I took a clean pair of panties out of my bag and went into the shower.

I dashed about like someone possessed all day long until the evening. Everything went quickly, but that didn't bother me in the slightest. I even had a bit of a quarrel with the camp commandant when I was trying to get good places for my girls at the movie festival. But I got them, and I think I left her with an improved opinion of me. Then they gave out the pieces of dark gla.s.s that had been brought from somewhere in the town of Nikolaev for watching the next day's eclipse of the sun. Five pieces of gla.s.s were given out to every brigade, but I managed to get hold of six. I hadn't even expected anyone in Ukraine to think of making them, but since they had...

After that came the beach, but of course didn't it just happen that today the boys' brigades had gone off on some stupid trip or other! Even the sea brought me no joy. But at a certain moment I looked at Natasha, understood her sad glance, and realized the comedy of the situation. I wasn't the only fool. There were two of us: the girl, pining for her boy and barely even daring to fantasize about kisses, and me, who had done things the night before that you wouldn't even find in the p.o.r.n videos in the alley at the Gorbushka Market... Opposite extremes meeting.

"Are you missing him?" I asked in a quiet voice. Just for a moment it seemed Natasha was going to get furious and she looked at me indignantly... then suddenly she sighed: "Uh-huh... you too?"

I nodded without speaking. The girl hesitated for a second and asked, "Were you with him until morning?"

I didn't lie to her, especially since there was no one else there. I just asked, "Did you follow me?"

"I felt afraid in the night," the girl said quietly. "I woke up. I was having such horrible dreams... I came to you, but you weren't in your room."

"Until the morning," I confessed. "I like him very much, Natasha."

"Were you making love?" she asked in a businesslike tone of voice.

I wagged my finger at her: "Natasha!"

She wasn't embarra.s.sed at all. On the contrary, she lowered her voice and told me, as if I were her bosom friend, "I can't get anywhere with mine. I told him that if he tried to kiss me, I'd punch him in the eye, and he said, "As if I wanted to!" Why are boys so stupid?"

"He'll kiss you," I promised her. And I thought to myself: I'll do my best to make sure he does.

After all, what could possibly be simpler? The next day I would have my powers back, and the boy with ginger hair and freckles would follow Natasha around, gazing at her with eyes filled with genuine love. Why shouldn't I give my best donor a little happiness?

"What were you dreaming about?" I asked.

"Something horrible," the girl answered briefly. "I can't honestly remember. But it was something really, really horrible!"

"About your younger brother?" I asked.

Natasha wrinkled up her forehead. Then she replied: "I don't remember... But how did you know I have a younger brother?"

I smiled mysteriously and stretched out on the sand. Everything was all right. The dream had been extracted completely.

That evening I realized I just couldn't stand it any longer. I found Galina and asked her to keep an eye on my girls for a couple of hours. There was a strange look in her eyes. No, it wasn't hurt, although she'd obviously understood everything, and she'd had designs on Igor herself. And it wasn't anger. It was more like the sad look of a dog who has been punished unjustly.

"Of course, Alisa," she said.

That's the trouble with these so-called good people. Spit in their faces, thwart their desires, trample on them-and they put up with it.

But then, of course, it is very convenient.

I set off toward the fourth brigade's small house. Along the way I frightened two little boys in the bushes-they were smoking shards of gla.s.s on a little fire of disposable plastic cups. Actually, to say I frightened them is putting it rather strongly. The kids frowned and tensed up, but they didn't stop what they were doing.

"Tomorrow they'll give everyone special pieces of gla.s.s," I said amicably. "But you'll cut yourselves with those."

"There aren't enough of the special ones," one of the kids objected reasonably. "We'll smoke some for ourselves-the cups make great smoke."

"And we'll stick Band-Aids round the edges," the second one added. "And they'll be just fine."

I smiled, nodded to them, and went on. I liked the kids' att.i.tude. Proud and independent. The right att.i.tude.

I was already getting close to the summer house and I could hear the sounds of a guitar when I saw Makar. The kid was standing by a tree, as if he weren't really hiding, but so that he couldn't be seen from the direction of the house. Just standing there looking at Igor, who was sitting in the middle of his boys. When Makar heard my steps, he turned around sharply, started... and lowered his eyes.

"It's not good to spy on people, Makar."

He stood there, chewing on his lip. I wondered what he'd been planning to do. Play some nasty trick on Igor?

Challenge him to a duel? Or had he just clenched his fists in helpless fury as he looked at the grown man who'd been making love to the woman he liked the evening before? You stupid, stupid boy. You ought to be looking at girls your own age, not at enchanting grown-up witches with long legs.

