hat was the morning I knew spring had really arrived.

The evening before, the sky had been different, with clouds drifting over the city, and the air had been filled with the scent of a chilly, damp wind and snow that hadn't fallen yet. I'd felt like snuggling down deep into my armchair, sticking something cheerful and moronic¡ªsomething American¡ªin the VCR, taking a sip of cognac and just falling sleep.

But in the morning everything had changed.

Some cunning conjuror's hand had thrown a blue shawl over the town, running it over the streets and the squares and wiping away the final traces of winter. Even the heaps of brown snow left on the street corners and in the gutters didn't seem to have been overlooked by spring; they were an integral element of the decor. A memento.

I smiled as I walked to the metro.

Sometimes it feels really good to be human. That was the way I'd been living for a week now: When I got to work, I didn't go up any higher than the second floor, and all I did was fiddle with the server that had suddenly developed a number of bad habits, or install new office software for the gals in accounting, even though none of us could see why they needed it. In the evening I went to the theater, to a soccer match, to various small bars and restaurants. Anywhere at all, as long as it was noisy and crowded. Being human in a crowd is even more interesting than just being human.

Of course, in the Night Watch offices, an old four-story building rented from our own subsidiary, there wasn't a single normal human being to be found anywhere. Even the three old cleaning women were Others. Even the loose-mouthed young security guards at the entrance, who were there to frighten off petty gangsters and commercial salesmen, had some modest magical powers. Even the plumber, an absolutely classic Moscow alcoholic, was a magician... and he'd have been a really good magician too, if it weren't for his drinking problem.

But the first two floors of the building had to look perfectly ordinary. The tax police were allowed in here, as well as our human business partners and the thugs who provided our "protection"¡ªthe racket was actually controlled directly by our boss, but the small-fry didn't need to know that.

And the conversations people had here were perfectly mundane, too. About politics, taxes, shopping, the weather, other people's love affairs and their own. The women gossiped about the men, and we gave as good as we got. Romances sprang up; bosses were trashed; bonus possibilities were discussed.

Half an hour later I reached Sokol station and made my way up to street level. It was noisy and crowded, and the air was filled with exhaust fumes. But it was still spring.

There are plenty of districts in Moscow worse than the one where our office is. In fact, it's probably one of the best¡ªthat's not counting the Day Watch offices, of course. But then, the Kremlin wouldn't suit us, anyway: The traces of the past lie too heavy on Red Square and the ancient brick walls. Maybe someday they'll get worn away. But that would require certain conditions, and there's no sign of them coming anytime soon... no sign at all, unfortunately.

I walked from the metro; it wasn't far. The faces on every side looked friendly and welcoming, thawed by the spring sunshine. That's why I love the spring: It takes the edge off that feeling of weary helplessness. And there are fewer temptations around...

One of the security guys was smoking outside the door. He gave me a friendly nod. Thorough checks weren't part of his job description. And as it happened, I was the one who decided whether they had Internet access and new games on their computer in the duty room, or just the official information and personnel files.

"You're late, Anton," he said.

I checked my watch.

"The boss has called everyone together in the conference room; they were looking for you."

Strange; I wasn't usually brought in on the morning briefings. Had one of my computer networks crashed? Not likely, or they'd have dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night without a second thought, and it wouldn't have been the first time either...

I nodded and started walking faster.

The building has an elevator, but it's ancient, and I preferred to run up to the fourth floor. There was another security post, a bit more serious this time, on the third-floor landing. Garik was on duty. As I approached he screwed up his eyes and peered through the Twilight, scanning my aura and all the markings that we Night Watch agents carry on our bodies. Then he gave me a friendly smile:

"Get a move on."

The door of the conference room was half-open. I glanced inside. There were about thirty people in there, mostly field agents and analysts. The boss was striding in front of a map of Moscow and nodding his head, while his commercial deputy, Vitaly Markovich, a very weak magician, but a born businessman, spoke to everyone:

"And so we have completely covered our current expenditures, and we have no need to resort to... er... special varieties of financial activity. If the meeting approves my proposals, we can increase our employees' allowances somewhat¡ªin the first instance, naturally, for our field operatives. Payments for temporary disability and pensions for the families of those who have been killed also need to be... er... increased somewhat. And we can afford to do that..."

