Alchemy of Blood. Olga Shakirovna Isyanova
smiled and handed him a cup of aromatic herbal latte. He took a grateful sip. Walking to a round table in the center of the courtyard, Selene added another to the rich bouquet of dark red roses that adorned the base of a small stone statue of the Three-faced Hecate.
“For Senora Sartori,” she said. “She’s at home?”
“She’s on the roof sunbathing.”
The young man leaned over to the lily bed and gently touched the broken stem. Instantly, it bloomed as if nothing had happened. Senora Sartori’s voice came from above.
“Selene, is that you, dear?”
A woman of respectable age was leaning on the parapet, looking at them. Tall and graceful, with her snow-white hair parted in the middle and pulled back in a neat bun at the nape of her neck, she looked like she stepped out of the pages of a historical novel. Her large earrings, sparkling with diamonds in the setting sun, accentuated her piercing blue eyes.
“Buona sera1, senora,” Selene greeted her in Italian.
“Ciao2, my dear!” the woman smiled warmly. “It’s been a long time since you stopped by!”
“Business, business…” Selene replied. “How is the novel progressing?”
Allegra Sartori, world-famous for her historical prose, was one of the most elegant and charming women Selene had ever met. Her true age was a mystery, but it was rumored that she had been the mistress of one of the Doges of Venice, and had even served on the powerful Council of Ten3 before the Supreme Clan had settled in the city.
“Oh, wonderful, my dear. Your historical advice is priceless!” the writer replied enthusiastically.
“Happy to help! I look forward to receiving a signed copy!” Selene said.
“By all means, my dear! But now, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t want to miss my evening tan – it’s the best for my skin!”
With that, the senora disappeared from view, holding the white jacket draped over her shoulders with her fingers studded with glittering rings.
“If every time she says that phrase, the sea increases by an inch, Venice would have sunk long ago,” Frey chuckled.
“You’re lucky you witches don’t have such sensitive ears, otherwise you’d have to find a new place to live.”
Laughing, Frey put an arm around Selene’s shoulders and they settled down on the bench. They just sat in silence for a long time. Frey was enjoying his latte, and Selene was smoking a cigarette. Scents of flowers wafted in the air, and water gurgled merrily in the stone fountain. Everything breathed comfort and tranquility. Selene thought that she could live a thousand lifetimes in such an atmosphere.
“How was your class with the new girl?” Frey broke the silence.
“Not bad, except for her stampede at the end,” Selene shrugged.
The sun had set long enough, turning the red stucco walls of the palazzo a deep scarlett, to allow her to finally remove her sunglasses. Frey just grinned good-naturedly and shook his head. Then a lynx appeared out of nowhere and rubbed against her leg. Selene leaned over and scratched her behind the ear.
“Hello, Sylva,” she greeted the cat.
She squeezed her light green eyes, which were exactly the same color as her owner’s, in satisfaction. With a loud purr, she hopped onto the bench and snuggled into Frey’s lap. He absently stroked his familiar between the tufted ears. With each movement of his hand, when the light of the setting sun fell on it, the copper plate on the wide leather bracelet with the Wheel of Hecate engraved on it flashed – a circular maze with a six-pointed emerald star in the center, the symbol of the goddess-the ancestor of all witches.
Frey said that on his sixteenth Imbolc4, when all witches and mages are traditionally initiated into the coven, the goddess herself personally appeared to him in a dream and gave him this bracelet along with a familiar lynx. Familiars were considered messengers of the goddess, called to protect witches.
“My mother has informed me that our alchemist Andros is missing,” Frey said.
“Unfortunately, this is not news, he disappeared about a month ago,” Selene replied.
“However, the news doesn’t end there. The Hyperborean Library was robbed,” Frey added grimly, his words hanging in the air like a heavy curtain.
Selene’s eyes widened in surprise.
“But this is interesting. What exactly is missing?” she asked, her mind already trying to connect the two incidents together.
“It is not known for sure, but they say that there are some blueprints.”
Selene wondered if these events could be somehow connected. She was even more concerned about what it might lead to. The disappearance of a talented alchemist and the robbery of an ancient repository of mystical knowledge are extremely disturbing events.
As if to confirm Selene’s thoughts, Frey continued, “I’m afraid it’s very serious. The High Priestess is very determined and plans to raise this issue at the Great Sabbath.”
“So she’ll blame everyone,” she said, knowing that the High Priestess Devona had never been a gentle person, especially considering Andros was a member of the Grand Coven. “This can cause a lot of conflicts.”
In the past, wars and skirmishes between supernatural races brought only pain and chaos. Selene understood that the fragile peace and balance achieved at such a high price could be destroyed with a single ill-considered word. And there were always those who profited from the spilled blood, skillfully playing on other people’s passions and ambitions.
“You think this is all about Victor?” Frey asked cautiously, as if reading Selene’s mind.
He looked at her anxiously, waiting for her answer. The mere mention of that name caused Selene to feel a bitter sense of despair. For a moment, there was a glint of fear in her eyes.
“I pray to the gods that it wasn’t,” Selene whispered, but her gut told her that this time her prayers would go unanswered.
Frey put his arm around Selene’s shoulders and pulled her closer to him. She snuggled her head against his shoulder, breathing in the smell of freshly plowed earth and the coolness of the forest that came from him.
“No matter what happens, we’ll always find a way out,” Frey’s voice was soothing, like a lullaby, in time with Sylva’s soft purr. “Who knows, maybe one day we’ll settle down in a nice and cozy place where you’ll have the library you’ve been dreaming of for so long, and I’ll open my own herb shop to sell my potions. I can’t stay with Senora Sartori for the rest of the century,” Frey joked, and Sylva mewed merrily back.
Selene’s heart sank painfully at his words. All these simple things, accessible to many, seemed to her a beautiful and unattainable dream. She lifted her head from Frey’s shoulder and caught his eye.
“You’ve always been the most optimistic of the two of us,” Selene said, tucking his lock of dark wheat-colored hair behind his ear.
“Someone has to be,” Frey said, smiling. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be your best friend.”
And for the second time that day, the smartphone signal disturbed Selene’s peace. But this time, after reading the message, the smile disappeared from her face.
“Is something wrong?” Frey asked warily.
“The Prince orders me to come,” the girl replied grimly. “Urgently.”
Chapter
Good evening (Italian).
Hello (Italian).
Founded in 1310, it is a body designed to protect the political and social power of the Republic of Venice.
Imbolc (Saint Brigitte’s Day) is a Celtic spring festival, one of the festivals of the Wheel of the Year, celebrated on the night of February 1—2.