Читать бесплатно онлайн книгу автора  Escort for the Witch

Veronika Grossman

Contents

To my dear family — for constant support, faith and love.

To my Dear Mommy — for the endless warmth and light that you give.

To my Dad — for a kind heart and a strong shoulder.

To my beloved daughters — for the happiness that you bring into my life daily.

To my sister — for always inspiring me with optimism and self-confidence.

To my true friends — for the fact that, no matter what, you are always there for me.

Chapter 1

So it all happened…

Sabrina woke up in a strange daze. “What’s that noise?” echoed quickly in the depths of her foggy consciousness. Rising abruptly from the bed, the girl absent-mindedly brushed her hair from her forehead and, trying to shake off the heavy sleep, glanced out the wide-open window. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just the dim light of a street lamp desperately trying to penetrate the gloomy haze. Another crash in the depths of the hall finally dispelled the remnants of her sleep and brought the girl back to the cold reality.

“Eric!” she exclaimed tiredly. “I’ll kill you! Four in the morning! Why the hell aren’t you sleeping?” With a careless gesture, Sabrina threw a robe over her shoulders and briskly headed for the hall, trying to make herself look as menacing as possible, while trying to remember where she had hidden the baseball bat. She stepped into the hall and instantly froze, noticing in the far corner a rather intoxicated-looking young man. The guy was squatting, clutching his head in his hands, and groaning loudly and mournfully.

“Eric, you’re at it again,” the girl said dolefully as she sat down next to the the young man’s almost immobilized body.

“Hey, sweetheart!” he whispered softly in a gentle, melodious voice that suggested he had consumed more than a shot of tequila. “I’ve come home,” he said, hiding his drunken gaze. “Tell me you’re at least glad to see me. You are glad, aren’t you?”

The young man, his eyes glassy and expressionless, stared at Sabrina, gave up trying to say another word, and only raised his hand, covered his eyes, and let out a hollow, despairing groan.

Concerned to the core, Sabrina reached out to her brother’s alcohol-saturated body. Before she could say anything in response, a loud click of the opening front door shattered the almost quiet idyll of the cool southern night. Sabrina looked, puzzled, at the door, through which appeared a tall, dark figure. She squinted angrily and remembered the baseball bat again. Suddenly, the figure, clearly trying not to make any unnecessary noise and move as quietly as possible, stumbled over a nearby basket containing umbrellas, canes, and various paraphernalia, among which, incidentally, was the fore-said bat.

“For heaven’s sake, Eric, are you trying to save on electricity?” the newcomer grumbled in a low, raspy voice and, muttering under his breath, flicked the switch.

With a preconceived hatred, Sabrina glared into the green eyes of a young man, who suddenly froze at the unexpected encounter. Sabrina was ready to pounce on him and tear him to pieces, just so this spawn of hell would never approach her brother again or even come near her house. However, she soon realized it wasn’t the best idea. The unwanted guest’s towering figure and well-developed muscles would not allow her to successfully carry out her plan. All she could do was put her hands on her hips, furrow her brows menacingly, and listen to yet another improbable tale of her brother’s misadventures. The young man momentarily closed his eyes as if trying to dispel the frightening sight, and when he opened them again his, entire demeanor expressed humility and the inevitability of the impending argument. He slowly shifted his gaze from Sabrina’s angry face to the peacefully snoring body of his friend and prepared himself to endure another tirade in his honor, which didn’t take long to arrive.

“What a wonderful opportunity to knock you out, Jack. And strangely enough, the reason presents itself,” Sabrina muttered in a quiet, angry voice, once again assessing the tall stature and athletic figure of the uninvited guest. The guy clearly didn’t expect to encounter a girl, let alone find himself almost tête-a-tête with her. With a nimble movement of his hand, he brushed away a fallen strand of dark hair from his face and smiled innocently, trying to find support from his “tipsy” friend. And despite Eric miraculously coming to his senses, his attempt to seek help from him turned out to be utterly hopeless.

“Oops, Sabi, what a surprise meeting! I suppose Eric went a bit overboard today. But as they say, anything can happen, right?” the guy said softly, glancing intently at the hostile figure before him and smiling innocently. The anger reflected in the pre-dawn blue eyes, and apparently, this anger was about to pour down on him, poor hapless Jack.

“Oh, come on!,” he conciliated. “Smile!”

