they’d retreated?
And, most delightfully of all, it was Martina and Matteo’s current home. That was one good thing that had come out of the visit with Günter and Friedrich, at least. Raoul had heard mention of a sister named Martina who lived on the tiny island. Recently, Raoul had recalled this detail and told Georg. Georg had researched the island and decided it was perfect. He told himself he wasn’t choosing it because Martina called it home, but that wasn’t entirely true. He reveled in the knowledge that her small-minded attempts to help the islanders would be completely swept aside by his great plan.
He’d talked himself into a much better mood. Really, the sort of grumbling Raoul had done this evening was to be expected. Until they had a few successes under their belts, how could the others be expected to appreciate the beauty and magnitude of Georg’s plans? Now, more than ever, he had to assert his right to lead, guide, and direct. Uneasy sleeps the head with the crown, or something like that.
Georg sighed.
He just wished he didn’t feel so alone at times. Especially now that his victory was close. But he was alone. Hansel was dead, Martina a traitor. Friedrich and Günter refused to join him. He was alone.
He was so tired of feeling alone. In that moment, Georg made a decision. It had been long enough. He would awaken Katrin today. He needed her strength, her kindness. He’d needed it for months. Why had he put it off so long?
Racing toward his private office, Georg murmured the words out loud: “It’s time.” He crossed to the far corner where he’d hidden Katrin and brought her back into solid form. And then, his desperation to speak to her again consuming him like a living fire, Georg murmured the word that would awaken her: Svegliati.
13
A FAIRYTALE CONFECTION
Sam and Gwyn stood inside the tiny wooden chapel in Yosemite Valley, getting Gwyn into her dress. The chapel was no Notre Dame or Sainte Chapelle, but Chrétien had said the Yosemite trees put him in mind of the forests of long-ago France. Sam thought the steepled chapel looked like something out of a fairytale, which was fitting. Gwyn Li’s wedding dress, paid for by Sir Walter at his insistence, was a fairytale confection that went way beyond what Sam had imagined.
Instead of powdered sugar, the gown was dusted with thousands of sparkling silver dots. Billowing layers of white tulle supported an organza skirt which drew in tightly at Gwyn’s waist. The gown was sleeveless with a high neckline that formed a point resting on her collarbone. A brilliant diamond necklace attached at the collarbone-point of the dress. Given Sir Walter’s unfathomable wealth, Sam wondered if the diamonds might just be real.
While Sam helped dress her, Gwyn sighed over the number of chocolate chip cookies she’d eaten in the past forty-eight hours.
“It’s not going to button,” Gwyn said mournfully.
“It will button just fine,” said Sam. “There’s actually a zipper, so the buttons are decorative.”
“Oh!” said Gwyn, brightly. “Well, then, zip away. As long as I don’t have to worry about buttons flying all over the place when I try to breathe.”
At Chrétien’s request, Gwyn wore her dark hair long and unadorned, but then she received a mysterious box delivered by Will, “from Chrétien.” When Sam opened it for her, Gwyn gasped.
“A tiara!” said Gwyn. “Chrétien gave me a tiara.” Gwyn turned to Sam, her eyes filled with tears. “I’ve always wanted one. Ever since I dressed up as Cinderella for Halloween and broke my tiara right before trick-or-treating. It fell off my head.”
“Then we’d better make sure this one is firmly attached,” said Sam, placing the miniature crown on Gwyn’s head and securing it with the attached comb and a few well-placed bobby pins. “There,” said Sam, smiling softly. “You look like a princess.”
“I look like something that belongs in Ma’s bakery case,” said Gwyn, eyeing herself in the mirror.
Sam laughed. “You do. But only a little. Chrétien will love it, and that’s what matters, right?”
Sam had been working at keeping her tone light, her mood cheerful. She was not going to fail her best friend on the most important day of her life. But it was hard, smiling when Gwyn made mischievous comments about how it wouldn’t be long….
Sam was becoming clearer and clearer on the conundrum before her, but no clearer on how to resolve it. She didn’t want to break up with Will, but the thought of marrying him terrified her. In the days since her panic attack, she’d come to recognize her panic had sprung from her fear that, if she married Will, she might lose him. As she’d lost her mother.
The dread of this threatened to consume her. Her nightmares were worse than ever. She couldn’t live like this, with fear writhing like a living thing in her belly. And she couldn’t begin to describe this fear to Will, or to anyone else. How did you explain something powerful enough to bring you to your knees like that panic attack? How did you face a fear that gnawed at your bones, that chilled the blood in your veins?
