Chameleon (16 page)

“Not for another two streets,” said Mickie.

Sir Walter seemed lost in his own thoughts, his eyes barely open as he walked beside us.

I looked from Will to Mickie to see who would back down this time.

“Suit yourself,” Will replied, a half–smile tugging on one side of his mouth.

I thought Will was probably right, but I didn’t mind spending a few more minutes alongside the river. In my head, I carried the tune of a French song Mom used to sing to me about a bridge. Maybe it was one of the bridges I could see right now; there were so many in Paris.

We turned up a narrow road flanked by tall apartments, and Sir Walter frowned, finally taking note of where we walked. “I apologize for my absence of mind. We should have turned two streets ago.”

Will smirked but said nothing.

“I believe, although I am far from certain, that I have caught an echo of our acquaintance
Monsieur
Ivanovich. It may be he managed to escape with his life. Would you perhaps excuse me for a moment? His thought signature is far easier to catch when I am without substance. Shall we meet back at the hotel?”

“Sure, no worries,” Will replied.

Mickie’s mouth turned downwards and deepened into a scowl as Sir Walter’s form vanished. “Easy for you to say,” she muttered.

“Nothing’s going to happen, Mick. Sir Walter’s on it. He said Ivanovich fears him,” said Will. “Although we should have asked him how to get back to the hotel.”

Grumbling, Mickie produced a map from her back–pack. Will strolled ahead to look at a parked vespa with admiration. He turned back to me, grinning.

“Now
that
is the way to get around in France,” he said.

I shrugged. It looked dangerous to me; I’d nearly been clipped by cars several times in the past day and a half. Madame Evans told us drivers only had to miss pedestrians by one meter, and I was sure some of them made a game of it.

As I strolled closer, Will whispered to me. “Of course, if Mick hadn’t declared an elevated security level at the moment, it would be a lot more fun to race around Paris rippling.”

I smiled. Will’s sister had begged him to stick close and not take unnecessary risks after my encounter with Deuxième. “It would be fun,” I agreed.

“We could climb the Eiffel Tower for free, you know,” said Will.

“Or get closer to the Mona Lisa,” I offered.

“Or maybe—” Will’s words were cut short by a gasp from his sister.

Mickie pointed to the opening down one side of the street. “I saw him! At least, I think I did. Big guy? White blonde hair?”

Will looked down the alley, his eyes squinting. “How’d he dig himself out of the catacombs?”

“Sir Walter
just said
he heard his thoughts being broadcasted,” said Mickie, gazing uncomfortably down the road. “Let’s get over to a busier street.”

The side street down which we walked was deserted; suddenly it felt unsafe.

“This way,” said Mickie, pointing to our right. “There’s a larger street this direction.”

Together we headed for the busier thoroughfare.

Whoever Mick had seen, I hoped it wasn’t Ivanovich; I wished Sir Walter would come back.

As we turned onto the boulevard, a few tired–looking pedestrians strolled along the far side of the road.

“That’s better,” murmured Mickie.

Will walked beside us, looking over his shoulder every few seconds.

“I’m sure it’s fine, Will,” I whispered. “Even if he survived, he’s not the only blond guy in Paris.”

Will’s brows were pulled together in concentration. Overhead, the light continued to fade from dusk to night. I looked from side to side, my own heart beating faster as we continued without Sir Walter reappearing. Could Deuxième have survived the collapse of that room? I’d heard the sirens wailing as they headed toward his location. My heart felt torn; I didn’t want to be responsible for his demise, but my life would be a lot easier without him following us.

“Dammit!” Pushing past us and into a sheltered alcove, Will called to us, “It’s him. I’m on it!” And with that, Will rippled.

Beside me, Mickie growled. “Idiot, idiot, idiot!” She looked frantically about us for any sign of Will or our pursuer.

I grabbed her hand. “Keep walking. Let’s just get back to the hotel.”

The boulevard was emptying as we pushed farther along. I felt exposed. Mickie dropped my hand to fumble inside her purse.

“Where is it?” she murmured.

“What?” I asked.

“Mace, I think. Some kind of spray I bought off a guy at a flea market here.”

“I think that’s highly illegal in France,” I said.

Mickie shrugged her shoulders. “So is kidnapping a sixteen–year–old girl out of a taxi.”

