“- How do you mean “strigi”? – Leva was scared. “I’ve only been here for three days.” I haven’t mastered the theory yet! – What is there to master here? – the mentor, a stocky middle-aged lady with short black hair turning red at the ends, asked busily. – Theory is one thing, but practice is completely different. Cut it, come on. “The theory is dry, my friend, but the tree of life grows lushly green,” Mephistopheles laughed in the voice of Gavrilych. Lyova, being in a semi-fainting state, allowed himself to be led to a chair where, languishing with boredom, a skinny client of indeterminate age was melancholy chewing gum. He could have been eighteen years old, or he could have been twenty-five. With shaking hands, Leva secured the collar on the chicken neck of his victim and froze. – Young man, are we going to stand or work? – the mentor asked sternly. “Work,” Lyova squeezed out with difficulty. “Nadyusik, please come to us,” they called from the far corner of the salon. “It’s a moment,” the mentor responded and set off. Lyova looked after her hauntedly, and then turned his gaze to the client’s reflection in the mirror right in front of him. - Everyone into the tank. We’re starting to take off,” the client said. "Oh my God!" – thought Lyova”