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“As you see,” said Sir Walter, “You alone stand before us.”

Eric looked worried. “Have I been left behind? Disqualified in some way?”

“I’m here to test you,” said Sir Walter. “To hear, in your own words, what you are prepared to do and to uncover where your loyalty lies.”

“I am prepared to lay down my own life, if necessary, to bring assistance to others. I know that I may become infected, and I accept this. Like Dr. Girard, I fear neither plague nor death.” He paused for a moment. “I am a loyal servant of the good doctor.”

Sir Walter raised his hand to his goatee, the signal that I should transport Eric back to invisibility.

In an instant, we were gone.

Sir Walter sighed heavily.
Will
, he called inside my head,
I do not like leaving him here awake, but I fear our only other option is to strike him a blow to the head.

I paused, considering how to “write” the laughter I was feeling at my friend’s funny way of putting things.

And then I wasn’t laughing anymore, because invisible Eric wriggled free of me and rippled solid in front of Sir Walter.

Sir Walter registered shock and threw a single thought to me:
A chameleon?

Chapter Twenty–Seven

THE TIME FOR SECRETS IS PASSING

·
SAM
·

A loud rap sounded on the window of the patrol car next to Sylvia. We’d steamed up the windows too bad for me to be sure who knocked. My step–mom opened the door on Bridget Li.

“Come with us,” Gwyn’s mom said, her voice low and urgent.

“
Now
!” said Gwyn, standing behind her mom. “We’re getting you to safety. Come
on
!”

“What are you talking about?” asked Sylvia.

Gwyn reached out a hand. “Sam, now!”

My step–mom looked at me and then at my friend. Gwyn’s eyes were over–large and focused on me.

“Let’s go,” I said. “I’ll explain in Bridget’s car.”

As we stepped into the icy pre–dawn air, my eyes flew wide. There had to be fifty or more cars lining the side of the highway, gawking at the smoldering ruin of my home.

“Christian up front,” barked Gwyn, reserving the back for herself, Sylvia, and me.

Her mom’s Mini Cooper held us, barely. In the front seat, Christian hunched over his long legs, easily as squashed as us. Although he didn’t have two cats crawling over his feet, trying to find a place to settle.

I looked at Gwyn and mouthed, “
Cats? Really?”

“What’s going on?” Sylvia demanded.

While I hesitated, Gwyn answered. “That was no accident, your house burning down. Ask Sam. Someone tried to kill her. And they didn’t mind taking you out as collateral damage. We’re taking you some place safe, for the short term.” Looking at me, Gwyn added, “I hope its okay I told Ma about … everything.”

“Sure,” I said, nodding. Sir Walter’s words in France echoed in my head once again.
The time for secrets is passing.

Sylvia took my hand and held my gaze. “Sammy?”

“Gwyn’s telling the truth,” I murmured. Then I cleared my throat and spoke more clearly. “I have an unusual genetic make–up, Syl. There are people who would like to harvest my genes for their use. And,” I hesitated, “There are people who would like me dead.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Most regrettably,
Ma Dame
, she is not deceiving you,” said Christian.

Between the two of us, Christian and me, we told Sylvia everything. She demanded a demonstration, which Christian obligingly provided, and to her credit, she didn’t freak out. My step–mom
rocked
self–control.

After only a minute or two of silent reflection, she spoke again. “Where are we going?”

Bridget answered. “A rental I have in Midpines. It’s a complete dump. Mice–infested—”

Here Gwyn, smiling, pointed to the cats.

Her mother continued. “But the oil heater is powerful, and there’s something else waiting there that you’re going to need.”

I looked out the window. It was still dark, but I recognized a motel sign with a tiny burro. I remembered this place. Bridget flicked her turn–signal and we pulled down a drive just past the motel.

Sylvia sighed. “Dave’s going to need directions.” She passed my cell to Bridget, who’d just parked the Mini beside a dark shack. “You better tell him. I don’t think I could.”

“
Non
!” cried Christian. He grabbed the phone before Bridget could take it. Holding it in the air and waving it he explained. “My father has spoken to me about these small electronic
espions
… ah, spies. To speak into them is to broadcast to all. To
all
,” he said with added emphasis.

“Electronic ‘spies’?” murmured Gwyn.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I know how to tell Dad where we are without telling anyone else.” I punched in the numbers for my dad’s cell. “Dad? It’s me. Sam.”

