"You must admit," Pavel told me after he'd taken a sip of wine, "that the way our chief treats the staff is pretty good!"

I nodded.

"And the Light Ones..." he said, putting all the contempt he could muster into those two words, "... they're much greater individualists than we are."

"Don't overdo it," I said. "That's not really true."

"Oh come on, Alisa!" The wine had made him talkative. "Do you remember how we stood in the cordon a year ago? Just before the hurricane?"

That cordon was probably the only place I remembered having seen him before. The shape-shifters do all the crude work and our paths seldom cross. Only during combat operations, and on those rare occasions when the entire Watch personnel is convened.

"I remember."

"Well then, that... Gorodetsky. That lousy servant of the Light!"

"He's a very powerful magician," I objected. "Very powerful."

"Oh, sure! He grabbed all that Power, squeezed the last drops out of ordinary people, and then what? What did he use it for?"

"For his own remoralization."

I closed my eyes, remembering how it had looked.

A fountain of light shooting up into the sky. The streams of energy that Anton had gathered from those people. He had risked everything on a single throw of the dice, even risked using borrowed Power, and for a brief instant he had acquired Power that matched or even surpa.s.sed the abilities of Zabulon and Gesar.

And he had expended all that tremendous Power on himself.

Remoralization. The search for the ethically optimum solution. The Light Ones' most terrible problem was how to avoid causing harm, how to avoid taking a step that would result in inflicting evil on human beings.

"That makes him a super-egotist!" Pavel said with relish. "He could have defended his girlfriend, couldn't he? And he could have fought us, couldn't he? And how-with that Power! But what did he do? He used everything he collected on himself. He didn't even try to stop the hurricane... but he could have done that, he could have!"

"Who knows what any other course of action would have led to?" I asked.

"But he acted just like any of us. Like a genuine Dark One!"

"If that were true, he'd be in the Day Watch."

"And he will be," Pavel said confidently. "Where else can he go? He couldn't bear to give away all that Power, so he used it on himself. And afterward he made excuses-it was all so that he could make the correct decision...

And what was his decision? Not to interfere! That was all-not to interfere! That's our way, the Dark way."

"I'm not going to argue with you, Pavlusha," I said.

The plane shuddered as the undercarriage was lowered.

At first glance the shape-shifter seemed to be right. But I could remember Zabulon's face during the days after the hurricane. The expression in his eyes was very gloomy-I'd learned to tell the difference. It was as if he'd realized too late that he'd been tricked.

Pavel carried on discussing the subtleties of the struggle between the two Watches, their different approaches, their long-term operational planning. What a strategist... he should have been sitting in headquarters, not roaming the streets...

I suddenly realized how tired he'd made me feel during our two-hour flight. But at first he'd made quite a pleasant impression...

"Pavlusha, who do you transform into?" I asked.

The shape-shifter started breathing heavily through his nose and answered reluctantly: "A lizard."

"Oho!" I looked at him again with more interest. Shape-shifters like that were a genuine rarity; he was no ordinary werewolf, like the late Vitalik. "That's serious! But why don't I see you on operations more often?"

"I..." Pavel stopped and frowned. He took out a handkerchief and dabbed his sweaty forehead. "You see, the thing is..."

His embarra.s.sment was wonderful to watch. He was like an erring schoolgirl on a visit to the gynecologist.

"I transform into a herbivorous lizard," he finally blurted out. "Not the most useful kind in a fight, unfortunately. The jaws are strong, but the teeth are flat, for grinding. And I'm too slow. But I can break an arm or a leg... or chew off a finger."

I couldn't help laughing. I said sympathetically, "Well, never mind. We need personnel like that too! The important thing is for you to look impressive and instill fear and confusion."

"I look impressive all right," said Pavel, squinting sideways at me suspiciously. "Only my scales are too colorful, like a painted Khokhloma toy. It's hard to disguise myself."

I managed to keep a straight face.

"Never mind, I think that's interesting. When people have to be frightened, especially little children, colorful scales are just the thing."

"That's the kind of work I usually do..." Pavel admitted.

A sharp jolt cut short our conversation as the plane touched down on the runway. The pa.s.sengers burst into applause somewhat prematurely. I gazed avidly out through the window for a few seconds, looking at the greenery, the airport terminal, a plane taxiing to take off...

I simply couldn't believe it.

I'd escaped from stuffy, oppressive Moscow. I had the vacation I'd been waiting for so long... and my special rights... and when I got back-Zabulon would be waiting for me again...

Pavel saw me as far as the trolley stop. It's the most amusing trolley route I know: all the way from one town to another, from Simferopol to Yalta. But strangely enough, it's quite a convenient way to travel.

Everything here was different, quite different. It seemed hot-but it wasn't the asphalt-and-concrete city heat of Moscow. And even though the sea was a long way off, I could sense it. And the luxuriant greenery, and the whole atmosphere of a huge resort at the height of the season.

It felt good... it really did. I just wanted to get a shower as soon as possible, get a good night's sleep, tidy myself up...

"You're not going to Yalta, are you?" Pavel asked understandingly.

"Not exactly to Yalta," I said. I looked gloomily at the long line. Even the children were all keyed up, ready to grab a seat in the trolley. I had nothing with me at all-just my purse and the sports bag over my shoulder, and I could have stood quite easily-but only if I managed to get on the trolley without a ticket.