I balled up my hands into fists and began walking faster towards the hotel.

“There!” Mickie cried.

“What?” I didn’t want to hear the answer.

“Bleach–head,” she replied.

We peered into the gloom of the darkening road.

“At least I thought I saw something …” She broke off but began jogging, pulling me along.

A car brushed past us, two young men making the local version of cat–calls as they sped by. And then I saw him.

Ivanovich raced towards us, Will materializing just behind him in hot pursuit.

“Will!” called Mickie.

Helga’s tall thug turned into a side street ahead of us with Will on his heels. As we ran to catch up to them both, Mickie called to her brother using a variety of spicy expletives. We reached the alley, but it was empty. Our eyes adjusted to the shadowy dark of the tiny opening. A dead–end.

Will and our pursuer were nowhere to be seen.

Mickie cursed again.

“Come on,” I said, backing out of the alley. “Let’s get out of here. We can’t help Will if we can’t find him.”

Mickie mumbled indistinctly, probably additional insults directed at her brother, and tiptoed a few feet farther into the cul–de–sac. “Will!” she called. “Ripple back, you troll–spawn!”

“Come on, Mickie,” I called in a whisper. “There’s no one here.” A shiver ran along my spine as I spoke.

“Just another quick sec,” said Mick as she ran a couple doors further down the alley.

My forehead wrinkled with worry. I wished Will would stop trying to play super–hero.

“No one’s here Mickie,” I said again. “They’re long gone.”

Mickie turned back towards me, a defeated look on her face. I gave her a half–smile and was about to say something comforting when I saw her eyes grow wide with fear.

Looking over my shoulder, I saw Helga’s blond henchman barreling towards us from across the busy boulevard. He paused mid–street as an angry motorist swerved, shouting French curses at him.

Mickie spoke one word to me, over her shoulder: “Run!”

Then she flew towards the blond man, waving her arms and shouting at the top of her lungs.

“No!” I called as she ran towards the angry man. I dashed after her, my legs pumping crazy–fast. She didn’t have that much of a head start, but I tripped on the irregular surface of the old street and tumbled down, catching myself with my hands.

Raising my head, I watched as something truly bizarre unfolded thirty feet ahead of me. The tall blond man seemed to alter his appearance as completely as possible. His face, which had been twisted with determination, softened and calmed. The mouth that had bared fierce canines a moment earlier relaxed. His shoulders slumped forward, and he seemed to shrink in stature as his gait loosened. Hands that had been clenched in tight fists now uncurled and dropped nonchalantly into his pockets.

He had transformed from a raging fiend into a man without a care in the world. I felt like I’d just watched the Incredible Hulk turn back into a mild–mannered scientist.

“Of course,”
I whispered. I had just seen Ivanovich check out for the night and Deuxième come on duty. “Deuxième?” I called as I stood.

Mickie got there moments before I did. Deuxième looked past her at me and then pulled one hand out of his pocket. In the three seconds that it took me to reach him, he grabbed Mickie, pushed up one of her sleeves, and injected her with something. She slumped immediately into his waiting arms.

“No!” I cried. “What are you doing?”

“This way,” he said in English, gesturing towards the alley I’d just left.

“What have you done to her?” I called out, following him into the enclosed street.

“She will be fine,” he said. “It is a short–acting sedative. She’ll awaken in another two minutes.”

“What do you want?” I asked, backing away from him.

“Deuxième wishes to speak with Jane Smith,” he said simply.

“What did you have to go drugging her for?” I asked, my voice sounding angry.

He looked bashful. “Deuxième is sorry for harming Jane’s friend. Jane’s friend will have a bad headache when she awakens.” He fumbled around in one of his pockets and withdrew a small vial.

Instinctively, I jumped back.

“This will take away her pain. Deuxième compounded it himself.” He looked pleased with himself. “It is very strong medicine for pain.”

I took the small vial, doubtful Mick would accept treatment from such a source.

He continued. “Deuxième reasoned that if Jane would send help to a stranger such as Deuxième when he was injured, then Jane is not someone to run away if her very special friend is unconscious.”

I screwed my mouth into a tight knot and glared at him.

“
N’est–ce pas
?” he asked in French:
Right?

