But then, that only improved my chances . . .
The vampires turned toward me in confusion, not understanding what was going on. The boy was in their Twilight, I shouldn’t have been able to see him . . . or them either.
Then the male vampire’s face began to relax, he even smiled—a calm, friendly smile.
“Hi there . . .”
He’d taken me for one of his own. And he could hardly be blamed for his mistake: I really was one of them now. Almost. The week of preparation had not been wasted: I had begun to sense them . . . but I’d almost gone over to the Dark Side myself.
“Night Watch,” I said. I held my hand out, holding the amulet. It was discharged, but that’s not so easy to sense at a distance. “Leave the Twilight!”
The young guy would probably have obeyed me, hoping that I didn’t know about the trail of blood he’d left behind him, that the whole business could just be classified as “an attempt at unauthorized interaction with a human being.” But the girl lacked his self-control; she didn’t understand.
“A-a-a-agh!” She threw herself at me with a long, drawn-out howl. It was a good thing she still hadn’t sunk her teeth into the boy; she was out of her mind now, like a desperate junkie who’s just stuck a needle in his vein only to have it jerked back out again, like a nymphomaniac after her man pulled out just a moment before orgasm.
Her lunge would have been too fast for any human being; no one could have parried it.
But I was in the same dimension of reality as the girl-vampire. I threw up my arm and splashed the liquid out of the open bottle into the hideously transformed face.
Why do vampires tolerate alcohol so poorly?
The menacing scream changed to a shrill squeal. The girl-vampire began whirling around on the spot, beating her hands against her face as it shed layers of skin and grayish flesh. The male vampire swung round, all set to dart away.
This was going too easily altogether. A registered vampire isn’t some casual visitor I have to fight on equal terms. I threw the bottle at the girl-vampire, reached out my hand and grabbed hold of the cord of his registration tag, which had unraveled on command. The vampire gave a hoarse croak and clutched at his throat.
“Leave the Twilight!” I shouted.
I think he realized things were looking really bad now. He flung himself toward me, trying to reduce the pressure from the cord, extending his fangs and transforming as he came.
If the amulet had been fully charged, I could have simply stunned him.
As it was, I had to kill him.
The tag—a seal on the vampire’s chest that gave off a faint blue glow—made a crunching sound when I gave the silent order. The energy implanted in it by someone with far more skill than me flooded into the dead body. The vampire was still running. He was well-fed and strong; other people’s lives were still nourishing his dead flesh. But he couldn’t possibly resist such a powerful blow: His skin shriveled until it was stretched as taut as parchment over his bones; slime gushed out of his eye sockets. Then his spine shattered and the twitching remains collapsed at my feet.
I swung around—the girl-vampire could have regenerated already. But there was no danger. She was running away across the yard between the buildings, taking huge bounds. She still hadn’t left the Twilight, so I was the only one who could see this astounding sight. Apart from the dogs, of course. Somewhere off to one side a small canine broke into hysterical barking, transfixed simultaneously by hatred and fear and all the other feelings that dogs have felt for the living dead since time immemorial.
I didn’t have enough strength left to chase the vampire. I straightened up and captured a 3–D image of her aura—gray, desiccated, rotten. We’d find her. There was nowhere she could hide now.
But where was the boy?
After he emerged from the Twilight created by the vampires, he could have fainted or fallen into a trance. But he wasn’t in the alley. He couldn’t have run past me . . . I bounded out of the alley into the yard and saw him. He was bolting, moving almost as fast as the vampire. Well, good for him! That was wonderful. No help required. It was bad that he would remember everything that had happened, but then who would believe a young boy? And before morning all his memories would fade and assume the less menacing features of a fantastic nightmare.
Or should I really go after the little guy?
“Anton!”
It was Igor and Garik, our inseparable duo of operatives, running down the alley from the avenue.
“The girl got away!” I shouted.
Garik kicked out at the vampire’s shriveled corpse as he ran, sending a cloud of rotten dust flying up into the frosty air. He shouted:
“The image!”
I sent him the image of the girl-vampire running away. Garik frowned and started moving faster. Both operatives dashed off in pursuit. Igor shouted as he ran:
“Clear up the trash!”
I nodded, as if they needed an answer, and emerged from my own Twilight. The world blossomed. The operatives’ silhouettes melted away, and their invisible feet even stopped leaving tracks in the snow lying in the human dimension of reality.
I sighed and walked over to their gray Volvo parked at the curb. There were a few primitive implements lying on the backseat: a heavy-duty plastic bag, a shovel, and a small sweeping brush. It took me about five minutes to scrape up the vampire’s feather-light remains and put the bag in the trunk. I took some dirty snow from a decaying heap left by a careless yard-keeper, scattered it in the alley, and trampled it a bit, working the final dusty, rotten remains into the slush. No human burial for you, you’re not human . . .
That was all.
I went back to the car, got into the driver’s seat, and unbuttoned my jacket. I felt good, very good, in fact. The senior vampire was dead, the guys would pick up his girlfriend, and the boy was alive.
I could just imagine how delighted the boss would be!
CHAPTER 2
“SLOPPY WORK!”
