Night Watch

  The boy came back into the living room. He sat down on the couch and started adjusting the silver chain around his neck.

  “What is better?” I asked. “We were people once, but we’ve learned to enter the Twilight; we’ve learned to change the nature of things and other people. And what’s changed, Olga?”

  “At least vampires don’t hunt without a license.”

  “Tell that to the person whose blood they drink . . .”

  The cat appeared in the doorway and fixed his gaze on us. He howled, glaring angrily at the owl.

  “It’s you he doesn’t like, Olga,” I said. “Move deeper into the Twilight.”

  “Too late,” Olga replied. “Sorry, I let my guard down.”

  The boy sprang up off the couch, far faster than is possible in the human world. Clumsily, without even knowing what was happening to him, he entered his shadow and immediately fell on the floor, looking up at me. Through the Twilight.

  “I’m leaving . . .” the owl whispered as she disappeared. Her claws dug painfully into my shoulder.

  “No!” shouted the boy. “I know! I know! You’re here!”

  I started to get up, spreading my hands.

  “I can see you! Don’t touch me!”

  He was in the Twilight. He’d done it, just like that. Without any help from anyone, without any curses or stimulants, without any magician to tutor him, the boy had crossed the boundary between the ordinary and the Twilight worlds.

  The way you first enter the Twilight, what you see and what you feel there, goes a long way to determine who you’ll become.

  A Dark One or a Light One. Olga’s voice in my head:

  “We have no right to let him go over to the Dark Side; the balance in Moscow would completely collapse.”

  Okay, kid, you’re right on the very edge.

  That was more terrifying than any inexperienced vampire.

  Boris Ignatievich was entitled to have the boy taken out.

  “Don’t be afraid,” I said, not moving from the spot. “Don’t be afraid. I’m your friend and I won’t do you any harm.”

  The boy crawled as far as the corner and froze there, never once taking his eyes off me. He clearly didn’t understand that he’d shifted into the Twilight. It looked to him as if the room had suddenly turned dark, a sudden silence had fallen, and I’d appeared out of nowhere . . .

  “Don’t be afraid,” I repeated. “My name’s Anton. What’s your name?”

  He didn’t say anything. He kept gulping, over and over again. Then he pressed his hand against his neck, felt for the chain, and seemed to calm down a bit.

  “I’m not a vampire,” I said.

  “Who are you?” the boy yelled. It was a good thing that piercing shriek couldn’t be heard in the everyday world.

  “Anton. A Night Watch agent.”

  His eyes opened wide, as if he were in pain.

  “It’s my job to protect people against vampires and all sorts of vermin.”

  “You’re lying . . .”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. Good. He was trying to assess his actions so far and explain his reasons. That meant the fear hadn’t completely paralyzed his mind.

  “What’s your name?” I asked again. I could have influenced the boy and removed his fear. But that would have been an intervention, and a forbidden one.

  “Egor . . .”

  “A good name. My name’s Anton. Do you understand? I’m Anton Sergeevich Gorodetsky. A Night Watch agent. Yesterday I killed a vampire who was attacking you.”

  “Just one?”

  Excellent. Now we had the makings of a conversation.

  “Yes. The girl-vampire got away. They’re searching for her now. Don’t be afraid, I’m here to guard you . . . to destroy the vampire.”

  “Why is everything so gray?” Egor suddenly asked.

  Good boy. That’s really good thinking.

  “I’ll explain. Only first let’s agree that I’m not your enemy. All right?”

  “We’ll see.”

  He held on to his absurd little chain, as if it could save him from anything. Oh, kid, if only everything in this world were that easy. Silver won’t save you, or poplar wood, or the holy cross. It’s life against death, love against hate . . . and power against power, because power has no moral categories. That’s how simple it is. In the last couple of years I’ve come to realize that.

  “Egor,” I said, walking slowly across to him. “Listen, I want to tell you something.”

  “Stop!”

  He shouted the command as sharply as if he were holding a weapon in his hands. I sighed and stopped.

  “All right. Now listen. Apart from the ordinary world that the human eye can see, there is also a shadow world, the Twilight world.”

  He thought. Despite his fear—and he was terribly afraid, I could feel the waves of his suffocating horror washing over me—the boy was trying to understand. There are some people who are paralyzed by fear. And there are some it only makes stronger.

  I was really hoping he would be one of the second kind.

  “A parallel world?”

  There, now he was bringing in science fiction. But never mind, it didn’t matter. Names are nothing more than sounds.

  “Yes, and only people with supernatural powers can enter that world.”

  “Vampires?”

  “Not only. There are werewolves, witches, black magicians . . . white magicians, healers, seers.”

  “And they all really exist?”

  He was soaking wet. His hair was clumped together; his sweatshirt was clinging to his body; beads of sweat were rolling down his cheeks. But still the boy never took his eyes off me and was getting ready to thwart me. As if he really had the power to do it.

  “Yes, Egor. Sometimes people appear who can enter the Twilight world. They take the side of either Good or Evil. Light or Darkness. They are the Others. That’s what we call each other, the Others.”

  “Are you an Other?”

