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– Turn off. I have to go to work.
I got there and I’m arguing with the TV! What's next? Will the washing machine enslave me, or what replaces them here? By the way, you should check your wardrobe. It looks like a closet in the bedroom.
The TV turned off as soon as I stepped beyond the threshold of the room. Apparently, before this happy moment, he hoped that I would change my mind…
The closet was bursting with a wide variety of clothes. But, in the best tradition of jokes, my first reaction was a classic feminine one:
– There’s nothing to wear!
Charlotte clearly spared no expense on the latest fashionable items. Although I had a hard time imagining how they would fit with the chilly autumn weather: slush, rain and fog. Short flared skirts and open sundresses, tight T-shirts and tops. A dozen cocktail and evening dresses – too open, provocatively revealing. Everything is bright, evoking thoughts of the beach, dance parties and even dates. Yes, probably this fuchsia color should suit me – I held the dress to me and nodded approvingly, looking in the mirror. Or that cornflower blue one… But, my God, not for work!
Trousers were conditionally suitable for work – conditionally, because I would have preferred black or neutral beige, rather than the red-brown ones I was wearing today, or the bright blue, olive and crimson ones hanging in the closet. Raspberry pants! Nightmare!
And not a single one, NOT ONE! Classic blouse. Not white or anything like that.
Yes, if you show up at the department in this crimson horror and sticking beacon… It’s surprising that the professor is only hiding behind a newspaper, in his place I would probably crawl under the table.
Decidedly going downstairs to the bonus cards scattered all over the table, I found a business card of either an atelier or a boutique – I didn’t even bother to look into it. She squeezed, desperately thinking about a strict work outfit – black trousers of a classic cut, a white blouse – fitted, tailored to the figure, but closed and modest.
It jerked as if someone had roughly pulled my hand. And I ended up… apparently still in the studio. A rack with fabric samples, a display case with buttons, lace, fasteners…
And either the hostess or the master, plump, at first glance, attractive to me, who smiled affably at me and asked with frank curiosity:
– Miss Blair? What's wrong?! So suddenly – and so strikingly different from your usual orders!
“I want to impress a man with certain tastes,” I answered honestly. It is always better to hide the big truth, putting forward a small and not the most important part of it…
– Oh-oh-oh… I understand! Now we’ll dress you up, Miss Blair, no doubt, the chosen one will be impressed and smitten.
“Oh yes, I’m smitten,” I thought gloomily. Meanwhile, I found myself standing on the same platform from which I almost shied away from at home – and opposite, another Charlotte Blair wove out of thin air. Like in a mirror, but three-dimensional. And already on her materialized the same blouse I had presented and black formal trousers – a little narrower than I wanted, but they emphasized her figure so well that I could not resist and nodded.
“We need to change the top,” the master shook her head (still a master? And what a shame, I have no idea how to address her, but Charlotte probably knows!). – Like this, look.
The darts at the waist lengthened, and the blouse fit exactly to the figure, almost the same shape as all of Charlotte's beacons. The turn-down collar was replaced by a stand-up collar, the top buttons were not a cutout, but… as if in a hurry, they simply weren’t fastened all the way. The strict style has become defiantly sexy. No, it’s not suitable for work… But I couldn’t refuse.
– Great, but a strict classical one is also needed.
“Strict classical ones can be very different,” the master smiled. – Let's see what suits you best.
The next hour – no less! – we went through the styles. In the end, my eyes were filled with ruffles, inserts, embroideries, brooches… But the main thing is that I really couldn’t choose! Almost everything looked simply wonderful. Even immediately excluding models with lots of lace and puffy collars, I was literally torn. Until she mentally waved her hand: Charlotte’s account did not allow for such excesses, she said that day: “Manage your money boldly, Charlotte never lived only on her salary. My father has his own business, he paid for all major expenses. Although the salary at the Panacea Academy is significant, even for an assistant.”
The bell above the front door rang melodiously, and she stepped inside… I didn’t dare call her a middle-aged woman, more like a fairy. Light, thin, in an airy dark gray dress, so elegant and at the same time surprisingly simple that you can’t help but fall in love. Light wavy strands spilled out of a lush bun and framed a thin, beautiful face. “And no makeup,” I thought enchanted, “but she looks amazing. Everyone would do that. Magic? How old is she really? A little over forty?