It was funny to see magicians who could transform lead into gold, coal into diamonds, and neat rectangles of paper into crisp bank notes discussing commerce. But in actual fact it made things easier. It provided an occupation for those Others whose powers were too meager to make them a living. And it reduced the risk of unsettling the balance of power.

When I appeared, Boris Ignatievich nodded and said:

"Thank you, Vitaly. I think the situation is quite clear; there are no complaints as far as your work is concerned. Shall we vote on it? Thank you. Now, while we have everyone here..."

The boss kept a close eye on me as I tiptoed to an empty chair and sat down.

"... we can move on to the most important item of business."

From his chair next to me, Semyon leaned over and whispered:

"The most important item of business is the payment of Party dues for March..."

I couldn't help smiling. Sometimes Boris Ignatievich really does act just like an old-time Communist Party functionary. I find that less irritating than when he acts like a medieval inquisitor or a retired general, but maybe that's just me...

"The most important item is a protest I received from the Day Watch just two hours ago," said the boss.

It didn't sink in immediately. The Day Watch and the Night Watch are constantly making problems for each other. There are protests every week: Sometimes it's settled at the district office level, and sometimes a case goes to the Berne tribunal...

Then I realized any protest that required a full meeting of the Watch couldn't possibly be ordinary.

"The essential point of the protest," said the boss, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "... the essential point of the protest is as follows... This morning one of the Dark Side's women was killed near Stoleshnikov Lane. This is a brief description of the incident..."

Two sheets of paper warm from the printer landed in my lap. Everyone else received an identical gift. I ran my eyes over the text:

"Galina Rogova, twenty-four years old... initiated at the age of seven, her family are not Others... mentor¡ªAnna Chernogorova, fourth-grade magician... At the age of seven Galina Rogova was identified as a were-panther. Average powers..."

I frowned as I read through the dossier, although there wasn't much reason for concern. Rogova had been a Dark One, but she hadn't worked in Day Watch. She hadn't ever hunted human beings, not even once. Even the two licenses she'd been given, when she came of age and after her wedding, hadn't been used. With the help of magic she'd reached a high position in the Warm Home construction corporation and married the deputy director. One child¡ªa boy, no Other powers detected. She'd used her powers as an Other for self-protection a few times, and on one occasion killed her attacker. But even then she hadn't stooped to cannibalism...

"We could do with more shape-shifters like that, right?" asked Semyon. He turned the page and gave a little snort of surprise. Intrigued, I flipped to the end of the document.

That was it. The report of the examination. A cut in the blouse and the jacket... probably a blow with a thin-bladed dagger. Enchanted, of course; a shape-shifter couldn't be killed with plain ordinary steel. But what was it that had surprised Semyon?

There it was!

No visible wounds had been discovered on the body. Not even a scratch. The cause of death was a total drain of vital energy.

"Very neat," said Semyon. "I remember during the Civil War I was sent to capture a were-tiger. The bastard worked in the Cheka, and pretty high up too..."

"Have you familiarized yourselves with the data?" the boss asked.

"May I ask a question?" A slim arm shot into the air on the far side of the room.

"By all means, Yulia," the boss said with a nod.

The Night Watch's youngest member stood up, adjusting her hair nervously. A pretty-looking young girl, maybe just a little immature. But taking her into the analytical department had been a good move.

"Boris Ignatievich, the way I see it, the magical intervention here is second degree. Or even first?"

"It could be second degree," the boss confirmed.

"That means it could have been you..." Yulia paused for a moment, embarrassed. "Or perhaps Semyon... Ilya... or Garik. Right?"

"Garik couldn't have done it," said the boss. "But Ilya or Semyon could have."

Semyon mumbled something, as if he'd rather have been spared the compliment.

"It's also just possible that the killing was carried out by someone on the Light Side who was just passing through Moscow," Yulia mused out loud. "But magicians that powerful can't arrive in town without being noticed; they're all monitored by Day Watch. That means there are three people we need to investigate. And if they all have alibis, we have no charges to answer, right?"

"Yulia," the boss said, shaking his head, "no one's bringing any charges against us. What we have here is the work of a Light Magician not registered in Moscow who is not aware of the Treaty."

Now that was really serious...

