Instead of heading straight to the kitchen to help my friend with his hangover, I grabbed his hair again and turned his face towards me. Eric’s eyes showed confusion and bewilderment.
“Jack! Are you out of your mind? That hurts!,” he freed his hair from my grip and, fully back to his senses now, sat up on the bed.
“What do you want?”
“Grab your butt and take it to the bathroom. You have exactly twenty minutes to sober up,” I muttered through gritted teeth and walked to the window to open it.
My head spun slightly when a gust of cool air rushed into the room, dispelling the alcoholic stench that had permeated the walls for days.
Eric glared at me but, without a word, got up and shuffled to the bathroom, barely moving his legs. I watched his slouched figure and shook my head disapprovingly. Since our last meeting, the guy had noticeably deteriorated and now resembled a walking fishing hook. It’s incredible, I saw him not long ago, and I could swear he wasn’t that skinny. And just a few months ago, we went to the gym together to avoid resembling Mr. Cornell Senior’s anti-athletic figure… I thought and glanced at the wall where the old digital clock had always been. It wasn’t there anymore. Apparently, Eric got to it too and smashed it. Cursing quietly, I opened the window wider and left the room to go to the kitchen to find some aspirin for my unfortunate friend. In the kitchen, I accidentally glanced at an old alarm clock standing on the table. The hands on the scratched dial showed eleven-thirty, and there was no hint of the sun outside. What happened to the weather? A quiet, prolonged groan behind me interrupted my thoughts. I turned around quickly. It was Sabrina, and she looked unwell…
“Oh my,” she whispered, pressing her hand to her stomach.
Without thinking about the possible consequences, I rushed to her and grabbed her hand just above the elbow. She was burning with fever, sweat beads forming on her forehead. I reached for the phone hanging on the wall and was about to dial 911 when Sabrina pulled the receiver out of my grip.
“Where are you going to call?” she whispered anxiously.
“What a stupid question? You need a doctor,” I replied decisively, feeling Sabrina release my hand and forcing a feeble smile.
“No, Jack! What are you thinking? I’m fine. Probably just something I ate.
Really, everything's fine,” she said soothingly and hung up the phone.
Perhaps she felt a little better, but the wild glint in her eyes didn’t disappear. She looked away, and seemed paler to me. I followed her gaze but didn’t notice anything unusual. Everything was the same: the kitchen furniture in its place, the same old alarm clock that hadn’t been moved for years. Nothing that could terrify a person. Suddenly, Sabrina groaned again and once more brought her hand to her stomach.
“Jack, this is the first and last time I ask you to help me… get me a chair and…
and bring water, please,” she muttered. Trying not to curse, I carefully lifted her, carried to the living room. There I laid her on the couch.
“Wait a second,” I muttered and left to fetch some water. Once again, I scanned the kitchen but didn’t see anything that could have frightened her. I had no choice
but to return to the living room. Sabrina took a few sips from the glass and brushed the damp hair from her forehead.
“Some virus,” she murmured, tilting her head back and taking a few deep breaths.
“Yeah, a virus. Should I call a doctor or take you to the hospital?”
“Or maybe we should have lunch?” She smiled. And there was something in that smile that made my heart sink again.
“How did you wake up Eric?” Sabrina asked curiously, nodding towards the bathroom.
“You gotta have skills,” I replied, not without an air of mischief.
There was a deafening crash followed by a string of curses, coming from the depths of the house. Then the slam of the door, and finally, a loud yawn. Eric entered the living room almost steadily.
He looked much better, but still disheveled and clearly unaware of what was happening around him. I noticed a shallow cut on his left cheek. Naturally, Eric noticed it too.
“I shaved,” he grumbled, poking the cheek with a cotton swab.
“Clearly,” Sabrina retorted sharply, catching her brother’s attention.
Noticing Sabrina, Eric immediately rushed to her and sat down on the floor next her.
“Are you feeling bad again, Sabi?” he asked anxiously, breathing alcohol fumes into her face.
“You’ll definitely make me feel bad now!” Sabrina grimaced, lightly punched Eric’s shoulder, got up and left the room. Watching her leave, I turned back to the squatting figure on the floor, the hunched-over guy who clearly didn't want to continue the conversation started in his room.
