Chameleon by Cidney Swanson

she replied. “ Ce château, c’est un château des dames, et de l’amour, pas des fantômes. ”
    “A ‘castle of women and of love,’” I said to Will.
    He looked disappointed. “Guess we have to rule out ghosts.”
    We continued with Madame and our classmates until we’d seen the entire castle. Mickie joined us as we explored the kitchens below ground.
    “Where’ve you been, Mick?” Will asked.
    “The kitchen gardens,” she said enthusiastically. “Back by the entrance to the grounds. I had a very cool composting lesson. Using hand gestures. God, I wish I’d taken French. That was some gorgeous dirt.”
    Will and I gagged back laughter, Will turning his into a evil–sounding cough.
    “We’re heading to the formal garden with the fountain in the middle,” I said. “I think that’s where they take the pictures looking back upriver at the castle.”
    Mickie joined us and we set off across a graveled walk. The ground stone dusted my black boots in pale powder. We had just descended a set of stairs into the garden when I heard Will’s sudden intake of breath.
    “What?” I asked.
    “Did you feel that?”
    “What?” I asked.
    “That wash of cold,” he whispered.
    “No,” Mickie and I said together.
    “I’d swear someone like us just passed through me. Like an icy blast”
    “A friendly blast? Or, you know …” I broke off.
    Will rolled his eyes at me. “ Friendly ? How am I supposed to tell?”
    “Keep your voice down,” said Mickie. “How sure are you, Will?”
    “What I felt was just like when Sam walked through me a minute ago,” he replied.
    Not hard to guess how Mickie was going to view my behavior.
    She groaned, cursed, and pressed her thumb and forefinger to her eyes. “Please tell me you were alone.”
    “Of course,” I said, flushing.
    “Oh, great, now someone’s staring at us,” Mickie said, eyeing a gentleman who did seem to be looking at us with curiosity. “Get your picture and we’re moving on,” she whispered.
    I took some quick snapshots, matching the view of the castle I’d seen on guidebooks and postcards.
    Will and his sister marched back to the stairs. I followed, but twisted to capture one last shot of the formal garden. I nearly bumped into staring–man, walking just behind me.
    “ Je suis désolé, Mademoiselle ,” he apologized.
    “ De rien.” I told him it was nothing and dashed to Mickie and Will. My heart pounded and I tried to convince myself it was a coincidence that someone would choose to stare at us. We were six–thousand miles from UC Merced and this guy looked genteel French, not übermensch –y.
    Leaving the staring man behind, we retraced our way to the entrance, beside the knobby–bald trees and winter–dead vegetable gardens. As we approached the grand avenue, a path joined ours from the side, and the same gentleman strolled towards us, gazing at us as if to memorize each of our faces. Or discover our weaknesses.
    This time, Will stepped out to confront him, placing himself between us and the stranger. “ Que voulez–vous, Monsieur ?”
    “Will asked him what he wants,” I whispered to Mickie.
    The grey–haired man smiled and replied in crisp English. “A great many things, young man, none of which pose any threat to you or your … companions.” He inclined his head to Mickie and myself, a polite, antiquated gesture.
    Mickie bristled. “Our conversation is private, if you don’t mind.”
    “Certainly,” he said, a hint of a smile pulling at one side of his mouth. “I beg your pardon.” He looked intently in several directions and then nodding once again, he began walking down the avenue of silent trees and disappeared into thin air.
    “Holy shit!” Mickie whispered.
     

Chapter Nine
SIR WALTER DE ROCHEFORT
    “Monsieur de Rochefort?” Will called softly after him.
    “No, Will!” Mickie looked in exasperation at her brother. “We don’t know who that was.”
    “He looked friendly , alright? Who else could he