‘Alisa, I’m pleased with you,’ he said and smiled. ‘And don’t worry about having drained your power. We have certain special reserves.’
‘Like the right to perform a sacrifice?’ I asked, trying to smile.
‘Yes.’ Zabulon nodded. ‘You’re going on holiday, starting today. And you’ll come back better than ever.’
My lips started trembling treacherously. What was happening to me? I was wailing like a hysterical child, my mascara must have run all over my face, I didn’t have an ounce of power left.
‘I want you,’ I whispered. ‘Zabulon, I’ve been so lonely …’
He gently took my arms away.
‘Afterwards, Alya. When you come back. Otherwise it would be …’ Zabulon smiled. ‘… an abuse of my position for personal ends.’
‘Nobody would dare say that to you!’
Zabulon looked into my eyes for a long time.
‘There are some who would, Alya. Last year was a very difficult one for the Watch; there are many who would like to see me humiliated.’
‘Then don’t do this,’ I said quickly. ‘Don’t take the risk. I’ll restore my own power bit by bit …’
‘No, it’s the right thing to do. Don’t you worry, my little girl.’
My heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice. At that calm, confident power.
‘Why would you take such a risk for me?’ I whispered, not expecting any answer, but Zabulon did answer:
‘Because love is also a power. A great power, and it should not be disdained.’
CHAPTER 3
LIFE IS a strange business.
A day earlier I had left my apartment, a young, healthy witch full of power – but unhappy.
Half a day earlier I had been standing in the Watch offices, crippled, with no hope or belief in the future.
How everything had changed!
‘Would you like some more wine, Alisa?’ Pavel, my escort, asked, looking quizzically into my eyes.
‘A little,’ I said, looking out of the window.
The plane had already begun its descent into Simferopol airport. The old Tupolev jet creaked as it slowly heeled over, and the passengers’ faces were anxious and tense. But Pavel and I sat quite calmly – Zabulon himself had checked to make sure the flight was safe.
Pavel handed me a crystal wine glass. Of course, the glass wasn’t the stewardess’s standard issue, and neither was the South African Sauternes. The young shape-shifter seemed to be taking his mission very seriously. He was flying south for a holiday with some friends of his, but at the last minute he’d been taken off the flight to Kherson and instructed to accompany me to Simferopol. The rumours that my relationship with Zabulon had been renewed had clearly already reached him.
‘Why don’t we drink to the chief, Alisa?’ Pavel asked. He was trying so hard to ingratiate himself that it was beginning to annoy me.
‘All right,’ I agreed. We clinked glasses and drank. The stewardess walked past us, checking for the last time that all the seat belts were fastened, but she didn’t even look at us. The spell of inattention that Pavel had cast was doing its job. Even this wretched shape-shifter could do more than I could now.
‘You must admit,’ Pavel said 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 is brought together.
‘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 all of it out of ordinary people, and then what? What did he use it for?’
‘For his own remoralisation.’
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 comparable to or even surpassing that of Zabulon and Gesar.
And he had expended all that tremendous power on himself.
Remoralisation. 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, 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 afterwards 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 realised 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 at HQ, not roaming the streets.
I suddenly realised how tired he’d made me feel during our two-hour flight. But at first glance he’d made quite a pleasant impression.
‘Pavlusha, what 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 embarrassment was wonderful to watch, he was like an erring schoolgirl on a visit to the gynaecologist.
‘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, to instil fear and confusion.’