The form that shimmered and became person-shaped was not, however, Fritz-shaped. It was a woman. A young woman with broad shoulders. The woman was several inches taller than Sam’s own five feet seven inches. The stranger’s hair was dark blonde. It was impossible to see the color of her eyes much less to read their expression in the dark of night.
“I’m called Martina,” said the young woman. Her voice made her sound much younger than she appeared and changed the impression in Sam’s mind from “woman” to “girl.” Her accent was slightly French, or like someone who had learned British English in France, maybe.
Martina? It took Sam a minute to realize Martina probably couldn’t hear the question. (Sir Walter insisted hearing while visible was very rare.) Sam decided she would risk speaking face to face.
Sam rippled into sight a few feet from the girl.
“I’ve heard of you,” said Sam. “You’re Hansel and Georg’s sister, right?”
“Yes,” replied the girl. “I need help. I have to find Dr. Pfeffer. Someone I care about is in danger and I don’t know what to do. But Pfeffer will know what to do. I need his help.”
“Listen,” replied Sam. “Hansel and Georg aren’t exactly popular around here.”
“No, no. It’s not them. Well, they might be in trouble; I don’t know. They might be happy with their situation for all I know. It’s not them I’m worried about.”
“Okay,” said Sam. “Well, the only person who will know what Pfeffer’s up to this time of night is Sir Walter—um, sorry. Waldhart de Rochefort. You two have met.”
“I know who he is,” said Martina.
There was an edge to Martina’s response that Sam couldn’t quite interpret.
“I don’t want to speak to Wald—to Sir Walter,” said Martina. “I only want Pfeffer.”
“Okay,” said Sam. “Well, how would you feel about me talking to Sir Walter?”
“Please, I wish to speak to Pfeffer.” The girl looked close to tears.
Sam fixed her gaze on the road. Her hands drifted from her hips to a more relaxed posture.
“Can you help me find him?” asked Martina. “Please?”
“That’s the thing,” said Sam. “I don’t think I can. Pfeffer’s European cell phone doesn’t work here. He only just arrived, so he hasn’t gotten a new one yet. He might be down at UCM, or he might be on his way here. I don’t have his email—that’s how Mick heard from him.”
“I see,” said Martina. Two large tears spilled from her eyes. She swiped at them quickly, looking embarrassed.
“But Sir Walter’s a whole other story. He can communicate over long distance. Like what you do, throwing that music out there. That’s you, right?” Sam’s heart skipped a beat. It better have been Martina and not Fritz or Hansel or Georg.
“You knew I was doing that?” asked Martina, eyes wide with surprise.
“Well, not at first. And I didn’t know who you were. But my point is, Sir Walter can do that sort of thing over really long distances. Have you already tried listening for Pfeffer?”
“You mean listening for his thoughts? Yes. I’ve tried.”
“How far away can you hear someone?”
“A kilometer or so,” replied Martina.
“Well, Sir Walter can do better than that, with people he knows well. If you need to speak to Pfeffer, and only Pfeffer will do, then I think your best bet is to consult Sir Walter.”
The girl was silent. She gripped her hands tightly together, thumbs worrying back and forth across opposite hands.
“Sir Walter’s a good man,” said Sam, her voice soft. “He saved Pfeffer’s life. He’s saved nearly all of our lives, at this point.” Sam decided to add one more thing. “And he’s kindhearted.”
Martina’s eyes filled and her mouth curved into half a smile. “Kind of heart goes a long way.”
“Come on,” said Sam. “Let’s go meet with him. He’ll be happy to see you.”
Martina nodded.
“Place your hand on my shoulder and we’ll ripple. We can get there a lot faster. And it sounds like time is of the essence for you.”
Martina blinked back her tears, nodded, and placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder.
And then the two girls glided swiftly to Sir Walter’s gaudily decorated dwelling on the far side of Las Abs.
