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When she strode back into the cabin, she held up a key. We all stared at her, dumbfounded.

“What?” she asked. “As–seen–on–TV, dudes. Don’t tell me I’m the only one here who watches the Infomercial Channel.” She shook her head in disbelief.

Taking the key, Dad stepped outside. He returned several minutes later shaking his head. “Your renter wasn’t kidding when he said he needed a new battery. That one’s deader than last season’s berries.”

Sylvia removed a pen from her mouth. Bite marks disfigured one end. “Buy new battery,” she murmured as she wrote. Finishing, she resumed chewing the writing instrument, her wide eyes fixed on a spot beside the wall–heater.

I shook my head, slowly. “I can’t ask you to do this,” I said. “It’s me Geneses wants, not all of you.”

“
Mademoiselle
,” said Christian. “You have already the proof that Hans will not hesitate to harm the ones you love in order to reach you. And when Helmann discovers the loss of your egg and your
jumelle
—how do you say it in English?”

“My clone,” I whispered, nodding. “He’ll force my family to reveal where I am.”

“He would harm them to learn this,
certainement, Mademoiselle
.”

A shiver ran through me.

My father cleared his throat. “Did you just say
Geneses
wants you?”

“Geneses is Helmann’s company,” I replied.

“It’s just …” my dad broke off, scratching his head. “Anyone else caught the news today? About Geneses?”

We shook our heads.

“It’s all over the radio stations.” Dad frowned. “There was a massive outbreak of a plague in central Africa. Thousands dead, apparently within hours of contracting the virus. And the only relief organization who’ll set foot in there right now is some group backed by Geneses. Angel Corps, the media’s calling them.”

My dad paused and looked at us long and hard. “Are you sure a company with that sort of integrity would hire murderous thugs?”

I sighed. “Yeah, Dad. We’re sure. You’re going to have to trust me on this one.”

“Hush!” said Christian, straining to listen for something.

“Another car,” whispered Bridget.

“Quick,” cried Gwyn. “Do that hug–thing where you ripple away with someone.”

I looked to Christian.
I’ll get your father; you must secure your belle mere—your step–mother.
His silent words resounded in my head as I looked in alarm at Gwyn.

“
Get your family to safety
!” demanded Gwyn. “Ma and I will be fine. It’s probably nothing, anyway. Some lost tourist looking for Yosemite.”

I nodded and threw my arms around Sylvia, rippling to safety with her. Beside me my dad was cut off mid–gasp as Christian vanished with him.

Outside, a car door slammed and someone approached the cabin.

“Can I help you?” asked Bridget, opening the door.

“Oh, good morning. I was about to knock,” said a friendly–sounding voice. “I’m here hoping to interview the Ruiz family? I was told this was the place to find them.”

As he craned his head around Bridget and smiled at Gwyn, my suspicions were confirmed. I’d heard that voice before. It came from a man with a thing for expensive running shoes.

Chapter Twenty–Eight

SELF SACRIFICE

·
WILL
·

It took me a split–second to come solid behind Eric, ready to defend Sir Walter with one of those blows–to–the–head.

But Eric didn’t look like he wanted a fight. He looked like a kid who just dropped his ice cream cone.

“Please,” he said, “I must know if my name has been struck from the Corps.”

Sir Walter frowned. Obviously neither of us could tell Eric what he wanted to know. And now we had the issue of his status as a chameleon to deal with.

Eric spoke again. “If this is about my hesitation during the fire, when I was eleven, please allow me to prove myself. I am a different man today than that young child. I am a member of the Angel Corps. I passed the tests.”

“Yes, my dear young man,” said Sir Walter, stroking his goatee again.

I got ready to vanish with Eric again, but Sir Walter shook his head, a sharp negative, just as I was going to ripple.

“The thing I must determine is whether you are, in fact, an angel of mercy or an angel of death,” said Sir Walter.

As soon as the words had left Sir Walter’s lips, Eric collapsed, out cold.

Onto me.

I grunted, smacking hard on the floor.

“Fascinating,” said Sir Walter.

