Perilous: A Ripple Novel (Ripple Series Book 7)

by Cidney Swanson

  His smile flashed before her, warm and bright. He had such beautiful lips. Katrin turned miserably in her prison of sand. She couldn’t even have the release of tears.

  It was time to think of other things. Of cheerful things. But when she tried, all she saw was Skandor’s merry eyes, his scruffy excuse-for-a beard, and his red, red lips coming closer to press into hers.

  32

  THANKS ALL THE SAME

  Sam was dreaming. As happened sometimes in her dreams, she knew she was dreaming, because in her dream, she was kissing Will. His lips crushed against hers and she felt his breath mix with hers and even though it was just a dream, she kissed him back, holding him tight as if by holding onto him, she could stay a few minutes longer inside her dream. But someone had placed a hand on her shoulder and was trying to drag her away.

  “No,” murmured dream-Sam.

  “Sam, honey,” said her step-mom. “Sammy. Honey, wake up.”

  With a soft groan, Sam came back to her real life, the one where Will no longer kissed her mouth while murmuring words of love.

  “What-is-it,” she mumbled, the words stuck together like the hair plastered to her forehead.

  “Honey, it’s Gwyn. She’s downstairs. She says she has to talk to you. Sir Walter is calling everyone together.”

  Sam grabbed her phone. She’d let it drain to zero.

  “Is Will okay?” Sam asked, her chest constricting.

  “As far as I know,” Sylvia replied, but there was a worried tightness around her lips. “Gwyn said your phone went straight to voicemail.”

  “I forgot to plug it in last night,” said Sam. “Tell Gwyn I’ll be right down.”

  Sylvia left the room and Sam checked her computer for the time. It was 5:50 on Sunday morning. It was dark outside. Even inside, it was cold.

  She tugged on a pair of sweats and pulled a sweatshirt over her head. Then she jammed her bare feet in a pair of UGG boots and swiped a ponytail holder off her nightstand before dashing downstairs.

  “I’m so sorry, Gwyn. I forgot to charge my phone.”

  “That’s okay,” said Gwyn. “I figured, when it went straight to voicemail.”

  Gwyn hugged her tighter than usual, though, and Sam suspected Gwyn had come over in a panic when Sam hadn’t picked up.

  Sam’s friends were counting on her to hold it together. She would hold it together. Starting tonight. Or this morning. Whatever it was.

  As the two drove, Gwyn explained that Chrétien and the others had, indeed, discovered Georg’s lair.

  “But Georg and his minions fled after a brief scuffle that concluded with Skandor taking a Neuroplex dart to the leg,” said Gwyn.

  “Dr. Pfeffer can fix that, right?” asked Sam. Inside, her heart was pulsing to the beat of two words: Will’s fine. Will’s fine. Will’s fine.

  Gwyn nodded. “Oh. By the way, I keep forgetting to tell you. Sir Walter moved back in two days ago. Just before Chrétien left.”

  “He did?” said Sam, unsure if Gwyn was pleased or upset.

  “Yeah. I basically begged him to. It’s so quiet without Chrétien.”

  “Good for you,” said Sam, giving Gwyn’s shoulder a quick squeeze.

  “It was either that or move back in with Ma.”

  Sam laughed softly.

  “I know, right?” said Gwyn. “That wouldn’t have ended well.”

  They pulled into the gravel drive in front of Sir Walter’s once-again home.

  Inside, Mickie and Sir Walter were talking softly, hunched over a computer.

  “Ah, welcome, welcome, my dear Samanthe,” said Sir Walter. “We have news from our dear ones. They have encountered Georg, who fled, but they are well.”

  Sam nodded. She kept her breathing steady. She looked at her friends. She could do this.

  Sir Walter was already sailing back over to the kitchen. Sam smelled coffee and some baked good that involved yeast and butter and possibly almond paste.

  For the first time in two weeks, she felt hungry.

  “What time is it over there?” Sam asked Mickie.

  “They’re eight hours ahead of us,” replied Mickie, not looking up. “I’m searching flights departing Tenerife. Georg and his merry band took off and we want to know where they might be heading.” Mick shook her head. “For all the good it’ll do us. They could catch this flight to Paris—” here she tapped the screen, “—and go anywhere in the world from there.”

