In order to get to the Tribunal at dawn, I either had to get up very early, or not go to bed at all. I chose the second option. I could catch up on my sleep later.

My Dark colleagues had grilled me stubbornly for a while, trying to extract the motives for my actions, but since I myself didn't understand very much about why I behaved the way I did and not some other way, they didn't get much out of me.

Nothing really interesting happened until the evening; I went to the shop where they burned mini-disks for my stylish little player and asked if they kept the lists of the collections ordered by their clients. It turned out they did. And for some reason I chose to order a copy of the disk that Anton Gorodetsky, the Light magician, had put together. Maybe I was trying to get an i.e. of his view of the world from his musical preferences? I don't know...

Just recently I'd got out of the habit of asking questions, because most of the time I didn't get any answers. And correct answers were even rarer.

There was one other thing that stuck in my memory that evening: someone I met in the metro. I was on my way back from the music shop. On the metro. Sitting there with my hands in the pockets of my jacket (my Dark colleagues had kindly brought my things back from the field HQ at the airport) and listening to the disk I'd just bought. I was in a good mood, feeling calm.

The essence of things and the sequence of years, The faces of friends and the masks of enemies Are clearly visible, they cannot be concealed From the sight of the poet-he owns the centuries. The light of distant stars and the beginning of dawn, The secrets of life and the mysteries of love At the moment of inspiration, warmed by the sun, All is reflected in the poet's soul, In the mirror of the world...

Suddenly there was a subtle change of some kind in my surroundings. The announcer was just warning the unfortunate pa.s.sengers to be careful because the doors were closing. I pressed "pause" and raised my head, glancing around.

Then I saw him. A teenage kid, fourteen or fifteen years old. There was no doubt that he was an Other. He must have been initiated, because he was staring at me in fascination through the Twilight and shielding himself against the Twilight pretty skillfully at the same time. But his aura was absolutely pristine. As pure as the newly fallen snow, an identical distance from the Light and the Darkness. He was an Other, but at the same time he wasn't either Light or Dark.

We looked at each other for a long time, all the way to the next stop. Probably we would have carried on looking at each other for even longer, but a rather attractively built woman, obviously his mother, roused the kid from his trance.

"Egor! Are you asleep? We're getting off."

The teenager started, looked at me one last time with obvious anguish in his eyes, and stepped out onto the platform. I was left behind in the carriage.

It took me about a minute to gather my thoughts. I was still wondering what had struck me so much about this Other. He had reminded me of something. Something very important, but elusive. I just couldn't think what it was.

Then I went back to Nikolsky and his "Mirror of the World," and that made me feel a bit calmer.

The mirror shows me how a man has lived, Who has composed his song out of lies, Who wants it to be night everywhere, Shows me that I must help people. I have the mirror of the world, If you want to look-don't fear the fire, The fire that I will glorify in song, Let people know there is a good power In the mirror of the world...

Strange. This song would suit the Light Ones better. So why did I, a Dark One, feel that strange aching in my heart?

I carried this vague, uncertain feeling back to the Day Watch office with me. The elderly, worldly-wise vampire at the entrance started away from me like a sanctimonious hypocrite from sudden temptation. Shocked, I suddenly realized that there were a few bluish-white streaks glowing in my own aura.

"I'm sorry," I said, putting my aura in order. "It's a disguise."

The vampire gave me a suspicious look. A female vampire stuck her head out of the duty office-it was a sure bet she was his wife.

They checked my seals very thoroughly and it looked as if they were going to stall me as long as they could, but at this point Edgar came into the office with a pretty young witch. He understood what was happening from the first glance, and a single movement of his eyebrow was enough for the over-vigilant couple on watch. Edgar nodded to me and walked toward the elevators. The witch was devouring me with her eyes.

In the elevator she plucked up her courage and asked, "Are you new here?"

Her voice expressed an entire spectrum of emotions and aspirations that I felt no desire to a.n.a.lyze. Somehow I didn't feel like demonstrating my own Power in front of Edgar and the other powerful Dark Ones.

But Edgar's attention had been caught, and I could see he was genuinely interested in how I would answer.

"Well, in a certain sense, I'm new."

The young witch smiled. "Is it true that you defeated four Light warriors single-handed and killed the tiger-woman?"

Edgar curved his lips very slightly in a sarcastic smile, but he still said nothing, listening with interest.

"Yes."

The witch had no time to ask any more questions. We'd arrived.

"Alita," Edgar said in a deep, hollow voice, "you can pester our guest later. First go and report to Anna Tikhonovna..."

Alita nodded enthusiastically and then turned to me: "Can I come around and see you for coffee? In about an hour?"

"Yes, okay," I agreed. "Only I haven't got any coffee."

"I'll bring some," the pretty witch promised, and she set off for the office.

She didn't ask where I was staying, which meant she already knew.

