Perilous: A Ripple Novel (Ripple Series Book 7)

by Cidney Swanson

  He glanced over to Skandor. Skandor’s jaw had tightened and his face was paler, more serious, as Chrétien discussed the dangers they might encounter. A little danger, a little distraction—this was exactly what Will needed right now.

  “I’m coming, too,” said Will.

  The other conversations halted and everyone in the room turned to face Will.

  “Sam Ruiz won’t like that,” said Skandor.

  Everyone in the room turned to face Skandor.

  Sir Walter gave a gentle, “Ahem,” and reached for his coffee.

  Chrétien became suddenly preoccupied with a spill of half and half beside the coffee service.

  Skandor looked from face to face, landing on Will’s.

  “Am I missing something here?” asked Skandor.

  “Sam and I….” The words stuck. Will cleared his throat. He tried again. “Me and Sam … well, the thing is there’s no more Sam and me. So, no, she won’t be objecting.”

  “Dude,” murmured Skandor. “Dude.” He shook his head slowly.

  Chrétien began to polish a spot on the silver coffee pot.

  Skandor breathed out heavily. “Well, that sucks. I guess I’m the only one in here this is news to?”

  “Yeah,” said Will, examining his shoes as though they were suddenly very interesting. “I thought you would have heard. Everyone in Las Abuelitas has heard, that’s for sure.” He felt his face heating as he said it. Better that than choking up, though.

  “Wow. I’m so sorry. What happened?” asked Skandor.

  Will shrugged and picked the top piece of bread off his sandwich as if the answer were to be found underneath. “I guess we just wanted different things.”

  Sir Walter stroked his goatee, looking meditative. Will was afraid the old French gentleman was about to make some profound pronouncement, and right now, with the wound freshly poked at and prodded, he wasn’t in the mood.

  “So, come on,” Will said. “These plans aren’t going to make themselves. How do we break into a possibly heavily guarded, definitely top-secret facility on an island in the Atlantic, rescue a damsel in distress, and live to tell the tale?”

  21

  SUBJECT TO WILD SWINGS

  Drifting invisibly through the compound, Katrin didn’t find Georg in the next room over from hers, which was a laboratory. Was Georg still working on an enzyme that would last longer, then? She nosed around, but it was impossible to know what he was up to by just looking. He could have been breeding mice in order to sell them to the owners of pet snakes, one of the ideas she’d vetoed when they were young and trying to figure out what to do with their lives. Georg had always had a discomforting ability to ignore the pain of other creatures. And other people.

  She passed into the next room. This one, too, resembled a laboratory. There were dishes and trays containing who-knew-what. Something that needed temperature regulation—that much she could determine. What was Georg up to?

  Upon passing into the third room down from hers, Katrin encountered people. People who were not Georg. But they had that look about them—that fair-haired, light-eyed look that said they were Helmann’s children. Had Georg found more Angels, then? Clearly she needed to ask a few more questions. It felt sneaky to remain in the room, invisibly, while the others were unaware of her presence. Actually, it felt like a return to childhood habits. The siblings had spied on one another and on their foster mothers whenever Helmann had granted a caméleon’s holiday.

  The two young men in the room were eating sausage and toast.

  “What’s Georg up to this morning?” asked the blonder of the two.

  The darker boy grunted. “Same-old same-old. He lives for it, doesn’t he?”

  The blond one nodded. “It’ll be weird, don’t you think? Life on planet Earth in another ten years?”

  The darker boy grunted again. It seemed to be an important part of his vocabulary. “When has life on Earth not been strange? Our lives, anyway.”

  “True. I just….” The blond boy didn’t finish the thought.

  “Raoul,” said the darker boy, “the time for second thoughts is over. Long over.”

  “I know.”

  “So quit being such a … philosopher,” said the dark-haired boy. He said it as if it were an insult. “Or if you want to over-think it to death, just focus on the benefits to the planet. The reduction of environmental harms by greedy humans.”

  Raoul shrugged, unconvinced.

