Наталья Соколова – LIMBO (страница 10)

"So, instead of Biology, we have Bioenergetics…" I mused aloud, tossing aside my pencil. "Instead of Chemistry – Alchemy, and instead of Geography – Astral Travel. And it's even clear why we need Law – to subdue the rebellious immortal spirit. But why on earth do we need Art History?!"

"And as the fifth period, no less," Jake grumbled discontentedly, stretching his back. "Some kind of mockery of students! Hey, what if we…"

"Let's at least go see what the classroom looks like," Liz quickly helped me stuff my things into the bag and pulled me down the corridor, away from Brittlegill.

However, no matter how hard she tried to get rid of him, when we went up to the third floor to the right classroom, the guy had somehow already made it there. His yellow eyes with narrow pupils sparkled brighter than usual:

"What if we blow it off!" Jake blurted out joyfully, meeting us at the threshold.

Well, definitely The Tempting Serpent!

"The offer is attractive, of course," I carefully replied, dropping my bag on the nearest desk. "But to start the first of September like this, with skipping…"

"You know, Gill is right in some way," Lizzy unexpectedly agreed. "Last year we didn't have such a subject at all. Clearly, this is some kind of crap to fill the norm of hours. And the introductory lesson is always boring, we won't miss anything interesting."

"Liz, do you want to be left in the first year for the third time?" I chided her.

"Well, do as you like," Jake exclaimed heatedly, waving his hand, "but personally, I'm exhausted to death! I'm going to the dorm to catch up on sleep!.."

I opened my mouth to remind him that an immortal, with all his desire, cannot get exhausted "to death," but then from the corridor came a gloomy:

"You can sleep when you're dead."

Well, well! Could it be that the teacher of the nobody-needs Art History came earlier than usual?! And even caught the truants red-handed! What an awkward acquaintance it turned out to be…

"Get to the classroom," a cool, I would even say indifferent voice, but so authoritative that it's impossible not to obey. "Now."

Everyone fell silent. The chubby girl behind even stopped crunching chips and hid the rustling bag far away. The would-be truants tumbled into the room as if blown in by a gusty wind.

I recognized him – even before he entered. The smell of withered leaves, an approaching thunderstorm, and sweet-sour fresh blood burst into the spacious hall. Everything around flowed in hot waves, like last night, and I almost lost consciousness again.

More than anything in the world, I was afraid that my nightmares would start coming true.

Chapter 6: Twelve Spirals

Why did I even decide yesterday that he was a student?! Now, with one-day stubble showing on his cheekbones and chin, he looked older.

His "Cossack" boots thumped loudly on the floor. After forcibly seating the failed runaways at the desk – right in front of him – the tall blond with shaved temples took down a dense narrow case from his shoulder that widened toward the bottom. He pulled out a daily planner in a black leather binding. Sat down. Removed a gel pen with brown contents from the cover and squinted, studying the students. His eyebrows and eyelashes were darker than his hair, and shaded his eyes in a special way.

I involuntarily lowered my gaze and shifted my attention to his hands. The nails are ordinary, light, short-cut. There are no bandages, plasters, or scars on the wrists – in short, not a single hint of recent wounds.

"Let's start with the essentials: no one has ever managed to forge my signature. I mark attendance myself. I fill in the gradebook exclusively with red ink," he paused, then added with a smirk. "Actually, I prefer the blood of virgins, but given the current shortage, I have to use more accessible alternatives."

His heavy gaze fished me out from the mass of students and seemed to catch me on a hook. Nodding slightly, he smiled an imperceptible smile that was understandable only to me.

"Yes, you also sit down," he threw out as if in passing. Classmates who hadn't yet taken their seats obediently complied – as in a courtroom. After a few moments, I finally forced my stiff legs to bend and sank down at the desk by the door – as if planning to run as soon as yesterday's murderer turned away.

"So," when everyone was seated, the musician calmly leaned back in his chair, twirling the red pen in his hand, "I am that very Art History teacher. The new, useless subject that you will all have to master perfectly by the will of fate. My name is Leo Black."

The silence was finally broken, a murmur spread through the auditorium.

"If you already have questions, ask them aloud."

"Is it true that you're a professor?" someone suddenly squeaked.

