Perilous: A Ripple Novel (Ripple Series Book 7)

by Cidney Swanson

  PERILOUS

  Book Seven in the Ripple Series

  Cidney Swanson

  Summary: Sam wants to hold onto the community she’s found in Las Abuelitas, but Georg has plans to change the world forever. While Skandor seeks clues to find Katrin, people are vanishing, and Sam and Will must take action before their peaceful life in Las Abs disappears, too. Romantic and thrilling, PERILOUS brings the Ripple Series to its breathtaking conclusion.

  Copyright © 2015 by Cidney Swanson

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © by Libbie Hawker. All rights reserved.

  ISBN 978–1–939543–30–1

  Also by Cidney Swanson

  The Ripple Series

  RIPPLER

  CHAMELEON

  UNFURL

  VISIBLE

  IMMUTABLE

  KNAVERY

  PERILOUS

  The Saving Mars Series

  SAVING MARS

  DEFYING MARS

  LOSING MARS

  MARS BURNING

  STRIKING MARS

  MARS RISING

  For CB

  1

  CAMÉLEONS EVERYWHERE

  When Georg traveled to Geneses’s Rome headquarters to recover the list of hidden Angel Corps cadres, he also searched for anything related to Uncle Franz. It wasn’t that Georg trusted Franz more than Uncle Fritz or any of the rest of them, if it was even possible to trust the dead, which it probably wasn’t, but rather, within the archives at Geneses’s San Francisco offices, Georg had found hints and whispers in Franz’s research notes of a special project endorsed by Father Helmann himself.

  So Georg kept his eyes open in Rome and, in fact, he found something unexpected. Thanks to Franz’s meticulous notes, his painstaking research, and Helmann’s insistence these things remain hidden in Rome, Georg discovered wonders Uncle Fritz had never seen. Franz’s research had been aimed at providing the “reward” of the caméleon gene to those not born with it. For centuries, the possibility of rewarding the faithful directly had eluded Helmann, but it appeared Franz had cracked the genetic code not long before Helmann killed him.

  What was more, it seemed Franz had made the suggestion that all mankind might benefit from the gene. Helmann, of course, had vetoed that idea, but this was exactly the sort of leap forward for the human species Georg dreamed about. It wasn’t that Georg loved people—individual people—but rather that he loved humanity: the idea of humankind. And to do something for humanity on this scale? The idea thrilled Georg. Georg didn’t share Father Helmann’s beliefs about purging racial impurities from the Earth, but he’d inherited the desire to fundamentally change humankind.

  He would do it. No one would stop him. Not Pfeffer. Not Waldhart de Rochefort. Not Martina or any of the rest of them.

  In Georg’s mind, plain, simple Franz became a lone voice crying in the wilderness, preaching equality and generosity on an unprecedented scale. This image of Franz inspired Georg. Even Pfeffer, with his high-and-mighty principles, didn’t seem to Georg as noble as plain, simple Franz. Pfeffer smiled and held his right hand out to you, but in his left hand he held handcuffs. Georg would not allow humanity to be kept under lock and key.

  While poor Franz had had the desire to aid mankind, he had lacked the means to do it efficiently. Franz’s plans had called for clinics and the intravenous delivery of the gene, which would have taken centuries. Georg had the means to do it within decades or, possibly, years. With Fritz’s guidance, Georg had furthered the inter- and intra-cellular delivery of foreign substances into the bloodstream. Uncle Fritz had used this method to place Immutin, the caméleon gene suppressant, in a lotion form. Using a combination of Fritz’s and Franz’s research, Georg would use the newer delivery methods to make caméleons everywhere, and at a pace Franz could only have dreamt of.

  Yes, it would take time. But if there was one thing a caméleon had in plenty, it was time. When Georg had completed this great work, Katrin would admire him, would praise him, would love him, as she had when they were small. Georg thirsted for this as a desert plant thirsted for rain.