“Soon you’ll be in my shoes,” said Gwyn, bringing Sam back to the present. “Well, not literally,” she said, extending a tiny foot out from under her gown. “You’d look like one of Cinderella’s stepsisters if you tried cramming this on your foot.”
For Gwyn’s sake, Sam gave a tiny laugh as she fluffed out Gwyn’s train.
“There. You’re all ready,” said Sam, handing Gwyn her “bouquet.”
Gwyn had chosen to carry a single white lily, a fleur de lis in honor of Chrétien’s French heritage.
Once Sir Walter had discovered Madame Li would not be in attendance, he’d declared he would only att
end invisibly, lest the good woman should be further offended seeing him in pictures someday. Thus, it fell to Sam to walk Gwyn down the aisle to where Chrétien waited, beaming alongside Will, who was beaming almost as brightly himself.
Sam ran through all of the calming exercises recommended to her through the combined efforts of Sylvia, Bridget Li, and Mickie, who turned out to be well-versed in panic. Breathe slowly. Feel the ground under your feet. Feel the weight of your hands. Breathe. Slowly. Deeply. Remember why you are here.
Father Thomas spoke the timeless words of the ceremony with eloquence, giving Sam something else upon which to center her attention. The priest was a short and jolly man, reminding Sam of an undernourished Saint Nick. Who spoke Latin. And could marry people legally in the state of California.
The ceremony was brief, involving only the vows and a short homily. As Sam stood beside her friend, she vacillated between feeling hollow and elated, fearful and awed, sad and happy. And as an undercurrent, at all times she was far too aware of standing close to Will at a wedding ceremony.
Will.
What was the way out of her conundrum? Her heart ached and she longed to spill all her feelings to him as fully as she had once been able to do. They had the drive back from the tiny chapel in Yosemite. Maybe Sam would find a way to explain things to Will on the drive home.
After the service was concluded, Father Thomas joined Mr. and Mrs. de Rochefort and Will and Sam for a piece of cake.
Sam stared at the cake in confusion. It was indisputably a Las Abuelitas Bakery Café creation.
“Gwyn? Where did you get that cake?” Sam asked.
Gwyn’s face flushed. “I ordered it. I mean, I pretended someone else ordered it.” She leaned in and whispered in Sam’s ear. “I couldn’t get married without one of Ma’s cakes. It’s like she’s here with me, this way.”
Sam, hearing the hint of pain in Gwyn’s voice, pasted a smile over her face, and said it was a beautiful gesture.
And then, in no time at all, Sam was helping Gwyn out of her dress and into something more practical for Yosemite, and then Gwyn handed her lily-bouquet to Sam with a wink. Sam’s chest tightened, but she took the flower and tried her best to smile back. In another handful of minutes, she and Will were throwing bird seed at the happy couple and waving them off into the warm March afternoon.
Once the car was out of sight, Will pulled Sam into a tight embrace, and as their cheeks touched, Sam swore she felt a tear on Will’s face.
~ ~ ~
Sam took the curves up and out of Yosemite Valley with the practice of innumerable trips taken alongside Will the last two years. Driving soothed and steadied her by giving her something that demanded her full attention.
They drove in silence through Wawona, past Fish Camp, and clear to the turn off for Las Abs before Will finally spoke.
“I guess … I guess I always thought it would be us getting married first,” he said.
Us.
Sam let the word shiver in the air between them.
“I mean,” said Will, “I’m glad for Chrétien. I’m glad for Gwyn. But it feels so … rushed.”
“I know,” replied Sam. It felt good to say it out loud after a morning and afternoon of being supportive. “Gwyn cried before the ceremony started, and I didn’t know what to do. I was about to say it was okay and she didn’t have to go through with it if she didn’t want to, but it turned out Gwyn was crying because she wished her mom would find someone, too. She was worried about how lonely Bridget would be now.”
Sam knew she was talking too fast, babbling, to keep the conversation from returning to Will’s original remark.
“Maybe,” said Will, “She should have thought of that before she ran away to get married without asking her mom to give her away.”
Sam made a grunting noise of agreement, relieved Will hadn’t viewed the whole thing through rose colored glasses.
“Bridget will be fine, though,” Will continued. “They’ll live practically across the street. It takes, what? A minute to walk from one place to the other?”
“Yeah,” agreed Sam. “Bridget will be fine, eventually. Although, I don’t see why Gwyn couldn’t have waited another couple months. Or a year.”
Will laughed. “Oh, I think she explained that part pretty clearly.”
Sam felt her face turning red. “I guess.”
