There was only enough change for one thing: either potato chips or a pop. After weighing all the pros and cons, Daph bought the cheapest bottle of pop, believing that pop without chips was nevertheless still pop, but chips without pop would be a snack merely hanging in mid air and without any meaning.
Not too long ago, Daphne without a twinge of conscience would teleport everything she needed from a shop window or, simpler, pay off the salesperson by flicking her finger and generously transforming the dish for small change into gold; however, now this would be unpardonable carelessness. Guards of Light would immediately spot a change in the mystical field, would determine the individual magic style, and after several minutes a detachment of golden-wings would be here. And this time it would be doubtful if she could slip off. No luck can continue infinitely.
Daph, as before, remained a wanted fugitive guard. The incident with the labyrinth, which gave Methodius Buslaev the force, had hardly changed Daphne’s life. Like a ropewalker, Guard General Troil was balancing on the thin wire between life and death. However, to the rest of Light, she was now a traitor with black feathers in her wings. A traitor banished from Eden.
Pensively looking at the bottle cap preventing her from reaching the pop, Daph pondered whether it would be proper if she allowed Depressiac to bite it off, and whether it would evoke some harmful interest among the moronoids. In the end, she decided not to upset them. Their short seventy-year life is already so full of all possible shocks. “A head cold keeps them awake. A heart attack makes them sit up,” Julitta usually added. Daph opened the bottle against the edge of a phone booth scratched by many predecessors and, looking forward to the coolness, she began to raise the bottle to her mouth. Suddenly her hand trembled. The pop splashed on her chest.
That same limo was ten metres away. It was obvious that it had travelled along Glazovskii Alley, in a mysterious manner passed all signs and obstacles, and in a round about way dragged itself over here. Daph’s mouth became dry like having the sands of the Sahara in it. Her first thought was to dive into the subway where the limo precisely could not follow her, but her second one was to approach the car confidently and demand an explanation. However, the first option seemed cowardly to Daph, and the second required super-courage, which so far she had not discovered with the most thorough search. As a result, Daph did neither, but something in the middle: namely, after remaining on the spot, she drank the pop in large mouthfuls, although the pleasure had already been poisoned. The coolness now gladdened her no more than a butterfly accidentally flying under the jets of a waterfall. The limousine remained at the previous place. No one left it.
“If these were guards of Light, they would have summoned the golden-wings. Moreover, flashy cars are not our kind of transport. Ours would come on a bike and, helping an old lady cross the street, would unintentionally destroy a dump truck with maglody. If guards of Gloom… hmm… this vulgar car is more their style. But why would they follow so obviously, when even without it the world is full of invisible spirits serving Gloom? Why would guards of Gloom follow me in a limo, if I’m living at Ares’, what would they have in mind? But what am I afraid of after all? Yes, must approach nevertheless! This is simply shameless! They are getting on my delicate kiddie nerves!” Daph was angry.
After putting the bottle down on the asphalt, for encouragement she touched the bronze wings hanging from a lace on her neck, took the flute out of her knapsack and, having gotten up to the limousine, knocked loudly on the window. Moronoids looked at her with surprise. This girl’s brain was clearly tied up in knots. She threw herself at the car, kicked it, beat it with her fists, and swung the flute with a determination even a savage would not have clubbing a tortoise crawling out to the sand. And here on her shoulder was a rather weird-looking, bald cat, clearly sick for a long time as a kitten, in overalls and a bright collar, arching its back and hissing.
“Hey, who’s there? What do you want from me, huh? Come out!” Daphne shouted. However, the window of the limousine remained raised. Even almost burying her nose in it, Daph saw only her reflection in the mirrored surface. In that moment, it seemed to the stupefied Daphne that radiance originated from her reflection, and a golden semicircle of aura appeared above her head. She grew numb, not believing her eyes! The glass of the limousine reflected true essences, and for that reason, the car could only have very distant relation to the world of the moronoids.
The instant Daph understood this, the limousine again started and began to drive away quickly. “Aha! You’re running away! There, there, you get out of here, get out of here! Spin the pedals, before they break your buggy!” Daphne began to yell triumphantly. She sensed the triumph of a Neanderthal, who, having used cries and firebrands to drive out of a cave an old bear with tangled fur, moved in there with his entire family, and, just in case something else might still be hiding in the dark, let the mother-in-law in first. In the end, again trying to knock on the car roof with her flute, she ran several steps, but, after catching curious looks from the passers-by, recollected suddenly and, filled with the same consciousness of victory, dived into the capillary network of Moscow alleys.
In approximately half an hour, Daph crossed Boulevard Ring at Strastnoi Boulevard, above the Chekhov subway station. Having already stepped onto the pavement, she felt a prick of anxiety. She realized belatedly but very distinctly that someone was following her and, moreover, had been doing so for a long time. Daph stopped abruptly and turned around. A tall, athletically built man in a short leather jacket and a silver belt with a buckle in the shape of a skeletal hand was following as if glued to her. After noticing that Daph was looking at him, the man was startled and stared at the sky with such a deliberate look, as if he had discovered at least enemy parachutists there. Daph laughed – it was so absurd. Probably, her contemptuous laughter reached the stranger’s ear, because suddenly he, not disguising himself anymore, decisively made his way to Daphne. His right hand slid into a pocket.
After jumping over a bench – on one side an enamoured couple was huddling timidly, and on the other side a student of land reclamation, with abstracts and a bottle of beer, was sprawling imposingly, occupying a large part of the bench – Daphne, dodging, dashed away to run on the lawn. Depressiac was jumping on her shoulder like a dashing rider from the Perm Circus. Daph ran quickly. The world fell away. Mothers with strollers, trashcans, freshly planted lindens along the boulevard – everyone and everything enjoying themselves, spinning, leaped into her eyes like busy spots.
It seemed to Daph that she had lost her persecutor, but unexpectedly he appeared directly in front of her – appeared so suddenly, as if he was not running but simply standing, arms crossed on his chest, and waiting for her. In a panic Daph jumped over a cast iron fence, scared the rushing cars with swift chaos of movements, and darted to the first entrance she came across. Gripping the long wooden handle, she jerked it, was pleased that there was no code-lock, and dashed up the stairs. She shot past mailboxes, flew up ten steps at a time, and… An iron door rose up directly before her. A cursed code-lock was installed nevertheless, though not below, but for some reason between the first and the second floor. Petty and mean villainy!
Daph realized that she had gotten herself into a trap. To hide in the entrance was obvious foolishness on her part. Indeed if one is on the run, then run to a crowded place. She pushed the door with her shoulder and began to press the buttons chaotically – it was useless. The stupid heartless iron was not going to let her pass. Then Daph grabbed her flute, ready to resort to an attack maglody. Let golden-wings trace her, but she was not surrendering without a fight! “We’re forcing our way through, Depressiac! Get ready!” she whispered. The cat started to hiss and protracted its claws with the sound of a switchblade unlocking. It, like yesterday’s cutlets in the fridge, was always ready.
Footsteps were already thundering on the stairs. First appeared the toes of heavy boots, and in an instant even the persecutor. Drops of sweat on his wide forehead stretched out in a chain like the Kurile Islands. As before, he was keeping a hand in his pocket. “Hey you, stop! Just move and you’ll be sorry!” Daph shouted, quickly bringing the flute to her lips. This was a serious threat. The power of maglody was not inferior to an automatic weapon. In any case, Methodius so asserted, having