38
A COMMON PHOBIA
Las Abuelitas, California
The old gentleman was pacing when Sam and Martina materialized in the room he called his salon de thé. Sam, who had never seen Sir Walter drink even a single cup of tea, had been struck by the room’s odd name, but she’d made it a rule to keep her thoughts to herself when it came to Sir Walter’s decorating and Sir Walter’s naming of rooms.
“I have been expecting you,” said the old gentleman.
Sam wasn’t sure who he meant: herself or Martina.
“Both of you, actually,” said the old gentleman, clarifying. “My old friend Pfeffer is on his way to meet us—”
Martina gasped, a hand fluttering to her mouth.
“Yes,” continued Sir Walter, “he should arrive shortly. Sadly, I have been unable to persuade him of the desirability of using his powers, so he journeys by vehicle.” Sir Walter shook his head sadly.
Sam turned to Martina. “Pfeffer doesn’t want to resemble his father Helmann even in small ways,” she said. “So he won’t ripple, except to save a life, maybe.”
“He chose that of his own free will?” asked Martina, clearly surprised.
Sam nodded.
“With great difficulty,” said Sir Walter, “I have persuaded him to leave off dosing himself with Neuroprine. For emergencies, you know. He may not choose to save his own life using such means, but I pointed out there are other lives about which he has a concern….” Sir Walter left off before revealing the identity of such personages.
“Martina needs to talk to Pfeffer about something,” said Sam.
“So I surmised from the thoughts you directed to me, my dear Samanthe,” said Sir Walter, smiling. “Won’t you be seated?”
Sam sat. Martina nodded and took a chair. She didn’t last in it for very long, though.
After watching Martina pace back and forth for several minutes, Sir Walter spoke. “Might it, perhaps, help you were you to unburden your heart of its worries?”
Martina continued to pace for a minute and then sank into a small brocade-upholstered couch with elaborately carved arms and legs. “It’s Matteo. A boy I grew up with but who wasn’t an Angel. We’ve been in love for … for … all our lives, I think. And Fritz has him.” It took a few minutes to explain everything.
“I don’t know how to save Matteo,” Martina concluded. “I don’t know where Fritz has hidden him. I only know Fritz wants something. I thought … I thought maybe Pfeffer could figure out what Fritz wanted and then we could offer to help him get it if he would let Matteo go free.”
Sir Walter stroked his goatee thoughtfully. At last he spoke. “The things that Fritz wants to obtain are generally very dangerous for him to possess.”
At that moment, the three heard a car pulling into the graveled drive that led to Sir Walter’s residence. Martina was up and running to the door, calling, “It’s him, it’s him!”
Sam and Sir Walter gave the two a few minutes to speak without interruption.
“Do you think,” asked Sam, “that Fritz just wants something harmless this time? Like a … Fabergé egg or something?”
“I think, my dear, that if Fritz wanted even a jeweled egg, it would be for no good reason.”
Pfeffer burst into the room a minute later. “I’ve been talking to Martina. From some of the things she said, I think I know what Fritz is after. He wants to know how to make Immutin.” His face was pale, his expression strained.
Martina’s expression looked similarly distressed.
Sam turned to Pfeffer. “Isn’t that the new drug therapy you’ve been developing?”
“To permanently suppress Ripplers Syndrome.
Yes.”
“What would Fritz want with that?” asked Sam. “He loves being able to sneak around.”
“He does not desire to use it on himself, my dear,” said Sir Walter. “He would desire to possess the formula in order to weaponize it.”
“And use it on all of us,” added Pfeffer.
Sam gasped. “We can’t let him get it.”
“Indeed we cannot,” said Sir Walter. He turned to Pfeffer. “I thought you removed your research from your laboratory in France last week, did you not?”
Pfeffer nodded. “I sent it here by a common carrier. I thought that would be safer than to travel with it myself.”
“Ordinarily, I would have agreed,” said Sir Walter. He tugged at his tiny beard. “But in this situation, I wonder….”
“Packages are trackable,” whispered Sam.
