"What did you tell them?" Edgar asked, obviously in a hurry. "But keep it short."

I sensed that he had covered us with a cowl of invisibility, and quite a powerful one too. Before I said a single word, I added some Power of my own to the cowl, drawn partly from somewhere inside myself, from my own mind, and partly from outside. It happened quite spontaneously, but I read the dumb astonishment in Edgar's eyes.

"I phoned and said there was a dead Light One in my room. And told them his name. That's all."

Edgar gave a barely perceptible nod and glanced significantly at s.h.a.gron, who gave the slightest of shrugs.

We stood there in silence until the knock at the door-a far less polite one this time.

The Light Ones didn't wait to be invited. They just walked straight in.

There were five of them-Tolik, Anton, and the girl shape-shifter could barely have had enough time to get from Pervo-maiskaya Street to their office. Two others had come with them-a cultured-looking young guy wearing spectacles with eighty-dollar frames and another with a suntanned face, as if it weren't winter in Moscow.

These last two and Tolik carefully examined, probed, and scanned every centimeter of my suite. The walls here had probably never seen such intense magical activity.

Anton and the girl didn't interfere, but I could clearly sense the aversion emanating from them. Not even hatred-the Light Ones don't really even know how to hate properly. More like a desire to pin me into the corner, have me condemned and punished. Or simply to hit me with so much Power that I'd be driven into the Twilight forever.

And I also sensed there was at least one more Light One somewhere outside the room. Probably somewhere else on the same floor, or by the lifts. He was obviously covering the others' backs, and he had shielded himself really well for the job. I only spotted him, you might say, by accident. But I don't think that s.h.a.gron and Edgar had any i.e. he was there.

I frowned. The Light Ones had the numerical advantage-there were twice as many of them. And the two of them that I was seeing for the first time were very powerful magicians, almost certainly first level. In any case, the two of them together would be stronger than s.h.a.gron and Edgar. And Anton was no pushover either-he could give s.h.a.gron a good fight, or even Edgar. Plus the girl-she was a warrior. And that unknown one somewhere nearby.

The balance of forces was not good at all. They'd grind us to dust, grind us as fine as powdered vanilla...

Meanwhile the Light Ones had finished their scanning. The one in spectacles came up to me and inquired with emphatic indifference: "Tell me, did you really need to use a protective spell of such great Power?"

"Well, why do you think I would have used so much Power?"

The one in spectacles and the other one I didn't know exchanged a quick glance.

"We demand to see your things."

"Stop, stop," Edgar put in hastily. "On what grounds, exactly?"

The one in spectacles smiled bleakly-with just his lips. "The Night Watch has reason to suspect that a forbidden artifact of immense Power has been smuggled into Moscow. You must know that such actions contravene the terms of the Treaty."

My Dark colleagues looked at me doubtfully. They were apparently expecting some unambiguous response. But what was it? On this occasion my magical internal help-all chose not to prompt me. But on the other hand, I knew perfectly well that there weren't any forbidden artifacts in my bag. And so I gestured magnanimously and said, "Let them look! All night long if they want."

"I protest," Edgar said quietly, and apparently without any great hope. "You don't have the sanction of your chief."

"The protest is rejected," the one in spectacles parried in an inflexible voice. "I'm the chief here. Show us your things, Dark One."

I didn't have to be asked twice. I neutralized the remains of the defenses with a single gesture and opened the door of the safe, where my bag was lying in total isolation, apart from a pair of clothes brushes. Part of its logo seemed to gaze out at us reproachfully: Fuj... I imagined a bored, squeaky voice p.r.o.nouncing it as "phooey..."

I took the bag and tipped its contents out onto the bed. The Light Ones didn't take much interest in my things, but the sight of the final plastic bag put them on their guard-the second unknown magician even grasped the amulet in the pocket of his jacket.

When I shook the money out onto the bedcover, everybody looked at me. My own side and the Light Ones. As if I were some kind of psycho. An absolutely hopeless case.

"There," I said. "That's all I have. A hundred thousand. Actually a bit less now."

The magician in spectacles stepped toward the bed and rummaged disdainfully through my things, glancing into the plastic bags. But I realized that what he really wanted was tactile contact.

He wasn't even satisfied with remote scanning!

Good grief, what did they suspect me of? Probably some cretin really had tried to bring something forbidden into Moscow, and since I'd overdone it a bit protecting my miserable heap of bucks, now they suspected me of everything. That was really funny, and it was getting funnier all the time.

