fter I stepped out of the office I paused for a moment, fighting the temptation to go back in.

I could reject the boss's plan at any moment. I only had to go back in and say a few words, and Olga and I would be returned to our own bodies. But in half an hour of conversation I'd been told enough to make me accept that switching bodies was the only way to handle this provocation by the Dark Ones.

After all, it doesn't really make much sense to refuse life-saving treatment because the injections hurt.

I had the keys to Olga's apartment in my purse, together with her money and credit card in a little billfold, makeup, a little handkerchief, a panty liner¡ªwhat for, when I wasn't supposed to need it?¡ªa little box of Tic Tacs, a comb, a layer of small items scattered on the bottom, a mirror, a tiny cell phone...

But the empty pockets of the jeans made me feel like I must have lost something. I rummaged in them for a second or two, trying to find at least a forgotten coin, but was soon convinced that Olga carried everything in her purse, the way most women do.

You might have thought I'd just lost things that were a bit more important than the contents of my pockets. But it was a detail that irritated me, so I transferred a few bank notes from the handbag to my pocket and that made me feel a bit more confident.

It was a shame Olga didn't carry a Walkman, though...

"Hi," said Garik, walking toward me. "Is the boss free?"

"He's... he's with Anton..." I replied.

"What's happened, Olya?" Garik asked, looking at me closely. I don't know what it was he'd sensed: a different intonation, hesitant movements, a new aura. But if a field operative that neither Olga nor I had ever spent much time with could sense the swap, I wasn't doing too well.

And then Garik gave me a timid, uncertain smile. That was entirely unexpected: I'd never noticed Garik trying to flirt with the Watch's female employees. He even has trouble getting to know human women, he's so incredibly unlucky when it comes to romance.

"Nothing. We had a bit of an argument." I turned away without saying goodbye and walked to the staircase.

That was my cover story for the Night Watch¡ªin the highly unlikely event that we had one of the other side's agents among us. As far as I know, that's something that's only happened once or twice in the entire history of the Watch, but you can never tell... Might as well let everyone think Boris Ignatievich had a falling out with his old girlfriend.

There was a plausible reason, a good one. A hundred years of imprisonment in his office, without any chance to assume human form, partial rehabilitation, but with the loss of most of her magical powers. That was more than enough reason to take offense... And at least the story relieved me of the need to play the part of the boss's girlfriend, which would have been going just too far.

I walked down to the third floor, thinking things through as I went. I had to admit that Olga had made things as easy for me as she could. She'd put on jeans today, instead of her usual matching skirt and jacket or dress, and sneakers instead of high-heeled shoes. Even the light perfume she'd used wasn't overpowering.

I knew what I was supposed to do now; I knew how I was supposed to behave. But even so, it was still hard. I had to turn into the modest, quiet side corridor instead of going toward the door.

And take a plunge into the past.

They say hospitals have their own unforgettable smell. And of course they do. It would be strange if the mixture of bleach and pain, sterilizing unit and wounds, standard issue bed sheets and tasteless food didn't have some kind of smell.

But tell me, if you can¡ªwhere do schools and colleges get their smell?

Not all our subjects are taught on the Watch's own premises. Some things are easier to teach in the morgue, at night¡ªwe have our contacts there. Some things are taught out in the field; some things are taught abroad, on tourist trips paid for by the Watch. During my training, I spent time in Haiti, Angola, the USA, and Spain.

But there are still some lectures that can be given only in the Watch's own building, securely sealed off from its foundations to its roof by magic and protective spells. Thirty years ago, when the first Watch moved into this building, they set up three small halls, each for fifteen trainees. I still don't know what was most important in that decision¡ªthe optimism of my colleagues or the fact that the space was available. Even when I was in training¡ªand that was a very good year¡ªone hall was enough for all of us, and even then it was always half empty.

Right now the Watch was training four Others. And Svetlana was the only one we could be certain would join us and not prefer an ordinary human life.

