axim didn't like restaurants. That was just his character. He felt far more comfortable and relaxed in bars and clubs, sometimes even the more expensive ones, as long as they weren't too prissy and formal. Of course, there were some people who always behaved like red commissars in negotiations with the bourgeoisie, even in the most sumptuous restaurants: no manners and no wish to learn any. But then what did all those New Russians in the jokes have to model themselves on?

Last night had to be smoothed over somehow, though. His wife had either believed his story about "an important business meeting" or at least pretended that she did. But he was still suffering vague pangs of conscience. Of course, if only she knew! If she could only imagine who he really was and what it was he did!

Maxim couldn't say anything, so he had no choice but to make up his absence the previous night by using the same methods any decent man uses after a little affair. Presents, pampering, an evening out. For instance, at a prestigious restaurant with subtle exotic cuisine, foreign waiters, elegant decor, and an extensive wine list.

Maxim wondered if Elena really thought he'd been unfaithful to her the night before. The question intrigued him, but not enough for him to ask it out loud. There are always some things that have to be left unsaid. Maybe some day she'd learn the truth. And then she'd be proud of him.

But that was ridiculous¡ªhe realized that. In a world full of the creatures of Malice and Darkness, he was the only knight of Light, eternally alone, unable to share with anyone the truth. In the beginning, Maxim had hoped to meet someone else like him: a sighted man in the land of the blind, a guard who could sniff out the wolves in sheep's clothing among the heedless herd.

But there wasn't anyone. He had no one to stand beside him.

Even so, he hadn't despaired.

"Do you think this is worth trying?" Maxim glanced down at the menu. He didn't know what malai kofta was. But that had never prevented him from making decisions. And in any case, the ingredients were listed.

"Yes, try it. Meat with a cream sauce."

"Beef?"

He didn't realize at first that Elena was joking. Then he smiled back at her.

"Definitely."

"And what if I do order something with beef?"

"Then they'll refuse politely," said Maxim. Keeping his wife amused wasn't tough. He actually enjoyed it. But right now he would really like to take a look around the room. Something here wasn't right. He could sense a strange, cold draft blowing through the semi-darkness at his back; it made him screw up his eyes and keep looking, looking...

Could it really be?

The gap between his missions was usually at least a few months, maybe six. Nothing had ever come up the very next day...

But the symptoms were only too familiar.

Maxim reached into his inside jacket pocket, as if he were checking his billfold. What he was really concerned about was something else¡ªa little wooden dagger, carved artlessly but with great care. He'd whittled the weapon for himself when he was a child, without understanding what it was for at the time, thinking it was simply a toy.

The dagger was waiting.

But who was it?

"Max?" There was a note of reproach in Elena's voice. "You're up in the clouds again."

They clinked glasses. It was a bad sign for husband and wife to do that; it meant there'd be no money in the family. But Maxim wasn't superstitious.

Who was it?

At first he suspected two girls. Both attractive, even beautiful, but each in her own way. The shorter one with dark hair, who moved in a slightly angular way, like a man, was literally overflowing with energy. She positively oozed sexuality. The other one, the blonde, was taller, more calm and restrained. And her beauty was quite different, soothing.

Maxim felt his wife watching him and looked away.

"Lesbians," his wife said disdainfully.

"What?"

"Well, just look at them! The little dark-haired one in jeans is totally butch."

So she was. Maxim nodded and assumed an appropriate expression.

Not them. Not them, after all. But who was it then?

A cell phone trilled in the corner of the room and a dozen people automatically reached for their phones. Maxim located the source of the sound and caught his breath.

The man talking into the cell phone in rapid, quiet bursts was not simply Evil. He was enveloped in a black shroud that other people couldn't see, but Maxim could sense it.

The draft was coming from him, it smelled of danger, appalling danger, coming closer.

Maxim felt a sudden ache in his chest.

"You know what, Lena, I'd like to live on a desert island," Maxim blurted out before he realized what he was saying.

"Alone?"

"With you and the children. But no one else. Not a soul."

He gulped down the rest of his wine and the waiter immediately refilled his glass.

"I wouldn't like that," his wife said.

"I know."

The dagger felt heavy and hot in his pocket now. The mounting excitement was acute, almost sexual. It demanded release.

"Do you remember Edgar Allan Poe?" Svetlana asked.

They'd let us in without any fuss. I hadn't been expecting that¡ªthe rules in restaurants must have changed, been made more democratic, or maybe they were just short of customers.

"No. He died too long ago. But Semyon was telling me..."

"I didn't mean Poe himself. I meant his stories."

"The Man of the Crowd," I guessed.

Svetlana laughed quietly.

"Yes. You're in the same fix as him right now. You have to stick to crowded places."

"Fortunately I'm still not sick of those places just yet."

We had a glass of Bailey's each and ordered something to eat. That probably gave the waiter certain ideas about why we were there: two inexperienced prostitutes looking for work¡ªbut I didn't really care.

"Was he an Other?"

"Poe? Probably an uninitiated one."

"There are some qualities¡ªsome incorporate things,

That have a double life, which thus is made

A type of that twin entity which springs

From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade."

Svetlana recited in a quiet voice.

I looked at her in surprise.

"Do you know it?" she asked.

"How can I put it?" I said. Then I raised my eyes and declaimed:

"He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!

No power hath he of evil in himself;

But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!) Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf, That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod No foot of man), commend thyself to God!"

We looked at each for a second and then both burst into laughter.