A pair of red-winged blackbirds swooped down across the highway, startling Sam and causing her to grip the steering wheel more tightly.
“But still,” she continued. “I don’t understand the rush to grow up all the sudden.”
“We are growing up. You can’t really rush it or slow it down. It’s happening either way.”
Sam frowned. “Well, I don’t like it,” she said softly.
“You don’t?” Will shrugged. “I, for one, am excited to move out from living under the same roof with my sister.”
“You say that, but you’ll miss her. You two love one another.”
Will grunted. “Sure. We love each other.” There was a familiar hint of sarcasm in his voice. “We just don’t like each other.” He sighed heavily. “The truth is, we’re too old to be living under the same roof. I make her crazy, and she returns the favor on a regular basis.”
“I feel sad thinking about you and Mick not living in the cabin anymore.”
“Sad?”
“Yeah. I hate how everything has to change.”
Will’s brow furrowed. Sam caught the expression as she signaled to turn right onto the highway that would take them both home again.
“Don’t you?” she asked.
“Hate change?” Will shrugged. “No. I mean, you don’t want me to live with my sister forever, right? I mean, there’s us, right?”
Sam remained silent. Her heart picked up its pace.
“Right? Sam?”
She fiddled with her rear view mirror. She needed to ground herself if she was going to have this conversation. If she could have it at all….
“Sam, just to be clear, you and me, we’re still, you know, getting married some day, right?”
Sam felt a wave of panic at the question. Let it pass over you, she instructed herself.
“And the sooner the better, I figure,” added Will.
They passed a biker, zooming downhill crazy-fast.
Crazy fast. That was how things felt to Sam.
“You feel that way, too, Sam, don’t you?”
Sam exhaled slowly. How was she supposed to have this conversation? It was impossible. Will would never understand.
“Don’t you?” repeated Will.
“You know how I feel about you,” she said at last.
Will’s white teeth flashed in Sam’s peripheral vision. “I hope I do. So how about it? When are we going to tie the knot?”
“Do we have to talk about this now?” asked Sam, struggling with the feeling that something terrible was about to happen. Danger. There was terrible, terrible danger and it was coming for her—
“I guess we don’t have to talk about it now,” said Will.
Breathe, Sam told herself as her heart began to pound. It will pass.
The silence in the car began to feel oppressive, but neither of them broke it. They passed mile marker eighteen. And then nineteen. They were almost home.
“Just, I want to be clear about something,” said Will as mile marker twenty flashed past and Sam prepared to slow down and enter town.
“You and me,” said Will. “We’re still together, right? Or is that just me imagining things?”
Sam bit her lower lip.
“Sam, answer me.”
“I don’t know,” said Sam.
“You … don’t know? What’s that supposed to mean?”
The conversation was going in all the wrong directions. How could she explain it to him? To say it was about her and not him felt like the worst kind of cliché. But it was about her. About the band tightening around her chest as the conversation moved forward.
“Sam, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to marry you. If that’s not what you want, then I think I deserve to know.”
Sam looked over and saw the pale color of his face, the way his hands were balled into fists, pushing into the chair. They sped past Will’s house, and Sam cursed under her breath.
“Is that not what you want, then?” demanded Will.
His face wasn’t just the wrong color. It was the wrong shape. He was fighting to keep it together as much as she was. Maybe she could explain … maybe she could find a way.
Sam missed the turn into her driveway and cursed again, her anger taking the edge off the panic she’d felt a moment earlier.
“You missed our houses,” said Will, his voice flat.
“I know it!” she shouted. “You don’t have to rub it in.”
“I wasn’t—” Will cut himself off and exhaled loudly. “Listen, just answer my question. Do you want to marry me or not?”
“Why is everyone in such a hurry to get married?” demanded Sam. This conversation was not the one she wanted to have. There were so many things to talk about before they even got anywhere close to talking about marriage.
Sam slowed at the 20 MPH sign as they entered Las Abuelitas. Dr. and Mrs. Yang waved at them. Will lifted a hand to wave back. Sam didn’t.
“So you don’t want to get married,” said Will.
“Of course not. Not now,” said Sam, gripping the wheel. “We haven’t even graduated from high school.”
“Okay,” said Will, breathing heavily. “Okay. Listen, just turn into the school lot and drop me off at Sir Walter’s, all right?”
“Will, listen….”
“No. I get it.”
“I don’t even know if I get it,” replied Sam. “I mean … oh, I don’t know what I mean.”
“Don’t miss the driveway—”
Perilous: A Ripple Novel (Ripple Series Book 7) Page 6
