“What?”
“It’s something Mickie said. About how Helmann’s daughter, Helga Gottlieb, showed definite markers of mental illness.”
“And there are a lot of us out there with her dad’s same genes,” said Martina, sighing.
Matteo shrugged. “Who knows what Helga’s mother brought to the table? Besides, Mickie also said that children who know they are loved basically have something like an inoculation against … developing problems in later life.”
“Yeah. That makes sense.” She didn’t add that it didn’t make sense of Georg, who was raised in the same family group she was. But Georg had always been … odd. She shook her head. Maybe Pfeffer and Sir Walter were right. Maybe the Angel Corps kids were loose cannons.
She carried her empty mug over to the sink.
“Hey,” said Matteo, joining her at the sink. He ran a hand over her hair, pulling a few strays back off her face. “Cheer up. It’ll be okay. Let’s go over to Las ABC and tell Bridget I came up with a recipe idea.”
Martina hesitated only a second, and then an impish smile crossed her face.
“You mean I came up with a recipe idea.”
Matteo grinned. “Right.”
Martina placed a hand in his and the two left Sir Walter’s house, strolling down Las Abuelitas’s Main Street and crunching leaves underfoot as they went. But Martina’s mind was a thousand miles away, remembering Georg and Katrin, laughing together on a beach, long ago.
13
SHE WAS GLORIOUS
It took Skandor two days of searching to find a Swedish delicatessen with tins of pepparkakor lining the high shelves above the lutefisk and knackebrod. He had firmly committed to a “What would Oma do?” approach to introducing himself to the brave girl jailed in one of Gottlieb’s cells. He didn’t know when he might be able to present the cookies (or himself) as she seemed to be at all times guarded by either Georg or Gottlieb: the dragon or the mad scientist. But having the cookie tin ready felt like some sort of progress.
He paid for the cookies, having discovered in his desk drawer a wadded up ten dollar bill that might or might not have belonged to him. Little things had been nagging at his conscience lately. His petty thefts. His … use of unoccupied hotel rooms. Finding out that he wasn’t a lone freak of nature was having an unexpected effect. In the past, he’d just used his gift, without questioning where it came from or why he had it. Well, he’d allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy that he was a sort of Loki incarnate. But in the days following his discovery that he was not alone in being able to cloak his body, that felt less and less likely.
Strange ideas rattled around in his head during his eight hour shifts at Geneses. It was as though his mind was playing a game of fill-in-the-blank: With great power comes great___________.
Somehow, he didn’t think the answer was “knavery” or “mischief” or even “fun.”
In fact, ever since discovering the two others who could vanish into thin air as he did, Skandor had been having a tiny crisis: perhaps not a “dark night of the soul,” but certainly a “very cloudy and poorly lit night of the soul.” It came down to this: of what use was his gift? The uses to which he’d put it in the past might not be terribly harmful, but they certainly weren’t going to win him the Nobel Peace Prize. And as for Gottlieb and Georg, the only other cloakers he’d observed, well, Gottlieb’s use of his ability was appalling.
What if Skandor had a gift that was only able to be used for evil?
The idea rankled, irritating like a scab that had been picked at one time too many. But what if it were true? More than ever, Skandor wanted to rescue Gottlieb’s golden-haired captive, if only because the rescue would provide proof his gift could be used for good. Of course Skandor had also considered going to the authorities to say his boss was holding a girl prisoner in a small room against her will.
But who would believe him?
No one. And if the police or the FBI came to investigate, they wouldn’t find the girl. She was invisible. Skandor laughed, imagining himself trying to convince an officer of the law that there was an invisible girl in the room—no, really, there was.
So it was up to him. And if his newly tender conscience was responsible for moving him toward saving the warrior-alf from Dr. Gottlieb, well, then maybe consciences were useful things after all. So Skandor continued forming his rough plan and preparing to introduce himself to the girl, a tin of cookies at the ready.
