The Twilight Watch:

  But just at that moment I recalled Witiezslav's face with his fangs bared.

  Kostya had killed him. Overwhelmed him.

  'Las,' I said curtly. 'One small request . . .Walk behind me. At a distance. If anything happens . . . they'll find you afterwards, tell them about it.'

  Las gulped, dropped the empty bottle on the seat and said soberly:

  'I'll do it, why not? Forward, my pale-faced Blade!'

  It seemed like he was past the point of worrying about anything. Getting drunk is a good way to give yourself partial protection against a vampire. They find the blood of someone who's drunk unpleasant – and if he's really drunk it's toxic to them. Maybe that was why vampires had always preferred Europe to Russia?

  But a vampire doesn't have to drink the blood of someone he's killed. Nourishment is one thing, but business is business.

  'Don't come close,' I repeated. 'Keep your distance.'

  'Watch your back, boss!' Roman told me. 'Good luck! We're counting on you!'

  I looked at him and remembered Zabulon's parting words.

  How alike we are.

  How alike all of us are – Others and people, Dark Ones and Light Ones.

  'Keep it cool, no rush, no aggression,' I said to myself, glancing at the men smoking by the entrance to the terminal building. Most of them were respectable types, wearing ties. The cleaning woman in an orange work jacket standing beside them and puffing away on a Prima looked absurd.

  'Calmly and quietly . . .'

  I walked towards the building. The smokers moved aside to make way – there was so much Power in me now that even ordinary people could sense it.

  Sense it, and do the sensible thing – move aside.

  I looked round as I went in. Las was shambling after me, smiling benignly.

  Where are you, Kostya?

  Where are you, Higher Vampire who has never killed for the sake of Power?

  Where are you, boy who dreams of becoming Lord of the World, like in some Hollywood action movie?

  In the same place as the vampire trying to cheat his own destiny . . .

  I will kill you.

  Not 'I must kill you', not 'I can kill you', not 'I want to kill you'. No more auxiliary verbs. I've already been through 'I must' – in tearful soul-searching and self-justification. I've already been through 'I can' – struggling with the complexes of a third-grade magician who has reached his ceiling. I've already been through 'I want to' – with all those turbulent emotions: the passion, the fury, the pity.

  Now I'm simply doing what I have to do.

  I couldn't give a hoot for false ideals and fake goals, hypocritical slogans and two-faced principles. I don't believe in the Light or the Dark any longer. Light is just a stream of photons. Dark is just the absence of Light. People are our young brothers and sisters. The Others are the salt of the earth.

  Where are you, Kostya Saushkin?

  Whatever your goal is – ancient eastern artefacts or a million-strong army of Chinese magicians – I won't let you win.

  Where are you?

  I stopped in the middle of the hall – the rather small hall of a provincial airport. I thought I could sense him . . .

  A heavily perspiring man carrying suitcases bumped into me, apologised and walked on. I noted his aura in passing – an uninitiated Other, a Light One. He was afraid of flying but he'd arrived safely and now he'd relaxed, which was what had made him noticeable.

  I wasn't interested in that right now.

  Kostya?

  I swung round as if someone had called my name and stared at the door with a sign that said 'Service Entrance' and a coded lock.

  A melody that no one else could hear threaded itself through the hubbub of the airport.

  He was calling me.

  The buttons on the keypad lit up helpfully when I reached my hand out towards them. Four, three, two, one. A very cunning code . . .

  I opened the door, looked round and nodded to Las, then closed the door behind me carefully, so that it wouldn't latch shut.

  Empty corridors, painted a depressing green. I moved along one of them.

  The melody grew stronger, swirling in the air, soaring upwards and gliding back down. Like an intricate passage on a classical guitar, supported by the subtle notes of a violin.

  This was it – a genuine vampire's call, directed at me . . .

  'I'm coming as fast as I can,' I muttered, turning off towards another door with a code lock. A door banged behind me – that was Las following me in.

  A new lock, a new code. Six, three, eight, one.

  I opened the door, and found myself on the apron of the airport.

  A round-bellied Airbus was creeping slowly across the concrete. Further away a Tupolev was taxiing out to the runway, its turbines roaring.