“I’m on my way, honey.” My dad’s voice, strained and anxious, brought tears to my eyes.

“We’re fine, Dad. Try not to worry. Bridget Li has given us a place to stay for now.”

“I should come to the bakery?”

“No, Dad. Um, do you remember where I puked in the mini–van you were test driving? Don’t say where! Just tell me if you remember where it happened.”

“Sure, honey.” I heard a short laugh. “That would be hard to forget.”

“Okay, so listen close. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. We’ll explain why later. Just drive to that place where I puked in the car, and then go one more drive down and turn into it. You’ll find us there. Same side of the highway, okay?”

“Sammy, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, Daddy.” My voice cracked as I said goodbye.

We piled out into the cold night air.

“I forgot to have the electric disconnected,” said Bridget as a sensor light illuminated our path. “Fortune smiles on you.”

We shuffled inside the small cabin. Inside felt as cold as outside. Or nearly. The cats set to work, scurrying across the cold linoleum floor, and Bridget fussed with a panel of dials beside an ancient wall heater.

“Doesn’t take long to warm such a small place, at least,” she said.

I sank into a scratchy brown plaid couch. The cold made its way through, slowly freezing the backs of my thighs, but I felt too tired to stand.

“Gwyn, give me a hand with the bags,” said Bridget.

“Ask Christian,” replied Gwyn, yawning hugely.

“
Gwyneth Li
!”

Gwyn rose, rolled her eyes dramatically as she passed me, and followed her mom outside.

“We’re going to need cash,” said Sylvia. “You didn’t happen to grab your wallet, did you?” she asked me.

I shook my head.

“Our ATM cards have probably all melted,” murmured my step–mom.

“Forgive me,
Ma Dame
,” said Christian, “But my father left me a strict list of things to be avoided should we find ourselves within circumstances such as these.” Christian straightened himself and closed his eyes, reciting. “
Do not make use of:
passports, ATM cards, cards of credit, vehicles owned by yourselves or close friends or family, cellular telephones owned by the same …” He continued through a litany of
don’t use
items concluding with, “Your true names.”

Bridget and Gwyn re–entered, dropping duffle bags on the floor before us.

“Mmmm, it’s warming up nicely,” said Bridget, smiling.

“It’s freezing, Ma,” said Gwyn, unzipping one of the duffels and withdrawing a poofy down jacket.

“Those are for your friends,” said her mom.

“Put on your own oxygen mask first,” retorted Gwyn. She threw me a jacket. “Just sayin’.” She tossed another jacket to Sylvia.

“We packed what we could for you,” said Bridget. “I’m afraid we have nothing for Christian.”

“Who apparently sleeps fully dressed,” said Gwyn, eyeing his apparel. “Dude, that’s got to be bad for the health of the foot, there, sleeping with your shoes on.”

I guffawed. “Christian pretty much doesn’t sleep. So he doesn’t need, uh, sleepwear.”

Sylvia looked at him, opened her mouth, closed her mouth, and shook her head. “I don’t need to know everything,” she mumbled.

Gwyn handed a stack of clothing and a pair of Uggs to Sylvia. “These should all fit you.” Stepping closer to me, she whispered, “Seeing as how you totally outrank me in the boob–department, I didn’t bother packing you a normal bra. I brought you a sports–bra. More one–size–fits–all, I figured.”

I felt my cheeks warm as I took the clothes. “I’m sure this will be fine,” I murmured. “How did you even know …”

“About the fire?”

I nodded.

“It’s like Sir Walter said. Nothing goes on in Las Abs without Bridget Li knowing. I had a bad feeling you might need to disappear for awhile, so we grabbed some clothes.” She giggled. “Disappear. That’s totally funny when you think about it.”

I changed clothes with Sylvia in a cold, dark bedroom. Pulling on the sports bra, I felt an ache to be out on the roads, running. My running shoes were probably melted into a puddle of goo. Gwyn had brought flip–flops for me. She knew I’d never fit in her size 6 shoes. My heel hung sadly off the back of the flip–flops.

When we stepped back into the main room, I noticed the temperature had improved significantly. Unfortunately, the warmth had brought with it an unpleasant odor. My nose wrinkled.

“Mouse–poop,” said Gwyn. “Ma says it’s in the heater, so the smell should burn off pretty quickly.”