It was deserted here, deserted and quiet. I walked slowly along the corridor, glancing into the empty teaching rooms, which would have been the envy of even the best-equipped and most prosperous university. A laptop computer on every desk, a huge TV projector in each room, shelves crammed with books... If only a historian could have seen those books¡ªa real historian, that is, not some historical pimp.

But historians never would see them.

Some of the books contained too much truth. Other contained too many lies. People couldn't be allowed to read them, for the sake of their own peace of mind. Let them keep living with the history they were used to.

The corridor terminated in a huge mirror that covered the entire end wall. When I glanced into it casually I saw a beautiful young woman swaying her hips as she strode along the corridor.

I staggered and almost fell over: Olga had done everything possible to make things easy for me, but even she couldn't change her own center of gravity. As long as I forgot the way I looked, everything was more or less normal; the motor reflexes took over. But the moment I took a look at myself from the outside, things slipped out of sync. Even my breathing changed, and the air felt different as it entered my lungs.

I walked up to the last door, a glass one, and glanced through it cautiously.

The class was just finishing.

Today they'd been studying everyday magic, I knew that the moment I saw Polina Vasilievna standing by the demonstration stand. She's one of the oldest members of the Watch¡ªto look at, that is, not by her actual age. She'd been discovered and initiated when she was already sixty-three years old. Who could have guessed than an old woman who earned her living by telling fortunes with cards during those wild years after the war actually possessed genuine powers? Quite strong powers too, although only in a narrow field.

"And now, if you need to spruce up your clothes in a hurry, you can do it in a moment. Only don't forget to check first how much strength you have. Otherwise the result might be embarrassing."

"And when the clock strikes twelve, your carriage will turn into a pumpkin," the young guy sitting beside Svetlana said in a loud voice. I didn't know him; this was only his second or third day of training, but already I didn't like him.

"Precisely," Polina exclaimed delightedly, even though she heard the same witticism from every group of trainees. "Fairy tales lie just as much as statistics do, but sometimes you can find a grain of truth in them."

She picked a neatly ironed tuxedo up off the desk. It was spruce and elegant, a little old-fashioned. James Bond must have worn one like it.

"When will it turn back to rags again?" Svetlana asked in a practical tone of voice.

"After two hours," Polina told her briskly. She put the jacket on a hanger and hung it on the stand. "I didn't make a great effort."

"And what's the longest you can you keep it looking good?"

"About twenty-four hours."

Svetlana nodded and suddenly looked in my direction¡ªshe'd sensed my presence. She smiled and waved. Now everyone had noticed me.

"Please come in," said Polina, bowing her head. "This is a great honor for us."

Yes, she knew something about Olga that I didn't. All of us knew no more than one part of the truth about her; probably only the boss knew everything.

I went in, trying desperately to make my walk a bit less provocative. It did no good. The young guy sitting next to Svetlana, and the fifteen-year-old kid who'd been stuck in the preliminary class for six months, and the tall, skinny Korean, who could have been thirty or forty¡ªthey all watched me.

With very definite interest. The atmosphere of mystery that surrounded Olga, all the rumors and unspoken reservations, and above all the fact that she was the boss's lover from way far back¡ªit all provoked a very noticeable response from the male section of the Watch.

"Hello," I said. "I hope I'm not interrupting?"

I was trying so hard to get my phrasing right, I forgot to control my tone of voice, and my banal question came out sounding languidly mysterious, addressed to every single person there. The spotty-faced kid couldn't take his eyes off me, the young guy gulped, and only the Korean maintained some semblance of composure.

"Olga, did you have some announcement to make to the students?" Polina inquired.

"I need to have a word with Sveta."

"Then class dismissed," the old woman declared. "Olga, please do come in sometime during class! My lectures can't take the place of your experience."

"Certainly," I promised generously. "In three or four days."

