Twilight Watch

The interesting thing was that Gesar hadn't even looked at the compass.

"The airport," Gesar said, sounding pleased. "Okay, no more talk. Go. Requisition someone with a good car and get to that airport pronto."

"But…" I began.

"No artifacts, he'll sense them," Gesar retorted calmly. "And no one else goes with you. He can sense all of us now, you understand? All of us! So move it!"

The brakes hissed and the train came to a halt. I paused for a moment in the doorway and heard him say, "Yes, stick to the Gray Prayer. Don't make things complicated. We'll pump you so full of Power he'll be splattered across the apron."

That was all. Apparently the boss was so fired up I didn't even have to say anything to him-he could hear my thoughts before they were formulated in words.

In the corridor I walked past Zabulon, and couldn't help shuddering when he gave me an encouraging slap on the shoulder.

Zabulon didn't take offense. He just said, "Good luck, Anton! We're counting on you!"

The passengers were sitting quietly in their compartments. The captain of the train was the only one who watched me go with a glassy stare as he made some a

I opened the door into the lobby at the end of the car, lowered the step and jumped down onto the platform. Everything was moving fast somehow. Too fast…

There was the usual bustle in the station. A noisy group turn bled out of the next car, and one of them bellowed, "Now, where are all those gra

The "gra

"Anton!"

I swung around. Las was standing beside me with his bag thrown over his shoulder. He had an unlit cigarette in his mouth and an expression of blissful relief on his face.

"Are you getting off too?" Las asked. "Maybe I can give you a lift somewhere? I've got a car waiting."

"A good car?" I asked.

"I think it's a Volkswagen." Las frowned. "Is that good enough? Or do you insist on a Cadillac?"

I turned my head to look at the windows of the captain's car. Gesar, Zabulon, and Edgar were watching me.

"That's fine," I said glumly. "Right… I'm sorry. I'm really in a great hurry and I need a car. I turn you toward…"

"Well, let's get going, why are we standing here, if you're in such a hurry?" Las asked, interrupting the standard formula for recruiting volunteers.

And he slipped into the crowd so smartly that I had no choice but to follow him.

We forced our way through the mindless, jostling crowd in the station and out onto the square in front of it. I caught up with Las and tapped him on the shoulder:

"I turn you…"

"I see it, I see it!" Las said, totally ignoring me. "Hi, Roman!"

The man who came up to us was quite tall, with a well-fed look, almost like a child-so sleek and well-rounded, with the folds of skin around the wrists and ankles you find on a plump baby. A small mouth with tight little lips and small, inexpressive eyes that looked bored behind his spectacles.

"Hello, Alexander," this gentleman said in a way that was somehow very formal, holding his hand out smoothly to Las.

"This is Anton, my friend, can we give him a lift?"

"Why shouldn't we give him a lift?" Roman agreed sadly. "The wheels go around, it's a smooth road." Then he turned and walked toward a brand-new Volkswagen Bora.

We followed him and got into the car. I impudently slipped into the front passenger seat. Las cleared his throat loudly, but climbed meekly into the back. Roman switched on the ignition and asked: "Where do you want to go, Anton?"

His speech was as smooth and streamlined as if he wasn't speaking, but writing the words in the air.

"The airport, it's urgent," I said somberly.

"Where?" Roman asked in genuine amazement. He looked at Las. "Perhaps your friend ought to find a taxi?"

Las gave me an embarrassed look. Then he gave Roman an equally embarrassed one.

"All right," I said. "I turn you toward the Light. Reject the Darkness, defend the Light. I grant you the vision to distinguish Good from Evil. I grant you the faith to follow the Light. I grant you the courage to battle the Darkness."

Las giggled. And then immediately fell silent.

It's not a matter of words, of course. Words can't change anything, not even if you emphasize every last one of them with a capital letter. It's like the witches' spells-a mnemonic formula, a template implanted in my memory. I can simply compel someone to obey me, but this way… this way's more correct. It brings an old, tried, and tested mechanism into play.

Roman straightened up and his cheeks even seemed to lose some of their plumpness. A moment ago the person beside me had been an overgrown, capricious infant, but now he was a man. A warrior!

"The Light be with you!" I concluded.

"To the airport!" Roman declared in delight.

The engine roared and we went tearing off, squeezing every last ounce of power out of the small German car. I'm sure that sports sedan had never really shown what it could do before.

I closed my eyes and looked through the Twilight-at a pattern of branching colored lines against a background of darkness. Like a crumpled bundle of optical fibers-some green, some yellow, some red. I'm not the best at reading the lines of probability, but this time I found it surprisingly easy. I was feeling in better shape than I ever had before.

That meant there was already Power flowing into me. Power from Gesar and Zabulon, Edgar and the Inquisitors. And maybe right now Others were transfixed across Moscow, Light Ones and Dark Ones-the ones Gesar and Zabulon had the right to draw Power from.

I'd only ever felt anything like this once before. That time when I drew Power directly out of people.

"We go left at the third turn, there's a traffic jam ahead," I said. "Then we turn right into the yard and out through the archway… into the side street there…"

I'd never been in Saratov before, but that didn't make any difference right now.

"Yes sir," Roman replied briskly.

"Faster!"

"Very well!"

I looked at Las. He took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. The car hurtled through the crowded streets. Roman drove with the wild fury of a tram driver who's been given a chance to lap Schumacher in a Formula-1 grand prix.

Las sighed and asked, "Now what's going to happen to me? Are you going to take a little flashlight out of your pocket and tell me 'it was a marsh gas explosion?'"

"You can see for yourself-no flashlight's required," I said.

"But will I stay alive?" Las persisted.

"You will," I reassured him. "Only you won't remember anything. I'm sorry, but that's standard procedure."

"I get it," Las said sadly. "Shit… Why is that always the way? Tell me, since it makes no difference…"

The car tore along the side street, bouncing over the potholes. Las stubbed his cigarette out and went on. "Tell me, who are you?"

"An Other."

"What sort of other exactly?"

"A magician. Don't worry-I'm a Light Magician."

"My, but you've grown, Harry Potter…" Las said. "What a crazy business. Maybe I've just lost my mind?"

"No chance…" I said, pushing my hands hard against the ceiling. Roman was really going for it, driving straight across some flowerbeds to cut a corner. "Careful, Roman! We need to move fast, but safely."

"Then tell me," Las persisted. "Does this car race have anything to do with that abnormally large bat we saw yesterday night?"

"Believe it or not, it does," I confirmed. The Power was seething inside me, as intoxicating as champagne. It made me feel like clowning. "Are you afraid of vampires?"

Las took a flask of whisky out of his bag, tore the top off it and took a long swig. Then he said cheerfully, "Not a bit!"