– I’m sorry, Grisella, I saw that you were still open. Good evening. Shall I interfere? – the fairy woman looked at me with eyes as amazing as all of her – clear, bright, as if sunny, and suddenly smiled softly. – Miss Blair. What an unexpected meeting.
– Miss Norwood! – the master exclaimed in amazement, turning around. – Sabella, dear, how long have you been gone! Come on in, don't stand on the threshold. Cup of coffee? Tea? It’s always open for you, you know.
Norwood?! Really… oh my God, the dry-haired professor has such a mother?! Or is it my sister?
“Good evening,” I answered as neutrally as possible, so as not to betray my ignorance. It sounded warm – it was impossible not to smile in response to the smile of this amazing woman, who was endearing at first glance. “I’ve already chosen everything, so…
And she stammered in confusion. Politeness required assuring that “no, you won’t interfere in any way, and in general it’s time for me to go,” but to leave when the opportunity to find out something about the professor almost falls from the sky?! Even if the journalist’s habits didn’t resist, I’m not such a fool! But also to impose on communication, not knowing everything that Charlotte probably knows…
“Miss Blair, if you want to pick it up today, you’ll have to wait.” About fifteen minutes, no more, – the master very successfully came to the rescue. – Sabella, you…
– Don't worry, I'm in no hurry. And yes, I guess I’ll have some tea, as usual. Thank you, Grisella. Why don't you join me, Miss Blair? – She pointed to one of the round wicker tables on the opposite wall. Probably just for those… waiting ones.
– With pleasure!
Tea appeared in the same magical way as pizza. A pot-bellied teapot, two cups on saucers, a sugar bowl, a jug of milk… and lemon pudding with cinnamon, which finally removed the question of who was in front of me. Okay, almost definitively – the possibility of coincidences can never be discounted.
The tea smelled like mint and went wonderfully with the pudding – and the pudding was just as incredibly delicious as the pizza. Probably, in this world they cook exclusively with magic, and that’s why the magical result is obtained.
– They don’t serve delicious puddings at Panacea Academy? – Miss Norwood smiled, picking up another piece with a spoon.
“Not that much,” I almost blurted out the “I didn’t try it” that would have burned to the very core – she was amazingly conducive to frankness. She was struck with a sudden panic – how closely had the real Charlotte communicated with her? “Yes, Mrs. Norwood is often here”… But where – here? Judging by the manner of work of Professor Norwood, he would not tolerate visits to the department even from his beloved mother. Maybe in the same village where Charlotte lives? They could have crossed paths there by chance.
I don’t even know how “small” the world is of those involved in one way or another with the Panacea Academy! Maybe the mother of the professor and world luminary knows everyone there, or maybe just one or two who work next to her son or are friends with him. If he even has friends at the Academy, Charlotte didn’t mention them.
Well, one way or another, now I need to establish contact. Despite the fact that there are no topics for conversation, no clues or common interests. Perhaps Dougal, but you can’t say straight out: “I need to find out about your son! As much and as detailed as possible!”
“Besides, at the Academy, thoughts are occupied with everything but the taste of pudding,” I said with a smile. You can’t head-on – approach from afar, in tricky zigzags, or circle like a hungry shark, approaching the target. As best you can. Pick up the crumbs until a large and truly valuable piece falls. “Sometimes it seems like you don’t even notice what you had for lunch.” Enough more exciting problems.
Miss Norwood looked at me with surprise and interest.
– Is it true? Wow, I…” she suddenly seemed to change her mind about finishing what she was going to say, took a sip of tea and silently put the cup down. – If work makes you forget about puddings, but does not cause irritation, then this is the right choice and great happiness, isn’t it?
“It’s not that I never doubted my choice,” it seemed right to “confess,” because if I, we succeed, I’ll probably want to return to journalism, and not sit over papers at the department. “But I like to know that I’m doing the right thing, and not some nonsense.” Besides, the Academy is really interesting! It’s just a pity that I myself didn’t…” I paused and hastily took a sip of tea. Let him think for me. She didn’t have a hand in many interesting things, she wasn’t capable of anything more than being an assistant—anything. Getting someone to finish your sentence is a great way to get to know them better. Well… or not him – but what he thinks about you. ? for me now – I still can’t say too much, if suddenly she knows Charlotte better than I think.
