“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!”
My head was a mess, not a single decent thought in sight—just a storm of curses. If fate were a person, I’d love to corner her in some dark alley and grill her, not so nicely, about why I’m the one stuck in the crosshairs of her twisted, dark sense of humor! Four years! Four years of hard work, just to get slammed like this now?! Only two more years to endure…
Four Years Ago
I’ll never forget my first day of classes. I was riding high on the luck of finally getting into the university of my dreams, only to end up cursing the hell out of a bus stuck in traffic because some idiot in a Jeep, for reasons known only to him, got jammed at a stoplight and brought the whole street to a standstill!
Two blocks! I had to sprint two whole blocks under the mocking grin of September, which decided to play July and drench the dusty streets with unbearable heat. I ran like a swarm of angry bees was chasing me, physically feeling the disgusting layer of grime coating me from head to toe. And then, breathless and looking like I’d been hit with a sack of dust, I practically crashed into the lecture hall, nervously shoving the door open before it could even close, not even considering that someone on the other side might be trying to shut it. I nearly took out the guy closing it.
A tall brunette, maybe in his early thirties, dressed in a suit the color of unyielding steel, with eyes just as steely—flecked with icy blue sparks—hit me with a glare cold enough to freeze the Arctic. Shivers ran down my spine, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I felt a weird sort of gratitude for the virtual coolness in the middle of this brutal heat. Or maybe it was just the air conditioning. I’m not sure.
The next words out of his mouth, after that scrutinizing look, turned those icy shivers into poisonous darts shooting straight to my brain, triggering an unforgivable weakness—my uncontrollable tongue, which often forgets the golden rule: silence is golden.
“Are you sure you’re in the right place? Maybe you should’ve gotten off two stops later? I’m afraid the information from my lips might be a bit… indigestible for you,” he said, irritation dripping from his voice, but low enough that only I could hear.
I knew what was two stops away—a cosmetic clinic! Who does he think I am?! The venom from those darts raced to my brain, completely shutting down my sense of self-preservation and reason. My tongue seemed to take on a life of its own, and through gritted teeth, I hissed:
“I’m actually conducting an experiment on adapting my unburdened brain to process indigestible information, transforming it into biological impulses capable of turning a mess of random facts into something resembling knowledge, at least vaguely refining my otherwise unmarred-by-intellect appearance.”
“Are you sure your biological impulses are up to the task of even getting close to comprehension?” he smirked, just as venomously. “If not, it’ll make synthesizing ‘random facts into something resembling knowledge’ impossible. And I, as you might guess,” he flashed a wide smile that promised nothing good, “have no intention of making your adaptation process any easier.” He nodded toward the lecture hall. “Take your seat, if there’s one for you.”
The next two hours of the introductory lecture on applied biochemistry passed in a haze, as if my head were filled with silicone instead of a perfectly functional brain. Every now and then, I caught the lecturer’s hostile gaze. Or rather, I’d feel a chill first, and when I looked up, I’d catch those two icy boulders trying to freeze me solid forever. How hasn’t he kicked me out yet?! Over the next four years, I never called him anything other than “torture machine” or “bloodsucker.” Not to his face, of course…
So, studying in the Department of Applied Biochemistry promised to be “fun,” especially since the aforementioned Professor Igor Kolvin was the department head, making my chances of making it to a master’s degree shaky at best. Thankfully, he didn’t teach the practical sessions. Not yet, anyway. But the applied biochemistry exam at the end of the first year? Yeah, he was the one grading it. And judging by the pointed looks he threw my way during lectures, it didn’t bode well for me…
Three Years Ago
I aced my first two exams in inorganic chemistry and advanced math with flying colors. The third exam was Applied Biochemistry. We took it as a written test with the whole group, and the next day, after the professor reviewed our scribbles, we had to defend our answers orally. I wasn’t worried about the accuracy of my responses—I double-checked them when I got back to my dorm. But I also had no doubts about the professor’s knack for trickery.
When I bravely charged toward the lecture hall door, since everyone else was hesitating, my friend Alka grabbed my arm:
“Are you nuts?! Going in first?! He’s fresh and full of energy in the morning! He’ll flatten you like a steamroller over your own work. Go in last, when he’s tired of listening to everyone.”