But even after he had his hospitality gift in hand, Skandor still had to find a time when the dragon-boy and the evil doctor weren’t likely to burst in on him and the alf-maiden. Not that Katrin didn’t look like she could hold her own, but she had an undernourished look to her—her desire to fight might outweigh her ability to fight, making hand-to-hand combat with either Georg or Gottlieb even less desirable. Although, Skandor wasn’t sure what it would look like to fight enemies who could cloak themselves. How did that work, exactly?
He wasn’t planning to find out through experiment. Or through accident.
He did have a happy accident of another sort, however, a couple of days after buying the spice cookies. Skandor reasoned it would be good to learn Georg’s schedule if he wanted to steal the girl away when the “dragon” wasn’t around, so he initiated a change in his daily routine. After grabbing a few hours of sleep when he clocked out at 7:00 in the morning, Skandor began returning to the Geneses building around 1:00 or 2:00 in the afternoon to trail Georg invisibly until it was time to clock in for the 11:00 PM work shift.
As Skandor had no means of entering the building visibly or invisibly that wouldn’t raise alarms, he devised a clever means of “attaching” himself to a regular person just as he or she entered the building through the main lobby doors. So long as it was a cold day, no one would notice, he reasoned. Using this method of entering the building, Skandor learned something very interesting on his second day of trailing Georg around the building. He saw Georg exit the building through a fourth floor window without setting off the perimeter alarm.
Well, he didn’t see it. It was more that he suspicioned it. Skandor had followed Georg down a set of stairs with faulty monitoring cameras—Skandor had reported them earlier only to be told no one used those stairs. Which was an odd response. So what if no one used them? Wouldn’t that make them even more attractive to potential intruders?
In any case, Georg hadn’t ordered the cameras to be repaired, and today Skandor thought he understood why.
Georg left the stairwell to enter the abandoned fourth floor and made his way to a window in the northeast corner of the building. Then he squatted down as though he was going to sit on the floor. Then he pushed off with his hands and … disappeared. Skandor felt almost certain Georg had punched through the window invisibly. Without setting off any alarms. For two hours, Skandor sat invisibly awaiting Georg’s return. When Georg returned, he came tumbling into sight, literally tumbling, as though the opening through which he had passed was quite small.
After Georg was gone, Skandor came solid and tried exiting the building in the same manner: squat, push off, cloak!
He made it through just fine, passing outside and then drifting toward the ground. Skandor then reversed course and passed back inside the building without setting off the perimeter alarm. He had a safe way to exit the building with the warrior maiden! His plan had previously included turning off the perimeter alarm, but this discovery would streamline things nicely. Perhaps tonight would be the night Skandor made good on his vow to rescue Katrin.
Skandor followed Georg around all evening, hoping Georg would decide to visit the fourth floor after finishing with Dr. Gottlieb. Hoping that tonight would be the Night of Pepparkakors.
Dr. Gottlieb was ensconced in his lab and had just directed Georg to make certain no one interrupted him. Apparently, Georg felt this could be accomplished from the confines of his chamber, where Skandor now followed him. So, the dragon would be in residence this evening. It was not to be a night of spice cook
ies. Nonetheless, what happened next was … interesting. And highly amusing.
It seemed Georg was in possession of a singularly ugly necklace which he wished to bestow upon some girl or other. And he was practicing what he was going to say to the woman he wooed. Skandor would have laughed out loud if he were solid. (Laughing while cloaked wasn’t really possible.) But, by Odin’s missing eye, Georg was providing a most excellent entertainment.
“I want you to have this,” said Georg. “I risked my life to get it back for you, once I found out you weren’t dead after all.” His pointed Adam’s apple bobbed for all it was worth.
Then Georg frowned.
“No,” he said aloud. “Wrong, wrong, wrong.” He threw the ugly necklace on his bed.
Although it was funny to watch, Skandor wished Georg would just figure it out and leave to go talk to the girl in question, already.
Grabbing the necklace, Georg began again.
“Waldhart de Rochefort and his son tried to kill me when I retrieved this. But I knew you would want it back again.” Having said this, he held the necklace out to his imaginary girlfriend.
Imaginary was all she’d ever be if Georg thought girls liked plastic starfish tied to pieces of rope. And the bit about someone trying to kill for the unlikely bauble? That seemed highly suspect.
