Chameleon (22 page)

Sir Walter’s form wavered to rejoin us invisibly. “
I am afraid that our return journey must be made without the vehicle
.” I could feel something like a sigh of regret pass from his mind to ours. “
As it is but five kilometers, I hope you will not mind
.”

Invisible is working well for me at the moment,
wrote Will.

I wondered what would happen when he had to solidify again.

And, Sir Walter?
Will continued.
That. Was. Seriously. Badass.

I felt the rumble of Sir Walter’s laugh.
“I believe the two of you are aware of how swiftly it is possible to move in this form,
” he said.

Let’s go
, wrote Will.

I took a last look around while the wind whispered secrets through chinks in the castle wall. Then I felt the tug of Will’s hand within mine, and suddenly we were flying, soaring deliciously along the winding countryside road. A pair of rabbits bounded away from us, terrified. The speed was glorious, and even without the pumping of heart, lungs, and legs, I felt a fierce joy I’d known only from sprinting full–out, holding nothing in reserve. In far fewer than the sixteen minutes, fifty–four seconds it took me to run my best 5K, we arrived at the small cottage.

Will and I rippled back once we were inside the cottage. Mickie, aware of us though she had an arm over her closed eyes, spoke.

“You’re back soon,” she said. “Was it that boring?” she half–whispered the question to us without opening her eyes as Sir Walter solidified and traipsed down the narrow hall.

“Boring as hell,” Will said. He smiled my direction, white–faced, before collapsing onto a sofa across from his sister.

Mick opened her eyes, eyebrows raising in question and then alarm, taking in torn clothing, scratches, and the bloody bandage wrapped around her brother’s chest. “Oh my God! Will, what happened? Are you all right?” Mickie froze, temporarily at a loss for words. She inhaled deeply. “Okay. What. Is. Going. On?”

Chapter Twenty–Six

WHAT IT MEANT

Sir Walter reappeared from the back rooms, carrying swaths of bandaging. Will, laying upon the sofa, looked like he could use medical attention.

“How do I call 9–1–1 in France?” asked Mickie, her face pale.

“Not necessary,” said Sir Walter, setting the assortment of dressings down upon the coffee table. “Nor advisable,” he added. “Samantha, if you will, please explain things to
Mademoiselle
Mackenzie. Will and I must leave our physical forms if I am to remove the bullet safely.”

With no further word, the pair of them vanished.

“Bullet?” asked Mickie, looking like she might be sick.

I began the tale of all that had happened since we left the cottage. Mickie’s color returned as she punctuated my account with salty expletives. Since most of them were directed at Helga, I didn’t mind at all.

“I guess
invisible
is pretty much the last word in surgery,” said Mickie when I’d finished.

“Oh, yeah,” I said, my gaze shifting to the couch across from Mickie, where I assumed Sir Walter was still treating Will.

As I spoke, the air rippled and Will solidified. Sir Walter followed.

“Had to be
you
that took one for the team,” Mickie said to her brother, sighing.

Will smiled weakly as Sir Walter carefully re–dressed the wound, binding Will’s left arm in place against his chest.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

“Better,” said Will, looking dolefully at the restraint upon his arm.

“One fortunate side effect of the timing of Will’s vanishing is that the bullet left no exit wound,” said Sir Walter. “Had he delayed another millisecond …” The French gentleman shrugged.

“At least you got something right there, little bro,” said Mickie.

“What did you do to me?” Will asked, looking at Sir Walter. “I feel really … well, I feel pretty good compared to back at the castle.”

Sir Walter shrugged. “I have had centuries to perfect the art of healing as a chameleon.”

“I felt all this tugging kind of stuff going on,” said Will. “But nothing hurt. You took the bullet out, didn’t you? I think I might have felt that.”

The French gentleman nodded. “I knit back together what I could of your damaged flesh. It will be some time before you feel entirely back to normal.”

Will’s face broke into a broad grin. “You are one talented grandpa.”

We spent the remainder of Christmas Day resting beside the fireplace. Sir Walter showed me the woodpile—seasoned wood that burned hot—and I tried my best to care for Mickie’s cold and Will’s injuries. Our French friend declared he had additional work to do.

