“By the way, I’m Sally,” Charlotte said from behind as she floated down the dark narrow corridor. – Freya Sullivan, in full.
“You are Charlotte Blair,” this… ritualist objected. – Now. At least for the next week. Then you decide.
***
The Panacea Academy, where Charlotte worked and was taught by this same Dougal – a doctor, a genius and an unpleasant person, was almost a medieval castle, proudly rising on a hill in the middle of the heather moors. At the foot of the hill, on one side there was a village where teachers and staff lived, and on the other there were several small, pleasant two-story dormitories for students. The view from here must have been stunning during the day. But now, in the dim light of the moon, which barely diluted the darkness of the night, everything looked dull and, perhaps, mystical. In the worst sense of the word. Only in such a dark place can one get involved in a ritual with a deadly curse. Something good is doubtful. The bright lights near the dormitories and in the village brightened up the impression a little, but in contrast to them, the darkness around seemed thick, almost tangible.
And the lanterns themselves were… strange. I didn’t even immediately understand why. Only then did I realize: the light was not like what I was used to, it gave off a cold blueness and something otherworldly. Is it also magic?
“There’s your house,” Charlotte waved her ghostly hand. Somewhere towards a whole street of identical brick cottages. That is… I don’t know, can a house be called a street if even the most seedy road does not lead to it? Neither to the teaching village, nor to the dormitories. It's like they're flying on broomsticks here! What is magic?
Charlotte, hearing about brooms, explained:
– There is a portal network. You need to learn how to open portals – everyone can do it, even children. It's simple.
– Oh yes, I forgot to say – I’m not a magician. Although no. She spoke.
– Now – a magician. – Charlotte didn’t seem to hear my irony. Her chilling, otherworldly emotionlessness was beginning to frighten me. It would be better if she screamed and became hysterical, like at the very beginning! – You got the body of a sorceress. It remembers, it needs you to remember too.
“Translating body memory into conscious knowledge is a wow task! How?!"
Charlotte's ghostly body suddenly enveloped me, embraced me in a sticky, chilling way. The hand went up on its own, as if pulling back a curtain. Behind the “curtain” a piece of the living room was revealed: a bright green armchair, a glass table, on the table there was a teapot, a cup, an open packet of cookies and an open magazine turned upside down. On the cover, a doll-like blonde in a short flared fuchsia dress smiled invitingly. “The trends of the season are brightness!” – shouted large letters over the blonde.
I stepped there – somehow I stepped in a special way, fully aware that this “step” would eat up at least half an hour of walking, at least half a day on the plane. The “curtain” gently fell behind him, cutting off the path. Charlotte hung next to me, and I was finally able to breathe in normal air, and not the cold of the grave.
– Very simple. Do you remember?
I wanted to say that I didn’t even understand anything, but… Well, yes, I didn’t understand. But I can repeat it, I felt it.
– ? how to determine where to go? Only to familiar places?
– I will take you everywhere. Until you get the hang of it. And for public portals, it is not necessary to know what the exit looks like. If you want some tea, the kitchen is to the left. “Did it seem, or did she actually sigh?” – I hope you like cupcakes. This body loves them.
Cupcakes, tea and a story. Detailed, but not too clear. To begin with, this is actually Earth, really England, but magic is the order of the day here. Instead of the metro, buses and trains – a public portal network. Chemistry is the one that I now, in theory, must know at least at the bachelor’s level, and not a long-forgotten school course! – is divided not only into organic and inorganic, but also into magical and not. Healers… this is generally a special conversation, because they master magic at a very high level. ? They are trained in this very academy with a teeth-breaking abbreviation instead of a name.
“Panacea Armoran Academy of Applied Healing and Chemical Biological Research,” Charlotte said. And she added: “Everyone just says “Panacea Academy.” And Dr. Norwood's department is of potions and elixirs. Magical pharmacology – is this name easier for you to understand?
– It’s much simpler…
– Don’t be afraid, you won’t have to do anything complicated. Especially with Dr. Dougal – “I myself, don’t touch, don’t touch!” The assistant is doing the paperwork – can you really understand the papers? Registers mail, receives and sends. The professor has an extensive correspondence, he is a world-class luminary,” she explained with unexpected pride, as if she had lit this luminary herself. – We'll have to control the class schedule. Make sure there are no overlaps. It happens that he is called to a conference or an urgent consultation. Then everything needs to be adjusted and replacements arranged. And if he has an important phase of the experiment, he gives an unscheduled control. Then you’ll just sit in the audience and make sure they don’t cheat. He even makes his own coffee.
– In general, something like a secretary. Okay, I can handle it. Maybe. You know, friend, it seems to me that you are still in love with him. At least a little.
