The boss didn't answer. His eyes had turned glassy, as vacant and mindless as a little infant's. His mouth had opened slightly. His fingers had turned white, clenched tightly on the armrests of his chair.

The Freeze. A fairly simple spell, very widely used.

There was someone standing by the window behind me. I couldn't see him-but I could sense him with my back…

I jerked to one side as quickly as I could, but I still felt the icy breath of the Power aimed at me. No, it wasn't the Freeze. But it was something similar, something out of the vampire's arsenal of tricks.

The Power skidded across me-and sank into the unfortunate security boss. The cover Gesar had put in place not only disguised me, it protected me too!

My shoulder smashed against the wall and I threw my hands out in front of me, but at the last second I pulled back and didn't strike. I blinked and raised the shadow of my eyelids up over my eyes.

Standing by the windows, grim-faced from effort, was a vampire. Tall, with the face of a well-bred European. A Higher Vampire, without the slightest doubt. And not as immature as Kostya. He was at least three hundred years old, and his power undoubtedly exceeded mine.

But not Gesar's! The vampire had not seen that I was really an Other. Now all those suppressed non-life instincts that Higher Vampires can keep under control came bursting out. I don't know whom he took me for. Maybe some special human being with reactions that could rival a vampire's, or a mythical "half-blood"-the child of a human woman and a male vampire-or for a rather less mythical warlock, a hunter of lower Others. But the vampire was clearly on the point of cutting loose and smashing everything around him. His features began melting like soft putty, changing into a bestial face with a heavy forehead, fangs slid out of his upper jaw, and razor-sharp claws sprang from his fingers.

A crazed vampire is a terrible thing.

The only thing worse is a vampire poised and in control.

My reflexes saved me from a duel with a dubious outcome. I held back and didn't strike, and shouted out the traditional formula of arrest: "Night Watch! Leave the Twilight!"

Immediately I heard a voice from the doorway.

"Stop, he's one of us!"

I was amazed how quickly the vampire normalized. The claws and the fangs were withdrawn, the face quivered, like meat jelly, assuming that reserved, noble expression of a prosperous European. And I remembered this European very well-from the glorious city of Prague, where they brew the best beer in the world and still have the best Gothic architecture.

"Witezslav?" I exclaimed. "What do you think you're doing?"

And of course, the person standing at the door was Edgar.

The Dark Magician who worked for a short while in the Moscow Day Watch and then left to join the Inquisition.

"Anton, I beg your pardon!" The imperturbable Balt was really embarrassed. "A slight error. In pursuit of our common goal…"

Witezslav was politeness itself.

"Our apologies, watchman. We did not recognize you…"

His gaze slid over me tenaciously and a note of admiration appeared in his voice.

"What a disguise… Congratulations, watchman. If that is your work, I bow my head to you."

I didn't explain who had constructed my defenses. It's not often that a Light Magician (or a Dark Magician, for that matter) gets a chance to give Inquisitors a good bawling out.

"What have you done to this man?" I barked. "He is under my protection!"

"It was necessary for our work, as my colleague has already said," Witezslav replied with a shrug. "We're interested in the information from the video cameras."

Edgar casually moved aside the chair with the frozen head of security in it and came closer. He smiled. "Gorodetsky, everything's all right. We're all doing the same job, aren't we?"

"Do you have permission for… using methods like this?" I asked.

"We have permission for very many things," Witezslav replied with chilly emphasis. "You have no idea how many."

That was it-he'd recovered his equilibrium. And he was set on confrontation. But he'd very nearly given way to his instincts, lost his self-control, and for a Higher Vampire that's an unpardonable disgrace. A note of genuine, cold fury appeared in Witezslav's voice: "Would you like to test that, watchman?"

Of course, an Inquisitor can't allow anyone to yell at him. Only now there was no way I could back down either.

Edgar saved the situation. He raised his hands and exclaimed in emotional tones, "It's my fault! I ought to have recognized. Mr. Gorodetsky. Witezslav, it's all the result of my poor work. I'm sorry!"

I held out my hand to the vampire first.

"Fair enough, we are all doing the same job. I hadn't expected to see you here."

I'd hit the bull's eye there. Witezslav looked away for a moment. And he smiled very amiably as he shook my hand. The vampire's palm was warm… and I realized what that meant.

"Our colleague Witezslav has come straight from the plane," said Edgar.

"And he hasn't gone through temporary registration yet?" I asked.

No matter how powerful Witezslav might be, no matter what position he might hold in the Inquisition, he was still a vampire. And he was obliged to go through the humiliating procedure of registration.

But I didn't press the point any further. On the contrary. "We can complete all the formalities here," I suggested. "I have the right to do that."

"Thank you," the vampire said with a nod. "But I'll call into your office. Proper procedure above all things."

A shaky truce had been patched together.

"I've already looked through the recordings," I said. "Letters were posted three days ago by four men and one woman. And some construction worker posted a whole pile of letters. There are builders from Uzbekistan working here."

"A good sign for your country," Witezslav said very politely. "When the citizens of neighboring states are used as labor power, it's an indication of economic growth."

I could have explained to him what I thought about that. But I didn't.

"Would you like to see the recording?" I asked.

"Yes, I think so," the vampire said.

Edgar stood modestly aside.

I brought the image of the post office up on the monitor, then switched on "movement search"-and we watched all the local lovers of the epistolary genre once again.

"I know this one," I said, pointing at Las. "I'll find out today what it was he posted."

"Do you suspect him?" asked Witezslav.

"No," I said and shook my head.

The vampire ran the tape through again. But this time Witezslav had set the unfortunate frozen security boss in front of the monitor.

"Who's this?" Witezslav asked.

"A resident," the security boss replied indifferently. "Block one, sixteenth floor…"

He had a good memory and named all the suspects. The building worker with the pile of letters was the only one he couldn't identify. In addition to Las, the resident from the sixteenth floor, and the old woman from the eleventh, letters had been posted by two of the Assol's managers.

"We'll deal with the men," Witezslav decided. "For a start. You check the old woman, Gorodetsky. All right?"

I shrugged. Collaboration was all very well, but I wasn't going to let anyone order me about.

Especially not a Dark One. And a vampire.

"It's easier for you," Witezslav explained. "It's… hard for me to approach old people."

The admission was frank and unexpected. I mumbled something in reply and didn't press him for any further explanations.

"I sense in them something that I don't have," the vampire went on to explain anyway. "Mortality."

"You envy them that?" I couldn't resist asking.

"It frightens me." Witezslav leaned down over the security chief and said, "We're going to go now. You will sleep for five minutes and have beautiful dreams. When you wake up, you will forget our visit. You will only remember Anton… you will feel very friendly toward him. If Anton needs anything, you will give him any help you can."