Olga could make good on my promises. I had to take the hits for her carefully cultivated sex appeal.

Svetlana and I walked toward the door. I could feel three pairs of greedy eyes drilling into my back¡ªwell, not exactly my back.

I knew that Olga and Svetlana were on close terms. I'd known since that night when Olga and I had explained to her the truth about the world and the Others, the Light Ones and the Dark Ones, about the Watches and the Twilight, since that dawn when she had held our hands and walked through the closed door into the field headquarters of the Night Watch. Sure, Svetlana and I were closely linked by a mystical thread. Destiny held us together in its firm grip, but only for the time being. Svetlana and Olga were just friends. It wasn't destiny that had brought them together. They were free.

"Olya, I have to wait for Anton," said Svetlana, taking hold of my hand. It wasn't the gesture of a younger sister clutching her elder sister's hand, looking for support and reassurance. It was the gesture of an equal. And if Olga allowed Svetlana to behave like her equal, then she really did have a great future ahead of her.

"Don't bother, Sveta," I said. "Don't bother."

Again there was something not quite right in the phrase or the tone. Svetlana gave me a puzzled look, and it was exactly like Garik's had been.

"I'll explain everything," I said. "But not right here and now. At your place."

The new defenses at her apartment were the best that could possibly be set up¡ªthe Watch had invested too much energy in its new member to lose her now. The boss hadn't even argued about whether I could confide in Svetlana; he'd insisted on only one thing¡ªit had to happen at her place.

"All right." The surprise was still there in Svetlana's eyes, but she nodded in agreement. "Are you sure it's not worth waiting for Anton?"

"Absolutely," I said, quite sincerely. "Shall we take a car?"

"Aren't you driving today?"

Fool!

I'd completely forgotten that Olga's favorite mode of transport was the sports car the boss had given her as a present.

"That's what I meant¡ªshall we drive?" I asked, realizing I looked like a complete idiot.

Olga nodded. That puzzled look in her eyes was getting stronger and stronger.

At least I knew how to drive. I'd never been tempted by the dubious pleasure of owning a car in a megalopolis with lousy roads, but our training had included all sorts of things. Some things had been taught the ordinary way; some things had been beaten into our heads by magic. I'd been taught how to drive like a simple human being, but if I suddenly happened to find myself in the cabin of a helicopter or a plane, then reflex responses I couldn't even remember in an ordinary state would kick in. At least, in theory they ought to kick in.

I found the car keys in the purse. The orange sports car was standing in the parking lot in front of the building, under the watchful eye of the security guards. The car's doors were locked, but since the top was down that was fairly ridiculous.

"Will you drive?" asked Svetlana.

I nodded without saying anything, then got into the driver's seat and started the engine. I remembered that Olga always took off like a bullet, but I didn't know how to do that.

"Olga, there's something wrong with you," said Svetlana, finally deciding to say what was on her mind. I nodded as I drove out onto Leningrad Prospect.

"Sveta, we'll talk when we get to your place."

I'm no hotshot driver. We were driving a long time, a lot longer than we ought to have been. But Svetlana didn't ask any more questions; she sat there, leaning back in her seat and looking straight ahead. Maybe she was meditating, or maybe she was trying to look through the Twilight. Several times in the traffic jams, guys tried to hit on us from their cars¡ªalways the most expensive models, though. Apparently the way we looked and the car we were in drew attention. Windows were wound down; heads with crew cuts were stuck out, sometimes with a hand clutching a cell phone, as a universal badge of status. At first I just found it annoying. Then it started to seem funny. By the end I wasn't reacting to any of it any longer, just like Svetlana.

I wondered if Olga found these attempts to get to know her amusing...

She probably did. After spending decades in non-human form, after being imprisoned in a glass showcase...

"Olya, why did you bring me away? Why didn't you want me to wait for Anton?"

I shrugged. I was sorely tempted to answer: "Because he's sitting right here beside you." The chances were pretty slim that we were being observed. The car was protected by spells too; I could sense some of them, some of them went beyond the level of my powers.