– Do you think that a rather frivolous and selfish girl can fall in love with a man who, instead of “hello,” says “you look disgusting.” If you collect your hair, you will ruin the potion,” and instead of “goodbye” – “And finally disappear from my sight”?
– Do you think that I will fall in love with him? And in just a week.
– Are you frivolous and selfish? – Charlotte asked, but did not expect an answer, as if she already knew him. Although, to be honest, I wouldn’t be able to answer. We are all selfish and frivolous… we happen. And we are also different. And with different people – different. Look, the same Mrs. Wilburn thinks I’m sweet and sympathetic, and our production editor thinks I’m a notorious bitch. How can I know what I will be like next to the unknown Dr. Norwood?
A heart-rending ringing sound came from somewhere above.
“Alarm clock,” Charlotte’s ghostly face rippled: she was probably wincing like that. Still, if there is something constant in all worlds, it is alarm clocks and a general dislike for them… – There is a bedroom. In an hour you should be at the department.
– Did we talk all night? – I was amazed.
– Almost. ? now you have to get yourself in order, change clothes, comb your hair…
– Collect your hair so as not to spoil the potions, yes, I understand. By the way, thanks for reminding me – where is your mirror? I want to finally see who I have turned into.
“Well, it could be worse,” I thought, looking at the huge wall-length mirror in the bathroom. – “Okay, much worse.” Nature did not deprive Charlotte. Perhaps this body would be called luxurious by those who are not delighted with modern fashion trends. Thin waist, steep hips, defiantly high voluminous breasts. It was heavy, I felt it very well already, having walked with her for only a few hours. “Hello, Barbie,” I thought gloomily. ?except maybe not blonde. A shiny mop of chestnut curled in unruly curls. How long does it take to style such hair? Horror. “In an hour at the department”?! This is clearly not enough to wash, dry and give at least some kind of sane appearance.
– I do not like? – Charlotte asked, floating into the bathroom. – I liked that one.
– Maybe I should get a haircut? – I thoughtfully tugged at the wavy strand. – I don’t see a hairdryer or electricity here at all. By the way, where does the light come from? – the chandelier in the living room and the ceiling lamp in the bathroom were burning quite as usual, brightly. Not as deathly as street lights. But – no sockets, no switches.
– Magic. Let me show.
Again, the almost familiar feeling of a slimy cold jellyfish swallowing you – and your hands shot up, making passes. R-time – a hot wave passed over my head, my hair shone and lay hair-to-hair. Two – the unruly hair is arranged in a high, strict hairstyle. Tr-ri – the traces of a sleepless night and a difficult conversation disappeared from the face, the cheeks softly flushed, the eyes sparkled fervently. Gorgeous!
“It’s impossible to fall in love with such an assistant – your Dougal is definitely a cracker,” I voiced the logical conclusion.
Charlotte waved my hand again, turning off the light in the bathroom.
– And now – to the kitchen. I’ll teach you how to quickly prepare breakfast and make coffee.
To the pulpit Charlotte me – or us? – delivered five minutes before the start of the working day. Dougal was already here, and I stared with greedy curiosity at my intended betrothed. He, however, was almost entirely hiding behind an unfolded newspaper – it seemed German. All she could see was the burning black top of her head and her long, ringless fingers. Moreover, Charlotte immediately retorted:
– Don't look so closely. Say hello and run to sort out the mail. Come on, "good morning, Professor Norwood"!
“Good morning, Professor Norwood,” I repeated like a parrot and ran to the table on which was piled an uneven stack of newspapers, letters and parcels. If this is mail in one day, how does he still manage to teach?!
“Suspicious punctuality,” this doctor-professor muttered under his breath. He didn’t even raise his head from the newspaper. – I'm waiting for a package from the Munich Academy, look.
“Look,” Charlotte ordered. -Can you identify the German?
– I…
– Answer mentally.
“I know a little German.”
– Fine. Search.
The voluminous package was found in the very middle of the stack – judging by the weight and format, two or three rather thick magazines. Under Charlotte's guidance, she also selected several letters from regular correspondents. I put it on the professor's desk. She paused slightly – now, although from an unfortunate angle, it was possible to see her face.
Well, nothing special. A man is like a man. About thirty years old, probably. Too pale to be a hot brunette – maybe he doesn’t stick his nose out at all? Clean shaven, neat – and I already imagined a classic “mad genius”, always disheveled and unkempt. He suddenly looked up from the newspaper and looked up at me. Dark, even scary.
– If you need something, tell me quickly. Don't loom.
Zar-r-raza!