“I’ll smile only when I knock you out, Jack! I’ll grab that bat and fix your nose!” Sabrina growled angrily, crossing her arms over her chest, awaiting explanations for the unwanted arrival. “What did you do to Eric? You got him drunk!” Sabrina interrogated without giving him a chance to recover.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead, blame me for all mortal sins! But it’s not my fault your brother can’t handle his liquor,” Jack teased and looked towards the kitchen, where during their short altercation, the slightly subdued Eric was now avidly rummaging under the kitchen table.

Jack took a deep breath and turned his gaze back to the girl.

“Hey, I’m as sober as a judge. And don’t look at me like you’re holding a golf club and are about to use it. And not for its intended purpose. He called me and started mumbling something about Sara not understanding him and… and all that jazz…” Sabrina continued to look at Jack with theatrical indifference, listening attentively to yet another story of her brother’s misfortunate adventures.

“Could you switch anger for mercy? By the way, I’ve scoured almost every bar in town looking for your dear brother,” Jack said nervously and with obvious exaggeration, pushing car keys into Sabrina’s hand. “Here, hold onto these while I drag your brother to a more convenient place for him to come to his senses.”

“Yeah, I have to give Jack credit, If it weren’t for him, Eric would be spending the night who knows where and who knows how this would have ended,” that’s all Sabrina could think, and slowly she headed to the kitchen where Jack was trying to at least slightly sober up the drunken youth who was already snoring loudly on the floor.

“Well, what can I say? Your little brother broke all records for drinking in some insanely extreme competition with himself. The desperate psycho,” Jack said with a laugh and, lifting Eric by the arms, attempted to put him on his feet. “You know, it’s a good thing you moved down from the second floor to here. At least I won’t have to drag this drunken monster upstairs.”

“It’s up to you,” Sabrina muttered quietly to herself, watching as Jack effortlessly lifted Eric onto his shoulders, slung him over, and dragged his lifeless, alcohol-saturated body into the room.

Sabrina stood silently in the kitchen, watching the light, semi-transparent rays of the rising sun play outside the window. In her dark blue eyes, you could read nothing but a sense of mad exhaustion and complete emptiness. The last two months at work had been a nightmare, as the massive influx of tourists had required her to work double shifts. Summer in New Orleans had been hot and filled with various festivals and celebrations, attracting a considerable number of onlookers and adventure enthusiasts to the city. By the end of August, the stream of tourists flooding New Orleans throughout the summer had finally begun to dissipate, indicating the imminent arrival of autumn and the beginning of classes at the university. This meant that she would again face sleepless nights over books, notes, and other joys of student life. And, of course, work, her irresponsible brother, and other delights associated with his penchant for a wild lifestyle and various escapades. She felt completely drained and shattered.

Sabrina closed her eyes and shuddered at the thought of the upcoming autumn. Everything around her dimmed and sank into hopeless sorrow… Immersed in her sad thoughts, Sabrina didn’t even notice Jack approach the kitchen and stand by the door frame, trying not to disturb her brooding. Reluctantly, he glanced at the lonely clock, on the table — five in the morning.

“Not that it’s late, but still too early for visits,” Jack decided and cleared his throat, trying to get Sabrina’s attention.

“I’m not opposed to taking a walk, but it would be silly not to use the car waiting for me with open doors,” he said softly, glancing at the clock again.

The girl flinched as if caught off guard, sharply turned around, and her beautifully arched eyebrows furrowed in anger once again.

“Sorry, I didn’t notice you come in,” Sabrina whispered and glanced shyly at the attractive young man still standing in the doorway.

“Maybe you want some coffee or breakfast?” she murmured after a short pause, then averted her gaze, noticing genuine surprise on Jack’s face and a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Wow, I’m shocked,” he whispered, raising his beautifully arched eyebrows in surprise.

Sabrina snorted impatiently, turned away, and started rearranging the kitchen towels, previously neatly stacked on the table.

“No, seriously, where’s the lecture on the harm I’ve caused to your brother as a result of our interaction?” Jack asked with interest, unable to hide the mischievous smile that reappeared on his lips.

“Let’s save it for next time,” Sabrina retorted sarcastically, casting Jack a stern look. “Knowing Eric and you, I can confidently say that the next time will happen in less than twenty hours.”

“Witch,” Jack said and chuckled, revealing a row of perfectly white teeth. “And now, give me the keys, and I won’t torment you with my presence anymore. At least for the next twenty hours.”

“You’re such a…” Sabrina hissed and tossed the car keys into the young man’s outstretched hand, making it clear with her whole demeanor that his visit for the day was over.

