“Hey, you!”

I made a face to Alina. She knows how I hate when she calls me like that, so she only uses it as a last resort because to it I will definitely react. It means it wasn't the first time she'd called me. I pulled the unreasonably wistful expression off my face and hurried to the bus.

“Dreaming again, Katy? Come on, we aren't allowed to park here, hurry up!”

It was Alina, my roommate and former groupmate, who suggested we go on a bus trip. At any moment I can close my eyes and find myself in that spring evening, when I was sitting at the computer, watching a TV series with adventures and chases. Outside the window the rain was pounding on the ledge, the young leaves were rustling... I always imagined myself in the place of one of the characters and at dangerous moments I thought - yes, I would definitely stumble here and sneeze there, when I should be hiding from my enemies quietly.

And just when I was imagining jumping from rooftop to rooftop with the hero and not making it, Alina came home from work. So cozy was bubbling coke in a bottle, so delicious was the smell of pizza... And suddenly this luscious perfume, these blonde curls and a ringing voice announcing that there is a burning ticket! Just like we wanted! A bus tour! To see old Europe!

Oh, Alina, I was nodding out of politeness and I absolutely did not want to go on any tour, I did not want any Europe, old or new. I have a great view over the world through my laptop monitor. Still, my friend knew how to captivate. Hypnotized by her story about all the charms of the upcoming trip, I suddenly found myself opening drawers in search of documents. A voice in my head groaned, "What on earth are you doing!" But it was too late: I was already holding out my passport to my friend.

My voice quickly surrendered to the pressure of Alina, who would drag me out to the kitchen in the evenings. She would make berry tea and scribble plans which excursions to take, which to skip, which cities she knew and would show me interesting places herself. I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to leave my cozy little nest for a couple of weeks. How wonderful it is, when someone decides everything for you! Being a responsible person, Alina helped me pack my backpack. Packing has always caused me a confusion. How do I know what of all my things will really be needed? I even moved from my parents in several stages. With Alina everything was simple: make a plan, check the plan, implement the plan-from shopping to packing for the trip.

She was very worried about whether or not they would let me go on vacation at job so soon. Yes, I was worried, too. My imaginary boss was a classic boss who did not tolerate being late and fined negligent employees. But the whole reason to have an imaginary boss, is to use her for excuses and make her behave as I need.

Alina thought I worked in a jewelery store. Part of that was true-I had once worked in a place like that for almost an entire summer. A convenient version: Alina preferred gold, and it wouldn't have occurred to her to ask for some discount jewelry.

In the mornings we would get ready for work together. Alina would leave for her travel agency, and I would walk her to the bus stop, make a big circle, and come home. Sometimes I would buy a bun and head to the pond to feed the birds. The ducks would rush to me like they were my own tribe, smelling my birdy little soul.

Alina thought we were living in my relatives' apartment and was happy about the low rent. In fact, I inherited the apartment from my grandmother. Alina was a little upset that we couldn't have parties because the neighbors were friends with my non-existent relatives and would naturally tell them about the noisy tenants. It’s just that I enjoy the silence.

So, with my backpack, about the contents of which I had a rather vague idea, in the early morning of a spring day I found myself in a small square near the train station, where the tourist bus was waiting. There were only twenty people in the group, but only a few were memorable. Two teenage boys - oh no! - would occasionally start laughing out loud; a large woman would shush them. A husband and wife with a young daughter sleeping in her father's arms; one elderly couple, one pregnant woman - I wonder where she was going! An old, intelligent-looking gentleman in a corduroy jacket; a tall, nervous young man with coiffed hair; and some other unremarkable people.

Alina whirled among them, helping her colleague push the sleepy tourists along. Her pink scarf waved as a flag. Even on vacation, she couldn't just watch what was going on; her energy always needed an outlet. I got nervous as I watched all those people cramming huge wheelie bags into the trunk of the bus. They made my backpack look like a toy in comparison. But Alina, noticing my anxiety, allowed me to take the backpack into the cabin, so I relaxed and distracted myself. Falling out of reality is something I know how to do almost professionally. And how not to fall out! The birds, my friends, are chirping; the leaves are shivering in the wind, so bright after a rainy week; the sun is peeking out from behind the clouds and drawing lace shadows on the asphalt. The slender cherry tree is all strewn with flowers.

A gust of warm wind blew through my hair, but instead of joy, I suddenly felt a heavy, oppressive longing. I felt like lying on the ground, on young grass and dandelions, and staying here, in this early-morning city that looked nothing like its daytime version. There are only a few cars, rare passersby are rushing to work, even the glass high-rises look friendly in the warm peach-colored light...

That's when Alina called out to me. I ended up in the back of the boarding queue. How could twenty people create such a commotion? Someone had refused to put the bag in the luggage and was optimistically pushing it through the narrow bus door. The blockage created a mess. Alina seemed to be present everywhere at once, trying to help everyone at the same time, now and then calling me for help. The eyes would stare in my direction, and I slouched, cursing my tall stature. Anyway, how could I help, even if I wanted to?

I was lucky enough to be seated behind the second door in the middle of the bus, where there is always plenty of room and few neighbors. Since the bus was meant for more tourists, no one even sat behind me. Alina ran forward to the guide, a woman with such an important look, as if she was leading a delegation of ministers, rather than a motley crowd with little interest in what she had to tell. What am I thinking though, people are listening... It is me who is sleepy. I hugged the backpack that was connecting me to my home, and half-closed my eyes, watching the familiar streets rush by, the cars begin to gather in congestion, and I felt as if I was saying goodbye to my city forever. I shook my head-what kind of stupid thought was that? Once in a hundred years out of the house, and immediately I'm a mess! " Gloomy birdie," my mom would say.

Birdie, that' what my grandma used to call me, and sometimes Sparrow. My disheveled appearance, my perpetually disheveled, shoulder-length fair hair. My mom would rather think of me as a heron, the same long and clumsy one. Often she would compare me to an ostrich. Yes, hiding my head in the sand - that I can do. I don't involve myself in any stories, but sometimes they do involve themselves in people' lives.

The first twenty-four hours on the bus were a mishmash. Noisy teenagers, a girl running around the cabin, her mother yelling. “Dasha, be quiet! Dasha, are you thirsty? No? Sure? Are you hungry?.. Why don't you eat? At least a cookie! A little something to drink? And you said you weren't thirsty!”

Then we were given dry rations and were promised a real dinner somewhere in a roadside cafe, but the dinner didn't happen, so we had to make do with a candy bar... I wished I had brought my laptop loaded with all my soap operas. But what is a laptop without pizza and a cozy couch? It felt sometimes stuffy and sometimes cold. From time to time I managed to doze off. I dreamed that everything was covered with green moss, and the wings of invisible butterflies were rustling above my ear. I woke up feeling like I was covered in moss, hugged my backpack, which hadn't yet soaked in the smell of the bus, and chewed on a chocolate bar.

Then night fell, drivers switched and the new one drove uneventfully. Somewhere among these scraps of sleep and non-sleep came the customs office. And it was night again. Quietly, as if embarrassed, an old, intelligent-looking gentleman was snoring on the other side of the aisle, and two aunts, who had made friends because of bus insomnia, were muttering in front. This insomnia reached me, too, and I stared anxiously into the blackness of the night, where nothing could be seen but the streetlights.

It was just beginning to lighten up when we stopped for a rest near the next gas station. I decided not to crowd around and get out later. There was a withered tree across from the window, and the reflection of my face was streaked with black branches, like a tattoo of a warrior ready for battle. "What do you mean by a warrior, Katherina?" - sounded in my head the disgruntled voice of my aunt, who had once invented aristocratic ancestors and lived her whole life according to that legend. She had tried to instill her fictitious aristocratism in me, but all I could manage was a romantic appearance. And that only showed up thanks to an absent look in those moments when I once again fell inside my head.

It was fresh outside. How nice it felt to have the solid ground beneath my feet! I inhaled the cold night air and looked around. Some of the tourists were crowding at the convenience store, and some were heading straight back to the bus. The drivers were smoking, and next to them, a teenager was kicking some rocks. I figured he wanted to smoke, too, but he was afraid his mother would see. A nervous young man with unwashed hair hovered over the sleepy guide and was pestering her with questions, running his finger over the map. The woman was waving him off.

“Lilya Sergeyevna!” an irritated whisper reached me. “We'll lose a couple of hours, we'll come to the hotel later, it's not a problem! But we will get to see the house of the alchemist who... No! I couldn't make the trip myself, do you have any idea how expensive that is?!”

It got boring. I went further away to listen to the forest. A nightingale was singing in the distance, a gray bird just like me, but I am a voiceless gray bird. I thought it might be a swamp or a river nearby, frogs were squawking in disorderly chorus. I saw a shrub with dense leaves and large, ready-to-bloom buds. We don't have that in our area. Small blue blossoms and white daisies covered the ground. I squatted down and ran my hand over the grass. No, it was the same grass as back home. Will we ever get anywhere! I longed to stretch out on a normal bed!

Soft footsteps behind me made me wince and turn around.

“Oh, girl, don't be frightened!” smiling, said the intelligent old man.

“I'm not frightened,” I muttered, rising from the grass with regret.

“Pardon the annoying old man... “

Well, here we go! Just like my aunt.

“...but I see you're interested in nature, aren't you? “

I'm not, I'm not!

“Well... I...”

What else was a girl brought up by a pseudo-aristocratic aunt supposed to say?

“...and people, too, I guess. I could see a kindred spirit in you at once.”

That was the last thing I need.

“Haven't you ever noticed how people sometimes resemble plants?”

Leeches. People resemble clingy leeches!

Grandpa took a notebook in a worn leather cover out of the pocket of his corduroy jacket.

“Take a look”.

He slobbered his finger and began to flip through the pages quickly.

“Here! Our restless young neighbor now reminds me of ivy around a sedate tree.”

I glanced behind the old man's back for a start. So it was - the nervous guy was still annoying the guide. It was not ivy, it was a true leech! Then I leaned over the notebook and froze. The dark leaves hugged the trunk like arms, and it looked like it was trying to wriggle out. Just a quick pencil sketch, but so lifelike.

“I just pictured it, so to speak,” the old man said, coughing modestly.

I took the notebook and flipped back, voicing my guesses. There were two thistles intertwined by their necks - teenage boys, for sure! The blossoming tulip was Alina. A small perky dandelion growing between two fly agarics made me smile.

“And where am I?”

“You, my dear, I cannot identify. But do not worry, there still is time, I'll guess who you are!”

Quietly chuckling, the intelligent old man hid his notebook in his pocket and headed for the bus. I stood a little longer, wondering how quickly the sky at the edge of the horizon managed to change color to a bright blue. I felt relieved, and on the bus I finally fell into a deep, restful sleep.

I lost track and had no idea as to which city we had just left. It didn't take long before the bus rolled from the cool of spring to the warm beginning of summer. It was the fifth day of the trip, and we were wandering through the countries as if we were not tourists, but last year's leaves that were being chased by the wind without any route. Alina insisted that we were going exactly according to the plan, showing me the lines on the map. Okay, okay, I'm not arguing, you know better!

The tour guide lady reassured the tired group that we would be spending two whole days in the next city. Before that, we spent the night either in a bus or in identical cheap hotels - a bed, a closet, and one shower per few rooms. Small towns with cobblestones and the obligatory cathedral spire merged into one endless city. I had already learned to guess where the next crooked street would lead: to the local market, to the cathedral square, or to the courtyard with a fountain. Tourist shops with the same souvenirs seemed to follow us on their own buses, overtaking us somewhere along the way and lining up in identical rows in the new town, pretending they had always been there. Alina's original plan to separate us from the tour was rejected by herself. She was in adoration of Lilya Sergeyevna, did not leave her side and caught her every word. The guide smiled graciously and patiently answered even the most ridiculous, in my opinion, questions.

Dasha the Dandelion ran and skipped around, causing her mother to call anxiously to her. The sleepless aunts usually sat on a bench in the distance and chatted about their own things. They were joined by a pregnant woman. Somewhere nearby loomed an intelligent old man, not taking his pencil off the notebook. On occasion, he would raise his head and answer my gaze with a smile and a nod. The nervous one was always missing somewhere, barely making it back in time for departure. He seemed to have his own travel plan. Sometimes he would run to the bus at the last moment with a package, demanded to open the luggage compartment, and spent a long time rummaging through his suitcase. The tour guide shook her head subtly, but didn't argue.

I would buy an ice cream and walk away from the group to take a break from the tedious stream of historical facts that tourists instantly forget when the tour guide moves on to the next landmark. Who would better tell me why this restaurant has a parrot on its sign, rusted with age? I could go in and ask... But no, I won't. Let it remain a mystery.

I took out my old camera and, looking around stealthily, took pictures of what I thought was interesting. The usual attractions are put at the mercy of tourists. The crowd is carefully guided to them by guides who read the text from the guidebook by heart. And these signs, or crooked plates on the houses, or an antique vase on the balcony, or curtains knitted by hand... These are the things that belong only to the city. Look, but don't touch, she says, and I'm taking a piece of her in my camera without permission. Don't worry, another city whose name I've already forgotten, I won't show anyone, it's just for me. No one will know I stole this piece from you.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

Our group was loading onto the bus, and I realized that I had lost sight of the Grandpa. On the seat I found a note, and I immediately recognized the piece of notebook paper.

"My dear girl, our brief silent acquaintance has come to an end: unfortunately, some things are calling, and I have to leave you on the way.

Have a safe journey!

P.S. I think I have found the answer. May it bring you good luck."

I turned the paper over. A thin, neatly drawn spike of wheat, half-bent, and a disheveled sparrow on it. I folded the leaf carefully and stowed it in the back pocket of my jeans.

Finally we arrived at the place where we were to spend two nights. "The little town", the guide told us on the way, "is famous for sorcerers and witches, healers and alchemists who conducted experiments beyond the comprehension of the average person!"

"Yes, yes, of course, we all believe you! Everything is extremely mysterious and completely unexplainable!" I thought skeptically until I looked around the bus. The nervous guy was gripping the seat in front of him so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Okay, everyone has their own interests. Dasha was delighted, too, and the teenagers got excited.

“Our hotel,” said Lilia Sergeyevna, “is by no means a simple tourist retreat. For many years the owner has been collecting antique objects shrouded in mysteries involving witchcraft and magic. It's not only jewelry, jewels, weapons, all kinds of cups and goblets, into which they once secretly poured poison! It's also antique books, paintings, pieces of furniture, alchemical supplies...”

I got anxious and stopped listening. Oh, no! One of the reasons I dislike museums is the smell of old furniture and fabrics, so musty and stuffy and sweet that it makes me want to run for air! Imagine sleeping there! I wanted to return home again, and I clutched at my backpack with as much force as the nervous guy clutched at his seat, but the fabric was already soaked with the smell of gasoline and dust.

The museum-hotel wasn't as bad as I'd imagined. It appeared to be an imposing, three-story house, squeezed on its sides by similarly old buildings, no different from them on the outside. Once inside through an unremarkable wooden door, we entered a realm of burgundy velvet and dark wood, crystal chandeliers and candles in heavy candlesticks. A wide staircase led to the second floor; from there the corridors led to two wings: east wing, occupied by guest rooms, and west wing, occupied by the museum. The hotel rooms were standard. Nothing peculiar, as one might expect from such a place: plain beds with white linens, pale walls, a dull painting above the TV, and a small bathroom.

The owner of the hotel, a broad and short lady in her fifties with slanted eyes, called herself Mistress Sai. She spoke pretty good English, so I didn't listen to what the guide was interpreting. Mistress Sai explained that she was descended from an extraordinarily wealthy Chinese mandarin whose youngest son had traveled the world in search of treasures, and that she was keeping the family tradition. I immediately thought of my aunt with her pseudo-aristocratic roots.

Later that evening we were invited to the dining room, most of which was occupied by a long oak table. The food was unpretentious in keeping with the rooms, but the conversation was distracting. Mistress Sai told us about her museum, which she was going to show us after dinner. Alina listened with her mouth open, as did the others. Something was bothering me. Our hostess's sly gaze ran from one person to another, searching habitually for something of value. She often glanced at the nervous guy, though that was not surprising - he was all twisting. When her gaze crossed mine, I felt my fingers grow cold and shivers run down my spine. In a second, I was sorted through every bone in my body, examined from every angle, and judged. I did as my aunt had taught me out of habit-an aristocrat who was also into mysticism and esotericism. I put an imaginary mirror between me and the hostess, as if she were looking at her reflection, not at me. The hostess shifted her gaze to the tour guide. I sighed. It's always nice to think that little tricks like this work, even if they don't. It suddenly occurred to me that Mistress Sai herself looked like a treasure chest. The folds of her skirt could hold jewels from sunken ships, or the skulls of hapless sailors, or even a blood-stained dagger.

I woke up in a cold sweat, shaking off the invisible moss that seemed to cover me from head to toe and intended to get inside. There was a prickly feeling in my chest, as if something was going wrong. Alina was breathing steadily, leaning back against the wall. I sat up on the bed, groped for my jeans, and laced up my sneakers. I wanted to find the kitchen and make some tea, it always helps at home, and it should help here, too.

I walked down the dark hallway, trying not to make any noise or wake anyone. The candles were out for the night, but there were dim lamps in the corners. To my disappointment, there were no lights in the living room, and I couldn't find a switch on the wall. I didn't want to go back into the room for the phone, so I rummaged through the drawers of the dresser. There were candles, which meant there had to be matches somewhere. Aha! Good guess! I picked out a longer candle and a lighter candlestick, cup-like, with a round handle for a finger. The only thing missing was a long white lace nightgown and a rattling chain on my leg.

I quickly found the door to the guest kitchen. With all this searching, I forgot about my nightmare, and I didn't feel like having tea anymore. After a few sips of water, I decided to check out the museum. To be honest, I wasn't that interested in the exhibits. We were guided through the museum after dinner by Mistress Sai who was carefully describing the history of each item. After half an hour, I was ready to curse all the jars and bottles, cat bones and frog pelts, beads and amulets, sofas and folding screens, and endless doors, behind which new and new piles of things were discovered. The rooms were not large, tourists were jostling to get closer, someone was furtively touching the objects. Dasha slept in her father's arms, sleepless aunts stayed in the corridor by the open window. I would have joined them, but Alina dragged me along by the hand.

There was a second door in one of the rooms, leading to a larger area. I could see the shelves full of books, the cloudy mirror in the corner, and the high-backed chair facing it. The dark spots on the mirror made it seem as if someone was sitting in the barely visible, reflected chair. I felt an unbearable urge to choose a book from the shelf, a one with pictures, and to sit in the chair... And someone would bring me a bottle of Coke, too! My reverie was interrupted by Mistress Sai, who noisily shoved a nervous young man away from the door:

“No, no! Sorry, it's closed!”

“But why?!” The young man almost shrieked.

“Stockroom, nothing interesting!” said the hostess, pushed the nervous guy aside and slammed the door.

He continued to protest, and Lilya Sergeyevna had to intervene, assuring that she would somehow arrange for the young man to be allowed in as an exception. This made me very angry, and I pestered Alina all evening with my grumbling. How is it that he's allowed in and others aren't? Others may be interested, too! Is it that if you throw a tantrum, then everything is possible? Alina promised to talk to Lilia Sergeyevna, to let me in as an exception, too, and then I got offended. Did she just put me on a par with this lunatic? Which is why, as I made my adventurous way to the kitchen, partly out of resentment, partly out of curiosity, I decided to try my luck.

What had gotten into me? I had never sought adventure, and I had never once in my life wanted to tickle my nerves by walking through the dark rooms filled with old, tarnished furniture "with history," as Lilya Sergeyevna put it. It was as if the hero of my favorite books had taken possession of me. Here she is, cautiously looking around - whether the enemy lurks in the deep shadows - comes out of the living room. On the way she almost takes down a floor vase, but the story will not mention it. Then she rushes up the stairs gracefully and noiselessly toward the corridors, tripping and bruising her leg, but the reader of the novel does not need to know about it. At least the steps don't creak, and that's a good thing.

The candle flame twitched, and I suddenly realized that I was probably leaving behind me drops of wax. That little detail brought me back to reality, and immediately I felt uncomfortable. But I wasn't going to turn around halfway! I pulled the door toward me, and a musty smell of antiquity wafted through the gap. Strangely, it didn't seem so distinct in the evening. They must have closed the windows for the night. The candle flickered and went out. Ugh! Fortunately, knowing what surprises usually await the heroes of adventure novels, I had brought a box of matches with me.

Then it took a while for the loser-birdie to try different doors, and none of them were the right one. I remembered that there was a headless mannequin in a peacock feather skirt in the main room, but how would I find it now? At last a stripe of twinkling light caught my eye. It must be the door! And why didn't I think that the hostess herself might be sitting in a cozy chair, certainly not with a glass of Coke, but with a glass of wine, and studying an ancient book of magic, ready to put a spell on the uninvited guest? Suddenly there were male voices. One was barely audible, and the other shrieked and wailed and begged. Was it not our nervous friend? But who was he talking to? I extinguished the candle, put the candlestick on the floor, and moved closer.

...and again I ask myself, what came over me? Maybe it was the lack of soap operas. Why didn't you go back to your room, you brainless chicken, go to bed and watch more of your mossy nightmares?

The nearest room with the mannequin was barely lit. The door in the far room was open, and light from candles on the floor was coming in from the far room. I was unpleasantly surprised at the resemblance between my actions and those of the nervous young man: sneaking into the library, not using the electric light... He exclaimed something again, and a second voice answered sharply. The nervous one gibbered, convincing and pleading. Speak louder, I can't understand anything! I stepped very gently - I was lucky there was a carpet! I even managed not to drop anything on the way.

Trying to stay in the shadows, I looked into the room. First of all, the chair had been pushed back to the corner. Second, a nervous guy was literally crawling on his knees under the mirror, though it was more of a “first thing”. But this fact was so out of place in my mind that my brain noted the change in the environment first. Thirdly, there were books, sheets of paper, and vials lying all over the place. And lastly, the mirror... The spots were gone, but something else had appeared. No, it wasn't a nervous guy's reflection, as I'd first tried to convince myself. There was a man sitting cross-legged at the very edge of the mirror, not going beyond the frame. He was staring impassively at my fellow traveler, who was banging his forehead against the floor. Before I could open my mouth to scream, shriek, or whatever one is supposed to do in such situations, the nervous guy, not noticing me, resumed his pleading. Here I should have run! But I was petrified.

“Oh, great mirror demon! Come to your senses! I, and I alone, offer you an incredible gift, the life of my unborn son,” he waved his hand toward the chair.

Only then was I able to look away from the mirror. A pregnant woman sat in the chair, smiling placidly, rubbing her belly.

“I repeat, I do not want your unborn son,” the demon said clearly. He obviously had enough of the young man's leech-like essence. “And this woman...”

“I've paid her enough to keep her quiet!” shouted the nervous guy. He grabbed a book from the floor and shook it in front of the mirror. “Isn't that enough for you? I know all your tricks, you can't fool me! I'm persistent, yes, it took me a long time to get to you. I'll agree to anything!”

I couldn't get a good look at the demon. In the twitching light of the candle flames, black shadows were jumping on the yellow of his face. The demon was silent, and then he said thoughtfully:

“And you're even willing to take my place in the mirror?”

“What? You're making fun of me!” shrieked the nervous guy, and then mumbled: “There's something wrong here, the demon doesn't leave his abode...”

He started fumbling around on the floor, found some sheets, threw them away, leafed through a book, threw it away too, grabbed his head. He tugged at his thin, unwashed hair. The pregnant woman was napping at all. I was afraid to move - what if the demon noticed? Only now was it beginning to dawn on me: this wasn't one of my favorite TV series. There really is something going on here that stupid birds should stay away from.

“The mirror is the source of a demon's power, and it does not leave its dwelling without necessity,” Nervous guy squinted and read the line from the book. “What's the catch?”

“You'll stay there for twenty-seven years.”

“Twenty-seven years to guard the demon's mirror, possessing all the same things you possess?”

Is he that obsessed with his idea that he doesn't realize that what he's about to get is not what he's hoping for? A fool could see that! I suppressed the heroic impulse to leap out into the middle of the room with an exhortation not to believe any otherworldly creatures. You, Katherina, are not in the TV, and this ignorant sorcerer is not worth the risk. No one is worth it at all! So stay quietly and wait for the moment when you can get away, run to your room, go to bed, and pretend you were dreaming.

“Just a grain of sand in your clock, and for me... Not much, but still... In twenty-seven years I'll have learned a lot. What about you?”

“I'll have a little walk," the demon said softly.

He's lying! It is as simple as a grain of sand from your clock! Will the guy really believe it?

“I am tired of sitting in the mirror,” the demon added with a subtly changed intonation.

Now that's the truth, you can hear it right away! However, the nervous young man was not as attentive as the avid TV series lover. Now if only there were a slice of pizza and a fizzy coke in a glass... I had to tell myself off, because this was clearly not an entertainment show. But I couldn't go either, I was too afraid to move, not to mention trying to leave the room. I was sure I would stumble and drop something!

The young man jumped up and scurried around the room. I froze. Wishing he wouldn't look in my direction!

“I have to take my chances! I've come a long way... What about this one?” He suddenly exclaimed.

I flinched, but he wasn't looking at me, he was staring at the chair, at the napping woman.

“Ah, the hell with it, I paid - let her sort it out herself. Well, demon, I agree.”

The demon rose to his feet, reached deep into the mirror, pulled out a long cloak and threw it over his shoulders.

“Put both hands on the surface and say you agree to replace me in the mirror for twenty-seven years.”

“Is that it?”

That's it, you fool! What on earth are you doing!

But the young man really did what the demon said. I didn't have time to blink, though I might not have blinked at all, before the nervous guy fell inside the mirror. The demon simply stepped outside. The hapless sorcerer rushed after him, but hit an invisible wall.

“Hey, now what is this? Why can't I go out?! I'm supposed to have a free circle next to the mirror! Wait, you tricked me!” - He pounded his hands on the surface in frustration. The pregnant woman was still asleep, and I envied her nervous system.

“You wanted to possess what I have, so possess it. Everything in the mirror is yours. In twenty-seven years you'll be out.”

The demon turned around, waved his hand in front of him, and glanced around the room one last time. He had a tired human face, not demonic at all. He took a step forward and was gone. The nervous guy, meanwhile, wasted no time. He was picking up papers from the floor and looking for something in the texts. At other times it would have seemed surprising to me that in the reflection the papers had moved, but in the room they remained lying on the floor. Then the sorcerer took a large pearl out of his pocket and pointed it toward the pregnant woman.

“Do you think you have locked me in? I am ready for anything! Maybe not at once, but I'll get out and find you, you deceiver!”

He covered his eyes and whispered something, the woman shrieked, jumped to her feet, but immediately collapsed back into her chair.

The nervous guy was more dangerous than he seemed at first. He may not have been a threat to the demon in the mirror, but to the overly curious girl he certainly was! The young man waved his free hand in the air.

“Who else is here?” he hissed through his teeth without opening his eyes.

I, in a panic and without thinking at all, out of a stupid habit, imagined a mirror in front of me, rushed to the exit and predictably bumped into something. I almost mistook the obstacle for a mannequin, but no, it was clearly someone alive, and moreover, much shorter.

“Come! “ Mistress Sai whispered and dragged me toward the exit.

We ended up in the hallway, and she slammed the door and splashed some liquid on it from a bottle she'd taken out of the folds of her dress.

“That would hold him up for a while, but not for long! Girl, we've got to hurry!”

“What?” I uttered.

Who's a girl? What's the hurry? My head was all jumbled up.

“What's going on?”

“I'll quickly explain, and you put this on,” said the mistress and put the bundle in my hand. “I used to have a beautiful rarity, a mirror with a sorcerer imprisoned in it...”

“A demon?”

“A sorcerer! That poorly-trained boy of yours...”

Of mine?!

“...decided there was a demon in there. Now he's trapped himself, but the pearl will allow him to gather enough energy to get out.”

“So we have to get that woman out of there and cover the mirror with a cloth,” I spoke the first thing that came to mind.

Mistress Sai splashed her hands.

“If only it was that easy! He'll get to the others, and then he'll take over the whole town. You have no idea what pearl it is!”

“I'm waking up the group,” I declared. “We're getting on the bus and leaving.”

The woman ripped the bundle out of my hands, opened it herself, and put the heavy silver amulet around my neck. She had to stand on her tiptoes to do it.

“I'll distract the boy, and you'll see the trail and follow it. You find the sorcerer, you tell him Mistress Sai sent you...”

“I'm leaving,” I interrupted the woman in an unconvincing way.

She wouldn't listen.

“...as a payment you will offer this amulet and come back with the sorcerer, he will fix everything.”

There, it's only in my imagination that I'm brave. Next to decisive people, I lose my willpower. My dad always said that if I had to go to work, I would be the perfect employee, fainting at the approach of the boss.

- Hurry up, hurry up!

- I'm not going.

- There's no one else, you've seen the sorcerer, you'll recognise him. I'll stall the boy for now. Everyone will die, don't you understand? Your friend, too!

There suddenly was a void in my head. How can that be...? How can someone die? I only went to the kitchen because I was thirsty!

- Come on, don't be afraid," the sly slanted eyes ran across my face, and something was wrong, but I was completely out of my mind. Everything was wrong!

- It's safe for you," Mistress Sai coaxed, "the amulet will protect you, it will take people' eyes off you. And it's very fast, just ask the sorcerer! Well?

Where the sorcerer waved his hand, the air sparkled with silver dots. I repeated his gesture, and the air in front of me grew hazy. Sai, shouting something to the nervous guy, pushed me inside.