The one in spectacles spent about a minute sniffing at my baggage. Then he gave up.

"All right. There's nothing here. We're declaring this suite off-limits. You'll have to change rooms."

The girl shape-shifter started and gave him a puzzled look. He spread his hands and I understood the meaning of his gesture. There was nothing to charge me with. No grounds. The shape-shifter tensed up, but the other magician put his hand on her shoulder, as if he were warning her not to do anything rash.

"Ye-es?" Edgar drawled insinuatingly, and something Estonian finally came through in that "Ye-es" of his.

"Change rooms? In that case we request official permission for a seventh-level intervention. In order to avoid unnecessary questions from the hotel management."

The Light Ones were annoyed by that-but then, they were all annoyed already in any case.

"Why? We can influence the staff without any psychic correction."

"But you have a habit of declaring any influence a violation," Edgar explained in a very innocent voice.

"I will per..." Ilya drawled slowly and then broke off. "No. I won't permit it. Anton, you go with them and do it all yourself. Try to make sure they move him as far away from here as possible, so that... Anyway, just do it."

Edgar sighed in disappointment. "Okay... if you say no, then it's no. But tell me, dear fellow, do you have any more questions for our colleague?"

Edgar's tone of voice was so prim and polite that I was afraid the Light Ones might decide he was mocking them.

But they clearly knew Edgar pretty well. And maybe this caustic, biting politeness was the norm of behavior between the two Watches.

"No, we don't dare detain him any longer. But permit us to remind you that until our investigations are concluded, he is forbidden to leave Moscow, in connection with three cases."

"I remember," I put in as innocently as I could.

"In that case, permit us to take our leave. Colleague Vitaly, pack your things..."

I shoved all my bits and pieces into the first plastic bags that came to hand, put the plastic bags into the large bag, picked up my jacket from where I had dropped it on the armchair, and stood up. Edgar pointed to the door in invitation.

We went out into the corridor and took the elevator down to the vestibule, where Edgar suddenly turned to the Light One with us.

"Anton! Our colleague is not going to stay in this hotel any longer. We're taking him with us. If you need him, you can inquire at the Day Watch office."

The Light One seemed to have been taken by surprise, he glanced uncertainly at the hotel administrator sleeping behind his counter, then nodded indecisively. And we set off toward the exit.

I didn't put my jacket on because I'd already spotted the familiar BMW standing outside the door of the hotel-I'd only been able to see it because I was an Other.

It was warm and cozy inside the car. And s.p.a.cious too-my knees didn't press against the back of the front seat. I made myself comfortable and asked, "And where am I going to stay now?"

"At the Day Watch office, colleague'? Or, rather, in the office hotel. You should have gone there straightaway."

"If only I'd known where to go..." I muttered.

The BMW went darting off, turned smartly out of the parking lot toward the entrance, dived under the boom almost before it had time to rise high enough, and eased into the spa.r.s.e flow of traffic on Peace Prospect.

s.h.a.gron might not be the strongest of magicians, but he could drive a car superbly. Peace Prospect flashed by and disappeared, followed by the arc of the Garden Ring Road. And all I saw of Tverskaya Street was an endless row of shop windows with tinted gla.s.s... but then, it wasn't really endless after all.

We got out of the car very close to the Kremlin. The magicians left their BMW at the curb, without even bothering to lock it. I decided to take a look at it through the Twilight, simply out of curiosity and a desire to a.s.sess the quality of the protective spells so that I wouldn't overdo things again.

I was astounded. Not by the sight of the car, but by the sight of the building, which had looked so ordinary in the ordinary world.

In the Twilight the building had grown by three whole floors. One of them was inserted between the ordinary first and second floors, while the other two were on top, making the already big building even taller. The Twilight floors were made of polished black granite. Almost all the windows were curtained and dark, but the first weak rays of sunlight were already glinting on the white boxes of modern air-conditioners.

I forgot about the protective spells in an instant.

There was a small portal leading straight out onto Tverskaya Street; behind the gla.s.s door I could sense, rather than see, the silhouette of an Other.

"Well, well, well!" I said. My voice sounded hollow, like all sound in the Twilight. My colleagues all turned their heads as if by command.

"What? Haven't you seen it before?"

"No."

