Day Watch

These people who live above me,

These people who live below me,

Who snore on the other side of the wall,

Who live underneath the ground…

What wouldn't I give for a pair of wings,

What wouldn't I give for a third eye,

For a hand with fourteen fingers on it!

I need a different gas to breathe!

Their tears are salty, their laughter is harsh,

They never have enough for everyone.

They love seeing their faces in fresh newspapers,

But next day the papers are flushed away.

These people who give birth to children,

These people who suffer from pain,

These people who shoot at people,

But can't eat their food without salt.

What wouldn't they give for a pair of wings,

What wouldn't they give for a third eye,

For a hand with fourteen fingers on it-

They need a different gas to breathe.

Something cold and sticky stirred inside me. A terrible, dreary, hopeless feeling…

That was our song. This was like our song… far too much like a song for the Others.

I could feel the emotions of the boys sitting beside him. I was almost a normal Other now and felt as if I'd be able to summon the Twilight any moment. It was like when we were having sex the night before-that gathering momentum on a swing, that balancing on a razor's edge, that waiting for the explosion, the chasm beneath my feet… There were streams of Power flowing all around-still too coarse for me, not the light broth from children's nightmares, just the fat-cheeked boy's depression because he was missing his parents: He had some problem with his heart, he didn't play much with the other boys, he followed Igor around more or less the same way as Olechka stuck to me.

It wasn't light broth.

But it was still almost exactly what I needed…

I can't wait any longer!

I swayed forward, reached out and took hold of the boy's shoulder, drawing in his blank sadness, and the sudden surge of energy almost made me throw up. But then the world turned cool and gray, my shadow fell across the worn floorboards of the veranda like a black chasm, and I fell into it, into the Twilight, just in time to see…

… to see Igor drawing in Power from the boy Alyoshka who was pressing against him-a thin lilac stream of Power: the expectation of pranks and adventures, delights and discoveries, joys and frights-the entire bouquet of feelings and emotions of a healthy, happy child, content with the world and with himself…

A Light bouquet.

Light Power.

The dark unto the Dark Ones.

The light unto the Light Ones.

I stood up, still half in the real world, half in the Twilight, to face Igor, who was also standing up, to face the lover that I loved, a Light magician of the Moscow Night Watch.

To face my enemy.

I heard him shout: "No!"

And I heard my own voice shout: "Don't!"

The very first thought that had come into my head proved to be wrong. No, Igor hadn't been working against me, playing out some insidious plans of the Night Watch. He had lost his Power-exactly as I had. He hadn't seen my aura, he couldn't have had any idea that he was looking at a witch.

He had fallen in love with me. With his eyes closed. Exactly as I had with him.

The world was gray and dreary. It was the cold world of the Twilight that makes us what we are-Power-hungry-but also helps us to find that Power. No sounds, no colors. The leaves frozen still on the trees, the frozen figures of the two boys, the guitar suspended in midair-Igor had let go of it as he entered the Twilight. Thousands of icy little needles pricked my skin, drawing out of me the energy I had only just acquired, drawing me down into the Twilight forever… but I was an Other again and I could draw Power from the world around me. I reached forward and scraped out every last little drop of everything dark that there was in the fat boy. I no longer had any problems absorbing Power. I no longer had to focus on what I was doing and how. It was all easy and familiar.

And Igor did the same thing with Alyoshka. Maybe a bit less skillfully-the Light Ones only rarely harvest Power from people directly. They're shackled by their own stupid restrictions, but he drank in all of the boy's joy, and I felt an u

"Alisa…"

"Igor…"

He was suffering. It was far harder for him than for me. The Light Ones spend all their lives chasing illusions. They're filled with false hopes and don't know how to survive a heavy blow, but he was handling it and I was handling it too… I was… I was…

"How absurd," he whispered and shook his head sharply-a strange gesture in this gloomy haze, in the Twilight. "You… you're a witch…"

I felt him reach out to my mind-not deep into it, just to the very surface, simply trying to make sure… or hoping to be proved wrong… and I didn't try to resist. I just reached out in reply.

And I laughed-at the unbearable pain.

South Butovo.

Edgar standing against the Light magicians.

We were feeding Edgar with Power, and the Light Ones were being fed by the magicians in their second line.

Including Igor.

I recognized his aura, remembered his Power profile. Things like that are never forgotten.

And he recognized me…

Of course, I didn't know him by sight and I'd never heard his name. But why should an ordinary patrol witch know all one thousand agents of the Moscow Night Watch? All those magicians, wizards, enchanters, shape-shifters… When we needed to know, they gave us a specific briefing. The way they had for Anton Gorodetsky, when we'd followed him on Zabulon's secret instructions a year and a half earlier and managed to catch him committing an illegal intervention… And there were some you just couldn't help remembering… like Tiger Cub, for instance.

But I'd never known about Igor. A third-level Light magician. Probably a bit more powerful than me, although it was hard to compare the powers of a natural magician and a witch. My beloved, my lover, my enemy…

My fate…

"What made you do it?" Igor asked. "Alisa… why did you do it?"

"What do you mean why?" I almost shouted out, but I stopped myself because I realized he wouldn't believe me. He would never believe that what had happened was mere coincidence-just a stupid and tragic accident-that there hadn't been any evil intent, that a cruel twist of fate had brought us together in the moment of our weakness, when we could not recognize each other, could not sense our enemy… at the very moment when all we could do and all we wanted to do was to love.

How can we say why anything in this world happens? Why am I a Dark One? Why is he a Light One? After all, both of these are mixed together in all of us-at the begi

Igor could have been my friend and colleague, a Dark One…

And I… probably… could have become a Light One. And then I wouldn't have been taught by a wise witch, but a wise enchantress… and I wouldn't have paid my enemies back in kind, but sentimentally set them on "the true road"… by turning the other cheek… and I would have delighted in every pompous piece of their stupid nonsense.

I only realized that I was crying when the world started spi

I tried to draw Power from my donor, the fat boy, but he was already drained; I reached toward Alyoshka, but he was absolutely neutral, squeezed dry by Igor. I couldn't draw energy from Igor and I didn't want to anyway, and everyone else was too far away, and the world was spi