On the floor, sitting cross–legged, Christian pulled his eating knife through what had been a blanket minutes ago.

“Um, Christian? What’s with the wanton destruction?” asked Gwyn.

Setting one piece aside, he pulled his knife through the blanket again. “I am constructing a … how do you call it?
Un
manteau
.”

“A jacket?” I asked. “A cloak?”

“A cloak, yes,” he replied. “We have no money. I have no jacket. I would prefer to make one rather than thieve for one.” He slipped his eating knife inside its case and withdrew a flat piece of leather, folded over upon itself. Inside lay several coils of thread and a bright golden needle.

“So, what,” said Gwyn, “You’re like a bodyguard–seamstress?”

Christian laughed. “I was, before my father discovered my existence, apprenticed for three years unto a tailor.”

“Dude, how could your own dad not know you existed?” asked Gwyn. Then her face flushed. “Oh. Same as my dad, I’m guessing.”

Christian looked up as he drew a length of thread through the needle. “Sir Walter married not my mother. Nor did he know that my mother had borne me. He learned of me during my fifteenth year and at once brought me to live with him at the court of
Louis Quatorze
,
à
Versailles.”

Sylvia drew in a rapid breath. “My French is a little rusty, but did you just say something about Louis the Fourteenth?”

While Christian drew long stitches through the fleece, I explained to Sylvia the possibilities of extending life as a chameleon. Gwyn’s mom listened with eyes wide, murmuring to herself in Chinese.

“
Wo De Tian Ah
,” she breathed out as I finished. “Everlasting life. No wonder someone’s trying to kill you. Although kidnapping you would make a lot more sense, wouldn’t it? So they could use you like a … a donor bank?”

“
Ma
!” said Gwyn. “Not helpful.” She wrapped an arm around my shoulder, protective.

“Why didn’t I hear the smoke alarms?” asked Sylvia suddenly. “Did you hear them?”

I shook my head. “Hans must have removed the batteries. Or rippled away with the detectors entirely. I think Hans wanted me dead, for sure. But I don’t think he was acting on orders.”

“That is my conclusion as well,” said Christian. He frowned as he pulled out his knife to clip a knotted thread. He drew a new length through the tiny needle. “Yes,
Mademoiselle
, I feel certain Hans acted outside his father’s wishes. After obsessing for so long upon his deceased wife, Helmann is not someone to disregard the death of her last remaining heir.”

We had to do some more explaining for Sylvia here. By the time we’d finished, we heard a truck pulling down the drive. Christian looked alarmed, but Syl and I reassured him that we knew the deep rumble of my dad’s pickup.

Bridget pressed her face to the window, using her hands to block the inside light. “It’s him,” she confirmed. “Gwyn, you’ll need to drive the Mini back. I’m not having you wreck that truck.”

“We’re going to need my dad’s truck,” I said. “I mean, this is nice as a landing pad, but we can’t stay here.”

Christian added, “Those at Geneses are surely aware of your friendship with
la famille
Li—with Gwyn and Bridget. Eventually, our enemies will search all of the dwellings owned by these friends.”

“If only they thought we died in the house fire,” I said.

“This is going to hit the news, honey,” said Sylvia. “Your dad is a big name in valley farming. The police and the fire department know we survived.”

“Not to mention the several dozen onlookers who came to watch,” said Gwyn. “We got there late compared to some, but everyone was passing the word you’d made it out okay.”

Bridget opened the door for my dad, who rushed to gather me and Sylvia in his arms.

During our explanation to my dad, he lapsed several times into whispered Spanish, reminding me of Gwyn’s mom. The sun had risen by the time we finished.

Standing by a side window, hands on her hips, Bridget spoke. “So, you need a car that won’t be recognized as belonging to you, and I just happen to have one.” She pointed out the side window. “I have the pink slip for that vehicle. My last renter couldn’t pay me or even afford a new battery, and I told him I’d take the truck.”

“First order of business is to get that battery taken care of,” said Sylvia. She’d been jotting down notes for several minutes.

“I’ve got jumper–cables,” said my dad. “But I’ll need the keys to the other truck.”

“Keys?” Bridget blanched. “I forgot them.”

“Really, Ma?” Gwyn shook her head and marched outside. We watched as she felt under each wheel–well.