Chapter 22
I was against such a demonstration, but my mother insisted. In her opinion, Hermione was too kind and simply wouldn’t be able to kill in a critical moment; a girl’s faith in the pure and bright could cost us both our lives. After the bastard’s execution, Mione became completely hysterical, crying and laughing, suggesting that we stage such a show every month or never again. I had to forcefully inject her with a sedative, tow her to my room, and put her to bed.
In bed, she clung to me like a lifeline and, trembling slightly, monotonously recounted her childhood: the fear in her parents’ eyes, the loneliness, the bullying of other children, how she hid from reality in books, reading everything indiscriminately. And then I came into her life, and everything changed as if by magic: a best friend, friends, new knowledge, and, of course, magic. Except she’d hoped for a fairy tale and got a nightmare, but she has me, and she hopes we can change this world for the better. As soon as Hermione finished her confession, she yawned sweetly and snored, clutching my hand tightly.
We lay like that until dinner. By the time my father arrived, Miona had recovered and said she understood me better now and would never judge me again. From that day on, she began training even more diligently. And when I asked her where such zeal came from, she replied that it had only just dawned on her how much our lives would literally depend on this training.
***
September arrived suddenly. Just yesterday we were hanging out at the training grounds all day, as usual, and today we were sitting at our desks listening to Miss Nelson. School life went on as usual: lessons, hanging out with the kids from the orphanage during recess, a little library time. Some classmates tried to ingratiate themselves with us or befriend us, since I’m the daughter of Baroness Hellsing herself, and Hermione is the daughter of successful dentists who work for the Ministry of Defense. Apparently, their parents had encouraged the kids to make useful connections, but they were sent packing. And it’s not because we’re stuck up or proud, we just don’t have the fucking time! What the hell kind of friends are we? I’m missing two essays on levitation charms, Mia and I haven’t finished calculating the new firefly artifact and haven’t perfected the Excuro yet?! I also need a paper on the Soviet economic miracle for my economics tutor, and a report on the recruitment of Indian princes to the Empire in the 18th century, as it was the most bloodless conquest. Only the Russians managed it better; they simply got the native population drunk and “conquered” the northern regions of the Far East and Alaska almost without a fight.
At the end of August, I finally found the time to explore the estate grounds, of course, under Victoria’s watchful guidance and company. I found the potion lab and the artifact workshop, and even visited the barracks. I was a bit stunned by what I saw, especially the barracks. During recess at school, I shared my impressions with the kids from the orphanage; they were interested in everything about Hellsing, and Lady Integra was their idol and role model. This year, at the Order’s expense, they equipped the orphanage with a computer lab, installed twenty high-powered PCs, and even installed internet. I’m not kidding, my computer is weaker! The Organization’s standing in the eyes of the kids has skyrocketed.
“So the barracks are mixed, with boys and girls living together?” Maggie asked sheepishly.
“Yes, I’m shocked myself! Even the shower and toilet are shared. The beds are next to each other, and we serve and train together.” I tried to convey my emotions. “As they explained to me, all Hellsing soldiers are equal and there’s no gender distinction. The only difference is underwear: boys wear boxers and a T-shirt, girls wear swimming trunks and a sports bra, that’s all!”
“What if they pester you?” Maggie voiced the question of all the girls.
“As Captain Smithers, the commander of the first company, told me, if a soldier still has such thoughts by evening, it means he hasn’t trained enough!” I hesitated for a moment whether to speak up. “For harassment, the penalty is execution on the spot. But if it’s consensual, then yes, but only on leave. Debauchery is strictly prohibited in the barracks! If caught, you’ll be expelled in disgrace and stripped of all awards and ranks.”
I didn’t mention that all soldiers undergo temporary sterilization during their service. Who needs non-combat losses in the form of pregnant women and men preoccupied with thoughts of a child? Magic may not be such a thing, but the children don’t need that information yet. For them, serving in a special unit isn’t even a dream, it’s a life goal.