"Then... oh!" said Yulia. "I'm sorry, Boris Ignatievich."

"That's perfectly okay," the boss said, nodding again. "You've taken us right to the heart of the matter. There's someone we've managed to overlook, boys and girls. We've let someone slip through our fingers. We have a Light One of great power wandering loose in Moscow. He or she doesn't understand a thing¡ªand he's killing Dark Ones."

"More than one?" a voice in the hall asked.

"Yes. I checked the archives. There were similar incidents three years ago, in the spring and fall, and two years ago, in the fall again. On every occasion there was no physical trauma, just the signature tear in the clothing. The Day Watch investigated, but it came up with nothing. Apparently they attributed the death of their own people to chance... so now one of the Dark Ones will be punished."

"And one of the Light Ones too?"

"One of us too."

Semyon cleared his throat and said in a thoughtful voice, "The periods between the incidents are strange, Boris..."

"I don't think we know about all the incidents. Whoever this magician may be, he has always killed Others with low-level powers; obviously there must have been some kind of chink in their protective covers. It's very likely that a number of his victims were uninitiated or unknown Dark Others. Here's what I propose..."

The boss paused and glanced around the room before he continued:

"Analytical section¡ªcollate available information from criminal records and try to identify similar incidents. Bear in mind that they may not have been classified as murders, more likely as deaths from unknown causes. Check the results of autopsies, question people working in the morgues... think for yourselves where you can obtain the information. Research group¡ªsend two or three agents to the Day Watch and examine the body. Operations group¡ªintensive street patrols. Try to find him, guys."

"We're always on the lookout for someone," Igor muttered. "Boris Ignatievich, there's no way we could have overlooked a powerful magician. We just couldn't have!"

"He may not be initiated," the boss snapped back. "His powers manifest themselves sporadically..."

"In the spring and the fall, just like any ordinary psycho..."

"Yes, Igor, that's perfectly right. In the spring and in the fall. And now, right after this latest killing, he must still be carrying some trace of magic. That gives us a chance, if only a small one. Get on it."

"Boris, what exactly is our goal?" Semyon asked curiously.

Some people in the room had already started getting to their feet, but now they stopped.

"Our goal is to find this Maverick before the Dark Ones do. To protect him, educate him, and bring him over to our side. As usual."

"Clear enough," said Semyon and stood up.

"Anton and Olga, would you please stay," the boss said brusquely and walked over to the window.

On their way out, people glanced at us curiously, even enviously. A special assignment is always intriguing. I looked across the room, caught Olga's eyes, and smiled. She smiled back.

She looked nothing like the dirty-faced, barefoot young woman who'd drunk cognac in my kitchen last winter. Now she had a stylish haircut, a healthy complexion, and eyes full of... no, the confidence had been there all the time, but now there was a certain flirtatious pride too.

Her punishment had been repealed. Partially, that is.

"Anton, I don't like what's going on here," the boss said without turning around.

Olga shrugged her shoulders and nodded for me to reply.

"I beg your pardon, Boris Ignatievich?"

"I don't like this protest lodged by the Day Watch."

"Neither do I."

"You don't understand, and I'm afraid none of the others do either... Olga, have you at least got some inkling of what's going on?"

"It's very strange Day Watch hasn't been able to find the killer after several years."

"Yes. Do you remember Krakow?"

"I do, unfortunately. You think we're being set up?"

"It's possible..." The boss moved away from the window a bit. "Anton, do you think that could be the way things are heading?"

"I don't completely understand," I mumbled.

"Anton, let's assume that we really do have a Maverick wandering around the city, a solitary killer. He's uninitiated. From time to time his powers suddenly surface... he locates one of the Dark Ones and eliminates him, or in this case, her. Would Day Watch be able to locate this Maverick? Unfortunately, believe me, they would. Then the question is: Why haven't they caught and exposed him, when Dark Ones are dying?"

"Only unimportant ones," I pointed out.

"Correct. Sacrificing pawns is in the tradition..." the boss caught my eye and paused. "In the tradition of the Watch."

"The Watches," I said vengefully.