  “You gonna eat that?” asked the dark-haired boy, pointing to the remains of Raoul’s breakfast.

  Raoul passed the plate to his companion. “Knock yourself out.”

  “We need another grocery run, you know.”

  “If you’d stop eating like a horse, we could put it off longer,” said Raoul.

  The dark haired boy puffed his chest out and used a funny accent. “Owen big man. Owen need meat.” He thumped his chest.

  Raoul laughed. “You’re such an idiot.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m a hungry idiot. Seriously, you should do another food run.”

  “I’ll ask Georg.”

  “It’s like Georg doesn’t even like food or something. I swear he’d do without it if he could,” said Owen.

  Raoul rose. “Okay. I’m out of here. I’ll be working on the generator. Again.”

  “Better you than me. You can philosophize between adjustments.”

  This time, it was Raoul who grunted. “It should make us stop and think, you know. Georg’s plans are … well, he’s playing god.”

  Owen shrugged and rose and walked back to the lab. “For a good cause. You’re over-thinking things,” he said. Then he threw one last thought over his shoulder. “As usual.”

  Raoul turned so suddenly that he passed right through Katrin’s invisible form before she had a chance to back away.

  Raoul’s response was swift. He frowned and placed his hands on his hips. “Honestly, Georg, if you want to know what I think, you can just come ask me. You don’t have to skulk in corners waiting for me to confess … or whatever you want to call it.”

  He waited—Katrin surmised he was expecting Georg to solidify in the room. She back away swiftly.

  Raoul spoke again. “Seriously. I know you’re in here. Why don’t you face me man to man?” He crossed his arms over his chest. His right foot tapped impatiently.

  “Fine,” said Raoul. “Whatever. I’ve got work to do.” With that, Raoul stormed out, passing into a room Katrin hadn’t yet visited.

  She followed him. Of the two, he was the one who had caught her interest. What was Georg up to, besides living a simple life on a remote island? What was all that talk about life on Earth, and changes, and philosophy?

  Katrin debated coming solid and telling Raoul she wasn’t Georg and that she was sorry she’d been listening in. But that would mean revealing her ability to turn invisible. Raoul might not care if she could vanish, but she didn’t want Georg to find out. Not yet.

  Something like a chill traveled through her invisible form. What if he was culturing that drug Fritz had been making—Immutin—the one that would permanently damage a caméleon’s ability to vanish? She knew Georg’s moods were subject to wild swings. She didn’t want to invite him to slap some Immutin on her the next time they argued over something.

  No, she wasn’t demonstrating her ability to Raoul or anyone else who might tell Georg.

  Raoul walked outside and Katrin followed. There stood Georg, not ten feet away, in conversation with two other young men, also fair of skin, eyes, and hair. How many Angels had Georg gathered here? And for what purpose?

  Raoul strode angrily forward, interrupting the conversation between Georg and the other two. “I don’t appreciate being spied on. Are we clear about that? I’ve done everything you’ve asked. If you’re uncomfortable with some of my views, then talk to me.”

  Georg stared at Raoul with genuine bewilderment.

  “Who is … spying on you?” asked Georg.

  “You are,” said Raou
l. But some of the bluster had gone out of him. “I thought. Just now in the galley.”

  Georg frowned. “I’ve been here for the past half hour.”

  Raoul’s brows drew together. He looked over to the others. “With you?”

  “Yes,” said the two men in chorus.

  “I see,” replied Raoul. “Well, then, I’m sorry.”

  Georg stared at him. “Should I be spying on you? Are you having … second thoughts about our great work?”

  Raoul rolled his eyes. “No more than usual. I’ll be over at the generator.” He turned to go. Then he turned back. “Unless you want me to do a food run. Owen says we need more food.”

  “We do,” affirmed the pair of blond Angels.

  “Hmm,” said Georg. “Let me think about that. Perhaps I’ll send someone else this time.”