“Pfeffer left a receipt in his desk,” said Martina. “And if I saw it….”
“And if Fritz had Hansel and Georg search your office….” Sam’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Fritz might be trying to intercept the package as we speak,” said Pfeffer.
“How does he travel?” Martina asked, urgency in her tone.
“Travel?” asked Pfeffer.
“Yes. Does he transport himself invisibly in the air or does he board airplanes invisibly or does he fly as an ordinary passenger or does he hire a private plane?” she asked.
“He does not hire private transportation,” said Sir Walter, thoughtfully. “He is afraid of flying.”
“He’s afraid?” asked Sam, both eyebrows raised.
“It is a common phobia,” replied Pfeffer. “But, because of it, he prefers to travel invisibly aboard regular carriers.”
“He does realize that if a plane were to go down, he’d still go down with it, even invisibly, right?” asked Sam.
Sir Walter shrugged. “It is not logical. But then, neither is my own phobia of high places.”
“I caught the last flight for the day,” said Martina. “They told me the next flight after the one I took would arrive ten hours later,” said Martina. “And I’ve been here over twenty-four hours.”
“Fritz could be back in California,” mused Sir Walter.
Pfeffer was seated at a small computer desk in a corner of the salon de thé. “My package is still in transportation,” he said. “It should arrive at the Sacramento airport in two hours time.”
“We must intercept it,” said Sir Walter. He rose. “I shall ask Chrétien to accompany us.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s … with Gwyn at the moment,” said Sam.
“I am likewise persuaded of the same thing,” replied Sir Walter. “If you will, please, excuse me.” Having said this, he vanished.
39
LIKE A FAMILY
Las Abuelitas, California
Martina looked around the room at the group she’d somehow landed smack in the middle of. Though the underlying mood was rife with apprehension, individual faces offered one another encouragement, hope, reassurance. Only pairs of them were related, but together, they seemed so like a family unit. It made something inside Martina ache.
They seemed to be discussing one another’s family members at some length; there was a question of who, exactly, would protect whom. Although Mickie and Will seemed to have no parents at all, Sam had a father and mother, and Gwyn had a mother. None of the parents could ripple. Nor could Gwyn. Who did not look happy.
“What I want to know,” said Gwyn, “is who’s going to protect us from evil Dr. Fritz if he decides to come calling while you’re all off on your noble quest or whatever.”
In the end, it was decided there was sufficient risk from just such a visit that the group could not all assist in retrieving Pfeffer’s research. Sam and Will were to remain to protect Sam’s parents and Will’s sister. (Martina was very surprised to learn Mickie wasn’t a caméléon.) Sir Walter would remain to offer protection to the Li family in his son Chrétien’s absence.
Martina, it seemed, was expected to remain behind.
“I won’t,” she said, her mouth pulled into a tight line. Then she added, “I’m going wherever Pfeffer goes.”
“You’d be a hazard,” said Mickie. “You can’t ripple.”
“Um,” said Will, “not true.”
Mickie frowned. “I suppose we could use that anti-Neuroplex serum….”
“Mick,” replied her brother. “Martina’s the rippler Sam and Chrétien and Sir Walter have been hearing. With the music.”
If Mickie looked shocked, Pfeffer looked even more so.
“Is this true, Martina?” asked Pfeffer.
Martina could feel her skin flushing. It made her sunburn worse. She nodded.
“But … how?” asked Pfeffer.
“It is surely not of the greatest importance right now,” said Sir Walter, pulling at his goatee. “Another time, my dear Johan.”
Several heads turned at the mention of Pfeffer’s first name. Martina had certainly never heard it before.
“I think Martina has more than earned the right to accompany my son and Pfeffer,” said Sir Walter.
The rest of the group deferred to his opinion, as Martina noted they did in several instances. When it seemed a plan had been decided upon, Martina spoke.
“But what of Matteo?” she asked.