"The Watches," the boss echoed wearily. "You haven't forgotten... let's think where a maneuver like this could be leading. A blanket accusation of incompetence against the whole of Night Watch? Nonsense. We're supposed to keep tabs on the behavior of the Dark Ones and the observance of the Treaty by known Light Ones, not go hunting for mysterious maniacs. In this case it's Day Watch that is at fault..."

"That means it must be a provocation aimed at a specific person?"

"Well done, Anton. Remember what Yulia said? There's only a handful of us who could do this. That can be proved conclusively. Let's suppose Day Watch has decided to accuse someone of violating the Treaty, to claim that a member of our staff who knows the terms of the Treaty is meting out summary justice on his own account."

"But that's easy to disprove. Just find the Maverick..."

"And if the Dark Ones find him first? But don't bother to announce the fact?"

"What about alibis?"

"And what if the killings took place at times when this person has no alibi?"

"A tribunal, with a full-scale interrogation," I said gloomily¡ªhaving your mind turned inside out isn't a pleasant experience...

"A powerful magician¡ªand these killings were committed by a powerful magician¡ªcan close off his mind even against a tribunal. Not deceive the tribunal, just close himself off from it. And in any case, Anton, with a tribunal including Dark Ones, he would have to do it. Otherwise our enemies would learn far too much about us. And if a magician conceals himself against investigation, it's automatically regarded as a confession of guilt, with all the consequences that stem from that so-called confession¡ªboth for him and the Watch."

"You paint a dark picture, Boris Ignatievich," I said. "Very dark. Almost as dark as the one you painted for me last winter, in my sleep. A young boy with incredible Other powers, an Inferno eruption that would flatten the whole of Moscow..."

"I am telling you the truth here, Anton."

"What do you expect from me?" I asked bluntly. "This isn't really my area. Am I going to give the analysts a hand? We'll be handling everything they bring in anyway."

"Anton, I want you to figure out which of us is the target. Who has an alibi for all the known incidents and who doesn't."

The boss slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and took out a DVD.

"Take this... it's a complete dossier for the whole three-year period. For four people, including me."

I gulped as I took it.

"The security codes have been removed. But you understand that no one else must see this. You have no right to copy the information. Encrypt all your calculations and procedures... and make the key as complex as you can."

"I'd really need someone to help," I suggested hesitantly, with a glance at Olga. But then, what kind of help could she give me? Everything she knew about computers she'd learned from playing games like Heretic and Hexen.

"You check my database yourself," the boss said, after a pause. "You can use Anatoly for the others. All right?"

"Then what's my assignment?" asked Olga.

"You'll cover the same ground, only by asking direct questions. Interrogating people, in other words. And you'll start with me. Then the other three."

"All right, Boris."

"Get on it, Anton," the boss said with a nod. "Start immediately. You can pass everything else on to your girls; they'll manage."

"Perhaps I could riddle about a bit with the data?" I asked. "If someone doesn't happen to have an alibi, I could arrange one."

The boss shook his head.

"No. You don't understand. I don't want to set up any false alibis. I want to make sure that none of us are involved in these killings."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. Because nothing's impossible in this world. Anton, the really nice thing about our work is that I can give you an assignment like this. And you'll carry it out. Regardless of who's involved."

There was still something bothering me, but I nodded and walked toward the door, clutching the precious disc. It came to me in a flash. I turned back and asked:

"Boris Ignatievich..."

The boss and Olga instantly moved apart.

"Boris Ignatievich, you say there are four sets of data here?"

"Yes."

"For you, Ilya, Semyon..."

"And you, Anton."

"Why?" I asked dumbly.

"During the standoff on the roof you stayed down in the second level of the Twilight for three minutes, Anton... that's a third-grade power."

"Impossible," I said.

"It happened."

"Boris Ignatievich, you always told me I was just an average magician!"

"Well, let's just say I need an excellent programmer more than one more field operative."

Any other time I would have felt proud. Offended at the same time, of course, but still proud. I'd always thought that fourth-grade magic was my ceiling, and it would be a long time before I reached it. But just at that moment everything was clouded by a clammy, disgusting feeling¡ªfear. Even though in five years of working in a quiet staff position in the Watch I thought I'd learned not to be afraid of anything: the authorities, hoodlums, diseases...

"This was a second-level intervention..."

"The boundary here's ever-shifting, Anton. You might be capable of more."