– Not an academician? – asked Miss Norwood, and seemed to be joking, but her voice was rather thoughtful. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to hear something like this from you,” she suddenly added.
I always thought that “my heart skipped a beat” was just a beautiful, but extremely stupid phrase. It turns out that it happens… I have established, as they say, contact! You have to know how to pierce yourself in five minutes.
– ? what did you expect to hear? – I pretended to take a sip of tea. Gain a couple of seconds, come to your senses. Decide what to do next. Admit? Turn it into a joke? Run away?
– I work in the most prestigious institution in Britain. We light up the stars. And I'm proud to be involved in this. This is a great honor. And Dr. Norwood is a wonderful boss. Oh, sorry, I have to run, otherwise he will be extremely unhappy. And he shouldn’t be dissatisfied, because he is a world-class luminary! And together we light the stars…” Miss Norwood grinned. – Something like that. What a mistake it is to judge people by their first impression. I'm really sorry. And I’ve never noticed such a habit before.
You managed to get into the carcass of a prestige-obsessed fool! No, come what may, but…
– It looks like her. And it's very sad. And you obviously know how to make the right impression. You know, Miss Norwood, I’m not at all sorry that I’m not an academic and I don’t light up the stars. But it's a pity that I'm Charlotte Blair. Because she did a colossal stupidity, and now it’s unknown how to get out of it.
The already large blue eyes widened, but, to give credit where credit is due, this amazing woman did not drop the cup or exclaim something like “Oh my God!” and didn’t even conduct an interrogation on the spot.
“I think, Miss Blair, we need to talk.” But a fashion salon is not suitable for such conversations.
– But you wanted something here…
“He’ll wait,” Miss Norwood stood up, and I jumped up after her.
I was ready to leave without waiting for my order – sometimes even eternal skeptics like me believe in signs of fate! But here is the master – or is it the mistress? – came out to us with a voluminous package of my new clothes. The old Charlotte probably never thanked her so warmly. Why else would there be such amazement?
– Sorry, Grisella, I’ll come by tomorrow morning. Suddenly I remembered an urgent matter. Memory… – Miss Norwood waved her hand, opening the portal, and added quietly, inviting her to enter first: – The only thought when you see this: split personality.
“But this is not it,” and I stepped onto the fluffy cream carpet in the small living room.
***
I sunk into a soft chair, clutching a cup of tea, and didn’t know where to start. Miss Norwood was in no hurry. She sat opposite me, looking out from under her eyelashes, as if she was looking for ten differences between me and the real Charlotte.
There was no point in beating around the bush, but it was worth starting with the main thing.
– Charlotte died. I was possessed by her body, and she is now a ghost. He flies nearby and repeats how sorry he is. ? What's the point of being sorry? I messed something up in the ritual. “I paused, wondering if it would be possible to also bluntly reveal that I’m not the only one in head-over-heels problems. Still, as an adviser, I liked Miss Norwood much more than the ghost Charlotte. – In a love spell ritual. On her and Professor Norwood.
– To Dougal?! But, Bran the Blessed! For what? After all… nothing connected them.
– You said it yourself – there, in the salon. “He is a world-class luminary, and together we light the stars.” Becoming the wife of a luminary is much more prestigious than being a simple assistant. Which they notice only when they forget to close the doors behind themselves or show up to the laboratory with their hair down. No, she was not in love with the professor. But she really wanted his attention.
– Right. Too much ambition and empty bravado,” Miss Norwood stood up and grabbed herself by the shoulders, as if she was freezing or trying to control herself not only figuratively. “She knew that such dark magic requires sacrifice.” Always! We all know this!
– Dark magic?! – probably, to say that I was amazed would be a gross understatement. – Love spell?
– Not a simple love spell. Ritual. For ordinary girlish stupidity, a potion is enough, it can be removed easily, but if Miss Blair performed a ritual… Oh yes, very dark and ancient magic.
“I would never have thought… Sorry,” I realized, “it was probably a stupid question, right?” But where I was drawn from, there is no magic at all. Only quackery and superstition. I don't understand this stuff at all.