I tried to say something, but the next remark stung like a slap to the cheek and shut me up.
“You screwed up!”
“But . . .”
“Do you at least understand your own mistakes?”
The boss had cooled off a bit, and I took the risk of raising my eyes from the floor and saying cautiously:
“It seems to me . . .”
I like being in that office. It stirs the kid in me to see all those amusing little trinkets standing on the shelves in the bulletproof glass cupboards, hanging all over the walls, tossed carelessly on the desk, jumbled up with the computer floppies and business papers. Every item there—from the old Japanese fan to the jagged piece of metal with a deer welded onto it, the symbol of some auto plant—had its own history. If you were lucky and the boss was in the mood you could hear some very, very interesting stories.
Only I don’t seem to find him in that kind of mood too often.
“Okay.” The boss stopped striding round the office, sat down in a leather armchair, and lit up. “Let’s hear it.”
His voice had turned businesslike, matching his appearance. To the human eye he looked about forty years old, and he belonged to that narrow circle of businessmen that the government likes to rely on so much.
“What do you want to hear?” I asked, at the risk of provoking yet another impartial assessment.
“The mistakes. Your mistakes.”
Right then . . . Okay.
“My first mistake, Boris Ignatievich,” I said with a perfectly innocent air, “was that I failed to understand the nature of the mission correctly.”
“Oh, really?” the boss replied.
“Well, I assumed my goal was to track down a vampire who had begun actively hunting in Moscow. To track him down and . . . er . . . neutralize him.”
“Go on, go on . . .” the boss encouraged me.
“In actual fact the basic purpose of the mission was to determine my suitability for operational activity, for field work. Sta
rting with my incorrect understanding of the mission, that is, following the principle ‘separate and protect’ . . .”
The boss sighed and nodded. Anyone who didn’t know him too well might even have thought he was ashamed.
“And did you contravene this principle in any way?”
“No, and that’s why I botched the mission.”
“How did you botch it?”
“Right at the beginning . . .” I squinted sideways at a stuffed white polar owl standing on a shelf behind the glass. Had it really moved its head? “Right at the beginning I drained the amulet in a futile attempt to neutralize a black vortex . . .”
Boris Ignatievich frowned. He brushed his hair back with his hand.
“Okay, let’s start with that. I’ve studied the image, and if you haven’t touched it up . . .”
I shook my head indignantly.
“I believe you. Well, a vortex like that can’t be removed with an amulet. Do you remember the classification?”
Damn! Why hadn’t I flicked through my old notes?
“I’m sure you don’t. But it doesn’t matter. There is no class for this vortex. There’s no way you could possibly have dealt with it . . .” The boss leaned over across the desk and continued in a mysterious whisper: “. . . and you know what . . .”
I was all ears.
“There’s no way I could have either, Anton.”
This confession was unexpected, and I couldn’t think of anything to say. Maybe no one had ever actually said out loud that the boss could do anything, but that was what everyone who worked in the office believed.
“Anton, a vortex as strong as that can be removed only by the person who created it.”
“We have to find him . . .” I said uncertainly. “I feel sorry for the girl . . .”
“This isn’t about her. Not just about her.”
“Why?” I blurted out, and then hastily corrected myself. “We have to stop the Dark Magician, don’t we?”
The boss sighed.
“He might have a license. He might be entitled to cast the curse . . . This isn’t even about the magician. A black vortex as powerful as that . . . You remember the plane that crashed last winter?”
I shuddered. We had not done anything wrong, but there was a loophole in the law: A pilot who was under a curse had lost control, and his airliner had crashed into a residential area of the city. Hundreds of perfectly innocent lives . . .
“Vortices like that can’t act selectively. The girl’s doomed, but it won’t just be a brick that accidentally falls off some roof onto her head. More likely a building will explode, there’ll be an epidemic, or someone will drop an atom bomb on Moscow by mistake. That’s the real problem, Anton.”
The boss suddenly swung around and cast a withering glance at the owl. It folded its wings away quickly and the gleam in its glass eyes faded.
“Boris Ignatievich,” I said, horrified. “I’m at fault . . .”
“Of course you are. There’s only one redeeming fact, Anton.” The boss cleared his throat. “When you gave way to pity, you acted quite correctly. The amulet couldn’t completely detach the vortex, but it has postponed the Inferno for a while. And now we have a day to work with . . . maybe even two. I’ve always believed that ill-considered but well-intentioned actions do more good than actions that are well-considered but cruel. If you hadn’t used the amulet, half of Moscow would already be lying in ruins.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Look for the girl. Protect her . . . as well as we can. We’ll be able to destabilize the vortex again once or twice. And in the meantime we’ll have to find the magician who cast the curse and make him remove the vortex.”
I nodded.
“Everybody will be involved in the search,” the boss said casually. “I’ve recalled all the guys from vacation, Ilya will be back from Ceylon by morning and the others will be here by lunch. The weather’s bad in Europe. I’ve asked our colleagues in the European office to help, but by the time they can disperse the clouds . . .”
“By morning?” I asked, glancing at my watch. “Another whole day.”
