Fall in love in a weekwe get by

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.