Chapter 9: At the Speed of Thought

On the weekend, Liz dragged me to meet some guys. Two students from group "M", former third-years, now in their fourth and final year of bachelor's. Max, according to her, had been hitting on her all through the second semester while she was dating someone else. She wasn't interested then, but now that spot was open, and she decided to give the guy a chance. Why not? A tanned, smiling blonde with light blue eyes and broad shoulders – just like Ken from a dollhouse. But his groupmate Paul, whom they wanted to "match" with me, was almost the complete opposite of his friend: slightly pale, lanky, serious, with black hair, brown eyes, and judging by the dark clothing and chains, also into alternative subculture. He reminds me of someone…

"Listen, I don't think this is for me," I mumbled uncertainly, closing his social media page and shutting my laptop. "He seems a bit too… gloomy or something."

"Well, what do you expect, he's an experienced mage after all," Lizzy climbed onto my bed with her feet up. "A straight-A student, by the way. On track for an honours degree."

"That's great. But still, I wasn't planning so soon to…"

"That's what you weren't planning in Moscow, but here you'll have to!" Charm decisively interrupted. "The place itself demands it. Have you noticed that in St. Petersburg there are hundreds of prostitutes' ads on every pole? Such a high-frequency city vitally needs proper grounding! Otherwise, not only LIMBO but all this beauty will teleport along with us to the higher worlds – what will the tourists have to look at then, huh?.."

"What do you mean, higher worlds?!"

"Did you think we all fit inside the cathedral in the real world?"

"I suspected magic was involved, but…"

"Okay, Antipova, don't change the subject. Tell me instead, what are you wearing to the club tonight? This?" she waved first one hanger in the air – with my dark blue school skirt, and then another – with gray jeans. "Or this?"

Without waiting for an answer, she critically examined my tops and shoes. Considered something in her head. Grimaced:

"Nah, this won't do at all. Get ready, we're going shopping. Dad just gave me some money yesterday…"

* * *

The bouncer at the club entrance gave Lizzy's Audi parked nearby a heavy look from under his brows. Then he switched back to me and, flaring his nostrils like a horse, snorted:

"You sure you're of legal age?"

"Of course! She just forgot her passport, but here's her student ID, look!" Liz slipped a large bill inside and handed it to the security guard.

The banknote quickly disappeared. The hulk softened, even gave us a conspiratorial wink. Out of curiosity, he opened the ID and in the semi-darkness tried for a long time to read the name of our university:

"Leningrad Institute of Modeling B… What are you modeling? Huh, girls? There's an ink blot on the most important part… Alright," he finally took pity and stepped aside, clearing the way. "Have fun."

Following my friend down the steps into the darkness, I asked, trying to shout over the music:

"Do you have an ink blot there too?"

"We all have such ink blots," Liz waved her hand. "Relax, we didn't come here to think about studies. Oh! They're already waiting for us! Hi, Maxie! Meet Niki. This is who I told you about."

Ken in real life turned out to be even more tanned than in the photos. Flashing us a dazzling smile, he pecked Liz on the cheek and shook my hand. His palm was hot – the touch sent heat through me. An energy wave rose to my shoulder, circled around my body, and returned back.

"Very nice to meet you, Niki!" he finally let me go. "And this is my friend, Paul Warlock."

The second guy stepped out of the darkness and offered me to shake hands. This time no heat. The fingertips slightly cool, but without special effects.

"A phoenix, then?" he said insinuatingly, taking advantage of the fact that the current song had ended and silence briefly hung in the club. "Twelve spirals?"

"That's what Mr. Black says," I felt embarrassed.

"Mr. Black wouldn't lie. I heard he's your curator?"

"Since yesterday…"

"I see, I see," a soothing, calm voice. "I was thinking of choosing him as the scientific advisor for my thesis… But I'm still considering. Would you like something to drink, Niki?"

Max pulled Liz to the dance floor, where the next track had just started playing, while I was led to the bar against my will.

"Listen, I'm not sure. It's just…" I mumbled on the way. "We're not supposed to…"

"If you're not going to practice at night, then a little is allowed," having seated me, Paul ordered two cocktails from the bartender. "Here, you see, it's like with a car: if you've been drinking, you can't drive today. But tomorrow no one will forbid you. It's the same with magic. Well, to our acquaintance! I hope it will be… productive."