“Maggie, we’re going to serve together, right? Maybe we’ll even put our beds next to each other?” Dick asked, and immediately received a sound slap. I can see he likes the girl; they’re going to high school together next year. But they’re still kids, so they don’t know how to show their affection.
– By the way, Dick, how is your brother? – I decided to change the subject, because Maggie was looking at him very unkindly, even though she was blushing.
– Yes, everything is fine! They drive the niggas through the desert, they guard the diamond mines, they escort the supply columns! – The boy is beaming with pride. – I recently wrote that they destroyed the rebel training center, the Yankees there taught the black-assed people how to use new weapons. He was nominated for an award, the commander of the division “Military Cross” promised. We captured so many trophies!
The guy hesitated and looked at me, motioning for me to move away. The guys were all understanding, and we calmly walked out into the hallway.
– Rigel, here’s the thing… I need your help, not for myself, but for Jack, he’s all I have. You see, he’s my older brother, he has a dream… – The boy hesitated a bit, but realized I was listening intently. – His contract ends in six months, he’s submitted a report to Hellsing, anyway… Could you… I don’t know… Ask Lady Integra. Maybe he… He dreams of this, just like me. Please! Whatever I want…
– Quiet! – One childish oath was enough for me. – This evening I will speak with Lady Integra, Dick. You are not a stranger to me, I will help in any way I can. I promise.
– Thank you! – The boy beamed and ran off to join the others.
Incidentally, there were no ordinary children at St. Ursula’s Orphanage; they were all either witch doctors or weaklings. I even remembered that at the hospital, the prosecutor’s psychologist gave me a strange questionnaire to fill out, the text of which was visible only to us, and the nurse then thought I was just drawing.
At my request, Jack Brooks, an excellent soldier and true patriot of the Empire, was accepted into Hellsing’s First Company, based in London, without any problem. He was able to visit his younger brother more often, and Dick was immensely grateful.
***
Hermione’s birthday arrived. As usual, we were drinking tea and cake in the dining room, while my friend admired our group gift. It was, after all, an anniversary; the old lady had just turned ten. A personalized dagger made of damask steel, inscribed with runes, with a ceremonial silver scabbard included. The craftsmen assured us it was as good as goblin creations, and my mother said such a blade would be a gift to the Queen herself. The Grangers were beaming with pride—their daughter was receiving such attention. Incidentally, the elder Grangers reread “The Code of Magical Britain” and renewed their firearms licenses, and began visiting the shooting range in Crawley on weekends. They’d lost some of their shooting skills over the years of peace. My friend told me my father had brought home a whole arsenal: two Brownings, a pump-action shotgun, and he’d somehow managed to find a Mosin-Nagant rifle in perfect condition with a bayonet. For those who don’t know, this ancient thing can penetrate 20 millimeters of armor steel at a distance of up to a hundred meters; it’s a lethal thing, overall, heavy and very reliable.
In the evenings, Dan and Jean would tell their daughter about their military service, giving advice on shooting, tactics, and survival. It turned out that Hermione’s father had served in the African Punitive Battalion and taken part in the suppression of a major uprising in the Cape Colony, receiving numerous military awards. He appeared to be a simple dentist, but in reality, he was a recipient of the Victoria Cross. Her mother had a simpler story: she served as a medical instructor in a field hospital on the outskirts of Calcutta and had served a dozen combat missions—several times she had to drag wounded soldiers from the battlefield under fire. Since then, Jean has hated the tropics and jungles. She confided to her daughter that her greatest fear was being captured, so she always carried a grenade with the pin almost pulled in her breast pocket, so she could detonate it with one move. Better a quick death than falling into the clutches of savages. It became clear who Hermione takes after when she’s so desperate.
