Perilous: A Ripple Novel (Ripple Series Book 7)

by Cidney Swanson

  “I’m not even sure I know what I said,” murmured Gwyn. Then she closed her eyes. “I was trying to tell you how, even though we all want to protect ourselves from pain, loving someone actually requires of us that we not try to protect ourselves from pain. There’s no other way to love someone. There’s risk written in capital letters all over it.”

  “But you think it’s worth it,” murmured Sam.

  “Absolutely, Sam. Absolutely. Think about what you’re asking. Are you going to stop loving Sylvia and your dad because they’ll die someday?”

  “I think I see,” said Sam, nodding slowly. “I’ve already accepted the risk of loving both of them, even though I never realized it.” A second realization hit her, hard, square in the chest. “It’s already too late with Will, too. I love him. Even if we never get married, I already accepted the risk.”

  “The train left the station a long time ago,” Gwyn said. “You just didn’t realize it.”

  Sam gazed at her empty finger, where she still had a tan line from wearing Will’s ring.

  “And considering how bad you’re hurting, you might as well jump in the rest of the way,” said Gwyn. “I mean, you don’t have to get married right this second, but you might as well tell him you love him, at least. Don’t you think?”

  “What if it’s too late?” whispered Sam.

  Gwyn took her hand. “Then the people who love you will carry you through that, too, as best as we know how.”

  Sam reached over and hugged her best friend, holding her tightly as if this would carry her through. Maybe it would have to.

  “What’s that funky word Will has?” asked Gwyn, once Sam released her. She was peering outside at the darkening sky. “Will’s word for twilight or whatever?”

  “Shamsunder,” murmured Sam. The hairs on the back of her neck tingled.

  Shamsunder. The beautiful and the dark together.

  “I will never remember that word,” said Gwyn, shaking her head.

  “We should get that milk home,” said Sam. “So Sylvia doesn’t worry what happened to us.”

  “Yes. Yes, we should,” replied Gwyn. “We’re going to your house and when we get there, we are going to totally pig out on chocolate chip cookie dough and milk. And then we’re going to go to church to light candles and pray for Will and Chrétien’s safety.”

  Sam nodded. What more could she do?

  28

  SIESTA

  During the two weeks between Raoul’s video message and Will’s identification of Tenerife as its location, Will and the others had practiced communicating while invisible. Like Skandor, who was also mostly “deaf,” Will could “see” images sent by others, so communication was possible, at least. But because Pfeffer, Skandor, and Chrétien weren’t in the habit of communicating this way, Will had suggested practice. Lots of practice. Which had the unintended effect of keeping his mind occupied with something other than his loss of Sam.

  As Will and the others prepared to leave the jet and venture out to explore Tenerife’s laurisilva forest, they turned invisible, each keeping a hand on another person to make it easier to stick together. Pfeffer would “lead” them, with the assistance of a map Will had committed to memory and could “show” the others at any time.

  The map was marked with directions to the Mercedes Forest, from which Mount Teide could be seen. They knew for certain which road Raoul had been driving on, and they knew he’d been close to Georg’s facility when he recorded it, since he’d signed off saying he was nearly home.

  After soaring invisibly for half an hour, Chrétien reported hearing a burst of Georg’s voice, but it went silent within moments. Chrétien also told the others that the voice had felt “farther away” than the laurisilva forest.

  HOW MUCH FARTHER AWAY? wrote Will.

  Chrétien responded by saying he wasn’t certain.

  KEEP US INFORMED, wrote Will.

  After that, Chrétien made regular reports as to the singular lack of Georg’s voice. After the fourth such informative message, Will wrote a note to the effect that they would all assume Chrétien couldn’t hear Georg unless Chrétien told them otherwise.

  It was frustrating to know Georg was here, on the island, and to be unable to locate him. Will had expected it would be much easier. Maybe they were going about it the wrong way.

  WHAT IF WE STOP AND ASK IF ANY OF THE LOCALS HAVE SEEN SOMEONE NEW? Will wrote to his friends.

  Pfeffer agreed this was better than circling aimlessly.

  THERE’S A RESTAURANT UP AHEAD—WE CAN ASK THERE, wrote Will, who had researched the area thoroughly. The group took the precaution of coming solid well out of view of anyone in the restaurant.