"A little literary duel," Svetlana said ironically. "Score: one-one. A pity we don't have an audience. But why did Poe remain uninitiated?"

"A lot of poets are potential Others. But some potentials are best left to live as human beings. Poe was too psychologically unstable; giving people like that special powers is like handing a pyromaniac a can of napalm. I wouldn't even try to guess which side he would have taken. He'd probably have withdrawn into the Twilight forever, and very quickly."

"But how do they live there? The ones who have withdrawn forever?"

"I don't know, Svetlana. I expect no one really knows. You sometimes come across them in the Twilight world, but there's no contact in the usual sense of the word."

"I'd like to find out," said Svetlana, casting a thoughtful glance around the room. "Have you noticed the Other in here?" she asked.

"The old man behind me, talking on his cell phone?"

"Why do you call him old?"

"He's very old. I'm not looking with my eyes."

Svetlana bit her lip and screwed up her eyes. She was beginning to develop little ambitions of her own.

"I can't do it yet," she admitted. "I can't even tell if he's Light or Dark."

"Dark. Not from Day Watch, but Dark. A magician with middle-level powers. And by the way, he's spotted us too."

"So what are we going to do?"

"Us? Nothing."

"But he's Dark!"

"Yes, and we're Light. What of it? As Watch agents we have the right to check his ID. But it's bound to be in order."

"And when will we have the right to intervene?"

"When he gets up, waves his hands through the air, turns into a demon, and starts biting off people's heads..."

"Anton!"

"I'm quite serious. We have no right to interfere with an honest Dark Magician's pleasant evening out."

The waiter brought our order and we stopped talking. Svetlana ate, but without any real appetite. Then, like a sulky, capricious child, she blurted out:

"And how long is the Watch going to continue groveling like this?"

"To the Dark Ones?"

"Yes."

"Until we acquire a decisive advantage. Until people who become Others no longer hesitate for even a moment over what to choose: Light or Darkness. Until the Dark Ones all die of old age. Until they can no longer nudge people toward Evil as easily as they do now."

"But that's capitulation, Anton!"

"Neutrality. The status quo. Double deadlock¡ªthere's no point pretending otherwise."

"You. know, I like the solitary Maverick who's terrorizing the Dark Ones a lot more. Even if he is violating the Treaty, even if he is setting us up without knowing it! He's fighting against the Darkness, isn't he? Fighting! Alone, against all of them."

"And have you thought about why he kills Dark Ones but doesn't get in touch with us?"

"No."

"He can't see us, Svetlana. He looks straight through us."

"He's self-taught."

"Yes. Self-taught and talented. An Other with powers that manifest themselves in chaotic fashion. Capable of seeing Evil. Incapable of recognizing Good. Don't you find that frightening?"

"No," Svetlana said sullenly. "I'm sorry, I can't see where you're going with this, Olga. Sorry, I mean Anton. You've started talking just like her."

"That's okay."

"The Dark Other's going somewhere," said Svetlana, looking past my shoulder. "To extract other people's energy, to cast evil spells. And we don't interfere."

I turned my head slightly and saw the Dark One. To the unaided eye he looked about thirty years old at most. Dressed in good taste, charming. A young woman and two children were sitting at the table he'd just left. The boy was about seven, the girl a bit younger.

"He's gone for a leak, Svetlana. To take a pee. And his family, by the way, is perfectly ordinary. No powers. Are you suggesting we eliminate them too?"

"Like father, like son..."

"Try telling that to Garik. His father's a Dark Magician. Still alive."

"There are always exceptions."

"Life consists of nothing but exceptions."

Svetlana didn't answer.

"I know that itch, Sveta. The itch to do Good, to pursue Evil. Right now, to finish it forever. That's the way I feel too. But if you can't understand that's a dead end, you'll end up in the Twilight. One of us will have to put an end to your earthly existence."

"But at least I'd have done something."

"You know what your actions would look like to an outsider? A psychopath killing normal, decent people at random. Chilling reports in the newspapers, with spine-chilling descriptions and grand nicknames for you¡ªsay, 'the new Lucretia Borgia.' You'd sow more Evil in human hearts than a brigade of Dark Magicians could generate in a year."

"How come all of you always have an answer for everything?" Svetlana asked bitterly.

"Because we've been through the training. And survived. Most of us have survived."

I called the waiter and asked for the menu.

"How about a cocktail? And then we can move on. You choose."

Svetlana nodded as she studied the wine list. The waiter was a tall, swarthy young guy, not Russian. He'd seen just about everything, and he wasn't much bothered by one girl acting like a man with another.

"Alter Ego," said Svetlana.

I was doubtful¡ªit was one of the strongest cocktails. But I didn't argue.

"Two cocktails and the check."

We waited in oppressive silence while the bartender was mixing the cocktails and the waiter was adding up the check. Eventually Svetlana asked:

"Okay, I get the picture with poets. They're potential Others. But what about the great villains? Caligula, Hitler, the homicidal maniacs?"

"Just people."

"All of them."

"Mostly. We have our own villains. Their names don't mean anything to ordinary people, but you'll be starting the history program soon."

"Alter Ego" was an accurate description. Two heavy, immiscible layers, black and white, swaying in the glass. Sweet plum liqueur and dark, bitter beer.

I paid in cash¡ªI don't like to leave an electronic trail behind me¡ªand raised my glass.

"Here's to the Watch."

