The Accidental Superheroine (Team Quantum Book 1) by J.R. Rain & Kris Carey

Author:J.R. Rain & Kris Carey [Rain, J.R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rain Press
Published: 2018-07-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Other than that, I totally had no plan.

And worse; as the city woke up, I only got more and more distracted wandering around and gawking at everything like some hillbilly just down from the holler. The thing the movies never show you about Paris is how vibrant and crowded the streets are once the day begins. I’d originally planned to just arrive here invisible and sneak into a hotel that way, but after like the dozenth time I was bumped or jostled, I realized that would plainly have been impossible. I’ve never been to New York City, but I can’t believe it’s any more crowded there.

So I just sight-seed (sight-saw?) for an hour or two, wandering into the Tuileries Gardens and then, tormented by the baking smells, a tea room on the Rue de Rivoli where I stupidly blew a few of my last euros on breakfast. In addition to the waste of money, it also meant that at some point I might have to use the bathroom again, something I no longer needed to do as long as I didn’t eat or drink.

But that, at least, got me thinking. Before, when I was invisible, food had just passed through me without being absorbed. But now, there was no particular reason why I shouldn’t digest and store all the molecules I’d ingested for future use. For example, those silly-looking wings of Orlov’s had been extruded by robbing his body of mass from other places. But why, for example, shouldn’t I just gorge for a few days and then use the material processed to grow prettier, but equally functional, ones? Not that I wanted to walk around downtown Paris looking like that; just saying, you know, what if. As in, what if I needed to grow a pair to make a quick escape?

Like from this really gross middle-aged guy who’d sat down at the little round table across from me. He was short, nearly bald, had a face like an owl’s, and a dark, deep yellow complexion. “You are very beautiful, like statue of Greek goddess,” he said in a thick accent. “You are American?”

I started to say I was Russian, then thought better of it, because I suddenly remembered I had no passport and therefore legally no nationality at all. Being Russian might get me deported. “Swiss,” I said, finally. I didn’t often have this problem—how to get rid of pests, unless they were fellow-physicists, of course—but being Nastya meant I was obviously going to have to figure out a few reliable new tricks fast.

“I am Arpad.” He held out a very plump, yellow paw for me to shake.

“Nastya.” For some reason, I imitated his accent. It seemed natural, somehow. Maybe even smart.

“Very happy to meet you, Nastya. Now I am going to make a very sexy suggestion, and you must not feel shy to speak truth to me. How much?”

“How much what?” Okay, I admit I’ve led a sheltered life; I honestly didn’t know what he was talking about.

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