Miss Norwood turned to me and looked very softly, with sympathy.
–Where did you get attracted to? And how did this happen? Ancient, forgotten forces walk only along the paths of spirits. They don't care about mortals until they call.
– I definitely didn’t call! But… – the living, arrogant face of the “hereditary dark witch” appeared before my eyes: heavy eyelids, upturned chin, lips, inaudible whisper… – I am a journalist. I was doing a report… just about magic. About what our scammers pass off as magic. Apparently, since magic exists in principle, a real witch could be found among those scammers? She claimed that she was hereditary and, by the way, dark… I offered to prove it to her with at least something other than empty words, in response she promised to take me to the astral plane. And… that's it. I woke up here already. With a screaming hysterical ghost in front of your nose.
– Poor girl. She probably didn’t even understand what happened. I didn't realize that this was the end. Is the ghost here with you now?
– No. I don't know when it will appear.
– But if your connection is not broken… When did this happen?
– This night. Charlotte said midnight or a little later. During the day I replaced her at the department. Because…” I froze, clasping my hands. Suddenly I realized that I had been on the verge of hysteria all evening, and now I came almost close to her.
– It’s not over, right? – Miss Norwood asked chokedly, as if through force. – Dark rituals are irreversible, and since Miss Blair’s body has absorbed someone else’s soul, that means… A love spell. How much time do you have?
– This is also known… known information?! – God, Charlotte turned out to be even more of an idiot than I thought! But it seems I won't have to explain the details. – She said a week. The first day has already passed. And I… I don’t know what to do at all!
– Not so much famous as frightening. From scary fairy tales,” Miss Norwood walked around the room, then sank back into the chair. – Miss Blair forgot about the main condition – ancient forces always need a victim. She paid with herself, but the ritual was already broken. You shouldn't anger those you know nothing about. As far as I understand, she is now tied to you and will remain tied until the curse ends. Tell me, miss… It's not really Blair! What is your name?
– Sally… That is, actually Freya Sullivan. Sally – for loved ones, I don’t really like to be called by the name of the goddess. I'd like you to call me that.
– It’s a pity, it’s a wonderful name with a beautiful history. You can call me Sabella, it's easier. Tell me,” she hesitated, sighed, and in an unconscious, seemingly habitual gesture, raised her hand to her eyes. – Surely I won’t be mistaken in assuming that the curse is two-sided? And that you are connected not only with Miss Blair, but also with my son?
Still, mother…
“Yes,” I almost whispered. – But he doesn't know. Nothing.
– He must find out. – It sounded with surprising composure for such news. “Not about the ritual,” she added hastily. – And that Miss Blair is no longer quite Miss Blair. Otherwise you have no chance. No one. But if you behave like you did today in the Rizella Amtown salon, I think ignorance itself will not last long. Dougal is observant.
“There are two problems,” I still drank the long-cooled tea. In one gulp, without feeling the taste. – He and I. Professor… Dougal,” it took an internal effort to pronounce the name, “it seems to me that he is not at all one of those who can fall in love in a week!” And even to his own assistant, who until now had only been annoying. ? I… I just want to drop everything and run away!
– Do you still have a loved one in your reality? – Miss Norwood asked softly. No, Sabella.
“He left me,” I put the cup down and leaned back in my chair. – And he didn’t even leave for someone else. Just one fine morning he told me that I was unbearable and he got a job in Sydney. Away from me. God, there, at home, I even left a ticket to Sydney. I didn’t intend to chase him, but I really wanted to see, just see… the city for which I was exchanged. It became some kind of obsession. And now I’m here, and all my plans are in vain… and what are my plans now?
– Sometimes a miracle or tragedy needs to happen for us to look at things differently. “Sabella seemed to be talking about me, but it was as if she was talking about herself too.” – Do you still love him?
– Don't know. I would say no, but… It hurts to remember. It's annoying. It's a shame. Our psychologists say that such feelings cannot be caused by someone to whom you are indifferent.
– Wounded pride, disappointment and broken dreams also cannot be called indifference. But you can’t call it love either. Well, at least for now we at least have hope. You don't look like a person who is in a hurry to give up his life.