"To the Watch," Sveta agreed. "And your escape from this mess."

I felt like asking her to knock on wood, but I didn't. I downed the cocktail in two gulps¡ªfirst the gentle sweetness, then the mild bitterness.

"That's great," said Svetlana. "You know, I like it here. Maybe we could stay a bit longer?"

"There are lots of good places in Moscow. Let's find one without any black magicians out for a night on the town."

Sveta nodded.

"And by the way, he's not back yet."

I looked at my watch. Yes, he'd been gone long enough to pee a whole bucketful.

And what really bothered me was that the magician's family were still sitting at their table, and the woman was obviously getting worried.

"Sveta, I'll just be a moment."

"Don't forget who you are!" she whispered as I left.

Yes, it would look a bit strange all right for me to follow the Dark Magician into the restroom.

I walked across the restaurant and took a look through the Twilight on the way. I ought to have been able to see the magician's aura, but there was nothing but a gray void lit up by ordinary auras glowing different colors: pleased, concerned, lustful, drunk, happy.

He couldn't have just slipped out through the plumbing!

The only weak glimmer of light from an aura belonging to an Other was outside the building, over beside the Belarussian embassy. But it wasn't the Dark Magician; it was much weaker and its color was different.

Where had he gone to?

The narrow corridor ending in two doors was empty. I hesitated for a moment¡ªwho could tell, maybe we just hadn't noticed the magician leaving via the Twilight, or maybe he was powerful enough to teleport? Then I opened the door of the men's restroom.

Inside it was very clean and bright and a bit cramped, and the air had a strong smell of floral air freshener.

The Dark Magician was lying just inside the door, and his outstretched arms prevented me from opening the door all the way.

He had a puzzled, confused kind of expression on his face. I spotted the gleam of a slim crystal tube in his hand. He'd reached for his weapon too late.

There was no blood. There were no signs at all, and when I took another look through the Twilight I didn't find any traces of magic.

It looked like the Dark Magician had died of a perfectly ordinary heart attack or stroke¡ªif he'd actually been capable of dying that way.

There was just one small detail that totally ruled that possibility out.

A small cut on the collar of his shirt. As narrow as if it had been made by a cutthroat razor. As if someone had stuck a knife in his neck and just nicked the edge of his collar. Except that there were no signs of the blow on his skin.

"Bastards!" I whispered, not knowing who I was swearing at. "Bastards!"

I could hardly have ended up in a worse situation than this. I'd swapped bodies and gone out to a crowded restaurant with a "witness," only to wind up entirely alone, standing over the body of a Dark Magician killed by the Maverick.

"Come on, Pavlik," someone said behind me.

As I looked around the woman who'd been sitting at the table with the Dark Magician came into the corridor, holding her son by the hand.

"I don't want to, Mom!" the kid yelled, acting up.

"You go in and tell your dad we're getting bored already," the woman said patiently. The next moment she looked up and saw me.

"Call someone!" I shouted, despairing. "Call someone! There's a man hurt here! Take the child away and call someone!"

They obviously heard me in the restaurant¡ªOlga had a strong voice.

The murmur of voices stopped immediately, leaving the slushy folk music to play on in the sudden silence.

Of course, she didn't do as I said. She dashed forward, pushed me out of the way, collapsed on her husband's body, and started keening¡ªactually keening¡ªat the top of her voice, already knowing what had happened while her hands were still busy unbuttoning the slit shirt collar and shaking the lifeless body. Then the woman started slapping the magician on the cheeks, lashing hard, as if she hoped he was only pretending or had just fainted.

"Mom, why are you hitting Dad like that?" Pavlik exclaimed in a shrill voice. Not frightened, just surprised; he'd obviously never seen his parents fight. They must have been a happy family.

I took the boy by the shoulder and started gently leading him away. People were already squeezing into the corridor. I saw Sveta staring at me wide-eyed. She'd already guessed what had happened.

"Take the child away," I said to our waiter. "I think a man's dead in there."

"Who found the body?" the waiter asked calmly. Speaking without the slightest accent, quite differently from when he was serving our table.

"I did."

The waiter nodded as he deftly handed the boy on to one of the female restaurant staff. The boy was crying now, he'd realized something had gone wrong in his cozy little world.

"And what were you doing in the men's restroom?"

"The door was open and I saw him lying there," I said, lying without even thinking about it.

The waiter nodded, accepting that it could have happened that way. But at the same time he took a firm grip of my elbow.

"You'll have to wait for the militia, lady."

Svetlana had already pushed her way through to us. She narrowed her eyes when she heard those last words. That was all I needed now¡ªfor her to try erasing the memories of everyone there!

"Of course." I stepped forward, and the waiter was forced to let go of my arm and follow me. "Svetka, it's terrible, there's a body in there!"

"Olya." Sveta's reaction was the right one. She put her arm around my shoulders, gave the waiter an indignant look and led me back into the restaurant.

Just then the boy passed us, sobbing loudly as he squeezed his way through the greedy, curious crowd back to his mother. They were trying to get her away from the body¡ªshe'd taken advantage of the confusion to bend back down over her husband and start shaking him:

"Get up! Gena, get up! Get up!"

I felt Svetlana shudder at the sight and I whispered:

"Well? Do we exterminate the Dark Ones with fire and the sword?"

"Why did you do it? I would have understood without that!" Svetlana whispered furiously.

"What?"

We looked into each other's eyes.