“Heavy,” I said, rolling now–sleeping–Eric off of me.

“I think we discovered the trigger that induces a hypnotic sleep,” said Sir Walter.

“You think?” I asked. “A little heads up would be nice though, next time. How the heck did you know the password?”

Sir Walter laughed. “I did not intend to send him to sleep. I merely asked the question that came to mind. It was a happy accident, my friend, if such things are ever accidental.”

We stared for a few moments at blond–haired, blue–eyed Eric, sleeping on the floor again.

“Let us return him to his hidden state,” said Sir Walter. “I also should like to, er,
ree–pill
. I am spending so much time solid that my stomach begins to demand meals at regular intervals.”

My stomach growled loudly. “Sure.”

Sir Walter placed an arm upon my shoulder as I vanished with Eric.

I replaced the body and began writing questions to Sir Walter about the “angel.”
So, obviously he’s talking about Helmann, right? All that ‘Dr. Girard’ stuff?

I believe we can assume that
, said Sir Walter.
My cousin is only too likely to have called them, out of unadulterated pride, his ‘Angels.’ But I am disturbed that I knew not of this new generation of children.

You think Eric’s his kid? Like, part of a new batch?
I asked.

Do you not think so?
asked Sir Walter.
Based upon his appearance, he could be a sibling to any of them: Hans, Fritz, Franz, Helga …

Yeah
, I agreed.
Never seen Fritz or Hans, but this dude looked like Helga, all right. And the other sleepers looked like Eric. You think they’re clones?

No,
said Sir Walter.
They are at a minimum of eighteen years of age. I think not that Helmann was engaged in cloning that long ago.

Guess they didn’t look like twins, quite,
I wrote.
So what have we got here? Kids trained as medical experts or something?

Indeed,
agreed Sir Walter.
Loyal, even as his earlier children were. And yet … there was something less threatening in Eric’s demeanor. Certainly he believes himself ready to act in self–sacrifice, for the good of others.

He said something about a plague,
I said.
That can’t be good.

Agreed,
said Sir Walter.
Does my cousin mean to infect the nations with disease and then offer selective healing?

We’d drifted to the windows on one side of the room as we spoke. Outside, the sun settled, brooding and red, spreading in a thin ooze as it slipped behind the horizon.

Let us return and consult with your sister
, said Sir Walter.
She has proven her worth several times over in these mysteries.

That and she’s probably bored senseless by now
, I wrote back.

We glided silently across the room, toward the front of the building. I was just thinking how I hoped Sir Walter would let us take the stairs when I felt something brush through my knees.

What the heck?
I wrote to Sir Walter.

Something troubles you?

Walk over here,
I wrote.
There’s something invisible.

An object hollowed and containing many small objects
, said Sir Walter.

Can we grab it into solid form, you think?
I wrote.

I shall attempt it,
he said.

Sir Walter dropped his hand from me, which I
noticed
this time, and a moment later, he appeared in solid form, arms around a large Styrofoam box that looked very similar to the box delivered to Pfeffer’s office in Rome.

Coming solid, I knelt to lift the lid, confident I’d find the same packets of dry ice cooling tiny vials.

“What do you make of this?” I asked, peering into the fogged interior.

As Sir Walter knelt beside me, a phone rang from inside one of his pockets.

A phone that only two people had the number for.

A phone that was only to be called in case of absolute emergency.

“It is your sister,” said Sir Walter, examining the caller ID.

Chapter Twenty–Nine

NOTHING WORTH HEARING

·
SAM
·

The young man stood smiling on the porch, looking as though he’d very much like to come inside.

Which I’m sure he would have.

“I’m a reporter from the
Bee
,” he lied, flipping through a notepad. “Like I said, I’d really love the chance to interview the family about the fire. Anything to do with David Ruiz is big news down in the valley …”

Bridget scowled at the young man. “I don’t know who said they’d be here.”

The man from Geneses flipped through his notes. “Ah, one of the officers on the scene …”

“Officer Phong?” asked Bridget, substituting the name of Officer Thao’s little brother.