Meanwhile, Jack’s mood only improved; he winked at her and walked out of the house leisurely, whistling a cheerful tune. Sabrina, on the other hand, returned to her post by the window and furtively watched as the tall, handsome, man walked to a black Chevrolet Camaro parked across the street. He stopped, lit a cigarette after some contemplation, and then got into the car. Slowly rolling down the window, he glanced back at his old friend’s house. His eyes caught the beautiful but somewhat troubled face of the girl watching him with interest. Sabrina blushed under his piercing gaze and, unable to contain her emotions, abruptly pulled the curtain. Jack gave a weary smile, started the engine, and sped off into the dawn.

Chapter 2

Damned mission. Whatever That Means…

With the first days of September, real fall suddenly arrived in New Orleans. The cozy warmth of the departing summer was filled with restless gusts of still warm but already crisp wind, lazily wrecking the gilded foliage of the summer-sick trees.

Jack parked his car near the administrative building of the University of New Orleans, lit a cigarette and got out. The young man’s green eyes expressed extreme dissatisfaction with the weather.

“Well, well,” he thought, and squinted at the sky, veiled with heavy gray clouds, hoping to glimpse at least a tiny ray of sunshine in it. Never before in his memory had September in New Orleans been so gloomy.

“Well, such things happen sometimes too.” Jack leisurely finished his cigarette and headed towards the university office. A huge sign adorned the freshly painted door, on which in giant scarlet letters was written “Welcome!” Jack smirked and, pushing the hefty door, walked in…

Inside, madness reigned. Everywhere, with wild eyes full of despair, new students wandered — “Fresh blood…” Jack thought sarcastically, immediately brushing the ugly thought off. He somehow managed to squeeze through the crowd of freshmen, who were arguing eagerly about which section of building “A” they should search for the biology lab. And most importantly, how to find this building “A” (since there were seventeen of them, and classes were starting in just thirty minutes, which meant very, very little in the minds of the newly minted students); their cries and shouts grew louder and louder. And this, in turn, irritated Jack more and more. With an air of importance, he elbowed his way to the administrator’s desk and leaned over it. The girl at the desk, who had been humming along to a cheerful tune coming from an old MP3 player, received the fright of her life. Picking up one of the campus maps lying on the desk, he silently, with a meaningful gesture, handed it to who he thought was the most panic-stricken of the students. The poor kid turned pale and grabbed the lifesaving map with trembling hands, barely restraining a happy smile, before plopping down on a nearby bench apparently intended for the purpose.

“Well, actually, it’s my job, young man,” the administrator girl said in an angry, squeaky voice, her gray eyes boring into on Jack’s smug face.

Jack looked around, wrinkling his nose theatrically.

“Oh, Betty, it’s you. Well, of course it’s you,” Jack smiled. “You’re doing a great job, Betty! Don’t forget to deduct my percentage from the paycheck.”

“No wonder everyone hates you,” the admin girl retorted coldly.

Jack winked cunningly and smiled even wider, trying to suppress more acidic remark that kept coming to his mind.

“Ah, Betty, let’s not argue, okay? This might last until old age. And now, try to actually do at least part of your job, okay? Tell me, where can I find Mrs. Renton?”

The girl shot a malicious glance towards the young man, whose cheerful mood had evaporated without a trace. Her whole demeanor indicated how much she wanted to yank his earring or stick a pencil into his hand. In short, to do anything to get back at him for the snide remarks he constantly showered her with. Poor Betty couldn’t recall a week in the past three years that she had worked at the university office in New Orleans without handsome Jack Cornell, or someone from his small circle, coming in and saying something nasty.

“You know you have yourself to blame, Betty,” Jack said as if reading her thoughts, his voice tinged with reproach. “So just tell me where to find Mrs. Renton, and I promise you won’t see me again today.”

“She’s filling in for Mr. Zigon today. So, I suppose she’s giving an introductory chemistry lecture in…”

“Well, it turns out thinking isn’t such a difficult task after all, and in some cases, quite useful!” Jack interrupted and headed for the exit. Glancing back he saw that the freshmen were still trying to locate building “A” on the map. “Well, sooner or later, they’ll find it and rush to their classes. I need to catch their teacher before they drive her crazy with their endless quest for knowledge in chemistry,” Jack thought, wasting no time as he hurried off in search of the coveted instructor.