But I restrained myself.

Svetlana hadn't taken the course on information security yet; it comes three months into the training. I think it would make good sense to put it in earlier, but a specific program has to be designed for each individual Other, and that takes time.

Once Svetlana had been through the fiery crucible of that ordeal, she'd know when to keep quiet and when to speak. They just start feeding you information, strictly measured, in a specific sequence. Some of what you hear is true, and some of it's false.

They tell you some of it quite freely and openly, and some of it under a terrible oath of secrecy. And some of it you find out "accidentally," by eavesdropping or spying.

And then everything you've learned starts to ferment inside you, making you feel pain and fear, pushing and straining so hard to break out you think your heart's going to burst, demanding some immediate, irrational reaction. In the lectures they tell you all sorts of nonsense you don't really need to know to live as an Other, while the most important training and testing is taking place in your soul.

It's rare for anyone to have a serious breakdown. It's only training, after all, not a test. And the height set for every individual is no higher than he can jump¡ªprovided he calls on every last ounce of his strength, leaving scraps of blood-stained skin behind on the razor wire along the top of the barrier.

But when the people in the course matter to you, or even if you simply like them, it starts getting to you, tearing you apart. You catch a strange glance cast in your direction and start wondering what your friend has just learned in the course. What truths? What lies?

And what the student is learning about himself or herself, about the world around him, his parents and friends...

And you have a terrible, unbearable yearning to help. To explain, to hint, to prompt.

But no one who's been through the course will ever give way to that desire. Because that's what they're learning through their own pain and suffering¡ªwhat to say and when.

Generally speaking, we can and should say everything. We just have to choose the right time, otherwise the truth can be worse than a lie.

"Olya?"

"You'll understand soon," I said. "Just wait a while."

I glanced through the Twilight and hurled the car forward, flitting neatly between a clumsy jeep and a military truck. The mirror cracked as it folded back after clipping the edge of the truck¡ªI didn't care. Our car was first across the intersection, tearing out onto the Highway of Enthusiasts.

"Does he love me?" Svetlana suddenly asked. "Does he, yes or no? You must know, don't you?"

I shuddered and the car swerved, but Svetlana took no notice. I sensed it wasn't the first time she'd asked that question. She and Olga must have left a difficult conversation unfinished.

"Or does he love you?"

That was it. I couldn't keep quiet any longer.

"Anton is very fond of Olga," I said, speaking of myself and the owner of my body in the third person. It was a bit artificial, but it gave an impression of cool, distant politeness. "Comrades in combat. Nothing more than that."

If she asked Olga how she felt about me, it would be harder to avoid lying.

Svetlana didn't ask. And a moment later she touched my hand, as if she were asking me to forgive her.

But now I couldn't stop myself asking:

"Why do you ask?"

She answered simply, without hesitation:

"I don't understand. Anton is behaving very strangely. Sometimes he seems to be madly in love with me. And sometimes it's as if I'm just one of hundreds of Others that he knows. A comrade in arms."

"A destiny node," I said briefly.

"What?"

"You haven't studied that yet, Sveta."

"Explain it to me, then!"

"You know," I said, driving the car faster and faster¡ªthat must have been the body's motor reflexes kicking in¡ª"you know, when he came to your place that first time..."

"I know that I was influenced. He told me," Svetlana interrupted.

"That's not the point. The suggestion was removed when you were told the truth. But when you learn to see destiny¡ªand you'll learn to see it a lot more clearly than I do¡ªthen you'll understand."

"They told us that destiny is variable."

"Destiny is polyvariable. But when he came to see you, Anton knew that if he succeeded in his assignment, he would fall in love with you."

Svetlana didn't answer that. I thought I saw her cheeks color slightly, but maybe that was just the wind in the open car.

"And what difference does that make?"

"Do you know what it's like to be condemned to love?"

