Nightwatch

I laughed out loud. Yes, I probably looked a fine sight! Standing stock still in the middle of the street, apparently ogling at a stand covered with ugly bronze figurines, wooden matryoshka dolls with politicians' faces, and fake Khokhloma painted boxes.

I had the right to shake up the entire street. To perform a mass remoralization—then the guy with the shaven head would take a job as an orderly in a mental hospital and his girlfriend would dash to the train station and go to see the old mother she'd managed to forget, somewhere out in the sticks.

I wanted to do good—my hands were just itching to do it!

And that was why I mustn't.

The heart might be pure and the hands might be hot, but the head still had to be cool.

I was an ordinary, rank-and-file Other. I didn't have the power granted to Gesar or Zabulon, and I never would have. Maybe that was why I took a different view of what was happening. And I couldn't even use this unexpected gift—the right to use Light magic. That would be joining in the game that was being played out above my head.

My only chance was to drop out of the game.

And take Svetlana with me.

And in the process ruin the operation the Night Watch had been preparing for so long! Stop being a field agent of the Watch! Become an ordinary Light Magician, using mere crumbs of my powers. That was in the best case, of course—in the worst case scenario it was the eternal Twilight for me.

Today, today at midnight.

Where? And who? Whose Book of Destiny would the sorceress open? Olga had said they'd been pla

I could have howled out loud at my own stupidity. But my expression probably said it all for me anyway, and why put it into words if it's already written on your face?

Higher magicians plan many moves ahead. There are no accidents in their games. There are queens and there are pawns. But there are no superfluous pieces!

Egor!

The boy who had almost become a victim of illegal hunting. Who'd entered the Twilight in a state of mind that had nudged him toward the Dark Side. The boy whose destiny was still not determined, whose aura still had all the colors of a child's. A unique case. I'd been amazed when I saw him for the first time.

I'd been amazed, and then forgotten the moment I found out the kid's powers had been artificially increased by the boss to mislead the Dark Ones and allow Egor to offer at least some resistance to the vampires.

And for me he'd become a personal failure—after all, I was the first one to discover he was an Other—and a good person, at least so far, and a future enemy in the eternal struggle between Good and Evil. The memory of his undecided destiny had remained buried somewhere deep under all the rest.

He could still become absolutely anyone. His future potential was indeterminate. An open book. A Book of Destiny.

He was the one who would stand in front of Svetlana when she picked up the piece of chalk. And he would do it gladly, once Gesar had explained what it was all about. A serious, logical explanation. The boss of the Night Watch, the leader of the Light Ones of Moscow, a great and ancient magician—he'd be able to explain everything clearly. Gesar would talk about correcting mistakes. And it would be the truth. Gesar would talk about the great future that would open up for Egor. And even that would be true! The Dark Ones could lodge a thousand protests, but the Inquisition would certainly take into account that the boy had initially suffered from their actions.

Svetlana would certainly be told that I was depressed by my failure with Egor. And that the main reason the boy had suffered was because the Watch had been busy saving her.

She wouldn't even hesitate.

She'd accept everything she was told to do.

She'd pick up the piece of ordinary chalk that could be used to draw squares for hopscotch in the street or to write «2 + 2 = 4» on a school blackboard.

And she'd start shaping a destiny that hadn't been defined yet.

What were they pla

Who?

A chief, the leader of new parties and revolutions?

A prophet of religions that hadn't been invented yet?

A thinker who would found a new school of social thought?

A musician, a poet, a writer, whose work would alter the consciousness of millions?

Just how many years into the future did the plan of the powers of Light extend?

The original essential nature of an Other could not be changed. Egor would always be a very weak magician, but thanks to the intervention of the Night Watch, he would be a Light Magician.

And in order to alter the destiny of the human world, you didn't have to be an Other. It could even get in the way. It would be much better to have the support of the Watch while you led the human crowd that was so much in need of the happiness we had invented for it.

And he would lead them. I didn't know how, and I didn't know where, but he would lead them. But that was when the Dark Ones would make their move. An assassin can be found for every president. And for every prophet there are a thousand interpreters to distort the essence of the religion, to replace the bright flame with the heat of the inquisitors' pyres. The time came when every book was cast into the fire, when every symphony was reduced to a popular tune and played in all the drinking dens. A sound philosophical basis could be set in place under any vile nonsense.

