Methodius Buslaev. The Scroll of Desires

Moscow had not yet managed to cool down after the hot and stuffy June day. The sun was lying breathlessly on the roofs and panting; however, dim evening shadows were already roaming along the ground. The drainpipe, which Daphne touched in passing, was scorching hot. She winced. Trying in every way not to be different among normal people, she had recently adjusted her pain threshold, making it the same as that of moronoids, and now she never got tired of being surprised by new sensations, constantly making some new discovery.

For example, after thoughtfully drinking boiling water, it is possible to warm up for the rest of one’s life. New footwear gives lots of discomfort. A bitten tip of the tongue hurts for a whole week. If we immediately start on ice cream after tea, teeth begin to ache and the enamel cracks like ancient cliffs. If running romantically barefoot through a puddle, a jagged bottle bottom can easily cut the sole. In general, moronoids do not have a life but continuous limitations. One has to remember so many of all kinds of nonsense!

Manoeuvring between passers-by, Daph continued her jaunt, not having a specific goal or route. At this hour in house № 13 on Bolshaya Dmitrovka, they were accepting reports from succubae and agents. Ares politely asked Daph to disappear somewhere and not to scare the nervous Gloom folks with her Light essence and the flute protruding out of her knapsack. Daph herself was glad to leave. The dejected plasticine faces hardly inspired her to continue making acquaintance and, in general, to creative work.

The infernal cat Depressiac, sitting on Daphne’s shoulder, had not given up its attempts to get rid of the overalls. These were black leather overalls, entirely covered with snaps and zippers. Daph had acquired them in the store Petfun. The overalls hid the wings, which even now swelled under them like two mounds. Furthermore, Daph could not control herself and, giggling, purchased for the cat a tiny choke collar – leather with bright long studs, which jutted out, true, not on the inside, as in serious collars, but on the outside. Depressiac was indifferent to the collar, tolerant, but in all of an hour, it rolled on the ground with a heartrending screech, attempting to strip the collar off with its back feet.

Daph crossed Kaloshin Alley, and passed Krivoarbatskii Alley, when suddenly on Plotnikov Alley a black limousine of unprecedented length blocked her way. Hey, this was some limo! With cast wheels, a herd of horses under the hood, and sparkling with a waxy shine in spite of the specks of mud on the doors and the fenders.

Daph stopped, patiently waiting for the limo to pass. However, it did not move, occupying almost the entire width of the alley. After shrugging her shoulders, Daphne wanted to squeeze through between it and the wall of a house, but the automobile sharply backed up and, with the bumper almost resting against the house, again blocked her way. Through the tinted glass, Daphne could not see who was sitting in the car. True, it seemed to her that she could make out the flame of a cigarette, glowing crimson like the furious eye of the Cyclops.

Depressiac on Daph’s shoulder stopped battling with the overalls and was on guard. The cat’s tail began to flick dangerously. It arched its back. It started to hiss, digging its claws into her shoulder, and baring its small triangular teeth. Simultaneously Daph at the telepathic level perceived waves of fury and fear issuing from the cat. Fury was okay. Depressiac, possessing a nature as nice and pleasant as Tartarus itself, continually flew off the handle and threw itself on any dog without exception, be it even the size of a pug-dog named Uncle Baskerville. But here fear… This was something new. Depressiac did not even particularly fear the Garden of Eden rock griffins coming alive. Daph was downright worried. Her cat possessed stunning intuition and it was a bad sign that it feared someone or something.

Daph’s hand slid to the flute and extracted it from the knapsack. However, before taking any measures, it was worthwhile to determine precisely what she had come across. She concentrated, squinted slightly, and looked at the limo with true sight. She discovered no magic and calmed down, after deciding that she was dealing with those usual moronoids, with hormones running wild, that every pretty girl has to contend with from time to time. Nevertheless, this relief lasted altogether only for a moment. Suddenly, on adrenaline rush, Daphne’s heart began to skip like an elastic. Her stomach cramped up. The long hair, grey almost to white, stood on end, disobeying the law of gravity, and invoking in a small part of the public a complex, close to hallucinatory, association with the terrible Tibidox sorceress M. Gorgonova. This happened at the moment when Daph understood that she not only discovered no magic but also NOTHING at all inside the limousine.

The usual space that one looks at with true sight was empty. By definition, a void cannot exist in the world. Even if there is no magic in it, there are hundreds of other weak energies and flows, which tint space similar to watercolour on a background. Each thing has its essence, and these essences constantly act on each other. Thus, two identical ballpoint pens, one of which, say, was used to write a denunciation and the other a postcard to a beloved grandmother, are two completely different pens from the point of view of magic. A moronoid can easily confuse them but never a guard of Light or a guard of Gloom. And atoms have absolutely nothing to do with it here.