"But we have more than ten third-grade magicians. Why am I one of the suspects?"

"Because you offended Zabulon personally. Tweaked the tail of the head of Moscow's Day Watch. And he's quite capable of setting up a special trap just for Anton Gorodetsky. Or rather, adapting an old trap that was being kept in reserve."

I swallowed and left without asking any more questions.

Our lab's on the fourth floor too, but in the other wing. I set off hurriedly along the corridor, nodding to people I met, but staying focused, clutching that disc tighter than a passionate young man clutches the hand of the girl he loves.

Was the boss telling the truth?

Could the blow really be aimed at me?

In all likelihood, he was. I'd asked a straight question and been given a straight answer. Of course, as the years go by, even the most Light of magicians acquire a certain degree of canniness and learn to play tricks with words. But the consequences of a direct lie would be too grave even for Boris Ignatievich.

I approached an entry lobby fitted with electronic security systems. I knew that all magicians regarded technology with disdain, and Semyon had shown me once how easy it was to fool the voice analyzer and the iris scanner. But I'd gone ahead with buying these expensive toys anyway. Maybe they were no protection against an Other, but it seemed perfectly possible to me that one day the guys from the Federal Security Service or the mafia would decide to check us out.

"One, two, three, four, five..." I muttered into the microphone, gazing into the camera lens at the same time. The electronic circuits pondered for a few seconds, then a green light came on above the door.

There was no one in the first room, where the server's cooling fans were humming gently. The air-conditioners built into the wall were huffing and puffing, but it was still hot in there. And spring had only just begun...

I didn't go into the system analysts' lab, just walked straight through into my own office. It wasn't all my own. Anatoly, my deputy, worked here too. Sometimes he lived here, spending the nights on the old leather sofa.

When I came in he was sitting at his desk, thoughtfully inspecting an old motherboard.

"Hi," I said, sitting down on the sofa. The disc was burning my hands.

"It's a goner," Tolik said gloomily.

"Trash it then."

"Let me just take its brain out first." Tolik was thrifty, a habit acquired from years of working in state-financed institutions. We had no problems with finances, but he carefully stockpiled all the old hardware anyway, even if it were of no use to anyone. "Would you believe it, I've been fiddling around with this for half an hour, and it's still dead..."

"It's an outdated antique; why waste time fiddling around with it? Even the machines in accounting are more modern."

"I could give it to someone... Maybe I should take the cache out too..."

"Tolik, we've got an urgent job to do," I said.

"Huh?"

"Uh-huh! Look..." I held up the disc. "This is a dossier... a complete dossier on four members of the Watch, including the boss."

Tolik opened the drawer of his desk, stuck the motherboard in it, and fixed his eyes on the disc.

"Precisely. I'm going to check three of them. And you're going to check the fourth... me."

"So what are we checking for?"

"This," I said, holding up my printout from the briefing. "It's possible that one of the suspects may be carrying out sporadic killings of Dark Ones. Unauthorized killings. All the known incidents are listed here. We have to either eliminate this possibility, or..."

"Ah, so it really is you who's killing them, then?" Tolik asked. "Pardon my sense of humor."

"No. But don't take my word for it. Let's get on with the job."

I didn't even look at the information about me, just downloaded all eight hundred megabytes into Tolik's computer and took the disc.

"Shall I tell you if I come across anything really interesting?" Tolik asked. I glanced across at him as he looked through the text files, tugging on his left ear and clicking regularly with his mouse.

"That's up to you."

"Okay."

I started my reading of the dossier with the materials on the boss. First came the introductory blurb¡ªthen background information. Every line I read made me break out in a sweat.

Of course, even this dossier didn't give the boss's real name and origins. Facts like that weren't kept on file anywhere for Others of his rank. But even I was still making new discoveries every second. Starting with the fact that the boss was older than I'd thought. At least a hundred and fifty years older. And that meant he'd been personally involved in drawing up the Treaty between Light and Darkness. It struck me as interesting that all the other magicians still surviving from that time held positions in the central office and weren't stuck in the exhausting and tedious post of a regional director.

Aside from that, I recognized a few of the aliases the boss had used in the history of the Watch, and where he was born. We'd wondered about that sometimes, and even placed bets on it, always pointing to "indisputable" proof. But somehow no one had ever suspected that Boris Ignatievich was born in Tibet.