The laboratory in Building “A” is a specially equipped space for conducting so-called practical classes in biology and chemistry. There’s everything you could imagine here! A great variety of all sorts of plants, intricately intertwined into a cohesive whole, the mysterious hybrids of which evoke rather ambiguous, and sometimes quite contradictory emotions. An abundance of low glass shelves with various chemicals, flasks, and instruments for conducting experiments, all provided by the Department of Education of the United States of America.

Jack approached the classroom, stealthily cracked the door open and entered the room. A woman stood on a low wooden stool, leaning over and completely focused on something that Jack couldn’t quite make out what it was. She was quietly humming a melody coming from a mobile phone lying on the teacher’s desk.

“Mrs. Renton,” Jack called softly.

Mrs. Renton didn’t react, continuing to hum the tune.

“Mrs. Renton,” another attempt to get the teacher’s attention. The reaction remained the same. Which is to say — none.

“Mom!” Jack almost shouted and couldn’t help but smile when Mrs. Renton, startled, jumped up on the stool, nearly falling off the makeshift podium, and briskly turned towards her son. The woman was genuinely scared. Her glasses were askew and slid to the tip of her nose, her green eyes sparkling brightly, betraying the poorly and clumsily concealed joy, as well as new wrinkles. She pressed her right hand to her chest, trying to calm down her racing heartbeat. Jack grinned and bit his lip.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, barely holding back laughter.

“Goodness! Child, did you decide to give me a heart attack?” the woman exclaimed with feigned horror in her voice and, adjusting the thin sweater on her slender shoulders, gracefully hopped off the small stool, revealing to Jack’s eyes a small round aquarium. The woman smiled at her son and danced her way to the teacher’s desk.

“Mom, are you experimenting on goldfish?” Jack asked curiously, observing the tiny fish swimming briskly in the transparent water. “We’re running low on frogs now. By the way, there’s a rumor going around about high mortality rates among rats. Poor things…”

“Back off, Jack,” Mrs. Renton replied, waving her hand while calmly arranging the measuring flasks on the table.

“I won’t. You called me twelve times today,” Jack persisted.

“Yeah.”

“At six in the morning, Mom!” Jack exclaimed indignantly, offended by his mother’s calmness.

“Oh, come on!” the woman murmured melodiously.

“And you didn’t even call back, by the way!” Mrs. Renton delicately adjusted her glasses and looked attentively at her son, scrutinizing him from head to toe.

“Well, I thought we haven’t seen each other in a while, so I decided to drop by.”

“That’s true,” Mrs. Renton replied thoughtfully. “Your father sent his regards,” she added casually and turned her attention to the leaves of a fuchsia plant that happened to be nearby. “And when was the last time you got a haircut?”

“Mom, is something wrong?” Since Dad sent his regards, something must be up. Maybe this even explains the sudden change in weather or in Beth’s behavior, who seemed much friendlier today than usual.

“Yes, we were just sitting here and… Just look at these leaves!” Mrs. Renton exclaimed.

“Mom, we’ve been through this already. And if you don’t tell me what happened right now, your marble ficus plant will turn into a stripped version of it! Trust me on that!” Jack grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the woman who seemed shocked by her son’s words.

“I always knew you were rather cruel,” Mrs. Renton half-whispered before adding almost inaudibly, “We talked a bit and made a decision.”

Reluctantly taking his eyes off the plant leaves, Jack stared at his teacher mother. Something about that last phrase, thrown in seemingly casually, didn’t sit well with him.

“What decision?” He asked with growing irritation, showing no enthusiasm for continuing the conversation. His mother’s habit of speaking in riddles occasionally got on his nerves, and apparently, today’s conversation wasn’t going to be an exception.

“Lately, Eric’s been behaving, to put it mildly, poorly,” Mrs. Renton began quietly. The way she pronounced his best friend’s name made Jack once again look into his mother’s eyes. This time, her gaze was very sharp and attentive.

“What we embarked on twenty-three years ago was a deviation from the rules of the order. A very serious deviation, as you well know. Every month, sometimes even every week, Alex would send us detailed reports,” she continued.

“People need something to do in retirement,” Jack muttered sarcastically.

“Don’t interrupt me, Jack! As his illness progressed, he sent them less and less frequently, and you know that very well too. In one of his last letters, he promised that Eric would take over from him now.”

Jack lowered his gaze and started studying a piece of old gum dropped by some past student and treaded on a thousand times since by more student feet. He knew where his mother was heading with this, and he didn’t like it. More precisely, he didn’t like it at all.