  The restaurant was perched precariously on the side of the steep hill that ran down to the ocean. A parking lot, with spaces for cars and busses, stood empty.

  “It looks closed,” said Will.

  Pfeffer consulted his watch and murmured a quiet “Hmm….”

  Together, the four approached the restaurant’s front door, which was open.

  “An open door’s a good sign,” remarked Skandor.

  But when they had all stepped inside, the place looked deserted. Rows of tables had been set up so that it reminded Will of a school cafeteria. There were carafes full of pinkish-red liquid set on a side table, along with baskets of bread which were covered.

  “Hello?” called Pfeffer. “Hola.”

  There was no response at first. But as the four continued speaking and wandering between the tables, an old man emerged from the back of the restaurant.

  “Hello,” said Skandor. “Do you speak English?”

  “No English. Siesta. Restaurant closed. Closed now. Las cinco en punto.”

  Having said that, the old man began herding them back outside.

  “Is there anyone we can talk to?” asked Skandor. “Please?”

  The old man kept pushing them to the door. “No English. Las cinco en punto.”

  Once they were all outside, the old man shut the door behind them.

  “If you treat your customers like that,” said Skandor, “no wonder the place is empty.”

  “It’s siesta,” said Pfeffer. “Most businesses shut down from 1:00 in the afternoon until 5:00 or 5:30.”

  “You’re joking,” said Skandor.

  “Nope,” replied Will. “I read about that.”

  “But this is the twenty-first century. How can they be living in … whatever century had siestas?” asked Skandor.

  “Siestas remain common in several countries,” said Pfeffer. “It is regarded as money-grubbing and a cruelty to one’s employees to remain open for business during this time of day.”

  “Talk about taking your afternoon nap seriously,” said Will, stretching his arms overhead.

  “I think it sounds most civilized,” said Chrétien.

  “Most inconvenient, is more like,” said Skandor.

  “We can continue to listen for evidence of Georg’s presence,” said Chrétien.

  “Definitely,” said Skandor, with enthusiasm. “And you’d recognize Katrin’s thoughts, right?”

  Chrétien’s brows drew close. “Only if she were … awake.”

  “I see,” said Skandor, his mouth pinching tight.

  “When Raoul spoke with Friedrich and Günter, he indicated Georg had allowed the rest of the Angels the free use of their abilities,” said Chrétien.

  “You’re joking,” said Will. “Weasel-y little Gretel?”

  “Who’s Gretel?” asked Skandor.

  “It’s what Will likes to call Georg,” said Pfeffer. “Georg had a brother named Hansel, who was killed last year.”

  “Which means the joke’s in poor taste now,” replied Will. “I’m an idiot a lot of the time. If my sister were here, she could give you an approximate number of how many times per day.”

  Skandor grinned. “I like Mickie.”

  “Yeah. What’s not to like? I mean, other than the temper and the complete lack of a sense of humor
and the way she leaves dirty dishes in the sink.”

  “Isn’t that where they go?” asked Skandor.

  “No wonder you and Mick get along so well,” said Will, grinning.

  “I beg pardon,” said Chrétien. But he wasn’t speaking to the group. He was addressing a child of ten or eleven who’d wandered outside to stare at the strangers.

  “Do you speak English? Or French?” asked Chrétien.

  The boy smiled. “I speak them both. And Spanish, of course.”

  “Way to go, dude,” said Will, impressed.

  “We wonder if you might help us find some friends,” said Chrétien.

  Will choked back a laugh. Friends was a bit of a stretch.

  “They would be new here. Here is a picture of one of them.” Chrétien held up Georg’s picture.

  “I’ve seen this man. He and six others came here maybe a year ago,” said the boy. “They live farther on. In the forest. Lots of delivery trucks come and go, but I’ve never seen the house. My mama says they are a mystery because they don’t seem to sell anything and they don’t mix with anyone, either, except for deliveries.” The boy leaned in. “I think they make drugs. Or weapons. I’m not allowed to go on their private road.”

  Will crouched down beside the boy. “Can you tell us where the road is that leads to their … home?”

  The boy crossed his arms and puffed out his chest. “Oh, yes. That’s easy.”