Sergei arrived at the end of dinner, clearly in a hurry. He quickly wished Hermione a happy birthday, drank a glass of tea, and announced that tomorrow we were going to the USSR. He had a gift prepared for both of us. He had finished all his business and was ready to continue passing on his knowledge to the younger generation; from now on, the training would be more rigorous and productive. Anyway, tomorrow at ten o’clock in the morning they’re expecting us at the consulate, and no fucking way! After which he said goodbye to everyone and headed home. I wonder what he had in store?
***
I was once again driving through Moscow in the backseat of a black sedan, with Sergei at the wheel. To my right, Hermione was turning her head like an owl, studying the capital of the Soviet Union. In the front seat, Victoria was pretending to doze, but her ears, which sometimes barely twitched in response to extraneous sounds, told a different story. Mom couldn’t go; the teacher had shown up unannounced, and she had an important meeting today—Africa was unsettled again.
At GUM, the teacher led us in the opposite direction from the store where we’d bought chopsticks last time. At the end of a long corridor was a nondescript boutique with a plain, non-animated sign. It read in gold letters on a red background: “Trust No. 5, MANDA Branch.”
– Manda? – I looked at Black skeptically.
“The International Association of Incredible Woodworking Artifacts,” the man replied proudly. “What the fuck is wrong with this world? Why all those acronyms? It’s decided! I’ll fight tooth and nail to prevent Mione from creating a GABBEN, and what we have is enough to drive us crazy.”
– International? Do they have one in Britain too? – My friend pricked up her ears.
“Of course. On Diagon Alley, besides Ollivanders, there’s Kiddell’s, but they only make wands to order.” Sergei paused. “I don’t know how it is now, but when I was there, they only served pureblood families; the rest were a dud.”
The boutique had a sparse appearance: a white marble floor with an intricate magic circle at its center, beige walls adorned with paintings of various magical creatures and a large poster with a cross-section of a magic wand, and a large white desk with a computer. A gaunt, gray-haired old man in a black business suit and a yarmulke, with sidelocks escaping from beneath, sat behind the monitor. As soon as we entered, he looked up from the screen and smiled contentedly.
“Oy-vey! Look at these people, even without security!” Grandpa jumped up from the table very quickly and nimbly and moved towards us. “Sergey, did you finally bring me those promising girls you were talking about for so long?”
“Hello, David Abramovich!” Black bowed his head politely and began introducing us. “Here, meet Rigel Hellsing and her friend Hermione Granger, and this is Victoria, the girls’ nanny.”
“Rabinovich, David Abramovich. Nice to meet you.” Grandpa smiled good-naturedly and nodded at us, and we curtsied in return. “Look at them, they know how to raise you properly! It’s a pleasure to work with such talented people.”
“Girls need the best wands,” the teacher beamed with pride.
“How many times do I have to tell you that?!” Grandpa rolled his eyes dramatically. “Magic wands grow on trees, and if you’re so desperate, you should go to my neighbor, Monya Goldman. He has a wonderful cherry tree in his garden, from which his wife, Tsilya, makes an excellent liqueur. He always complains about the local boys ruining his crops, and Monya still suffers losses. But I think he’ll survive an armful of branches for you! Our family only makes a magical instrument, a personal concentrator! My great-grandson, Fima, even managed to remember that, and he’s only three years old.
“Yes, I understand, I understand. Sorry.” The man held out his hands placatingly. “Basically, we need the best tools for young witches.”
“When have I ever done it differently?” The master seemed genuinely surprised. “Now we’ll take measurements, then the computer will simulate the process and tell you which materials and cores would be best. Progress never stands still and sometimes even tries to help. So, who’s in the hurry first?”
“Can I? I’m really curious to see how it goes.” My friend raised her hand and spoke in Russian. Her accent is terrible, of course, even worse than mine.
“Please, speak English, I know your language perfectly well. Your accent really hurts my ears and brings melancholy to my heart.” The artificer pointedly picked at his ear and clutched his chest. “I immediately think of my grandson, Izya. I told Sarah, send that thug to law school, but no! The child gravitates toward music. I can tell you, it’s music that gravitates toward Izya! When he picks up the violin, poor Handel is forced to spin in his grave at the speed of the central bank’s interest rate hike.”