  “And while our four are fine,” said Gwyn, “It looks like there might’ve been some foul play with Katrin.”

  Mickie finished explaining the email left by Raoul and the search that was planned just as Sir Walter appeared with one of his signature silver platters. He poured Sam a cup of coffee, thick as creek mud, and offered her a pastry, which she accepted gratefully.

  “The good news,” murmured Gwyn to Sam, “is that Chrétien’s sure Georg and friends were leaving the island. So there won’t be any more fighting. So just focus on that.”

  Sam nodded. She was focusing on it. And this time, when panic tried to assert itself, she observed it, greeted it, and told it that she was going to be fine, thanks all the same.

  33

  SKULKING INVISIBLY

  Pfeffer rubbed his hand over his forehead. He’d discovered something, and it wasn’t good news.

  “Here’s our confirmation,” Pfeffer said to Chrétien. “Georg knows the location of every last cadre of Angels hidden by Helmann.” He pointed to the screen of the computer he’d been searching. It showed a photograph of a list made in Helmann’s spidery handwriting.

  “That Georg should have accessed such a list is bad, cousin Pfeffer,” said Chrétien. “But Georg has learned more than just the location of the Angels. He must have acquired the passwords in order to awaken them.”

  “He must have,” agreed Pfeffer. “I just don’t understand how. Those passwords were Helmann’s most jealously guarded secret.”

  “I do not believe Georg acquired them through records at Geneses,” said Chrétien. “We know Fritz created his own set of passwords. He never knew those of his father, who awakened the cadre containing Katrin and her siblings.”

  “But you have a theory as to how Georg discovered the passwords?” asked Pfeffer.

  “Do you remember when we retrieved Hanna, Michel, and Leopold from the cells in which Fritz kept them imprisoned?” asked Chrétien.

  Pfeffer nodded.

  Chrétien continued, “Georg vanished first from the room, claiming he was going to retrieve Katrin and demanding we should gather the others, retreating with them to the hotel where Georg would meet us.”

  “Ah,” sighed Pfeffer. “Georg could have been standing invisibly in the room just waiting for Sir Walter to utter the passphrase that would awaken the others.”

  “I believe such skulking invisibly in corners is consistent with Georg’s disposition,” said Chrétien.

  “But what is he planning to do with an army of chameleons?” asked Pfeffer.

  They continued their search of Georg’s facility. Half an hour later, they discovered exactly what Georg was planning.

  “Mon Dieu!” whispered Chrétien. “It is impossible.”

  Pfeffer shook his head. “It’s not impossible. Insane, yes, but not impossible. Not if Franz’s formula to modify the gene was successful. And even Georg would not have made such plans without testing to see if it worked.”

  “We must contact my father,” said Chrétien. “And we must call back Will and Skandor. Georg must be found and stopped.”

  “Indeed,” said Pfeffer, nodding grimly.

  ~ ~ ~

  Sam reached for her third pastry in the past two hours since she’d arrived at the de Rochefort home. As she took a bite, Sir Walter’s phone rang. He answered it at once, telling the others it was Chrétien.

  “Mon Dieu!” whispered Sir Walter. After a few more brief exchanges in French, Sir Walter said goodbye and turned to address Sam, Gwyn, and Mickie.

  “Mesdemoiselles,
” he said, “it would seem our friend Georg has decided the world would be better off if everyone was a caméleon.”

  “Sign me up,” said Gwyn, with a short laugh.

  “You’re joking,” said Mick.

  “I am not,” replied Sir Walter.

  “It’s impossible,” said Mickie, not even bothering to look up from her computer.

  “Pfeffer believes otherwise,” said Sir Walter.

  That got Mickie’s attention. Briefly, Sir Walter explained what Pfeffer and Chrétien had uncovered.

  Sam was silent. Stunned. She placed her pastry on her plate, her appetite gone.

  No one else spoke, other than Mickie, who uttered several expletives in rapid succession.

  “I can’t believe he would take it on himself to do something like this,” said Sam, at last. Unable to sit still another second, she rose and began pacing. “Without stopping to….” She shook her head, leaving the sentence incomplete.