“Yeah, right! And by then, he’ll be so annoyed by the endless parade of faces and our, as he puts it, ‘inability to synthesize facts,’ that he’ll flatten me even harder and thinner. Better to just get it over with than tremble for hours,” I snorted and marched into the room first.
Right from the first step, fate—the sneaky thief—tripped me up, literally, making me stumble on flat ground. So my “Good morning!” came out anything but cheerful.
“Are you sure about that?” His voice washed over me like ice water as I steadied myself. “But fine, let’s assume it’s ‘good,’” he added snidely. “The question is: for whom?”
My sometimes reckless and utterly chaotic sense of self-preservation managed to hit the brakes this time, and I wisely kept my mouth shut, calmly… okay, almost calmly approaching the dragon, who I hoped was well-rested and well-fed at the moment, and therefore not bloodthirsty—for a little while, at least. Theoretically, if you believe in fairy tales. Except my life has never really lined up with fairy tales.
Silently, I walked up to the desk and handed over my grade book. The professor opened it and glanced at my marks. Judging by his stone-cold expression, my perfect scores didn’t impress him one bit. He gave me a curt nod toward a chair:
“Sit down, Valeria Sokolovska,” he said, lifting those icy eyes to mine. “I take it you’re the kamikaze type,” he stated, not even asking.
“And you’re used to shooting down people on the rise?” I shot back, my brakes apparently starting to fail.
“Oh, come now! You took off yesterday, and I gave you a full day’s head start. So if you end up in my crosshairs, that’s entirely on you.”
“You said I’m the kamikaze type, and they usually go for a head-on attack: crosshairs it is, then.”
He threw me a truly withering look:
“You, maybe. But I’m more of a fighter pilot: I don’t much care for those who, with fanatical zeal, rush toward self-destruction.”
A real chill ran down my spine, and I couldn’t help but shudder:
“Did you find mistakes in my answers on the exam?” I challenged, staring him down.
“No,” he smirked, somehow ominously. “In your written,” he deliberately emphasized the last word, “answers, there were no mistakes. I just want to make sure it wasn’t dumb luck that you pulled the only ticket you studied.”
I nearly choked on air:
“What kind of luck would that take?!”
The professor leaned back in his chair, twirling a pen in his fingers and studying me:
“You wouldn’t believe it, but it happens.”
“Not with me, that’s for sure!” I muttered, dropping my eyes to the paper I’d scribbled on.
“We’ll see about that,” he said, his tone laced with anticipation, clearly relishing the torture ahead.
Additional questions rained down on me like confetti from a piñata. I wish life’s joys came at me this hard! I handled the first five or six calmly, confidently, and on point. By the seventh, I started to falter. And the eighth, honestly, tripped me up over some tiny detail… I didn’t even understand why it hit me so hard.
The bright June sun blazed through the window, way too hot for this time of year. The air conditioning either wasn’t working or was barely doing its job. Even the cold-blooded owner of those icy eyes—Kolvin, I.D.—felt it, automatically unbuttoning the top couple of buttons on his shirt. In the process, he accidentally pulled out a pendant—a crescent moon made of adularia set in a round silver frame. I stared at that pendant like it was the most important thing in the world. Where was my brain at that moment? Definitely not where it should’ve been.
I only saw the pendant for a few seconds before the professor tucked it back under his shirt. But my trance lasted a bit longer. I kept staring at the spot on his chest—quite athletic, by the way (great timing to notice, and on the worst possible subject!)—where the pendant now rested, unable to tear my eyes away, like they were magnetized.
“Sokolovska!” A sharp bark cut through the fog in my head. “What are you thinking about right now?”
“What?” I mumbled automatically, still fixated on his unbuttoned collar.
Everything started to blur before my eyes, a haze creeping in. My ears buzzed, and a familiar voice, tense and urgent, broke through. It was saying something fast, but I only caught a few phrases: “Listen, little bird, fly as fast as you can! Run and hide! Hide well! I’ll definitely…” And then I blacked out.
“Valeria!” The professor’s voice sliced through my ears, and I opened my eyes.