For a few seconds I watched the witch from behind. Her stylish silver jacket, the kind that mountain skiers and tourists wear (I was immediately reminded of my acquaintances from the for-est), was decorated with a brightly colored image: a cartoon of a girl with big eyes and her foot thrust out in a kick, with the caption "Battle Angel Alita." The drawing and the caption were partly covered by the witch's long hair, which was hanging down across the jacket.

Edgar also looked as Alita walked away. There was plenty to look at, despite the winter outfit.

"She'll come," Edgar said thoughtfully. "She's already asked about you."

I shrugged. "The Tribunal's tomorrow," I said, changing the subject. "What should I do? Skip it? Go with everyone else?"

"Go with everyone else, of course. You're a witness." Edgar looked around. "Would you come into the office for a moment?"

"All right."

Somehow I was quite sure this office had never been used by the genuine head of the Day Watch, who wasn't in Moscow right then. It was more likely Edgar's office or the office of one of the senior Dark Ones. I slumped gratefully into an armchair, noting to myself that it was far more comfortable than the sagging seats in the metro carriages. Edgar took an already opened bottle of cognac out from somewhere under the desk.

"Shall we take a shot?" he suggested.

"Sure."

Who would want to refuse old Koktebel?

"I'm glad you've come back," said Edgar, pouring the cognac. "Otherwise we would have had to go looking for you."

"In order to clarify our tactics and strategy at tomorrow's session of the Tribunal?" I asked, guessing.

"Exactly."

It was good cognac. Smooth and aromatic. Maybe it wasn't the most famous and prestigious brand (which one is, anyway?), but I really enjoyed it.

"I won't even ask any more why you behave so strangely. To be quite honest, I've been instructed not to. From up there." Edgar raised his eyes expressively to the ceiling. "And I'm not going to try to figure out who you really are, either. For the same reason. All I want to ask is: Are you on our side? Are you with the Day Watch? With the Dark Ones? Can we count on you as one of ours tomorrow?"

"Definitely," I said, without even pausing for thought. Then I made it even clearer: "That's the answer to all your questions."

"That's good," Edgar said with a rather weary sigh and drained his spherical gla.s.s in a single gulp.

I didn't think he believed me.

We finished the cognac in total silence. Edgar didn't find it necessary to hold a consultation on how to behave at the next day's session of the Tribunal. He had clearly decided that I'd behave however I wanted to anyway. And he was absolutely right.

I spent the night with Alita, over coffee and conversation. The young witch had even managed to get hold of that long-forgotten brand Casa Grande. We settled down in the armchairs and chatted-about everything and nothing. It was a long time since I'd had such a good time, just sitting and chatting. About music, which I turned out to know quite a lot about. And literature, which I knew rather less about. And movies, which I knew absolutely nothing about. Every now and then, Alita tried to get me to talk about myself and my abilities, but she did this so artlessly that I never even suspected she could have been sent by the vigilant Anna Tikhonovna.

An hour before dawn there was a knock at the door.

"It's open," I shouted.

Edgar and Anna Tikhonovna came in.

"Are you ready?" Edgar asked.

"Always prepared, like a Young Pioneer," I a.s.sured him. "Are we moving out in close formation? In armored vehicles or in marching order?"

"Don't play the clown," said Anna Tikhonovna, pursing her lips and giving Alita a severe look. Alita gazed back innocently.

"All right, I won't," I promised. "Where are we going? I don't even know."

In fact, I had no doubt that the reliable internal guide, buried somewhere in the depths of my mind, would tell me where we were going and which direction to follow. But I asked anyway.

"The main building of Moscow University," Edgar told me. "Up in the tower. s.h.a.gron's waiting downstairs with his car-you can go with him."

"Okay. I'll go with him."

"Good luck," said Alita, heading for the door. "I'll call around tomorrow, okay, Vitaly?"

"No," I said gloomily. "You won't."

I knew for certain that I was right. But as yet I didn't understand why.

Alita shrugged and walked away. Anna Tikhonovna slipped out after her. Hmm... maybe the old hag had sent the girl after all? But then she'd decided to do her own thing and not tried to get anything out of me. If I was right, I had to feel sorry for Alita. Anna Tikhonovna would extract her very soul, squeeze it out and hang it up to dry.

She'd regret she'd ever been born.

I reached for my cell phone and dialed s.h.a.gron's number, too fast even to be surprised that I knew it.

"s.h.a.gron? This is your guest from the South. Can you give me a lift? Uh-huh, I'm on my way."

"Okay, I'll get going too," said Edgar. "Don't drag it out. The Inquisition gets very touchy when someone's late."

I put my coat on, locked my door, and went down in the elevator. The vampires on watch looked at me a lot more calmly this time-either their immediate superiors had had a heart-to-heart talk with them, or they'd realized the truth for themselves. But then, what was the truth? It refused to reveal itself even to me. There were only sudden, brief glimpses of one piece of the mosaic when the curtain was raised for an instant and then descended again, and that impenetrable, misty shroud obscured my sight.

s.h.a.gron's BMW was snorting out exhaust fumes about twenty meters away, right under the No Stopping sign. I got in on s.h.a.gron's right.

