Sixth Watch

  “That’s bad for you and it’s forbidden by government decree,” I said.

  Olga gave me a sour look.

  “Have you been to Paris?” she asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I envy you. I once spent an absolutely wonderful year there . . .”

  “I got five hours, but that wasn’t too bad either,” I agreed. “What’s happening with the vampires?”

  “What’s happening with the witches?”

  “They’re discussing. They’ll gather again tonight.”

  “As for the vampires . . . Everything’s complicated with the vampires. The problem is that the Master of Masters was killed.”

  “So it was Lilith!” I exclaimed.

  “No, Anton. You may be surprised, but it wasn’t her at all. None of the vampires even knew anything about your Lilith. You ask Zabulon who she really was after all.”

  “Why me?”

  “Zabulon’s fond of you,” Olga said without a trace of a smile. “No, the Master of Masters was only a three-hundred-year-old Polish Jew.”

  “A Jewish vampire?” I exclaimed in amazement. “Well, he certainly violated all the Talmudic prohibitions.”

  “I can’t argue with that. Anyway, he was a genuinely powerful vampire, with only one weakness—alcoholism.” Olga sent the cigarette butt flying out the window with a flick of her fingers, closed the small pane, and sat down at the desk.

  I sat facing her.

  “But that’s nonsense! Strong spirits burn them.”

  “Strong spirits. He made do with the blood of extremely drunk people. That was partly what killed him.”

  “He got drunk and fell under a train?” I asked

  “Worse. He quarreled with the head of the Warsaw Day Watch. With whom he had always been on friendly terms. It ended in a duel.”

  “Uh-oh,” I said.

  “The vampire lost, although he did have a chance. Higher One against Higher One, the magician is usually more powerful, only the vampire was more experienced. But he lost, I believe because he was drunk. He was caught by the Gray Prayer.”

  “Why didn’t I hear about it?”

  “Because it was in 1981. They fell out over politics, by the way—the head of the Dark Ones was a staunch communist and a supporter of Jaruzelski, while the vampire—”

  “Olga, stop!” I said, raising my hands. “I’m not interested in the political views of vampires thirty years ago. Why haven’t the vampires had a Master of Masters since then?”

  “Well, because the new Master of Masters acquires the position by killing the previous one. And if the previous one died at the hands of someone who is not a vampire, then at least twelve Masters must fight for the title of the new Master of Masters—and only one must be left. From the technical point of view, they’re already dead, of course, Anton. But they still want to live. Sooner or later one idiot can be found to challenge the Master of Masters. But so far they haven’t been able to find twelve morons willing to launch into mortal combat. And they might not find them for another hundred years. The post has no real benefits, except that it’s flattering to hold it. But the problems involved are overwhelming.”

  “Matka Boska, jak mógł Wampir-żyd zginąć od ‘Szarego Nabożeństwa’ Ciemnego komunisty? Jak w ogóle u ich w głowach to godziło się?” I exclaimed.

  Olga squinted at me quizzically.

  “What’s this, Anton, did you hang a ‘Petrov’ on yourself yesterday?”

  “Well, yes,” I said, embarrassed. “I don’t know French, but to make it easier to get on with people . . . How did you know?”

  “You just protested indignantly in Polish.” Olga chuckled. “The Petrov crams the fifteen most widely used languages into your head, not just one. What a surprise, I never thought Polish was one of them.”

  “But anyway, what the hell was he thinking of?” I asked, slamming my fist down on the desk. “The Master of Masters—a Jew! That’s an oxymoron! A Jew would not drink blood!”

  “He wasn’t religious,” Olga said with a smile.

  “And the head of the Dark Ones—a communist? How did he fit all this together with his scientific atheism?”

  “He explained the abilities of Others exclusively from the materialist point of view. Anton, stop getting indignant. It’s already happened, and a long time ago. The vampires weren’t particularly keen to choose a new Master of Masters. And they don’t want to now. They’re convening another High Lodge in three days, but I wouldn’t hold out any great hopes.”

