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

tempted to jump into one.
    As I wandered through the glorious gardens, the sky changed back and forth from black and blue clouds chasing each other across the sky to fistfuls of sunlight being hurled down upon the city. I realized that Paris was both a “city of light” and a dark and stormy place; it didn’t have to be one thing or the other. At one point a cloudburst soaked everything while the sun continued to shine cheerfully, waiting for its chance to dry us all off again.
    As I approached a circular pond with tiny sailboats scudding around in it, I saw another tacky emblem of the “Lighten Up” campaign. A fake beach had been constructed beside the pond with a row of beach chairs, each with a sun-shaped balloon attached. A wonky volleyball net sagged unused to one side, and instead of playing in the sand, the kids seemed to be happier kicking it into the water or at each other. A woeful looking character wearing a sandwich board that said MONSIEUR LE DUDE in glittery letters wasn’t having much luck peddling sunscreen.
    The craziness of this kept echoing in my head as I walked alongside the river, admiring the views that I’d seen in so many movies, books, and postcards — the beautiful bridges and historic buildings and, of course, the glory of the Cathedral Notre Dame. Waiting for Mademoiselle Lesage and my classmates to arrive, I stood in awe of its ancient stones, the beautiful rose window, the incredible spire, and the wonderful flying buttresses that looked like praying mantis legs, holding up the walls of the cathedral. Spotting my classmates, I slid into the group a little guiltily, catching Penelope’s usual expression of disapproval. While Mademoiselle Lesage regaled us with the rambling history of the building and its architectural details, Penelope told me that our guide had shown a whole new permissive side last night and had taken the girls to a jazz club in St. Germain called Le Bilbouquet, where, according to Mademoiselle Lesage, a combo that was la bombe had been playing. I, unfortunately, had apparently been too tired to join this expedition into the world of Paris nighttime cool. Just then something in our guide’s portrait of Notre Dame caught my ear.
    â€œ... and although they were originally designed to divert water from the sides of buildings, these grotesque mythical creatures also came to be seen as images of evil. The gargoyles can take many forms — goats, monkeys, lions, and dogs ...”
    A chill came over me and I heard Scar’s words in my head: Did you remember to feed the gargoyles?
    Instantly I knew there were some things I had to find out. I made yet another excuse to Penelope, seriously stretching the bonds of our friendship. She shrugged as if she was expecting this, and I eased out of Notre Dame and over the Pont Saint Louis toward the Marais and Sashay’s place.

    I approached the scarf museum and peered in the window. Busts of famous scarf wearers filled the small room, each wrapped stylishly in a swirl of silk or chiffon of different colours and patterns. A cravat section at the back featured dandies of the past with pencil-thin moustaches and berets. In the window, a bust that dominated them all featured a cascade of white material and a little plaque that read Gift of Sashay D’Or, La Reine Des Rêves. I smiled at the bust, which looked nothing like her to me, and decided to see if she was in. I rang, and her voice answered, distant and small. When I said it was me, she let me in right away.
    The same red candles were burning and the familiar music played as Sashay led me into her apartment. It seemed to require an effort for her to smile at me, and there was a weariness about her that filled the room. She offered me tea and some powdery madeleine cookies and asked what I’d been doing today. I enthusiastically described my ramble around the city, but she wasn’t really listening, just nodding in all the right