No, we hadn't learned a thing. Probably because we didn't want to.

But at least I still had a bit of time in hand. And the right to make my move. My only move.

If only I knew what it was.

Should I appeal to Svetlana not to accept what Gesar said, not to get involved in higher magic, not to change anyone else's destiny?

But why should she agree? Everything was being done correctly. Mistakes that had been made were being put right, a happy future was being created for a single individual and humanity as a whole. I was being relieved of the burden of the mistake I'd made. Svetlana was being relieved of the knowledge that her good fortune had been paid for by someone else's tragedy. She was entering the ranks of the Great Sorceresses. What did my vague doubts mean compared to all that? And what were they really?

How much of them was genuine concern, and how much petty self-interest? Where was the Light, where was the Darkness?

«Hey, friend!»

The street trader who owned the stall I was standing in front of was staring at me. Not really an angry look, just a bit a

«You buying anything?»

«Do I look like an idiot?» I asked him.

«Sure you do. If you're not buying, move on.»

From where he stood he was right. But I was in the mood to talk back.

«You don't realize how lucky you are. I'm collecting a crowd for you, attracting customers.»

He was a colorful kind of character. Stocky, red-faced, with huge thick arms, rippling masses of fat and muscle. He sized me up, obviously didn't see anything threatening, and got ready to make some caustic remark.

Then suddenly he smiled.

«Okay, if you're collecting a crowd, put a bit more effort into it. Pretend to buy something. You can even pretend to pay me some money.»

This was a pleasant surprise.

I smiled back at him:

«Would you like me to buy something for real?»

«What would you do that for? This is garbage for the tourists.» The trader stopped smiling, but there was no tension or aggression left in his face. «This damn heat, I keep losing my temper. I wish it would rain.»

I looked up at the sky and shrugged. Something seemed to be changing. Something had shifted in the transparent blue dome of the heavenly oven.

«I think it's going to,» I told him.

«Great.»

We nodded to each other and I walked away, slipping into the stream of people.

I didn't know what to do, but I already knew where to go. And that was a good start.

Chapter 7

Our powers are borrowed to a large extent.

The Dark Ones draw theirs from the suffering of others. Things are a lot simpler for them. They don't even have to cause people any pain. They can just wait. Just keep their eyes open and keep sipping away at people's suffering, like drinking a cocktail through a straw.

We can do the same, only with one small difference. We can draw strength from people who are feeling good, when they're happy. But there's one little difficulty that makes the process easy for the Dark Ones and almost forbidden to us. Happiness and sorrow are not just two levels on a single scale of human emotions. If they were, there'd be no such thing as radiant sorrow or malicious joy. They're two parallel processes, two equal currents of Power, which Others can feel and use.

When a Dark Magician drinks in someone's pain, it only increases.

When a Light Magician takes someone's joy, it decreases.

We can absorb power at any moment. But we very rarely allow ourselves to do it.

That day I decided that I was entitled.

I took a little bit from a couple locked in each other's arms at the entrance to the metro. They were happy, very happy just then. But I could tell that the lovers were parting, and for a long time, and sadness would inevitably come to them anyway. I decided I had a right to do it. Their joy was bright and rich, like a bouquet of scarlet roses, proud and delicate.

I touched a child as he ran past—he was happy; he didn't feel the oppressive heat; he was ru

I saw an old woman in a window. The shadow of death was already hovering over her, she could probably sense it herself. But she was still smiling. Her grandson had come around to see her that day. Probably only to check if his grandmother were still alive, or if the expensive apartment in the center of Moscow were free now. She understood that too, but she was still happy. I felt ashamed, unbearably ashamed, but I touched her and took a little Power. A fading orange and yellow bouquet of asters and autumn leaves…

I walked along just as I used to in my nightmares, when I handed out happiness to everyone on all sides, making sure no one went away without his share. But the trail I left behind me now was quite different. Slightly faded smiles, wrinkled foreheads, lips pressed together in doubt.

It was pretty easy to see where I'd been.

If I met a Day Watch patrol, they wouldn't stop me.