"You'll have it all, Makar," I said softly. "Girls, and a night beside the sea, and..."

He raised his head and looked at me derisively, even rather condescendingly. No I won't, his eyes seemed to say. There won't be any sea, there won't be any beautiful naked woman by the e.g. of the foaming sea. It will all be quite different-cheap wine in a tiny room in some dirty hostel; a girl who could be anybody's after her second gla.s.s; a sweaty body turned flabby before its time and a whisper hoa.r.s.e from smoking: "Where do you think you're sticking that thing, you greenhorn!"

I knew that, as an experienced and cynical witch. And he knew it, this chance visitor to Artek, this short-term guest in "the realm of friendship and love." And there was no point in us pretending with each other.

"I'm sorry, Makar," I said and patted him affectionately on the cheek. "But I really like him very much. You grow up strong and clever, and you'll have every..."

He turned and ran away, an almost grown-up boy who didn't want to waste even a minute of his brief happy summer, who didn't sleep at nights and invented a different, happy life for himself.

But what could I do? The Day Watch has no need for human servants. There are enough werewolves, vampires, and other small timers. I would check Makar, of course. He would make a magnificent Dark One. But the chances were very, very slim that the boy had the natural gifts of an Other...

My girls were probably just perfectly ordinary people too.

And the chances were just as slim that Igor had the gifts of an Other.

Maybe that was for the best? If he were human, then we could be together. Zabulon couldn't give a d.a.m.n about a petty detail like his girl having a human husband. But he would never tolerate a husband who was an Other...

I looked down thoughtfully at my feet as I walked out of the trees toward the little house. Igor was sitting on the terrace, tuning his guitar. There were only two of his boys there with him-the "campfire monitor" Alyoshka and a plump, sickly looking child I didn't think had been at the campfire.

Igor looked at me and smiled. The boys spoke, greeting me, but we didn't say anything to each other-we read everything in each other's eyes. The memory of that night, and the promise of the next one... and the ones after that...

But there was a hint of confusion and anguish in Igor's eyes too. As if there were something making him feel very sad. My darling... if only you know how great my sadness is... and how difficult it is for me to smile...

I don't care if you don't have the gifts of an Other, Igor. I don't care if my colleagues laugh at me. I'll put up with it.

And you'll never know anything about Zabulon. Or about the Watch either. And you'll be amazed at your own success, at the way your career develops, your magnificent health-I'll give you all that!

Igor strummed his guitar strings, gave his boys an affectionate look, and started to sing: I'm afraid of babies, I'm afraid of the dead, I feel my own face with my fingers.

And I turn cold with horror inside- Am I really the same as all these people?

These people who live above me, These people who live below me, Who snore on the other side of the wall, Who live underneath the ground...

What wouldn't I give for a pair of wings, What wouldn't I give for a third eye, For a hand with fourteen fingers on it!

I need a different gas to breathe!

Their tears are salty, their laughter is harsh, They never have enough for everyone.

They love seeing their faces in fresh newspapers, But next day the papers are flushed away.

These people who give birth to children, These people who suffer from pain, These people who shoot at people, But can't eat their food without salt.

What wouldn't they give for a pair of wings, What wouldn't they give for a third eye, For a hand with fourteen fingers on it- They need a different gas to breathe.

Something cold and sticky stirred inside me. A terrible, dreary, hopeless feeling...

That was our song. This was like our song... far too much like a song for the Others.

I could feel the emotions of the boys sitting beside him. I was almost a normal Other now and felt as if I'd be able to summon the Twilight any moment. It was like when we were having s.e.x the night before-that gathering momentum on a swing, that balancing on a razor's edge, that waiting for the explosion, the chasm beneath my feet... There were streams of Power flowing all around-still too coa.r.s.e for me, not the light broth from children's nightmares, just the fat-cheeked boy's depression because he was missing his parents: He had some problem with his heart, he didn't play much with the other boys, he followed Igor around more or less the same way as Olechka stuck to me.

It wasn't light broth.

But it was still almost exactly what I needed...

I can't wait any longer!

I swayed forward, reached out and took hold of the boy's shoulder, drawing in his blank sadness, and the sudden surge of energy almost made me throw up. But then the world turned cool and gray, my shadow fell across the worn floorboards of the veranda like a black chasm, and I fell into it, into the Twilight, just in time to see...

... to see Igor drawing in Power from the boy Alyoshka who was pressing against him-a thin lilac stream of Power: the expectation of pranks and adventures, delights and discoveries, joys and frights-the entire bouquet of feelings and emotions of a healthy, happy child, content with the world and with himself...