“We get it. Where do we go, what do we do?” Hermione was practically jumping up and down with impatience.
“Please stand in the center of the diagnostic circle,” the old man gestured to the drawing on the floor. “Now it will tell you everything for you.”
The girl stood in the center of the magical drawing, and a magic wand appeared in the master’s hands. With a gesture, he beckoned a parchment and quill from the table and suspended it next to him. Then he pointed the concentrator at the magical seal; it glowed with a steady white light, and the quill rustled across the parchment. This lasted literally a couple of minutes.
– Excellent! Now you… – The old man turned to me.
“Is that all?” Victoria said, clearly expecting something more colorful or spectacular.
“Honey, this isn’t Mosfilm. Real magic always happens quietly and without special effects,” David Abramovich said to the vampire. “And if you’re so eager for a spectacle, get yourself a movie ticket. And by the way, I assume you need an instrument, too.”
“I don’t use chopsticks,” Victoria bared her teeth predatorily, showing the master all her fangs.
“No, then no.” The old man didn’t even bat an eye, surprising everyone present; such a grin usually elicited a slightly different reaction. “You’re showing off your cavities in the wrong place. You need to see my nephew Semyon, he’s the best dentist in Moscow. He recently gave a gypsy sorcerer gold teeth, and now he’s forced to sleep with an iron cage on his head! The camp appreciated the implants and decided that such beauty deserves to be shared! When we’re done, I’ll give you a business card. Let’s continue.”
I was already standing in the center of the circle when it glowed, and I felt a slight warmth throughout my body. The seal abruptly went out, and David Abramovich moved toward the table, carefully examining the parchments.
“A very interesting case. I can already guess that the instrument will be complex and unusual.” He sat down at the computer and quickly tapped away on the keyboard, simultaneously explaining his actions to us. “Calculations used to take days, sometimes even weeks! But this miracle of cybernetics doesn’t guzzle so much electricity for nothing; this expensive machine greatly speeds up the process. Remember, children, any magic is, first and foremost, precise calculation! So learn math: even if you can’t cast spells well, you’ll at least be able to count correctly, and that’s far more important in our lives.”
– I read somewhere that a wand chooses its owner, didn’t I? – Ollivander said something like that in the movie, I think.
“Please, don’t talk nonsense! Once upon a time, a million years ago, a single wand already vibrated its monkey. And look where we’ve come to?” The old man tore himself away from the monitor and gestured with his hand. “That’s what I’m saying, nothing good. So, only subtle calculations! A wand is an instrument that should be an extension of its owner. Imagine a surgeon having to negotiate with a scalpel to remove an appendix? Stupid? And what about me?”
We watched silently as the old Jew spent about five minutes entering data into the computer that only he could understand, after which the printer began printing. Grandpa carefully examined the two sheets of paper and looked questioningly at the teacher.
“Sergey, I still don’t understand who you brought to me?” He pointed a finger at us. “Is this the hope of Magical Britain or the Secretary General’s guards?”
– What’s wrong? – Black tensed up a little.
“And I’ll tell you right now, this isn’t a tool, this is a murder weapon!” He waved the sheets of paper. “These are very complex and powerful concentrators! Although, it’s none of my business, I’ll have to pay a pretty penny, especially for young Hellsing. Then again, I wouldn’t expect anything less from their name.”
“Well, what’s going on, don’t keep us in suspense?” Sergey asked, and we all froze in anticipation.
“First, Granger girl—the material is aspen, and the core is the heartstring of a Ukrainian ironbelly and the sting of a manticore.” The old man looked closely at my friend. “Aspen is ideal for combat magic, the manticore’s venom kills almost instantly, and the ironbelly is the largest and most efficient of all dragons. So, it prepares any landing site for itself, meaning it destroys everything there. Be careful, girl, it’s easy to destroy, but it’s very difficult to create something you won’t be ashamed of later. Trust old David.”