And even in my wildest dreams, I could never have imagined whose mentor he had been!

The boss had been working in Europe since the fifteenth century. From indirect references, I speculated that this change of residence was because of a woman. I could even guess who it was.

I closed the file and looked at Tolik. He was watching some kind of video. Of course, my biographical details had proved less fascinating than the boss's. I glanced at the small moving picture and blushed.

"For the first incident you have a cast-iron alibi," Tolik said without turning round.

"Listen..." I was lost for words.

"Okay, okay. I'll fast-forward it, to check the entire night..."

I imagined what the recording would look like at high speed and turned away. I'd always suspected the boss kept tabs on his colleagues, especially the young ones. But not that literally!

"The alibi won't be that solid," I said. "I'll get dressed and go out any moment now."

"I see that," Tolik confirmed.

"And I'll be gone for almost an hour and a half. I was looking for champagne... and while I was looking, I sobered up a bit in the fresh air. Started wondering if it was worth going back."

"Don't worry about it," said Tolik. "You watch the boss's private life."

Half an hour later, I realized Tolik was right. Maybe I had good reason to feel offended by the observers' brazen intrusion. But Boris Ignatievich was as monitored as I was.

"The boss has an alibi," I said. "Indisputable. For two incidents he has four witnesses. And for one¡ªalmost the entire Watch."

"Was that the hunt for that Dark One who went crazy?"

"Yes."

"Well, in theory, you could have killed the Dark Ones. Quite easily. And I'm sorry about this, Anton, but every one of the killings happened when you were in an excited state; not completely in control of yourself."

"I didn't do it."

"I believe you. What shall I do with the file?"

"Delete it."

Tolik thought for a while.

"I don't have anything valuable on here. I think I'll run a low-level format. The disc's long overdue for a clean-out."

"Thanks." I closed the dossier on the boss. "That's it, I'll deal with the others myself."

"Gotcha," said Tolik as he overcame the computer's righteous indignation and it began digesting itself.

"Go check on our staff," I suggested. "And look stern for a change. I'm sure they're playing patience in there."

"All in a day's work, I suppose." Tolik agreed willingly enough. "When will you be through here?"

"In about two hours."

"I'll come back."

He went off to our "girls," two young programmers who basically dealt with the Watch's official activity. I continued working. Semyon was next up.

Two and a half hours later I tore my eyes away from the computer, massaged the back of my neck with my palms¡ªit always cramps up when I sit there hunched over the monitor like that¡ªand turned on the coffee machine.

Neither the boss, nor Ilya, nor Semyon fitted the role of an unhinged killer of Dark Ones. They all had alibis¡ªand some of them were absolutely rock solid. For instance: Semyon had managed to spend the entire night of one of the murders in negotiation with the top management of the Day Watch. Ilya had been on assignment in Sakhalin¡ªthey'd screwed things up so badly over there that they'd needed help from the central office...

I was the only one left under suspicion.

It wasn't that I didn't trust Tolik, but I went through the data again anyway. It was all very neat. Not a single alibi.

The coffee was disgusting, sour; the filter couldn't have been changed for ages. I gulped down the hot swill, gazing at the screen, then took out my cell phone and dialed the boss's number.

"Yes, Anton."

He always knew who was calling him.

"Boris Ignatievich, only one of the four can be suspected."

"Which one exactly?"

The boss's voice was dry and official. But somehow I suddenly got this image of him sitting semi-naked on a leather couch, with a glass of champagne in one hand and Olga's hand in the other, holding the phone in place with his shoulder, or levitating it beside his ear...

"Tut-tut," the boss rebuked me. "You lousy clairvoyant. Who's under suspicion?"

"I am."

"I see."

"You knew it," I said.

"Why do you say that?"

"There was no need to get me to process that dossier. You could have done it yourself. That means you wanted me to be convinced of the danger."

"That could be," the boss said with a sigh. "What are you going to do, Anton?"

"Start packing my bag for jail."

"Come around to my office. In... er... in ten minutes."

"Okay." I turned off my phone.

First I went to see how the girls were doing. Tolik was still there with them, and they were hard at work.