"But isn't it always like that?" Svetlana asked, trembling with indignation. "When people love each other, when they find each other out of thousands and millions of people. It's always destiny!"

Once again I sensed that infinitely naive girl in her, the girl who couldn't hate anything except herself. The girl who was already beginning to disappear.

"No, Sveta, haven't you ever heard love compared to a flower?"

"Yes."

"A flower can be grown, Sveta. But it can be bought too, or given as a gift."

"Did Anton buy it?"

"No," I said, a bit too sharply. "It was a gift. From destiny."

"What difference does that make? If it is love?"

"Sveta, cut flowers are beautiful, but they don't live for long. They're already dying, even the ones that are carefully placed in a crystal vase and given fresh water."

"He's afraid of loving me," Svetlana said thoughtfully. "Isn't he? I wasn't afraid, because I didn't know all this."

I drove up to the building, weaving between the parked cars, mostly Zhigulis and Moskviches. This wasn't a prestigious district.

"Why did I tell you all that?" asked Svetlana. "Why did I make you answer? Just because you're four hundred forty-three years old?"

I shuddered when I heard that number. Yes, a real wealth of experience. An immense wealth. Next year Olga would be celebrating a very magical kind of birthday.

I'd like to believe my body would still be in such beautiful physical condition, even at a quarter of that age.

I left the car without putting on the alarm. No human being would ever think of trying to steal it in any case: The protective spells provide greater security than any alarm system. Svetlana and I walked briskly up the steps without speaking and went into her apartment.

Things had changed a bit, of course. Svetlana had left her job, but her study grant and the initial allowance paid to every Other when they are initiated came to far more than her modest earnings as a doctor. She had a new TV; what I couldn't understand was when she found the time to watch it. It was a flashy widescreen model, too big for her apartment. I found this sudden yen for the good life amusing. It's something everyone goes through at the beginning¡ªprobably a defensive reaction. When your world crumbles around you, when the old fears and anxieties disappear and new ones, still vague and unfamiliar, take their place, everyone starts acting out some of the dreams from their former life that seemed so unreal only recently. Some go on a spree in restaurants, some buy an expensive car, some buy themselves haute-couture outfits. It doesn't last for long, and not just because working in the Watch won't make you a millionaire. The very needs that seemed so compelling only yesterday begin to fade away, disappearing into the past. Forever.

"Olga?"

Svetlana looked into my eyes.

I sighed, gathering my strength.

"I couldn't tell you earlier. We can only talk here. Your apartment is protected against observation by the Dark Ones."

I could see that Svetlana already suspected the truth.

"This is only Olga's body," I said.

"Anton?"

I nodded.

The two of us must have looked really absurd!

It was a good thing Svetlana was already used to absurdity.

She believed me straight away.

"You bastard!"

Spoken in a tone that would have suited the aristocratic Olga. And the slap to my face came from the same opera libretto.

It didn't hurt, but it upset me.

"What's that for?" I asked.

"For eavesdropping on other peoples' conversations!" Svetlana snapped.

It wasn't a very precise way of putting it, but I got the idea. When Svetlana raised her other hand, I ignored the Christian teaching and dodged the second slap.

"Sveta, I promised to take care of this body!"

"I didn't!"

Svetlana breathed heavily, biting her lip. Her eyes were blazing. I'd never seen her in such a fury, never even suspected it was possible. Just what was it that had made her so furious?

"So, you're afraid to love cut flowers?" said Svetlana, slowly advancing on me. "That's your problem, is it?"

I got the idea. But it took a moment or two.

"Get out of here! Get out!"

I backed away until I ran into the door. But the moment I stopped, Svetlana stopped too. She jerked her head to one side and yelled:

"Stay in that body! It suits you better; you're not a man, you're a spineless wimp!"

I didn't answer. I didn't say a word, because I could already see the way things would go. I could see the lines of probability stretching out ahead of us, see destiny derisively weaving its pathways together.

