«I've made it too, Anton. I've already been in the Twilight.»
«Yes.»
«Then why don't I understand where the boundary is and what the difference is between me and some witch who attends black masses? Why am I still asking these questions?»
«You'll never stop asking them. Out loud at first, and later on just to yourself. It will never stop, never. If you wanted to be free of painful questions—you chose the wrong side.»
«I chose the one I wanted.»
«I know. So now put up with it.»
«All my life?»
«Yes. It will be a long one, but you'll never get over this. You'll never stop asking yourself if every step you make is the right one.»
Chapter 3
Maxim didn't like restaurants. That was just his character. He felt far more comfortable and relaxed in bars and clubs, sometimes even the more expensive ones, as long as they weren't too prissy and formal. Of course, there were some people who always behaved like red commissars in negotiations with the bourgeoisie, even in the most sumptuous restaurants: no manners and no wish to learn any. But then what did all those New Russians in the jokes have to model themselves on?
Last night had to be smoothed over somehow, though. His wife had either believed his story about «an important business meeting» or at least pretended that she did. But he was still suffering vague pangs of conscience. Of course, if only she knew! If she could only imagine who he really was and what it was he did!
Maxim couldn't say anything, so he had no choice but to make up his absence the previous night by using the same methods any decent man uses after a little affair. Presents, pampering, an evening out. For instance, at a prestigious restaurant with subtle exotic cuisine, foreign waiters, elegant decor, and an extensive wine list.
Maxim wondered if Elena really thought he'd been unfaithful to her the night before. The question intrigued him, but not enough for him to ask it out loud. There are always some things that have to be left unsaid. Maybe some day she'd learn the truth. And then she'd be proud of him.
But that was ridiculous—he realized that. In a world full of the creatures of Malice and Darkness, he was the only knight of Light, eternally alone, unable to share with anyone the truth. In the beginning, Maxim had hoped to meet someone else like him: a sighted man in the land of the blind, a guard who could sniff out the wolves in sheep's clothing among the heedless herd.
But there wasn't anyone. He had no one to stand beside him.
Even so, he hadn't despaired.
«Do you think this is worth trying?» Maxim glanced down at the menu. He didn't know what malai kofta was. But that had never prevented him from making decisions. And in any case, the ingredients were listed.
«Yes, try it. Meat with a cream sauce.»
«Beef?»
He didn't realize at first that Elena was joking. Then he smiled back at her.
«Definitely.»
«And what if I do order something with beef?»
«Then they'll refuse politely,» said Maxim. Keeping his wife amused wasn't tough. He actually enjoyed it. But right now he would really like to take a look around the room. Something here wasn't right. He could sense a strange, cold draft blowing through the semi-darkness at his back; it made him screw up his eyes and keep looking, looking…
Could it really be?
The gap between his missions was usually at least a few months, maybe six. Nothing had ever come up the very next day…
But the symptoms were only too familiar.
Maxim reached into his inside jacket pocket, as if he were checking his billfold. What he was really concerned about was something else—a little wooden dagger, carved artlessly but with great care. He'd whittled the weapon for himself when he was a child, without understanding what it was for at the time, thinking it was simply a toy.
The dagger was waiting.
But who was it?
«Max?» There was a note of reproach in Elena's voice. «You're up in the clouds again.»
They clinked glasses. It was a bad sign for husband and wife to do that; it meant there'd be no money in the family. But Maxim wasn't superstitious.
Who was it?
At first he suspected two girls. Both attractive, even beautiful, but each in her own way. The shorter one with dark hair, who moved in a slightly angular way, like a man, was literally overflowing with energy. She positively oozed sexuality. The other one, the blonde, was taller, more calm and restrained. And her beauty was quite different, soothing.
Maxim felt his wife watching him and looked away.
«Lesbians,» his wife said disdainfully.
«What?»
«Well, just look at them! The little dark-haired one in jeans is totally butch.»
So she was. Maxim nodded and assumed an appropriate expression.
Not them. Not them, after all. But who was it then?
A cell phone trilled in the corner of the room and a dozen people automatically reached for their phones. Maxim located the source of the sound and caught his breath.
The man talking into the cell phone in rapid, quiet bursts was not simply Evil. He was enveloped in a black shroud that other people couldn't see, but Maxim could sense it.
The draft was coming from him, it smelled of danger, appalling danger, coming closer.
Maxim felt a sudden ache in his chest.
«You know what, Lena, I'd like to live on a desert island,» Maxim blurted out before he realized what he was saying.