  “Yes, and so are you.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re in the Twilight world right now, kid. Take a look around, listen. All the colors have turned gray. The sounds have faded away. The second hand on the clock is barely creeping along. You entered the Twilight world . . . you wanted to see the danger and you crossed the boundary between worlds. Time moves more slowly here, everything is different here. This is the world of the Others.”

  “I don’t believe it.” Egor glanced around quickly, then looked back at me. “Then why’s Gray here?”

  “The cat?” I smiled. “Animals follow their own laws, Egor. Cats live in all the dimensions at once; for them there is no difference.”

  “I don’t believe you.” His voice was trembling. “It’s all a dream, I know! When the light fades like that . . . I’m asleep. It’s happened to me before.”

  “So you’ve had dreams about turning on the light and the bulb not lighting up?” I already knew the answer, and anyway I could read it in the boy’s eyes. “Or it lights up, but only very, very faintly, like a candle? And you’re walking along with the Darkness swaying all around you, and you hold out your hand and you can’t even make out your own fingers?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “That happens to all of us, Egor. Every Other has dreams like that. It’s the Twilight world creeping into us, calling us, reminding us about itself. You are an Other. Still a young one, but you are. And you’re the only one . . .”

  I didn’t realize immediately that his eyes were closed and his head was slumped to one side.

  “You idiot,” Olga hissed from my shoulder. “This is the first time he’s entered the Twilight independently! He hasn’t got the strength for this! Pull him out quickly, or he’ll stay here forever!”

  Twilight coma is a novice’s problem. I’d almost forgotten about it, because I’d never worked with young Others.

  “Egor!” I leapt across and shook him, grabbing him under the shoulders. He was light, very light
—it’s not only the movement of time that changes in the Twilight world. “Wake up!”

  The boy didn’t respond. He’d already done what it takes others months of training to do—entered the Twilight on his own. And the Twilight world just loves to suck the strength out of you.

  “Pull him out!” said Olga, taking command of the situation. “He won’t wake up himself.”

  I’d done the emergency rescue courses, but I’d never had to drag anyone out of the Twilight for real.

  “Egor, snap out of it!” I slapped him on the cheeks. Gently at first, then I started putting real force into it. “Come on, kid. You’re slipping away into the Twilight world! Wake up!”

  He was getting lighter and lighter, melting away in my arms. The Twilight was drinking his life, sucking out his final ounces of strength. The Twilight was changing his body, claiming it as a permanent resident. What had I done?

  “Seal yourself off!” Olga’s sharp voice focused my mind. “Seal yourself off, and him too . . .”

  It always used to take me more than a minute to form a sphere. This time I did it in five seconds flat. I felt a stab of pain—as if a small shell had exploded inside my head. I threw back my head when the sphere of exclusion emerged from my body, shrouding me like a shimmering soap bubble. The bubble expanded, reluctantly enveloping me and the boy.

  “That’s it; now hold it there. I can’t do anything to help you, Anton. Hold that sphere!”

  Olga was wrong. She’d already helped me, with her advice. I’d probably have realized that I ought to form a sphere, but I could have lost precious seconds in the process.

  It started getting lighter. The Twilight was still draining our strength—mine with an effort, the boy’s with ease—but now it only had a few cubic meters of space to operate with. The ordinary laws of physics don’t apply here, but there are parallels. A balance was being established between our living bodies and the Twilight.

  Either the Twilight would dissolve and release its prey or the boy would remain an inhabitant of the Twilight world. Forever. It’s what happens to magicians who have pushed themselves beyond the limit, either through carelessness or because they had no choice. It’s what happens with novices who don’t know how to protect themselves against the Twilight properly and allow it to take more than they should.

  I looked at Egor: His face was turning gray. He was slipping away into the infinite expanses of the shadow world.

  I threw the boy across my right arm, took a penknife out of my left pocket, and opened the blade with my teeth.

  “That’s dangerous,” Olga warned me.

  I didn’t answer. I just slashed my wrist.

  When the blood spurted out, the twilight hissed like a red-hot frying pan. Everything went blurred. It wasn’t just the loss of the blood; my very life was seeping away with it. I’d ruptured my own defenses against the Twilight.

  But the dose of energy was too large for it to absorb.

  The world turned brighter; my shadow jumped onto the floor and I stepped through it. The rainbow film of the sphere of exclusion burst, releasing us into the everyday world.

  CHAPTER 5

  A THIN STREAM OF BLOOD SPLASHED ONTO THE CARPET. THE boy was slumped in my arms, still unconscious, but his face was returning to pink. The cat was screeching in the next room as if its throat were being cut.

  I lowered Egor onto the couch, sat down beside him, and said:

  “Olga, a bandage . . .”

  The owl launched off my shoulder and dashed away like a white streak into the kitchen. She must have slipped into the Twilight on the way, because she was back in a few seconds with a bandage in her beak.

  Egor opened his eyes just at the moment when I took the bandage from the owl and started binding up my wrist. He asked:

  “Who’s that?”

  “An owl. Surely you can see that!”

  “What happened to me?” he asked. His voice was hardly trembling at all.

  “You lost consciousness.”