“Of course I won’t run off with M—” I snatched back her identity as it dangled, caught in my throat. “With my friend in that condition. So spit it out. What do you want?”

At that moment, Will rippled solid at the mouth of the alley. Swearing, he ran towards his sister and her captor, roaring like a wild thing. “Let her go this second,” he shouted.

Deuxième retreated. “Stop or Deuxième vanishes with Jane’s friend,” he said to Will.

Will hesitated.

“That was a good trick you showed Ivanovich,” he said. “Ivanovich shared it with me. Now Deuxième knows how to take someone away with him when he vanishes.”

Will cursed.

In Deuxième’s arms, Mickie moaned softly.

“Deuxième means no harm,” he said, stifling a yelp as Mickie, coming around, attempted to escape by
biting
her way free.

“So let her go,” said Will fists clenching and unclenching.

Deuxième shrugged. “Deuxième will do so after he has delivered his message.”

“How about you let her go now,” said Will, his dark eyes flashing dangerously.

“Let him talk, Will,” I said. “What do you want to tell us?”

“Deuxième is behaving very, very badly today,” he said, doubt furrowing his forehead. “But Deuxième wishes to repay a debt. Ivanovich will be angry …” He hesitated.

“Out with it, already,” shouted Will, barely able to contain his rage at seeing his sister struggling in Deuxième’s arms.

“It is a message for Jane,” said Deuxième, wincing again as Mick kicked his shins. Deuxième hoisted her into a more secure position over his shoulder. She screamed in outrage.

“Deuxième, can you please put her down?” I asked.

“Does Jane promise to listen to Deuxième?” His hands were still preoccupied with a very enraged Mickie.

“Just tell me what it is you want to tell me,” I said. “I will listen.”

“Deuxième thought Jane might run away without this one to stay for,” he said, tilting his head to Mickie.

“I won’t run away,” I said. “I promise. Just, please, let her go and tell me what you came to tell me.”

Carefully, Deuxième set Mickie down as if she were made of porcelain. She got in one last kick to his shins and ran to her brother, placing herself slightly in front, guarding him.

“It is about
die Mutter
,” said Deuxième. He had grabbed one hand with the other and now wrung them together, his distress palpable. “She will be very angry if she knows Deuxième warned you.”

“Warned me about what?” I asked.

He dropped his eyes to the ground, shaking his head from side to side. “Very angry. Very, very angry.”

Slowly, I walked closer to Deuxième. “Your head,” I said, pointing to a butterfly bandage. “You were injured when the roof collapsed.”

“Sam!” called Will. “Stop right there!”

“It’s okay,” I said. I crept a few steps closer. “I’m sorry,” I said. “
Je suis désolée
,” I repeated in French.

He switched to French as well. “She wishes to use you, Jane Smith.
Die Mutter
believes you are special. She believes you are unique. She believes that if you were to have offspring they would make better servants than poor Deuxième and Ivanovich.”

I recoiled.
This was what Helga wanted me for?

“Sam,” called Mickie. “Please, back away!”

“It’s okay,” I said, hoping I was right.

“She wishes to capture you. Even though her father has forbidden it. Please, Jane Smith, be careful. Ivanovich had an assignment today: capture Jane Smith. He will have the same assignment tomorrow. And he knows where your group travels.”

“He does? You do?” I asked.

“Yes.” Reaching into his pocket, Deuxième pulled out another needle and vial.

I yelped and backed away. Deuxième chortled like a small boy.

“Not for Jane. This one,” here he touched the needle, “This one is for Ivanovich. Tomorrow morning, before Deuxième rests, he will have boarded a train heading far to the east and he will inject himself with this medicine.” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Ivanovich will sleep all the day tomorrow. To Germany and beyond. Deuxième is making certain that Ivanovich does not do his day’s work tomorrow. Or the next day.” He laughed again.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked. “Won’t you get in trouble?”

Deuxième’s voice dropped to a mere whisper. “Jane Smith saved Deuxième’s life. Deuxième does not understand why, but he is grateful. Deuxième is thanking Jane today.
Merci
,” he said, dropping his head in a slight bow.

“
De rien
,” I said. “It was nothing.” My cheeks burned. I’d almost killed him and he wanted to thank me for saving him.