  “Without stopping to consider the consequences?” said Mick.

  “To set in motion a world of people with no one to explain to them what’s happening?” demanded Sam. “Or how to control it? Or what’s safe and what’s not? That’s crazy. Not to mention, those who do figure out how to use it will probably use it to get away with things they couldn’t otherwise get away with, don’t you think?”

  Complete social chaos would ensue.

  She felt herself starting to hyperventilate.

  “Sam!” said Mickie. “Sit down and take a few deep breaths.” As soon as Sam sank onto a small poufy ottoman, Mick crossed to her and put an arm around her shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. And we’ll stop it. Right?”

  “Yes,” said Sam, her jaw clenching tight. “Yes, we will.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “Listen, Pfeffer, I’m sorry, but Skandor says he won’t give up the search,” Will said, speaking on his phone.

  Skandor stood beside him, his face grim and determined as he ran his gaze back and forth along the beach. The sun was setting off to the left.

  “But Sir Walter is insistent we return,” said Pfeffer.

  “Yeah, so about the returning business,” said Will. “I don’t think that’s such a great idea. I know you’ve combed through everything left behind in the lab, but let’s say we find out tomorrow where Georg is turning people into ripplers. And let’s say it’s, I don’t know, Africa. Or Europe. Here, in the Atlantic, we’re in striking range. And Sir Walter and Sam are in striking range if Georg starts in Canada or Mexico or the US.”

  Pfeffer sighed heavily. Will knew that sigh. It meant he’d won his point.

  “Call Sir Walter back and tell him what I said,” said Will. “Skandor and I want to keep looking for Katrin.”

  Will got a call from Pfeffer only a few minutes later.

  “Will? Sir Walter agrees and thinks your reasoning is sound. We are to remain here, at least until we find Katrin.”

  Will told Skandor, whose shoulders dropped with relief.

  Pfeffer was speaking again. “Sir Walter also suggested Chrétien and I assist in your search.”

  Skandor, who was now leaning in to hear Will’s phone, shouted, “Please do!”

  34

  THE BEAUTIFUL MUSIC OF THAT VOICE

  Katrin shifted in her coffin of sand. After several minutes of telling herself she would only end up going in circles if she tried to find her way out, she admitted she couldn’t bear to remain still any longer. Perhaps she should just choose a direction and try to head as straight as she could. If she hit water, she would notice the difference in texture and possibly in light. If she hit the stone bedrock of the ocean floor, well, that, too would feel different from sand.

  But if she found either of those surfaces, then what? If it was water, light would serve to guide her to the surface. Unless it was night. The sun had surely set by now. And if she hit the rocky floor of the island or a sub-marine shelf of rock, how would she know in which direction to proceed? There were three-hundred and sixty degrees of directions, and most of them were wrong.

  All she knew was that she couldn’t remain still another minute. Deciding Georg had likely laid her down as if placing her on a bed, she prepared to tunnel straight forward. But then she remembered she’d twisted and turned a few times before she’d figured out she was in sand, which meant she had no idea which direction she was facing now.

  She hurled a curse at Georg. How dare he leave her here, trapped below ground? She hurled a few more deprecations at him. It lightened her mood. She made her best guess and started pushing through the sand. It tickled and embraced her and she thought again of her childhood, running invisible hands through the white sand beaches of the Bahamas.

  She’d been with Hansel. They had dared one another to tunnel lower and lower into the sand. Hansel. A wave of heartache passed through her. Katrin would never see him again. Or Martina. Or Skandor.

  Grief settled on her so heavily, so insistently, that she didn’t notice at first when the texture of her surroundings had changed. But it had changed. She was no longer in sand. She’d hit rock.

  ~ ~ ~

  When Chrétien arrived at the beach, the first thing he did was put an end to Will and Skandor’s haphazard diving under the sand.

  “It is most dangereux,” he said.

  “Give us some credit,” said Will. “It’s not like we were planning to come solid under the sand.”

  “That is not the danger of which I was speaking,” replied Chrétien. “When you are under the earth, it becomes difficult to determine direction. The beach has neither tree nor grass nor any other thing with roots to aid you in discovering which direction is ‘up’ and which is ‘down.’”