“I think we have something to discuss,” I said softly, breaking the awkward pause.
Eric shot me an angry glance, then laboriously got up and, dramatically, trudged back to his alcohol-soaked den.
“Have you eaten, who called me yesterday?” he spoke first, ushering me into his room.
“Murphy”, I replied instantly, settling into the old, weathered armchair.
Eric only looked at me quizzingly.
“He said I hadn’t handled the job well, and grandpa would be very ashamed of me,” he lowered his head and sighed heavily. “He said you would have done much better than me.”
“I know, Sabrina already told me,” I declared, getting up from the chair. I walked to the window with a shuffling gait, and lit a cigarette.
Suddenly, Eric raised his head in horror, his eyes widening as he stared at me, clearly now beginning to recall the details of yesterday’s conversation with his sister.
“Damn! I didn’t…”
“No,” I interrupted, “but you have said enough to make her come to me for clarification. For which I want, at the very least, to knock you out.”
“Oh… bad times,” my sobering friend muttered guiltily, staring at me, awaiting my angry response.
“Yes, and I had to tell her about Flippy’s murder.”
“Oh! That's some shit… She definitely didn’t need to know that! But… Okay, what now?”
“I met with Mom today. They decided that now I’ll be doing ‘surveillance.’ ”
Eric glanced sidelong at me and chuckled loudly. Then he flopped heavily onto the bed and covered his face with his palms.
“I let everyone down,” he moaned after a moment.
“Not everyone. At least, not yet. Stop boozing. The sooner, the better. Otherwise, you'll lose not only your job but also your family. Sabrina is desperate. You've driven her to it,” I said, closely observing Eric's changing expression.
“I noticed she’s been acting strangely lately. But I don’t think it’s because of me.
She often looks somewhere, as if at someone… And I also feel that we’re not alone here,” he fell silent.
A hangover is not the best time for a serious conversation. And I genuinely pitied him. Deep down. Somewhere very deep. At the very bottom. Although, what am I talking about? My soul is bottomless…
“Eric, let’s try to find a compromise? We both know I won’t be able to keep an eye on her outside of university.”
Eric nodded in agreement and lazily scratched his scalp.
“So, here’s the deal: I’ll ask to have you appointed as my assistant, but on one condition.”
“What’s that?” Eric looked at me hopefully.
“You quit drinking and keep your mouth shut tight.”
“Agreed,” my friend replied without hesitation.
“What else does Sabrina know besides the fact that we’re hiding ‘something ’?”
A stifling silence filled the room.
“Nothing,” Eric said uncertainly.
“Well, I hope we’ll find out soon. The sooner, the better.”
There was a soft knock on the door.
“What!” Eric croaked.
“Are you two coming for lunch or not?” Sabrina asked, entering the room.
“Eavesdropping is very, very, very naughty, miss,” Eric said slowly and cautiously.
“Coming home drunk in the wee hours isn’t very nice either! And I wasn’t eavesdropping. I don’t have that habit. Go eat,” Sabrina turned around haughtily and slammed the door shut, causing Eric to clutch his head.
Chapter 6
The 'Guardian' Order
Mr. Wallis sat in a large leather armchair behind a huge antique Victorian era writing desk propping his chin with his hands. His stern, wise gaze was fixed on the window. The Chief Guardian of the Guardian Order, always cheerful and lively, was in a terrible mood today. In his right hand, he tightly gripped a letter that had been delivered at four in the morning and labeled “URGENT.” The information it contained prompted him to immediately convene an emergency meeting of some members of the Order.
Mr. Wallis shifted his gaze to the gray London sky and sighed heavily.
“Well, it seems storms are inevitable,” he muttered heavily, setting the letter aside.
He looked at the numerous photographs in gilded frames on the desk, pausing to study each one of them. Two nine-year-old boys, a dark-haired girl with cornflower-blue eyes, Mr. Wallis himself, and his best friend – Alex Venters. How long ago was that? The Venters family had been living in London then. Mr. Wallis ran his finger over the figure of the little girl standing next to her grandfather in the photograph. Her eyes were not those of a typical child; more serious. He remembered how she had laughed and rejoiced when Mr. Wallis had pushed her on the swings. And yet, he had once been vehemently against his best friend adopting her.
