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.
I examined the contents of her – now my – purse back at lunch; there was a wallet, in it – unfamiliar coins and a thick pack of plastic cards. Two bank ones and a bunch of bonus ones. By the way, I received a free lunch for employees by presenting my key fob. More precisely, by applying it to the identification plate at the checkout. Comfortable. But they didn’t serve dinner in the academic canteen.
“Order here,” the ghost chose a card with a delicious picture of pizza. – You're hungry, and they have fast delivery. Just pick it up and think about the menu, a communication window will open.
What can I say – it’s more convenient than the phone and even the Internet! I chose a large pizza with mushrooms and a salad, added fruit juice to my order, and at the last moment added beer. I don’t like him too much, but it’s a shame to end up in another world and not be able to compare? Moreover, there may be very little time for comparison.
Thoughts turned to the professor. While I very much doubted that I would be able not only to make him fall in love with me, but even to fall in love myself. He didn’t evoke any disgust or rejection, but he didn’t evoke any positive emotions either. Demanding, corrosive boss. He nitpicks over little things. He’s not rude, but… honestly, it would be better to be rude! If I had been a little more impressionable, his chillingly polite remarks could have brought me to tears. Noticeably distances himself. This is reasonable behavior for a boss, but it makes my task even more impossible. As if it weren’t already almost impossible!
Just one day – and even in my thoughts I call this cracker exclusively a professor! An amazing start to a romantic love story.
– Tell about him.
“You’ve already seen it,” it seems, this was an objection. Or surprise? In general, I understood that the ghost considers the information given out in the morning to be exhaustive and is not eager to repeat it.
–What kind of person is he? – I decided to be persistent – in the end, my life or death may well depend on the exact answer! – The world's luminary – understandable. Head of the department – I've seen enough today. But if you put the scientist, the boss and the teacher aside, what remains? It is not the doctor and the professor who should fall in love, but Dougal Norwood. And the doctor and professor did not inspire me either. Maybe the person will be more interesting.
Charlotte froze, perhaps even froze in place, as if plunged into deep thought. It looked, frankly, scary. Not only is it a ghost, but also a motionless ghost in the middle of a nice little kitchen, flooded with sunset light from the windows.
– Hey! – I couldn’t stand it. – Are you still here?
“It’s strange,” she finally woke up, floated across the kitchen and hovered by the window. – The man Dougal Norwood is not in Charlotte's memories. Doctor, luminary, boss, man, but all this is very general, schematic. Dislikes public speaking, students, almost everyone, with rare exceptions, open doors and tea. It seems that's it.
– Few. – Actually, practically nothing: I already understood about the doors, but inviting the professor to tea… well, it’s already clear that it’s a failed idea. – What does he like?
– Brew potions. But this is already clear,” Charlotte paused, as if she was listening to something or really carefully examining the living memory of who she was before. – Silence. Your own personal laboratory. Still a mother. Yes, Mrs. Norwood comes here often, I remember something like this… Lemon cinnamon pudding. The last time Charlotte ordered in advance was in London.
Hopeless, I thought for the hundredth time. Even if he is not a mama’s boy, but just a man who loves his mother, it doesn’t matter. Worst competition ever. Especially if the man is one of those “married to his work.”
– Sydney.
– No. I'll try to find out more. Need time. Can you cope here without me?
– How can we cope? Dinner will be brought. I'll find a bedroom.
– Fine. – Charlotte disappeared again, like yesterday in the ritual room. And I suddenly thought that I didn’t even know where her front door was, let alone open it. And she went looking. And in general – look around.
It is unlikely that Charlotte was particularly neat – I did not notice that special, ideally symmetrical order that is achieved only by boring pedantry. A winter coat was still hanging in the hallway, and closed shoes were next to sandals. But the cleanliness reigned in perfection – of course, if it can be achieved with a wave of the hand. Millions of housewives will envy them with black envy…
The front door opened with a light touch, although it was locked – I heard a quiet click of the lock. The door, by the way, was unusual, although in London you can sometimes see such in old houses. With a square viewing window covered with a bronze grille and a bronze door knocker, polished to a red shine, in the form of a coiled dragon. But I didn’t find a bell, a very ordinary doorbell. What is it – guests are knocking here? And how, I wonder, can you hear from the second floor?
From the outside, the cottage looked like a fairy tale house. The red brick was barely visible through the green ivy and blooming climbing roses, white and deep scarlet. The small front garden is full of flowers – tall mallows, bright multi-colored phlox, a Chinese lilac bush, asparagus lace and bluish hosta leaves, lush petunias and nasturtiums in flowerpots floating in the air without any noticeable support… Magic? For some reason I couldn’t believe that Charlotte had created such beauty herself. Very thoughtful combinations of colors, the work of a garden designer is visible. And how to take care of all this? It seems that, in addition to watering, you need some kind of fertilizing? I'll have to ask. In a week, if…
The sun was falling behind the hilly horizon. The scarlet sunset evoked thoughts that were very far from optimistic. “So where is the vaunted fast delivery?” I returned to the house in irritation.
The order was waiting on the table in the living room. Pizza, fruit drink, beer. Advertising booklet. What, no couriers? What about payment? Okay, questions can be put off until Charlotte returns. I'll go find a glass. I'll be drinking booze down my throat in a week. Not earlier.