His gaze fell on my knees. I started and nervously adjusted my flared leather skirt with metal studs. I told Liz we should have taken something more modest and, preferably, longer! And now that I was sitting, it became indecently short!

My outfit clearly appealed to my companion, he kept glancing at me, studying the curves of my figure and lingered longest on my red and black checkered top. Or rather, on the deep neckline, where a super-push-up bra, borrowed from Lizzy, was pushing out a good half of my modest breasts. Well, at least I refused the red lipstick, despite the witch's protests! Otherwise, I would definitely look like one of those who put up ads on poles in the center of St. Petersburg.

To hide my nervousness, I grabbed my cocktail from the counter and took several large gulps at once. Paul stirred, his eyes released me and now looked at the dancers with boredom. I sighed with relief. Who would have thought that even a cool, almost indifferent gaze could be so scorching!

Liz and Max truly "lit up" the dance floor. They danced non-stop, probably for an hour – only taking breaks to take a couple of sips of water. Paul didn't like fast dances, but when they played a slow song, he did invite me. I didn't refuse. After all, maybe I'm too self-conscious, and it just seemed to me that he was looking at me in some special way?

In his embrace, it was serene and easy. The movements gentle and smooth – as if we were swaying on the surface of water. The closer I felt him, the more distinctly he "extinguished" all my fears and thoughts, it became quiet, as if I was somewhere in a deep forest on a cloudy, windless day or… in an old cemetery.

A strange association, of course, but I couldn't get rid of it. Total, unbreakable peace.

"How old are you?" he said in a low voice, leaning to my ear. His hand slid down my waist.

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen," his thin lips barely noticeably pressed together. "Still so young. What am I going to do with you?"

I became confused and for some reason started to justify myself:

"In December I'll already be eighteen and…"

"And the exam session will begin," Paul finished for me insinuatingly.

"Listen, what difference does it make… We just met today…"

His face softened, he nodded:

"Yes, of course, little one. You misunderstood me. I meant we won't be able to properly celebrate your birthday because I'll be cramming. I wouldn't want to fail at the finish line. But we'll figure something out. Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you."

This phrase acted on me like an injection of a sedative. I relaxed. My tense hands returned to his shoulders. The dance continued.

Later that night, following Charm's instructions, Paul went to walk me to the dorm "so that nothing would happen, since she likes to get into all sorts of trouble." For Max and Liz, the evening was just beginning: at the exit from the club, they got into a taxi after a juicy make-out session and left for one of their homes. The guys didn't even seem to have time to say goodbye. Paul thoughtfully watched the yellow car disappear around the corner, then sighed and offered me his arm – which was very handy because my feet were terribly chafed by the new shoes over the evening.

We walked along the deserted embankment past the drawn bridges. It had gotten much colder outside, and Paul threw his leather jacket over my shoulders, remaining in just a dark blue T-shirt. Glancing from the corner of my eye, I noticed that the air around him was somehow strangely diverging in waves and pulsating, as if from a heated object. Everything that fell into this anomalous zone was refracted and lost its color, acquiring gray-violet outlines. And a sparrow that flew by, after a couple of yards, even slowed down, somehow drooped, sat on the parapet of the bridge and didn't move anymore.

When a street lamp above us flickered several times and went out with a crack, Paul put his palm on my hand and said calmly:

"Nothing to worry about, I just… overdid it a bit. The energy got slightly depolarized. I'll be back to normal by morning."

"Maybe people like us really shouldn't drink alcohol?" I asked uncertainly.

"If you forbid me, then I won't anymore," he smiled, probably for the first time all evening, and actually for our entire brief acquaintance. "We're almost there. Will you kiss me goodbye?"

I stepped back, but he held me by the elbow and pecked me on the cheek himself:

"It's me who should be afraid of you, not you of me. Run along, little one. Sweet dreams. I'll call tomorrow."

* * *

All the next week I tried to learn to see orgone. I could see Paul's aura almost effortlessly when I was drunk, but nothing worked when sober. And although the Biology teacher claimed that our energy vision wouldn't open until the middle of the semester, I didn't want to wait that long. If I know what colors people glow with, I can guess what to expect from them. Including from Mr. Black.