"Then it wasn't you?" Sveta whispered uncertainly. "I'm sorry; I believe you."

I realized then just what a deep hole I was in.

The investigator didn't take any particular interest in me. I could see from his eyes that he'd already made his mind up¡ªdeath from natural causes. A weak heart, drug abuse, whatever. He couldn't be expected to feel any sympathy for a man who frequented expensive restaurants.

"Was the body lying in this position?" "Yes, just like that," I confirmed, wearily. "It was terrible!" The investigator shrugged. He couldn't see anything really terrible about a body, especially one that wasn't drenched in blood. But he was condescending.

"Yes, a terrible sight. Was there anybody else nearby?" "Nobody. But then a woman appeared, the man's wife, with their child."

I was rewarded with a crooked smile for my deliberately disjointed statement.

"Thank you, Olga. Someone may be in touch with you again. Not planning to leave town at all, are you?"

I shook my head rapidly. The militia was the very last thing I was bothered about right then.

But I was bothered by the sight of the boss sitting unobtrusively at a table in the corner.

The investigator left me in peace and went to talk to "the dead man's wife." Boris Ignatievich immediately made straight for our table. Nobody paid any attention to him; he was obviously protected by some mild distraction spell.

"Now you've done it," he said simply.

"Us?" I asked, just to get things clear.

"Yes. Both of you. But especially you, Anton."

"I followed all the instructions I was given," I whispered, feeling furious. "And I never laid a finger on that magician!"

The boss sighed.

"I don't doubt that. But knowing the situation, how could you, a member of the Night Watch staff, be so stupid as to go off after a Dark One on your own?"

"Who could have foreseen this?" I asked indignantly. "Tell me who!"

"You could. After the unprecedented measures we've taken to disguise your identity. What were your instructions? Never be left alone for a moment! Eat and sleep with Svetlana! Take your showers together! Go to the bathroom together! Every single moment you had to be..." The boss stopped and sighed.

"Boris Ignatievich," Svetlana unexpectedly put in. "None of that matters anymore. Let's try to think what we can do now."

The boss looked at her in surprise and nodded.

"You are right. Let's try to think. First of all, the situation is really catastrophic now. Before, any suspicion of Anton was purely circumstantial, but now he's literally been caught red-handed. Don't shake your head like that, Anton! You were seen standing over a body seconds after its death. The body of a Dark Magician, killed in the same way as all the previous victims. The Day Watch will appeal to the Tribunal for your memory to be read."

"That's very dangerous, isn't it?" asked Svetlana. "But at least it will prove Anton isn't guilty."

"Yes, it will, Svetlana. And in the process the Dark Ones will acquire all the information Anton has had access to. Do you realize just how much the Watch's senior programmer knows? Some things he may not even be aware he knows, when he just glanced at the data, processed it, and forgot it. But the Dark Ones have their own specialists, and when Anton comes out of that courtroom¡ªassuming he survives having his mind turned inside out¡ªthe Day Watch will know about all our operations. Can't you see what will happen? Our teaching methods, the way we look for new Others, the way we analyze combat operations, our networks of human informers, our casualty lists, our employees' personal files, our financial plans..."

They were talking about me, while I just sat there as if I had nothing to do with what was going on. It wasn't a question of frankness, it was simpler than that: The boss was consulting with Svetlana, a novice magician, and not with me, a potential magician of the third grade.

If I compared the situation with a game of chess, it was insultingly simple. I was a rook, an ordinary officer of the Watch, and Svetlana was a pawn¡ªbut a pawn about to become a queen.

And for the boss all the bad things that could happen to me meant nothing compared with the chance to give Svetlana a little practical lesson.

"Boris Ignatievich, you know I won't allow them to read my memory," I said.

"Then you'll be found guilty."

"I know. I swear I had nothing to do with the death of these Dark Ones. But I don't have any proof."

"Boris Ignatievich, what if we suggest they only check Anton's memory for today!" Svetlana exclaimed joyfully. "That would solve everything, they'd be convinced..."

"The memory can't be sliced up like that, Sveta. It spills out all in one piece. Starting from the first moment of life. With the smell of mother's milk, with the taste of the amniotic fluid in the womb." The boss was speaking very emphatically now. "That's the problem. Even if Anton didn't know any secrets. Imagine what it's like to remember absolutely everything and go through it all again! Swaying in that dark, viscous liquid, the walls closing in on you, the glimmer of light ahead, the pain, the choking sensation, the struggle to survive your own birth. And so on, moment by moment¡ªyou know how when you're dying your whole life passes before your eyes? That's exactly what happens when they turn out your memory. And at the same time, somewhere deep inside, you still remember that all this has already happened. Can you understand that? It's hard to hold on to your sanity."

"You say that," Svetlana said uncertainly, "as if..."

"I've been through it. But not in an interrogation. More than a century ago. The Watch was still studying the effects of exposing and reading the memory, and a volunteer was required. Afterward it took them about a year to restore me to normal."

"How?" Svetlana asked curiously.

"With new impressions. Experiences I hadn't had before. Foreign countries, unfamiliar food, surprise meetings, unfamiliar problems. And even so..." The boss smiled wryly. "I still sometimes catch myself thinking: What is all this¡ªreality or just memories? Am I living it or lying on a crystal slab in the Day Watch office while they unwind my memory like a ball of string?"

He stopped speaking.