  Kostya was standing about five metres away from the door, holding a neat little plastic briefcase – I guessed that was where the Fuaran must be. Kostya's shirt was ripped, as if at some moment it had suddenly become too small.

  When he jumped off the train he must have started to transform straight away, without taking all his clothes off.

  'Hi,' said Kostya.

  The music stopped, breaking off in mid-note.

  I nodded.

  'Hi. You flew here very quickly.'

  'Flew?' Kostya shook his head. 'No . . . flying that kind of distance as a bat is too hard.'

  'Then what did you turn into? A wolf?'

  This rather farcical conversation was wound up by an especially ridiculous remark from Kostya:

  'A hare. A huge grey hare. I hopped all the way . . .'

  I couldn't help smiling as I pictured the giant hare running through the market gardens, forging streams in massive leaps and hopping over fences. Kostya shrugged:

  'Well . . . it was quite funny. How are you feeling? I didn't hit you too hard, did I? Have you still got all your teeth?'

  I tried to smile as broadly as I could.

  'I'm sorry about that,' said Kostya. He seemed genuinely distressed. 'That's because it was all so sudden. How did you realise I had the book? Because of the cocktail?'

  'Yes. The spell requires the blood of twelve people.'

  'How did you know that?' Kostya mused. 'There isn't any information available on the Fuaran . . . but that's not important. I have something to say to you, Anton.'

  'And I've got something to say to you,' I said. 'Turn yourself in. You can still save your own life.'

  'I haven't been alive for a long time,' Kostya said with a smile. 'I'm undead. Or had you forgotten?'

  'You know what I mean.'

  'Don't lie to me, Anton. You don't believe it yourself. I killed four Inquisitors!'

  'Three,' I corrected him. 'Witiezslav and two on the train. The third survived.'

  'Big difference.' Kostya frowned. 'They've never forgiven anybody even for one.'

  'This is a special case,' I said. 'I'll give it to you straight. The Higher Ones are frightened. They can destroy you, but the victory will be too costly. So they will negotiate.'

  Kostya just stared at me hard without saying a word.

  'If you give back the Fuaran and turn yourself in voluntarily, they won't touch you,' I continued. 'You're a law-abiding vampire. It's the book that's to blame. The balance of your mind was affected . . .'

  Kostya shook his head:

  'There was nothing wrong with my mind. Edgar didn't take what Witiezslav said seriously. But I believed him. I transformed and flew to the hut. Witiezslav didn't suspect a trick . . . he started showing me the book and explaining. When I heard about the blood of twelve people, I realised this was my chance. He didn't even object to an experiment. He probably wanted to make sure the book was genuine as quickly as possible. It was only when he realised I'd become stronger than him that he dug his heels in. But by then it was too late.'

  'What's all this about?' I asked. 'Kostya, this is insanity! Why do you want the power to rule the world?'

  Kostya raised his eyebrows.
He looked at me like that for a moment and then laughed.

  'What are you talking about, Anton? What power? You don't understand a thing!'

  'I understand everything,' I insisted. 'You're trying to get to China, right? A million magicians under your control?'

  'You idiots,' Kostya said, almost whispering. 'You're all idiots. There's only one thing you ever think about . . . Power . . . I don't want that kind of power! I'm a vampire! Do you understand? I'm an outcast! Worse than any of the Others! I don't want to be the most powerful outcast. I want to be ordinary! I want to be like everybody else!'

  'But the Fuaran won't allow you to turn an Other into a human being . . .' I objected.

  Kostya laughed. He shook his head:

  'Hello! Anton, switch on! They've pumped you full of Power and sent you here to kill me, I know that. But think first, Anton. Understand what it is I want.'

  The door squeaked behind me and Las came out. He gaped at me in embarrassment, then squinted at Kostya.

  Kostya shook his head.

  'Not a good time?' Las asked, taking in the situation. 'Sorry. I'll be going . . .'

  'Stop,' Kostya said in a flat voice. 'This is a very good time.'

  Las froze. I hadn't caught the note of command in Kostya's voice, but it must have been there.

  'A natural experiment,' said Kostya. 'Watch how it's done . . .'

  He shook the briefcase. The locks clicked, the briefcase opened and out flew a book, moving ponderously through the air.

  The Fuaran.

  The book really was bound in skin – it was a greyish-yellow colour. The corners were encased in triangles of copper, and there was a lock to prevent the book being opened.

