Harlequin E Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Box Set Volume 2: Reap & Redeem\The Masked Songbird\Protective Ink\Mine Tomorrow by Lisa Medley

Author:Lisa Medley [Medley, Lisa; Mears, Emmie; Simon, Misty; Braun, Jackie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781460321119
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

It’s Friday night, and Edinburgh draws breath to sing her people to life. The moment I rush out of Hammerton, Inc. I’m surrounded by people ready to celebrate the week’s end and the frenetic close to the Fringe Festival by getting full pished and shagging whoever the booze turns into an angel tonight. It’s an airy madness, and even if it’s total shite I can’t help but feel my fingers and toes well entwined into its net.

I don’t belong to it; I’m not off to the pubs and clubs. But I feel the pulse in the air, and I sense the vitality of my own body. This new body. Someone has taken a world of a blurry photograph and sharpened it. I see everything around me more clearly, from the grey stone of the edifices to the sparkle of a pair of silver heels gleaming in the street light. I stop two blocks away to put on my shoes, and for the first time I give myself leave to remember what just happened. Kicking Darren Forbes across the hallway wasn’t adrenaline, and crushing a human dingleberry’s skull wasn’t only born of desperation.

The letter. I want to pull it out and read it. Even now, I feel it against my breast, one corner poking the centre of my chest. The drizzle wetting the air and my face strengthens as if responding to my desire. I can’t risk the letter getting wet. There’s a print shop a few blocks away. Somewhere dry and warm I can take it out and read it, make a copy, see if I’ve found something more important than just a grocery list.

I wish I knew more about what’s happened to me. I don’t even know how it happened, aside from the catalyst, but I’m starting to have an inkling of what. They say Irn-Bru is the only hangover cure you’ll ever need. The one I drank in that lab has made it so I can’t even get tipsy. I’m not well up on biology, but I know enough to figure that my constant hunger and inability to enjoy the finer points of alcohol mean my metabolism has decided to go into overdrive.

Maybe the letter can tell me more. If that Irn-Bru had something in it that was meant to cure a little girl of cancer, maybe the letter will give me some clue as to why it’s changed my body.

Or, you know, maybe it’s another shopping list. Something tells me it’s not, though.

It’s the first coherent thought I’ve had about my condition. I feel a slosh of unease when I think of the nausea I’ve felt lately, but I’ll take a wee bit of barfy feelings for the ability to leap fifteen feet without so much as cracking a bone. I’m stronger. Faster.

I actually want to run the six blocks to the print shop. If the physical education teacher at my school heard me say that, she’d swallow the rope ladder that flagellated my self-esteem for ten years.

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