And when Svetlana burst into tears, instantly robbed of all her fighting spirit, and lowered her face into her hands, when I put my arm around her shoulders and she sobbed in relief on my shoulder, I felt cold and empty inside. The cold was piercing, as if I were back standing on a snow-covered roof in a blustery winter wind.

Svetlana was still human. There wasn't enough of the Other in her yet; she didn't understand, she couldn't see the road leading off into the distance, the road we were destined to follow. And so she couldn't see how that road divided in two, running off in different directions.

Love is happiness, but only when you believe it will last forever. Even though every time it turns out to be a lie, it's only faith that gives love its strength and its joy.

Svetlana was sobbing on my shoulder.

Great knowledge brings great sorrow. How I wished I didn't know the inevitable future! I wished I didn't know it, and I just could love her without thinking twice about it, like an ordinary, mortal human being.

And what a pity it was that I wasn't in my own body.

To any outsider it might have looked like two women who were close friends had decided to spend a quiet evening in front of the TV with tea with jam. Drinking a bottle of dry wine and chatting about those three eternal subjects: All men are bastards, I've nothing to wear, and the most important of all¡ªhow to lose weight.

"You really like bread rolls, don't you?" Svetlana asked in surprise.

"Yes. With butter and jam," I replied morosely.

"I thought someone promised to take care of that body?"

"I'm not doing it any harm! Believe me, it's having a really great time."

"Well now," Svetlana said vaguely, "you ask Olga afterward how she takes care of her figure."

I hesitated, but went ahead and cut another roll in half, then spread it generously with jam.

"And whose brilliant idea was it to hide you in a woman's body?"

"The boss's, I think."

"I thought it must be."

"Olga supported him."

"I should think so. She worships the very ground Boris Ignatievich walks on."

I had my doubts about that, but I kept quiet about them. Svetlana got up and went over to the wardrobe, opened it, and looked thoughtfully at the hangers.

"Will you put on a robe?"

"What?" I said, choking on my roll.

"Are you going to sit around in the house like that? Those jeans are bursting on you. It must be uncomfortable."

"Can't you find something like a sweat suit?" I asked pitifully.

Svetlana gave me a mocking glance and then took pity.

"I suppose I might."

To be quite honest, I'd rather have seen that combination on someone else. On Svetlana, for instance. Brief little white shorts and a blouse. For playing tennis, or maybe for jogging.

"Get changed."

"Sveta, I don't think we're going to spend the whole evening in the apartment."

"Never mind. It'll be useful anyway; I need to check that the size is right. You get changed and I'll go and make some tea."

Svetlana went out and I hurriedly pulled off the jeans. I started unbuttoning the blouse, fumbling with the funny little buttons that were too tight, and then glared balefully at myself in the mirror.

A good-looking girl, that was for sure. A good model. I put the new clothes on in a hurry and sat down on the couch. There was a soap opera on the TV¡ªI was amazed Svetlana watched this junk. But then, the others were probably showing the same stuff.

"You look great."

"Don't, Sveta, please," I begged her. "I feel sick enough already."

"Okay, I'm sorry," she said lightly, sitting down beside me. "So what have we got to do?"

"We?" I asked with gentle emphasis.

"Yes, Anton. You didn't come here by chance."

"I had to tell you about the mess I'm in."

"Okay. But if the boss..."¡ªSvetlana managed to pronounce the word "boss" with real relish, with respect and irony at the same time¡ª"... has allowed you to confide in me, that means I have to help you. It must be the will of destiny." She couldn't resist putting that in.

I gave in.

"I mustn't be left alone. Not for a moment. The basis of the whole plan is that the Dark Ones are deliberately sacrificing their own pawns¡ªeither killing them or allowing them to die."

"Like the other time?"

"Yes. Precisely. And if this provocation is directed at me, there's going to be another killing any time now. At some moment when they think I don't have an alibi."