"Good morning."

"I hope it's a good one," s.h.a.gron barked. "Shall we go?"

"Yes, if we're not waiting for anyone else, let's go."

s.h.a.gron slid into the dense stream of traffic without saying another word.

Driving around snow-covered Moscow in rush hour is a really special experience. Occasionally s.h.a.gron pacified the over-keen nearby drivers through the Twilight. Otherwise they would have been cutting in front of us, forcing us over into the next lane, and then squeezing us out of the gaps that suddenly opened up. I put my safety belt on just in case. s.h.a.gron muttered something with his teeth clenched. He was probably swearing.

After my sleepless night I had an almost irresistible yearning for a blissful doze, especially since the seats in this quality German automobile encouraged just that. If I'd tried listening to music, I'd have been sure to be lulled into sleep. But I didn't feel like listening to music just then, so I stayed in this world filled with the roar of dozens of engines, the quiet hum of the air-conditioner, the shrill honking of car horns, and the swish of dirty gray slush under our mudguards.

If we'd gone by metro, we would have got there a lot sooner. But as it was, half an hour later we were still crawling along jam-packed Ostozhenka Street toward Vernadsky Prospect. The traffic jam was getting bigger, sprouting a tail that reached back toward the center of Moscow.

"h.e.l.l's bells," s.h.a.gron hissed angrily. "We could get stuck in this."

"Let's open a portal," I said with a shrug.

s.h.a.gron gave me a strange look. "Vitaly! We're on our way to a session of the Tribunal under the patronage of the Inquisition! Your portal would collapse two kilometers away from where we're going!"

"Ah, yes," I said light-heartedly. "That's right. I forgot." Actually, I could easily have guessed that for myself.

Magical interventions and any use of magic were forbidden while the Tribunal was at work. The Other-I inside me helpfully informed me that there had been violations in the past, but only during times of violent upheaval that was the direct cause of the violations themselves.

But then, this was a time of change too. The end of the millennium. A turning point. I remembered how terrified people had been in the summer, when they were waiting for the eclipse, how badly the earthquake in Turkey had frightened them... But it was all right, we'd survived.

Only, of course, in surviving we'd become slightly different. All of us, Others and people, especially people.

"Shi-it!" s.h.a.gron yelled, jolting me out of my reverie.

I didn't even have time to glance out through the windshield. There was a deafening crash, and in the same instant I was thrown forward and my ribs were squeezed together painfully as the safety belt bit into my chest; with a repulsive, shrill squeak, a fat, round cushion sprouted from the driving wheel, and s.h.a.gron's face and chest slid up around it until he crashed into the spot where the windscreen met the roof. There was an unpleasant sort of jangling sound outside the car and a fine shower of crumbs of gla.s.s shot up in the air, falling silently on the snow, but drumming an irregular tattoo against the bodywork of the cars around us. Then, to add insult to injury, we were rammed from behind. Someone had run straight into our trunk.

There were two or three seconds that felt like the launch of a s.p.a.ce shuttle, and then I stopped being twisted and tossed about. The blissful moment of dynamic equilibrium had arrived.

s.h.a.gron slid back down off the steering wheel into his seat, leaving a trail of blood on the balloon. I thought his arm was broken too. The fool hadn't fastened his belt... How long would he be regenerating now?

All around us there were car horns blaring.

With mixed feelings, I unclasped my belt, pushed the door open, and got out onto the road covered in compressed snow and sprinkled with broken gla.s.s.

The hood of our car had been rammed at a slight angle by a red Niva. The trunk had been crumpled so it looked as if someone had taken a bite out of it; there was the front end of a well cared for j.a.panese jeep sticking into it.

Well, it had been well cared for. In fact, the jeep hadn't suffered all that badly: One headlight on the impact bar had been broken, and the bar itself was bent a bit. He'd obviously had enough time to brake.

"You stupid or something, jerk?" someone from the jeep yelled as he dashed at me. He seemed to consist of dark gla.s.ses, a shaved head, a barrel-like torso squeezed into something crimson and black, and stylish shoes that were size forty-something plus. This individual's eyes were as pale as the aura of a young infant... or the aura of that kid Egor in the metro.

Couldn't he see that the Niva had rammed us?

And then the crimson outfit of this barrel-shaped individual suddenly flared up in a dull bluish flame, and the individual squealed like a hog under the knife.

I recognized a transatlantic spell popularly known as Spider Flame. And then, before I could recover my wits from the attack by the scarlet-clad individual, someone took me by the collar and swung me around.

If there was one person I hadn't expected to see, it was him. The Light magician and music lover Anton Gorodetsky.

"Who are you?" he whispered furiously. "Who are you, may the Darkness take you? Only don't lie!"