  It might not have been selfless, Georg’s plan, but it was more selfless than anything he’d done before. Georg recognized the planet’s resources were tapped to the breaking point, but when people had the option to spend their days in invisibility, the load would be lightened. Average life spans would increase, but Georg concluded that even with more people, living longer lives, the overall burden on Earth’s resources would decrease. And that was a greater good, if Georg had ever heard of one.

  In a world where none need go hungry, even war and poverty could be eliminated. Once everyone could “ripple,” no one need go hungry. When you could vanish from your enemy, you didn’t need to fear him. Georg would put an end to all the evils that had plagued mankind. There might be peril in the early years; certainly there would be a settling-in period, but eventually people would realize it made no sense to kill for things you could get by without.

  Georg would make certain the opportunity for such a day was offered. What mankind did with the opportunity was less certain, but Georg firmly believed, given the right circumstances, humanity would evolve into a higher moral state.

  Georg crossed to the far side of his office, to where Katrin slumbered. He did not leave her solid for long stretches; it wasn’t healthy for one in her condition, a sort of comatose state. But he couldn’t bear to go weeks on end without seeing the face of the sister—the friend—who loved him.

  If Georg didn’t ask himself in what sense it was possible for a slumbering and imprisoned person to love him, it was because the question didn’t occur to him. He told himself he kept her as she was because she would be lonely and bored if he awakened her now while he labored day and night. When his preparations were complete, when his vast efforts were underway, there would be time enough to awaken Katrin.

  And how happy they would be together, then. How happy.

  He pulled up a chair and began whispering to his beloved Katrin, telling her of the marvels that would unfold in the future he would bring to pass.

  2

  CARPE NOCTEM

  Seated at home in the kitchen, Sam looked down at her phone. Her dad and step-mother Sylvia had already left for a Valentine’s dinner together. Another minute and Will would be late for their evening out, which was to have been for Valentine’s, until a birthday party for Skandor’s Oma upstaged their plans.

  Sam stared out the sliding glass door looking for Will. He liked to cut through the back of the property as the distance from his house was shorter. Also, he could ripple through the glass coming this way. Wistfully, she remembered the first time Will had taken her through the sliding glass door. They’d been so young. Over two years had passed, and now graduation loomed before them.

  Resting her gaze on the mist rising off the pool, Sam thought about what it would feel like to pass through the mist invisibly—the tickling, tinkling whisper of the tiny droplets of water as her form ghosted through. She considered rising to try it. The mist was lovely. Haunting. It trembled, hovered, drifted, rose, and fell.

  Sam wondered how her own mother, long dead, would have painted it. Her mother had captured the mist blowing alongside Vernal Falls with spots of orange and violet, yellow and blue. It made no sense, but it worked. What would it be like to see the worl
d that way? To see color and contrast where others saw white?

  As Sam gazed over the pool mist to the foothills beyond, she saw oranges and purples. After a week of cloudy weather that had hidden the hills altogether, the sun had set with violence and splendor tonight. A last flare of burnt orange was fading now, slipping imperceptibly toward the indigo of the night sky. There were stars, but the mist rising off the pool obscured them—all but the brightest, which Sam thought must be planets. For a moment, she saw it: the mist was made of every color, golds whose back side was sapphire; purples lit with the fading sunset orange. It was beautiful and she wanted to capture it, to hold it. To paint it.

  She could remember the feel of a brush in her hands, her mother’s smile as they worked side by side. Plein air days, her mother had called them, when the two of them would take off after Saturday art class and stop somewhere in the foothills, setting up easels and canvases before a spreading oak that caught her mother’s fancy. Sam wondered what had become of those canvases.

  The sight of Will, striding along the back side of the pool, brought Sam back to the present. They’d argued, the last time they’d been together. Will had apologized in a text and she’d accepted, which meant ostensibly things were back to normal between them. But really, their relationship was like a fussy car constantly needing repair.

