«I must be in a bad mood or something…« I muttered.

«Why?»

«Everything looks dark and gloomy. All the people are lowlifes and idiots; the salad's frozen; my boots feel damp.»

The bird on my shoulder gave a derisive screech.

«No, Anton, it's not just your mood. You can sense the approach of the Inferno.»

«I'm not noted for being particularly sensitive.»

«That's just the point.»

I glanced at the station, tried to get a close look at people's faces. Some of them were sensing it too. The ones who stood right on the very boundary line between human being and Other were tense and depressed. They couldn't understand why, so they were compensating by acting cheerful.

«Darkness and Light…What will it be when it happens, Olga?»

«Anything at all. You stalled the time of the eruption, but now when the vortex strikes the consequences will be absolutely catastrophic. That's the effect of delay.»

«The boss didn't tell me that.»

«Why should he? You did the right thing. Now at least there's a chance.»

«Olga, how old are you?» I asked. Between human beings the question might have been taken as an insult. But for us age doesn't have any particular limits.

«Very old, Anton. For instance, I can remember the uprising.»

«The revolution?»

«The uprising on Senate Square in 1825.» The owl chortled. I didn't say anything. The owl could be even older than the boss.

«What's your rank, partner?»

«I don't have one. I was stripped of all rights.»

«I'm sorry.»

«No problem. I came to terms with it a long time ago.»

Her voice was still cheerful, even mocking. But something told me Olga had never come to terms with it.

«If you don't mind me asking… Why did they shut you in that body?»

«There was no other choice. Living in a wolf's body is much harder.»

«Wait…« I dropped the remains of the salad in a garbage can. I looked at my shoulder, but, of course, I didn't see the owl—to do that I would have had to withdraw into the Twilight. «Who are you? If you're a shape-shifter, then why are you with us? If you're a magician, then why such a strange punishment?»

«That's got nothing to do with the job, Anton.» For just a moment here was a hint of steel in her voice. «But it all started with me compromising with the Dark Ones. Only a small compromise. I thought I'd calculated the consequences, but I was wrong.»

So that was it…

«Was that why you started talking? You wanted to warn me off, but you were too late?»

No answer.

As if Olga was already regretting being so frank.

«Let's get on with the job…« I said. And just then the phone squeaked in my pocket.

It was Larissa. What was she doing working two straight shifts?

«Anton, listen carefully… They've picked up that girl's trail. Perovo station.»

«Sugar,» was all I said. Working out in the dormitory suburbs was absolute hell.

«Right,» Larissa agreed. She was no field operative… that was probably why she was sitting by the phone. But she was bright. «Anton, get across to Perovo. All our guys are being concentrated over there, they're following the trail. And another thing… they've spotted the Day Watch there.»

«I get the picture.» I folded my phone away.

I didn't get a thing. Did the Dark Ones already know about everything? Were they just yearning for the Inferno to erupt? Then maybe it was no accident that they'd stopped me?

Nonsense. A major disaster in Moscow was not in the interests of Darkness. But of course, they wouldn't try to stop the twister either: That would go against their nature.

So I didn't go into the metro after all. I stopped a car. It ought to save me a bit of time, even if not that much. I sat beside the driver, a swarthy, hook-nosed intellectual about forty years old. The car was new, and the driver himself gave the impression of doing very well for himself. It seemed a bit strange for him to be earning a bit on the side by offering a private taxi service.

… Perovo. A large city district. Crowds of people. Light and Darkness, all twisted up together into a knot. And a few institutions, casting beams of Darkness and Light in all directions. Working there was going to be like trying to find a grain of sand on the floor of a crowded discotheque with the strobe lights on…

I wouldn't be much use to anyone, or actually, I wouldn't be any use at all. But I'd been ordered to go, so I had to. Maybe they'd ask me to identify the girl.

«For some reason I was sure we'd get lucky,» I whispered, gazing at the road ahead. We drove past Elk Island Park, a pretty grim place; the Dark Ones gather there for their sabbaths. And when they do, the rights of ordinary people aren't always respected. Five nights a year we have to put up with anything. Well, almost anything.

«I thought so too,» whispered Olga.

«I can't compete with the field agents,» I said, shaking my head.

The driver squinted sideways at me; I'd accepted the price without haggling, and he'd seemed happy enough to go in our direction. But a man talking to himself always arouses suspicions.

«I just blew this job,» I told the driver with a sigh. «That is, I completely screwed it up. I thought I could make up for it today, but they got along without me.»