And I didn't feel like standing.

If it came down to it, I had a thick wad of cash for my travel allowance, vacation allowance, and medical allowance-Zabu-lon had managed to issue me almost two thousand dollars. That was certainly plenty for two weeks. Especially in Ukraine.

"All right, Pavlusha," I said and kissed him on the cheek. The shape-shifter blushed. "I'll get there, no need to see me off."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I was instructed to give you every possible help."

Oh, my little protector... A herbivorous lizard, a cow with scales ...

"I'm sure. You need to get some rest too."

"I'm going to go on a bicycle trip with friends," he informed me for some reason. "They're really nice guys-Ukrainian werewolves and even a young magician. Maybe we could call in to see you?"

"I'd like that."

The shape-shifter walked back toward the airport, clearly intending to board another flight, and I set off along the thin line of taxis and private cars offering lifts. It was already getting dark, and there were only a few of them left.

"Where to, lovely lady?" a stout man with a moustache called out. He was standing beside his little Zhiguli and smoking. I shook my head-I'd never traveled between towns in a Zhiguli... I ignored the Volga as well, and the tiny Oka too-goodness only knew what that driver was hoping for.

But that brand new Nissan Patrol would suit me very well.

I leaned in over the lowered window. There were two dark-haired young guys sitting in the car. The one in the driving seat was smoking and his companion was drinking beer from a bottle.

"Are you guys free?"

Two pairs of eyes stared at me, sizing me up. I didn't look too creditworthy-that was necessary for my cover...

"Possibly," the driver said. "If we can agree on a price."

"We can," I said. "To the Artek camp. Fifty."

"Are you a Young Pioneer?" the driver laughed. "For fifty we'll give you a ride round town."

The witty type. He was so young he shouldn't have been able to remember what a Young Pioneer was. And his ambitions were exorbitant... fifty rubles-that was almost ten dollars.

"You didn't ask the most important thing," I remarked. "Fifty what?"

"Well, fifty what?" the driver's friend repeated obligingly.

"Bucks."

The young guys' expressions changed immediately.

"Fifty bucks, we go fast, without any other pa.s.sengers, and we don't turn the music up loud," I added. "Is it a deal?"

"Yes," the driver decided. He began looking around. "What about your things?"

"I've got them all here." I got into the backseat and dropped my bag down beside me. "Let's go."

My tone of voice seemed to have had the right effect. A minute later we were already swinging out onto the road. I relaxed and leaned back a bit more comfortably. This was it. Vacation. I needed to rest... eat the peaches...

gather my strength...

And afterward Moscow and Zabulon would be waiting for me...

Just at that moment my cell phone rang in my bag. I got it out without opening my eyes and took the call.

"Alisa, how was the flight?"

I felt a warm glow in my chest. One surprise after another! Even during our best times Zabulon hadn't felt a need to take any interest in such petty details. Or was this just because I was unwell and feeling down?

"It was excellent, thanks. They say there were some problems with the weather, but..."

"I know about that. The guys in the Simferopol Day Watch gave us a hand with the weather conditions. That's not what I meant, Alisa. Are you in a car now?"

"Yes."

"Your forecast for this trip is bad."

I p.r.i.c.ked up my ears. "The road?"

"No. Apparently your driver."

In front of me the young guys' cropped heads were like blank stone. I looked at them for a second, furious at my helplessness. I couldn't even feel their emotions, let alone read their thoughts...

"I'll handle it."

"Have you let your escort go?"

"Yes. Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll handle it."

"Are you sure, Alisa?" There was genuine concern in Zabulon's voice. And that had the same effect on me as dope on an athlete.

"Of course. Try looking further ahead in the forecast!"

Zabulon was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Yes, it straightens out... But keep in touch. I'll come if it's necessary."

"If they do anything to me, just skin them alive, sweetheart," I said.

"I'll do more than that-I'll make them eat their own skins."

Zabulon agreed. It was no empty threat, of course, but a real promise. "Well, have a good vacation, darling."

I switched off the cell phone and slipped into a doze. The Nissan drove on smoothly and we were soon out on the high road. The young guys occasionally lit a cigarette and there was a smell of tobacco-fortunately not the worst kind. Then the sound of the motor became more labored-we were climbing the mountain pa.s.s. I opened my eyes and glanced through the open window at the starry sky. How big the stars were in the Crimea. How close.

Then I fell asleep for real. I even began dreaming-a sweet, languorous dream. I was swimming in the sea at night and there was someone beside me, and sometimes in the darkness I could almost make out the lines of his face, and I could feel the gentle touch of his hands...

When I realized that the touch was real, I instantly woke up and opened my eyes.

The engine was silent and the car was standing a little distance off the highway. I think it was in the emergency side road for poor souls whose brakes have failed.

My driver's brakes and his friend's had definitely failed. I could see it in their eyes.

When I woke up the driver's friend took his hand away from my face. He even gave a crooked smile as he said, "We're here, sister."

"It doesn't look like Artek, brother," I replied.

"It's the Angarsky Pa.s.s. The motor's overheated," said the driver, licking his lips. "We have to wait. You can get out for a breath of fresh air."