  Sam’s new car was in the shop again, which meant she and Will would be traveling to the party tonight with Gwyn and Chrétien in Chrétien’s trusty Mercedes crossover. Sam couldn’t remember what it was called. Something involving lots of letters, numbers, and dollar signs.

  As Will drew closer, Sam thought again about his words the last time they’d been together. Just before their argument, Will had spoken words Sam had longed for:

  You didn’t disappear when we kissed.

  For two years, Sam had been hoping to hear those words.

  You didn’t disappear.

  Will had murmured the words in her ear, between two kisses that belonged in the permanent record of the world’s most perfect kisses. Sam shivered just remembering. Will’s mouth on hers, the warmth of his hand at the back of her neck…. Blissful. Perfect. And she hadn’t disappeared.

  But she had ruined it by asking Will if he’d thought about staying in Las Abuelitas like she’d asked him to, which led to an angry exchange and the subsequent apology.

  From outside, Will made a “knock-knock” gesture.

  Sam made an effort and smiled, indicating with a thumbs-up that Will could enter the house by rippling through the glass. Her dad and step-mom freaked when they saw someone disappear, or worse, solidify, so she and Will avoided rippling around them.

  Will vanished and came solid a second later inside the house.

  “I still miss your old sliding glass door,” he said, planting a small kiss alongside Sam’s ear.

  “You’re the one who told me it’s an urban legend that glass flows as it ages,” said Sam.

  “I know. This door just feels … different from the old one.”

  Sam shook her head.

  “You ready?” asked Will.

  Sam nodded, gathering a wrapped birthday gift and holding out her hand. “Shall we?”

  Will took her hand, but he didn’t vanish right away.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  Will grinned. “I got the scholarship.”

  “To UC Merced?”

  Will nodded. Sam felt his hand squeezing hers more tightly. Sir Walter had offered to pay for Will’s college education, but for once Will had exhibited the stubborn resistance Sam associated with Mickie. Mick hated accepting charity. Apparently it was contagious.

  “So now I don’t have to live in the dorms,” said Will. “I can afford a place. I mean, not much of a place, but still, it’ll be mine.” He smiled softly at her. “I mean, I’ll share, obviously.”

  “I just wish you would—” Sam pressed her lips together. Will hadn’t heard a thing she’d said about staying in Las Abuelitas, or he’d heard but he didn’t care. No matter which was true, it was beyond exasperating. Why couldn’t he listen to her for once? And why did he have to bring up the whole thing now, when they were about to get in a car with Gwyn and Chrétien? Because they sure as heck weren’t having this conversation in front of those two.

  So Sam didn’t complete her thought. Instead, she checked the time and murmured, “We should get over to Gwyn’s, so we’re not late.”

  Will’s grip on her hand relaxed and he seemed about to renew the argument, but he must’ve decided not to.

  “Let’s go,” he said, rippling.

  Sam followed.

  How many times would they have this argument without resolving anything?

  Sam and Will raced invisibly to Gwyn’s apartment above the Las Abuelitas Bakery Café, and as they journeyed, they didn’t talk—or rather, write notes to each other. The note-writing hadn’t changed over time; when invisible, Will remained “deaf” to the thoughts of everyone but Sir Walter.

  Sam had timed it so they would arrive before Chrétien. Arriving at Gwyn’s after Chrétien inevitably meant interrupting a make-out session, and Sam knew that while Gwyn didn’t mind getting caught, it mortified Chrétien.

  They made it in time—Chrétien’s car wasn’t parked in back by the cat kennels.

  Sam and Will materialized on the staircase leading to the apartment.

  “We’re here,” called Sam, just in case Chrétien had chosen to walk over.

  “Come on up,” said Gwyn. “Chrétien’s still at home, looking for his keys.”

  “Hey,” said Sam, hugging Gwyn in greeting. “Did I hear Chrétien say something about Sir Walter moving out of the monastery?”

  “It wasn’t an actual monastery,” said Will.

  Will was being historically accurate. Will was being Will. But tonight, she didn’t laugh. Sam rephrased the question.