A Light bouquet.

Light Power.

The dark unto the Dark Ones.

The light unto the Light Ones.

I stood up, still half in the real world, half in the Twilight, to face Igor, who was also standing up, to face the lover that I loved, a Light magician of the Moscow Night Watch.

To face my enemy.

I heard him shout: "No!"

And I heard my own voice shout: "Don't!"

The very first thought that had come into my head proved to be wrong. No, Igor hadn't been working against me, playing out some insidious plans of the Night Watch. He had lost his Power-exactly as I had. He hadn't seen my aura, he couldn't have had any i.e. that he was looking at a witch.

He had fallen in love with me. With his eyes closed. Exactly as I had with him.

The world was gray and dreary. It was the cold world of the Twilight that makes us what we are-Power-hungry-but also helps us to find that Power. No sounds, no colors. The leaves frozen still on the trees, the frozen figures of the two boys, the guitar suspended in midair-Igor had let go of it as he entered the Twilight. Thousands of icy little needles p.r.i.c.ked my skin, drawing out of me the energy I had only just acquired, drawing me down into the Twilight forever... but I was an Other again and I could draw Power from the world around me. I reached forward and sc.r.a.ped out every last little drop of everything dark that there was in the fat boy. I no longer had any problems absorbing Power. I no longer had to focus on what I was doing and how. It was all easy and familiar.

And Igor did the same thing with Alyoshka. Maybe a bit less skillfully-the Light Ones only rarely harvest Power from people directly. They're shackled by their own stupid restrictions, but he drank in all of the boy's joy, and I felt an unnatural joy for my beloved, for my enemy, for a Light Other who had just acquired Power...

"Alisa..."

"Igor..."

He was suffering. It was far harder for him than for me. The Light Ones spend all their lives chasing illusions.

They're filled with false hopes and don't know how to survive a heavy blow, but he was handling it and I was handling it too... I was... I was...

"How absurd," he whispered and shook his head sharply-a strange gesture in this gloomy haze, in the Twilight.

"You... you're a witch..."

I felt him reach out to my mind-not deep into it, just to the very surface, simply trying to make sure... or hoping to be proved wrong... and I didn't try to resist. I just reached out in reply.

And I laughed-at the unbearable pain.

South Butovo.

Edgar standing against the Light magicians.

We were feeding Edgar with Power, and the Light Ones were being fed by the magicians in their second line.

Including Igor.

I recognized his aura, remembered his Power profile. Things like that are never forgotten.

And he recognized me...

Of course, I didn't know him by sight and I'd never heard his name. But why should an ordinary patrol witch know all one thousand agents of the Moscow Night Watch? All those magicians, wizards, enchanters, shape-shifters...

When we needed to know, they gave us a specific briefing. The way they had for Anton Gorodetsky, when we'd followed him on Zabulon's secret instructions a year and a half earlier and managed to catch him committing an illegal intervention... And there were some you just couldn't help remembering... like Tiger Cub, for instance.

But I'd never known about Igor. A third-level Light magician. Probably a bit more powerful than me, although it was hard to compare the powers of a natural magician and a witch. My beloved, my lover, my enemy...

My fate...

"What made you do it?" Igor asked. "Alisa... why did you do it?"

"What do you mean why?" I almost shouted out, but I stopped myself because I realized he wouldn't believe me.

He would never believe that what had happened was mere coincidence-just a stupid and tragic accident-that there hadn't been any evil intent, that a cruel twist of fate had brought us together in the moment of our weakness, when we could not recognize each other, could not sense our enemy... at the very moment when all we could do and all we wanted to do was to love.

How can we say why anything in this world happens? Why am I a Dark One? Why is he a Light One? After all, both of these are mixed together in all of us-at the beginning...

Igor could have been my friend and colleague, a Dark One...

And I... probably... could have become a Light One. And then I wouldn't have been taught by a wise witch, but a wise enchantress... and I wouldn't have paid my enemies back in kind, but sentimentally set them on "the true road"... by turning the other cheek... and I would have delighted in every pompous piece of their stupid nonsense.

I only realized that I was crying when the world started spinning around me. You must never cry in the Twilight-everybody knows that. The more emotion we allow ourselves to show, the more eagerly the Twilight drains our Power. And to lose your powers in the Twilight means to stay in it forever.

I tried to draw Power from my donor, the fat boy, but he was already drained; I reached toward Alyoshka, but he was absolutely neutral, squeezed dry by Igor. I couldn't draw energy from Igor and I didn't want to anyway, and everyone else was too far away, and the world was spinning... how stupid...