HP: Spirit Talker

POV Elizabeth

Lizzie looked wistfully at the grey-haired Sora, who had fallen asleep immediately, not even undressing or making his bed. His face was shriveled, pale yellow, dark circles under his eyes, a "floating" look, and his speech was incoherent. Elizabeth realized immediately how exhausted the boy was, so she didn't torture him, but took him under her elbow to the bedroom to rest. But the sight of gray hair almost made her heart stop.

And a strange girl too, and where had he found her? And why? It was already difficult for her to overcome herself and accept the role of the eternal mistress, because the pure-blooded aristocrat is always looking for advantages in marriage, and what can she offer, except her body? She has a body — wow, the envy of many! But she has no political or economic power, so it makes sense that someone like Sora would marry a girl like her.

Only in fairy tales do princes, given the choice between a beautiful commoner and a rich and influential aristocrat, choose the former. Rare exceptions concern only the "child of magic", but after all Lizzie is not such, so the role of mistress, or "concubine" is not as bad as naive fools think with, to. Besides, Lizzie has had time to study Sora, so she is sure that the Japanese will not let her down.

Elizabeth returned to the parlor where the new maiden was still sitting by the fireplace. She was warming her palms from the fire. The blonde's keen eye caught the unusual but curious earrings in her small ears, then shifted to the pile of unwrapped clothing bags. Lizzie frowned, but then smiled: the girl had already appreciated the gift, even whistling when she saw the labels, and Sora's taste surprised him.

She had never said anything about her underwear before, and Elizabeth herself was used to an active lifestyle, which was reflected in her clothes, so the silk, lace and transparent underwear made her look at her boyfriend in a different way. It also made her admit that he'd gotten the right size and color. Well, she'd think about that later, but right now it was more important to find out what had happened and who this person was.

— What's your name? — Lizzie sat down in Sora's fancy chair, feeling like the mistress of her position and home.

— Afiri. — The Oriental didn't even turn around to answer, probably waiting for the conversation to begin.

— And the middle name?

— Egyptians don't have family names. — The dark-skinned woman turned to the blonde and shrugged slightly. — A man's middle name is his father's name, a woman's is her husband's.

— I see-oh... — Lizzie stretched out, unaware of this.

— Are you a pureblood?

— What do you mean by that question, what does it mean? — The Egyptian turned his head slightly and looked at her with interest.

— Well, — Lizzie was even slightly confused, so it took her a moment to formulate her thoughts. — Are you one of those families with a long history and traditions and ancestral magic?

— Yes, — she nodded slightly, graceful and sexy, the expression in her black eyes confident and calm. — That's what my family was.

— Why "was"? Did something happen?

— 'Was' because it doesn't exist anymore, it was destroyed. — Afiri answered calmly, causing Lizzie to look up at Gwyneth, who was standing there but hadn't asked a single question.

— If that's the case, how did you survive? And how did you end up in London? And what does that have to do with Sora? — Lizzie said what she wanted to know right away, sensing Afiri's openness.

— I am bound to my master because he is the one who destroyed my old clan. I was chosen as compensation and as a trophy.

— You say it like that. Calmly. — Lizzie was confused by what she had heard, because she had never thought that her friend, no, a man, could destroy an entire Pureblood clan in one day. — Doesn't that bother you at all? — The blonde began to doubt the mental health of her interlocutor.

— How should I address you? — The brown-haired girl asked.

— Elizabeth Stewart, Lizzie to my friends.

— The Master is not your husband?

— No, we are lovers. — replied the blonde, confused. — What makes you think we're married? — inquired the girl.

— You are beautiful, young, healthy, the master buys you gifts, and you live together. — The fiery brunette shrugged again. — How many wives does the master have?

— None. — Lizzie replied, only then realizing that the interrogation had suddenly turned into a dialogue. — Why do you ask that?

— The Master is a young and unusually powerful sorcerer. Such a man must have many wives — that much is obvious. — Afiri gave Lizzie a strange look that made her feel like she was a fool who didn't understand the common knowledge.