  With a pinch of surprise, Katrin caught Georg’s internal monolog. Was he no longer shielding his thoughts? Georg was wondering if Raoul was still trustworthy. Wondering if Raoul should be kept on a shorter leash.

  Katrin wondered if Raoul overheard things he didn’t like when Georg forgot to guard his temper and his thoughts. Was this the source of their discord?

  Then, just as suddenly as Katrin had begun to hear Georg’s thoughts, they cut off, mid-thought.

  Katrin felt more certain than ever that she didn’t want Georg to know the truth about her restored ability. That, and she was going to have to keep an ear out for things he might not say aloud.

  22

  YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT?

  There was a knock at Sam’s bedroom door. It was a Sylvia knock, and Sam hastily sat up. It was noon and she was still in bed.

  “Come in.”

  “Morning, sunshine,” said Sylvia, seating herself on the edge of the bed. She took Sam’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

  For her step-mom’s sake, Sam tried to muster something like an enthusiastic smile.

  “I know we talked about visiting the De Young Museum over Spring Break,” said Sylvia, “But I’m having second thoughts.”

  With this news, Sam felt tears welling up.

  “Oh, honey.” Sylvia leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Sam. “Of course we can still go if you want to, but I got some news—”

  “No,” said Sam. “It’s not that. I don’t want to go. I want to stay here.”

  “You want to stay home?”

  “I didn’t want to disappoint you, and I’m sure I’ll be sorry someday, but right now, I just want to be home.” She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. “The stupid tears are from … I don’t know … relief.”

  Sylvia passed her a tissue.

  “Okay, then,” said Sylvia. “Trip canceled.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. That’s the easy part.”

  Sam sat up straighter, on the verge of asking what the not-easy part was, but Sylvia started speaking again before Sam could get the question out.

  “Listen, honey, I ran into Gwyn at the bakery this morning—”

  Sam brought her hand to her mouth. She’d completely forgotten about meeting Gwyn for breakfast at Las ABC to talk about Will. Or maybe she hadn’t so much forgotten it as hoped to avoid it.

  “It’s okay,” said Sylvia. “She understands. She had some news she wanted to tell you, but after I heard it, I asked if I could be the one to tell you, instead.”

  A furrow creased Sam’s forehead. “What news?”

  “It’s about Will, honey.”

  Sam felt blood pounding in her ears. “What happened? Is he—”

  “He’s fine,” said Sylvia, giving Sam’s hand another squeeze. “Will’s fine. It’s just that he left this morning to go with Chrétien and Dr. Pfeffer and Skandor on the reconnaissance mission.”

  “He told me he wouldn’t go.” Sam tried to steady her breathing. She sat up straighter, but already, all of her darkest fears were assaulting her. “He said he wouldn’t go, Sylvia. He said…. This is terrible. This is—” She broke off as panic overwhelmed her.

  “Sammy, breathe. Slow down. I know it feels like you’re in danger, but you’re not. And neither is Will.” Sylvia wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulders and snuggled up beside her on the twin bed. “Let’s think about it, honey. He’s got super-powers and he’s not afraid to use them.”

  Sam took in a long, shuddering breath. Sylvia was right. Will was smart. He was capable. And he was with people Sam knew he could count on. Her panic receded, but in its place, came grief.

  “You want to talk about it?” asked Sylvia.

  Sam nodded. At first, she didn’t say anything. She just nestled her head into the curve of Sylvia’s shoulder, which fit her now just as perfectly as it had fit when she was ten.

  “I drove him away,” Sam said at last. “He wanted us to move down to Merced—both of us—and I know I’m supposed to want to grow up and leave home but I don’t want to.” Her voice shook, but she pressed forward. “I’m scared. I’m so scared.”

  Sylvia smoothed Sam’s hair. “What are you afraid of, Sammy?”

  So many things. Change. Risk. Loss. Pain.

  “I’m afraid of how bad it will hurt if I lose him,” Sam whispered.

  “Oh, Sam,” murmured Sylvia. “Oh, Sammy, my dear girl.”