The Watch didn't really have any need for these two worthless programmers. Their security clearance was low, so we still had to do almost everything ourselves. But where else could we find work for two sorceresses as weak as these two? If only they'd have agreed to live ordinary lives... no, they wanted the romance of working for the Watch... So we'd invented jobs for them.

They mostly just whiled away the time, surfing the Net and playing games; their greatest favorites were the various kinds of patience.

Tolik was at one of the spare PCs¡ªwe had plenty of hardware around the place. Yulia was perched on his knees, twitching the mouse around on its mat.

"Is that what you call computer skills training?" I asked, gazing at the monsters hurtling around the screen.

"There's nothing better than computer games for improving skill with the mouse," Tolik replied innocently.

"Well..." I couldn't think of any answer.

It was a long time since I'd played any video games like that. The same went for most other members of the Watch. Killing some evil vermin in a cartoon stopped being interesting once you'd met it face to face. Unless, that is, you'd already lived a couple of hundred years and built up huge reserves of cynicism, like Olga...

"Tolik, I probably won't be back in today," I said.

"Aha." He nodded, without any sign of surprise. None of us have really strong powers of prevision, but we sense little things like that immediately.

"Galya, Lena, see you later," I said to the girls. Galya twittered something polite, trying to look entirely absorbed in her work. Lena asked:

"Can I leave early today?"

"Of course."

We don't lie to each other. If Lena asks, it means she really needs to leave early. We don't lie. But sometimes we might just leave something unsaid...

The boss's desk was in a state of total confusion. Pens, pencils, sheets of paper, printouts of reports, dull, exhausted magic crystals.

But the crowning glory of this incredible jumble was a lighted spirit lamp, with some white powder roasting over it in a crucible. The boss was stirring it thoughtfully with the tip of his expensive Parker pen, obviously expecting it to produce some kind of effect. But the powder seemed to be doggedly ignoring the heat and his stirring.

"Here." I put the disc down in front of the boss.

"What are we going to do?" Boris Ignatievich asked without even looking up. He wasn't wearing a jacket; his shirt was crumpled and his tie had slid to one side.

I stole a glance at the couch. Olga wasn't in the office, but there was an empty champagne bottle standing on the floor, next to two glasses.

"I don't know. I haven't killed any Dark Ones... not these Dark Ones. You know that."

"Sure, I know."

"But I can't prove it."

"By my reckoning we've got two or three days," said the boss. "Then the Day Watch will bring a formal charge against you."

"It wouldn't take much to arrange a false alibi."

"And would you agree to that?" Boris Ignatievich inquired.

"Of course not. Can I ask one question?"

"Yes."

"Where does this information come from? The photos and videos?"

The boss paused for a moment.

"I thought that would be it. You've seen my dossier, Anton. Was it any less intrusive?"

"No, I suppose not. That's why I'm asking. Why do you allow information like that to be gathered?"

"I can't forbid it. Monitoring is carried out by the Inquisition."

I just managed to bite back the stupid question: "But does it really exist?" My face probably said it all for me anyway.

The boss continued looking at me for a moment or two as if he were expecting more questions and then went on:

"Let's get to the point, Anton. From this moment on you must never be left alone. Maybe you can go to the John on your own, but at all other times¡ªyou must have two or three witnesses with you. If we're lucky there could be another killing."

"If I'm really being set up, the killing won't happen until I'm left without an alibi."

"And we'll make sure you are not left without one," the boss said, laughing. "What kind of old fool do you take me for?"

I nodded, still not sure, still not understanding everything.

"Olga..."

The door in the wall¡ªthe one I'd always assumed led into a closet¡ªopened and Olga came in, smiling as she straightened out her hair. Her jeans and blouse sat really tight on her body, the way they do only after a hot shower. Behind her I caught a glimpse of an immense bathroom with a Jacuzzi and a panoramic window right across one wall¡ªit must have been one-way glass.

"Olya, can you handle this?" the boss asked, obviously meaning something they'd already talked about.

"On my own? No."

"I didn't mean that."

"Oh sure, of course I can."

"Stand back to back," the boss ordered.

I didn't feel like arguing, but I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew something really serious was about to happen.

"And both of you open yourselves to me," Boris Ignatievich demanded.