There were people sitting at the tables around us, waiters dashing around. The crime scene team had taken away the body of the Dark Magician, and some man, evidently a relative, had come for the widow and the children. Nobody else seemed to be affected by what had happened. Quite the opposite, in fact. There were more customers, with bigger appetites and a greater zest for life. And nobody there was taking any notice of us: The boss's casually cast spell made them all look away.

What if all of this had already happened?

What if I, Anton Gorodetsky, systems administrator at the Nix Trading Company, and also a Night Watch magician, was lying on a crystal slab covered with ancient runes? And my memory was being unwound, examined, dissected by someone¡ªit didn't matter who, Dark Magicians or a joint tribunal of both sides?

No!

That couldn't be right. I didn't have that feeling the boss had been talking about. I had no sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu. I'd never been in a woman's body before, and I'd never found any bodies in restaurant restrooms.

"I've laid out the problem," said the boss, drawing a long, slim cigarillo out of his pocket. "Is the situation clear? What are we going to do?"

"I'm prepared to do my duty," I said.

"Don't be in such a rush, Anton. Drop the bravado."

"It's not bravado. It's not just that I'm prepared to protect the secrets of the Watch. I simply wouldn't survive that kind of interrogation. Better to die."

"But we don't die the same way people do."

"Sure, it's tougher for us. But I'm ready for that."

The boss sighed.

"I'm sorry, ladies. Anton, let's forget the consequences for a moment and try thinking about what led up to this incident. Sometimes it's helpful to look back."

"Okay," I said, not feeling particularly hopeful.

"The Maverick has been poaching in the city for several years. The latest figures from the analytical section indicate that these strange killings began three and a half years ago. Some of the victims are known Dark Ones. Some are probably potentials. None of the victims was higher than grade four. None of them worked in the Day Watch. It's ironic that almost all of them were very moderate Dark Ones, if you can put it like that. They may have killed and they influenced people negatively, but far less than they could have done."

"They were set up, weren't they?" said Svetlana.

"They must have been. The Day Watch didn't touch this psychopath, it even laid out victims for him from the Dark Side¡ªthose it could easily spare. But what for? That's the important question: What for?"

"So they could accuse us of incompetence," I suggested.

"The end doesn't justify the means."

"In order to set up one of us."

"Anton, the only member of Night Watch who doesn't have alibis for the times of the killings is you. Why would Day Watch go hunting for you?"

I shrugged.

"Zabulon's revenge?" said the boss, shaking his head. "No. You only clashed with him recently. But this blow was carefully planned three and a half years ago. We're still left with the question: Why?"

"Maybe Anton is potentially a very powerful magician?" Svetlana suggested, speaking softly. "And the Dark Ones have realized that. It's too late to bring him over to their side, so they decided to eliminate him."

"Anton is more powerful than he realizes," the boss replied sharply, "but he'll never get higher than grade two."

"What if our enemies can see further along the possible variants of reality than we can?" I asked, looking the boss in the eye.

"And?"

"Maybe I'm a weak magician; I may be average or powerful, but what if it's enough just for me to do something in order to change the balance of power? Do something simple that has nothing to do with magic? Boris Ignatievich, the Dark Ones tried to get me away from Svetlana¡ªthat means they could see the branch of reality in which I could help her! What if they can see something else? Something in the future? What if they've been able to see it for a long time, and they've been getting ready to take me out of the game? What if the fight over Sveta is small change by comparison?"

At first the boss listened carefully. Then he frowned and shook his head.

"Anton, you're suffering from megalomania. I'm sorry, but I checked the lines of everybody working in the Watch, from the key personnel to our plumber, Uncle Shura. And there just aren't any great achievements in your future. Not on any of the reality lines."

"Boris Ignatievich, are you absolutely sure you haven't missed something?"

He'd really made me angry now.

"Of course not. I'm not absolutely sure of anything. Not even of myself. But the chances of you being right are very, very slim. Believe me."

I believed him.

Compared with the boss, my powers approximate to zero.

"So we still don't know the most important thing¡ªthe reason?"

"Right. The hit is aimed at you; there's no doubt about that now. The Maverick is being controlled, very subtly and precisely. He believes he's waging war on Evil, but he's always been a puppet, with someone else pulling the strings. Today they brought him to the same restaurant you came to. They handed him a victim. And you went right along."

"Then what are we going to do?"

"Try to find the Maverick. It's our only chance, Anton."

"We're actually going to kill him, though."

"No, we're not. All we're going to do is find him."

"All the same. No matter how bad he might be, no matter how wrong he's got everything, he's still one of us. He's fighting against Evil the best way he knows how. We just have to explain everything to him."

"Too late, Anton. Too late. We missed him when he appeared. Now, after all he's done... Remember how that girl-vampire died?"

I nodded: "Laid to eternal rest."

"And her crimes were far less serious¡ªfrom the Dark Ones' point of view. She didn't understand what was going on either. But the Day Watch accepted that she was guilty."

"Was that pure coincidence?" asked Svetlana. "Or were they creating a precedent?"

"Who knows? Anton, you have to find the Maverick."

I looked up, amazed.

"Find him and hand him over to the Dark Ones," the boss said sternly.

"Why me?"

"Because you're the only one who has the moral right to do it. You're the one under threat. You're only protecting yourself. For anybody else, handing over a Light One, even if he is purely instinctive, self-taught, and misguided, would be too much of a shock. You'll survive it."

"I'm not so sure."

"You will. And remember, Anton. You've only got tonight. The Day Watch won't have any reason to drag things out. They'll bring a formal charge against you in the morning."

