“Why did Rogoza come from Ukraine?”

“Because we’re not the ones who decide who’s going to be a Mirror. I was rather hoping that he would show up, but nobody ever knows anything in advance. A Mirror Magician might come or he might not. He can appear straightaway or he can take days, even months, to reach the place where the equilibrium has been disrupted. Have I satisfied your curiosity?”

“Yes.”

“Then I expect a courtesy in return. Who killed Victor? And what have Mirror Magicians got to do with it?”

“You won’t like this information, Zabulon. I think that Victor was killed in order to discredit the Scottish Night Watch. They own the tourist attraction. And as for the Mirror…I’m afraid that the situation here might be destabilized. So badly that a Mirror Magician will turn up. Are there any candidates for the role in Edinburgh?”

He believed me. At least, I thought he believed me. He answered thoughtfully, “I don’t know. I’ve never tried to find out.”

“Then that’s all for the time being. If you do find out, please let me know, if you would be so kind.”

Without bothering to wait for his mocking chuckle, I opened my hand and cut off the contact. The figurine was gleaming with sweat, which made it seem almost alive.

That was it, time to go back to the hotel. To that cozy deluxe apartment for Light Ones, that kingdom of white and pink and beige, those lace curtains and silk sheets.

My phone jangled.

“Hello?” As I pressed the phone to my ear, I caught the waiter’s eye and ran one finger across my open palm, as if I was writing out a bill. The waiter gave a labored smile, glanced at the solitary cup standing in front of me, and scribbled ?2 on a piece of paper.

“Anthony, my friend,” Lermont said in English. His use of “Anthony” told me immediately that there was someone nearby who was not supposed to know I was Russian. “How was my employee feeling when you left the Dungeons?”

“Just fine.”

“He’s been killed, Anthony. Do you think you could come over?”

I hissed something unprintable and scooped the small change out of my pocket, trying to remember how to get where I was going. Right…the castle was there, the ravine and bridge were there…“If I can catch a taxi straightaway, I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Make it quick,” Lermont told me.

I found an available taxi immediately; fortunately I didn’t need to resort to magic in order to get someone out of a cab that was already occupied. Edinburgh was remarkably good for taxis in general. I got in, took out a cigarette, and lit it. The driver looked at me rather disapprovingly but didn’t say anything. I cranked the window all the way down. Of course, his next passengers would be nonsmokers…

But I felt like smoking.

Idiot. What an idiot I was! I’d felt alarmed for Egor, concerned for Valeria…But I hadn’t bothered to use my head for what it was really meant for. My visit to the Dungeons had been observed. And now poor Jean, the nervous French student, would never go back home to Nantes…

It was my fault.

But what about Lermont-closing the place down and only leaving one man on duty to watch it! Not an Other, not a Battle Magician who could fight vampires on equal terms, but a frightened kid in makeup and a costume.

I imagined the young redheaded guy with his face pale from loss of blood instead of makeup, lying there surrounded by those appalling instruments of torture. “It’s a bit creepy here on your own.” And I started swearing wildly under my breath.

“I’m an asshole, a fool…”

Lermont was waiting for me at the entrance to the Dungeons. He looked dark-faced and angry, the way only a Light One can be angry.

“Let’s go,” he said, and tramped off without even looking to see if I was behind him. We walked quickly through a string of empty rooms and came out at the River of Blood. This place again?

But Foma got into the boat without saying a word. I followed him in. He waved his hand, the mechanism creaked, and the boat moved forward.

“Haven’t you called the police yet?” I asked.

“Not yet. Only our own people…and observers from the Dark Ones.”

“Where are they?”

“I asked them to wait a few rooms away. I said I wanted to bring in an independent expert to examine the body. An ordinary human being. No point in anyone knowing about you at this stage…”

The boat crept across the small dark space and docked at the other mooring.

“There,” Foma said morosely.

I clambered out of the boat and followed Foma into the next room, which contained an exhibition of methods of execution. There was a dummy hanging in a noose from the ceiling, and over there on the guillotine-it wasn’t a dummy on the guillotine. The killer had demonstrated his sense of humor once again.

To cut a man’s head off with the sham blade of the fake guillotine must have taken superhuman strength-the kind of strength that a vampire has, for instance.

The white plastic bucket under the guillotine was half full of blood. The severed head was lying beside it. I squatted and picked the head up cautiously. It wasn’t who I was expecting. I felt like screaming at the helpless awareness of my own stupidity.

“I wish I knew what bastard did this,” said Foma. “That man worked for me for seventeen years.”

“The bastard was a young redheaded guy,” I said. “He pretended to be French and spoke with a slight accent. He looked twenty years old. And he had a liking for theatrical effects. Very quick-witted, a remarkable actor.”

Carefully laying the severed head back down on the floor, I looked at Lermont’s dumbfounded face and explained.

“He made a total fool of me. I was talking to the killer only two steps away from the body. And I didn’t suspect a thing. Not a thing!”

The head of the murdered guard-black-haired, but with a sprinkling of gray quite appropriate for a man over fifty-stared blindly up at me from the floor.

“You can only mask your true nature from someone who’s very weak,” said Lermont, drilling into me with his mistrustful eyes. “That’s axiomatic. Try to define my aura.”

A strange conversation over a dead man whose head had been severed. A strange place, a strange crime, strange ideas…

Lermont’s aura-a blaze of bright yellow-green discharges, a prickly hedgehog of Power, dimmed. The pointed discharges were drawn in and faded. A few seconds later Lermont was surrounded by the smooth, multilayered aura typical of a human being.

A ragged, open aura is a sure sign of an Other. It can have sharp needles and prickles, swirling vortices, gaping holes. All these are indications of an open energy pattern and the ability to absorb energy, not just give it out the way human beings do. To absorb, process, and perform miracles.

A human aura is smooth, multilayered, integrated. People only give out Power, they don’t absorb it. And the smooth membrane of their aura is an attempt to protect themselves, to halt the slow, implacable draining away of life.

Yes, now Lermont looked like a human being.

Almost like a human being…

I looked a bit more carefully and saw the pale needles of his aura. Foma had disguised himself very well, but I had broken through his defense.

“I see it,” I said, “but I didn’t look at that young guy so carefully. He could have masked himself.”

“In that case, your redheaded companion is a Higher Vampire. Or a Higher Magician pretending to be a vampire.” Foma nodded in satisfaction. “And he would not be able to put on a mask while disguising his aura at the same time. This is good, Anton, this is really good. We know his physical appearance: young, red-haired-there aren’t all that many Higher Others in the world.”

“He must have gotten the cloak from somewhere around here,” I said. “And the false fangs. He heard me coming and instead of running away, he calmly came out to meet me…and invented a cover story on the spot.”