“You’ve lost your mind completely!” he yelled at Alex. “She’s a witch!”
“Oh, come on, how can she be a witch? Look at her!” Alex replied gently, pointing to the infant sleeping peacefully in his arms.
“I’m telling you, you’ve lost your mind! She’ll grow up to be just like them! Or even worse!”
“No, she won’t! Not all of them were bad. Her mother is proof of that,” Alex said stubbornly.
“Think about your own family!”
“We’ve already discussed this. My daughter and son-in-law fully support me.”
At that time, Mr. Wallis could do nothing. Alex remained utterly deaf to all pleas to return the child to her real family.
Yet, in time, Mr. Wallis himself came to love the girl. Sabrina grew up into a beautiful, independent woman. But was she a witch? Most likely – yes. Knowing Sabrina’s family history, Mr. Wallis would have sworn on the Bible in court that the girl was a witch. However, was she evil? No. And on that point, too, Mr.
Wallis was willing to stake his own life. He was absolutely certain that sooner or later her abilities would manifest themselves. But how? That remained to be seen.
For so many years, no one from her real family had even inquired about the child’s fate. When the infant disappeared, no one even reported it to the police. All that was known was that Marie De Manshand, following the tragic death of her daughter, had gone to France to recover, and to restore the family nest – a vast, ancient castle in the ?le-de-France province. And now, twenty-three years later, she was returning. And she had a weighty reason for doing so. She wanted to find her only heiress. Her granddaughter Sabrina. Specifically, she had sent a letter to him, Wallis, as a token of gratitude for the fact that the Order had not left the poor child on the street and ad given her a home. For Marie was so devastated by her daughter’s death that she would not have been able to give Sabrina the love and attention she needed. The letter also specified that if Sabrina did not return to Paris immediately, Marie would either come over herself or send someone from her entourage.
After scanning the pointed handwriting on the letter once again, Mr. Wallis sighed bitterly and buzzed for his secretary.
“Dana, please bring me a cup of white tea and connect me with Elliot Cornell.
Also, invite Mr. Murphy to join us. And as soon as possible, please,” he said to an attractive-looking young woman who had entered the office.
“Of course, sir,” Dana replied and left.
Wallis approached the window, leaning on the weathered sill, and stared into the bottomless darkness of the Thames. After standing like that for several minutes, he smiled sadly and shook his head.
“What will be, will be,” he concluded and returned to his desk.
Chapter 7
Either I'll completely lose my mind, or…?
The disgusting “Dzzziiinnnnnnn” cut through the silence of yet another gloomy day. I sat up in bed slowly, staring blankly at the alarm clock. Six-thirty in the morning. I reluctantly pried open my left eye and glanced at Gigantor, lazily sprawled out on the neighboring pillow. The cat seemed determined to rip me in half with its crazy look. I sighed, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, and looked out the window. Nothing that could inspire even a drop of optimism. Rain, dampness, and endless, bottomless puddles…
“At least one thing to be happy about, it’s Friday,” I thought to myself and, mustering all my strength, got out of bed and shuffled to the shower.
It has been a week since my conversation with Eric, who could now be dubbed as a near saintly teetotaler. The guy was doing his utmost not to let me down. He constantly called, telling me about what was happening in his sister’s life outside the university walls. Now she suddenly felt unwell, now she behaved like a total bitch (‘what’s new and unusual about that?’ I would think then), now she burst into tears for no reason. And she also had a new admirer… Nothing strange about that either, there was always a bunch of admirers circling around Sabrina.
“And she’s not sleeping well,” Eric would say.
“And she doesn’t handle stress well?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s not good. Then there’s nothing interesting.”
I stepped out of the shower, nibbled on burnt toast and coffee, quickly got dressed: black jeans, a white sleeveless t-shirt with “The Wretched” printed on it (which was an accurate description for my current state of mind), and a thick, black hoodie. In short, an outfit befitting the gloomy weather, and my mood. Once
