Chapter 8

Waiting has always been the hardest thing for Margaret, including in magic. Angel stared in fascination at the scrap in the transparent ball and did nothing, just tapped his fingers on the armrest. At the same time, the mentor's eyes literally shone from the stormy work of thought, and the girl regretted that she could not, as happened once, again see this hurricane of ideas, images and visions. Her heart skipped a beat when Angel looked like that - so deep in his thoughts that they seemed visible, almost like a halo.

"Yeah," finally Angel said and stood up. A ball, woven from a spells' mixture unknown to science, hovered in front of him and gleamed mysteriously.

"Well?" Margaret asked impatiently. "What are you going to do?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"But you can get it out of there somehow?"

"What for? Our goal is not to pull out the rest of the contract, but to track the warlock through it. This is what I will do."

"And me? What should I do?"

Redfern paused, gently took her hand and asked:

"Do you want to join me?"

"Of course," Margaret said. Angel put his lips to her hand, and the girl barely resisted from running her hand through his hair. Every day it became more and more difficult for her to keep on this brink, despite yesterday's. Especially after yesterday. As if every time Angel allowed himself a moment of weakness and openness, he got closer.

After all, I can't hide forever, Miss Sheridan thought, following her mentor into the laboratory. She still sometimes woke up with nightmares, but if she did not take steps to meet his, she would never budge.

"So what do you think?" Angel asked, setting the ball on the tripod.

"Nothing," the girl admitted. "Mister Longsdale sent a list of spells, but they are so intertwined as a result of the simultaneous use that you can't guess how they will react if even one is touched."

"But we don't need to touch it. We need to insert some kind of probe inside, touch the rest of the magic contract and take a trace."

"In my opinion, it's like poking a grenade with a stick."

"Little skeptical creature," Redfern muttered. "Duh, a great riddle! The main thing is to introduce a probe, but here's what to make it from..."

He looked around the laboratory, mechanically fingering the instruments in the cuvettes. Platinum was a material inert to magic, but they needed not only to touch the scrap, but also to record the trail of the warlock. And you can't attach any charm to a platinum probe because of inertness... Margaret perked up:

"Angel! And if you take a platinum stick, attach something to its end, and to this something - a charm like the ones with which we marked the Hilkarn Strangler, only the other way around?"

"Mmm," Angel said displeasedly.

"I touched him and left the mark by which you found him. And now you need to touch and take the mark left by the warlock."

"A stick and something. Your scientific thinking after a year of study is still in its infancy," the mentor snorted and suddenly thought. He opened a drawer of platinum instruments and pulled out a long-handled pliers.

"If I solder a small container," he muttered, "with a hinged lid, and inside I put a material that will take an imprint... um, the melting point of platinum is very high, maybe just fasten it with a wire?"

"It would be better to conduct experiments outside, on a training ground," Margaret added. "This ball looks like it will explode from any poke."

"And there will be only one attempt!" Angel's eyes lit up; he thrust the tongs to the girl and buried himself in the drawer. The mentor had a lot of platinum instruments.

"Don't stand there, girl! Find me some material that is strong enough and has a high affinity for magic!"

With a smile, Margaret left the mentor alone with the platinum reserves and went to the rack where all kinds of minerals were stored. Next to the samples was a plate with a list of properties, and the girl, on reflection, chose several topaz.

"Well," Redfern said, who was all glowing with anticipation, like a child before Christmas, - let's try to make something out of nothing. Take the ball and let's go to the polygon.

Soon, standing in the middle of a clearing with targets, Angel was already screwing a small box the size of a snuffbox to the tongs by a wire.

"Will the wire not react?" The girl asked cautiously, holding the tongs. "It's copper!"

"I hope that it will not have time. I need less than a minute. Give me a sample."

Margaret handed him the topaz. Angel muttered a spell over the stone, dripped glue onto his sides, and squeezed the topaz into the box. And then he approached the ball, which was hovering a few feet above the ground.

"Maybe we should tie a stick to the handle of the tongs?"

"Oh, girl, don't be such a coward!" the mentor exclaimed and dashingly jabbed the tongs into the ball. They passed through the magical shell like an iron through a silk handkerchief. Angel turned the tongs over to open the box and touched the topaz to a scrap of contract. Margaret hastily exhaled "Scutum!" and covered herself and Angel with a shield. The stone sparkled from contact with the agreement, the ball around it trembled, and a discharge slipped along the copper wire.

"Angel, maybe better..."

A piece of the contract flamed, and the ball burst with a sound like a crystal tableware store had exploded. The tongs were torn from Redfern's hand, and the blast wave hit the shield with such force that the girl was thrown to the ground along with her mentor. Something like a grenade hit the shield from above, and Margaret instinctively closed her eyes. From the blow, this thing ricocheted somewhere in the bushes and exploded there, strewn with clods of earth and branches throughout the clearing.

"Angel!" The girl shouted. An unprintable exclamation was heard nearby. The girl jumped up and rushed towards the sound, throwing away her shield. The mentor rose from the bushes like a snake, scratched, covered with spots of earth and grass, but triumphant - in his hand he was clutching a box of topaz, which was torn from the forceps.