I was lying on the floor. The man, holding my shoulders, brought a glass of water to my lips:
“Drink!” he ordered.
I obediently gulped down the water and, honestly, wouldn’t have minded another round. My desire must’ve been written all over my face because the professor set the glass aside, reached for a bottle on the desk, and refilled it, bringing it to my mouth again. I downed the second dose with the desperation of someone who’d just crawled through a desert. A cold male hand (in this heat?!) touched my forehead, and I thought I heard him whisper something. Or maybe I imagined it, along with the swarm of insects I felt crawling over me from head to toe. But the weakness faded.
He lifted me off the floor like I was a doll and sat me back in the chair. The professor pulled his chair closer, probably worried I’d hit the floor again. I just wanted to sink through it. Faint?! Me?! Damn it! Like some delicate little lady! Ugh!
“Want more water?” his voice came from close to my face.
I shook my head no. But disappearing? Yeah, I wanted to vanish. Just dissolve into thin air.
“Look me in the eyes!”
Yeah, sure. That’s the last thing I wanted.
“Valeria! I need to see your pupils, or I’m calling an ambulance!”
I instantly snapped my head up and stared into his eyes:
“No ambulance… please.”
His gaze caught me off guard. No, it shocked me! There was fear in it and… pity? Or maybe compassion. Compassion?! From this block of ice toward the annoying speck that is me?!
He actually pulled back my eyelids to check my pupils and felt my pulse:
“Does this happen to you often?”
“First time.”
The professor nearly gaped at me:
“First time?! Did you eat breakfast today?”
“Yeees,” I said, stunned by this unexpected concern.
“Can you walk?”
Oddly enough, I felt fine, as if the embarrassing fainting spell never happened. I nodded. He handed me my grade book, and a shiver ran through me again as I slowly reached for my precious document, like he was handing me a snake. He noticed:
“Relax!” he said, his tone biting and mocking, more in line with the man I knew. “You passed the exam, surprisingly.”
“What, did my silicone brain finally show signs of intelligence?” I couldn’t help myself, clearly back to my senses.
“I haven’t reached a final conclusion yet,” he smirked through gritted teeth, “but someone worked hard on the design.” He nodded toward the door. “Call in the next student.”
I hadn’t taken two steps before his voice hit me from behind:
“Valeria!”
What now?! Why did his voice start affecting me like a boa constrictor’s stare on a rabbit?! I froze like a statue, too scared to even turn around.
“You got dirty… on the floor,” he said, now right by my ear.
And while one hand steadied my shoulder, the other carefully brushed off my clothes. I felt like a doll again. Motionless, because… his hands were so hot they practically burned. When did they get so warm?
“You can go,” he said, giving me a gentle push toward the door, like I really was a wind-up toy…
Over the next three years, I didn’t cross paths with Professor Kolvin often, but when I did, it usually ended with his biting remarks aimed at me and my angry retorts aimed at him. During exams, he pushed me to the brink, like I was running a marathon. And when he handed me my grade book, I had the overwhelming urge to sink my teeth into his hand—or better yet, his throat. He saw it, understood it, and smirked smugly, clearly pleased. And now, my thesis project has to be done under his “attentive” supervision.
May. Spring. Nature’s in full bloom, tickling my nose with delicate fragrances, and here I am, dragging myself forward like I’m headed to the slaughter. First day of practical sessions. Why the hell did I pick this topic?! What lousy luck!
I stood at the steps to the research center where the lab for my thesis project was located. The place itself was amazing. It was a little scientific campus surrounded by a small forest. Working here would’ve been a pleasure if anyone else were in charge. But…
“Scared?” a snide voice cut into my back.
I barely stopped myself from jumping in surprise:
“Unpleasant,” I blurted out without thinking, and turned around.
“Believe me, Sokolovska,” the professor said, stepping up beside me, “I’m not thrilled about working with you either.” He flashed a malicious grin. “But I’m used to doing my job well. After you,” he even held the door open for me, and I trudged in behind him.
In the lab, a stack of manuals was tossed onto the table, and a long professorial finger pointed out which ones I needed to go through first. While I studied the guidelines for my upcoming thesis, the professor stepped over to the window. It was hot, and the air conditioning, apparently, wasn’t working (again!), so he opened the pane. A gust of wind burst in, blowing the stack of papers off the table and scattering them across the floor.
