The little man continued walking.
«Hang on, old timer,» the sleek man said in a friendly voice that matched his appearance—high-pitched, affected. «Don't be in such a hurry.»
The Central Asian smiled and nodded, but he didn't stop.
The sleek man made a pass with one hand, as if he were drawing a line between himself and the little man. The air shimmered and a cold breath of wind swept through the underpass. Up on the platform children started crying and dogs started howling.
The little man stopped, looking straight ahead with a thoughtful expression. He pursed his lips, blew, and smiled cunningly at the man standing in front of him. There was a high-pitched jangling sound, like invisible glass breaking. The sleek man's face contorted in pain and he took a step backward.
«Bravo, devona ,» said the young woman, halting behind the Central Asian. «But now you definitely shouldn't be in any rush.»
«Oh, I need to hurry, oh yes I do,» the little man jabbered rapidly. «Would you like some melon, beautiful lady?»
The young woman smiled as she studied the Central Asian. She made a suggestion:
«Why don't you come with us, respected guest? We'll sit and eat your melon, drink some tea. We've been waiting for you so long; it's not polite to go running off immediately.»
The little old man's face expressed intense thought. Then he nodded:
«Let's go, let's go.»
His first step knocked the man with affected manners off his feet. It was as if there were an invisible shield moving along in front of the little man, an immaterial wall of raging wind: The sleek man was swept along the ground with his long hair trailing behind him, his eyes screwed up in terror, a silent scream breaking from his throat.
The young guy who looked like a punk rocker waved his hand through the air, sending flashes of scarlet light flying at the little man. They were blindingly bright when they left his hand but started fading halfway to their target, and they reached the Asiatic's back as a barely visible glimmer.
«Ow, ow, ow,» the little old man said, but he didn't stop. He twitched his shoulder blades, as if some annoying fly had landed on his back.
«Alisa!» the young guy called, continuing his useless attack, working his fingers to compact the air, drawing the scarlet fire out of it and flinging it at the little old man. «Alisa!»
The girl leaned her head to one side as she watched the Central Asian walking away. She said something in a quiet whisper and ran her hand across her dress. Out of nowhere a slim, transparent prism appeared in her hand.
The little old man started walking faster, swerving left and right and holding his head down in a funny way. The sleek man went tumbling along in front of him, no longer even attempting to cry out. His face was ragged and bleeding; his arms and legs were shattered and useless, as if he hadn't simply slid three meters across a smooth floor but been dragged three kilometers across the rocky steppe by a wild hurricane or behind a galloping horse.
The girl looked at the little man through the prism.
First the Central Asian started walking more slowly. Then he groaned and unclasped his hands—the melon smashed open with a crunch against the marble floor, the briefcase fell with a soft, heavy thud.
«Oh,» gasped the man that the girl had called a devona . «Oh, oh!»
The little man slumped to the floor, shuddering as he fell. His cheeks collapsed inward, his cheekbones protruded sharply, his hands were suddenly bony, the skin covered with a network of veins. His black hair didn't turn gray, but it was suddenly thinner and dusted with gray. The air around him began to shimmer, and invisible currents of heat streamed toward Alisa.
«What I did not give shall henceforth be mine,» the girl hissed. «All that is yours is mine.»
Her face flushed with color as rapidly as the little man's body dried out. Her lips smacked together as she whispered strange, breathy words. The punk frowned and lowered his hand—the final scarlet ray slammed into the floor, turning the stone dark.
«Very easy,» he said, «very easy.»
«The boss was very displeased,» said the girl, hiding the prism away in the folds of her dress. She smiled. Her face radiated the same kind of energy women sometimes show after a vigorous sexual encounter.
«Easy, but our Kolya was unlucky.»
The punk nodded, glancing at the long-haired man's motionless body. There was no particular sympathy in his eyes, but no hostility either.
«That's for sure,» he said, walking over confidently to the desiccated corpse. He ran his hand through the air above it and the corpse crumbled into dust. With his next pass the young guy reduced the melon to a sticky mess.
«The briefcase,» said the girl. «Check the briefcase.»
A wave of his hand—and the worn imitation leather cracked apart and the briefcase fell open, like an oyster shell under the knife of an experienced pearl-diver. But to judge from the young guy's expression, the pearl he'd been expecting wasn't there. Two clean changes of underwear, a pair of cheap cotton tracksuit pants, a white shirt, rubber sandals in a plastic bag, a polystyrene cup with dried Korean noodles, a spectacle case.
The young guy made a few more passes and the polystyrene cup split open, the clothing came apart at the seams, and the case opened to reveal the spectacles. He swore.
«He hasn't got anything, Alisa! Nothing at all!»
An expression of surprise slowly spread across the witch's face.
«Stasik, this is the devona , the courier. He couldn't have trusted what he was carrying to anyone else!»
«He must have,» the young guy said, stirring the Central Asian's ashes with his foot. «I warned you, didn't I, Alisa? You can expect anything from the Light Ones. You took responsibility. I may be a weak magician, but I have more experience than you—fifty years more.»
Alisa nodded. There was no confusion in her eyes now. Her hand slid over her dress again, seeking for the prism.
«Yes,» she said softly. «You're right, Stasik. But in fifty years' time our experience will be equal.»
The punk laughed, then squatted down beside the long-haired man's body and started going through the pockets quickly.
«You think so?»
«I'm certain. You shouldn't have insisted on having your own way. I was the one who wanted to check the other passengers as well.»
The young guy swung around to protest, but it was too late—the hot currents of life energy were already streaming out of his body.
Chapter 1
The Oldsmobile was ancient, which I liked. But the open windows were no help against the insane heat rising from the road after the sun had been scorching it all day long. It needed an air-conditioner.
Ilya was probably thinking the same thing. He was driving with one hand on the steering wheel, glancing around all the time and chatting with everyone. I knew a magician of his level could spot probabilities ten minutes in advance and there wasn't going to be any crash, but I was still feeling a bit uneasy.
«I was thinking about putting in an air-conditioner,» he told Yulia in a guilty voice. The young girl was suffering worse than anyone else from the heat; she had a blotchy rash on her face and her eyes looked glazed. I was just hoping she wasn't going to be sick. «But it would have ruined the entire car; it wasn't meant to have one! No air-conditioner, no cell phones, no onboard computers.»
«Uh-huh,» said Yulia, with a feeble smile. We'd all been working late the day before. No one had gone to bed at all; we'd been stuck in the office until five in the morning and then stayed the rest of the night there. I suppose it's pretty mean to make a thirteen-year-old girl slave away with the grown-ups. But it was what she'd wanted; no one had forced her.