  “Olga, why is it like this?” I asked. “The Watches have no overall leadership at all, only on the regional level. The shape-shifters have no leaders in principle. The vampires and witches apparently do . . . But in fact they don’t, because the leaders are dead, and everyone only seems to be glad about it.”

  “Because we’re solitaries, Anton,” Olga replied. “We’re not even wolves, they live in packs.”

  “Rubbish, rubbish, rubbish!” I said, sweeping my hand through the air. “Do you know what Egor told me yesterday? I warn him not to come. I offer to initiate him, so that he won’t become a Mirror. And he says: ‘Can any normal person have a choice in that situation?’”

  “Well, he’s a human being,” said Olga. “A living, agonized soul. With ideals and delusions. But they are Others. Vampires. The Undead. And there’s another thing you’re forgetting, Anton. The vampires, as we now realize, believe that they were the very first Others. It was the vampires who concluded the agreement with the Two-in-One. So maybe they’re not too happy to do battle with him?”

  “No one loves the bloodsuckers,” I said with a nod.

  “You’re behind the times,” said Olga. “They ran a very powerful PR campaign that took in almost all the countries in the world. Show young girls a genuine vampire, and they’ll squeal and make a dash for him, offering up their necks.”

  “I was talking to a young girl here quite recently—she wasn’t over the moon about vampires.”

  “But it was a woman who sucked her.” Olga chuckled. “If it had been a handsome young guy who could carry her in his arms for hours, things might have turned out differently.”

  She turned serious.

  “I don’t need any help yet, Anton. The vampires are huddled up in their nest in Manhattan.”

  “In New York?”

  “Where else?” Olga asked in surprise. “It’s their holy of holies! Their Mecca! Their Jerusalem! There are more of them per capita there than anywhere else. That’s where the oldest lodges, clubs, and salons are. Both legal and illegal establishments. Now they’re going to thrash things out and decide what’s to their greatest advantage.”

  “And drink blood.”

  “Yes, of course.” Olga sighed. “And what’s more, since the gathering of the Masters was to some extent initiated by us, I’m almost certain that they’ve been given additional licenses.”

  I didn’t say anything to that.

  “Life is a dirty business,” said Olga. “And life after death is absolutely vile. Go home, Anton, and go to bed. You look terrible.”

  “The witches will be making a decision tonight too,” I said. “But I could rummage through the archive in the meantime . . .”

  “Anton, you’re working in a team,” said Olga. “Calm down. Don’t try to be everywhere. You got Egor here—well done! Now rest, at least until the evening. Everyone’s thinking. Everyone’s reading documents. Everyone’s questioning the very oldest Others. You’ve earned a rest.”

  I stood up and nodded.

  “All right. I won’t even try to argue. But pay special attention to that vampiress who wrote me a message with the initials of the people she bit. She managed to drive the Two-in-One away, didn’t she?”

  “She’s being looked at, have no doubt about it,” Olga said with a frown. “Every line’s being followed up. But right now your line leads to bed.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  I could really have opened up a portal from the Watch office. O
r from the courtyard. But I got into Zabulon’s car, drove around the corner, and parked outside a “farmhouse products” and imported alcohol shop. It was a paid parking zone, but I decided the Great Dark One’s wallet could stand the strain.

  In the shop I bought a bottle of wine (it wasn’t the best of wine, but I didn’t feel like looking for a good wine shop), four pounds of genuinely good beef, milk, butter, tvorog, eggs and sausage, a couple of pounds of apples, some fresh bread, a few assorted olives, and some hot peppers stuffed with cheese.

  Then I walked out of the shop, took out my phone and hid it in the glove compartment of the car, and slipped into a deserted alley. I closed my eyes, pictured the place I needed to go to, pronounced the words required, and leaned forward into the portal that opened up in front of me.

  “Daddy!” Nadya squealed joyfully. “Hoorah! Dad’s come!”

  “And he’s brought presents,” I said, opening my eyes. Nadya immediately hung on my neck. “Hey, I’m wet and cold! Wait a moment!”

  “I missed you,” my daughter replied. “I don’t want to wait for anything.”

