Miss Norwood smiled, picking up another piece with a spoon.
“Not that much,” I almost blurted out the “I didn’t try it” that would have burned to the very core – she was amazingly conducive to frankness. She was struck with a sudden panic – how closely had the real Charlotte communicated with her? “Yes, Mrs. Norwood is often here”… But where – here? Judging by the manner of work of Professor Norwood, he would not tolerate visits to the department even from his beloved mother. Maybe in the same village where Charlotte lives? They could have crossed paths there by chance.
I don’t even know how “small” the world is of those involved in one way or another with the Panacea Academy! Maybe the mother of the professor and world luminary knows everyone there, or maybe just one or two who work next to her son or are friends with him. If he even has friends at the Academy, Charlotte didn’t mention them.
Well, one way or another, now I need to establish contact. Despite the fact that there are no topics for conversation, no clues or common interests. Perhaps Dougal, but you can’t say straight out: “I need to find out about your son! As much and as detailed as possible!”
“Besides, at the Academy, thoughts are occupied with everything but the taste of pudding,” I said with a smile. You can’t head-on – approach from afar, in tricky zigzags, or circle like a hungry shark, approaching the target. As best you can. Pick up the crumbs until a large and truly valuable piece falls. “Sometimes it seems like you don’t even notice what you had for lunch.” Enough more exciting problems.
Miss Norwood looked at me with surprise and interest.
– Is it true? Wow, I…” she suddenly seemed to change her mind about finishing what she was going to say, took a sip of tea and silently put the cup down. – If work makes you forget about puddings, but does not cause irritation, then this is the right choice and great happiness, isn’t it?
“It’s not that I never doubted my choice,” it seemed right to “confess,” because if I, we succeed, I’ll probably want to return to journalism, and not sit over papers at the department. “But I like to know that I’m doing the right thing, and not some nonsense.” Besides, the Academy is really interesting! It’s just a pity that I myself didn’t…” I paused and hastily took a sip of tea. Let him think for me. She didn’t have a hand in many interesting things, she wasn’t capable of anything more than being an assistant—anything. Getting someone to finish your sentence is a great way to get to know them better. Well… or not him – but what he thinks about you. ? for me now – I still can’t say too much, if suddenly she knows Charlotte better than I think.
– Not an academician? – asked Miss Norwood, and seemed to be joking, but her voice was rather thoughtful. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to hear something like this from you,” she suddenly added.
I always thought that “my heart skipped a beat” was just a beautiful, but extremely stupid phrase. It turns out that it happens… I have established, as they say, contact! You have to know how to pierce yourself in five minutes.
– ? what did you expect to hear? – I pretended to take a sip of tea. Gain a couple of seconds, come to your senses. Decide what to do next. Admit? Turn it into a joke? Run away?
– I work in the most prestigious institution in Britain. We light up the stars. And I'm proud to be involved in this. This is a great honor. And Dr. Norwood is a wonderful boss. Oh, sorry, I have to run, otherwise he will be extremely unhappy. And he shouldn’t be dissatisfied, because he is a world-class luminary! And together we light the stars…” Miss Norwood grinned. – Something like that. What a mistake it is to judge people by their first impression. I'm really sorry. And I’ve never noticed such a habit before.
You managed to get into the carcass of a prestige-obsessed fool! No, come what may, but…
– It looks like her. And it's very sad. And you obviously know how to make the right impression. You know, Miss Norwood, I’m not at all sorry that I’m not an academic and I don’t light up the stars. But it's a pity that I'm Charlotte Blair. Because she did a colossal stupidity, and now it’s unknown how to get out of it.
The already large blue eyes widened, but, to give credit where credit is due, this amazing woman did not drop the cup or exclaim something like “Oh my God!” and didn’t even conduct an interrogation on the spot.
“I think, Miss Blair, we need to talk.” But a fashion salon is not suitable for such conversations.
– But you wanted something here…
“He’ll wait,” Miss Norwood stood up, and I jumped up after her.
I was ready to leave without waiting for my order – sometimes even eternal skeptics like me believe in signs of fate! But here is the master – or is it the mistress? – came out to us with a voluminous package of my new clothes. The old Charlotte probably never thanked her so warmly. Why else would there be such amazement?
– Sorry, Grisella, I’ll come by tomorrow morning. Suddenly I remembered an urgent matter. Memory… – Miss Norwood waved her hand, opening the portal, and added quietly, inviting her to enter first: – The only thought when you see this: split personality.
“But this is not it,” and I stepped onto the fluffy cream carpet in the small living room.
***
I sunk into a soft chair, clutching a cup of tea, and didn’t know where to start. Miss Norwood was in no hurry. She sat opposite me, looking out from under her eyelashes, as if she was looking for ten differences between me and the real Charlotte.
There was no point in beating around the bush, but it was worth starting with the main thing.
– Charlotte died. I was possessed by her body, and she is now a ghost. He flies nearby and repeats how sorry he is. ? What's the point of being sorry? I messed something up in the ritual. “I paused, wondering if it would be possible to also bluntly reveal that I’m not the only one in head-over-heels problems. Still, as an adviser, I liked Miss Norwood much more than the ghost Charlotte. – In a love spell ritual. On her and Professor Norwood.
– To Dougal?! But, Bran the Blessed! For what? After all… nothing connected them.
– You said it yourself – there, in the salon. “He is a world-class luminary, and together we light the stars.” Becoming the wife of a luminary is much more prestigious than being a simple assistant. Which they notice only when they forget to close the doors behind themselves or show up to the laboratory with their hair down. No, she was not in love with the professor. But she really wanted his attention.
– Right. Too much ambition and empty bravado,” Miss Norwood stood up and grabbed herself by the shoulders, as if she was freezing or trying to control herself not only figuratively. “She knew that such dark magic requires sacrifice.” Always! We all know this!
– Dark magic?! – probably, to say that I was amazed would be a gross understatement. – Love spell?
– Not a simple love spell. Ritual. For ordinary girlish stupidity, a potion is enough, it can be removed easily, but if Miss Blair performed a ritual… Oh yes, very dark and ancient magic.
“I would never have thought… Sorry,” I realized, “it was probably a stupid question, right?” But where I was drawn from, there is no magic at all. Only quackery and superstition. I don't understand this stuff at all.
Miss Norwood turned to me and looked very softly, with sympathy.
–Where did you get attracted to? And how did this happen? Ancient, forgotten forces walk only along the paths of spirits. They don't care about mortals until they call.
– I definitely didn’t call! But… – the living, arrogant face of the “hereditary dark witch” appeared before my eyes: heavy eyelids, upturned chin, lips, inaudible whisper… – I am a journalist. I was doing a report… just about magic. About what our scammers pass off as magic. Apparently, since magic exists in principle, a real witch could be found among those scammers? She claimed that she was hereditary and, by the way,