Chameleon by Cidney Swanson Read Free Book Online Page B

connected to the first one.
    “Hey, Sam, check this out.”
    I followed his voice.
    “Oh!” I sighed.
    The ante–room was tiny, perfect, paneled in ancient dark oak and covered with paintings of all sizes. But the real beauty was the open window and what you could see through it. Graceful arches stood sentry over water flowing lazily beneath the massive structure. All the pictures of the château showed this famous section of building.
    “It’s like a fairytale.” My voice came out in a sigh.
    Will watched me nervously as I gazed at the water. “Careful, Sam. Don’t go blissing out.”
    I steadied my gaze on the grey–green flow of river. Hidden from his eyes, my mouth formed a smirk, and I decided to tease Will. I watched the water, then felt my flesh dissolve.
    “Sam!” Will moaned. “You disappeared. Quick, come back. No more looking at the river. Our group could be here any minute.”
    He twisted to look over his shoulder for oncoming hordes. But I had listened carefully before vanishing, and I knew no one was coming yet. I walked towards Will and gave him an enormous icy embrace. Then, because I found the temptation irresistible, I brushed my lips along the back of his neck. Ignoring the winged creatures flapping in my stomach, I turned towards the ancient wall. At this point I felt a tickle of curiosity. What would it feel like, smell like, to pass through a wall this ancient and into the corridor?
    Will called my name again. I made sure no one else was approaching and entered the wall. The wall measured perhaps eighteen inches thick. Inside I sensed cold stone and furniture polish and wood that had once been tree. Behind me, Will groaned, so I shivered back through the wall oh–so–slowly and then rippled solid.
    Will sighed in relief.
    I grinned and didn’t say anything.
    He frowned. “Tell me you didn’t do that on purpose.”
    I grinned bigger.
    “That was irresponsible,” he said, glaring.
    “This, from the guy who likes to break into evil laboratories for fun?” I asked.
    “Hmmph,” he grunted. “Let’s go check out the other rooms.” We returned to the central hall.
    I picked a room on the opposite side and Will followed me.
    “Brr! How could anyone stay warm enough to sleep here?” I asked, walking towards an ancient carved bed.
    I snapped a quick picture of Will framed by the doorway, freezing in pixels a furrow deepening along his forehead.
    “What’s with the frown?” I asked. “You mad at me? Will, I checked to make sure no one was around. I’m not stupid.”
    “No, no—not that.”
    We heard our fellow–students thumping up the marble staircase.
    “Later,” he said.
    Madame Evans arrived in the hall, describing a love affair between a French king and the woman to whom he had presented this château .
    “Nice gift,” Will said, as he gravitated towards the sound of a history lesson he might miss. In Las Abs, I smiled indulgently at his obsession. Here in France, history crooked her finger at Will around every corner.
    As Madame left, Will whispered into my ear. “A minute ago, I felt that chill you were talking about. Do you think the cold spots are, well, moving around a lot?”
    I shivered from the warmth of his breath on my neck and ear—so close, so intimate.
    “You mean, someone like us? Here?” I asked.
    Will nodded, curt. He mouthed two words: a rippler.
    I shook my head. “We’re getting as paranoid as your sister.”
    I circled the room once more, my fingers trailing wide to detect any change of temperature, but I felt nothing. Madame Evans led us through two additional rooms on the second floor before herding us up one level. I heard Gwyn’s laughter echoing through the high–ceilinged stairwell. I tried not to miss her friendship.
    “Maybe it’s ghosts,” whispered Will. “ Madame, s’il vous plaît ?” He was addressing our French teacher.
    She turned. “ Oui ?”
    “ Sont–ils des histories des fantômes du château ?”
    “ Mais non ,”