"My God," Margaret breathed, grabbed the mentor, pressed her lips to his lips, and Angel suddenly kissed her back. He smelled of grass, cologne, lab chemicals, and his lips were hot.

"M-M-Margaret," he whispered, pulling away with difficulty, "I can't stop..."

The girl squeezed his hand - between their palms was a box with a stone.

"And if I don't want you to stop?"

Angel loomed over her; dark, attentive eyes so close that Margaret could kiss his eyelids.

"You still have nightmares."

"Yes, but… I think if I just wait and do nothing, then… maybe they will never end."

He gently ran his finger along her cheek.

"I'm not afraid of you," Margaret whispered, cupping his face in her palms. Maybe just kiss him without thinking about anything while he is so close? "Just don't lie to me again, okay?"

"Yes," Angel replied. "Never."

***

Uncle's call came, as always, at the wrong time - Margaret was just looking in the office for some books, while Angel was busy with topaz with a print. The girl snapped the lever in irritation.

"Peggy?" the uncle was surprised. "Where's your pyro... I mean, Mister Redfern?"

"Busy. He's working to take the trail of the warlock."

The commissar perked up noticeably:

"So he managed to get a piece of paper out of the ball?"

"Not that it would have succeeded... the ball eventually exploded, but we managed to remove the imprint from the contract. If we're lucky, we'll be able to find a warlock on it. Did you want to convey something to Angel?"

"Not really. I wanted to ask about the plague."

"What plague?" Margaret was wary.

"He wrote in his diaries that in the winter of the thirtieth-thirty-first there was an outbreak of the plague in Farenza. I wanted to know if she, in your mentor's opinion, is connected with the Rift to the other side or not?"

"Why are you asking?"

"In the bay they caught a fish that is sick with something. Longsdale is alarmed and believes it can infect people."

"Angel didn't tell me about that," Miss Sheridan replied. "Wait, I'll bring him in now."

Before returning to the laboratory, she glanced at the map of Farenza, but it seemed as if nothing had happened with Liganta and the Rift. Maybe the warlock used some kind of curse, like Roismann?

"Where are you?" Redfern asked sternly: he had already fitted the box with the topaz to the tripod. "The sooner we get down to business, the sooner your uncle will take the warlock by the throat."

"If the warlock hasn't taken up uncle's throat already. He, my uncle, I mean, wants to talk to you. In Farenza, the fishermen have caught a strange, somewhat sick fish, and Mister Longsdale believes that the infection..."

Angel's face changed, turning pale as a dead man, and he rushed out of the laboratory. The astonished Margaret rushed after and caught up with the mentor when he shouted in the mirror:

"Where is it?! Where is that damn fish?!"

"Longsdale took it to his lab and is studying it while Jen investigates the fishing spot."

"Who touched the fish?! Did you touch it?!"

"I'm not. But it was touched by the fishermen and, of course, their padre, to whom they showed it, perhaps the inquisitors..."

"Oh my God!" Redfern moaned and swore furiously. "Bloody crowd of people! Isolate everyone, immediately, before it's too late!"

"What's the matter?" The Commissar asked suspiciously. "Is it some kind of local infection that is transmitted from fish to humans?"

"But it can't be..." the mentor whispered and rushed to the map of Farenza. "After all, the dome and perimeter are still sealed! If they passed radiation... if someone hacked... I would find out!"

He suddenly staggered and grabbed onto the back of the chair. Margaret grabbed Redfern's arm and asked anxiously:

"Angel, what happened? Why immediately the Rift? Couldn't the same result be achieved with an enchantment or a curse?"

"You wrote," Brennon said, "that a plague was raging in Farenza before the Rift, and I decided to clarify..."

Redfern turned sharply and glared at him.

"No," the mentor finally said, "you're safe, your wife will take care. Longsdale and the witch too. The rest... we don't care about them anymore. The main thing is to prevent the spread of the infection. It is best to burn everything that comes in contact..."

"What?" her uncle asked sharply. "What do you mean - we don't care?"

"If they touched the fish, they are already infected. These are walking corpses, death is only a matter of time."

"The devil a bit!" The commissar roared. "We must take care of them! Is your magic capable of anything or not?!"

"Your concern now is not these unfortunates, but the water in the bay," Angel said; Margaret heard him breathing heavily. "This infection has passed through the water and continues to spread. In less than a day, outbreaks of plague will appear throughout the city. If you do not urgently introduce quarantine, then such an epidemic will sweep across Ilar, and then across the continent, such as our world has not yet known."

"Oh my God…"

"Is this a leak from under the dome?" Margaret asked. "Do you think the infection is from the other side?"

"I know," Angel replied wearily and sank into a chair. - So many years, so much effort - and all in vain ... - He dropped his head in his hands. The girl touched his shoulder - he was trembling weakly.

"Savarelli went to the Hounde to ban fishing," Brennon said. "Do you think the cardinal already?.."