"It impresses everybody the first time. Come on, you'll have plenty of time to admire it."

We went up a few steps and found ourselves in a tiny duty office. The vague figure behind the door had materialized into a skinny, dismal-looking young guy-I think he was a shape-shifter. But he was laughing in joyful delight as he read Victor Pelevin's story, "A Werewolf Problem in Central Russia."

But the moment Edgar entered the duty office, the young guy was transformed. His eyes flashed and the book dropped onto the desk.

"Hi, Oleg." Edgar greeted him in a Baltic accent that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

s.h.a.gron simply nodded.

I decided to say h.e.l.lo too: "Good morning."

"This is a colleague of ours from Ukraine," Edgar said, introducing me. "When he wants, let him through into the guest sector without any checks."

"Understood," Oleg agreed immediately. "Shall I enter him in the database?"

"Yes."

Oleg glanced into my eyes and bared his teeth in a friendly grin, read my registration mark with some effort, sat down at the desk, and took a notebook PC out of one of the drawers.

"And where's your partner?" Edgar asked.

Oleg's face took on a guilty expression.

"He went out for cigarettes... Just for a moment."

"Let's go," Edgar said with a sigh, taking me by the sleeve and drawing me toward the elevators. s.h.a.gron had already pressed the call b.u.t.ton.

We seemed to be in the elevator for a long time. At least longer that I'd been expecting. But then I remembered the additional floors and everything fell into place.

"The guest sector is on the ninth floor," Edgar explained. "Basically it's just like a hotel, only it's free. I don't think there's anyone staying there at the moment."

The elevator doors parted soundlessly and we found ourselves in a square foyer, decorated with a rational combination of luxury and economical functionality. Leather divans and armchairs, a live palm tree in a tub, engravings on the walls, a carpet on the parquet floor. A counter like the ones in hotels, but there was no sign at all of any table and chair for a bellhop. Just a locked secretaire, with an elegant metal key protruding from the lock.

Edgar opened the secretaire to reveal neat rows of horizontal wooden pegs, with a key hanging on each one. And beside the pegs there were numbers.

But I was being too hasty-there were no keys on two of the pegs: numbers two and four.

"Take your pick. If the key's here, it means the apartment's free."

He said "apartment," and not "suite," as if the fact that this accommodation for Others was free distinguished it from faceless hotel suites and put it in the category of places that could be called home.

I took key number eight. From the right end of the second row.

"You can look the place over later," Edgar told me. "Leave your things and come straight back."

I nodded, wondering what my Dark colleagues were planning. No doubt a polite but thorough interrogation.

That was okay. I'd survive. They were my kind, after all.

The apartment really was an apartment. With a kitchen, a separate toilet, and three s.p.a.cious rooms-and a huge hallway. It was a typical Stalin-period apartment refurbished to "European" standards. The ceilings were three and a half meters high, if not four.

I hung my jacket on the coatrack and dropped my bag in the middle of the hallway. Then I went out into the corridor and pulled the door shut.

I could hear faint music coming from apartment number four: A minute earlier, as I was walking past, it had been something light and foreign. But now the song had changed. The words were almost drowned out by the harsh rhythm and the background of hard rock-I guessed at them rather than heard them: Cast down by the power of fate, You are humiliated and crushed.

It's time to forget who you were, And remember who you've become!

Cast into the depths, where it doesn't matter Why fame used to court you before- Villains set a brand of fire on you, And your soul is empty.

People in the depths prowl through the darkness, Ready to eat each other up.

Anything to prolong this wild life, And s.n.a.t.c.h something for themselves...

Angry like them, all angry and pitiful, You rush round and round in the same herd, With them you crawl for food at knifepoint, Like a slave or a prophet.

I don't know why, but I froze outside that other person's door. These were more than just simple words. I absorbed them through my skin, with my entire body. I had forgotten who I used to be, but how could I remember who I'd become? And hadn't I entered a new circle now, running with a herd that I still didn't know?

Oh, if I could listen just to silence.

Not lies, or flattery, not the midday or the darkness.

Be like snow melting in the sun, And love, knowing no betrayal, Then you would die of anguish and anger!

No, I clearly wouldn't get any chance to listen to silence in the immediate future. Too many others had taken an interest in my modest person. Light Ones and Dark Ones...

Meanwhile the singer's voice had grown stronger and taken on a triumphant, challenging note: Hey, you inhabitants of the skies!