  “Why’s Sir Walter moving out of the Oak Street property?”

  Gwyn shrugged. “Do you guys see Chrétien’s car keys?” she asked. “He might have left them here last night….”

  Will took Sam’s hand, mouthed Sorry, and smiled at her. The corners of his dark eyes crinkled. Wow. That still got her. Warm fuzzies filled her belly and she smiled back. Me, too, she mouthed back at him. They kissed and settled on the couch.

  “Please,” said Gwyn. “Not in front of the children.”

  “Pot and kettle….” murmured Will.

  “You’re eighteen,” said Sam. “That makes you an adult.”

  Gwyn’s mouth quirked into a smile. “Why, yes it does,” she said. “In fact, I’ve been thinking of that a lot lately.”

  Sam raised her eyebrows, but whatever Gwyn meant by her cryptic remark, she was evidently not in the mood to share.

  “Up,” said Gwyn. “Off the couch. Unless you want me goosing the pair of you while I search for Chrétien’s keys.”

  Will jumped up quickly, pulling Sam along.

  “Ah-ha!” declared Gwyn, diving between the cushions. “Victory is mine!” She pulled the keys out. “Guess I was a little distracted the last time Chrétien and I swapped spit on the couch—”

  “Ew! Please!” said Sam.

  “It’s not like it’s a secret what Chrétien and I get up to when no one else is here,” said Gwyn.

  “Maybe it should be,” replied Sam. “Come on. We’ll be late.”

  Chrétien materialized in the room. “Am I presentable?” he asked, glancing at what had to be the third new pair of jeans Sam had seen him in this month.

  Gwyn gave him a juicy kiss. “Babe, you were born presentable. Mmm, love the new jeans.” She gave him a little smack on the butt.

  Chrétien flushed pink.

  Gwyn did not.

  “I’m driving,” said Gwyn.

  “That is most excellent as I seem to have misplaced—” Chrétien cut himself off, smiling as Gwyn dangled the keys in front of him. “Although, we could travel more swiftly if I took all of you in hand.”

  “Your h
and’s going nowhere except resting on my thigh while I drive,” said Gwyn.

  Sam and Will looked at one another, grimacing slightly. And just like that, Sam felt their relationship slip back into place. She wasn’t sure what, exactly, was wrong. And it was disconcerting that their mutual annoyance at Gwyn’s habitual over-share was the thing that restored peace, but at least peace had been restored.

  The four trooped down the stairs that led from Gwyn’s apartment to the bakery below.

  “So what did the rest of you get for Skandor’s Oma?” asked Gwyn. “I’m bringing the cake, of course. Somehow, lingerie didn’t seem appropriate for an eighty-second birthday.”

  “Sylvia picked up some UGG slippers,” said Sam. “They’re from both of us,” she murmured to Will.

  Will’s eyes drifted down and his jaw tightened slightly.

  There it was again. The sliver of discord.

  “Sylvia insisted,” said Sam.

  “That’s great,” said Will. His tone indicated he meant the opposite.

  She pressed her lips together, saying nothing. What was so bad about Sylvia putting down a little money and letting the gift come from both of them?

  Bridget had left the cake sitting in a cake box on the work table in the center of the bakery. She’d written Many Happy Returns, Oma in fuchsia pink frosting.

  “Skandor said his Oma loves anything pink,” said Gwyn. “Get the cake, would you, mon chére?” she said to Chrétien. “And you two,” she glared at Sam and Will, “Enough of the Glum and Glummer schtick. We’re going to a party. Got it?”

  “We’re not ‘glum,’” said Sam, laughing a bit too loudly.

  “We’re fine,” said Will, grinning a bit too broadly.

  “Whatever you say,” murmured Gwyn. “You’ll have the back seat to yourselves and the sun’s down. Carpe night-um.”

  “Carpe noctem,” said Will.

  “That. Come on. This’ll be fun,” said Gwyn, smiling at everyone in turn once they were loaded in the car.