– I wanted to remind you that the first couple… – “Charlotte! Who is our first couple? Fast!" “Healers, first course,” she prompted. I picked up: “Healers, first year.” If you have something important…
– When I fall into insanity, you will be the first to know about it. In the meantime, please get down to business.
"Hopelessly!" – I said with feeling, almost shying away from his table. Contrary to my expectations, Charlotte remained silent.
Until the end of the working day – and this, by the way, is four couples, plus a long lunch break, and several hours of consultations after! – I heard exactly three more phrases from him. “Send this by express mail.” “No, and stop distracting me already!” – in response to the offered coffee. And “Don’t forget to close the door,” to my “Goodbye, Professor Norwood.”
“What was that all about? – I asked Charlotte, going out into the street and exposing my face to the cold evening wind. – Something like “Get out of my sight”? Or a hint that without direct instructions I’m not even able to close the door?”
– He doesn't like open doors. And that Charlotte didn’t like closed ones. Well… – she seemed to think, – sometimes it’s better to have at least some kind of reaction than total indifference. That's what it seemed to me.
“I'm sorry, friend. About indifference. Familiar." “I tried to let my hair down, but the hairstyle, held together by magic, did not budge.
“Don’t think,” prompted Charlotte, “Just believe that it will work out.”
I wanted to say that it’s not so easy to believe if you never… but while I was looking for words, suddenly it really happened. As if by itself.
The wind caught the freed strands and tangled them. Fine! How tired your head is from pulled hair! And why was it necessary to collect them in a bundle if throughout the whole day I didn’t even see a single potion that I could hypothetically ruin?
– You'll see again. You have not yet been to his personal academic laboratory, nor to the general student laboratory.
I've never been anywhere before! The first day of seven passed – it was like falling into an abyss. Into the abyss. I sat with my nose in the mail, again running through the mail and the schedule. At lunch, when the professor had gone somewhere, I secretly looked at the magazine he had left on the table. The same one from Munich. A bunch of chemical formulas, half a page each. I very hesitantly identified the simplest of them as “some kind of horror from organic chemistry,” but mostly there was “some kind of basically unknowable horror.”
“A couple of dozen people in the world will fully understand this,” said Charlotte. – Not more. Higher magic applied to elixirs.
A day to nowhere. A day in which there was not even time to think about the almost hopeless quest “mutual love in a week.” And it’s good that it wasn’t found. Because now I understand very clearly that I want to live. I want it unbearably. Much stronger than I thought before. After all, what really matters is not that the only thing waiting at home is the neighbor’s cat! But this wind, which Charlotte probably no longer feels. Distant Sydney, which seems to remain an unfulfilled dream. A million everyday unnoticed little things that turn out to be significant when you lose them. A life where you can dream about the future, plan or just wait, knowing for sure that you have it. A present, long and preferably happy future, not a measly six days and one evening!
And a new world, full of wonders – I’ve only, one might say, looked through a crack, I haven’t seen anything yet, but I already want to get comfortable here and figure it out! Magic. Real magic, not faked by scammers. One step – and you are even in another city, even on the other side of the world! No crowding in the subway, no fear of plane crashes. A couple of waves of your hand – and order is in your head and in your house. What then can be created with really serious effort?!
The snatches of conversations that were snatched out of my ear – at lunch, in the dining room, and between couples while I was running around changing the schedule – turned out to be almost completely incomprehensible to me. They discussed the features of some phases in some rituals, and whether they change when Latin is replaced by Greek or Sanskrit. They complained about the failure of the harvest of some creeping rotten plants – honestly, I would not be upset about the failure of something with such an unappetizing name! They complained about Professor Krushanski, who failed almost the entire group in the test – this misfortune would have been quite understandable if not for the topic of the test: “The influence of seismic activity of magical territories on the development of the population of ordinary sensoria.” What is this sensory? Does it have anything to do with sensors or just sounds similar? Charlotte, overhearing my bewilderment, explained mysteriously:
– Dr. Krushanski is a leading expert on population dynamics, but his theory of seismic stability control is considered by many to be unproven.
“You have a medical academy? – I was surprised. “What does population and especially seismic activity have to do with it?”
“Sensory,” Charlotte explained. – A rare and valuable ingredient, found only in seismically unstable areas. Foretells earthquakes, eruptions and other cataclysms by explosive reproduction. That is, Krushanski thinks so. He invites all those who disagree to settle somewhere on the slope of Krakatoa or Mauna Loa and check it out personally.
In short, there would be enough new interesting topics in this world for me to last for years and years. ? here…
Stop. I don’t even know for sure…
“Charlotte, listen! Did you say a week?
– Yes. Do you have memory problems?