"Boris Ignatievich!"

"Now remember! Remember who was in the restaurant! Who followed the Dark Magician to the restroom?"

"Nobody," Svetlana put in. "I'm sure of it. I kept looking to see when he would come out."

"That means the Maverick was waiting for the Dark Magician in the restroom. But he had to come out. Do you remember? Sveta, Anton?"

Neither of us said anything. I didn't remember. I'd been trying not to look at the Dark Magician.

"One man did come out," said Svetlana. "He was kind of..."

She thought about it.

"Ordinary, absolutely ordinary. An average man, as if someone had mixed a million faces together and made an average one. I just caught a glimpse and forgot him right away."

"Remember now," the boss demanded.

"I can't, Boris Ignatievich. He was just a man. Middle-aged. I didn't even realize he was an Other."

"He's an elemental Other. He doesn't even enter the Twilight, just balances right on the edge. Remember, Sveta! His face or some distinctive features."

Svetlana rubbed her nose with her finger.

"When he came out and sat down at his table, there was a woman there. A beautiful woman with dark-blonde hair. It was dyed, and I noticed she used Lumene makeup too; I use it myself sometimes; it's cheap, not all that good."

In spite of everything, I couldn't help smiling.

"And she was upset about something," Sveta added. "She was smiling, but her smile looked wrong. As if she wanted to stay, but they had to leave."

She started thinking again.

"The woman's aura! You remember it! Let me have the image," the boss exclaimed, speaking more loudly and changing his tone of voice. Of course, no one in the restaurant heard him, but for a brief moment the expressions on people's faces were distorted and a waiter carrying a tray stumbled and dropped a bottle of wine and two crystal glasses.

Svetlana shook her head sharply. The boss had put her in a trance as easily as if she were an ordinary human being. Her pupils opened wide, and a pale, thin, glimmering rainbow connected their two faces.

"Thank you, Sveta," said Boris Ignatievich.

"Did I manage it?" the girl asked, amazed.

"Yes. You can consider yourself a seventh-grade magician. I'll confirm that I tested you in person. Anton!"

This time I looked into the boss's eyes.

A brief jolt.

Streaming threads of an energy unknown to ordinary humans.

An image.

No, I didn't see the face of the Maverick's female companion. I saw her aura, and that's worth far more. Blue and green layers intermingled like ice cream in a glass, a small brown spot, a white streak. A fairly complex aura, not easy to forget, and basically quite attractive. It upset me¡ªshe loved him.

She loved him and she was feeling hurt about something. She thought he didn't love her anymore, but she was still holding on and she was prepared to keep going on like that.

By following this woman's trail I would find the Maverick. And hand him over to a tribunal¡ªto certain death.

"No!" I said.

The boss gave me a pitying look.

"She's not guilty of anything! And she loves him, you can see that!"

That dismal music was still whining in my ears, and nobody there took any notice of my shout. I could have rolled around on the floor and dived under people's tables¡ªthey'd have just lifted their feet up and kept on devouring their Indian delicacies.

Svetlana looked at us. She'd remembered the aura, but she hadn't been able to interpret it. That's a grade-six skill.

"Then you'll die," said the boss.

"At least I'll know what for."

"Have you thought about the people who love you, Anton?"

"I don't have any right to do that."

Boris Ignatievich grinned wryly:

"A hero! Oh, what great heroes we all are! Clean hands, hearts of gold, feet that have never stepped in shit. Have you forgotten the woman who was taken out of here? And the crying children, have you forgotten them? They're not Dark Ones. They're ordinary people, the ones we promised to protect. How long do we spend on getting the balance right for every operation we plan? I may curse our analysts every moment of the day, but why are they all gray-haired by the age of fifty?"

It felt like the boss was lashing me across the cheeks. He was lecturing me the same way I'd lectured Svetlana just recently, with absolute confidence.

"The Watch needs you, Anton! It needs Sveta! But it doesn't need some crazy psychopath, no matter how well-intentioned he might be. It's easy enough to take a little dagger and start hunting Dark Ones in back alleys and restrooms. Without thinking about the consequences or weighing the guilt. Where's our front line, Anton?"

"Among ordinary people." I lowered my eyes.

"Who do we protect?"

"Ordinary people."

"There is no abstract Evil; you have to understand that! Its roots are here, all around us, in this herd that goes on chewing and having a good time only an hour after a murder! That's what you have to fight for. For people. Evil is a hydra with many heads, and the more of them you cut off, the more it grows! Hydras have to be starved to death, do you understand that? Kill a hundred Dark Ones, and a thousand more will take their place. That's why the Maverick is guilty! And that's why you, Anton, and no one else, will find him. And make sure he stands trial. Either voluntarily or under compulsion."

The boss suddenly broke off and rose abruptly to his feet.

"Let's go, ladies first."

I'd never seen him behave like that. I leapt up and grabbed my purse¡ªan automatic reflex response.

The boss wouldn't get jittery without good reason.

"Quickly!"

I suddenly realized I needed to visit the place where the unfortunate Dark Magician had met his end. But I didn't say a word. We moved toward the exit so fast the security guards would have been sure to stop us, if only they could have seen us.

"Too late," the boss said quietly, right beside the door. "We were talking too long."

Three people walked into the restaurant as if they were oozing through the door. Two well-built young guys and a girl.