“No, this morning,” the boss replied, as if unaware of the midday sunshine outside the window. “You’ll be searching too. Perhaps you’ll get lucky again . . . Shall we continue with our analysis of your mistakes?”
“Can we afford to waste the time?” I asked timidly.
“Don’t worry; it won’t be wasted.” The boss got up, walked over to the glass cupboard, took out the owl, and set it down on the desk. From close up you could see it really was a stuffed bird, with no more life in it than a fur collar . . . “Let’s move on to the vampires and their victim.”
“I lost the girl-vampire. And the guys didn’t catch her,” I confirmed penitently.
“No complaints there. You fought worthily enough. The point is—the victim . . .”
“Sure, the boy kept his memories. But he took off so fast . . .”
“Anton! Wake up! They hooked the boy with the Call from a distance of several kilometers! When he walked into that alley he ought to have been a helpless puppet! And when the Twilight disappeared, he ought to have fainted! Anton, if he was still able to move after everything that had happened—he possesses superb magical potential!”
The boss paused.
“I’m an idiot.”
“No, but you have been sitting on your backside in the lab far too long. Anton, this boy is potentially more powerful than I am!”
“Oh, come on . . .”
“Drop the flattery . . .”
The telephone on the desk rang. It was obviously something urgent; not many people know the boss’s direct number. I don’t.
“Quiet!” the boss snapped at the innocent phone. It stopped. “Anton, you have to find that young boy. The girl-vampire who got away is not dangerous in herself. Either our guys will find her or an ordinary patrol will pick her up. But if she drinks the boy’s blood or, even worse, initiates him . . . You’ve no idea what a full-fledged vampire’s like. These modern ones are mere mosquitoes compared with some Nosferatu. And with all the airs he put on, he still wasn’t one of the best . . . So the boy must be found, examined, and, if possible, taken into the Watch. We have no right to let him go over to the Dark Side; the balance of power in Moscow would totally collapse.”
“Is that an order?”
“Given under license,” the boss said darkly. “I have the right to issue that kind of order, you know that.”
“Yes, I know,” I said quietly. “But where do I begin? That is, which one do I begin with?”
“Whoever you like. I’d say with the girl. But try to find the boy too.”
“Shall I go now?”
“Catch up on your sleep first.”
“I slept long enough, Boris Ignatievich . . .”
“I doubt it. I’d recommend an hour at least.”
I didn’t understand. I’d got up at eleven and dashed straight to the office. I felt perfectly fresh and full of energy.
“Here’s someone to help you.” The boss flicked the stuffed owl with his finger. The bird stretched out its wings and started screeching indignantly.
I swallowed hard and risked a question:
“Who is it? Or what is it?”
“Why do you need to know?” asked the boss, looking into the owl’s eyes.
“To decide whether I want to work with it!”
The owl glared at me and hissed like an enraged cat.
“That’s the wrong way of putting it,” said the boss, shaking his head. “Will she agree to work with you, that’s the real question.”
The owl started screeching again.
“Yes,” said the boss, talking to the bird now, not to me. “There’s a lot of truth in what you say. But who was it that requested a new appeal?”
The bird froze.
“I promise I’ll intercede for you. And this time there is a chance.”
“Boris Ignatievich, in my opinion . . .”
I began.
“I’m sorry, Anton, that doesn’t bother me . . .” The boss stretched out his arm; the owl took a clumsy stride with its fluffy legs and stood on his open hand. “You don’t know just how lucky you are.”
I didn’t answer that. The boss went across to the window, opened it wide, and stuck his hand out. The owl flapped its wings and went hurtling downward, moving really well for a stuffed dummy.
“Where has . . . it . . . gone?”
“To your place. You’ll be working as partners . . .” The boss rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Oh yes! Don’t forget, her name’s Olga.”
“The owl?”
“The owl. Feed her and take care of her and everything will be fine. And now . . . get a bit of sleep. No need to come into the office when you get up; wait for Olga to arrive and get on with the job. Check out the circle line in the metro, for instance . . .”
“How can I get back to sleep . . .” I began. But the world around me was already turning dim, fading away, dissolving. The corner of a pillow jutted painfully into my cheek.
I was lying in my own bed.
My head felt heavy; my eyes were full of sand. My throat felt parched and painful.
“Agh . . .” I gasped hoarsely, turning over onto my back. Through the heavy curtains I couldn’t see whether it was still night or the day was well advanced. I squinted at the clock: The glowing figures showed eight.
It was the first time I’d been granted an audience with the boss in my sleep.
It’s not a very pleasant business, especially for the boss—he must have broken through into my mind.
Time must really be short if he’d decided it was necessary to hold his briefing in the world of dreams. And it had all seemed much more real than I would have expected. The mission analysis, that stupid owl . . .
The sound of tapping on the window made me start. A rapid, gentle tapping that sounded like claws. I heard a muffled screeching.
But what else was I really expecting?
I jumped up, adjusted my shorts awkwardly, and hurried across to the window. All the garbage that I’d swallowed as part of the preparation for the hunt was still affecting me, and I could distinguish the outlines of objects quite clearly.