  “Oh. Wow,” said Skandor.

  Will felt chastened as well. As an experienced rippler, he should have thought of this.

  “So what do we do?” he asked. “We’ve already covered the entire beach above ground.” He glanced up. “I suppose, theoretically, Georg might have put her up in the air somewhere?”

  “Doubtful,” said Pfeffer. “He would want a landmark to return to, assuming he’s not a complete idiot.”

  “That’s debatable,” muttered Skandor.

  Will coughed out a single, harsh laugh.

  “I have a suggestion,” said Chrétien. “Pfeffer should remain at the surface while we others dive below ground. So long as Pfeffer speaks to me, I will be able to use the sound of his thoughts as a beacon, so that I know always the direction in which the surface lies.”

  Will nodded. “And as long as we keep our hands held, we can cover a wide swath of ground.”

  “I’ve been thinking,” said Pfeffer. “I don’t think Georg would have gone far; Helmann made certain the Angels were warned of the dangers of tunneling deep and losing their way.”

  “There!” cried Chrétien, interrupting Pfeffer. “Did you hear that?”

  Pfeffer shook his head, then rippled so as to hear better.

  “What kind of hearing are we talking about?” asked Skandor, eager.

  “Not our kind,” replied Will.

  Pfeffer came solid, his face was wrinkled in concentration. “I heard someone cursing Georg with a high level of enthusiasm.”

  “Yes,” cried Chrétien. “She speaks also of darkness.”

  Skandor looked wildly around. “Katrin? Katrin!”

  “Hush,” said Pfeffer. “You’re making it harder to hear.”

  “This way,” murmured Chrétien, holding hands out to Will and Skandor.

  The moon rose over the mountains to the right, gibbous, while Will, Chrétien, and Skandor combed the beach. The tide was turning, rushing in, and Will felt fear coming off Skandor in waves.

  SHE’S NO WORSE OFF IF THE TIDE COMES IN, wrote Will. NO LUNGS—REMEMBER?

  THIS DIRECTION, wrote Chrétien after leading the group in a slow circle. They narrowed down the area, meter by meter.

  SHE LIES FAR BELOW, wrote Chrétien.

  Again, Will felt Skandor’s panic.


  IT’LL BE OKAY, MAN, Will wrote.

  Silently, the three tunneled through the sand. Will soon lost all sense of direction. But he noticed the moment they entered his favorite texture: rock.

  ~ ~ ~

  Katrin turned her head, an involuntary response to hearing something and trying to figure out where it was coming from. She had stopped cursing in order to listen for the sea. The drag and release of the breakers might give her a direction, if she could only hear it. But instead, she was hearing voices. A voice, rather. The voice was speaking gently, urging her to reply, promising aid.

  She’d heard of this sort of madness descending upon those lost in a blizzard or a desert. No! She would not give in to madness. She would find her way to the surface.

  There it was again: Katrin, Katrin, Katrin….

  She was losing her sanity.

  There were two voices now. One was Skandor’s.

  She felt a pinch in the core of her being, as if her invisible heart had been grasped. She longed to answer the imaginary voices, especially Skandor’s. She relaxed and basked in the beautiful music of that voice, lost to her forever. And who was to say whether such madness might be preferable, should she never find her way to the surface again.

  So she listened for a minute. For two minutes. And after another minutes, she spoke back.

  Skandor.

  And then, all at once, she felt herself being pulled, rushed, heaved through rock and then through sand and then through water. She was carried to shore as by a mighty tide in the shape of two strong arms.

  And then her world turned upside down.

  ~ ~ ~

  Will was looking right at his friend’s face when Skandor saw Katrin again for the first time in over a year.

  “You’re alive?” she cried. “How can you be alive? I thought … I thought….”

  And then she stopped trying to talk and threw her arms around Skandor’s neck, pulling his face to hers for a kiss.

  It looked like the “will she still like me” question was being answered how Skandor had hoped. Will swallowed hard and looked away, feeling a hollowness in his chest. Immediately, a quote flashed through Will’s mind—something Mick had texted, trying to be helpful: ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.