“After Alex’s death, we received only a few incomprehensible scribbles from Eric. Written in completely different handwriting, with all sorts of emoji is and other nonsense,” Mrs. Renton stared intently at her son. “Can you explain that? And get off the table! What a bad habit!” she scolded her son, clutching her heart meaningfully once again.

“Explain what? The few or the incomprehensible?” Jack asked, still not looking up from the floor, struggling contain his emotions.

“Stop it, Jack, you know what I mean.”

“I think it’s not as bad as you, madam, think. He’s just… finding it difficult to keep an eye on someone who lives under the same roof as him, and that someone happens to be his sister,” Jack whispered the last word almost to himself, thinking, “I could even bet on who’s keeping an eye on whom there.”

“It’s like me starting to monitor every step of my cat! Sooner or later, he’ll notice and retaliate by ruining all my plantings or peeing everywhere! And if you’re concerned, you could go check it out yourselves. They’re friends, after all,” Jack looked at his mother again with reproach and once again struggled to suppress a smile. The woman clearly didn’t expect such a retort from her son and froze, her mouth slightly open in confusion. “And don’t blame Eric. He’s depressed… he’s going through a lot.”

“Plantings, you say, he’ll ruin? Mess up everything around?” Jack, I’m not arguing, Eric’s a good guy, but this… what’s her name…” Mrs. Renton paused, trying to recall.

“Sarah.”

“Yes, Sarah. He’s become irresponsible! We can’t rely on him anymore,” Mrs. Renton exclaimed with concern and unmistakable worry in her voice.

Jack swallowed loudly, looking away from the floor where he was now inspecting a curious dark spot, and met his mother’s gaze, as green as his own.

“And what do you want me to do about it? Should I personally check all his scribbles before sending them to you? Make corrections?”

Mrs. Renton turned to the teacher’s desk and casually remarked, “Now you’ll keep an eye on Sabrina.”

“How do you imagine that?” Jack growled, slamming his hand on the table, where he still sat, despite his mother’s accusatory and meaningful glances. “Have you lost your mind or what?”

“Starting today,” Mrs. Renton said calmly, ignoring her son’s wave of anger.

“No way! That girl has been aching to tear my throat out! Since childhood!”

“So there’s a reason for that. Since childhood till now,” Mrs. Renton retorted, rising on her tiptoes to water the flowers spaced unevenly on the windowsill and hanging shelves.

Jack nervously ran his hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and put on his most pleading expression.

“Mom…”

“Jack.”

“She hates me!”

“So, make her change her mind about you.”

“Mom…”

“Not up for discussion. And get Eric out of his binge, or he’ll mess things up again and won’t even remember. Report back in a week.”

“About Eric?” Jack asked, resigned.

“About both!” Mrs. Renton replied dismissively, and gracefully spun around on her heels to prepare reagents and concentrates for the upcoming lesson.

There was a timid knock on the door, making Jack jump off the table and briskly walk out of the classroom, slamming the door right in a bewildered student’s face.

Outside, after a few deep breaths, he reached into his jacket pocket for a pack of cigarettes and lit up. All around him, the students were scampering like rats, trying to dodge the falling raindrops. A moment later, he tossed the untouched cigarette away and trudged towards building “B”.

“Well, what mess have you gotten yourself into now, buddy? I guess I should thank my grandpa for adopting a one-year-old son of one of the guardians of the “Guardian[1]’ Order, who had died tragically on a mission twenty-three years ago, and then adopting a newborn girl and naming her Sabrina and giving her his own surname –Venters. Oh, I forgot to mention that this girl, by an accidental turn of events, turned out to be a descendant of one of the oldest French families, whose women have been known for centuries as witches and some of whom have been living in New York since the nineteenth century. Apart from their good looks, these generational witches are known to be endowed with peculiar and inexplicable talents, inexplicable in the eyes of an ordinary person, that is.

For many centuries, the “Guardian’ Order has been monitoring the De Manshand lineage, collecting bits and pieces of the history of this unusual family, and often intervening in their affairs to avoid various troubles and tragedies. So it had been until Michelle, Sabrina’s mother, ran away with her newborn girl upon learning what fate Marie had had in store for the baby. This Marie was that very girl’s grandmother. And that’s when grandpa just couldn’t help himself. That’s when he outdid everyone in the order. I mean those who had ever meddled in the history of this ill-fated family and made their so-called “corrections’. He had offered Michelle his help. And she had gladly accepted it. They had first smuggled the newborn girl to the order’s secret hideout in New York City, and then grandpa had secretly taken her to Liverpool…

As for Michelle herself, she had returned home. She had wanted to put an end to the complicated De Manshand story. No one has seen her since.