  Kostya caught the book in one hand and opened it with incredible agility, as if simply opening a newspaper, rather than manipulating a volume that weighed about two kilos. He let go of the briefcase and it clattered on the concrete.

  'Most of the stuff in here is just padding,' Kostya laughed. 'A record of unsuccessful experiments. The formula's at the end . . . it's really very simple.'

  With his free hand Kostya took a metal flask out of the back pocket of his jeans. He twisted off the top and poured a drop of liquid straight on to the open page.

  What am I waiting for?

  What is he going to do?

  Everything inside me was crying out – attack! While he's distracted, strike with all your power!

  But I waited, spellbound by the spectacle.

  The drop of blood was disappearing from the page. Melting away, evaporating in a brown mist. And the book . . . the book began to sing. A strangled sound, like throat music – it sounded like a human voice, but there was nothing intelligible in it.

  'By the Dark and the Light . . .' said Kostya, looking into the open pages. He could see something there that I couldn't. 'Om . . . Mrigankandata gauri . . .Auchitya dkhvani . . .By my will . . .Moksha gauri . . .'

  The voice of the book – I had no doubt that it was the book that was making that sound – became louder. It drowned out Kostya's voice and the words of the spell – both the Russian ones and the other, ancient ones in which the Fuaran was written.

  Kostya raised his voice, as if he was trying to shout down the book.

  I could only make out his last word – 'om' again.

  The singing broke off on a sharp, dissonant note.

  Behind me Las swore and asked:

  'What was that?'

  'The sound of the ocean,' Kostya laughed. He bent down, picked up the briefcase and put the book and the flask in it. 'An entire ocean of new possibilities.'

  I swung round, already knowing what I would see. I half closed my eyes, catching the shadow of my own eyelashes with my pupils.

  I looked at Las through the Twilight.

  The aura of an uninitiated Other was quite distinct. Welcome to our happy family . . .

  'That's how it works on people,' said Kostya. There were beads of sweat clinging to his forehead, but he looked pleased. 'So there you go.'

  'Then what is it you do want?' I asked.

  'I want to be an Other among Others,' said Kostya. 'I want all this division to stop . . . Light Ones and Dark Ones, Others and people, magicians and vampires. They're all going to be Others, get it? Everyone in the world.'

  I laughed.

  'Kostya . . . you spent two or three minutes on just one person. How's your maths?'

  'There could have been two hundred people standing here,' said Kostya, 'and they would all have become Others. There could have been ten thousand. The spell works on everybody in my field of vision.'

  'Even so . . .'

  'In an hour and a half the next crew of the International Space Station takes off from the Baikonur cosmodrome,' said Kostya. 'I think the space tourist from Germany is going to let me take his place.'

  I was silent for a second, trying to make sense of what he had said.

  'I'll sit quietly by the window and gaze at the Earth,' said Kostya. 'The way a space tourist is supposed to do. I'll look at the Earth, spread the blood from the flask on the paper and whisper the spells. And way down below the people will become Others. All the people – do you understand? From the infants in their cradles to the old folks in their rocking chairs.'

  He looked genuinely alive now, and absolutely sincere. His eyes were blazing – not with vampire Power, but with undiluted human passion.

  'You used to dream about that yourself, didn't you, Anton? That there wouldn't be any more ordinary people. That everyone would be equal.'

  'I used to dream that all the people would be Others,' I said. 'Not that there wouldn't be any more people.'

  Kostya frowned.

  'Drop that! That's nothing but verbal gymnastics . . . Anton, we have a chance to make the world a better place. Fuaran couldn't have done it – in her time there were no space ships. Gesar and Zabulon can't do it – they haven't got the book. But we can – we can! I don't want any power, understand that! I want equality! Freedom!'

  'Happiness for everyone, a free handout?' I asked. 'With no one left short-changed and resentful?'

  He didn't understand.

  'Yes, happiness for everyone. The Earth for Others. And no more grievances and resentment. Anton, I want you with me. Join me.'

  'What a wonderful idea!' I exclaimed, looking into his eyes. 'Brilliant, Kostya!'

  I'd never been good at lying. And deceiving a vampire is almost impossible. But Kostya evidently very much wanted me to agree.