She thinks fast,
I said to Christian.

“That’s the one,” lied the man. “I remember it ‘cause it rhymed with ‘ping–pong.’”

“Yeah, well, Officer Phong must’ve misunderstood. I’m down here cleaning the place out with my daughter so the family can come here, but they aren’t here yet. The cabin is a mess right now. They went down to a hotel in Fresno. Or maybe it was Merced.”

“It was Hanford, Ma,” said Gwyn. “Wasn’t it?” She picked up a broom leaning in one corner and began sweeping the floor.

Bridget shrugged. “One of those three. Take your pick.”

The man leaned in. “Are you sure they’re not here? I don’t want to bother them. I just want a few minutes to ask some questions.” He paused. “I’m not an idiot. You’ve got three cars parked out front.”

Bridget laughed. “Yeah, well, I dare you to start that red truck. My last renter left it for dead.”

“The blue truck’s mine,” said Gwyn. “Ma’s driving makes me get car sick.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my driving,” snapped Bridget.

“Unless you like to keep your breakfast
inside
your stomach,” retorted Gwyn, turning back to sweep the floor.

“Okay,” said the man with the Brooks, “I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your valuable time.” He held his hand out to shake Bridget’s. “Sorry to disturb.” I saw a flash of something in his other hand. As he shook hands with Gwyn’s mom, he reached up with the other hand and, covering her mouth, he puffed an inhaler in one of her nostrils as she inhaled to cry out.

But before Bridget could get any sound out, she sagged and then collapsed.

“Miss,” said the man in an alarmed voice. “Miss, your mom seems to have fainted.”

I had to save her! Could I take this guy on, I wondered? I had to try.

Do nothing!
Christian’s voice commanded.
I beseech you!

“Can you help me get her to the couch? Maybe some water?” suggested Hans’ employee.

Christian! They’re in danger!
I called out, itching to ripple solid and attack Brooks–man.

Wait—please, Mademoiselle! If he means to do more than search the dwelling, we will attack together!

As Gwyn rushed to get a cloth wet, the man reached around and squirted the same thing in Gwyn’s nose, catching her as she collapsed. He set her on the couch and then dashed to the back bedroom, shoving the bed across the room, opening and slamming the closet door. He darted to the bathroom, threw the shower curtain to one side, checked a linen cupboard.

Exiting the back of the house, he cursed and sprinted back through the front door, punching buttons on a cell as he ran.

Wait and listen
, called Christian, sensing the part of me that strained to come solid.

“They’re not in Midpines,” said the man. “The truck is the same make as the
spic’s
truck, but it belongs to the
chinks
, apparently. They said the family got a hotel room for the night, but they acted like complete retards arguing over where, exactly. I’ve got Hanford, Merced or Fresno.”

The man from Geneses nodded one more time. “I’m on it.” He drove off.

I rippled solid with Sylvia in my arms. “Christian, you follow him—I’ll stay and help here.”

“Following that
imbecile
would accomplish nothing,” said Christian as he came solid with my father beside the couch. “We already know his purpose: he wishes to locate you.”

“
That
was an example of a Geneses employee?” asked my dad. His quiet voice told me just how angry he felt at the moment.

“Yeah,” I said, rubbing Gwyn’s hands. “That’s Geneses for you. We’re all racial inferiors here except for maybe Christian.”

Bridget shook her head once and opened her eyes, looking confused.

“Did I miss something?” asked Gwyn, eyes fluttering.

“Nothing worth hearing,” I said, reaching my arms around to hug her.

“We need to get out of here,” said my dad. “I want Sam safe from that … that poor excuse for a human being.”

“We need cash,” said Sylvia.

“And a battery,” said my dad.

“For which we need cash,” said Sylvia. “Not credit cards. They’re too easy to trace.”

“I’ve got five–thousand in cash back in the bakery,” said Bridget. “That’s more than Mrs. Gutierrez at the bank could probably come up with on such short notice. And I don’t think you want to stick around Las Abuelitas even one more day.”

“Definitely not,” I agreed. “But we can’t take your money.”