“I understand, thank you, Master.” Hermione nodded thoughtfully.
“Now the second, younger Hellsing. I knew your great-grandfather, he was quite the scoundrel.” Rabinovich looked at me kindly, but his eyes shone with only cold calculation. “Wool from the mane of a thestral and the tail of a nundu, but to contain this power, you’ll have to turn to Boris; only he possesses the secret of processing ironwood. Thestral says you were beyond the pale, and I’m very sorry for that, especially at such a young age. And the nundu… Did you know that it’s the most dangerous predator in the world? It’s weaker than a dragon, but it always strikes suddenly and always kills its prey. It always plans its hunt and never attacks head-on, only from ambush and only if it’s confident of success. Only a few have managed to track down and kill this formidable predator. Keep that in mind, future Lady Hellsing.”
I nodded thoughtfully. This old Jew isn’t so simple, and the fact that he knew my mother’s great-grandfather… How old does that make him? Damn it, wizards, you never know—he could be a hundred, or three hundred. As my teacher used to say, a wizard looks as old as he feels. While I was pondering this, the master pulled glass test tubes, scarifiers, and other blood-drawing equipment from under the table. I silently extended my hand; my grandfather swabbed my finger with alcohol and quickly took a couple of drops. I’d read in books that personalized artifacts are always blood-bound or made with the addition of the future owner’s blood. Hermione followed my example.
Then the master took out two wooden boxes, placing papers and vials of our blood in each, and then labeled the lids with chalk. Mine had a capital X on it, and my friend’s had a G (Beta laughed for half an hour, remembering the old joke about roofing felt with X and P). How symbolic! If it weren’t for my mother, my life would have been a complete f…, and my friend’s would have been a complete f… But now, it’s our enemies who are in for a real f…, with a capital F. I lost control a bit and grinned predatorily, for which I promptly received a quill to the forehead from the master, who meanwhile pulled out a bloody quill (which he had already used for educational purposes) and two pieces of parchment.
“My dear, this isn’t the place for you; you’ll be grinning and daydreaming at home! Please sign the contract.” He handed me a pen and pointed to the document. “In the future, never give your blood to anyone without such a contract. It’s a standard contract, so please read it as is and sign it as is. Your blood goes only into the instrument and nowhere else. I will destroy the rest. And also, do not perform the flesh-cutting ritual for the next week! I will take the liberty of taking the spoiled materials and blanks as if they were finished products!”
“Like a contract with the devil,” her friend said, examining her bloody signature and rubbing her reddened right wrist.
“I beg you! Is this a pact with the devil?” The softly lisping old man clasped his hands. “Beelzebub himself should take a lesson from our State Bank mortgage. You’re mortgaging not just your own souls, but the souls of your grandchildren! Have you seen the exorbitant interest rates this year?! Better to steal and do time, it’ll all work out better! My Uncle Mikhelson started his business that way, though he was later jailed again, but at least he didn’t have to pay exorbitant interest to God knows who and for what!”
On that note, our conversation ended. We politely said goodbye and headed home. David Abramovich announced that everything would be ready in perfect condition, but in a week. We drove in silence in the car, each of us preoccupied with our own thoughts: my friend and I were looking forward to the new sticks, and Sergey simply smiled, pleased with his gift. Victoria, meanwhile, clutched the business card the old dentist had literally thrust into her hand before leaving. He was the first person I remember who not only wasn’t afraid of her—he simply didn’t care that she was a higher vampire. On the gold card, in large black letters, was the word “SUCK” written, and below it was the abbreviation “Dental Organization of Timely Implantation.” It seemed the vampire got the message, or maybe not. Although, considering the cost of dental treatment, the name was very appropriate.
Ahead of us lies the trip home and new, even more rigorous training. I can’t wait for Halloween, I hope Mom won’t refuse my request… This is very important to me.
