Nightwatch

«No forgiveness for Evil?» Now I was really angry. «After you stabbed the Dark Magician in the restroom, you should have tried staying around for another ten minutes! Or didn't you want to see his children screaming and his wife crying? They're not Dark Ones, Maxim! They're ordinary people who don't have our powers! You saved that girl they were shooting at…«

He started, but his face remained as implacably stony as ever.

«Well done! But did you know they were trying to kill her because of your crime? Well?»

«This is war.»

«You've started your own war,» I whispered. «You're like a child, with your toy dagger. You can't make an omelette without breaking eggs, is that it? No holds barred in the great struggle for the Light?»

«I don't fight for the Light,» he said in a quiet voice. «I fight against the Darkness. That's all I'm capable of. Do you understand? And you're wrong; it isn't a matter of eggs and omelettes for me. I didn't ask for this power; I didn't dream of having it. But since it has come to me, I can't act any other way.»

Just who was it who hadn't noticed him in time?

Why hadn't we found Maxim immediately, as soon as he became an Other?

He'd have made a first-class field operative. After long arguments and explanations. After months of training, after years of exercises, after tantrums, mistakes, bouts of drinking, attempts to kill himself. Eventually he would have understood the rules of the confrontation—not with his heart, he wasn't capable of that, but with his cold, uncompromising reason. The laws that govern the way Light and Darkness wage war, that mean we have to turn a blind eye to werewolves hunting their victims and kill our own people who can't do that.

There he was, right in front of me. A Light Magician who'd killed more Dark Ones in a few years than a field operative with a hundred years of experience. Alone, cornered. Knowing only how to hate, incapable of loving.

Egor just stood there quietly behind me, listening intently to what we were saying. I turned around, took him by the shoulders, and pushed him in front of me. I said:

«Is he a Dark Magician? Probably—I'm afraid you're right. In a few more years, this kid will start to sense his own powers. As he goes through life, Darkness will creep alongside him. With every step his life will become easier and easier. And every step will be paid for by someone else's pain. Do you remember the fairy tale about the mermaid? A witch gave her legs; she could walk, but she felt like there were red-hot knives stabbing into her feet all the time. That story's about us, Maxim! We always walk over sharp knives, and that's something you can never get used to. But Andersen didn't tell the whole story. The witch could have done things differently: The mermaid walks, and the knives stab other people. That's the way of the Darkness.»

«I carry my own pain with me,» said Maxim, and I suddenly felt an insane hope that he could understand after all. «But that mustn't be allowed to change anything.»

«Are you prepared to kill him?» I said, nodding toward Egor. «Tell me, Maxim. I'm a Night Watch agent, I know where the line runs between Good and Evil. You can create Evil, even by killing Dark Ones. Tell me—are you prepared to kill him?»

He didn't hesitate. He just nodded, looking straight into my eyes.

«Yes, certainly I am; I've never let a creature of the Darkness 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 realized 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 rushing 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 and 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 with eliminating Good. It's far simpler to let Good fight against itself.

I had just one chance left, a tiny one, but it was monstrous, vile.

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 Night Watch headquarters with me, listen, argue, and eventually give up, crushed by the boss's implacable arguments and iron logic. He'd realize 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 Darkness'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 began moving slowly, as if I'd entered the Twilight. But the colors didn't fade; they became brighter than ever. It was like moving through a stream of thick syrup. The wooden dagger glided toward Egor's chest, changing as it moved, gleaming like metal or gray flame. Maxim's face was calm and intent; only the lip held under 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 threw Egor aside—my muscles almost refused to obey me; they didn't want to do something so absurd and suicidal. For the boy, the little Black 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 about 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 Darkness.»

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 rushed obediently toward me.

The world turned gray, sounds disappeared, movements slowed. Egor stopped squirming and became completely motionless; 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 road onto the curb. It was all the same to him now; he was drawing strength from his own certainty, his own hate, his lighter-than-light hate, the fury of the color 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 ru

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 Darkness 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 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 colorless visions, the eternal, chilly 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 around 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 Darkness? 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. Now you know.»

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 capable of hearing me.

Svetlana, you wanted so much to know where our barriers are, where the line that we mustn't cross when we fight the Darkness runs. 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 stony face—a self-appointed paladin of the Light who'd sown as much evil as a dozen werewolves or vampires.