"Everyone who was nearby," Angel replied deafly, without raising his head. "Except for you, I suppose, because of your association with Vivene."

"Have you seen this already?" Margaret asked. "On Liganta? Before the Rift appears?"

He nodded, closed his eyes, and leaned back in his chair.

"Then on this island there was a quarantine station and a small fort with a garrison. Everyone on the island was infected within a few weeks. Although," Angel ran his hand over his face with a heavy sigh, "in fact, the plague just mutated under the influence from the other side. In Farenza in the winter of the thirtieth there was an epidemic of a ordinary disease. But when the Hounde ordered to exile all the sick, their relatives, friends and those who were suspected of illness to the island..."

"So then," Brannon said sharply, "if the plague changed because of the other side, there was already the Rift on Liganta?"

"Not a rift. A split, or rather a crack. However, it doesn't matter now. None of those matters. The city is over anyway."

"Lord, Angel! Surely something can be done!" The girl exclaimed. She'd never seen him… just give up like that? "If the dome and perimeter are intact, then we need to find the leak and close it! And with the infection... after all, vivene coped with Roismann curse, maybe..."

"Vivene!" the mentor abruptly straightened in his chair and stared at her uncle. He was already as pale as Angel himself. "Nathan, where is your wife?!"

"I haven't seen her since I returned," the commissar said abruptly." She said that she would feel if the Rift... God, she could not go there alone?!"

"Find her," the mentor ordered and got up; his eyes flashed like coals again. "Maybe all is not lost yet. Let Longsdale call other consultants. Margaret, take care of the print in the lab. I will try to find out what happened and if it happened to the dome at all."

"And if everything is all right with it?" Miss Sheridan asked.

"So, the worst happened - what I feared all these years. A second rift opens up near Liganta."

***

He hardly suppressed the first impulse to jump out into the street and interrogate everyone he met about where Valentina went - a pointless business, because she could leave whenever and wherever. In addition, Vivene is able to move around the city not on foot at all. Especially if she was in a hurry to the Rift...

So Brennon went down to Longsdale's lab, trying not to rush down the stairs at breakneck speed, even though his heart was pounding so hard to breathe. God, in the church where there was the hole Moore opened, the other side almost killed her! He shouldn't have stayed here with her! He should have sent Valentina south to rest... damn cretin!

Before Nathan reached the laboratory, the door opened, and Longsdale and the hound came out. But when he saw Brannon, the consultant recoiled, put out his hand and shouted:

"Don't come!"

The hound jumped forward and stood between the Commissar and Longsdale, ears flattened.

"Why?"

"I worked with fish and I can infect you. I will never harm you, so..."

"To hell with harm! Valentina has gone to the Rift! I have to find her!"

Longsdale dropped his hand and exchanged glances with the hound.

"Yes," the consultant said quietly, "she would have felt right away..."

"You must find her! We have no time, I don't know how long ago she went there and what... what happened to her..."

"Nathan, please calm down," Longsdale said softly; the hound looked sympathetically at the commissar, wagging his tail. "It's almost impossible to harm her."

"No f***ing way! She nearly died at the Strangler Church while you..."

"You are confusing. Her physical shell died, not Vivene herself. Nathan, do you understand that the body for her is just a vessel, in essence - just clothes that do not matter?"

The commissar collapsed against the wall in dismay. His heart was still beating so hard that almost choked him, and he jerked open his tie. He did not quite understand what the consultant wanted to convey, but even if he was right, Nathan still felt that Valentina was in danger. No one can be safe next to the damn hole to the other side!

"I'll go through the disinfection… we'll go through," Longsdale corrected himself, glancing at the hound. "I destroyed the fish, but kept the samples in an airtight container. Once I'm done, I'll go looking for your wife. But, if I find her near Liganta, I will go there alone. You must not approach the island, especially if there is a leak."

"I contacted the pyromaniac," Nathan said, forcing himself to think consistently. "I asked about the fish. Redfern said that the plague in Farenza in the seventeenth century was common, but changed under the influence of that side. It all began on Liganta, where the Hounde set up a camp for the sick."

"This is it," Longsdale replied. The Commissar sighed heavily. He knew it... "A mutated strain."

"However, the dome over the island is still intact. I mean, the pyromaniac didn't find any cracks in it, so he suspects that a new split is opening nearby. Is it possible?"

"Everything is possible," the consultant said. "Rifts to the other side are also dangerous because they can grow and provoke the emergence of new splits. But it is likely that Mister Redfern just cannot track the crack in the dome from this distance."

"Do you want to go to the island?" Brannon asked after a pause. God, how long has it been since Valentina left? Hour? Three? Six?

"Yes. Fortunately, Fraulen Oettinger will be arriving soon. Together... the four of us will be more efficient."

"Well," the commissar said, "here's the motive."

The hound bowed its head and growled dully.

"Do you think this is the work of the warlock?" Longsdale asked doubtfully.

"Sure. Never believed in such f***ing coincidences," Brennon said through set teeth.