  Five minutes later, the group of four walked away with directions, out of view of the boy and the restaurant, and rippled back to invisibility. Less than ten minutes later, they arrived at what they assumed was Georg’s facility. Like the restaurant, it appeared to be empty, but it was not in such a tidy state.

  IT LOOKS LIKE IT’S BEEN RANSACKED, wrote Will.

  There were pieces of equipment that had been hastily pushed aside, empty boxes lying around, and a general air of disarray.

  COULD THEY HAVE LEFT IN A HURRY? asked Will.

  IT LOOKS THAT WAY, replied Pfeffer.

  They were discussing whether to come solid when they heard voices coming toward them.

  SILENCE YOUR MINDS, ordered Pfeffer.

  Will wasn’t too clear on how to do this—his mind seemed stuck on the “silent” setting. The first two men to enter the room were unfamiliar to Will, but they had that look, like they were brothers of Helga and Hans. Invisibly, Will grimaced.

  One of the two turned so that Will could see him more clearly. It was Raoul! They’d come to the right place. When Georg followed a few seconds later, everything was confirmed. They’d found Georg’s lair.

  So, what was he up to?

  “Owen,” said Georg, speaking to the one who wasn’t Raoul, “have you gathered the serum?”

  “It’s ready,” replied Owen. “Everything’s in the car. I really think we should go.”

  “He’s right,” said Raoul. “You said it yourself: Pfeffer is resourceful. If he’s here, he’ll find us.”

  Will cursed as surprise washed through him. They knew about Pfeffer’s presence? How was that possible? And more to the point, what should they do about it? The arrangement was that Chrétien would break the silence or initiate any action. But Chrétien remained silent and invisible. Will was sure it was killing Skandor to stay invisible.

  “You will leave ahead of me,” said Georg. “I’ll catch up with you shortly.”

  Owen turned to leave. Raoul hesitated.

  “What about the girl? Katrin?”

  “Katrin is none of your concern,” snapped Georg.

  Raoul’s face darkened, but he didn’t say anything. He just nodded and followed Owen.

  FOLLOW THEM; SEARCH THE CAR, Chrétien wrote to Will.

  Will followed the two, but Raoul paused at a computer. Will had to decide who to stay with. He knew Chrétien wanted him to search the car for invisible items—something Will was skilled in locating. But Raoul might type something important—a location or a clue as to their intended activity. Will stayed with Raoul, who brought up an email he had evidently written earlier but not sent. Before Will could read more than the greeting, Raoul pushed send and it disappeared. He caught the recipient’s name, though. It was going to Günter von Helmann.

  Outside, an engine roared to life. The email could wait—it wasn’t going anywhere. Will had just turned for the car when he heard sounds of a scuffle in the other room—the room Georg was still inside. Will threw a glance over his shoulder, and what he saw made him give up all thoughts of Owen and Raoul and the contents of their vehicle.

  Skandor had materialized behind Georg and wrapped his arms around him, bending Georg’s left arm hard in such a way that he could break it if he wanted to. And Will knew Skandor very much wanted to, but before a full second passed, Georg rippled to safety.

  “Come back, you coward,” cried Skandor, looking wildly around the room.

  Will felt a surge of frustration. In the heat of the moment, Skandor seemed to have completely forgotten all the tactical lessons Sir Walter had taught him.

  “Where’s Katrin?” shouted Skandor. “Coward! Where is she?”

  WHAT NOW? demanded Will.

  Chrétien wrote back instantly. YOU AND I GRAB SKANDOR FROM BEHIND AND HIDE HIM BEFORE GEORG CAN ATTACK HIM.

  I’M READY, wrote Will.

  Just before they’d solidified behind Skandor, Will wrote a warning: WAIT! He’d felt Georg’s form brush into his. If he and Chrétien came solid at the same time Georg did, none of them would survive the explosive return to solid form. Georg appeared behind Skandor and fired a dart. His aim was poor, and Skandor was in motion. The dart flew harmlessly into the wall. Georg was gone again before Skandor could turn to find him.

  PFEFFER! wrote Will. WATCH FOR GEORG’S REAPPEARANCE WHILE WE TACKLE SKANDOR.