“Happy calendar! – I snapped. – How is this week counted? Since this morning? Since the beginning of the day? How much time do I have, exactly?”
Charlotte didn't answer right away. She hung there, swaying in the wind, like a translucent wet sheet, and was silent. I waited, getting more and more nervous. Did she just now think about it and decide to count? Or doesn't she know?
Finally she answered:
“Everything went wrong from the second phase of the ritual.” The second phase necessarily begins exactly at midnight. But I remembered it well. This means from midnight or a little later, when this body was left without a soul.
Wonderful. Minus the night. Although… to be honest, what could happen at night? Whether Dr. Norwood was some kind of cheerful partygoer, or a Casanova who doesn’t miss a single skirt, much less such outstanding tits, or at least a lover of night walks arm in arm with his assistant, it’s a different matter. But you can hardly count on communication with this cracker outside of working hours.
Hopelessly. Hopelessly.
“Charlotte,” I asked, quickly wiping away a treacherous tear, “let’s go home.”
“Go, you know how,” she responded. I pulled back the invisible curtain and stepped…
***
Unlike quick breakfasts, Charlotte didn’t bother with dinners. No stock of food in the magical analogue of the refrigerator, not even some yesterday's soup.
“The person I was before preferred to buy ready-made,” Charlotte explained. – Easier. She had enough money, but she didn’t like to tinker in the kitchen.
– I don’t like it either, although in this we are similar. So, explain what and how you are doing here.
I examined the contents of her – now my – purse back at lunch; there was a wallet, in it – unfamiliar coins and a thick pack of plastic cards. Two bank ones and a bunch of bonus ones. By the way, I received a free lunch for employees by presenting my key fob. More precisely, by applying it to the identification plate at the checkout. Comfortable. But they didn’t serve dinner in the academic canteen.
“Order here,” the ghost chose a card with a delicious picture of pizza. – You're hungry, and they have fast delivery. Just pick it up and think about the menu, a communication window will open.
What can I say – it’s more convenient than the phone and even the Internet! I chose a large pizza with mushrooms and a salad, added fruit juice to my order, and at the last moment added beer. I don’t like him too much, but it’s a shame to end up in another world and not be able to compare? Moreover, there may be very little time for comparison.
Thoughts turned to the professor. While I very much doubted that I would be able not only to make him fall in love with me, but even to fall in love myself. He didn’t evoke any disgust or rejection, but he didn’t evoke any positive emotions either. Demanding, corrosive boss. He nitpicks over little things. He’s not rude, but… honestly, it would be better to be rude! If I had been a little more impressionable, his chillingly polite remarks could have brought me to tears. Noticeably distances himself. This is reasonable behavior for a boss, but it makes my task even more impossible. As if it weren’t already almost impossible!
Just one day – and even in my thoughts I call this cracker exclusively a professor! An amazing start to a romantic love story.
– Tell about him.
“You’ve already seen it,” it seems, this was an objection. Or surprise? In general, I understood that the ghost considers the information given out in the morning to be exhaustive and is not eager to repeat it.
–What kind of person is he? – I decided to be persistent – in the end, my life or death may well depend on the exact answer! – The world's luminary – understandable. Head of the department – I've seen enough today. But if you put the scientist, the boss and the teacher aside, what remains? It is not the doctor and the professor who should fall in love, but Dougal Norwood. And the doctor and professor did not inspire me either. Maybe the person will be more interesting.
Charlotte froze, perhaps even froze in place, as if plunged into deep thought. It looked, frankly, scary. Not only is it a ghost, but also a motionless ghost in the middle of a nice little kitchen, flooded with sunset light from the windows.
– Hey! – I couldn’t stand it. – Are you still here?
“It’s strange,” she finally woke up, floated across the kitchen and hovered by the window. – The man Dougal Norwood is not in Charlotte's memories. Doctor, luminary, boss, man, but all this is very general, schematic. Dislikes public speaking, students, almost everyone, with rare exceptions, open doors and tea. It seems that's it.
– Few. – Actually, practically nothing: I already understood about the doors, but inviting the professor to tea… well, it’s already clear that it’s a failed idea. – What does he like?
– Brew potions. But this is already clear,” Charlotte paused, as if she was listening to something or really carefully examining the living memory of who she was before. – Silence. Your own personal laboratory. Still a mother. Yes, Mrs. Norwood comes here often, I remember something like this… Lemon cinnamon pudding. The last time Charlotte ordered in advance was in London.
Hopeless, I thought for the hundredth time. Even if he is not a mama’s boy, but just a man who loves his mother, it doesn’t matter. Worst competition ever. Especially if the man is one of those “married to his work.”