Muttering a curse (first time I’d heard him swear!), Kolvin bent down to pick up the sheets. Cursing internally myself, I, being somewhat decent, slid off my chair to help, scolding myself for being such a pushover. Soon, we were face-to-face. One sheet had landed a bit to my side, and the professor reached for it, leaning slightly. From under his unbuttoned collar, that familiar pendant slipped out again.
I’m not entirely sure what happened next. My head started buzzing, my vision blurred, voices echoed in my ears, and my hand, for some reason, reached out toward the pendant. I barely touched it with my finger when a strange wave hit me. Instantly, my wrist was grabbed, and an angry voice yanked me out of the fog I was sinking into:
“Sokolovska! What are you doing?!”
I snapped out of the weird state, thankfully not fainting, and blinked stupidly at the professor. I don’t know what came over me, but his tone was starting to grate on my nerves:
“Why are you always yelling at me?”
Kolvin grabbed my shoulders, stood up sharply, and shook me:
“You haven’t heard me yell yet! Sit down!” he snapped, pointing at the desk I’d been at before. “And focus on what you’re supposed to be doing!”
Shrugging irritably to free myself from his grip, I growled, plopped back into my seat, and buried my nose in the manuals, trying to see the words instead of my own emotions. Occasionally, I stole glances at the professor: he was typing something intently on his laptop, periodically furrowing his brow as he read the screen. It felt like he was searching for information and either couldn’t find what he needed or didn’t like what he found. When I finished the last manual, I looked up. His index finger immediately pointed toward the lab cabinet:
“All the reagents are in there. Prepare what you’ll need for tomorrow’s experiment, and then you’re free to go.”
After I set up everything on the lab table, I half-turned to the professor and muttered:
“See you later,” reaching for the manuals.
“No!” His voice was so sharp I yanked my hand back from the booklets like they were on fire. “You’ll study the manuals only here,” he said, lifting a gaze that was somehow troubled—and not because of the manuals. “Students lose them too often.”
“I. Won’t. Lose. Them,” I snapped, not expecting any leniency.
“I said no! Need to study more? Sit down and study! But here!”
Letting out an exasperated huff, I dropped into the chair with enough force to make it creak pitifully under me.
“Break the furniture, and you’ll be buying new ones out of your own pocket,” came a grumble from behind the laptop.
For a while, I sat there, staring at the manuals, then shifted my gaze to the lab cabinet. I don’t know why. Well…
“Judging by that intense stare, you’re about to burn a hole through the cabinet doors. Interested in some specific reagents?” his voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Absolutely,” I shot back just as sharply.
“Which ones?” His tone made it seem like he could read my mind.
“Potassium permanganate, sulfuric acid, and…”
“…and something cotton-based?” He laughed. “The amount you saw in the cabinet isn’t enough for a full-scale explosion.”
“What a shame,” I muttered.
Kolvin closed his laptop, stood up, and headed for the door:
“While you’re here plotting the elimination of the ‘torture machine’ known as ‘Kolvin, I.D.,’ I think I’ll grab lunch one last time, so I don’t interfere with your brainstorming,” he said with an odd smile. “I’d like to see you put this much enthusiasm into your thesis.”
He left, and I nearly swept the manuals onto the floor. If my thesis work keeps going like this, I’m going to flunk it spectacularly! My thoughts drifted back to the pendant. Why am I so drawn to it? I’m baffled by myself. I’ve never been a magpie. It’s just a piece of jewelry. It’s hanging around someone’s neck. Plenty of people like all sorts of things! So why do I have such a bizarre reaction to some trinket?!
After stewing for a bit longer, I forced myself to focus on the study material. If I’m going to starve, might as well make it productive. I started sketching out a plan for tomorrow’s work. As I was scribbling on the second page, the door opened, but I didn’t look up—could be anyone walking around! But this day decided to throw me one more curveball: a paper cup of steaming tea and a plate with a couple of cheese sandwiches were placed on the table in front of me.