“The smoke from the car–fire will have caught someone’s attention,” he said. “Although, as it is Christmas and my countrymen take their holidays seriously, I think we have a day’s reprieve before anyone travels to investigate. Enough time, in short, for me to disguise the true nature of our encounter and activities.”

After Sir Walter left, Will told us more. “He’s going to bring down the castle.”

“What?” I asked, overlapping with Mickie’s “How?”

“Well, not the whole castle,” Will replied. “But he plans to cover the remains of the car by taking out a wall. He told me while he was doing surgery. I didn’t really understand the ‘how’ all that well. Something to do with rippling back and forth to imitate seismic activity.”

“Of course,” said Mickie, rolling her eyes.

“Whatever he’s doing, it will be thorough,” said Will. “He’s making sure no one poking around there will leak word back to Geneses about today. Apparently Helmann keeps an eye on the Well of Juno.”

“Okay,” said Mickie. “I’ve had my fill of guns and danger. I’m going to bed, and I’m going to pretend my cold is the worst thing that’s happened to us today.” As she shuffled down the hall she called out. “I will kill anyone who disturbs me before morning.”

I piled another log onto the fire, stabbed at the blaze with the poker, building it back to a roaring conflagration. Suddenly I felt aware of Will and our kiss and how we sat alone. My face burned from more than just the combustion upon the grate. I wondered what Will remembered. What he thought.

And I knew it was time to settle this part of my life.

“Will, what did you mean by kissing me back today?”

His features flicked through several emotions. “Um, is this a trick question?”

I kept my expression calm, waiting for his response.

His face flushed a deep red. “Geez, Sam. How many things can a kiss mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think I came up with about five last fall. ‘I like you,’ ‘I want you,’ ‘I wonder what that lip gloss tastes like,’ ‘I wonder if she’d let me.’” I hesitated then murmured quietly, “I love you.”

Will averted his gaze, staring at a lace doily on the coffee table. “So, yeah, all the above except for the lip gloss one. Guys seriously hate that stuff.” He ran his good right hand through his hair and closed his eyes as though to focus. “I meant all those things, Sam. Both times. I know you don’t feel that way for me. Obviously.”

My heart swelled with hope, but the words that spilled out sounded irate. “How would you know that? Ever thought about asking me?”

“That
was
me asking you, last fall.” He frowned. “And you answered. You gave me a
peck on the cheek
, like you were my sister or something.” His face twisted with aversion.

He’d misinterpreted my kiss, the one that meant “I love you, too.”

“Not to mention,” Will paused, shaking his head. “You
rippled
. You hated it so much you ran off.”

“I … what?”

His eyes examined the carpet as he murmured, voice soft. “And I’d appreciate it if you found another way to get mad enough to ripple, or whatever that was today.”

“I didn’t ripple to get away, last fall.” I said, my world turning topsy–turvy. “And I didn’t kiss you to get myself
mad
enough to ripple today.” The idea was ludicrous.

“Well then, what the hell did you run off for the first time I kissed you?” Will asked. “Obviously you didn’t
like
it back then. And what was today about? Pity–kiss for the dying boy?” Hurt and anger colored his tone; he wouldn’t look at me.

“You—I—you’ve got everything completely wrong!” My voice had grown loud. How could Will be such an idiot? I dropped to a whisper, suddenly aware of his sister. “I did
not
kiss you out of pity!” The idea was so crazy I didn’t even know where to start.

“So you tell
me
,” Will said, lowering his voice and meeting my gaze. His brows drew together in a frown; I didn’t know what I saw there. Resentment? Confusion? He repeated his demand: “You tell
me
what those kisses meant to you.”

My throat threatened to squeeze shut. I
hated
the ridiculous tears forming behind my eyes. “I like you,” I choked out. “Okay?”

“You do?” Shock washed all other emotions from his face.

“Yes, you dweeb,” I said. Somehow I’d crossed the couple of feet between us. I knelt beside Will’s couch. I’d left anger and hurt back at the fire, new emotions taking their place. “And I want you.”

“Yeah?” A ridiculous grin broke across his face.