Sir Walter sighed heavily and left off grooming his miniature beard. “We shall do all we can to return him from wherever it is Fritz has left him. But you must see, my dear, that the current threat is the greater one. Fritz seeks Pfeffer’s research. Before we can do anything for Matteo, I am afraid we must secure that package.”
Martina nodded. What else could she do? For now, she would set aside her fears for Matteo, and she would prove her value to Pfeffer and Chrétien. It was only to be a few hours, after all.
40
I HEAR COUNTING
Sacramento, California
At Sir Walter’s insistence (and to Martina’s great relief) the group of three, Chrétien, Martina, and Pfeffer, journeyed invisibly to the Sacramento International Airport to meet the arriving jet and retrieve the package.
Martina couldn’t ascertain exactly how swiftly they traveled, but she knew she’d never gone this fast. Pfeffer was silent, but Chrétien told stories to pass the time and asked Martina occasional questions.
Wherefore did you send out the sounds of music if it was your wish to remain undiscovered by any but Dr. Pfeffer? asked Chrétien.
Martina wasn’t sure how to answer. She thought it was rather obvious. Well, the music was to mask, you know, my thoughts. In case any of you were able to hear my thoughts. Like you’re doing right now.
I see, replied Chrétien. I believe you complicate things unnecessarily. To keep your thoughts unheard, it is enough to intend them only for yourself.
Intend? asked Martina. What does that even mean?
It is as any other thing you do whilst in chameleon form. If you intend to remain still, lo, you are still. If you intend to pass into the sky, lo, you ascend.
It was that simple? Really?
Thoughts which are laden with great emotion, added Pfeffer, can be very difficult to retain, however.
Martina startled at Pfeffer’s contribution. She’d almost forgotten he was there.
Chrétien added to what Pfeffer had said: Your musical efforts would serve well to conceal thoughts which are felt strongly or deeply, such as with anger or anguish.
I never even thought of that, admitted Martina. We had no training in hiding or … suppressing our thoughts as children. This was an educational expedition, indeed. Privately, she determined she would continue her use of music, for the time being.
Helmann resented those who possessed gifts and abilities he did not himself possess, said Pfeffer. Sir Walter and Chrétien can teach you much.
A Pfeffer who wanted her better informed in concerns pertaining to rippling? This was … surprising.
We draw nigh, said Chrétien.
To the ai
rport? asked Martina.
Indeed.
They flew along a highway that carved between pastureland. It certainly didn’t look like the sort of place that would house the airport of California’s capital city.
Are you sure we’re going the right way? asked Martina.
Chrétien laughed in response, but he also told her that, yes, he was sure.
They began to see a host of vehicles departing what Chrétien said was the airport.
I am unable to catch the phrasings of their thoughts, said Chrétien, but those who are fleeing are certainly doing so in great distress. Do you not sense the emotion, Mademoiselle?
Martina tried to grasp at the emotional current of those who sped away from the airport. She felt tension. She caught the interplay of fear and relief. These things, she told Chrétien.
I wonder what has caused this distress? asked Chrétien. Not to mention, the large numbers of departing vehicles at this hour of the night.
When they arrived at the airport, they discovered the reason. A bomb threat had been called in, identifying a jet operated by FedEx as the host of the bomb.
My cousin Fritz Gottlieb, murmured Chrétien.
Fritz put a bomb on the plane? asked Martina.
Pfeffer spoke his thoughts. This is the work of my brother Fritz. Almost certainly.
A bomb would hardly serve his end, replied Chrétien, unless he has already retrieved the parcel.
I doubt the threat is real, said Pfeffer. Is that your concern?
Martina and Chrétien replied in the affirmative.
I suppose you never know with my brother Fritz…. Pfeffer seemed to emit a heavy sigh.
I beg pardon, said Chrétien, but it occurs to me that if Monsieur Gottlieb wished to destroy something by means of an explosion, he would most certainly not alert anyone.
It was a good point.
That’s true, said Pfeffer. Making it more likely he simply wanted to empty the area.
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