“I’m not thrilled about being blamed for another one of your hunger-induced fainting spells,” came the follow-up, in a completely serious tone, as if passing out is all I do.
I slowly lifted my stunned gaze: in the professor’s steely eyes, at that moment, little devils danced—complete hybrids of mischief and mockery.
“What are the odds there’s a fast-acting poison in this tea?” I asked in a perfectly even tone. “No, wait! You wouldn’t be that obvious. More likely, it’s a slow-release toxin, so you don’t have to deal with disposing of a body. I doubt you’ve got a vat big enough or enough acid around here to dissolve an annoying student without a trace. Am I right?”
One of Kolvin’s eyebrows shot up, arching in a sly curve, while his usual biting smirk slid across his lips:
“You’re on the right track. But there’s one thing: your thesis is part of my work. So, I’ll keep tormenting you a bit longer. In any case, even if there’s poison in there, it won’t kick in for at least a month and a half. Drink up without worry.”
With a spiteful grin, I took a sip of the tea:
“And in a month and a half, will I die a painful death, or will you take pity and finish me off quietly?”
“That depends on how often you play the woodpecker, pecking away at my brain.”
“Why a woodpecker?!” I protested, indignant.
“Oh, right,” he said, seeming to drift off somewhere in thought, speaking on autopilot, “more like a chickadee—annoying and shrill.”
“Chickadees don’t screech; they chirp,” I said, smiling for some reason.
The professor abruptly turned and leaned over, bracing his hands on the table where I sat. For a few moments, he stared at me oddly, as if trying to see something only he knew about, before asking in a suddenly hoarse voice:
“What did you say?!”
I even flinched back as far as the chair would allow:
“What did I say?!”
The man straightened up sharply and walked over to the window. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared at a single point—somewhere beyond the forest, or so it seemed to me. An awkward silence hung in the lab, and once again, I wanted to dissolve into thin air.
“Finish your tea and sandwiches, then go home… to rest, Valeria. I think that’s enough for today,” he said in a completely flat tone, not even turning around.
Kolvin called me by my first name for the first time since that exam. It felt strange, as if he were addressing an entirely different person than when he used my last name. And he looked like he was carrying an unbearable weight on his shoulders—they seemed so slumped, completely ruining his usual posture.
I silently gulped down the tea, wrapped the sandwiches (which I couldn’t stomach anymore) in napkins I always kept in my bag, and headed for the door. As I grabbed the handle, something made me glance back, and I found myself staring into his eyes again. They looked at me as if trying to recognize something.
“Igor Dmitrievich, are you okay?” I asked, not even sure where this sudden concern came from.
The professor’s face returned to its usual biting expression:
“Sokolovska, did you actually poison yourself with the tea? Go home already… to rest. Don’t be late tomorrow.”
“See you,” I muttered, closing the door behind me without expecting any response.
***
The next day, I got up a bit earlier: I wanted to take a walk through the forest before class. Alka, barely prying her eyes open and seeing me already dressed, just snorted:
“Man, you’re such a masochist! Heading to your torture session this early? Starting to enjoy the abuse?”
“You underestimate me! I’m a sadist too, all rolled into one.”
“Ohhh!” she drawled, grinning. “So it’s a whole sadomasochistic thing over there?”
“You bet!”
“Well, well. No wonder you came back so ‘happy’ yesterday. Couldn’t get a word out of you all evening.”
I shrugged:
“Yesterday, all the fun got ruined. Didn’t get to play the sadist.”
“Poor thing!” she said, shaking her head with mock pity.
“Tell me about it! Maybe I’ll get lucky today?”
“Good luck!” Alka wrinkled her nose playfully. “Sadist!”
This time, I got off the bus one stop earlier and hurried through the little forest, soaking in the lingering morning coolness, the chatter of birds, and the delicate scent of spring flowers. A pang tightened my chest, and a hollow feeling settled in my stomach as memories flooded in. How much time had I spent in the woods as a kid with my grandma! My second passion after biochemistry was herbs. I could probably still name every one she taught me about. There—burnet, though not in bloom yet, too early. And spring adonis?! Where did this southern plant come from? Then again, with the way the climate’s changed, maybe it’s not so surprising. Oh, and there’s witch’s herb, or ground ivy, if you go by the books. I crouched down and reached for those tiny purple flowers with one petal sticking out like a pouty lip. I wanted so badly to touch them, as if that could transport me back to childhood—or at least to the part where I was happy.
