Chameleon by Cidney Swanson Page B

Mademoiselle Samanthe, Waldhart Jean–Baptiste de Rochefort, à vôtre service .”
    My face heated, from trying not to laugh at his old–fashioned manners.
    “Okay, listen. So, how do we know you are who you say you are?” Mickie asked.
    Sir Walter shrugged—a gesture the French should totally trademark—and answered. “You cannot, of course. You can only accept that before you is the man with whom you have corresponded, or you can choose not to accept. Allow me, however, to point out that if I wished to do you harm, that could have been accomplished several hours ago. I also know which one of you I would keep hold of as a hostage should I wish to force your brother and friend to remain in solid form.”
    “You watched us upstairs, inside the castle, when we were alone,” I said.
    He looked puzzled. “I did, indeed, watch you and your friends, Mademoiselle , but only whilst you were out of doors.”
    “You placed yourself in my path while you were invisible,” said Will.
    “Your reactions helped me to be sure of your identities,” Sir Walter said. “I never form an acquaintance without reassuring myself that there has been no trap lain for me by a clever enemy.”
    “Dude.” Will smiled. “You’re going to get along great with my sister.”
    Mickie frowned, uncertain whether to trust him.
    “But Mademoiselle Samanthe , what is this you say of being watched indoors?”
    “We noticed—Will and I noticed—an icy presence in the castle.”
    Sir Walter’s brows drew together ever so slightly. “I should have made a more thorough search.” His heavy lids closed and he seemed to disappear inside himself. Then he opened his eyes again. “You appear to have captured the interest of a person with whom I am well acquainted. Him, I have found relatively harmless, all things considered. He fears me greatly.” The French gentleman smiled and drew himself tall. “You are to consider yourselves under my protection. Whether you can see me or not, I shall guard your well–being.”
    “That’s very kind of you to offer to protect us,” said Mickie. You could see it on her face: she was stuck halfway between impressed that the French gentleman had bad–guy radar and worried he wouldn’t be able to offer much assistance.
    “Not at all,” said Sir Walter, bowing. “Pfeffer would have expected it.”
    “How do you ‘see’ an invisible person’s identity?” asked Will.
    The Frenchman shrugged. “Assuming I have already encountered the person, it is simple enough for me to recognize the signature of their thoughts, while they are invisible.”
    “Simple for you,” murmured Will, his admiration evident.
    “Okay,” said Mickie. “So that brings me to my next problem. Assuming you’re Sir Walter, I need to know why we should trust you. For starters, why did Professor Pfeffer trust you?”
    Sir Walter made a small sort of laugh. “You might turn that question on its head and ask why I trusted him. However, to answer your question, he trusted me from the moment I saved his life.” He smiled as if he would say no more on that subject. “I believe there is an hour before you depart with your group?”
    We nodded.
    “It would be well if we conversed in privacy, yes?” Gesturing with a sweep of his hand, Sir Walter led us off the main roadway, to the side path we’d seen him upon minutes ago.
    We arrived at a small arrangement of iron chairs and a table and sat.
    “On the occasion of our last visit together, Doctor Pfeffer confided to me his discovery of yourself and your brother. He spoke of you in terms of highest praise.” His smile turned downwards as if he were now remembering something unpleasant. “We agreed that should he find himself in danger, he would leave important documents in your keeping and that I should contact you in this event. He spoke of his plan to obtain a record of Helmann’s experiments upon children during the Second World War. I attempted to dissuade him, to point out the