Fall in love in a weekwe get by

– Certainly! I like to look at photographs – by the way, the honest truth, especially if the pictures were taken unexpectedly, and not in a studio for retouching. – They can be very… honest, perhaps.

There were no photo albums in this world. We came into a small room, where opposite the already familiar screen wall and the “rubber” platform in front of it stood a cozy sofa and a small table. Probably to drink tea in front of the TV without descending into arguments with the announcer. A short smooth gesture and the screen lit up.

“Dougal,” Sabella said briefly. And she asked when a scattering of tiny pictures appeared on the screen. – Is it very difficult for you, Sally? In our world? If not for this monstrous ritual, would you have become interested or at least gotten used to it? After all, for a person who has never mastered magic, everything here probably looks very strange,” she nodded at the screen. – Portals, spells, tea and puddings out of nowhere?

“It’s hard to find yourself… out of your mind,” I joked sadly. – Lose everything you're used to. Work… my favorite job, yes. It’s probably really for the best that the person you love suddenly wasn’t there. ? here – here it’s interesting.

– ? your parents? – Sabella asked carefully, as if she was afraid to touch on a sore subject.

– Seven years ago. Car accident.

“I’m very sorry,” it sounded much more sincere than all the “sorry” for the ghost of Charlotte. “My father died when I was nine, but I still remember him, young, cheerful, as if he was always there. Well,” she added after a pause. – If we want you to work tomorrow and not fall asleep in piles of correspondence, then we need to hurry up. Of course, I can give you an elixir of vigor, but it has side effects that Dougal will not be able to ignore.

She waved her hand again, and instead of small pictures, one large one appeared on the screen. It's not even a TV. This is some kind of multifunctional TV-computer! Unless you have to click the mouse.

– Here you go, Sir Bradlington, the one who has the skills of oral speech. Teacher of natural history and natural magic. Well, his mantle belongs to Dougal. They got along great.

A thin gentleman in a cap, with a brushed mustache and a square chin, sported a striped suit and a bamboo cane. He stood, apparently, at the entrance to the school, and behind him a flock of kids about five or six years old was stomping around; one of the boys actually dressed up in a black robe that evoked memories of Oxford graduates. Well, as soon as I dressed up, I drowned in it – that would be more accurate! The robe fell in beautiful folds, spread along the wide steps like a royal train, and a curly, uncut crown stuck out from above and dark eyes sparkled provocatively.

– And that’s later. High school. Dougal with Rosa Aleus. Next to him is his friend, Chester Fully. Now he is one of the leading healers in Britain.

Rosa Leus was not a girl at all, as I thought for a moment, but… probably something like that same royal turnip. I mean, a victim, that is, a product of another experiment. An unidentifiable (by me, at least) plant that looks like… nothing like anything! A little from rose hips, a little from cabbage, something almost imperceptible from an orchid…

– This Rose was their project. You see – twelve rhizomes. And usually – seven, in rare cases – any odd number up to eleven. Nobody believed that they would succeed.

– Lord, what is this?! Is it… moving?! Or it seemed to me? – I didn’t see any rhizomes at all, except that they were the same moving tentacles, one of which was gently stroked by the round-cheeked, freckled Chester Fully. Dougal did not show any tenderness towards Rose, but she affectionately wrapped three tentacles around his wrist at once. And she even, it seems, tried to press a juicy curly leaf to her cheek.

– Yes, this is straight up… some kind of love triangle! – I exclaimed.

Sabella laughed.

–You're almost right. Rosa lived with us for another ten years, can you imagine? This is an amazing plant, difficult to care for, very rare and, one might say, intelligent. True, Dougal was never particularly interested in botany. He always liked chemistry better. ? Chester adored Rose, he read sonnets to her when he came to visit. Shakespeare. “What does the name mean? “oza smells like a rose”… Roses Aleus are partial to poetry and music.

I probably looked completely stunned. Intelligent plants, partial to sonnets! And Shakespeare too! Did our William Shakespeare really travel around the world? Or is this world almost a reflection of ours?

Or maybe, on the contrary, the reflection is ours?

“You are tired,” Sabella said softly. – Maybe we can see the rest tomorrow?

“Let’s do it tomorrow,” I agreed with relief. – That is, thank you, Sabella, I would be happy to. I just seem to have an overabundance of information – my head is swelling.

– Open the portal to the living room whenever you want. Miss Blair showed you how, didn't she?

– She showed me, but… Do you have any means of communication? Should I warn you?

– About the visit? No, of course, why? I'll hear when you come.

“I guess you just have to get used to all this.” Okay, I'll come by after work. Thanks for the invitation. And… for your understanding,” she added quietly.

“I’ll try to contact a ritualist I know, but I’m afraid we won’t be able to fix anything.” Ancient rituals, unfortunately, cannot be neutralized. How she could do such a thing is beyond my comprehension. – Sabella sighed heavily. – Don't despair, Sally. Dougal is not a bad person at all. Maybe too harsh and withdrawn, but not bad. Just please don't wear anything provocative or too bright. He can't stand this at work.

– I understand him very well! – I answered with feeling. – These terrible crimson trousers! Why else would I rush out at night looking to order normal clothes?

I was so tired that I was afraid not to get home – that is, to Charlotte's cottage, I must already call it home. But it turned out that my head, overloaded to the point of complete inability to think, was not at all an obstacle to movement: my body automatically made the necessary gesture, and I stepped from Sabella’s living room to Charlotte’s naturally and easily, as if I had been visiting guests this way all my life.