I felt like someone who opens their wallet and finds it full of hundred dollar bills.

I leaned in close so that he could hear as I whispered. “And I love you.”

“Oh. Wow.” When he spoke again, his voice rasped low and husky. “So we should kiss again. To see if I can catch all that correctly this time.” His dark eyes bored into mine, hungry.

I ran fingers down the angle of his jaw, stopped my thumb to trace his full lips, leaned to whisper in his ear: “Listen very carefully.”

I closed the space between our mouths.

And in that moment I unlearned months of yearning, unlearned the
you can’t haves
and the
you shouldn’t wants.
Because all I had now was everything. And all I wanted was Will’s skin touching mine like this forever.

Heat warmed my belly, spread out through the rest of me like wildfire. And then I noticed the absence of heat from the fireplace; I’d slipped into invisibility.

“Oh,” he whispered, re–entering the world minus me. “You blissed out. Like, like … staring at Illilouette Creek.”

I shimmered back inside my skin, a smile on my face. “Yeah,” I said.

“Oh … wow.” He looked dazed. “You … you rippled last fall because you
liked
it when I kissed you.”

I nodded, smiling back. “Want me to show you again?” I leaned in to his face, flushed with surprise and happiness, and kissed him.
I like you, I want you, I love you
.

After I’d reappeared a fourth or fifth time, Will reached for my hand instead of my mouth. Pressing his head back into the pillows of the couch, he looked at the ceiling, slowly shaking his head back and forth. His smile grew to a boyish grin.

“I’m so happy, Sam. I just want to … I don’t know. Punch something!” Here he broke off looking overhead and met my eyes. “You know?”

“Punch something?” I shook my head, laughing. “I have no idea what that means.” The comparison involving boys and rocks resurfaced, but I kept it to myself.

His face crinkled with concentration. “No, you know what I mean. Like when you’re so full, things just need to explode a little. Like Christmas morning when you’re a kid.”

I squeezed Will’s hand. “I know that feeling.” It fluttered warm and joyful in my stomach just now. “It’s how I discovered running. When I was little and my grandparents were coming to visit or Mom was making my favorite dinner, I’d feel so full inside. And Mom would send me out to run up and down the block a couple of times.”

“Exactly,” Will said. “Running right now would be excellent.”

“No,” I said. “Laying on this couch and recovering from a gunshot wound would be excellent.”

Will grunted in annoyance.

I ran my free hand through his thick head of curls. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” I murmured.

Will brought my hand down from his hair, turning it palm–forward. Then, he brought my palm to his mouth and kissed it long and slow like I was food he needed to stay alive. A shudder ran through me, but I stayed visible.

He turned his eyes from my hand, resting it upon his chest. A mischievous smile flitted across his face. “I didn’t say we had to run
solid
, you know.”

Chapter Twenty–Seven

RUNNING

Before Sir Walter returned, Will and I laid plans to sneak out invisibly in the night to go “running” together. At first, I wasn’t at all convinced this was a good idea. It took a lot more kissing, rippling, and solidifying before I agreed. Will was very persuasive.

“Where should we go?” Will asked, idly running his fingers along my forearm.

“Somewhere close,” I said. “Carcassonne, maybe?”

Will frowned. “I was thinking somewhere far. You know, see how far we can get.”

I shook my head. “Going far is too risky in your condition.”

“Come on, Sam.
Risky
? We’ll stay invisible the whole time.” Will reached his good hand around the back of my head and brought me closer ‘til our foreheads touched.

His voice was low, gravelly, teasing. “I’ll feel so much better when I ripple. Seriously, I’d have no incentive to come solid.” He pulled me in for another long kiss.

I felt my flesh fade away.

“Well, except I can’t kiss you when we’re invisible,” Will admitted, laughing.

I reappeared and sat beside him upon the couch. There was one place I wished I’d been able to share with Will. “At Chenonceau,” I began, “The walls must have been almost two feet thick. I passed through one of them when you thought I’d vanished by accident. Staring at the river.”

Will slipped an arm around my waist, pulling at me to come closer. I re–seated myself several inches nearer. In the process, I bumped him and his left side pushed uncomfortably into the back of the couch. He winced.