Day Watch Read online

  Carrying a body along a crowded street in the center of Moscow, close to the walls of the Kremlin, is not the most relaxing of occupations, even with the spell of inattention that Lemesheva had pronounced again. People didn't look at us, they just quickened their step and walked around the procession. But the Twilight became agitated.

  The fabric of existence is woven too fine here. There's too much blood, too many emotions, the traces of the past are too clearly evident. There are places like that, where the boundary between the human world and the Twilight is almost imperceptible, and the center of Moscow is one of them.

  If I'd been in a fit state, I would have seen the surges of Power emerging from the depths of a different reality. Probably even Zabulon couldn't explain exactly what stands behind them. All that we could do was pay no attention to the greedy breathing of the Twilight that had sensed the death of a witch in magical combat.

  "Faster!" Lemesheva said, and the vampires quickened their stride. The Twilight must have become seriously agitated.

  Only I couldn't tell any longer.

  We went in the door that was invisible to human beings, and Lena had to take me and Zhanna through. Our colleagues were already running toward us. The witch, who had started yelling again, was dragged off to the interrogation room on the tenth floor. Olga was handed directly to magicians from the department of healing (without the slightest hope of being able to help, but the fact of death had to be registered). One of the healers on duty examined us carefully. He shook his head disapprovingly as he assessed Zhanna's condition and frowned when he looked at the battered vampires. But when he turned his attention to me, his face simply froze.

  "Is it really that bad?" I asked.

  "That's putting it mildly," he said without superfluous sentimentality. "Alisa, what were you thinking of when you gave out your Power?"

  "I was acting according to instructions," I answered, feeling my tears welling up again. "Edgar would have been killed-he was up against two second-level magicians!"

  The healer nodded. "Very praiseworthy zeal, Alisa. But the price is very high too."

  Edgar was already hurrying toward the elevator, but he stopped and gave me a look of sympathy. Then he came over to me and kissed the palm of my hand. These Baltic types are always making themselves out to be Victorian gentlemen.

  "Alisa; my most profound gratitude! I could sense that you were giving everything you had. I was afraid that you would go the same way as Olga." He turned to the healer. "Karl Lvovich, what can be done for this brave girl?"

  "I'm afraid nothing can be done," the healer said with a shrug. "Alisa was drawing Power from out of her own soul. It's like acute dystrophy, if you get my meaning. When the body doesn't have enough food, it starts digesting itself. It destroys the liver, the muscles, the stomach-anything to maintain the brain until the very last. Our girls found themselves in a similar situation. Zhanna seems to have lost consciousness in time and stopped drawing on her final reserves. Alisa and Olga held out to the end, but Olga's inner resources were not so great and she died. Alisa survived, but her mental reserves have been totally exhausted."

  Edgar gave a sympathetic nod and everyone else listened to the doctor with interest as he continued with his florid rhetoric. "The special abilities of an Other are similar in some ways to any other energy reaction-take a nuclear reaction, for instance. We maintain our abilities by drawing Power from the world around us, from people and other less complex objects. But in order to begin receiving Power, first you have to invest some of your own-such is the cruel law of nature. And Alisa has practically none of that initial Power left. Simply pumping in Power is no help in this case, just as a piece of heavily salted pork fat or an overcooked, crispy steak won't save someone who's starving to death. The body can't digest that kind of food-in fact, it will kill, not cure. It's the same thing with Alisa-we could pump energy into her, but she would choke on it."

  "Could you please not talk about me in the third person?" I asked. "And not in that tone of voice!"

  "I'm sorry, my girl." Karl Lvovich sighed. "But what I'm saying is the truth."

  Edgar gently released my hand and said, "Alisa, don't take it too much to heart. Perhaps the chief will think of something. And by the way, talking about steaks… I'm absolutely ravenous."

  Lemesheva nodded. "Let's go to some little bistro."

  "Wait for me, okay?" said Zhanna. "I'll just take a shower, I'm lathered in sweat…"

  I didn't even have enough strength left to feel horrified. I stood there like a fool, listening to their conversation, trying to sense anything at all at the level of an Other. To see my real shadow, to summon the Twilight, to feel the emotional background…

  There was nothing.

  And they seemed to have forgotten about me already.

  If it had been Zhanna or Lena in my place, I would have behaved exactly the same way. After all, there's no point in hanging yourself just because someone else got careless, is there? Did anyone ask me to give everything, down to the very last drop? No, it was my fault for trying to be a hero!

  It was all because of Semyon and Tiger Cub. When I realized who we'd come up against, I decided to take my revenge. To prove something… to someone… for some reason…

  Now what was I going to do? I'd proved it, all right, and I'd been crippled. And far more badly than in the fight with Tiger Cub…

  "Just be quick, Zhanna," said Lemesheva. "Alisa, will you come with us?"

  I turned toward her, but before I could say anything, someone spoke behind my back: "Nobody's going anywhere."

  Lemesheva's eyes opened wide and I shuddered as I recognized that voice.

  Zabulon was standing by the elevator.

  He was in his human form: skinny and sad-looking, with a rather preoccupied air. Many of our people only know him like that-calm and unhurried, even a little bit boring. But I know another Zabulon too. Not the restrained boss of the Day Watch, not the mighty warrior who takes on demonic form, not the Dark magician beyond classification… but a cheerful, inexhaustibly inventive Other. Simply an Other, without any traces of the gulf between us, as if there were no difference in age, experience, or Power.

  That's the way it used to be. Before…

  "Everybody come to my office," Zabulon ordered. "Immediately."

  He disappeared-dived into the Twilight probably. But before that he rested his glance on me for a brief moment. There was no expression at all in his eyes. No mockery or sympathy or affection.