  “Why?” His eyes wandered anxiously over the traces of blood on the floor and my clothes. I’d managed not to get any on Egor.

  “It’s my blood,” I explained. “I cut myself by accident. You have to be careful when you enter the Twilight, Egor. It’s an alien environment, even for us, the Others. While we’re in the Twilight world, we have to expend our strength constantly, feeding its vital energy. But a little at a time. If you don’t keep control of the process, the Twilight will suck all the life out of you. It’s just a price we have to pay.”

  “And I paid more than I should have?”

  “More than you had. And you almost stayed in the Twilight world forever. It’s not death—but maybe it’s worse than death.”

  “Let me help . . .” The boy winced as he sat up—he must have felt dizzy. I held out my hand and he started bandaging my wrist, clumsily but trying hard. The boy’s aura hadn’t changed, it was still iridescent, neutral. He’d already entered the Twilight, but it hadn’t left its mark.

  “Do you believe I’m your friend?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Not my enemy, I suppose. Or you can’t do anything to me!”

  I reached out and touched the boy’s neck and he instantly tensed up. I unfastened the little chain and took it off his neck.

  “You see?”

  “So you’re not a vampire?” His voice was a bit husky.

  “No. But that’s not why I could touch the garlic and the silver, Egor. They won’t stop a vampire.”

  “But in all the films . . .”

  “And in all the films the good guys always beat the bad guys. Listen, kid, superstitions are dangerous; they give people false hope.”

  “Isn’t there any real hope?”

  “No. Not really.” I got up and felt the bandage. Not bad; it was quite tight and holding firm. In half an hour I’d be able to heal the wound with a spell, but I didn’t have enough strength yet. The boy looked up at me from the couch. Yes, he was a bit calmer now. But he still didn’t trust me. It amused me that he ignored the white owl dozing on the television with an innocent air. It looked as if Olga had influenced his mind after all. That was all to the good: Explaining who the talking white owl was would have been rather tricky.

  “Have you got any food?” I asked.

  “What kind?”

  “Any kind. Tea with sugar. A piece of bread. I used up a lot of strength too.”

  “I’ll find something. How did you get cut?”

  I didn’t go into the details, but I didn’t lie about it, either.

  “It was deliberate. I had to do it to get you out of the Twilight.”

  “Thanks. If it’s true.”

  He was a bit mouthy, but I liked that.

  “You’re welcome. If you disappeared into the Twilight, my boss would have my head.”

  The boy snorted and got up. But he was still keeping his distance from me.

  “What boss is that?”

  “A very strict one. Well, are you going to pour me some tea?”

  “Anything for a good man.” Yes, he was still afraid. And he was hiding his fear by being cocky and familiar.

  “Get this straight—I’m not a human being. I’m an Other. And you’re an Other.”

  “But what’s the difference,” said Egor, looking me up and down challengingly. “You don’t look any different.”

  “Until you give me some tea, I won’t say a word. Didn’t anyone teach you how to treat guests?”

  “Uninvited ones? How did you get in?”

  “Through the door. I’ll show you. Later.”

  “Come on then.” It looked like I was going to get my tea after all. As I set out after the boy, I couldn’t help wincing at the smell. I just had to say something.

  “You know what, Egor, why don’t you wash your neck first.”

  The boy shook his head without looking round.

  “In any case, it’s stupid only to protect your neck. There are five points on the human body where a vampire can
bite.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Oh yeah. I mean on a male body, of course.”

  Even the back of his neck turned red.

  I tipped five heaped spoons of sugar into the mug and winked at Egor:

  “Pour me a glass of tea with two spoons of sugar . . . I want to try it before I die.”

  He obviously didn’t know that old joke.

  “And how many should I take?”

  “How much do you weigh?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  I estimated his weight by eye.

  “Put four in. To prevent the onset of hypoglycemia.”

  He washed his neck after all, but it didn’t completely get rid of the smell of garlic. Gulping down his tea, he said:

  “Explain!”

  This wasn’t anything like the way I’d envisioned it. Follow the boy when the Call reached him. Kill or capture the vampire. And take the grateful boy to the boss—who would be able to explain everything properly.

  “Once upon a time . . .” I said, cracking myself up. “Like the beginning of a fairy tale, that, isn’t it? Only it isn’t a fairy tale.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Okay. I’ll start with something else. There is a human world.” I nodded toward the window, the little courtyard outside, and the cars crawling along the road. “There it is. All around us. And most people can’t move beyond it. That’s the way it’s always been. But sometimes we turn up. The Others.”

  “And vampires?”

  “Vampires are Others too. They’re a different kind of Other, though; their powers are determined in advance.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Egor, shaking his head.

  Okay, so I’m no tutor. I’m no good at expounding the basic truths; I don’t enjoy it . . .

  “Imagine two shamans who have gorged themselves on narcotic mushrooms beating on their tambourines,” I said. “A long, long time ago, back in primeval times. One of the shamans is honestly putting one over on the hunters and the chief. The other suddenly sees his shadow, which was trembling on the floor of the cave, acquire volume and rise up until it stands erect. He takes a step forward and enters the shadow. He enters the Twilight. And that’s when the most interesting part begins. You understand?”