I closed my eyes and relaxed. Olga's back was hot and damp, even through the blouse. A strange sensation, standing there touching a woman who's just been making love... but not with you.

No, I wasn't the slightest bit in love with her. Maybe because I remembered her in her non-human form, maybe because we'd become friends and partners so quickly. Maybe because of the centuries that separated her birth from mine: What did a young body mean, when you could see the dust of the centuries in the other person's eyes? We'd become friends, and nothing more.

But standing next to a woman whose body still remembers someone else's caresses, pressing yourself against her¡ªthat's a strange feeling...

"Right, let's begin..." said the boss, perhaps a bit too sharply. And then he uttered some words I didn't understand, in some ancient language that hadn't been used for thousands of years.

Flying.

It really was like flying. As if the ground had slipped away from under my feet and I'd become weightless. An orgasm in free fall, LSD mainlined straight into the bloodstream, electrodes in the subcortical pleasure centers...

I was swept away in a torrent of wild, unadulterated joy that came out of nowhere, and the world dimmed and blurred. I would have fallen, but the power streaming out of the boss's raised hands held Olga and me up on invisible strings, making us arch over and press ourselves against each other.

And then the strings got tangled up.

"I'm sorry, Anton," said Boris Ignatievich, "but we didn't have any time for hesitation and explanations."

I didn't answer. I was dumbfounded, sitting there on the floor and staring at my hands, at those slim fingers with the two silver rings, at my legs¡ªthose long, shapely legs still damp after my bath, in jeans that were clinging too tight, at the blue and white sneakers on my little feet.

"It's not for long," the boss said.

"What the..." I almost swore, jerking forward and trying to jump to my feet, but the sound of my voice made me cut my oath short. A low, vibrant, soft woman's voice.

"Calm down, Anton." The young man standing beside me reached out his hand and helped me up.

If not for that, I'd probably have fallen over. My center of balance had completely changed. I was shorter, and the world looked quite different...

"Olga?" I asked, looking at what used to be my face. My partner, now the inhabitant of my body, nodded. Totally confused, I gazed into her... into my face and I saw I hadn't shaved properly that morning. And there was a little, angry red pimple on my forehead that would have done credit to any teenage slob going through puberty.

"Calm down, Anton. It's the first time I've ever swapped sexes too."

Somehow I believed her. Despite her great age, Olga might never have found herself in this particular ticklish situation before.

"Have you got your bearings now?" the boss asked.

I looked myself over again, first raising my hands to my face and then looking at my reflection in the glass doors of the shelves.

"Let's go," said Olga, tugging at my arm. "Just one moment, Boris..." Her movements were as uncertain as mine. Maybe she was even less steady. "Light and Darkness, how do you men walk?" she suddenly exclaimed.

It was then that the irony of the situation struck me and I started laughing. They'd hidden me, the target of the Dark Side's plot, in a woman's body. In the body of the boss's lover, who was as old as the hills.

Olga literally pushed me into the bathroom¡ªI couldn't help feeling quite pleased I was so strong¡ªand bent me down over the Jacuzzi. Then she squirted a jet of cold water straight into my face from the shower head she'd left lying ready on the soft-pink ceramic surface.

I snorted and twisted free of her grip, suppressing the urge to smack Olga¡ªor was it me, really?¡ªacross the face. The motor reflexes of this other body seemed to be coming awake.

"I'm not hysterical," I said. "It really is funny."

"Are you sure?" Olga screwed up her eyes, looking hard at me. Was that really the expression I had when I was trying to look benevolent and doubtful at the same time?

"Absolutely."

"Then take a look at yourself."

I went across to the mirror, which was on the same massive scale as everything else in this secret bathroom, and gazed at myself.

The result was strange. As I looked at my new form, I began feeling completely calm. The shock would probably have been worse if I'd been in another man's body. But this was okay; it just felt like the beginning of a fancy dress party.

"Are you influencing me at all?" I asked. "You or the boss?"

"No."

"I must have pretty strong nerves then."

"You've smudged your lipstick," Olga commented. She chuckled. "Do you know how to put lipstick on?"

"Are you crazy? Of course not."

"I'll teach you. It's not that tricky. You're really lucky, Anton."

"How's that?"

"One week later, and I'd have had to teach you to use panty liners."