Meanwhile, the girl grew up beautifully in the Venters family, which consisted of my grandfather and, as she believed, her twin brother Eric. I’ve played the role of Eric’s best friend, who, aged ten, had moved with his parents from Liverpool to the beautiful city of New Orleans, Louisiana, USA. That’s where my relentless mother and passively-active father had followed their “old friend,” and incidentally, my biological grandfather, Alex Venters, and his newly acquired relatives.They had settled in a small but respectable-looking house near the Garden District, where they had lived until… Until Grandpa passed away. That was a year and a half ago now and was a devastating blow to our entire family. Especially to Sabrina. But Eric didn’t disappoint either! He began drinking so much that it was hard to tell whether his blue eyes were naturally blue or just from what he was drinking. And then he got involved with a quirky girl named Sarah. She was a “free-spirited artist” or something like that. What kind of paintings did she make? No one knew. The situation worsened with each passing day. They started drinking together, while Sabrina, once tall and sun-kissed, began to resemble a hunched coat hanger draped with a worn-out t-shirt.

Sabrina persistently called me, berating me for ignoring my friend and letting him ruin his life. I felt powerless because Eric never listened to me, it was hard watching Sabrina cry, huddled in a kitchen corner. Eventually, when my patience ran out, I grabbed Eric by the collar and literally dragged him into our family therapist’s office; the therapist also happened to be my father. After a long and, in my opinion, overly intellectual talk, Eric’s common sense returned, but he didn’t change his habits. He did substantially reduce his drinking though. But cutting back on alcohol led to a side effect. Eric’s mood soured and he started arguing with Sabrina more, resulting in her calling me more often to vent. I should remind you that Sabrina and I had never particularly liked each other. I had snapped at Eric a couple of times, and at his girlfriend, as she was going through yet another “creative crisis”, thus becoming his worst enemy for a whole five days until… On Saturday, August 28th, at eleven o’clock in the evening, my cellphone rang, and in response to my “Hello” I heard drunken, incomprehensible muttering. All I could get from that strange monologue was that Eric had been in some bar on Bourbon Street feeling very, very bad and sad. He had quarreled with Sarah and decided to drown his sorrows in some old-fashioned “Blackened Voodoo[2].” Business as usual.

I envisioned Sabrina’s furious face on seeing her brother arrive home, accompanied by the usual noise he couldn’t do without. And… I had no choice but to rush to the rescue of my degrading friend. I found him in one of the bars on Bourbon Street. I was incredibly lucky because Eric was practically conscious. Drunk as a skunk, but conscious. Some hippie chick hung Mardi Gras[3] beads around his neck and adorned his left ear with a hot pink artificial flower. Eric struggled to lift his head when I approached him and even managed a feeble smile.

“Life sucks,” he declared, breathing out eyes-burning boozy fumes. I dragged him towards the exit amidst the fitting, mournful sounds of the music playing from the speakers.

All the way to his house, I prayed to God for only two things. First, that he wouldn’t puke in my car. Second, that Sabrina would be at work. She worked as a bartender in the French Quarter, and I vaguely remembered her complaints about having twice as much work during tourist rushes. As a last resort, I wished for her to be fast asleep, so we wouldn’t have to engage in another endless verbal battle, the end of which was neither seen nor foreseen. This beautiful girl didn’t dislike me. She hated me! But why? Since I couldn’t find an answer to that question, I tried to reciprocate her feelings, but it didn’t work well. In fact, it didn’t work at all. According to her, I was something of a Satan’s aide sent down to earth to poison her brother’s life, and hers too. The problem was doubled by the fact that her brother held a completely opposite view and saw me as his savior.

As we approached the Garden District, I noticed Eric suddenly open his eyes wide in horror and press his fingers to his lips. It was a sure sign that he urgently needed fresh air. I dropped him off near the house to avoid ruining the interior of my beloved and still brand-new car and drove off to make a u-turn. While I was parking, that idiot not only entered the house, but also did it with such a racket that it could be heard even outside. I instantly froze. Silence. No screams, no shouts, no preaching. A promising start! So, our little fairy hadn’t returned from work yet. I needed to get this drunken creature as far away from her as possible, into his bedroom, and retreat before her return. Meanwhile, the events that followed, I believe, you can recall well. She was at home…”

Jack pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes and lit up again.