  Skandor continued hurling insults at Georg, trying to get him to come solid. “Come back, you worm!”

  Georg solidified, dart gun aimed at Skandor. Pfeffer came solid right behind Georg, a hand raised to strike Georg’s arm. But Pfeffer was too slow, and Georg’s released dart buried itself in Skandor’s thigh. Pfeffer’s blow went through empty air as Georg vanished again. Howling, Skandor stumbled forward grabbing at his injured leg. From the floor, he continued to curse Georg, demanding he return and fight like a man.

  All was still. Except for Skandor’s gasping breaths, all was silent. Where was Georg? Was he coming back to finish Skandor off now that he’d wounded him? And what was in the dart? Poison? An anti-rippling agent? As Will tried to decide what to do, Chrétien solidified.

  “Georg has departed,” said Chrétien aloud. “His thoughts are all of escape, not further battle.” Chrétien called for Pfeffer as he knelt beside Skandor. “Are you otherwise injured?”

  Skandor shook his head. “I feel fine. But he got away! With Katrin!”

  “Not, I think, with Katrin,” replied Chrétien. “His thoughts do not include her. His only thought is of escape. No, I correct myself, he thinks also of how he would have liked to have killed you.”

  Pfeffer came solid and began examining Skandor’s wound. Will was the last to solidify.

  “You’re sure Georg’s gone?” asked Will.

  Chrétien nodded. “I hear his unguarded thoughts still; he and the others are in retreat. He will not return. All that he desires, he has.”

  “Katrin?” asked Will.

  Chrétien shook his head. “He thinks not of her at present. Ah—he has remembered at last to place a guard upon his thoughts.” Chrétien’s eyes closed in concentration. “I hear Raoul; he is startled by Georg’s sudden appearance. They are leaving together. Yes, they definitely mean to depart the island. Ah—Raoul’s mind has closed as well. Georg must have warned him to secure his thoughts.”

  Pfeffer held up the dart, removed from Skandor’s leg, and examined it.

  “Skandor?” asked Will. “Can you still ripple?”

  Skandor shook his head. “I tried. I’m stuck solid.”

  29

  I HAD H
IM

  Will watched as Pfeffer prepared a syringe of antidote for Skandor. They didn’t know if Georg’s dart had contained Immutin, which acted permanently, or Neuroplex, which acted temporarily to prevent invisibility. If the antidote worked, Skandor would be fine. If it didn’t work, well, Will hated to think about the level of trauma it would take to bring Skandor’s abilities back.

  “Are you ready?” asked Pfeffer, speaking to Skandor.

  Skandor nodded, holding his arm out. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Pfeffer eased the needle into Skandor’s arm and then the group held a collective breath as they waited to see if Skandor could ripple again.

  The smile on Skandor’s face hinted at a positive outcome half a second before his disappearing body confirmed the good news: it had only been Neuroplex in the dart.

  Skandor came solid. “I could feel it,” he said, grinning. “I could feel that everything was working just before it, uh, worked.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how to explain it, but that time I smeared Immutin lotion on my hands, everything felt wrong inside when I tried to vanish. Like, I knew I wouldn’t be able to.”

  Pfeffer’s eyes closed in relief.

  Skandor rose and began pacing, speaking with the giddiness of having dodged a bullet. “I had him. I had him! Right here, in this room. I could’ve taken him.” He punched a fist through the air.

  Will sympathized with Skandor’s frustration, but the truth was, Skandor hadn’t almost taken Georg. Skandor didn’t think like a rippler, and it had cost him a victory. You didn’t stand solid in a room and taunt someone unless you were ready to vanish the instant they showed up and then catch them from behind. Later, once Skandor calmed down, Will would remind Skandor of some things Sir Walter had taught them.

  “I could have taken him, but he was too much of a coward to stay and fight me,” said Skandor, still pacing. Then he grunted, paused, and grabbed his thigh, wincing.

  “You should give that leg a chance to recover,” said Pfeffer, washing his hands. “You were shot at close range. There’s going to be bruising and swelling.”

  “He was mine,” muttered Skandor.

  Chrétien spoke. “I assure you that Georg’s feelings toward you are equally violent. Take heart; you may yet have the chance to meet him in battle.”