***
The teacher delivered the new concentrators a week later, as agreed. The wands were packaged in carved mahogany boxes, each with a thumbhole in the lid. As soon as I placed my paw on mine, the box pricked me and opened. Inside was a jet-black wand, about twenty centimeters long, covered in Kabbalistic symbols that glowed at certain angles. Although that could have been my imagination or a trick of the light. Next to the wand lay a rolled-up parchment—a lifetime warranty certificate explaining the material of this particular custom concentrator. As soon as I picked up the wand, I immediately felt my magic coursing through my body and directed toward the artifact, as if it had become a part of me. I experienced a similar sensation with Alucard’s bracelet. A superb concentrator!
“Reparo!” I pointed my wand at the torn sheet of notebook in front of me. To my surprise, my desk was repaired along with the sheet, though the magic drained as usual. Under my mentor’s guidance, I began to feel my core a little.
My actions drew a reaction from Hermione, who was sitting nearby and admiring her wand. Hers was about the same length, but milky white, like the opposite of mine, and also covered in symbols from an ancient language.
“Lumos!” my friend said, mesmerized, and we squinted from the bright light. “It’s not a firefly, it’s a real spotlight!”
“Nox!” the curly-haired witch commanded, turning off her lantern.
“Have you had enough?” Sergei smiled contentedly. “See the difference? Children’s sticks are very poorly suited and are more for swinging the shot.”
“So, with these wands, spells will be more powerful?” Granger raised her hand and asked.
“Well, almost. Are you familiar with concepts like efficiency and strength of materials?” The man folded his hands under his chin.
“Efficiency Coefficient, so we’ll now be using less magic for the same spells?” I think I’m starting to get it. “Because these wands channel magic better.”
“Only your magic,” the teacher began in a lecturing tone. “These wands are perfectly attuned to you and will serve only you. I am more than certain that your wands would simply kill any stranger who tried to cast magic with them, or, at best, rip off their hand. Therefore, an experienced wizard would never attempt to cast magic with someone else’s wand.”
– What does efficiency have to do with it? – my friend asked again.
“Look.” Black turned the quill into a match, then the match into a needle. “As a rule of thumb, turning a match into a needle requires one unit of magic. A first-year Hogwarts student spends ten units, a graduate five, I spend about two units, but Dumbledore, as a master, will manage with almost no losses. The new wands channel your magic perfectly and allow you to precisely dose it, meaning you only need to use as much as you need.”
– Where does the rest of the magic go? – I have a guess, of course, but it’s better to ask.
“What should I think?” The teacher looked at me carefully. “Places where wizards gather are saturated with magic for a reason—the excess magic dissipates into space. The wizards reabsorb it, add their own, and dissipate it again, casting spells and incantations. Therefore, from today on, we will learn not only defensive spells, but also the correct dosage of power.”
– If I give it more magic, the spell will become stronger? – Now it’s clear how Snape sent Lockhart flying with the Expelliarmus in the movie.
“Exactly! If you apply enough magic, you can kill with a simple Stupefy, and the spell itself will be very fast and deadly!” The teacher smiled predatorily. “We don’t have much time left, so I’ve prepared a strict program, and Integra has already found two assistants who will keep you busy in my absence. In the meantime, let’s learn our first, heh-heh, combat spell…”
The first “combat” spell was Sting, and my friend and I practiced it on each other. The teacher demanded that we practice our power. At first, my friend stung me like a mosquito, but by the end, she hit me like a taser, so hard I couldn’t even stand up. Then it was my turn; hurting someone close to me turned out to be very difficult. However, the teacher immediately warned that if we didn’t use full force, he would. Judging by his face, he wasn’t joking. Sergey only seems like a jokester and a prankster, but in reality, he’s a maniac and a sadist. But he knows how to motivate, so we dutifully practiced the Sting spell, gritting our teeth, for the entire next week.
At the next lesson, after demonstrating stingers of varying strengths, we began learning Protego. According to the teacher, until we mastered the shield and its nonverbal execution, we would only study it and its various variations, and move on to real combat spells only next year. That same day, Sergei introduced his two assistants and deputies, two wizards from the First Company’s support platoon—James Banks and Laurie Ward.
