Edgars Auziņš
Fall in love in a weekwe get by
1. CHAPTER 1. Day one: Tuesday
I always thought that the normal reaction to a ghost was to squeal. That is, of course, if you believe in this nonsense, and if not, carefully look around in search of a hidden camera, make a photogenic face and then squeal, moderately loudly and without losing your smile. Because modern special effects can do anything—probably even a ghost. Depict. Authentic, with a protruding aura, or whatever it's called, and just a step away from you. Like this one…
For some reason, it didn’t work out to squeal, but the thought of a hidden camera flashed and went away. I extended my hand and pointed my finger into the whitish, frozen fog – to where a face could barely be discerned in the swaying ghostly figure.
– Hey, be careful! Wow acquaintance – finger in the eye! – here the ghost, judging by the voice of a woman, stopped short, flew closer, hovered, as if he was peering intently at me. And he screamed so shrilly, as if he was being cut. Unless, of course, you can cut something intangible.
– What are you doing? – I asked, stunned.
– Body! At your place! “I wanted to cover my ears, but the ghost suddenly rushed towards me, I instinctively jumped back, tripped over something and fell, painfully hitting my butt on the hard and cold floor. And the ghost fell from above. Feeling – brrr!!! It’s like you’ve been swallowed by a slippery, scalding-icy jellyfish.
– Let me go! – I screamed.
But it was unlikely to be heard, because the ghost screamed along with me:
– Be careful, you clumsy fool! Ritual circle! Why did you lie down? Get up quickly!
“And I won’t think about it until you let me go,” I muttered. When something is demanded in such a boorish manner, and even with insults, one must react adequately, that is, either send them away, or put forward counter conditions. Preferably such that the boor himself will be sent away.
The whitish icy cloud moved away, I struggled to my suddenly weak legs and finally looked around.
A small room, no windows, the light comes from candles lined up in a circle on the floor. Smoothly plastered walls, thickly covered with incomprehensible symbols. The floor outside with candles is painted with the same symbols, the inside is perfectly smooth and clean… Concrete? No, a stone. Looks natural. Even the veins are visible, also gray, but lighter, whitish, like this ghost.
Ritual circle, then?
Hmmm. It seems my latest investigation has gone somewhere wrong. Decidedly and categorically not there!
I bent down to feel the floor and froze. The fingers that felt like ours were… yes, they were someone else's! Mine are graceful. I think I’m generally lucky with my hands: a beautiful hand, fingers that are called musical, and the rings look great on them. I love rings and beautiful manicures. And now, instead of my favorite snake ring with ruby eyes and a scarlet manicure to match the ruby, I saw a modest light one – silver? – a ring with pinkish carnelian or, perhaps, jasper, and albeit neat, but still short, almost clean-cut nails. Although the fingers too… nothing like that. But mine are better.
Okay, stop. What am I thinking, what difference does it make whether it’s better or not if it’s strangers?!
– So what are you staring at? – the ghost was indignant. – Give me my body and go back where you came from!
– I came?! Your body?! Yes, take it! And send me back immediately! This is what you did!
– That's not what I did!
– ? What?! – What did you have to do for such a thing… I can’t even say “result”! Summon the devil?! It seems that the “hereditary dark witch” I was going to expose claimed that the devil does not exist. Although what to take from a charlatan. Or… Isn’t she such a charlatan, since instead of her dimly lit salon, decorated with a pretense of mystery, I’m standing here? Maybe it was her doing, and not this… shrill one?
– Ritual! Complex love spell ritual! – the ghost howled and seemed to melt into the air, only to immediately appear in another corner of the room. – So what should we do now?
– What ritual?! Okay, stop! “I finally stopped understanding anything.” First a ghost, now a ritual. A love spell or something else – this is the tenth thing. The main thing is that the result is obvious. Even if it’s not what you expected. “Ritual,” I repeated. – Real. That is, these are not fairy tales, not quackery, and not…
– Haven’t you studied ritualistics? – something like mockery suddenly appeared in the washings. – Retarded?
– You yourself are retarded! Do you believe in all sorts of nonsense? Also tell me that psychics, clairvoyants and hereditary dark witches are not scammers.
– Pfft! – this ghostly impudent woman snorted distinctly. – There are a lot of scammers, and idiots too. Because true strength is not given to everyone. But every educated magician should know what a ritual is!
– I! Not! Magician! – It didn’t sound impressive and weighty, as intended, but… yes, too – almost hysterical! Is she contagious, or what?!
