Fall in love in a weekwe get by

While I, carefully choosing censorship words, talked about what happened, Dougal appeared. I turned around at the sound of the door opening and met his gaze. Absolutely unreadable.

– Mr. Stanley? I was told that my assistant is with you. I hope she's okay?

“Now yes,” the doctor said with satisfaction. – But, since this is your assistant, take the trouble to provide her with two or three days of gentle exercise.

–What did she have?

Why does he say that I'm not here?! Was he really that angry that I pulled him out of these damned dungeons?

– The most serious thing is a concussion. Bruises, signs of recent magical exhaustion.

– Little things. Have you finished, or are there still some procedures left?

– Miss Blair has already received all the necessary treatment.

–Then can we go?

“Go,” Mr. Stanley graciously agreed, looked at his watch, and exclaimed: “detour!” – and rushed off without even saying goodbye.

Dougal followed him with his gaze, nodded with satisfaction and finally looked at me.

“I would have said that you were prone to unreasonable panic if it weren’t for Mr. Whiteley.” He, unlike me, needed the help of doctors.

I got up.

– When you started needing her, it would be too late. Fatally late. You can't afford to spend two days unconscious in a hospital bed. Not now.

– Are these your assumptions, or am I missing something?

– Do not know. I will tell. But,” I sighed, “let’s not go here.” I can't stand hospitals.

– Me too. Let's go. – Dougal quickly turned around and left. I hurried after. He probably knew where to go, where the area open to portals was, but I had no idea. And, thoroughly frightened by the latest events and discoveries, she did not want to explore the world around her blindly. Another “exemplary suicide attempt”? No thanks!

We went out into the hospital courtyard, small, paved with light brick and, it seemed, covered with climatic spells – it was warm and dry, there were benches, and asters and dahlias bloomed in a round flowerbed. Dougal took my hand and squeezed…

The next moment we found ourselves in a room unfamiliar to me.

Spacious and quite bright. The walls are lined with dark wood bookcases. A small round table in the center, soft armchairs of a pleasant olive color and a huge window behind partially closed curtains of the same shade. I looked around, not hiding my curiosity. Are we at Dougal's? He just took me and brought me to his home?!

“Sit down,” Dougal nodded towards the chairs. – I don’t offer coffee; it’s not recommended after concussions. There will be tea. With mixture number two thousand eight hundred nine, if you're wondering about the name again.

I went to the window. Second floor. Below is a lawn strewn with fallen leaves. In the distance is a forest or park. No neighbors in sight. An almost uninhabited island, if not for the Academy towers on the hill in the distance emerging through the fog. Quiet. After the howling and laughter of the ghosts, the silence was especially pleasing.

– Your tea, Miss Sullivan.

– Thank you.

I sat down and took a cup. I inhaled the aroma. It smelled like strawberries.

– So?

I took a sip – delicious. Dougal glared at me impatiently. It took five minutes to retell the conversation with the Ghost Bear. But then I had to explain how I even knew about him, and how he knew about me, Dougal and the curse. And about our acquaintance with Sabella. I even admitted that I had seen photographs of him as a child.

“Not too fair,” he noted, “I haven’t seen yours.”

– I look terribly funny at them. And ridiculous, to be honest. No, I would show it, but… you understand.

– Yeah. Insurmountable circumstances.

“I’m blond,” I admitted. – And she has a haircut. Very short, like a boy. I don’t have Charlotte’s mane, and what I do have, there’s no point in growing it out. But as a child they tried to make me into a good girl. Those ugly skinny ponytails. I hated them.

– What about pigtails? You know, two of them… also skinny, but with lush bows.

“It’s like tying a bow on a rat’s tail.” Nightmarish.

“Self-critical,” Dougal snorted and narrowed his eyes. – You talked about good things yesterday on the shore. ? What do you consider good about yourself? It makes no sense to start with me, because I can hardly name anything other than the ability to compare the obvious and, perhaps, some talent in certain scientific fields. Yes, you yourself managed to notice. In fact, I shouldn’t consider it a personal merit that most of the time I can communicate with people without calling them idiots to their face.

– In that laboratory… well, until it exploded… I was tempted to ask you for a master class on dealing with students. I can’t do it like that… beautifully. Although, it would seem, the profession obliges. That is, others think so. In fact, a good journalist should be better at listening than talking.

– And, I believe, in the correct order, make words from letters, and sentences from words.

– Should this be considered something special?