«So what's your hurry?» the driver asked. He didn't look like the talkative type, but he was interested enough.

«I was ordered to go,» I said.

I wondered who he thought I was.

«So what do you do?»

«I'm a programmer,» I answered. And I was telling the truth too.

«Fantastic,» the driver commented, and laughed. What did he find so fantastic about it? «Do you make a living?»

He didn't really have to ask. After all, I wasn't riding the metro. But I answered anyway:

«I do ok.»

«I wasn't just asking out of curiosity,» my driver unexpectedly confided. «My system administrator's leaving me…«

My system administrator… I see!

«I personally see the finger of fate in this. I give a man a lift and he turns out to be a programmer. I think you're already doomed.»

He laughed, like he was trying to make light of his excessive confidence.

«Have you done any work with local networks?»

«Yes.»

«A network of fifty machines. It has to be maintained. We pay well.»

I felt myself starting to smile. It was a good offer. A local network. Decent money. And no one sending you out at night to catch vampires, making you drink blood and sniff out trails on the frozen streets…

«Shall I give you my card?» The man deftly slipped one hand into his jacket pocket. «Think about it…«

«No thanks. I'm afraid no one just leaves my kind of work.»

«KGB, is it?» the driver asked with a frown.

«More serious than that,» I answered. «Much more serious. But something like it.»

«Oh, well…« the driver said, and paused. «A pity. And I thought it was a sign from on high. Do you believe in fate?»

He'd slipped into a familiar tone quite naturally. I liked that.

«No.»

«Why not?» asked the driver, genuinely surprised, as if he'd never met anyone but fatalists in his life.

«There's no such thing as fate. It's been proved.»

«By whom?»

«In the place I work.»

He laughed.

«That's great. So it's not meant to be! Where shall I stop for you?»

We were already driving down Zelyony Avenue.

I peered hard through the layer of ordinary daily reality, into the Twilight. I couldn't make anything out clearly; my powers weren't strong enough. I sensed it rather than saw it—a cluster of dim lights in the gray gloom. Almost the entire central office was there.

«Over there…«

While I was still in ordinary reality I couldn't see my colleagues. I walked over the gray city snow toward the little square buried under snowdrifts between the apartment blocks and the avenue. A few frozen little trees, a few lines of footsteps—either some kids had been having fun or a drunk had just walked straight across.

«Wave to them; they've spotted you,» Olga advised me.

I thought for a moment and followed her advice. Let them think I could see clearly from one reality into the other.

«A meeting,» Olga said mockingly. «An emergency briefing.»

I glanced around, just for form's sake, then summoned the Twilight and stepped into it.

The entire central office really was there. The whole Moscow department.

Standing in the middle was Boris Ignatievich. Lightly dressed, in a suit and a light fur cap, but wearing a scarf for some reason. I could just imagine him scrambling out of his BMW, surrounded by his bodyguards.

The field operatives were standing beside him. Igor and Garik—they were the ones really suited to the role of front-line fighters. Thickset, stony faces, square shoulders—impervious. You can tell at a glance what kind of education they'd had: eight grades of school, technical college, and the special forces. And as far as Igor's concerned that's exactly right. But Garik has two full college degrees. The appearance is similar, the behavior's almost identical, but the content's absolutely different. By comparison with them, Ilya looked like a refined intellectual, but don't be fooled by those round spectacles with the thin frames, that high forehead, and naive expression. Semyon was another exaggerated character: short, stocky, with a cunning gleam in his eyes, in a cheap nylon baseball jacket. A provincial, come up to the big city. And he'd come from somewhere out of the '60s, from the prize-winning collective farm Lenin's Stride. Absolute opposites. But what Ilya and Semyon did have in common was their beautiful tans and dejected expressions. They'd been pulled out of Sri Lanka in mid-vacation, and they weren't enjoying the Moscow winter too much. Ignat, Danila, and Farid weren't there, although I could sense their fresh trails. But standing right behind the boss, not exactly like they were trying to hide, but not really noticeable unless you looked hard, were Bear and Tiger Cub. Those two gave me a jolt. They're not ordinary front-line fighters; they're really good, and they don't let anything stand in their way.

There were lots of workers from the office there too.

The analytical section, all five of them. The research team—everyone except Yulia, but that wasn't surprising; she's only thirteen years old. The only ones missing were the archive group.

«Hi,» I said.

Some nodded, some smiled. But I could see they all had more important things to worry about. Boris Ignatievich gestured for me to come closer and then continued:

«Not in their interest, and we welcome that. We won't get any help from them… well fine, that's just great…«