  “Syl, what have I done? I pushed Will away thinking … thinking I could stop myself from getting hurt.” Sam’s breath hitched.

  Sylvia sighed and hugged Sam close. “Sometimes people need a little time apart to figure things out. Trust me. I know what I’m talking about.” Sylvia grabbed a handful of tissues. “Here.”

  Sam took the tissues and patted her eyes, taking a slow breath.

  “The summer before your dad and I got married,” continued Sylvia, “We had a huge fight and I said I was done.”

  Sam nodded. “I remember you being with us for Fourth of July when I was nine, but then there’s this gap where I don’t remember seeing you until you showed up for my tenth birthday. And you were married by Christmas, right?”

  “You have an excellent memory, young woman,” replied Sylvia.

  “What did you fight about?” asked Sam. “I mean, if it’s not too personal.”

  “In a way, we fought about you. Dave asked me to marry him at that Fourth of July barbecue.”

  “And you said yes because of his barbecue sauce,” said Sam. The old story was familiar, comforting.

  Sylvia laughed softly. “Yeah, I guess that’s the way we tell the story now. But at the time, I said no. I said your father had no business asking a woman with a full-time career into his life and your life when he was already juggling you and his commutes down to the valley. I told him if he was going to bring someone into your lives, he’d darned well better bring someone in who was going to be there for you.”

  Sam sat up and looked at her step-mother. “How come I never heard any of this?”

  “I guess I was waiting for you to be old enough to hear it. I gave up my career to join your family. If I’d told you when you were younger, you might have misinterpreted it to mean I had misgivings. It took me three months to figure out I’d rather have you and Dave in my life than a career running admissions at Fresno State.”

  Sam asked, “Have you ever been sorry?”

  “Not for one single day,” murmured Sylvia, kissing the top of Sam’s head. “From the moment I saw how your face lit up when I arrived for your birthday party, I knew right then I’d made the right choice. Life’s about people, Sam, not accomplishments.”

  Sylvia paused for a moment and then added, “At least for me. For some people, there are things they have to do. Things that make them get up in the morning, burning with the passion to make or to do or to change. Your father’s like that, and you might be too, and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s just a question of knowing what you want out of life, and I wanted people I could love.”

  “I don’t know what I want out of life,” said Sam. But she did know. She wanted Will, and she’d pushed him away.


  “I think you do, sweetie,” said Sylvia.

  “Maybe,” said Sam.

  “Know what?” asked Sylvia. “I think you’ll feel better if you get up and start your day. Gwyn said she was coming over, but I got so caught up in what we were talking about that I forgot to tell you.”

  Sam kicked off her covers, slid past Sylvia, and crossed to her closet.

  “Honey, I have a thought,” said Sylvia. “To help with … to keep you from going back to dark places these next couple of days.”

  Sam stopped pushing her hangers around. “What is it?” she asked.

  “I saw you pulled the paintbrush box out from under your bed. I think you should spend Spring Break going around town and trying to capture what it is you love about your life here. It might prove a useful distraction from worrying.”

  Sam grabbed a turquoise skinny-tee from her closet, looking at it pensively. “I used to love to paint,” Sam said shyly. Would doing something she loved help keep her demons at bay? She had nothing to lose by trying.

  “I’ve seen your Instagrams,” said Sylvia. “You have an artist’s eye for things like color and proportion and contrast.”

  “But what if I suck?” Sam asked. It surprised her to discover that she cared enough about painting to worry she might fail.

  Sylvia shrugged. “That’s a risk you have to decide if you’re willing to take. The way I see it, the worst thing that happens is you find out you like photography better than painting.”

  Sam nodded. That really was the worst thing. And there was no question it would distract her.

  The doorbell rang.

  “That’ll be Gwyn,” said Sylvia. “You finish getting dressed and I’ll thaw some cookie dough.”

  Sam dressed quickly and removed the telltale signs she’d been crying. When she jogged down the stairs a few minutes later, Gwyn and Sylvia were talking about the four who had taken off for the Canary Islands.