I knew the girl. It was Alisa Donnikova, the witch from Day Watch. Her eyes opened wide when she spotted the boss.

She was followed by two barely perceptible silhouettes moving through the Twilight.

"Would you wait a moment, please?" Alisa said in a hoarse voice, as if her throat had suddenly gone dry.

"Begone." The boss made a swift gesture with one hand, and the Dark Ones were forced aside, toward the walls. Alisa leaned over hard, trying to resist the elastic wall of force, but her powers weren't up to it.

"Zabulon, I summon you!" she squealed.

Oho! The witch must be a real favorite of the Day Watch boss if she had the right to summon him!

The other two Dark Ones emerged from the Twilight. I identified them at a glance as warrior magicians of the third or fourth grade. Of course, they were absolutely no match for Boris Ignatievich, and I could give the boss a hand, but they could drag things out.

The boss realized that too.

"What do you want?" he asked menacingly. "This is the time of the Night Watch."

"A crime has been committed," said Alisa, her eyes blazing. "Here, not long ago. One of our brothers has been killed, killed by one of..." She stared hard at the boss, then at me.

"One of... ?" The boss asked hopefully. The witch didn't take the bait. If she'd been foolish enough to hurl an accusation like that at the boss, with her status and at the wrong time, he would have splattered her across the wall.

And he wouldn't have paused for a moment to wonder if such a step was reasonable or not.

"One of the Light Ones!"

"The Night Watch has no idea who the criminal is."

"We officially request assistance."

So. Now we had nowhere left to retreat. A refusal to render assistance to the other Watch was as good as a declaration of war.

"Zabulon, I call on you!" the witch cried out again. I was beginning to hope that maybe the leader of the Dark Ones couldn't hear her or was tied up with something important.

"We are willing to collaborate," said the boss. His voice was like ice.

I glanced back into the dining area, over the shoulders of the magicians¡ªthe Dark Ones had already surrounded us, clearly intending to keep us by the door, and what was happening in the restaurant was just incredible.

People were gorging themselves.

They were chomping so loudly it sounded as if there were pigs at every table. Their eyes were dull and glazed, their fingers clutched knives and forks, but they were raking up the food with their hands, choking on it, snorting, and spitting it out. A respectable-looking middle-aged man who'd been dining sedately in the company of three bodyguards and a young woman was gulping down wine straight from the mouth of the bottle. A pleasant-looking young man¡ªa yuppie type¡ªand his pretty girlfriend were fighting over a plate, spilling the thick, orange sauce over themselves. The waiters were rushing from table to table, flinging plates, cups, bottles, braziers, and dishes at the diners...

The Dark Ones have their own methods for distracting outsiders.

"Were any of you present in the restaurant when the murder was committed?" the witch asked triumphantly. The boss paused before he answered.

"Yes."

"Who?"

"My companions."

"Olga, Svetlana," said the witch, devouring us with her eyes. "Was there not also present another Night Watch agent whose human name is Anton Gorodetsky?"

"Apart from us, there were no members of Night Watch present!" Svetlana said quickly. A good answer, but too quick. Alisa frowned, realizing her question had been too vague.

"A quiet night, isn't it?" said a voice from the doorway.

Zabulon had answered the summons.

I looked at him in despair, realizing that a supreme magician would not be taken in by my disguise. He might not have recognized Ilya as the boss, but the old fox wouldn't be caught out by the same trick twice.

"Not so very quiet, Zabulon," the boss said simply. "Call off your minions, or I'll have to do it for you."

The Dark Magician still looked exactly the same, as if time had stopped, as if the icy winter hadn't finally given way to a warm spring. A dark suit, a tie, a gray shirt, old-fashioned, narrow shoes. Sunken cheeks, dull eyes, hair cut short.

"I knew I'd find you here," said Zabulon.

He was looking at me. And only at me.

"How stupid," he said, shaking his head. "What do you need all this for, eh?"

He took a step forward and Alisa darted out of his way.

"A good job, prosperity, self-esteem, all the joys of the world¡ªall in your grasp, all you have to do is decide what you'll have this time. But you're so stubborn. I don't understand you, Anton."

"And I don't understand you, Zabulon," said the boss, blocking his way.

The Dark Magician reluctantly turned his gaze to him.

"Then you must be getting old. The person in your lover's body is Anton Gorodetsky, the same person we suspect of the serial killings of Dark Ones. Just how long has he been hiding in there, Boris? Didn't you notice the substitution?"

He giggled again.

I looked around at the Dark Ones. They still hadn't understood. They needed another second, or half a second.

Then I saw Svetlana raise her hand, with a yellow magical flame flickering on the palm.

So now she'd passed the fifth-level test¡ªbut this was still a battle we could only lose. There were three of us and six of them. If Svetlana struck¡ªnot to save herself, but to get me out of this fix¡ªthere'd be a bloodbath.

I jumped forward.

It was a good thing Olga's body was well-trained and in such good shape. It was a good thing that all of us¡ªLight Ones and Dark Ones¡ªweren't really used to relying on the strength of our arms and legs, on simple, crude violence. And the best thing of all was that Olga, who had been deprived of most of her magic, hadn't neglected the skills of physical combat.

Zabulon doubled up with a hoarse gasp when my fist¡ªor rather, Olga's fist¡ªsank into his stomach. I swept his legs from under him with a single kick and dashed outside.

"Stop!" howled Alisa in a voice filled with admiration, hate, and love all at once.

The hunt was on.