Come on, come on, come on, thought Skandor, willing Georg to hurry it up.
Skandor considered running to a nearby jeweler. He could grab a diamond necklace for Georg to present to his lady fair; diamond necklaces needed no lengthy introductions.
And then, suddenly, Georg seemed to have hit on something. He stood a bit taller. He mimed handing the necklace to his girlfriend. Left eye twitching, Georg said, “I’ve kept it all these years. For you.”
Skandor wanted to laugh out loud so badly. Poor Georg couldn’t even get his story straight regarding the unattractive adornment. But Skandor gathered that the necklace, ugly as it was, must have had some sentimental value to the girl. Perhaps Georg had stolen it from her room a few months earlier so that he could go through this elaborate ritual of returning it now. What a waste of time. Skandor personally knew camp counselors who’d wooed and dumped three girl- or boy-friends in the space of a week, and no jewelry had been involved. Skandor could offer Georg a few lessons on swift pursuit—that was for sure.
But finally, Georg had risen and was walking toward the door. And then—oh happy day!—Georg vanished, ugly knick-knack in hand.
Skandor drifted through the door and down the corridor and entered the chamber of the sleeping goddess. But as he entered, a sudden panic gripped his heart. The words: he’d forgotten the passwords! At first, he’d made a habit of repeating them every time he sat down for one of the meals Geneses sent to his office. But he’d forgotten to do this yesterday. And he’d forgotten again today. Did he still remember the key words? “Sven” he could remember, but what was the next name? Lisa? Rio? Rhea?
And then, while he was stumbling over the second name, something very unexpected happened. Within the room, two people came uncloaked right in front of him. One was Georg, whom Skandor had imagined several blocks away by now, and that was bad. But even worse, it was Georg with Katrin. She lay sleeping, unaware of Georg’s repulsive arms around her. From one of Georg’s claw-like fingers, the necklace swung.
The necklace was for her? Skandor fumed. If he were a dragon, he would’ve loosed fire on his gangly rival. How dare Georg have designs upon the warrior-maiden?
While Skandor was seething, Georg spoke the passwords aloud, pronouncing them in a blur, with an accent like Mr. Stravecchio back home.
“Sven-Leah-Tea!”
As soon as Georg uttered the syllables, the girl awoke.
And she was mad. No, she was livid.
She spat. She kicked. She called Georg by every bad name Skandor had ever heard and several that were new to him. She was furious. She was glorious! And of one thing, Skandor was certain: she didn’t like Georg, and no quantity of ugly missing jewelry was going to change that.
Skandor hunkered down in a corner of the room where he had a good view of the unfolding events.
“How dare you try to kill me?” shouted Katrin.
Oh, this was promising. A silent chortle accompanied Skandor’s thought.
“I didn’t—” sputtered Georg.
“You call putting a knife to my throat what then? What exactly is that called?”
This was very good! His rival didn’t stand a chance. The only thing missing was popcorn.
Georg muttered, “It wasn’t my idea—”
“As if that makes it better! It doesn’t, for the record.” She leaned forward and Skandor thought she was going to spit at Georg like she had at Gottlieb. But she just lowered her voice and enunciated clearly. “You are just Uncle Fritz’s latest puppet. His latest plaything. And when he’s decided you are of no further use, someone will be ordered to put a knife to your throat. Wait and see.”
“Ordered … yes,” said Georg, catching at the idea. “That’s the thing. He ordered me to do it. And … and he also threatened me if I didn’t cooperate.”
“I’m well aware the only way Uncle Fritz gets anything done is by threats. Do you think I’m an idiot? It doesn’t excuse you, Georg.”
For some reason, as soon as Katrin spoke Georg’s name, Georg seemed to perk up.
“You remember who I am?” asked the gangly youth.
“Of course, you stupid boy. And that doesn’t excuse you, either.”
“Well, I don’t bloody see why not,” exclaimed Georg, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Katrin.
Glaring was excellent, thought Skandor. Glaring was not the way to score points with the warrior-maiden.
