«Egor, come on, I'll see you home,» I offered.
«It's not far, I'll be okay…« the kid said.
I went on standing there for a long time, gulping down snow mixed with wind, and I didn't notice him leave. I heard the boss ask: «Will you be able to wake your parents up on your own?» but I didn't hear the answer.
«Anton, if it's any comfort to you at all… the boy's aura's the same as it was. Still indeterminate…« He put his arm around my shoulders. He looked small now, pitiful, not at all like a well-groomed entrepreneur or a top-flight magician. Just a sprightly old man who'd won another brief battle in a war that had no end.
«Great.»
That's what I'd really like—to have no aura at all. To make my own destiny.
«Anton, you still have things to do.»
«I know, Boris Ignatievich…«
«Will you be able to explain everything to Svetlana?»
«Yes, I expect so… I will now.»
«I'm really sorry. But I have to use what I have… the people I have. You're linked with her. A standard mystical link, impossible to explain. No one can take your place.»
«I understand.»
The snow was settling on my face, thawing on my eyelashes, melting and dribbling down my cheeks. It felt as if I'd almost managed to freeze solid, but I didn't have the right.
«Remember what I told you? Being on the side of the Light is much tougher than being on the side of the Dark…«
«I remember…«
«It will be even tougher for you, Anton. You'll fall in love with her. You'll live with her… for a while. Then Svetlana will move on. And you'll see her moving farther away from you, see her contacts extending into places far higher than you can ever reach. You'll suffer. But nothing can be done about it. You play your part at the beginning. That's the way it is with every Great Magician, with every Great Sorceress. They achieve greatness by trampling over the bodies of their friends and loved ones. There is no other way.»
«Yes, I understand… I understand everything…«
«Let's go then, Anton?»
I didn't answer.
«Shall we go?»
«Aren't we late already?»
«Not yet. The Light has its own paths. I'll take you there by the short way, and after that, you follow your own path.»
«Then I'll just stand here for a while,» I said. I closed my eyes so that I could feel the snowflakes landing on my eyelids, so tenderly.
«If you only knew how many times I've stood like that,» said the boss. «Just like that, looking up into the sky, asking for something… Maybe a blessing, maybe a curse.»
I said nothing; I already knew there wouldn't be any answer.
«Anton, I'm frozen,» said the boss. «I feel cold. As a man. I want to drink a few glasses of vodka and snuggle down under a warm blanket. And lie there, waiting for you to help Svetlana… for Olga to deal with the vortex. And then take a vacation. Leave Ilya here in charge, since he's already been inside my skin, and head for Samarkand. Have you ever been to Samarkand?»
«No.»
«It's no great shakes, to be honest. Especially nowadays. There's not much good there, except the memories… But they're only for me… How are you doing?»
«Let's go, Boris Ignatievich.»
I wiped the snow off my face.
There was someone waiting for me.
And that's the only thing that stops us from freezing solid.
Story two.
Among His Own Kind
Prologue
His name was Maxim.
Not such a very unusual name, but not ordinary either, not like all those Sergeis, Andreis, and Dmitrys. And a name with a fine Russian ring to it, even if its roots did go back to the Greeks and the Varangians, maybe even the Scythians.
He was happy enough with his appearance. Not the cloying good looks of an actor from some TV serial, but not a dull, ordinary face either. A handsome man, he stood out in a crowd. And he'd built his body too, but without overdoing it—no bulging veins, no fanatical workouts at the gym.
He was happy with his job as auditor for a major foreign firm, one that was profitable—he could afford to indulge all his interests, and he didn't need to worry about the protection rackets.
It was all just as if one day his guardian angel had simply decided: «You shall be a bit better than all the rest.» Only a bit, but still better. And that suited Maxim just fine. Why try to scramble higher up the ladder and fritter his life away on acquiring a fancy car, invitations to high-society parties, or an apartment with an extra room… what for? He enjoyed life for its own sake, not for material possessions. Life was the exact opposite of money, which in itself meant nothing.
Of course, Maxim had never thought about this quite so clearly. One of the quirks of people who've managed to find their place in life is that they believe that's the way things ought to be. Everything simply works out the way it ought to. And if someone feels shortchanged by life, then he has only himself to blame. He must be either lazy and stupid. Or else he thought too much of himself and tried to «get above himself.»
Maxim was fond of that phrase: «getting above yourself.» It put everything in perspective so neatly. For instance, it explained why his intelligent and beautiful sister was throwing her life away on an alcoholic husband in Tambov. She'd gone off looking for someone with better prospects… and just look what she'd found. Or take his old school friend who'd been lying in a hospital ward for more than a month now. He'd wanted to expand his business, and he had. He was lucky still to be alive, lucky his competitors happened to be so civilized… the market in non-ferrous metals had been carved up a long time ago.
Maxim might be in danger of «getting above himself» in only one part of his life, and it was such a very strange and complicated part that he preferred not even to think about it. It was much easier to simply accept the strange thing that sometimes happened to him in spring, occasionally in the fall, and only very, very rarely at the height of summer, when the oppressive heat became totally unbearable, emptying his head of all logic and caution, including even those vague doubts about his psychological balance… Maxim didn't think he was in any way schizophrenic, though. He'd read quite a lot of books and consulted specialists… only, of course, without going into all the details.
No, he was normal. Obviously some things that existed simply defied reason and couldn't be judged by the usual human norms. Still the idea he might be «getting above himself» bothered him… Could he be?
Maxim was sitting in his car, a neat, well-cared-for Toyota, with the engine running quietly. It wasn't the most expensive of cars but it was still way better than most in Moscow. In the dim light of early morning, no one could have made out his face behind the steering wheel, even from just a few steps away. He'd spent the whole night like that, listening to the gentle purring sound of the engine, chilled through but determined not to turn the heater on. As usual when this happened to him, he didn't feel like sleeping. Or smoking. He didn't feel like doing anything at all; it felt good just to sit there like that without moving, like a shadow in the car parked at the curb, waiting. The only thing that troubled him was that his wife would think he'd been with his mistress. How could he prove to her that he didn't have a full-time mistress and all his flings amounted to no more than brief vacation romances, fleeting affairs at work, and occasional professional services when he traveled on business… and he hadn't even bought those on the family's money; they'd been provided by clients. He couldn't have refused, they'd have been offended. Or decided he was gay and offered him boys the next time…