«Alone?»
«With you and the children. But no one else. Not a soul.»
He gulped down the rest of his wine and the waiter immediately refilled his glass.
«I wouldn't like that,» his wife said.
«I know.»
The dagger felt heavy and hot in his pocket now. The mounting excitement was acute, almost sexual. It demanded release.
«Do you remember Edgar Allan Poe?» Svetlana asked.
They'd let us in without any fuss. I hadn't been expecting that—the rules in restaurants must have changed, been made more democratic, or maybe they were just short of customers.
«No. He died too long ago. But Semyon was telling me…«
«I didn't mean Poe himself. I meant his stories.»
»The Man of the Crowd ,» I guessed.
Svetlana laughed quietly.
«Yes. You're in the same fix as him right now. You have to stick to crowded places.»
«Fortunately I'm still not sick of those places just yet.»
We had a glass of Bailey's each and ordered something to eat. That probably gave the waiter certain ideas about why we were there: two inexperienced prostitutes looking for work—but I didn't really care.
«Was he an Other?»
«Poe? Probably an uninitiated one.»
«There are some qualities—some incorporate things,
That have a double life, which thus is made
A type of that twin entity which springs
From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.»
Svetlana recited in a quiet voice.
I looked at her in surprise.
«Do you know it?» she asked.
«How can I put it?» I said. Then I raised my eyes and declaimed:
«He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!
No power hath he of evil in himself;
But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!) Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf, That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod No foot of man), commend thyself to God!»
We looked at each for a second and then both burst into laughter.
«A little literary duel,» Svetlana said ironically. «Score: one-one. A pity we don't have an audience. But why did Poe remain uninitiated?»
«A lot of poets are potential Others. But some potentials are best left to live as human beings. Poe was too psychologically unstable; giving people like that special powers is like handing a pyromaniac a can of napalm. I wouldn't even try to guess which side he would have taken. He'd probably have withdrawn into the Twilight forever, and very quickly.»
«But how do they live there? The ones who have withdrawn forever?»
«I don't know, Svetlana. I expect no one really knows. You sometimes come across them in the Twilight world, but there's no contact in the usual sense of the word.»
«I'd like to find out,» said Svetlana, casting a thoughtful glance around the room. «Have you noticed the Other in here?» she asked.
«The old man behind me, talking on his cell phone?»
«Why do you call him old?»
«He's very old. I'm not looking with my eyes.»
Svetlana bit her lip and screwed up her eyes. She was beginning to develop little ambitions of her own.
«I can't do it yet,» she admitted. «I can't even tell if he's Light or Dark.»
«Dark. Not from Day Watch, but Dark. A magician with middle-level powers. And by the way, he's spotted us too.»
«So what are we going to do?»
«Us? Nothing.»
«But he's Dark!»
«Yes, and we're Light. What of it? As Watch agents we have the right to check his ID. But it's bound to be in order.»
«And when will we have the right to intervene?»
«When he gets up, waves his hands through the air, turns into a demon, and starts biting off people's heads…«
«Anton!»
«I'm quite serious. We have no right to interfere with an honest Dark Magician's pleasant evening out.»
The waiter brought our order and we stopped talking. Svetlana ate, but without any real appetite. Then, like a sulky, capricious child, she blurted out:
«And how long is the Watch going to continue groveling like this?»
«To the Dark Ones?»
«Yes.»
«Until we acquire a decisive advantage. Until people who become Others no longer hesitate for even a moment over what to choose: Light or Darkness. Until the Dark Ones all die of old age. Until they can no longer nudge people toward Evil as easily as they do now.»
«But that's capitulation, Anton!»
«Neutrality. The status quo. Double deadlock—there's no point pretending otherwise.»
«You. know, I like the solitary Maverick who's terrorizing the Dark Ones a lot more. Even if he is violating the Treaty, even if he is setting us up without knowing it! He's fighting against the Darkness, isn't he? Fighting! Alone, against all of them.»
«And have you thought about why he kills Dark Ones but doesn't get in touch with us?»
«No.»
«He can't see us, Svetlana. He looks straight through us.»
«He's self-taught.»
«Yes. Self-taught and talented. An Other with powers that manifest themselves in chaotic fashion. Capable of seeing Evil. Incapable of recognizing Good. Don't you find that frightening?»
«No,» Svetlana said sullenly. «I'm sorry, I can't see where you're going with this, Olga. Sorry, I mean Anton. You've started talking just like her.»