— You still haven't answered the question. — The blonde decided to steer the conversation back in the right direction, because it was better to spot a psycho early.

— What do you know about the history of Egypt: about gods, pharaohs?

— Just that they were. — Lizzie shrugged indifferently. — Why not?

— I'll tell you a well-known secret, Lizzie. — The brunette grinned sarcastically, but not maliciously, playfully. — The entire history of Egypt is based on close kinship. All the married couples of the gods were brothers and sisters to each other, although there were cases where couples were made up of children and parents. Pharaohs, priests, and the upper class differed little, and most marriages were again closely related — to preserve the blood line.

— But this is degeneration and mutation! — Lizzie raised her voice involuntarily, her emotions flaring into indignation.

— You're right. — Afiri nodded slightly, then raised her left hand and flicked her thin fingers in the air, each one bearing a rich ring; the precious metals and stones glittered and sparkled, and colored sparks swirled around her hand. — It would have been like this had there been no magic. The gods themselves shared with humans the secret knowledge of how to avoid harmful consequences. My older sister was to be my father's wife, and I was to be my younger brother's wife when he grew up.

— That's disgusting! — the blonde said categorically, twitching in disgust.

— This is a question of education, of culture. — Afiri diplomatically corrected her interlocutor. — But that's not the point. My former family was really "bad". The reason I am here, and my seven were destroyed by my master, is a favorite pastime and even competition among the men of the family. I still don't know what the slavery situation is in this country. .....

— There is none. — Lizzie interrupted the girl.

— You are not quite right, Miss Stuart. — Gwyneth spoke up. — Slavery is not outlawed, but it is frowned upon in modern society, so it is exceptional.

— Thank you. — Afiri nodded at the maid. — Well, one of the favorite pastimes of the men of my former family was to travel the world in search of exotic women. When they found a woman they liked, they would use every method from seduction to kidnapping, from rape to moral and psychological torture, and then the woman would become a slave. — Afiri paused briefly at the tea served by the maid.

— Yesterday, the master and another man had performed some rituals to remove the slave stigma from two women, but they had already become slaves, and he had never given his property to a dead family. The women were destroyed, and then the master destroyed the clan. That is all I know, because I was not a witness when I found myself in the magic hall and saw two torn bodies, an old man with a knife in his stomach, and sacrificial animals. Everything. — The brunette sipped her hot tea calmly.

— No offense, but that's what they should do — your relatives. — The blonde said quietly, frowning at what she had heard.

— I agree. All the more, it had to happen sooner or later — with such entertainment. — Afiri agreed, making the blonde look surprised. — And don't look at me like that. — The Egyptian frowned slightly at her expressive eyebrows.

— I've seen many worthy witches and sorceresses turned into broken dolls and pale shadows, barely resembling their former selves. Besides, every child in my family was raised to know that power and gold rule the world, and only the weak or cunning try to convince others otherwise. My former family died at the hands of a single wizard — isn't that a sign of strength? It was only the first millennium and a half, the dead family kept quiet and hidden, and later to the walls of my former familyb for two thousand years came to the armies of the deprived and sorcerers. But the Black Family fell at the hands of a single mortal. So tell me, Elizabeth, — the brunette stepped forward, her eyes sparkling. — Is there a man more worthy than my lord?

Lizzie could not answer, her throat tightening as she tried to comprehend what she was hearing. She had never heard such huge numbers applied to the history of the Familia. The girl had no idea what kind of power one could acquire in such a span of time, what kind of knowledge one could accumulate, what kind of wealth. Just trying to imagine it, the girl stared at the ceiling.

Cherry logs crackled in the fireplace. Outside the window, the freezing rain had fallen again. A thick fog had crept back over London from the Thames. Under a large, thick blanket, the small, sharp green nose of a pointy-eared girl could barely be seen, barely smiling in her sleep. A large, ashen kitten sprawled on top of her mistress. The tailed animal dreamed of something that made it jump, shake its paws, or wag its spotted tail, and its black tasseled ears twitched to pick up suspicious sounds.