– She is a fool. And I, it seems, am no better. Wait here!
The ghost disappeared – this time completely, and I sat on the floor and stared at my not-my hands. She brought her palms to her eyes. She clenched and unclenched her fists. Strangers, but mine?! No, mine – but strangers. Wrong ring, wrong manicure. There is no usual bracelet watch. But the skin is soft and silky, even after the best cream it’s not like that for me.
What am I wearing? Some kind of depressing hybrid of a lab coat and an evening dress – a long, ankle-length, unbuttoned robe made of white dense satin, under which, thank everything, there are quite normal, only too tight and bright trousers and a tight T-shirt. ?Very tight! And there is something to wear! I felt myself, then tried to look at it, then felt it again… Those are boobs! I couldn’t add a couple of sizes in an instant, could I?
In the heat of an argument with a hysterical ghost, I too easily accepted that I was not in my body. I almost forgot about it. But now the understanding has dawned – it’s true. For some reason, my brain immediately rejected the possibility that the “hereditary dark one” had drugged me or drugged me with some kind of rubbish. Any nonsense is based on what is known, but here…
I suddenly wanted to look in the mirror. But there are mirrors in this ritual… well, not the hall, obviously! Ritual closet? In general, there were no mirrors, and there was no powder compact or lipstick with a mirror in the pockets. It's generally depressingly empty. Only a single key, however, on a very unusual keychain. A round matte white plaque, similar to a large coin, glowed slightly or – what is it called?! – opalescent? I turned it over in my hands for a long time, trying to understand what kind of material it was. Perfectly smooth, pleasant to the touch. Not ceramic. Too heavy for plastic. Not metal. Bone? There are no such bones! The unknown material fascinated me, and I did not immediately notice the inscription, not embossed or applied on top, but as if fused inside, into the very depths of the keychain. ?PCiHBI. Abracadabra… ah, no, that's not all. ?PTsiHBI im. Panacea G. Hmm. Well, at least one word is familiar. It turns out that something related to medicine is already information.
Turning the strange keychain in my hands, I thought about moving again. If I am in the body of this hysterical ghost, and the ghost… well, he is a ghost – what about my dear and rightful body? Unconscious? In coma? Died? Not this! We must return to it when the ghostly girl understands where she made a mistake and corrects everything! Otherwise, it turns out that I’m looking after someone else’s apartment, and in the meantime there’s a fire, a flood and an invasion of robbers in mine?!
– Hey, how long should we wait? – I screamed. What if he hears? – Where are you? Are you thinking of bringing me back or not?!
– I don’t think so, because I can’t. “The girl floated right out of the wall, seemingly the same, white and translucent, but her voice sounded different. Smooth, muted, without hysterical notes. Otherworldly or something. It was completely freezing. – You won't come back.
– How can I not return? Why?! “I started to think wildly about everything at once: about the charlatan witch who probably had a hand in this outrage, and the ticket to Sydney bought last week. ? unfinished projects and materials not delivered on time, even about brazen red-haired Alice, whom she promised to feed and brush while Mrs. Wilburn sunbathed on the beach in Brighton.
– Wrong paths, dark, forgotten. They accepted the victim and closed. For good.
–What sacrifice? “I wanted to scream, but instead I squeezed out a barely audible whisper, because I already understood: I am the victim. The real one.
“I,” the girl seemed to echo. -You are still alive, but I am not.
– But if I’m alive, I need to be brought back to myself!
– Stupid. You are alive – here. In my body, but the body is not the main thing. You are still you.
– And you? “Somehow I immediately, instantly forgot my own irritation and indignation, giving way to acute, unusually painful sympathy.
– Not anymore. Time is lost, the paths are closed, the ritual is completed. The connection with the body is severed. If you hadn’t been pulled into it, a body would have been found here in the morning.
– What am I supposed to do?
It's not like I was expecting an answer. It seems clear and so – accept the situation and move on. But they gave me the answer, yes what!
– You must cheat fate. Bypass the curse, otherwise it will take two more lives.
– Wait! – I grabbed my head and shuddered, feeling thick wavy curls instead of the usual short haircut. – Wait, not so fast. You were talking about a ritual, not a curse! About the love spell ritual, I remembered an important detail. – A love spell can, of course, be considered a curse, but somehow… conditionally? More philosophically than…
“The one I was before was mistaken,” apparently, the ghost was tired of listening to my helpless babble. – Interfered with something that should not be interfered with. She called upon the wrong forces, spoke the wrong words. I'm sorry. I try to help. Now I see more, much more. I know something I never knew.