I ran down Pokrovka Street in the direction of Zemlyanoi Val Street, with my purse bouncing hard against my back. It was a good thing I wasn't wearing high heels. I had to get away, disappear. I'd really enjoyed the urban survival course, but it was so short, really short¡ªwho could have imagined a Night Watch agent would end up running and hiding, instead of chasing and catching?

I heard a screeching wail behind me.

I leapt aside in a pure reflex response, before I could even understand what was happening. A streak of crimson flame came hurtling down the street, coiling and twisting as it passed me, then it tried to stop and turn back, but its inertia was too great: the charge crashed into the wall of a building, momentarily turning the stones white-hot.

But that was... !

I tripped and fell, glancing back. Zabulon was recharging his battle staff, but he was moving very slowly, as if there were something hindering him, slowing him down.

He was shooting to kill!

There wouldn't have been even a handful of dust left of me

There wouldn't have been even a handful of dust left of me if I'd been caught by Shahab's Lash!

So the boss was wrong after all. The Day Watch didn't want what was inside my head. They wanted to eliminate me completely.

The Dark Ones were running after me. Zabulon was aiming his weapon. The boss was restraining Svetlana as she struggled to break out of his grasp. I jumped up and started running again, already knowing there was no way I could escape. At least there was nobody around: Instinctive, subconscious fear had swept everybody off the street the moment our confrontation began. Nobody else would get hurt.

I heard a squeal of brakes and looked around just in time to see the Day Watch agents jump out of the way of a car careering wildly along the street. The driver stopped for a moment, evidently thinking he'd driven into the middle of a gangland Shootout, then picked up speed again.

Should I stop him? No, it wasn't allowed.

I jumped up onto the sidewalk and squatted down, hiding from Zabulon behind an old Volga, letting the stray driver past. The silver Toyota hurtled past me and then screeched to a halt with a smell of burning brakes.

The door on the driver's side opened and a hand beckoned me.

Things like this just didn't happen!

Heroes only got rescued by passing cars in cheap action movies.

At least that's what I was thinking as I opened the back door and threw myself inside.

"Get us out of here!" shouted the woman I found myself next to. But the driver didn't need any encouragement; we were already moving. There was a flash behind us, and the driver swerved out of the path of a streak of fire. The woman began wailing.

How did they see what was happening? As automatic gunfire? Salvoes of rockets? A blast from a flame-thrower?

"Why did you come back, why?" the woman asked, trying to lean forward to hit the driver in the back. I was all set to grab her arm, but before I could, the car jerked forward and tossed the woman back against the seat.

"Don't," I said gently.

She glared at me indignantly. She had every right. What woman would be pleased to see her husband stop and risk his life for an attractive, dishevelled female stranger and take her into his car when it's being chased by a gang of thugs?

At least the immediate danger was past now. We came out onto Zemlyanoi Val Street and drove on in a solid stream of traffic. My friends and my enemies were both left a long way behind.

"Thanks," I said to the short hair on the back of the driver's head.

"Did you get hit?" he asked without even turning around.

"No, thanks to you. Why did you stop?"

"Because he's an idiot!" the woman beside me screeched. She moved away to the far side of the car, shunning me as if I had the plague.

"Because I'm not an idiot," the man replied calmly. "Why were they out to get you? Never mind, it's none of my business."

"They wanted to rape me," I said, blurting out the first thing that came into my head. But it was a pretty good story. Right there on the table: not like Moscow, even with all its gangland excesses, more like some saloon in the Wild, Wild West.

"Where do you want to go?"

"This will do fine," I said, looking out at the flaming red letter M above the metro entrance. "I'll make my own way home."

"We can drop you off."

"No need. Thanks, you've done more than enough already."

"All right."

He didn't argue or try to change my mind. The car braked and I got out. I looked at the woman.

"Thank you," I said.

She snorted and jerked away, slamming the door shut.

Well, there you go.

But things like that still went to prove that our work did make some kind of sense after all, I thought.

I automatically straightened out my hair and dusted down my jeans. People walking by eyed me cautiously, but they didn't shy away, so I couldn't be looking all that bad.

How much time did I have before the hunt picked up my trail? Would the boss be able to slow them down?

That would be good. Because I thought I was beginning to understand what was going on here.

And I had a chance, only a tiny one maybe, but still a chance.

I set off toward the metro, taking the cell phone out of Olga's purse on the way. I started dialing her number, then swore, and dialed my own.

It rang five times, six, seven.

I canceled the call and dialed my cell phone number. This time Olga answered right away.

"Hello?" said a slightly hoarse, unfamiliar voice. My voice.

"It's me, Anton," I shouted. A young guy walking past looked at me in surprise.

"You dimwit!"

I wouldn't have expected anything else from Olga.

"Where are you, Anton?"

"Getting ready to go underground."

"You'll have plenty of time for that. What can I do to help?"

"Are you up to speed on the situation?"

"Yes, I'm maintaining parallel contact with Boris."

"I need to get my body back."

"Where can we meet?"

I thought for a moment.

"The station where I got out after I tried to detach that black vortex from Svetlana."

"Got you. Boris told me about that. Make it three stations farther around the circle, up and to the left."

Aha, she was counting off stations on the map of the metro.

"Yes, that's okay."

"In the middle of the hall. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Okay."

"Want me to bring you anything?"

"Just bring me. Anything else is up to you."

I folded away the cell phone, took another quick look around, and walked quickly into the station.