I barely had enough strength to go up to the bedroom, take off my clothes and crawl under the covers. I felt a cool, soft pillow under my cheek and fell into sleep as if into an abyss.

CHAPTER 2. Day two: Wednesday

“Day two,” I muttered, opening the portal with the usual wave of my hand. After pizza and coffee for breakfast, in a strict white blouse and black trousers, I felt… no, not at all as confident as I would like. But at least it's acceptable. I don’t sleep on the go, no crimson pants – that’s already happiness. And if you consider that “Rizella Amtown” was, it seems, the name of the master? – cast a self-smoothing spell on the clothes… Or what else can you call it when you take a blouse out of a bundle, and it unfolds right in your hands and becomes perfectly ironed, just put it on? It even became interesting, is this part of the services of an expensive high-status salon or is it in the order of things in this world? And there is no one to ask; Charlotte never returned.

I arrived at the Academy earlier than yesterday; the large clock above the professor’s desk said ten minutes to ten. But he was already sitting with a newspaper, exactly like yesterday – he’s spending the night here, or what?!

“Good morning, professor,” I indicated my presence.

– The disease progresses and threatens to develop into a chronic stage. “He looked at his watch and again buried his face in the newspaper, and I suddenly remembered how the Dougal boy sternly turned away from the sheet of Rose … what’s her name, who was stroking him? Aurus? Aleus? And she could barely contain an inappropriate smile. – During the third couple I have a meeting in London. If you cannot agree on a replacement, please notify us immediately. There will be something to keep them busy.

– Fine. I will solve this issue right now.

Fortunately, yesterday I already had to deal with the schedule, and I knew where to run and who to contact. Otherwise, it is unknown how she would have gotten out of it. The deputy director for academic affairs, a stern, gray-haired lady, was accustomed to Charlotte’s frequent visits and changed the schedule without question. This time I was even happy:

– How fortunate, Professor Levy just asked for extra hours for chimerologists.

That's what I reported when I returned. And she sat down to sort out the mail.

Today the professor had little correspondence; at first glance, nothing particularly urgent. I drove away the obsessive thought that even the urgent might soon become irrelevant for him. She followed the straight back in the black jacket, looked at the clock – second by second, the utmost degree of punctuality. It's probably easy to be punctual when traveling through portals – no traffic jams, random encounters or sudden changes to the usual route.

The letters, arranged in piles, went to the professor’s desk, and I took up the newspapers. It's time to see what's happening in this world!

I don’t know whether Professor Norwood watched the press so carefully, or whether the same set was delivered to all departments, but on his table were all, apparently, more or less popular publications, from the Times and the Daily Telegraph to a funny newspaper with the title “Positive news” and several sheets of free advertisements. That's where I started. After all, how else can you quickly and thoroughly get acquainted with the new world while sitting at your workplace without the right to leave and the opportunity to chat with the same unfortunate people tired of work? And it was interesting what the local press is like – from a professional point of view.

She grabbed the entire pack and took it to the table, which at the department served as either a general worker or a lunch table – empty and clean, occupied only by a kettle, always full of boiling water, and a decanter with always ice-cold water. A convenient piece of magic… Cups and a supply of sugar, cream and biscuits were stored in a cabinet nearby, on the top shelf. The bottom two were filled with test tubes and bottles of reagents and brought to mind jokes about biologists who had dead mice stacked in the refrigerator next to their sandwiches, awaiting dissection. Thank you for not talking about the morgue and pathologists…

I made strong black coffee, poured crackers onto the saucer and unfolded the top leaf. Well what can I say. Beautiful, catchy, stylish. Bright colors, fairly thick paper, good layout. It's nice to hold it in your hands. As for the content… The very first ad made me choke.

“An experienced magician-ritualist provides advice on creating individual rituals.”

What is this, you ask? A hint from the universe? Sign of fate? But Sabella argued that no ritualists would help in my case, although she promised to still find someone for consultation. We need to show her. I could hardly resist not immediately hiding the piece of paper in my purse. It’s better to ask permission, at least out of politeness.

I looked at my watch – forty minutes left until the end of the class. For now, I’ll read what else the universe offers…

“Recharging amulets, updating enchantments, enchanting objects of any complexity from scratch on a turnkey basis.” Will it be useful or not? Ask Charlotte if any charms in the house need updating? The gaze darted across the sheet chaotically, drawn to the bright frames. The most ordinary “buy-sell-search” side by side with the same “buy-sell-search”, but completely incredible for the world I was familiar with. In fact, “I’ll buy a piano inexpensively” or “I’ll give away a crib for half the price”, and next…

“A young female pointy-eared manticore is looking for a boy to mate with. Red color, excellent pedigree, exhibition diplomas.” Brrr… I can just see an exalted lady in stiletto heels, embarrassed to say the words “male” and “bitch.” And it doesn’t matter that it’s not a collie or a Doberman, but a manticore – breeders in all worlds are probably the same. So, if you suddenly need a manticore on your farm, don’t look here.

“A nanny with a quick response is urgently needed. The child is 3 years old and has learned to open portals.” Hmmm, what else is this? Sweeping across the ad in black ink. “For the child – a nanny, for the mother – brains!”

I rushed to the professor's desk. Somewhere here lay his work diary… No, I don’t have the bad habit of rummaging through other people’s notes, although sometimes it can be very useful. But look at the handwriting…