–What kind of curse?
– For love. You have a week. He does too. If there is no love, there will be no life. Both of you.
– I have?
“This body,” the ghost seemed to shrug. – So, you have it. And Dougal. And he didn’t even know about anything.
– Dougal is someone else… Is he even someone? Did I understand you correctly, did you cast a love spell on him? And now he has to fall in love with me?
“He’s into you, and you’re into him.”
– What if I don’t like him?
– You will die. Both. And guess what? – the ghost’s hair suddenly stood up, and he himself seemed to be filled with an otherworldly, deathly light. – If he dies, I won’t forgive you for this! I will find it even after death.
“Look,” I stood up and shook off my robe. – Don’t forgive yourself first. You started all this, not me. But I want to live, so let’s hope that I like your Dougal. At least a little.
– He was never mine. The one I was before… I'm sorry, I really am. The usual stupidity, an argument with girlfriends, a desire to please everyone, even him. No feelings except pride and selfishness.
– Yes… Well, you and… – You can’t even find words for this!
– If it could be fixed… But what’s done is done.
– What is your name? Or now me?
“Charlotte,” the ghost flew very close. – Charlotte Blair. Now it's time to get out of here. I'll show you everything you need. You can occupy the house, I grant you permission. Take a name, a job…
– Stop, stop, stop, who do you work for?
– Assistant to the Doctor of Magical Chemistry and Pharmacy, Head of the Department of Potions and Elixirs, Professor Dougal Norwood. The same one.
– Who should I fall in love with?
“And achieve reciprocal love,” Charlotte reminded. – You will understand how difficult this task is. He is not a very pleasant person to talk to. Genius, in a word.
– And I don’t even understand ordinary chemistry, much less pharmaceuticals. Not to mention… wait! Magical?! Where did I end up anyway? Is this still Earth? – Obviously, yes, since the ghost bears the quite ordinary name Charlotte, and there are Latin letters on the keychain. But magic?!
– Of course, Earth. England, if you want to be more precise. Panacea Academy.
– On the Earth that I know, magical chemistry does not exist in principle!
– ? here – exists.
– So, not Earth. Or a parallel world, but what difference does it make? In my opinion, both are impossible. Well, you… did a ritual! I should have my hands torn off for this.
“Who I was died for this.”
– What should I do? That idiot you were is your own fault, and what does it have to do with me?! – for some reason, the inability to return to my home, at least in someone else’s body, to feed Alice, to finish my work, and at least to catch my breath from all this nonsense, sitting in my favorite chair, hit me more painfully than the threat of death just a week later. The final verdict…
– And you were not in your world when everything happened, and without a body, by the way. So call it what you want – fate or an unfortunate coincidence, nothing will change. But this is also your fault. Don't look where you shouldn't. Especially if you are not prepared for this.
– So-so… So, that witch after all… killed me, or what?!
– Nobody killed you. I don't know what you used to call it. Astral travel, perhaps. That witch… I can't reach from here. I wanted to prove you wrong. But you didn't want to listen. And having found herself in a world beyond your understanding, she behaved like… I don’t know, the paths were closed. The ritual brought you here. And let's get back to what's important. What happened has already happened.
– Oh yes. And now I have a week to avoid completely dying. – I had to try to focus on the “important”. – In short, we settled on the fact that an assistant to a professor, and even more so a genius, I would be like a ballerina out of an elephant. “I sighed and admitted the main thing: “I understand even less about love than I do about chemistry.” Unless, of course, you take into account the unhappy and unrequited one. Maybe it's easier to quit right away? To spend the last week of my life in revelry, to fly to Sydney… I've been wanting to for a long time… is there Sydney in this world?
– Eat. But first you will do everything in your power,” Charlotte responded in an unquestioning tone. – It needs to be corrected, changed, the way it is now is not good. There is only one death on my soul for now, and I don’t want yours too. She said, I’ll help. Come on, I’ll take you home and tell you about Charlotte, about work, about the rest. You must not give yourself away, otherwise it will become very difficult to correct. You will work next to him, and in a week… one way or another something will change. – She disappeared, only to immediately lean out waist-deep from the wall. – Go!
– Where?! “I tried the locked door. There was no hint of a keyhole under the round handle.
– The key is in your hands. Place your pass on the door. This one,” she pointed to the keychain.
Indeed, as soon as he brought it to the lock, the door opened.
“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:
