HP: Spirit Talker

Four days had to be spent in Las Vegas when the Indian messenger announced the postponement of the meeting. Lizzie somehow calmed down and began to behave as before, that is, her vital position as an over-mobile, hyperactive, over-coffee-drinking squirrel returned to normal.

And since the nearest object was terrorized, I decided to take this as training for the future, as well as a new experience I hadn't had before. Shopping. Real shopping with an active woman who understands the meaning of the word "fashion".

Men, I appeal to you. Shopping is not evil, but an epic challenge followed by an equally epic reward! You say it's impossible to understand women? I agree. But you can at least try to guess.

Why does your girlfriend choose black jeans in one store and light blue jeans in another? Why does she spend an hour in one store looking at a handbag, while in another store she fiddles with it and then walks away?

Dresses, shoes, jackets and coats, glasses and jewelry, swimsuits and underwear. Are you not interested in how she will look in different "crisp" packages? Or do you not care if your wife wears granny sweatpants or sheer erotic lingerie?

Yes, a lot of time and nerves are wasted on incomprehensible whims. But then, when she comes out to you, and you have a heart-stopping, breathless, and overt desire to immediately hide it so that others won't look at ME. Bad? Take your time, because at least you'll realize that she likes pink lingerie, for example, and can't stand purple lingerie.

I'm not bragging at all, oh no, just telling you where you can "dig up" insider information, he-he. So, Lizzie and I "walked" through the stores and I had a lot of time to discover this theory. I was also treated to a fashion show of swimwear and lingerie. Decent pay. Then we visited some normal casinos, a nice restaurant, a striptease nightclub and a show by an American singer.

The Magic City in Vegas did not impress me at all, because there were no special wonders here. Everything is somehow too "organized", pragmatic, without a cheerful flame of improvisation, original unique zest. We walked around, the girl checked out, even bought something, but I didn't until I got to a wholesale store of some chain.

There I bought fifty kilos of Mexican silver, a dozen big bags of Brazilian coffee beans (I liked the taste), several cubes of Lebanese cedar with saplings, and about the same amount of white sandalwood — an extremely aromatic wood, if treated properly, also with saplings.

The wood is for my future home. Even though I don't know where I'm going to build it yet. But the most amazing thing the salesman offered after the calculation — Ebony, Ceylon, a really black variety, and Mabolo, or Moon Ebony, a wood with bluish and greenish shades. I managed to buy three and a half cubes of Ceylon, but the Moon — only a sixth of a cube, and the price is crazy, but there were seedlings for both.

I was honestly warned that ebony takes a long time to grow, but that is why the wood is so dense. I liked this wood at first sight, and I've already thought of a use for it, but for now, all the wood will be stored in my artifact case — there's plenty of room there.

Other than that, there was nothing interesting to see, so I just walked around. On the third day, I began to feel the trail, but I couldn't see it with my eyes, and I couldn't do that with magic. Lizzie didn't know how to do it either, and the news made her very nervous, but she kept quiet.

When the appointed day came, I had a bad feeling, so I decided not to take the blonde with me. I would sleep for the next fourteen hours and pay for a room for two more days. I took the bus and left, literally feeling the sharp gaze of another.

And in the transportation itself, I vividly felt a "black hole" — that is, instead of a person, a tall, stocky blond man, there was a void into which the surrounding magic was slowly being drawn.

This person was very professional, and if I didn't have my powers, I wouldn't have thought twice about him — he was natural, calm, slightly thoughtful. Halfway through, the bus stopped at a gas station — a standard pattern, only the frequency of highway rest stops varies in the hotter states.

The promised ten minutes did not come, and I did not even hear the sound of the engine or its signals: I went to the store, the bus was there, I bought some change to chew with water, I came out — no bus. Five minutes. And in the parking lot there are four cars and ten magicians with glasses and serious faces. Well, that explains everything.

I calmly open the water and start drinking — I need water now, in this heat, because my body is not used to working in this climate. I don't see any point in showing off, so I'm not going to pretend that I'm not aware of what's going on and that I don't understand what's going on.

An older man in a beige jacket, jeans, white cowboy hat, and boots with spurs stood in front. Shoulder-length gray hair and a beautiful gray mustache, mirrored glasses. Texas Ranger talk.

— Serious people invite you to talk to them, and it's in your best interest, boy, to behave yourself — they don't like to joke. So you get in the car and do your best to play nice. Do we understand each other?

— What kind of manners would send a bunch of thugs to ask a man to talk to you? They could have sent a letter, or just a man in a suit. ..... — I look at people in "business suits" skeptically, more like a gang.

— You can ask our bosses, but now get in the car and let's go, I'm sunburned enough, I don't need the sun.

I slowly looked at them again while taking a few sips of water. This time I noticed the eleventh mage who had remained in the passenger compartment of one of the limousines. A dark-skinned man, with dreadlocks and some kind of beads. Jamaican? Haitian? Caribbean?

The general background is littered with the pandemonium of mages, so I can't get a taste of the his magic, but just looking at him gives me a bad taste in my mouth. Yes... it's going to be difficult with such a crowd. and without training. and this obscure man... Yes, it's going to be tough, — I think, finish my water and throw the bottle in the trash.

— I'm sorry, but I have an appointment. It wasn't easy to make, so I won't miss it. Afterwards, I wouldn't mind thinking about meeting your hosts... as long as they introduce themselves and do the decent thing. Yes. — I shift the sleeve of my light fabric windbreaker, looking at my watch, there's still time.

By the way, in anticipation of trouble, this jacket has been thoroughly reinforced with the amulets and seals at my disposal. The pale pink shirt is also fortified as cheaply as possible, as are the jeans, belt, sneakers, and even thin lycra gloves, of which I have a dozen pairs.

— You don't seem to get it, kid. You only have a choice of how and where you go to the meeting, and it's up to you how comfortable you are. — As if having a conversation about the weather, the man took off his glasses, wiped them, and put them back on. — But I have to warn you: the job is ours, we will do it anyway, we were even allowed to "wrinkle" you a little. So it's up to you.

— I also have to warn you: I will resist your violence and use all available means, up to and including lethal force.

— As you wish. — The man spoke calmly and drew a battle staff from his holster, though not as reinforced and fortified as the staffs I'd seen before.

The other thugs armed themselves as well and began to spread out in a semicircle. The dark-skinned man remained in the wagon. That's too bad. Until he identifies himself, there's no way to show anything serious.

The first action of the chief was an elaborate gesture with a stick, which at some point made the air thicken and shudder. After that, they began to lazily send multicolored ray curses at me, red, dark blue, and silver-white.

It wasn't hard to dodge them, almost, because the number of shooters and their placement allowed them to fire quite densely. The first to fall was a skinny brunet with a staff. As he launched another volley, my paper shopping bag flew at him, and the mage decided to jump aside.

I, doing a sideways somersault, caught the moment the first target jumped and made a palm pass. The mage was struck by one of them, twisted in the air, and landed face down on the asphalt, knocked unconscious.

The other, a stocky brown man in a Hawaiian shirt, I pushed with a gust of wind that swirled debris and threw it into the target's face. The mage took a few steps back.

On the first step, the ground caught his sole for a split second, and he lost his balance, swung his arms stupidly, slipped on a banana peel, and hit the back of his head on the pavement. The losses made the others more serious, and the curses came more often and more densely.

Well, let's take it to the next level. Another gesture with his hand, and the dropped staff flew into his palm. In a combat trance, it is easier to concentrate on tasks, so it is not necessary to shout a verbal formula for magic.

What counts in magic is will, intention, imagination. Wand pass. A crumpled cigarette pack flies out of the garbage can and into the face of a tall man. The mage leaps to the side and casts some sort of curse on the pack, instantly turning it into a cloud of ash.

A low somersault to the side, a backflip, another wand sweep, and the ash flies into the man's face, immediately piercing his airways. Another wand sweep and a lilac beam a meter away from me turned the package of goodies into "confetti" that immediately scattered in a wide front.

 Each mage used a different method of defense, such as a shield spell, a burst of fire, or a gust of wind. "Kiniro no hikari," I exhale, sending it into the face of one of the more hasty mages.

The daylight firefly explodes in a golden flash, causing the blinded mage to howl. — The ranger twirled his wand a little too hard, muttering something under his breath. I only saw it for a moment or two, because it was hard to jump away from the freezing spell. I'd already been hit three times by something paralyzing and once by something disorienting during my pirouettes.

Half of the protective seals on my windbreaker had worn off, and there was a small area of numbness on my thigh that was a bit annoying. GOOF! GUUUUUUUUUF! I barely managed to get away from the flying chain — I sprawled on the ground and then rolled over.

DZENK! A heavy iron chain came off the mustachioed man's staff, which he wielded like a whip. This was getting serious. As he swung again, I tugged hard at his pant leg. He was wearing some kind of protection, and more power was needed. He was pulled forward and upward and fell onto his back. As he fell, the chain fluttered and the mage went down heavily.

I swung my gloved palm at the quivering ball of air, breaking the spell and sending a powerful jolt into the panting man. He was thrown a few feet away and rolled to a halt on the ground. Two others were easily knocked out, but the remaining four were in a tight group.

Two were holding shields, two were attacking. It became very difficult, saved more by my acrobatics than anything else. Attempts to attack with magic failed, and the best I could do was to pull someone aside, shake them, but it was of little use.

Still, I had my first plans, and if things continue like this, I'll use seals and wrap them up in no time. But then a dark-skinned man with dreadlocks got out of the car.

The buckle of his belt was made of silver metal in the shape of a skull and bones, on the belt itself a bundle of death hangers, in his right hand a white cane with a snake's head at the tip. There's a whole bunch of straps and chains around his neck. Fucking Jamaican! — Jamaican flag print under his jacket.

A wave of the cane and a cloud of ash was sent towards me. Magic reacted instantly, and I took a four-foot leap to the side. When I looked to where the curse had struck, I saw the cracked, light-gray asphalt. I looked at him. He's blinking, black beast. The four are not attacking yet. The wizard twirled his staff and "jabbed" it in my direction.

A black and purple cloud rushed at me. I jumped a few more feet, but the sense of danger whimpered, and I jumped again, with a flip in the air, just in time to catch the satisfied grin of the dark-skinned man and the broad mocking smile of the white man. I jumped a few more times — the cloud chased me, threw all sorts of garbage at the thing, but nothing helped.

I was especially shocked by the effect of the cloud: some slime, acid and decomposition appeared on some objects. Seeing the futility of my actions and a serious threat to my health and life, I decided to take the matter seriously. Incendio. A stream of red fire made the cloud stop and hover in one place while my element burned the stuff.

Two red beams passed by the side, and I'm done with the blight. I turned to see the Hawaiian draw a spiral with his cane in front of his face and exhale a pale green mist with his mouth wide open and a wheezing hiss. Instincts screamed in a foul voice and ruffled his hair.

 A circular sweep of the right hand, a 'push' into the center of the circle of seals that marked the core of the shield. The moment the green mist came into contact with the floating paper seals, a round, slightly curved golden shield glowed.

Golden lightning repeatedly struck the shield, but it held firm. I looked at the enemies while controlling the seal complex, so I could see the angry grimace of the Jamaican and the concentration of the four mages — they had not grown up to be mages.

While the shield was working, a dozen multicolored rays flew into it, including some bright orange ones that smelled of something not good, evil. The black orb that the mage had thrown, the shield caught it without me and exploded, but I managed to jump away.

This was no joke. In the next instant, before the dust settles, I take several big leaps and crouch down next to the ranger. Seven seals around the enemy's stomach, wisdom of determination and focus, wisdom of will, and an open palm strike to the solar plexus.

The mage arched, gasped, shook, and collapsed. That's it, the anti-portal dome was removed, for the mage would not be able to cast any spells soon, if ever — such a distortion of the mental shell is hard for even a young, healthy body to bear. I don't care what happens to this man. I touch my left wrist and print an already bare tachi, a Japanese two-handed saber, from a disposable seal. One step. I appear behind the backs of the four mages who are already swinging. From top to bottom. Bottom up.

Step forward, sideways, and another slash. Turn on my heels, move away from the purple beam, step forward and swing horizontally. The mage falls to the ground with his throat slashed.

The mage raises his staff in my direction. One step. A slash from shoulder to belt. A flash of red defense bubbles up, much like liquid blood. A blue aura forms over the tati, heavy and cold. The wizard, who had retreated a few steps, began to make a few passes again, but the cast seals of "Purification of Evil" thwarted his plan, and most of the wisps fell from his belt at once. Step.

A horizontal strike under the arm raised to attack. The red orb of defense shattered, as did the aura of the mangled blade. A step forward and the hilt slammed into the wizard's stomach, knocking him out of breath. What follows is a matter of technique and a particular grudge against a particular black wizard.

After examining the battlefield, I take a short rest and think about the upcoming actions. It's a pity about the Tati — now this good blade has to be forged, and it's unlikely that it will be melted down.

Five complexes of seals of "spiritual concussion" and a complex of binding with suppressors on the sorcerer — he is also a trophy, among other things. After checking the cars and raking up all the useful things, beating the wheels of the cars, except for one limousine "Ford", I leave this place.

Already on the way it comes to me that I could have done an interrogation, gutted my memories, but I dumbed them down. And I can't go back. That's too bad.

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