Escort For The Witch. Veronika Grossman
Eric out of his binge, or he’ll mess things up again and won’t even remember. Report back in a week.”
“About Eric?” Jack asked, resigned.
“About both!” Mrs. Renton replied dismissively, and gracefully spun around on her heels to prepare reagents and concentrates for the upcoming lesson.
There was a timid knock on the door, making Jack jump off the table and briskly walk out of the classroom, slamming the door right in a bewildered student’s face.
Outside, after a few deep breaths, he reached into his jacket pocket for a pack of cigarettes and lit up. All around him, the students were scampering like rats, trying to dodge the falling raindrops. A moment later, he tossed the untouched cigarette away and trudged towards building ‘B’ .
“Well, what mess have you gotten yourself into now, buddy? I guess I should thank my grandpa for adopting a one-year-old son of one of the guardians of the
‘Guardian’ Order, who had died tragically on a mission twenty-three years ago, and then adopting a newborn girl and naming her Sabrina and giving her his own surname – Venters. Oh, I forgot to mention that this girl, by an accidental turn of events, turned out to be a descendant of one of the oldest French families, whose women have been known for centuries as witches and some of whom have been living in New York since the nineteenth century. Apart from their good looks, these generational witches are known to be endowed with peculiar and inexplicable talents, inexplicable in the eyes of an ordinary person, that is.
For many centuries, the ‘Guardian’ Order has been monitoring the De Manshand lineage, collecting bits and pieces of the history of this unusual family, and often intervening in their affairs to avoid various troubles and tragedies. So it had been until Michelle, Sabrina’s mother, ran away with her newborn girl upon learning what fate Marie had had in store for the baby. This Marie was that very girl’s grandmother. And that’s when grandpa just couldn’t help himself. That’s when he outdid everyone in the order. I mean those who had ever meddled in the history of this ill-fated family and made their so-called ‘corrections’. He had offered Michelle his help. And she had gladly accepted it. They had first smuggled the newborn girl to the order’s secret hideout in New York City, and then grandpa had secretly taken her to Liverpool…
As for Michelle herself, she had returned home. She had wanted to put an end to the complicated De Manshand story. No one has seen her since.
Meanwhile, the girl grew up beautifully in the Venters family, which consisted of my grandfather and, as she believed, her twin brother Eric. I’ve played the role
of Eric’s best friend, who, aged ten, had moved with his parents from Liverpool to the beautiful city of New Orleans, Louisiana, USA. That’s where my relentless mother and passively-active father had followed their “old friend,” and incidentally, my biological grandfather, Alex Venters, and his newly acquired relatives.They had settled in a small but respectable-looking house near the Garden District, where they had lived until… Until Grandpa passed away. That was a year and a half ago now and was a devastating blow to our entire family. Especially to Sabrina. But Eric didn’t disappoint either! He began drinking so much that it was hard to tell whether his blue eyes were naturally blue or just from what he was drinking. And then he got involved with a quirky girl named Sarah. She was a
“free-spirited artist” or something like that. What kind of paintings did she make?
No one knew. The situation worsened with each passing day. They started drinking together, while Sabrina, once tall and sun-kissed, began to resemble a hunched coat hanger draped with a worn-out t-shirt.
Sabrina persistently called me, berating me for ignoring my friend and letting him ruin his life. I felt powerless because Eric never listened to me, it was hard watching Sabrina cry, huddled in a kitchen corner. Eventually, when my patience ran out, I grabbed Eric by the collar and literally dragged him into our family therapist’s office; the therapist also happened to be my father. After a long and, in my opinion, overly intellectual talk, Eric’s common sense returned, but he didn't change his habits. He did substantially reduce his drinking though. But cutting back on alcohol led to a side effect. Eric’s mood soured and he started arguing with Sabrina more, resulting in her calling me more often to vent. I should remind you that Sabrina and I had never particularly liked each other. I had snapped at Eric a couple of times, and at his girlfriend, as she was going through yet another
“creative crisis”, thus becoming his worst enemy for a whole five days until…On Saturday, August 28th, at eleven o’clock in the evening, my cellphone rang, and in response to my “Hello” I heard drunken, incomprehensible muttering. All I could get from that strange monologue was that Eric had been in some bar on Bourbon Street feeling very, very bad and sad. He had quarreled with Sarah and decided to drown his sorrows in some old-fashioned “Blackened Voodoo.” Business as usual.
I envisioned Sabrina’s furious face on seeing her brother arrive home, accompanied by the usual noise he couldn’t do without. And… I had no choice but to rush to the rescue of my degrading friend. I found him in one of the bars on Bourbon Street. I was incredibly lucky because Eric was practically conscious.
Drunk as a skunk, but conscious. Some hippie chick hung Mardi Gras beads around his neck and adorned his left ear with a hot pink artificial flower. Eric struggled to lift his head when I approached him and even managed a feeble smile.
“Life sucks,” he declared, breathing out eyes-burning boozy fumes. I dragged him towards the exit amidst the fitting, mournful sounds of the music playing from the speakers.
All the way to his house, I prayed to God for only two things. First, that he wouldn't puke in my car. Second, that Sabrina would be at work. She worked as a bartender in the French Quarter, and I vaguely remembered her complaints about having twice as much work during tourist rushes. As a last resort, I wished for her to be fast asleep, so we wouldn't have to engage in another endless verbal battle, the end of which was neither seen nor foreseen. This beautiful girl didn’t dislike me. She hated me! But why? Since I couldn’t find an answer to that question, I tried to reciprocate her feelings, but it didn’t work well. In fact, it didn’t work at all. According to her, I was something of a Satan’s aide sent down to earth to poison her brother’s life, and hers too. The problem was doubled by the fact that her brother held a completely opposite view and saw me as his savior.
As we approached the Garden District, I noticed Eric suddenly open his eyes wide in horror and press his fingers to his lips. It was a sure sign that he urgently needed fresh air. I dropped him off near the house to avoid ruining the interior of my beloved and still brand-new car and drove off to make a u-turn. While I was parking, that idiot not only entered the house, but also did it with such a racket that it could be heard even outside. I instantly froze. Silence. No screams, no shouts, no preaching. A promising start! So, our little fairy hadn’t returned from work yet. I needed to get this drunken creature as far away from her as possible, into his bedroom, and retreat before her return.
Meanwhile, the events that followed, I believe, you can recall well. She was at home… ”
Jack pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes and lit up again.
Only now did it begin to dawn on him that there was something strange about her behavior back in the kitchen. She didn’t lash out at him as usual, didn’t hurl insults, and almost silently took the keys when he was helping Eric “make it” to his room. He recalled how she just stood there, staring wearily out the window with empty eyes. So fragile and petite, so pale and pensive, and… so vulnerable.
Her long, dark hair fell in tangled locks over her slender, slouched shoulders. And when she turned to look at Jack, there was so much unsaid pain in her huge blue eyes… It wasn’t just fatigue. All the sadness she had experienced after her grandfather’s death was reflected in that gaze. What he read in her eyes triggered Jack. He, too, was mourning heavily for the old Venters. He was his biological grandfather; something Sabrina, of course, didn’t know. And Jack didn’t dream of her ever finding out the whole truth.
And now, his mother, his own mother, not just asking, but commanding him to
“keep an eye” on this girl. Of course,