Free The Adventures of Mademoiselle Mac 2-Book Bundle by Christopher Ward Page A

bizarre nature of Fiat’s story, I felt sad and nervous at the same time, wondering how all this was going to end. Our car jolted forward then backward, and La Roue de Paris started its spin. My stomach was beginning its own journey. Fiat’s eyes bore into mine.
    â€œHistory has its spin too, little girl. The new becomes the old and back again. Haussmann is ancient history, and all that he accomplished can be rubble if fate wishes it. A new vision of Paris is set to descend on this shiny place.” Here, he took a pause that lasted too long for me. “And you won’t get in the way of history, will you?”
    I’m sure I was still shaking my head and whispering “No ... no” when the ride ended. Fiat evaporated into the night air, and I found myself being helped out of the car by a grinning attendant.
    â€œA little dizzy, mademoiselle ? Take your time down those steps. Thanks for riding with us tonight.”

Seventeen
    There’s often a wind rushing across the Place de la Concorde; it’s wide open and exposed. Exposed. That’s how I felt, blown by that wind, not necessarily where I wanted to go. It was like all the happy couples waiting to get on the Roue de Paris were laughing at me. No doubt I looked a little green, confused, not sure which way I was going. I gave my head a good old California hair toss and tried to look purposeful as I walked to the nearest cabstand. Maybe I’d see a familiar face there, and I wouldn’t have to hide my fear or confusion.
    It seemed like a long wait. I’m not sure how long, but it was Saturday night, after all. I couldn’t expect an instant rescue after the mess that, to be honest, I’d gotten myself into. I tried to erase Fiat’s face from my mind, but it was replaced by Rudee’s, and I had a pretty good idea of how unhappy he was going to be. Eventually, I worked my way to the front of the line and slid into the back of a dirty black sedan with cracked seats and some kind of frantic music playing. The driver, who was built like a small mountain range, turned his head and leered at me with a nasty smirk.
    â€œWhere to, nana?”
    â€œBlag?” I asked, but there was no mistaking the driver.
    â€œActually, my name is Antoine. Blag’s a nickname I got at school, and it wasn’t my idea, but you don’t get to choose those things.”
    I gulped, and too many thoughts came into my mind at once. Had he arranged to be here? Did he know where I had just been? I didn’t ask, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
    â€œThis is rich,” he snorted. “Daroo’s been spitting beet juice out of his ears looking for you, and I get to bring back the prize. There’s been a full taxi search for you, little Yankee twerp.”
    He couldn’t contain his glee as he called in on his radio. “Madeleine, it’s number 66; you can call off the hunt. I got the kid. I’ll head for CAFTA now.”
    â€œ Oui , Blag,” came her answer. “Try to be pleasant to her. You can do it.”
    Blag grunted and turned up the bass on his radio to minor earthquake level. I noticed a collection of what looked like Viking action figures on his dashboard. “Listen to this. ‘Clunque’ by Malade. Now this is music. None of that lame nose-whistling stuff the Hacks play.”
    I wanted to jump to the Hacks’ defence but thought better of it. I was also thinking about the welcome that awaited me at CAFTA .
    â€œUh, Blag ... I mean Antoine.”
    â€œWhat, nana, need to go to the toilette ?” he laughed.
    â€œNo. So the cabbies have been looking for me?”
    â€œCombing the streets is more like it, kid. The perfect chance for me to pick up some extra dough. Daroo’s had his pantaloons in a twist since you disappeared from the club. What’s the matter, Sashay’s show too much for you?”
    He suddenly accelerated and drove through a giant puddle at top