Svetlana looked at me with her chin propped on her hands and slowly shook her head.

"And then you'll jump out of this body like a jack out of his box. And it'll be clear that you couldn't have carried out these serial killings. The enemy is confounded."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm sorry, I haven't been in the Watch for long; maybe there's something I don't understand."

That put me on my guard. Svetlana hesitated for a second and then went on:

"When all those things happened to me, what was going on? The Dark Ones were hoping to initiate me. They knew Night Watch would notice; they even figured out that you could possibly intervene and help."

"Yes."

"That was why they played out that complex maneuver, sacrificing a few pieces and building up false positions of strength. And to begin with, Night Watch was taken in. If the boss hadn't launched his counter-maneuver, if you hadn't gone charging straight in, taking no notice of anything..."

"You'd be my enemy now," I said. "You'd be studying with the Day Watch."

"That's not what I meant, Anton. I'm grateful to you, and to everyone in Night Watch, above all to you. But that's not what I'm talking about right now. Surely you understand that what you've just told me sounds about as probable as that story did? Everything fit together so neatly, didn't it? A pair of vampires poaching. A boy with exceptional powers. A woman under a powerful curse. A massive threat to the entire city."

I didn't know what to say. I looked at her and felt my cheeks beginning to burn. A girl who wasn't a third of the way through the introductory course, a total novice in our line of work, was laying out the situation for me the way I ought to have laid it out for myself.

"What's happening right now?" Svetlana continued, not noticing the torment I was in. "There's a serial killer destroying Dark Ones. You're on the list of suspects. The boss immediately makes a cunning move: You and Olga swap bodies. But just how cunning is this move, really? As far as I understand it, the practice of body-swapping is quite common. Boris Ignatievich himself used it only recently, didn't he? Has he ever used the same move twice in a row? Against the same enemy?"

"I don't know, Svetlana; they don't tell me all the details of the operations."

"Then think for yourself. And another thing. Is Zabulon really so petty, so hysterically vengeful? He's hundreds of years old, isn't he? He's been in charge of the Day Watch for a very, very long time. If this maniac..."

"Maverick."

"If they really have let this Maverick run loose on the streets of Moscow while they get ready to make their move, then would the head of Day Watch really waste him on such petty business? I'm sorry, Anton, but you're really not such an important target."

"I understand. Officially I'm a fifth-grade magician, but the boss said I could aim for third-grade."

"Even taking that into account."

We looked into each other's eyes and I shrugged:

"I give up, Svetlana, you must be right. But I've told you all I know. And I can't see any other possible interpretation."

"SO you're just going to follow instructions? Walk around in a skirt, never let yourself be alone for a single moment?"

"When I joined the Watch, I knew I was giving up part of my freedom."

"Part of it!" Svetlana snorted. "Is that what you call it? Okay, you know best. So we're spending the night together, then?"

I nodded:

"Yes... But not here. It's best if I stay with people all the time."

"What about sleeping?"

"It's riot that hard to go without sleep for a few nights," I said with a shrug. "I am sure Olga's body is trained at least as well as mine. These last few months her life's been one never-ending high-society whirl."

"Anton, I haven't learned these tricks yet. When do I sleep?"

"During the day. In class."

She frowned. I knew Svetlana would agree; she couldn't help herself. With her character she couldn't even refuse to help some stranger in the street, and I certainly wasn't that.

"Why don't we go to the Maharajah?" I suggested.

"What's that?"

"An Indian restaurant; it's pretty good."

"Is it open all night?"

"No, unfortunately. But we'll think of somewhere else to go afterward."

Svetlana stared at me so long she got under even my naturally thick skin. What had I done wrong this time?

"Thank you, Anton," she said with real feeling. "Thank you very much. You've just invited me to a restaurant. I've been waiting two months for that."

She got up, went across to the wardrobe, opened it, and gazed thoughtfully at the clothes hanging there.