Up ahead on the path, two men appeared. Sometimes, you meet people you dislike at first sight. This was one of those times. Something unsettling radiated from them, and their stares made my hands go cold with discomfort. Before I could figure out what to do—or if I even needed to do anything, maybe it was just paranoia—they grabbed my forearm and yanked me with a motion that was becoming all too familiar:
“Lose something, Sokolovska?” a familiar voice grumbled over my ear, sounding annoyed, like I was being scolded.
“Yesterday,” I muttered back, though right now I was pretty glad for the unexpected encounter.
The professor practically dragged me along the path, not letting go of my arm from his iron grip. As we passed the strangers, I glanced at them, but now they were making a big show of not being interested in me at all. Meanwhile, the professor’s fingers dug even deeper into my forearm. I’m pretty sure I’d have bruises there, and not just one.
“Are we late or something?” I hissed.
“The early bird gets the worm,” Kolvin smirked snidely.
“Yeah,” I grumbled, “by taking it from the one who got up even earlier.”
“Exactly, Sokolovska!” he countered, sounding pleased. “Everything in moderation. Looks like I got up just in time,” he added, a bit more thoughtfully.
“What are you talking about now?” I stared at him while he kept dragging me along, not loosening his death grip even as I tried to wrench free.
“About time, Sokolovska! You were looking for yesterday back there, but I’ve got to deal with today.”
“In a philosophical sense, you mean?”
The professor slowed his pace a little and gave me a rather sarcastic look:
“No,” he smiled, though not happily, “in a purely practical one.”
We finally emerged from the forest, and I tried again to free my poor, suffering forearm from his iron fingers, throwing a pointed look at their owner:
“Were you that worried I’d get lost?”
He glanced back over his shoulder before finally releasing me from his trap:
“All sorts of things can happen in the woods.”
“But not in a tiny patch of trees! And on a path, no less!” I protested.
“Trust me,” he said with a mysterious smile, “paths can be deceptive, just like people.” He gave me a light push in the small of my back.
This kind of familiarity was starting to irritate me. Okay, I’m lying—it was pissing me off big time!
“I don’t have a terrible sense of direction!”
“What I’m talking about has nothing to do with geography,” the professor continued seriously as we approached the building.
In the foyer, he bolted up the stairs while I slowed down near the water cooler.
“Valeria!” his voice cut into the back of my head.
Honestly? I nearly hiccupped from the sharpness of his shout. Swallowing hard, I turned around indignantly:
“Can I at least get a drink of water?!”
“For God’s sake, go ahead!” he snorted and rushed off. “Just hurry up!” his voice echoed from somewhere above.
I hadn’t even filled my cup and brought it to my lips when some woman rushed past me, nearly knocking me over. I spilled almost half of the precious liquid, which I desperately needed right then since I was incredibly thirsty. Already irritated, I shot her a less-than-friendly look. The woman turned back, smiling sweetly while drilling into me with her almost black eyes:
“I’m so sorry,” she said, suddenly placing her hand on my arm without breaking eye contact, “it was completely accidental.”
I don’t know why, but I recoiled from her touch, feeling like something slimy and cold had brushed against me.
“It happens,” I forced out.
Smiling in a way that felt unpleasant—more like baring her teeth—she hurried off. I finished my water and… also… left. No, not to the lab… I headed for the building’s exit. Why? I don’t know. It was like someone was forcing me to go in a direction I hadn’t intended. My legs weren’t listening to me, carrying me somewhere I hadn’t told them to go. Stumbling and tripping, I somehow made it to a thin, recently planted rowan tree and clung to it with both hands for dear life. At least my hands still obeyed me. But my legs kept trying to move forward. I barely managed to force them to bend and drop to my knees. Yep, that’s right! All that was left was to pray to someone up there in the heavens, except I was too scared to let go of the tree. So I stood there, forehead pressed against the shaky sapling, swaying as I tried to resist some unknown will. From the side, I probably looked like a drunk.