"What makes you think that?" he scanned the hall and in two counts identified the speaker. Musical hearing, probably.

"Well, it's written in our schedule," a girl from group "M" cautiously explained. "Under your surname."

"Mr. Doe flatters me," the teacher coldly chuckled. "Any other questions?"

Everyone fell silent again. In complete silence, the pages of the gradebook rustled:

"Well then, let's get acquainted with you. What composition do we have here?.." his index finger with a heavy pentagram ring slid down the list of students. "Wow, five phoenixes in the cohort. Accept my condolences. Does anyone from the feathered ones know how many DNA spirals they have? Adamson?"

"Six."

"Becker?"

"Four."

"Edwards?"

"Seven."

"Kirk?"

"Three."

"And I have nine!" Jake proudly shouted, jumping up.

"Brittlegill, sit down, no one asked you. So, Antipova, what about you?"

"Me…" rising, I faltered. My voice sounded quiet – about to disappear completely.

What are they even talking about?! What spirals? And why so many? Shouldn't a human have just two of them?..

"I don't know," I forced out.

"You have…" he froze for a couple of seconds. His glassy, motionless coal eyes pierced me through. It immediately became so cold and uncomfortable inside – as if I'd returned home where thieves had broken in during my absence, ransacked and turned upside down everything that had been so carefully and meticulously arranged on shelves and in cabinets, and then fled through the window, leaving it open. I even shuddered.

Having finished rummaging through me, Mr. Black arched an eyebrow and concluded with a sigh:

"You have all twelve."

There were whistles in the classroom.

"I doubly offer my condolences. Liz Charm, especially to you. You were unlucky to be held back a year. The previous group was much calmer."

"Come on, Mr. Black, you're exaggerating," the redhead seemed to have finally relaxed, realizing there would be no telling-off for the attempted truancy. Blowing a large pink bubble out of her gum, she copied his nonchalant pose. Well, at least she didn't put her feet on the teacher's desk. "Actually, Niki is a cool girl. We've already made friends!.."

After classes, a long black Mercedes with special license plates and a personal driver came for Lizzy. Or was it a bodyguard?.. Looking at the muscular young man, whose shoulders barely fit in the sleeves of his formal suit, I was so confused that even forgot to say goodbye or ask what had happened to her Audi. Had she crashed it last night?..

Brittlegill, incredibly delighted by his classmate's departure, dragged me to Alexander Garden to "refresh". He was in no hurry – it turns out he's from Petrozavodsk15, so he also lives in the dorm.

We were sitting on a bench strewn with rustling golden leaves, and in front of us, bright drinks were sparkling in glass bottles, full of bubbles. As last time, mine was red, and the guy's was blue. For several minutes we enjoyed the silence – after the bustle of the school day, we just wanted to catch our breath. Then I finally asked:

"What is orgone?"

"They told us about this in the prep courses. In short, it's life energy," a bottle opener appeared in Jake's hands, and he skillfully pried off the metal caps one after another. "Fuel for the soul. It's called differently in different traditions: aura, qi, prana. Orgone is the Western term. We can buy one portion a day from the vending machine with our cards. Sometimes students need to quickly restore their strength without 'special effects' – like today, for example… Drink quickly! In the physical world, it almost immediately loses its power."

After taking a few sips, I froze again with the bottle in my hand:

"Why do they make it different colors?"

"It's not color, but the frequency of energy vibrations. It corresponds to the state people are in. In senior years, we'll learn to control all colors of orgone, but usually each person has some basic one that they transmit most often. Currently, green is most common in the world – it's radiated by those in love, or those who are yearning, grieving and depressed."

"Hm, are you sure? Those seem like very different states. I'd even say polar opposites. Love is one thing, but grief is completely different…"

"They're polar in the dual understanding of the world," Jake was showing off his knowledge. "But technically, it's all the same green orgone. It can just be used differently – conditionally speaking, in a negative vector or in a positive one. But in absolute terms – in vertical bars – it's the same thing. And if people knew the basics of energy, they could easily move from a state of grief to a state of love. They wouldn't need anything for this except awareness. They wouldn't even need to search for energy somewhere or convert it. It's already in their hands. And interestingly, the love will be just as strong as the grief was a second ago…"