The bookstore was unusually quiet. No one was asking about new arrivals, and no one was walking between the shelves. Normally, the voices of customers would echo here, but due to the recent state of emergency, the city seemed frozen. Even her mother’s friends, her loyal assistants, had preferred to stay home today.

  Johnny stood by one of the shelves, zily arranging books. He gnced at his mother, who was busily making notes in the ledger.

  "Is this why you called me here?" he muttered, unable to hide his boredom. "I don’t mind helping, but it’s not like any customers are going to show up anytime soon."

  Naomi looked up and smiled.

  "Arranging books is just a way to kill time. We’re expecting guests."

  Johnny tensed.

  "What kind of guests?"

  "Who else visits a witch?" Her gaze turned pyful, her tone slightly mysterious. "Another witch, of course."

  Before Johnny could ask another question, there was a knock at the door.

  "Open it," Naomi said calmly, turning a page.

  When Johnny opened the door, his gaze immediately locked with hers. It was an odd, faint sense of déjà vu—he remembered that look, that slight tilt of her head, as if she were reading his thoughts. She stood on the threshold, hands in the pockets of a long red coat.

  "Wanda?" Johnny thought, feeling his heart begin to race wildly, as if trying to break through his ribs. "Why is she here? Is she following me?"

  Wanda froze as well, her pupils diting. She quickly composed herself, narrowing her eyes slightly, as if trying to hide her emotions.

  "Good evening," said a male voice, breaking their silent exchange.

  Behind Wanda sat a man in a wheelchair. His smoothly shaved head gleamed under the dim light of the streetmp, and his piercing gaze was both kind and stern.

  "Apologies for the te visit," he added.

  It took Johnny a long second to pull himself together.

  "Move aside, let people in," grumbled a rough male voice from behind.

  Johnny stepped back, letting the guests in. A tall girl with bright red hair tied in a low ponytail entered next. Her gray sweater and dark jeans looked simple yet stylish. She smiled broadly, gncing around the shop as if assessing its coziness.

  "Hi, I’m Jean," she said, her voice light and easygoing. "And this is Wanda," she nodded toward her friend, who was still standing by the door.

  "And I’m Logan," added the man in the leather jacket dryly. He looked like he had gotten lost on his way to a bar.

  Naomi arrived just in time to smooth over the awkward moment.

  "I see you’ve already met my son, Johnny," she said, nodding lightly with respect toward the man in the wheelchair. "Johnny, meet Professor Charles Xavier. He’s the headmaster of a school for mutants."

  "Mutants, huh," Johnny frowned. "They show you differently on TV."

  "With horns and tails?" the professor said kindly. "As Nietzsche once said, ‘fear lies in ignorance.’"

  "Professor, I was only expecting you," Naomi said. "Who are the others?"

  "These are my students. The matter at hand concerns them directly." Charles gestured to the girls, then to the man. "And this is my colleague, Logan."

  "Let’s just say I teach," Logan said with a brief smirk. "Sometimes with fists."

  "He teaches physical education and self-defense," Jean added with a cheerful note in her voice.

  "A gym teacher, then," Naomi chuckled. She gestured for everyone to follow. "It’ll be more comfortable to talk in the reading room."

  Logan pushed the professor’s wheelchair, but the wheels squeaked unpleasantly against the parquet, leaving faint scratches behind.

  "I’ll pay for that," he muttered.

  "Don’t worry about it," Naomi waved him off. Her eyes briefly fshed green. She ran her hand over the floor, murmuring a spell, and sparks of light flowed from her palm, weaving over the scratches and completely mending them.

  "Not bad," Logan said, slightly surprised.

  "For a candidate for the title of Sorcerer Supreme, such trifles are routine," Naomi replied with a smirk.

  “Wow,” Jean whistled softly, watching the sparks. “Wanda, can you do that?”

  Wanda shook her head slightly but said nothing. Her gaze was fixed on Johnny, who, despite his attempts to stay calm, looked tense. Their eyes met again, and in that moment, vivid memories of their night together fshed through his mind—her bare body, her moans.

  It was getting harder to keep a straight face.

  "Do you two know each other?" Jean suddenly asked with a sly smile, noticing their gnces.

  "Never see before," they blurted out in unison.

  It was so synchronized that it felt like they had been in a retionship for a long time, already moving in perfect harmony.

  "What was it she called it?" Johnny grumbled to himself. "Soulmates?"

  Jean giggled and winked at Wanda but didn’t say anything.

  When everyone settled on the couches, Johnny noticed out of the corner of his eye that Wanda had seated herself directly across from him. Her face was just as indifferent as his.

  Naomi crossed her arms and gave Xavier a curious look.

  "Doctor Strange mentioned you wanted to talk, but he didn’t say why."

  Xavier hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his words, before speaking in his calm, deep voice.

  "Sometimes the boundary between reality and the world of our consciousness becomes too thin. Usually, it’s easy to mend, but recently, one of my students has been facing… an unusual case."

  Jean, sitting next to the professor, tensed as if bracing for impact. She csped her hands together on her p, but her fingers trembled slightly.

  "The professor is talking about me," she began, her voice wavering. "Every night, I see the same dream. From the depths of cold space, a figure wreathed in fmes approaches me."

  She fell silent, as if the confession had been difficult to make. Johnny noticed her hand subtly brushing her temple, as if trying to dispel the memory.

  "Every night, it gets… closer. I can feel its fire literally touching my skin. It wants to take me over."

  "Does this figure happen to look like a skull on fire?" Naomi asked, leaning forward slightly.

  Jean shook her head.

  "No… It looks like a bird."

  "Not a bird—a Phoenix," Wanda interjected sharply, crossing her arms. "I already told her: the Phoenix will burn the flesh from her bones. And I gave her the exact day."

  Jean shivered at her words, not bothering to hide her fear. Johnny noticed the corners of her mouth trembling slightly.

  "My prophecies always come true," Wanda continued with clear irritation. "We’re wasting our time here."

  "Shut up, witch," Logan snapped, rising slightly and gring at Wanda with predatory eyes.

  "No matter how much you deny fate, Logan, it will find you anyway," Wanda retorted defiantly.

  The professor raised a hand, gesturing for Logan to stand down. His voice remained calm, but there was steel in it.

  "Wanda, we’ve heard your opinion. Now let’s listen to the specialist."

  Wanda threw a disdainful gnce at Charles before turning to face a bookshelf, deliberately ignoring the rest of the group.

  "A young witch with the gift of prophecy?" Naomi asked, her interest clearly piqued as she looked at Wanda. "That’s a very rare gift in the magical community."

  "The girl’s just a mutant with an overactive imagination," Logan grunted, leaning back in his chair.

  /////

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