The boy was quite tall and muscular, with an ordinary, unremarkable face and an equally ordinary haircut—a short, dark buzz cut. The girl, however, was short and very fragile-looking, half her pretty face disfigured by a scar from a chemical burn. Lori wore her wheat-colored hair pulled back in a ponytail that reached her shoulder blades.
From that day on, our schedule also changed: dancing and etiquette were completely eliminated, and tutoring sessions were reduced to one per week. The remaining time was devoted to fencing, hand-to-hand combat, spell practice, and firearms training. Sergei also largely eliminated written assignments, leaving only one essay for each new spell, and devoted the rest of the time to practical exercises. Only now they were conducted with wand in hand, because our “Bonnie and Clyde” were present at all training sessions, hurling simple charms at us, like the Stinging Charm or the Tickle Charm. Very motivating, I tell you!
For example, during fencing, I successfully blocked Hermione’s blow, deflected the blade, and was about to strike, but a powerful stinging blow landed on my backside and a cotton-legged one on my back. While I was still trying to figure out what had happened, sweet Hermione, with a predatory smile, delivered the “fatal” blow. It was the same during shooting practice: as soon as I was distracted by aiming, a joke curse would fly: either donkey ears would grow, or your nose would turn into a penis. I convinced her to teach us the latter spell; it was really useful, heh-heh.
Under such pressure from these two jokers, Protego was already starting to perform well by mid-October, but knowing how to cast it and using it correctly are two different things! The protective film only lasts a couple of seconds, and you need to learn the timing; different spells fly at different speeds. Even I can cast a stinging spell with varying speeds and power. So we trained, becoming paranoid during every training session, carefully monitoring our surroundings, and these two weren’t standing still either, actively “prowling” around us. If we were distracted for a second, something nasty would fly into our backs. It didn’t hurt, but it was very annoying.
***
Halloween finally arrived, and with all this training, I didn’t even notice how October flew by. In honor of the holiday, we were given two whole days off, because today is the holiday itself, and tomorrow is church for morning service. Hermione brazenly declared that she’d been playing with those kinds of holidays on the object her cute nose had been turned into several times, so she was sleeping in and relaxing today.
Because of her decision, the holiday dinner was a quiet family affair: me, Mom, and our fanged friends. Luckily for me, there was nothing pumpkin on the table; I can’t stand that vegetable. Or maybe that yellow thing was a berry? Like a watermelon (For those curious: Pumpkins belong to the gourd family, which also includes other melons: cucumbers, melons, watermelons, and squash. The fruits of such crops are botanically called cucurbits, noting their morphological similarity to berries, but melons themselves are considered vegetables.)? All sorts of nonsense is popping into my head from excitement.
Today isn’t just a holiday; it’s the day I became an orphan, and my brother and I were separated. I was considered a Squib and subhuman, I had to endure several years of hell, and all because of one bastard who just won’t die. That’s why I train hard and absorb any knowledge that will help me survive. I want to kill this creature myself, I’ll definitely find out why he didn’t die, and then… I’ve already carefully studied Heinrich Kramer’s Hammer of the Witches. Tom Riddle, aka Voldemort, will try out every torture method described there. We’ll start alphabetically, with the rack, then the punching bag, the iron maiden, and so on down the list. That creature will regret not having died that night.
Dinner came to an end, I carefully put away the cutlery, blotted my lips with a napkin and, standing up gracefully, walked up to my mother with a straight back.
“Rigel, is something wrong? Have you been very thoughtful all dinner today? Is there anything I can do to help?” The woman looked at me, raising an eyebrow questioningly, and with empathy, I sensed genuine concern and her desire to help.
– Yes, Integra. You know that my parents were killed on this day, right? – Mom nodded silently. – Anyway, I want to visit their graves, because in all these years I’ve never been there. I need it.