  The portal to the refuge had been set up by Nadya. She had assured us there was no way it could possibly be traced.

  But I’d been determined not to abuse it.

  I hugged my daughter. A moment later Svetlana came over.

  “I was worried you would never bother to visit us,” she said reproachfully.

  “Olga sent me home and ordered me to catch up on my sleep. I decided that home is where you are.”

  “That’s the right decision,” my wife agreed, hugging us both.

  “You’ll knock over the bags!” I exclaimed.

  “Put the bags in the kitchen!” Svetlana commanded. Nadya pouted resentfully and carried them into the “kitchen,” that is, into the alcove behind the curtain.

  “Bread, milk, meat,” I said proudly.

  “Did you bring any vegetables?” Svetlana asked briskly.

  “Vegetables?” I echoed, disconcerted.

  “Well, yes. Those things that grow in the ground, I put them in the soup. Carrots, onions, potatoes . . .”

  “I didn’t think about vegetables,” I confessed. “But I got four pounds of good meat. I can grill steaks! And two pounds of apples.”

  “At least one tomato?” Svetlana asked.

  “And I did get sausage, butter, eggs . . .”

  “Basically, you remembered to get everything that contains cholesterol,” Svetlana said with a smile. “You could at least have gotten tomatoes! And salad!”

  “Who needs salad?” I exclaimed indignantly. “Why do you keep talking about food? Aren’t you interested in the news?”

  “Are you hungry?” Svetlana asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Although the meal on the plane yesterday was good and I had a bite to eat in Paris as well.”

  A hint of something between admiration and indignation appeared in Svetlana’s expression.

  “I see you’re leading a busy life! My dear, why don’t you fly to Paris when I’m at home and I can ask you for something?”

  “There,” I said, unbuttoning my jacket and taking a little box out of my pocket. “What else can a poor man bring back from a business trip to Paris? Two bottles of authentic French perfume.”

  “This one’s mine, it’s mine, it’s the most fashionable fragrance of the season!” Nadya exclaimed, grabbing the little box.

  “How come?” Svetlana said indignantly. “I wanted that fragrance too.”

  “Keep calm, the other one’s exactly the same!” I said triumphantly, taking out the second bottle.

  My wife and daughter both turned toward me simultaneously. Then they looked at each other.

  “Men!” My wife sighed.

  “And this is Dad. He’s one of the best!” said Nadya, backing her up.

  “What is all this?” I asked indignantly. “You both wanted this perfume. And I brought a bottle for each of you! What’s wrong with that?”

  They exchanged glances again. Nadya shook her head.

  “Come on,” said Svetlana. “I’ll feed you.”

  Dinner was delicious. Svetlana cooked what an Italian would have called spaghetti Bolognese, but there was too much meat in it, so it was more like Russian “sailors’ macaroni.” While I was eating, Svetlana looked at me.

  “Olga’s right,” she said, “you need a rest. You look like . . .”

  “An alcoholic?” I asked warily.

  “No. One of Grebenshchikov’s lyrical heroes. From the song ‘Mama, I Can’t Drink Anymore.’”

  “Damn,” I said. “Everyone’s criticizing the way I look. I’m going to drink milk.” I caught my daughter’s expression. “Do you want to ask something?” I asked.

  “Dad, do you know if Harry Styles’s single has been released? They were supposed to announce it today?”

  “Who’s he?” I asked, puzzled.

  “Oh, Dad, he’s one of the boys in One Direction. The coolest one.”

  “Light, Darkness, and the Twilight!” I exclaimed. “How should I know? I only found out about Picnic’s new album a month after it was released!”

  “You could have asked Kesha,” my daughter said sulkily. “You have seen him, haven’t you?”

  I snorted.

  “Yes, I’ve seen him. Nadizhda, if you wanted to find out how your friend was getting on, all you had to do was ask, and not start inquiring about the Biebers and Timatis of this world.”

  Nadya rapidly blushed bright red.

