‘It’s not me the Day Watch want, Olga. They don’t want me at all. I’m an ordinary, average magician.’
She nodded.
‘But I’m the one they’re hunting. There’s no doubt about that. So if I’m not the quarry, I must be the bait. The same way Egor was the bait when Sveta was the quarry.’
‘Have you only just realised that?’ Olga shook her head. ‘Of course. You’re the bait.’
‘For Svetlana?’
The sorceress nodded.
‘I only understood it today,’ I admitted. ‘Just an hour ago, when Sveta wanted to stand up to the Day Watch, she shifted up to fifth-grade powers. In an instant. If a fight had broken out, she would have been killed. We can be controlled too, Olya. Human beings can be turned in different directions, towards Good or Evil, the Dark Ones can be manipulated through their meanness, their vanity, their thirst for power and fame. And we can be manipulated through love. There we’re as defenceless as children.’
‘Yes.’
‘Is the boss in the picture?’ I asked. ‘Olya?’
‘Yes.’
She was finding it hard to get the words out. I couldn’t believe it. Light Magicians who had lived for hundreds of years didn’t feel shame. They’d saved the world so often, they had all the ethical dodges off pat. Great Sorceresses didn’t feel ashamed, not even former Great Sorceresses. They’d been betrayed too often themselves.
I laughed.
‘Olya, did you realise straight away? As soon as the Dark Ones lodged their protest? That they were hunting me, but only in order to push Svetlana beyond her self-control?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes, yes, yes. And you still didn’t warn me, or her?’
‘Svetlana needs to mature quickly, to skip a few steps on the way.’ A bright flame flared in Olga’s eyes. ‘Anton, you’re my friend. I’ll tell you the truth, so you can understand. We don’t have enough time right now to nurture a Great Sorceress properly. But we need her, we need her more than you can even imagine. She already has enough power. She’ll get tougher and learn how to draw on that power and direct it and, what’s even more important, she’ll learn how to hold it in check.’
‘And if I die, that will only strengthen her will and her hatred of the Dark.’
‘Yes. But I’m sure you’re not going to die. The Watch is hunting the Maverick, everybody’s been drafted in. We’ll turn him over to the Dark Ones and the charges against you will be dropped.’
‘But a certain Light Magician who wasn’t initiated at the right time will die. Miserable and alone, like an animal brought to bay, convinced he’s the only one fighting against the Dark.’
‘Yes.’
‘You agree with everything I say today,’ I said calmly. ‘Olga, don’t you think what you’re doing might just be despicable?’
‘No.’ There wasn’t a trace of doubt. That meant the stakes must be really high.
‘How long do I have to hold out, Light One?’
She shuddered.
There was a time, a long time ago, when that was a form of address Watch members often used – ‘Light One’. Why had the words lost their old meaning, why did they sound as absurd now as the word ‘gentlemen’ used to address the dirty street bums at the beer kiosks?
‘Until morning at least.’
‘The night’s not our time any longer. Today all the Dark Ones will be out on the streets of Moscow. And they’ll be acting within their rights.’
‘Only until we locate the Maverick. Hang on in there.’
‘Olga.’ I took a step towards her and touched her cheek, for a moment forgetting the difference in our ages – what were a few hundred years, compared with eternal night? – and the difference in our powers and our knowledge. ‘Olga, do you really believe that I’ll still be alive in the morning?’
The sorceress didn’t answer.
I nodded. There was nothing more to say.
I pressed the button and set the walkman to play in random mode. Not because the song didn’t suit my mood, in fact exactly the opposite.
I love the metro at night, but I don’t know why. There’s nothing to look at except the same old dreary adverts and the same old tired human auras. The rumble of the engine, the gusts of air coming in through the half-open windows, the jolting over the rails. The numb wait for your own station.
But I love it anyway.
I shuddered, got up and walked to the door, even though I’d been planning to go to the end of the line.
This station was Rizhskaya. The next was Alexeevskaya.
That was okay.
I was already on the escalator when I caught the faint sense of power ahead of me. I ran my eyes along the down escalator and saw the Dark One almost immediately.
No, he wasn’t Day Watch, he was carrying himself all wrong for that. He was a low-grade magician, grade four or five, probably five: and he was concentrating hard, scanning the people around him. Still really young, not much over twenty, in a crumpled, unbuttoned jacket, with long, fair hair and an attractive face, even though it was all tensed up like that.
So what could have pushed you over the edge into the Dark? What happened before that first time you stepped into the Twilight? An argument with your girlfriend? A quarrel with your parents? Did you flunk your exams in college or get a Fail at school? Did someone tread on your foot on a trolleybus?
And the most terrible thing of all is that your appearance hasn’t even changed. Maybe you’re even better-looking now. Your friends were amazed to discover what a fun guy you turned out to be, how well everything went when they planned things with you. Your girlfriend discovered all sorts of good qualities in you that she couldn’t see before. Your parents were overjoyed to see how serious and intelligent their son had suddenly become. Your professors were delighted with their talented student.
And nobody knows how you make the people around you pay. And just how high the price of your kindness, your jokes and your sympathy is.
I closed my eyes and leaned against the moving handrail. I was tired, I was slightly drunk, I wasn’t paying any attention to anything, just listening to the music.
The Dark One’s gaze slid over me, moving lower, then quivered and came to a halt.
I hadn’t had any time to prepare, to change my appearance or distort my aura. I really hadn’t expected the search of the metro would have started already.
A cold, piercing touch, like a gust of icy wind. The young guy was comparing me with the image that must have been distributed to all the Dark Ones in Moscow. He was working clumsily, he’d forgotten about his defences, he didn’t notice my mind slipping along the pathway cleared through the Twilight and touching his thoughts.
Joy. Delight. Found. The prey. They’ll give me some of the prey’s power. They’ll appreciate this. They’ll promote me. Fame. Getting my own back. They didn’t appreciate me before. Now they’ll understand. They’ll pay.