Unfortunately, Georg seemed to have the same thought. He exhaled and dropped his arms—and his eyes—and said, “I was only doing the same thing Hanna did—cooperating under duress.” Then, under his breath, he muttered, “I didn’t see you cursing and spitting at her.”
“That’s completely not the same thing,” snapped Katrin.
“It’s not? Well, may a mere puppet of Uncle Fritz be allowed to hear why not?” Georg sounded like a petulant child. And Skandor had serious experience with petulant children.
And then, Katrin’s mouth pulled up a little on one side. She laughed. Softly. Pathetically, really. But it was laughter. Skandor’s hopes sank.
“Oh, Georg. My stupid little brother. What am I going to do with you?”
Brother? Skandor hadn’t seen that coming. A sibling relationship between the two was … unexpected. And good. Very good. Sister and brother was excellent.
Katrin frowned. “What I don’t understand is how you’re alive. Fritz placed me with a new family because you all died. How are you alive?”
Georg sighed. “Fritz is a liar.”
So is Georg, Skandor added silently.
Katrin didn’t respond. She seemed to be reconsidering her attitude towards her … brother. When next she spoke to Georg, all the anger had left her voice. Solemnly, she asked, “Are you here with Fritz’s permission?”
Georg’s face darkened. “No.”
“He doesn’t know you can assume your caméleon form, I take it?”
“He does not. And you need to promise you won’t give me away,” said Georg, a bit desperately.
A flicker of irritation passed over Katrin’s face, but then she relaxed her expression. “Trust me, if that information is useful to Fritz, I’m happy to keep it to myself,” said Katrin. “But how did you do it? Gain the ability to vanish?”
“I tricked him into injecting me with something other than Neuroprine.”
Katrin nodded. “Impressive. So he trusts you enough to have his eyes occasionally elsewhere.”
“Yes,” said Georg.
“And is he gone now? How long do we have to talk?”
Now that she was done raging at Georg, Skandor saw a hint of fear in her eyes.
“He’s busy, not gone.” Georg checke
d his watch, which he was wearing on the same hand that clutched the necklace. “Right now, we have maybe half an hour. He checks my door every night when he’s done working, so I have to be back for that. Afterwards….”
“Okay. There are important things you should know … things I suspect,” said Katrin.
But Georg’s attention was caught by the object in his hand. As if deciding suddenly that the time was right, he thrust his hand forward. “Here,” he said. “I brought you something.”
“Unless it’s a counter agent to Neuroprine, I don’t want—” She stopped mid-sentence, gazing at the starfish necklace. “Oh,” she said, softly. “Oh. Where—how—”
“I kept it. After Mutti threw it away. I meant to give it back to you, obviously, but then they took you away to the hospital,” said Georg. “I kept your necklace. To remind me of you.”
Georg was lying and Skandor was furious again. Whatever the truth was about the little trinket, this wasn’t it. It made his blood boil. If he’d had that box of popcorn, he would have thrown it at Georg.
Katrin wasn’t buying the lie, either. “More likely you stole it from Martina after she rescued it from the trash.” Then, more quietly, she added, “She was always the bravest of us all.”
Georg sputtered. “She—I—”
“Oh, forget it,” said Katrin. “I don’t care how you got it. They’re all dead now anyway. What does it matter?”
Georg seemed to hesitate over something. “They’re not all dead,” said Georg. “I mean, I think….”
“Yes?” Katrin locked eyes with Georg. “They … live? Mutti and the others?”
“Mutti died,” said Georg. “Some of the others are alive, I think. Not Hansel.”
“Martina?” asked Katrin, her voice so soft it hardly registered.
“I … I don’t know,” said Georg. His fingers fidgeted rapidly and he hid his hand behind his back.
Skandor could tell Georg was lying, but Katrin didn’t seem to doubt what he said. Her brow furrowed with pain. Or grief, maybe. But she seemed determined to push it away. She spoke again. “Do you know what’s happening out there, in the real world? Is it true Dr. Girard Helmann is dead?”
Knavery: A Ripple Novel (Ripple Series Book 6) Page 9