"I don't have anything decent in your size," she said. "You'll have to get back into the jeans. Will they let you into the restaurant?"

"They should," I said, not too sure of myself. But if it came to that, I could always influence the restaurant staff a little bit.

"If need be, I can practice implanting suggestions," Svetlana said, as if she'd read my thoughts. "I'll make them let you in. That will be a good deed, won't it?"

"Of course."

"You know, Anton..." Svetlana said, taking a dress off a hanger, holding it up against herself and shaking her head. Then she took out a beige suit. "... I'm amazed at the way the members of the Watch use the interests of the Good and the Light to justify any interference in reality."

"Not any interference!" I protested.

"Absolutely any. If necessary, they'll even claim robbery's a good deed, even murder."

"No."

"Imagine you're walking along the street and you see a grownup beating a child, right there in front of you. What would you do?"

"If I had any margin left for intervention," I said with a shrug, "I'd perform a remoralization. Naturally."

"And you'd be absolutely certain that was the right thing to do? Without even thinking it over, without looking into things? What if the child deserved to be punished for what it had done? What if the punishment would have saved it from serious problems later in life, but now it will grow up to be a murderer and a thief? You and your remoralization!"

"Sveta, you don't understand."

"What don't I understand?"

"Even if I didn't have any margin left for parapsychological influence¡ªI still wouldn't just walk on by."

Svetlana snorted.

"And you'd be certain you were right? Where's the boundary line?"

"Everyone determines the line for himself. It comes with experience."

She looked at me thoughtfully.

"Anton, every novice asks these questions. I'm right, aren't I?"

"Yes." I smiled.

"And you're used to answering them, you know a series of ready-made answers, sophisms, historical examples, and parallels."

"No, Sveta. That's not the point. The point is that the Dark Ones never ask questions like these."

"How do you know?"

"A Dark Magician can heal; a Light Magician can kill," I said. "That's the truth. Do you know what the difference is between Light and Darkness?"

"No, I don't. For some reason, they don't teach us that. I expect it's hard to formulate clearly?"

"Not at all. If you always put yourself and your own interests first, then your path leads through the Darkness. If you think about others, it leads toward the Light."

"And how long will it take to reach it? The Light, I mean?"

"Forever."

"This is all empty words, Anton. A word game. What does an experienced Dark Magician tell his novice? Maybe he uses words that are just as beautiful and true?"

"Oh, sure, about freedom. About how everyone gets the place in life that they deserve. About how pity is degrading and true love is blind, and true kindness is useless¡ªand true freedom is freedom from everyone else."

"And is that a lie?"

"No," I said with a shake of my head. "That's a part of the truth too. Sveta, we're not given the chance to choose absolute truth. Truth's always two-faced. The only thing we have is the right to reject the lie we find most repugnant. Do you know what I tell novices about the Twilight the first time? We enter it in order to acquire strength. And as the price for entering it we give up the part of the truth that we don't want to accept. Ordinary human beings have it easier. A million times easier, even with all those disasters and problems and worries that don't even exist for the Others. Humans have never had to face this choice: They can be good and bad, it all depends on the moment, on their surroundings, on the book they read yesterday, on the steak they had for dinner. That's why they're so easy to control; even the most malicious villain can easily be turned to the Light, and the kindest and most noble of men can be nudged toward the Darkness. But we have made a choice."

"I've made it too, Anton. I've already been in the Twilight."

"Yes."

"Then why don't I understand where the boundary is and what the difference is between me and some witch who attends black masses? Why am I still asking these questions?"

"You'll never stop asking them. Out loud at first, and later on just to yourself. It will never stop, never. If you wanted to be free of painful questions¡ªyou chose the wrong side."

"I chose the one I wanted."

"I know. So now put up with it."

"All my life?"

"Yes. It will be a long one, but you'll never get over this. You'll never stop asking yourself if every step you make is the right one."