"He's already drunk human blood," I said. "He must have! If he's in favor in the Day Watch."

"He has become a Higher Vampire," Gesar declared. "The youngest Higher Vampire in Europe. If you translate that into our terms, that means…"

"Third or fourth level of Power," I whispered. "Five or six lives destroyed."

Kostya, Kostya… I was a young, inexperienced Light Magician back then. I just couldn't make any friends in the Watch, and relations with all my old friends were rapidly falling apart… Others and people can't be friends… and suddenly I discovered that my neighbors on the same staircase were Dark Others. A family of vampires. The mother and father were vampires, and they'd initiated their child, too. There was nothing really sinister about them though. No nocturnal hunting, no applications for licenses, they respected the law and drank pig's blood and donors' blood. And so, like a fool, I let my defenses down. I became friends with them. I even used to go around to see them. I even invited them to my place. They ate food that I'd cooked, and praised it… and, fool that I was, I didn't realize that human food is tasteless to them, that they are tormented by an ancient, eternal hunger. The little vampire kid even decided that he was going to be a biologist and discover a cure for vampirism…

Then I killed my first vampire.

After that Kostya joined the Day Watch. I didn't know if he'd ever graduated from his biology faculty, but he'd certainly shed his childhood illusions…

He'd started receiving licenses to kill. Rise to the level of a Higher Vampire in three years? He must have had help. All the resources of the Day Watch must have been brought to bear so that the nice young guy Kostya could sink his fangs into human necks over and over again…

And I had a pretty good idea who had helped him.

"What do you think, Anton," said Gesar, "in the given situation, who should we appoint as the investigator from our side?"

I took my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Svetlana's number.

In our line of business you don't often get to work undercover.

In the first place, you have to completely disguise your nature as an Other so that nothing gives you away-not your aura, or any streams of Power, or any disturbances in the Twilight. And the situation here is quite simple-if you're a fifth-level magician, then you won't be discovered by magicians weaker than you (i.e., those who are sixth- and seventh-level). If you're a first-level magician, then you're concealed from the second level and below. If you're a magician beyond classification… well, then you can hope that no one will recognize you. I was disguised by Gesar himself. Immediately afterward, I spoke to Svetlana-a conversation that was brief, but painful. No, we didn't quarrel. She was just very upset.

And in the second place, you need a cover story. The simplest way to provide a cover story is by magical means-people you don't know will gladly believe you're their brother, their son-in-law's father, or the army buddy they drank home brew with when they went absent without leave. But any magical cover story will leave traces that any reasonably powerful Other can spot.

So there was no magic at all involved in my cover story. Gesar handed me the keys to an apartment in the Assol complex-500 square feet of floor space on the eighth floor. The apartment was registered in my name and had been bought six months earlier.

When I opened my eyes wide at that, Gesar explained that the documents had been signed that morning, but backdated. For big money. And the apartment would have to be handed back afterward.

I got the key to the BMW just to add substance to my story. It wasn't a new car, or the most luxurious model, but then my apartment was a small one too.

Then a tailor came into the office-a mournful little old Jew, a seventh-level Other. He took my measurements, promised the suit would be ready by the evening, and then, he said, "This boy will start to look like a man." Gesar was extremely polite with the tailor. He opened the door for him and then saw him out into the reception, and as he said goodbye, he asked timidly how his "little coat" was coming on. The tailor told him there was no need to worry-a coat worthy of the Most Lucent Gesar would be ready before the cold weather set in.

After hearing that, I wasn't so delighted by the decision that I could keep my suit. The tailor clearly didn't make genuine, monumental things in half a day.

Gesar himself provided me with ties. He even taught me a particularly fashionable knot. Then he gave me a wad of banknotes and the address of a shop and ordered me to buy myself everything else to match-including underwear, handkerchiefs, and socks. I was offered the services of Ignat as a consultant-one of our magicians who would have been called an incubus in the Day Watch. Or a succubus-he didn't really care much either way.

The expedition around the boutiques, where Ignat felt right at home, was amusing. But the visit to the hairdresser's, or rather, the "Beauty Salon," left me completely wrecked. Two women and a young guy who tried to act like he was gay, although he wasn't, took turns inspecting me. They all sighed for a long time and made uncomplimentary remarks about my hairdresser. If their wishes had come true, the hairdresser would have been condemned to shearing the wool off mangy sheep for the rest of his life. And for some reason in Tajikistan. This was clearly the most terrible hairdresser's curse… I even decided that after my mission I'd drop into the second-class hairdresser's where I'd been getting my hair cut for the last year, just to make sure they hadn't left an Inferno Vortex hanging over the man's head.

The collective wisdom of the beauty specialists was that my only hope of salvation was a short comb-cut, like one of those small-time hoods who fleece the traders at the market. In consolation they told me that the forecast was for a hot summer and I'd feel more comfortable with a short haircut.

After the haircut, which took more than an hour, I was subjected to a manicure and a pedicure. When Ignat was satisfied, he took me to a dentist, who removed the tartar from my teeth with a special fitting on his drill and advised me to have the procedure repeated every six months. After the procedure my teeth felt somehow naked-it was even unpleasant to touch them with my tongue. I couldn't think of what to say in reply to Ignat's ambivalent comment, "Anton, you look good enough to fall in love with!" and just mumbled something incomprehensible. All the way back to the office I served as a defenseless target for his unsubtle wit.

The suit was already waiting for me. And the tailor too, muttering discontentedly that sewing a suit without a second fitting was like getting married on impulse.

I don't know. If every marriage made on impulse was as successful as that suit, the incidence of divorce would be reduced to zero.

Gesar spoke to the tailor about his coat again. They had a long, heated argument about the buttons, until the Most Lucent Magician finally capitulated. And I stood by the window, looking out at the evening street and the small blinking light of the alarm system in "my" car.

I hoped no one would steal my ride… I couldn't set up any magical defenses to frighten away petty thieves. That would give me away more surely than the parachute trailing behind the Russian spy Stirlitz, as the old joke goes.

That night I was due to sleep in the new apartment. And I had to pretend it wasn't the first time I'd been there. At least there was no one waiting for me back at home. No wife or daughter or little dog or pussycat… I didn't even have any fish in an aquarium. And it was a good thing I didn't.

"Do you understand your mission, Gorodetsky?" Gesar asked. The tailor had left while I was pining at the window. My new suit felt amazingly comfortable. Despite the new haircut, I didn't feel like a thug who terrorized market traders, but someone a bit more serious. Maybe a collector of protection money from small shops.