  “He’s all right,” I said after a pause to drive the lesson home. After all, Kesha was a very fine young lad, and I’d known him since he was a child, so to speak. By no means the worst friend for a young girl. An Other, a Light One, from a good family . . . Although what did his family have to do with this? He was a good lad, and that was it. “Let me tell you everything in the right order.”

  And I started telling my story.

  About meeting Kesha. About the visit from Eve/Lilith. About the appearance of the Tiger. About my conversations with Killoran. About my memories being blocked. About the trip to Paris and Egor, who had come back to Moscow.

  “That poor boy,” Svetlana gasped. “Anton! Are you serious? You’ve got him involved in the Watches’ operation? Knowing that he could become a Mirror and disappear?”

  “The whole world could disappear,” I said with a shrug. “I tried to talk him out of it. And he hasn’t been a boy for a long time. Why don’t you advise me what else I can do? All the Watches, not to mention the Inquisition, are digging in every possible direction at this very moment. But maybe there’s something we’re missing?”

  “Look, Dad,” said Nadya, who had gotten over her indignation. She picked up a sheet of paper. “I wrote this down here, while you were telling us everything. All the data that we have. Prophecies, the information from Killoran, the information from Lilith . . . Dad, did I get it right that the female vampire who pretended to be Killoran is the same one who wrote you a message with the initials of her victims?”

  “Yes,” I said, nodding. “Almost certainly.”

  “And you think she’s the vampire that you once caught and who was disembodied?”

  “I’m not sure about that any longer, little one. At first we thought the message in the bites that said ‘Be ready’ was a warning from the vampiress. But while ‘Anton Go’ really was the beginning of ‘Anton Gorodetsky,’ ‘Be ready’ was followed by ‘He awaits.’ But the vampire was female . . . after all, Killoran . . .”

  I pondered for a moment and gestured in frustration.

  “I don’t know, Nadyusha. If it was a disguise, how do we really know who was behind it? We can’t say anything. But I sense a strong kind of personal relationship there.”

  Nadya answered me very seriously.

  “Even people should trust their presentiments, and we should especially. Dad, can you see that everything comes back to vampires?”

  I nodded.

  “How could I fail to see it?
The Two-in-One is their god. He manifested himself through a Light One and Dark One—as I understand it, he incarnated himself in them, put them on like clothes. The Twilight uses the Mirror in pretty much the same way. The vampiress tried to pass on information to me, even before the Two-in-One appeared. And she was able to protect us from him—which is very strange, of course. Then she gave me a whole heap of information, while she was pretending to be Killoran. And Lilith told us a lot of things as well. And it seems like she was the oldest vampire on the planet.”

  “It all circles around vampires,” Svetlana agreed. “We’ve got a clever daughter, Anton . . . A glass of wine?”

  “No,” I said firmly. “Milk.”

  Svetlana got up and went to the “kitchen.” Nadka continued sitting there with her feet pulled up onto the chair and gnawing tentatively on a fingernail. She was pondering.

  Dammit, what a clever, grown-up daughter I had!

  And what a silly little child she was at the same time!

  “Dad, I think the most useful thing to do right now is try to understand the various extra details of the Prophecy,” said Nadya. “I think that’s the most important thing.”

  “Why?” I asked her.

  “Because the devil is always in the details,” she replied seriously. “Dad! Does the devil really exist?”

  “Why don’t you ask me if God exists?” I said, trying to joke. But Nadya gave me a demanding kind of look and I replied reluctantly: “I don’t know, but the old Others don’t like to mention him. Or God either, come to think of it. Is that important right now?”

  “I got distracted,” Nadya declared. “Dad, what I wanted to say was . . . if we have to convene some kind of Sixth Watch, then the heads of all the Watches, and of the vampires, and all the others won’t be any use to us at all.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Because the details haven’t been observed. Have you forgotten, Dad? Say they work out now who’s the most important of the vampires and the witches, they figure them all out and appoint them. So what? They all have to be tied together by blood, don’t they?”

  “That could be interpreted in a broad sense,” I said. “Sveta, are you going to pour me that milk?”

  “You mean you’re serious?” my wife asked in surprise. “Just a moment.”