And how hard she’d tried to seduce me! Crossing her legs like that, allowing her dressing gown to slip, making those eyes at me.

Yes, sometimes I felt it was a great shame that I was a Light One…

But I wanted to sleep so badly that I felt absolutely no desire to indulge in exciting fantasies about sex with a young female werewolf. I posted a few guardian and defense spells entirely automatically-a ritual as ordinary as cleaning my teeth. Then I climbed into bed and listened to the sounds outside the windows: The city was still enjoying itself, the city was in no hurry to get to sleep. I took my cell phone, switched it to the music function, and closed my eyes. The age of cassette players had gone the same way as gramophone records, the age of minidisks had never happened, and now the age of CDs was on the way out. Now there was just the cold code name MP3. But we’d gotten used to it. It didn’t bother us anymore.

This is how the light begins.

A dark night with no special signs.

But someone has entered into that gloom.

You still don’t realize it will be the same way for you.

Yes, this sounds crazy, yes it sounds like a pipe dream.

But this is exactly how the light begins, how the fear ends,

How the sound is born.

This is how the fear ends.

And you have drunk the potion of poisoned herbs

From the carefully hidden books.

Now each shout you make is also a clue.

So much unhappiness and misfortune. So much meaningless suffering.

But this is the only way the light begins, the only way the fear ends,

The way the sound is born.

Soon is the day of funerals,

So dig that trench to the roaring of thieves and cawing of ravens.

Bury your own death,

Tell yourself a fortune of life and of light.

The first trace left. The last friend lost.

This is how the light begins, how the fear ends,

How the sound is born…

I fell asleep. And in my dreams there was no one shooting. There was no one cutting off heads with a blunt guillotine. And there was no one chasing anyone else.

There wasn’t a young girl in a silk dressing gown, either. There wasn’t even any room for Sveta. Just someone’s curious, hostile gaze that was fixed on me and never moved.

It’s never nice to be woken by a phone call. Not even if it’s the woman you love or an old friend who’s calling.

It was already light outside. I lifted my head up off the pillow and looked around the bedroom… everything was fine, except that I’d kicked the blanket onto the floor during the night. I reached out for my phone and looked at the number.

Instead of a number, the screen on the phone simply said ZABULON, even though the Dark One’s number was not in my address book.

“Hello, Dark One.”

“How’s your health, Anton?” Zabulon inquired sympathetically. “Has the shoulder healed up?”

“Everything’s fine, thank you.” I touched the place where there had been a wound the day before. The skin there was pink and it itched.

“I’m glad my gift was of some use,” Zabulon continued in the same polite tone. “I’d like to share a bit of information with you. There are no candidates for the role of Mirror in Great Britain. There is one in France, one in Poland, two in Italy…I can’t imagine why Thomas chose to drag Egor all the way to Edinburgh.”

Well, there was my proof. My naive attempt at cunning had failed. Zabulon had dug up the truth after all.

“I hope that he won’t be required,” I said.

“Of course, of course,” Zabulon agreed. “It really is quite disgraceful to exploit the poor boy again in the interests of the Light… Anton, my dear fellow, what is actually going on there? I heard there was another murder yesterday. Has someone else had his blood drained?”

“Yes,” I said, sitting up in bed. “Another one. He was beheaded with a model of a guillotine.”

“And what did they do with the blood?” Zabulon inquired.

“Drained it into the bucket for washing the floor.”

“I see.”

“I’m glad you understand something at least,” I said.

“Don’t be so modest, Anton…,” Zabulon said, and paused. “Ask Foma how long it’s been since he visited his neighbor in the grave.”

“What’s that?” I said, thinking I must have misheard. “His neighbor’s grave?”

“How long is it since he visited his neighbor in the grave,” Zabulon repeated with a chuckle, and cut the connection.

Swearing under my breath, I got up and headed for the bathroom. I tidied myself up and took a cold shower, then put on a short-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans. Somehow I wasn’t in the mood anymore for frivolous shorts and a T-shirt. If the weather had allowed, I would have put on a sweater or a jacket.

My phone rang again.

“Hello, Gesar,” I said after glancing at the display.

“How are you getting on?”

“The shoulder’s healed,” I said, absolutely certain that Gesar knew everything.

“Which shoulder’s that?”

“Yesterday someone shot at me.” I told him briefly what had happened. And there was such a deadly silence that I blew into the mouthpiece, as if it was an old-style telephone.

“I’m thinking,” Gesar said dryly. “Thinking…”

“Maybe I should go and get some breakfast first?”

“Yes, do,” said the boss. “And then find Foma. Tell him there’s no time left for half-truths and dissembling. He has to check the rune.”

“Which one, exactly?” I asked in the tone of someone who checks runes every day of the week.

“Merlin’s Rune.”

“Ah…” I said, slowly beginning to understand something. “Merlin’s Rune…isn’t that in the grave?”

It was a shot in the dark, but from Gesar’s silence I realized that I’d hit the bull’s-eye.

“Anton, how do you…” He swore briefly. “Find Foma and have a completely frank talk with him! I’ll get in touch with him too.”

“Yessir!” I rapped, and put the phone away in my pocket.

Well, how about that!

So there was a rune. A rune in a grave. The grave of Merlin.

But Merlin was a mythological character, wasn’t he? King Arthur, the Knights of the Round Table, Merlin…None of them had ever existed!

Aha. But the Great Gesar and Thomas the Rhymer didn’t exist either. Neither did crazed vampires and young girl werewolves, Light Healers and obstinate young magicians who had acquired the higher level of Power by some oversight…

Strangely enough, my mood was rapidly improving. Maybe because things had finally started moving? I ran down the stairs, said good morning to the previous day’s receptionist, and opened the door of the restaurant.

There wasn’t a single human being in there. Only two young vampires and a girl werewolf.

The vampires were eating carpaccio. Galya was eating an omelet. That was surprising: Usually after two consecutive transformations, werewolves eat meat by the pound.

“Good morning,” I greeted my fellow guests.

The vampires smiled crookedly and nodded. Galya began prodding at the omelet with her fork. It was obvious why: The hormonal rush had receded, and now she was feeling embarrassed. She’d managed to get some clothes from somewhere-black trousers, a white blouse, a little jacket with short sleeves. Something like the things that schoolgirls wear in Japanese cartoons.

“Hi,” I said, sitting down beside her. “Had a good rest?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Not bothered by any nightmares? That’s a frightening kind of room you’ve got, I’m not surprised you didn’t want to stay in it. The designer tried a bit too hard, don’t you think?”

Galya gave me a thoughtful look. She put a piece of omelet in her mouth, chewed it, and said, “Thank you, Light One. But I don’t really fancy you, honestly. Would you like me to bring you some food? Look after you a bit?”

“Yes, do,” I agreed.

The girl went over to the buffet table-omelets and fried eggs in heated containers, bread, salami, cheese, meat, a bunch of green herbs. In the corner by the door into the kitchen there was a small refrigerator. I wondered if the vampires’ blood was kept in there. Or did the barman pour it for them in the evening? The bar counter was empty now; even the beer pumps were covered with colorful cases.