Alas, the exercises from the textbook didn't help. After three days of constant training with stereo images, it started to seem that at this rate I would rather go blind – like our philosopher. Indeed, isn't that how the old man lost his sight?..

Complaining to Liz, I was upset to learn that I wasn't the only one.

"I've studied here longer than you and still haven't fully awakened," admitted the second-year witch. "At least, I can't 'scan' someone on demand. Sometimes I see spontaneously, but mostly only very strong auras. Just like you, by the way."

"I don't see any at all."

"You sure?"

"Of course. I would have noticed."

"What about our guard?" Lizzy pushed me down the steps leading to the checkpoint. "Let's go take a look."

Just the memory of "Aunt Betty" made me shudder:

"It's useless to 'look' at her," I cautiously opened the door. "It's always dark here, and she has a lamp in her booth and…"

"What color lamp is it, you say?"

"Yellow. Wait!.." I whispered, suppressing the desire to run back outside. "Are you saying that?.."

"I'm saying there's no lamp there at all!" Liz exclaimed triumphantly. "Finally you got it! Hello, Ms. Jenkins!"

Indeed, it was naive to think they would put an ordinary person as a guard at our institute. Holding my breath, I looked closer. Exactly! It turns out, it's not the booth that's glowing at all. There's no light source there – and even electricity isn't connected. But the space around is literally trembling, pulsating with yellow orgone!

However, this Ms. Jenkins must be incredibly powerful. Just like an atomic bomb! I shuddered. I wouldn't want to be in the place of an ill-wisher who decided to sneak into LIMBO by deception…

As for other successes in studying, things weren't going well. I could hardly concentrate on assignments in all subjects, except, perhaps, Geography. I had no problem preparing homework on astral travel and was looking forward to next Thursday. I hope that nice quiet fellow, eternally floating somewhere in the clouds, will at least briefly come down to earth today to give me my well-deserved A.

The exercise was called "The Ladder". You were supposed to leave the body on an exhale. Deep breath in – and long breath out counting to twelve. It's better to orient not by the second hand of a clock, but by the heartbeat – placing the fingers of your right hand on your left wrist. With each new beat, you have to imagine climbing a ladder with colored steps: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, purple, pink, white, gray, brown, black… Usually on the green step I ran out of air, on blue my pulse slowed down a lot, on indigo my chest felt compressed, on purple my head started spinning. On pink it became easy and carefree – like in childhood or even before birth. On white I heard chaotic male and female voices merging into one chorus – sometimes they talked, sometimes they sang, and sometimes they recited some scientific texts on various topics, interrupting each other. On the gray step, I would start shaking as if electricity was passing through my body. And finally, on black everything ended. It was as if I emerged from pulsating, humming dense water to the surface, where everything calmed down. The voices quieted, the vibrations ceased. The body remained behind – or rather, about twenty inches below. Further, theoretically, you could go anywhere, by the power of thought alone. The main condition is not to breathe anymore until the moment of return, otherwise you'll be "thrown out".

An ordinary person can last without oxygen for about a minute, a trained one – up to five minutes. A mage capable of entering the state of "samadhi" – up to two or three hours without damage to vital body functions. Phoenixes and serpents with proper training can withstand even longer journeys, but, as a rule, longer isn't needed. In the astral, everything happens instantly, at the speed of thought, and the speed of thought exceeds both the speed of sound and even the speed of light.

As a child, I did swimming, we practiced special breath-holding exercises in the water, so holding for forty seconds wasn't a problem. I think after another week I'll easily bring this time to a minute, and then to two, but for now what I can already do is enough. Today I just need to climb the ladder – get to the upper level, separate from the body and immediately return.

"Miss Antipova, please come to the board. This way, you're welcome."

Wow! And I didn't even have time to raise my hand! Probably, Mr. Walker felt that I had been actively preparing, so he called on me first.

Rising to the podium, I stood a couple of steps from his desk. Monsters and gargoyles looked at me inquisitively from the walls.

"Don't be shy, my dear," the astral traveler encouraged. "If something goes wrong, I'll help you. Please, begin."

I wanted to clarify what exactly could go wrong, but my gaze slid over the papers spread out before him, and I instantly forgot why I had come to the board. On top of the atlases and maps lay a fresh newspaper, still smelling of printing ink, on the first page of which the news headline was blazing in bold font:

"Four bosom friends went missing in St. Petersburg."