He didn’t hesitate. He just nodded, looking straight into my eyes.
‘Yes, I am, I’ve never let a creature of the Dark get away. I won’t let this one get away.’
The invisible trap snapped shut.
It wouldn’t have surprised me to see Zabulon standing there. To see him surface out of the Twilight and give Maxim a slap on the back. Or flash a mocking smile at me.
But a moment later I realised Zabulon wasn’t there. He never had been.
The trap he’d set didn’t need any supervision. It would work all on its own. I’d been caught, and every member of the Day Watch had a solid alibi for that moment.
I either had to let Maxim kill the boy who was going to become a Dark Magician and make myself into his accomplice – with all the obvious consequences.
Or fight the Maverick and kill him – I was far more powerful, after all. Eliminate the only witness with my own hand and kill a Light Magician into the bargain.
Maxim would never back down. This was his war, his own cross that he’d been carrying for years. He wanted victory or death.
So why should Zabulon bother to interfere in the fight?
He’d done everything right. Purged the ranks of the Dark Ones of useless ballast, built up the tension, even deliberately shot to miss. Zabulon had made me come to this spot to meet the Maverick. And now Zabulon was somewhere far away. Maybe not even in Moscow. He might even be watching what was happening: there were plenty of technical or magical devices he could use for that. Watching and laughing.
I was finished.
Whichever way I jumped, the Twilight was waiting for me.
Evil has no need to bother to eliminate Good. It’s far simpler to let Good fight against itself.
I had just one chance left, a tiny one, but it was a monstrous, vile idea.
I could be too slow.
I could let Maxim kill the boy, or rather, simply fail to stop him. He’d calm down after that. He’d go to the Night Watch headquarters with me, listen, argue and eventually give up, crushed by the boss’s implacable arguments and iron logic. He’d realise what he’d done and just how fragile the balance he’d disrupted was. And he’d hand himself over to the tribunal, where he had at least a slim chance of being acquitted.
I was no field operative, after all. I’d done everything I could. I’d even seen through the Dark’s game, a sequence of moves devised by someone far wiser than me. I simply hadn’t been strong enough, my reactions hadn’t been fast enough.
Maxim raised the hand holding the dagger.
Time suddenly slowed down, as if I’d entered the Twilight. But the colours didn’t fade, they became brighter than ever. It was like moving through a stream of thick syrup. The wooden dagger glided towards Egor’s chest, changing as it moved, gleaming like metal or grey flame. Maxim’s face was calm and intent, only the lip held beneath his teeth betrayed how tense he was. The kid didn’t understand what was happening, he didn’t even try to move out of the way.
I shoved Egor to one side – my muscles almost refused to obey me, they didn’t want to do something so crazy and suicidal. For the boy the young Dark Magician, the dagger meant death. For me, it meant life. That’s the way it always has been and always will be.
What means life for a Dark One means death for a Light One, and vice versa. Who was I to change … ?
I wasn’t too slow.
Egor fell, banged his head against the door and slid down into a sitting position – I’d pushed him too hard. But I was more concerned about saving him than any bruises he might get. Maxim’s eyes glittered with almost childish resentment, but he could still talk.
‘He’s an enemy!’
‘He hasn’t done anything!’
‘You’re defending the Dark!’
Maxim wasn’t arguing about whether I was Dark or Light. He could see that well enough.
It’s just that he was whiter than white. And he’d never had to decide who should live and who should die.
The dagger was raised again. Not aimed at the boy this time, but at me. I dodged away looked for my shadow, summoned it, and it came obediently towards me.
The world turned grey, sounds disappeared, movement slowed. Egor stopped squirming and became completely still, the cars crept along the street uncertainly, with their wheels turning in spurts, the branches of the trees forgot about the wind. But Maxim didn’t slow down.
He’d followed me in, without knowing what he was doing. Slipped into the Twilight as easily as someone stepping off the kerb on to the road. It was all the same to him now, he was drawing strength from his own certainty, his own hatred, his lighter-than-light hatred, the fury of the colour white. He wasn’t the executioner of the Dark Ones any longer. He was an Inquisitor. And he was far more terrifying than our Inquisition.
I threw my arms out, spreading my fingers in the sign of power, simple and foolproof – how the young Others laugh when they’re shown that move for the first time. Maxim didn’t even stop – he staggered a bit, then put his head down stubbornly and came for me again. I began to get the picture and backed away, desperately running through the magic arsenal in my mind.
Agape – the sign of love. He didn’t believe in love.
The triple key – a sign that engendered trust and understanding. He didn’t trust me.
Opium – a lilac symbol, the path of sleep. I felt my own eyelids starting to close.
That was how he defeated the Dark Ones. Combined with the powers of an Other, his furious faith acted like a mirror, reflecting back any blow aimed at him. It raised him up to his opponent’s level. In combination with his ability to see the Dark and his ridiculous magical dagger, it made him almost invulnerable.
He couldn’t reflect everything like that, though. The reflected blows didn’t come back immediately. The sign of Thanatos – death – or the white sword would probably work.
But if I killed him, I’d kill myself. Set myself on the one road that we all come to in the end – into the Twilight. Into the faded dreams and colourless visions, the eternal, cold haze. He’d found it so easy to see me as an enemy, but I wouldn’t be strong enough to see him that way.
We circled round each other, with Maxim sometimes making clumsy rushes at me – he’d never been in a real fight before, he was used to killing his victims quickly and easily. From somewhere far away I could hear Zabulon’s mocking laughter. His soft, wheedling voice.
‘So you wanted to play a game against the Dark? Play, then. You have everything you need. Enemies, friends, love, hate. Choose your weapon. Any of them. You already know what the outcome will be.’
Maybe I imagined the voice. Or maybe I really did hear it.
‘You’re killing yourself too!’ I shouted. The holster was flapping against my body begging to be noticed, begging me to take the pistol out and fire a swarm of little silver wasps at Maxim. As easily as I’d done it with my namesake.
He didn’t hear me – he wasn’t able to hear me.
Svetlana, you wanted so much to know where our barriers are, where the line runs that we mustn’t cross when we fight the Dark. Why aren’t you here now? You could have seen for yourself.
But there was no one anywhere near. No Dark Ones to revel in the sight of our duel. No Light Ones to help me, to jump on Maxim and pin him down, to put an end to our deadly dance in the Twilight. No one but a young kid and future Dark Magician, getting up clumsily off the ground, and an implacable executioner with a face of stone – a self-appointed paladin of the Light who’d sown as much Evil as a dozen werewolves or vampires.
I raked my fingers through the cold mist, gathering it into my hand, letting it soak into my fingers. And directed a little more power into my right hand.