Ловушка для Мыслеформы. A Trap for a Thought-Form. Премия им. М. Булгакова / M. Bulgakov Award (Билингва: Rus/Eng)

All portals differed, and if you were about to leave…

«„Zigzags of Life“! Isn’t it too trivial a title for the book of Baba Yaga?» a familiar voice came from behind me. «Do you make presentation of another witch today?»

«Hello, Guardian!» I smiled. «You guessed it right! By the way, the sounds „z“ and „g“ create vibrations to remove the soul out of the body, they are used by some dream hackers.»

The guests were already gathering in the hall, but they all seemed to notice neither me nor the Guardian, sitting at the table next to me.

The Guardian, on the contrary, had been watching me and the guests with genuine interest, until he gave his verdict.

«What a hell of Impurity one can meet in the Writers’ Union!»

«Let me tell you a terrible secret: there are a lot of dark spirits or impurities everywhere!»

After drinking half a cup of double espresso with milk, I warmed up and emerged out of my sleepy state.

«I came earlier in order to…»

«I know,» the Guardian nodded, «but I can’t help you.

»

«It’s not this portal, you are guarding here, is it?» I whispered, glancing towards the Giant Mirror.

The Guardian nodded in agreement, «Not the Mirror!»

I finished my coffee and looked at the clock. There were still about ten minutes left before the presentation, and I slipped into the corridor that led to the Dungeon. However, having sailed to the dead end and back, I realized that there were portals at every turn in the Mansion, including the large stage of the local Theater and the pantry, where the materialized gloves had disappeared.

Even the ordinary walls inside the Dungeon corridor were portals as well. But it was too «cold» there for the most powerful one.

For some reason, I associated the Dungeon with the book title, «Zigzags of Life», existing within the Labyrinth of Destiny, into which each of us had descended from Heaven and was looking for a way out, just as I descended into the Dungeon in search of my Portal.

I returned to the half-cafe half-Mirror hall. The Guardian had drawn the curtains, limiting our literary space. I stepped onto the stage and invited a charming old woman in her ninth decade, still actively practicing magic in her life, when suddenly… Yes, it was hard to believe! – at a table in the back of the hall appeared… Roman.

That morning I woke up with a clear thought, he was a dream. He hadn’t come to the Mansion.