Only now did it begin to dawn on him that there was something strange about her behavior back in the kitchen. She didn’t lash out at him as usual, didn’t hurl insults, and almost silently took the keys when he was helping Eric “make it” to his room. He recalled how she just stood there, staring wearily out the window with empty eyes. So fragile and petite, so pale and pensive, and… so vulnerable. Her long, dark hair fell in tangled locks over her slender, slouched shoulders. And when she turned to look at Jack, there was so much unsaid pain in her huge blue eyes… It wasn’t just fatigue. All the sadness she had experienced after her grandfather’s death was reflected in that gaze. What he read in her eyes triggered Jack. He, too, was mourning heavily for the old Venters. He was his biological grandfather; something Sabrina, of course, didn’t know. And Jack didn’t dream of her ever finding out the whole truth.

And now, his mother, his own mother, not just asking, but commanding him to “keep an eye” on this girl. Of course, the order came from her superiors, and he simply couldn’t disobey it. Not only did his own financial well-being depend on it, but also his entire future life. However, Jack had always been uncomfortable with the way the Order manipulated the fate of another person, even if it was for their benefit. Being a member of the Order meant that he would be involved in this lie from the very day he was born.

But beneath the command to watch over Sabrina, he felt there was something else… He had also to monitor the development of her supernatural abilities, and that in itself presented significant problems.

Perhaps, thanks to her upbringing more than anything else, at the age of twenty-three, Sabrina showed no signs of any supernatural talent or even hints of its presence. So unlike all her predecessors, or rather relatives, who had “showed character” from an early age. Jack, on the other hand, had his own theory on this matter, summed up in just one word — mediocrity.

It seemed to him that although she certainly possessed certain abilities, even superhuman abilities, she was only ever going to exert them to annoy or provoke him. Was he some sort of catalyst for her darker side? Jack shook his head, trying to dismiss these controversial thoughts, and made his way towards Building “B”.

He entered with a heavy sigh and headed for the auditorium door adorned with a name-plaque announcing that Mrs. Preston, Head of the Literature Department, could be found here. Excellent, there would be time to catch some sleep and maybe even have a dream or two. Jack settled into the darkest corner of the auditorium, hoping no one would notice his presence.

“Mr. Cornell!” Mrs. Preston chirped in her soft, high voice, her plump cheeks immediately flushing crimson.

“Yes, Mrs. Preston?” Jack bestowed upon the teacher one of his most charming smiles and looked intently into Mrs. Preston’s brown eyes. The plump woman instantly blushed, and dimples appeared on her cheeks.

“Mr. Cornell, I hope you haven’t forgotten to prepare for today’s class?” the woman asked, turning back to the blackboard to avoid his gaze.

“Of course not, Mrs. Preston. ‘To Kill a Mockingbird[4],’ I’ve read the book cover to cover and I must admit, I’m very intrigued. Such an interesting and captivating plot, and most importantly, with such deep meaning.”

Jack flashed his trademark smile. The only thing he took away from the book while “preparing” for today’s literature class was the title and the author’s name. Mrs. Preston nodded approvingly and began to sort through the essays, lying in a crumpled stack on her desk. Excellent. Literature for today was over. Mrs. Preston, as always, wouldn’t ask him anything else, at least not today. So, he could relax and doze off. The bell rang, signaling an hour and a half of aimless dozing and tangled thoughts… Everyone took their seats, and Jack closed his eyes, beginning his self-analysis.

 Gardien (Fr. Lang.) — guardian

 “Blackened Dixie Voodoo Lager” is a beer produced by the Dixie Brewing Co. in New Orleans, Louisiana, which, although only introduced in 1992, quickly gained notoriety. Some local stores banned the sale of this beer because of the images on its label. Opponents of the brand argued that the artwork was associated with witchcraft, magic, and shamanic symbols. The cries of opponents soon subsided, however, ensuring widespread fame for the new member of the beer fraternity.

 Mardi Gras (French for “Fat Tuesday”) is the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday, marking the end of the Carnival season and the start of the Catholic Lent. It is a worldwide equivalent of the Slavic Maslenitsa festival and one of the most colorful carnivals in the world. Celebrated in many countries across Europe (such as France, Czech Republic, Belgium, etc.), the United States, and other countries, Mardi Gras is renowned for its elaborate festivities. The most massive and lavish celebrations in the United States take place in New Orleans. During the festival, people wear colorful beads, with each color symbolizing different meanings: green for faith, purple for justice, and gold for power. Beads adorn balconies, trees, and are tossed at the crowd during the carnival parade.