“Tell me about Dougal,” I asked. Now the name came easier. “I asked Charlotte, but she doesn’t know him at all.” Only the light, not the person. At the pulpit he… – I hesitated, searching for words: what mother would like it if they directly said “cracker” about her son? – Very closed. It's all about work. It seemed to me that he was incredibly irritated by any distractions. Even a simple question if he would like some coffee.
“Rather, he’s annoyed by people who like to “light up the stars,” Miss Norwood smiled. – And Panacea Academy. Everything, from the roof to the dungeons. He is there not of his own free will, but because of me. But that's not what we're talking about now. Let’s go,” she stood up and beckoned me to follow her. – It’s difficult for me to judge him unbiasedly, you must understand, he is my son. So let's agree, I show, and you ask, whatever comes to mind.
"Unwillingly?" It happens that for a week they convince you that some topic may be interesting, but you dodge it by hook or by crook – and then suddenly you smell the smell of sensation in a short phrase that seems to be irrelevant, or even about nothing at all. This is exactly what has happened now. In the words of Sabella Norwood, and if you look at it, in the tone of her voice, the lowered eyelashes, the almost imperceptible shadow that came across her face, there was something much more hidden than she was ready to say out loud. Well, that’s really not what we’re talking about now. I'll try to find out later… if this is at all important in our situation.
In the meantime, we obviously came to the nursery. Funny wallpaper with a Teddy bear and Winnie the Pooh, a funny lamp in the form of a ghost floating under the ceiling – fortunately, not at all like Charlotte, but rather like Casper. Small table and bookshelf. I ran my fingers along the spines and tilted my head, reading the titles. Textbooks, a children's encyclopedia, colorfully published educational books for children – “The History of Alchemy”, “From Amoeba to Pithecanthropus”, something else that is little clear to me – about magic…
– Now Dougal rarely spends the night with me, and occupies another room. But he likes to sit here, thinking about the next difficult problem. He says this nostalgic atmosphere inspires him.
– Book child? – I asked.
– Oh, what are you talking about! Since childhood, he believed that all the most useful and interesting things are stored in the head, and not on paper. Some kind of inexplicable hostility to letters. I hardly even read textbooks, I said why, if there is a teacher who has speaking skills? The compulsory program was too easy for him – he was bored, and since he was bored, that meant he was trying to find something more interesting to do. In just six months of elementary school, I seem to have mastered all the healing spells that can be used on children. And she could create a portal to the principal’s office or to the school infirmary without thinking for a second.
I smiled involuntarily.
– And what activities did he consider interesting?
“For example, find out what will happen if you apply an eternal growth spell with a speed component to the royal turnips, and cast an endless doubling spell on the humates in the compost, so that the poor growing organism has enough food. Or how fast the regeneration of mandrake roots will be when cemetery soil is added to the nutrient mixture. Turnips broke through the roof of the school greenhouse and covered the entire school stadium, along with the players and spectator stands, with leaves, and three magicians from the environmental control department had to tear it out of the ground at once. Fortunately, the “poor growing organism” did not have time to produce seeds. Although ecologists convinced me that the seeds would have retained the original characteristics of the plant, but… they didn’t know my son!
I laughed out loud. I would never have believed that the stern Dr. Norwood, with his “pick up your hair”, “close the doors” and “don’t loom” could destroy the school greenhouse with an experiment (you can immediately see the future genius!) and in general, it seems, was a headache for the teachers and the director. “Poor growing organism”, that’s what you should call a banal root vegetable! Although… it’s far from banal!
– And the mandrake? I hope she didn't kill anyone?
– The experiment ended before it began. Dougal was caught in the cemetery. According to the caretaker, the boy was trying to raise a zombie. He himself claimed that this was not a ritual circle, but just a platform for disinfecting the land, because he did not want to introduce pests into the greenhouse! But Dougal was expelled in disgrace and forbidden to poke his nose into the cemetery territory. One way or another, he had no luck with the cemetery land.
Sabella stopped short, and I unexpectedly took her hand.
– Let's hope that the ban is still in force and he won't be unlucky again.
– Yes. Hope! – She, as if waking up, shook her head and gently squeezed my fingers. – I can show you photographs. Want to?