Fear clawed at my throat. Even panic. What was happening to me?! It was like I wasn’t myself, like I was a robot under someone else’s control. How could this be?! Was there something wrong with my mind? Had I lost it from stress? That’s not exactly a cheerful thought. Cheerful? It’s horrifying! I wanted to stand up and go, even though I knew it wasn’t my desire. Then whose was it? And this poor little rowan tree was my last lifeline… If I let go, that’s it…
Someone grabbed my shoulders:
“Valeria! Are you okay?”
God, I never thought I’d be happy to hear that voice, and today, for the second time! And this time, even more than the first.
“Valeria! Can you hear me?”
I barely managed to nod and force out a few words:
“I-I don’t know… Something… pulling…”
“Pulling where?”
Oh, wrong question!
“To go… pulling… to go…”
Strong male hands pried my fingers, which were convulsively gripping the poor tree, and turned me around:
“Valeria! Look me in the eyes!”
More familiarity? Screw it! I’m starting to get used to it. But looking into his eyes? That wasn’t happening.
He grabbed my chin and firmly held my face in place. My face, sure, but my eyes—they had a mind of their own, just like my legs. I couldn’t focus where he wanted me to. Or rather, where he was ordering me to.
“Lera!” the professor’s voice roared right in front of my face.
So this is him yelling? Now I’ve heard it—my ears were ringing. Kolvin placed his right hand on the back of my head, and words and images started flooding my mind. Finally, my eyes obeyed. I managed to focus and caught that familiar gaze: steely with icy blue flecks. Only now, it seemed like leaden storm clouds were swirling in them. The foreign will retreated, my legs stopped trying to carry me off somewhere, and my body went limp, collapsing against the professor’s chest. He even hugged me, pulling me close. Not the softest place in the world, I’ll admit—Kolvin’s muscles felt like stone right then—but it was comforting. “Like behind a stone wall,” as the saying goes. Probably exactly like that.
“Can you walk?” his voice came from above my ear.
“Do I have to?” I sighed with universal melancholy.
“Yes, and preferably run!” my professor decided to completely ruin my mood, pulling me up with a jerk, as usual.
I’ve never been a fan of running. Swimming, sure, but who’s asking me! And unfortunately, there wasn’t a drop of water around here. Once again clamping my hand in his iron vise (hello, new bruises), the professor dragged me somewhere in the opposite direction of the research center building. Weird. I glanced back, nearly tripping in the process: from the forest, four men were running toward us—the two I didn’t like and two more. From the building, three others and that same unpleasant woman were approaching. Though now, a thought flickered through my mind: do I really need to run from them, or toward them? Kolvin was never a saint, and today, his sanity seemed questionable too. My dislike for those strangers? I could’ve been wrong. Maybe…
In any case, I didn’t have time to do anything, because a glowing, fiery orb appeared in the professor’s hand. He hurled it at our feet, and a thick mist enveloped us. Visibility dropped to zero, but that didn’t stop Kolvin. He kept dragging me along, gripping my hand even tighter. I started to feel like my bones were about to crack. I yanked against him, which only made it hurt more, and growled:
“That hurts!”
“You’ll live!” he threw over his shoulder, not loosening his grip. “If you get lost, I won’t find you.”
Soon, the fog thinned and dissipated. We were in the middle of a forest. Whether it was the same one I hadn’t gotten to stroll through this morning or a different one, I didn’t know, but there wasn’t a single path in sight.
“Where are we?” I tried to pull my hand free again.
The professor eased his grip slightly but still held on tight:
“In the borderlands: between the first and second thresholds. We’ve got a day to adapt before crossing the second threshold. They won’t reach us there. But here, they’ll show up soon. Eight of them against me, and you’re dead weight.”
I nearly choked on indignation:
“What do you mean, I’m dead weight?!”
Kolvin let out a nervous laugh:
“That’s what’s bothering you?! It means exactly that! So I’d rather avoid a fight if I can. We’ll hole up somewhere and wait it out until tomorrow.”
“Maybe you’ll finally explain to me: what the hell is going on here?!”
“Of course I will,” the professor said, pulling me along, “as soon as we’re safe.”