 “To Kill a Mockingbird”, a novel by Harper Lee, first published in 1960, was a resounding success and immediately became a bestseller. The novel was awarded one of the most prestigious literary awards in the United States — the Pulitzer Prize — and was printed in multimillion copies. It has been translated into dozens of languages around the world and continues to be reissued to this day.

Chapter 3

Jack Elliot Cornell — that’s me

So, what do we have here?

My name is Jack Elliot Cornell. I’m twenty-four years old. I am a member of the ancient Order called “The Guardians,” to which my dear parents had assigned me long before I came into existence. Oh yes, I forgot, my parents are also part of this order, as are all my few relatives.

I have a crazy little family. A strange, far-beyond-the-norm job and even our own greenhouse, or is it a house after all? My secret refuge and my pride. It used to be something like a greenhouse, meticulously erected over an indefinite period of time by my unstoppable mother. She conducted her experiments there, growing strange hybrids from equally mysterious plants. This went on until I hit puberty and started rebelling. That was exactly ten years ago now. That’s when I declared my intention to leave home and live alone. Mom threw a terrible tantrum and said I could do whatever I wanted as long as I didn’t drive her to seizures with my comebacks and departures. That’s when I got my first earring. Then I ran away, more than once. But the terrible, omnipresent “Guardians” would always find me and bring me back to the family nest. In the end, when my father got tired of my endless antics and my mother’s constant tantrums, he called me to his office…

“Jack Elliot Cornell! I hate to say this, but I have to. I’ve had enough of you!” he thundered. “Or to be more precise, of your stupid childish antics!”

My father was pacing the office as he talked, wearing a facial expression of impeding trouble typically reserved for dealing with the employees of the so-called “construction company” he managed. It was clear he was making every conceivable and inconceivable effort not to give me the magical “boot’. I just stared at him from under lowered brows. My right eye was bruised because a couple of days ago, I had got into a fight with my best friend Eric over who could jump furthest off a rope swung into the Mississippi. At the time, it seemed an incredibly cool activity.

“So, my useless son. We’ve decided that it will do you good… to live separately.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I wondered if I would be able catch it if it accidentally jumped out of my chest. Finally! I’ve achieved my goal! Just a little more, and I’ll be free! I held my breath and stared at my fuming father.

“You’re already sixteen, old enough to be responsible for your actions,” he thundered, and judging by the sound of his voice, there was a storm brewing ahead.

“We’ve decided to send you to Jacksonville,” my father said briskly, staring at me expectantly. And me… I felt sick. I don’t have anything against Florida, and I could easily adapt there, knowing that someone from the order would always be nearby. But the fact that I would have to part with my friends and with Grandpa, who, strangely enough, had always supported me, was a nasty reality check.

“Anything but Florida,” I whispered, looking pleadingly at my father, who raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“If possible, I would like to stay in New Orleans, or at least in its suburbs,” my father still looked suspiciously at me.

“I want to live here,” Florida definitely wasn’t fitting into my plans, and I stood my ground.

“I’m not going to cater to your whims,” my father snapped.

“And Mom?” I exclaimed in anger.

“What? What’s this about? What are you talking about?” My father looked at me in bewilderment.

“You built her that greenhouse! Or whatever you built for her to “develop her gardening talent “… as you put it,” I looked at my father, and my right eye, which was starting to swell, twitched painfully. I knew my father didn’t approve of Mom’s “gardening hobby”, as he called it. And I often had to witness them argue over this.

My father was one of the Order’s most valuable researchers of a phenomenon known as “poltergeist”, and he was highly respected for it. And he, in turn, wanted his wife to spend more time with him, trying to find the causes of the poltergeist from a biological or any other point of view. Instead of wasting time on incomprehensible plants, which she managed to successfully grow wherever she found a spot of land.

Father kept boring into me until a smile lit up his face, one that was promising nothing good.

“Excellent! It seems I’ve just found the solution to all our problems,” he said thoughtfully and, grabbing me by the collar, dragged me out of the stuffy office.

“No! I absolutely oppose this!” my mother screamed in horror, clutching her head when my father informed her that he was going to convert her greenhouse into my new home.

After two weeks of emotional torment, turmoil, and excruciating anguish, she agreed.