party and I’d been ready to follow her anywhere. With Taryn and Errol still enjoying
their honeymoon, I was on my own to explore my new home for the next couple of
years while enrolled at the Culinary Institute.
She planted a
big, slobbering kiss on my mouth and if I’d been sober I’m sure I would have enjoyed
it, but as it was, I felt all the more nauseated.
“I need some
air,” I said. She looked at me with that frown everyone had been giving me
ever since I arrived. I took in an exaggerated big breath and said, “ De
l’air .”
“ Ah, oui.
Absolument. Venez avec moi .” She helped me get my balance as I left the
solidity of the wall, and led me to a door at the back of the club.
The minute the
cool night air slapped my face, I had to lean against the graffiti filled brick
wall and vomit. By the time I’d spit out the last of it, I turned and she was
gone.
“Great,” I
muttered. I looked up and down the street hoping to get some sense of where I
was. Looking up above the rooftops, I tried to find the ever present Eiffel
Tower, but it was nowhere to be seen.
Had I left
Paris?
No. I couldn’t
have.
Clinging to the
wall, I walked to the corner and looked at the street sign. Maybe I could call
Taryn and get her to come pick me up. Crimé and Jomard. It shouldn’t be too
hard to Taryn to find it, especially if Errol was with her. I crossed my
fingers hoping she was in town. Last I’d heard she was still out at Errol’s
country cottage. I pulled out my phone and tapped the first name on my contact
list.
In Paris, she and
Errol were my only contacts.
But no sooner
had I tapped her name that my screen went black.
“You're kidding
me,” I groaned. Hadn’t I charged my phone just before leaving the campus? I
was sure I had.
Well, whether I
had or not was pointless now. My phone was out. If I wanted a ride I’d have
to find a landline.
I looked down
the intersecting street. The main entrance to the club I’d just sneaked out of
was right there. Maybe I could go back in and get an employee to call a cab
for me. But after only a step or two, I remembered the inexplicable fear that
had accompanied my initial wave of nausea.
It wasn’t a fear
of being sick, but a fear of being in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
Something wasn’t right about that place; about the people in it.
No. I had to
leave the club; put as much space between it and myself as I could. I’d find
another phone. Surely there was a bistro or café somewhere close by. For
heaven’s sake, there was a café at every corner. But as I took a step in the
opposite direction, the street suddenly began to waver, like a huge piece of
black licorice. My stomach wanted to escape.
As if that
wasn’t bad enough, an ice pick of a headache suddenly blasted me just above my
left eye.
“Shit.” Holding
my cool palm to my heated forehead, I closed my eyes and stopped walking. Between
the blinding headache and the licorice like street, I couldn’t take another
step. The headache remained blinding and intense for fifteen seconds before it
finally subsided. What the fuck had that magenta-haired bitch put in my drink?
I knew I was a
little naïve when it came to alcohol, but I was sure I was feeling the effects
of something other than a few drinks.
Angry with
myself as much as with her, I knew I had to go back to the club. I wouldn’t
make it far out here on my own and maybe, while I was at it, I would confront
magenta and get her to tell me what she’d put in my drink.
I turned
abruptly and slammed head on into something soft and supple. It yelped, that
light, sweet sort of yelp that only a French girl could emit, and I opened my
eyes and looked down at the sprawled out figure on the ground. Two
heart-shaped faces surrounded by a mass of chocolate silk hair looked up at me
with four huge violet eyes…eyes so bright and shiny like an angel…two angels.
Man, I was
their honeymoon, I was on my own to explore my new home for the next couple of
years while enrolled at the Culinary Institute.
She planted a
big, slobbering kiss on my mouth and if I’d been sober I’m sure I would have enjoyed
it, but as it was, I felt all the more nauseated.
“I need some
air,” I said. She looked at me with that frown everyone had been giving me
ever since I arrived. I took in an exaggerated big breath and said, “ De
l’air .”
“ Ah, oui.
Absolument. Venez avec moi .” She helped me get my balance as I left the
solidity of the wall, and led me to a door at the back of the club.
The minute the
cool night air slapped my face, I had to lean against the graffiti filled brick
wall and vomit. By the time I’d spit out the last of it, I turned and she was
gone.
“Great,” I
muttered. I looked up and down the street hoping to get some sense of where I
was. Looking up above the rooftops, I tried to find the ever present Eiffel
Tower, but it was nowhere to be seen.
Had I left
Paris?
No. I couldn’t
have.
Clinging to the
wall, I walked to the corner and looked at the street sign. Maybe I could call
Taryn and get her to come pick me up. Crimé and Jomard. It shouldn’t be too
hard to Taryn to find it, especially if Errol was with her. I crossed my
fingers hoping she was in town. Last I’d heard she was still out at Errol’s
country cottage. I pulled out my phone and tapped the first name on my contact
list.
In Paris, she and
Errol were my only contacts.
But no sooner
had I tapped her name that my screen went black.
“You're kidding
me,” I groaned. Hadn’t I charged my phone just before leaving the campus? I
was sure I had.
Well, whether I
had or not was pointless now. My phone was out. If I wanted a ride I’d have
to find a landline.
I looked down
the intersecting street. The main entrance to the club I’d just sneaked out of
was right there. Maybe I could go back in and get an employee to call a cab
for me. But after only a step or two, I remembered the inexplicable fear that
had accompanied my initial wave of nausea.
It wasn’t a fear
of being sick, but a fear of being in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
Something wasn’t right about that place; about the people in it.
No. I had to
leave the club; put as much space between it and myself as I could. I’d find
another phone. Surely there was a bistro or café somewhere close by. For
heaven’s sake, there was a café at every corner. But as I took a step in the
opposite direction, the street suddenly began to waver, like a huge piece of
black licorice. My stomach wanted to escape.
As if that
wasn’t bad enough, an ice pick of a headache suddenly blasted me just above my
left eye.
“Shit.” Holding
my cool palm to my heated forehead, I closed my eyes and stopped walking. Between
the blinding headache and the licorice like street, I couldn’t take another
step. The headache remained blinding and intense for fifteen seconds before it
finally subsided. What the fuck had that magenta-haired bitch put in my drink?
I knew I was a
little naïve when it came to alcohol, but I was sure I was feeling the effects
of something other than a few drinks.
Angry with
myself as much as with her, I knew I had to go back to the club. I wouldn’t
make it far out here on my own and maybe, while I was at it, I would confront
magenta and get her to tell me what she’d put in my drink.
I turned
abruptly and slammed head on into something soft and supple. It yelped, that
light, sweet sort of yelp that only a French girl could emit, and I opened my
eyes and looked down at the sprawled out figure on the ground. Two
heart-shaped faces surrounded by a mass of chocolate silk hair looked up at me
with four huge violet eyes…eyes so bright and shiny like an angel…two angels.
Man, I was
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