  But he did look at me, and my heart stood still. For the last year Zabulon had seemed not even to notice the unfortunate witch Alisa Donnikova.

  "So much for bistros and showers," Lemesheva said dourly. "Come on, girls."

  It was an accident that I ended up sitting apart from the others.

  My feet automatically took me to the armchair by the fireplace-the broad leather armchair in which I used to curl up, half-sitting, half-lying, watching Zabulon at work, looking at the smokeless flame in the hearth, the photographs hanging all round the walls…

  When I realized that I'd unwittingly separated myself from the others, who had taken appropriate places on the divans by the wall, it was already too late to change anything. It would only have looked stupid.

  Then I kicked off my sandals, pulled my feet up, and made myself comfortable.

  Lemesheva glanced at me in astonishment before she started her report. The others didn't even dare to look-their eyes were fixed adoringly on the boss. The sycophantic toadies!

  Leaning back in his chair behind his huge desk, Zabulon didn't react to me at all either. At least not on the outside.

  Well, don't look then…

  I listened to Lemesheva's smooth voice-she delivered her report well, speaking briefly and to the point, nothing superfluous was said and nothing important was omitted. And I looked at the photograph hanging above the desk. It was very, very old, taken a hundred and forty years earlier, using the colloidal method- the boss once gave me a detailed e
xplanation of the differences between the "dry" and "wet" techniques. The photograph showed Zabulon in old-fashioned clothes as a student at Oxford, against the background of the tower of Christ Church College. It was a genuine original by Lewis Carroll. The boss once remarked that it had been very difficult to persuade the "dried-up prim and proper poet" to spend some time on one of his own students instead of a little girl. But the photograph had turned out very well-Carroll must have been a real master. Zabulon looks serious, but there's a lively glint of irony in his eyes, and he looks a lot younger too… but then, what does a century and a half mean to him…

  "Donnikova?"

  I looked at Lemesheva and nodded. "I entirely agree. If the absolutely essential goal of our mission was to free the prisoner, then forming the Circle of Power and threatening to perform the sacrifice was the best solution." I paused for a moment and then added skeptically, "Of course, that's if that stupid fool was worth all the effort."

  "Alisa!" There was a metallic ring to Lemesheva's voice. "How dare you discuss the chief's orders? Chief, I apologize for Alisa. She's overwrought and not… not entirely well."

  "Naturally," said Zabulon. "Alisa effectively ensured the success of the entire operation. She sacrificed all her Power. It's hardly surprising that she feels like asking questions."

  I raised my head sharply at that. Zabulon was quite serious. Not a hint of mockery or irony.

  "But…" Lemesheva began.

  "Who was just talking about respect for seniority?" Zabulon interrupted her. "Be quiet."

  Lemesheva broke off.

  Zabulon got up from behind the desk and walked over to me without hurrying. I kept my eyes fixed on him, but I didn't get up.

  "That stupid fool," said Zabulon, "was not worth all the effort. Of course not. But the actual operation against the Night Watch was extremely important. And all of the injuries you suffered in the battle are entirely justified."

  I felt as if I'd been stabbed in the back. "Thank you, Zabulon," I replied. "It will be easier for me to live through all these years, knowing that my efforts were not in vain."

  "All what years, Alisa?" Zabulon asked.

  It was strange… we hadn't spoken at all for a whole year… I hadn't even received any orders from him in person… and now when he spoke to me, there was that cold, prickly lump in my chest again.

  "The healer said it will be a long time before I can restore my Power."

  Zabulon laughed. And then suddenly he reached out his hand! He patted me on the cheek… affectionately… in that old, familiar way…

  "Never mind what the healer said…" Zabulon declared peaceably. "The healer has his opinion, and I have mine."

  He took his hand away and I had to struggle to stop my cheek following it…

  "I think no one will disagree that Alisa Donnikova was substantially responsible for the success of today's operation?"

  Aha… I'd have liked to see anyone try to object! Lemesheva simply remarked cautiously, "We all made a significant effort…"

  "From your condition it's not hard to see who made what kind of effort."

  Zabulon went back to his desk, but he didn't sit down. He just leaned over with his hands on the desktop, looking at me. I think he was studying me closely through the Twilight.

  But I couldn't sense it…

  "Is everyone agreed that the Day Watch should help Alisa?" Zabulon inquired.

  A glint of fury appeared in Lemesheva's eyes. The old witch had once been Zabulon's girlfriend herself. That was why she had hated me when I was in favor… and why she had become fond of me as soon as the chief turned his back on me.

  "If it's a matter of help," she began, "then Karl Lvovich made a good comparison. We are prepared to share our Power with Alisa, only that would be like giving a dying person a piece of fatty bacon instead of light broth. But I am willing to try…"

  Zabulon turned his head and Lemesheva shut up.

  "If light broth is what is required, then she shall have light broth," he said in a very calm voice. "You can all go."

  The vampire brothers were the first to jump to their feet, then the witches stood up. I started shuffling my feet about, looking for my sandals.

  "Alisa, you stay, if it's no trouble," Zabulon said.

  The glint in Lemesheva's eyes flared up-and then faded away. She had realized what I was still afraid to believe in.

  A few moments later Zabulon and I were left alone, looking at each other without speaking. My throat was dry and my tongue wouldn't obey me. No, it couldn't be true… I shouldn't even try to deceive myself…

  "How are you feeling, Alya?" Zabulon asked.

  Only my mother ever calls me Alya. And Zabulon used to call me that…

  "Like a squeezed lemon," I said. "Tell me, am I really such a terrible fool? Did I exhaust myself doing a job that is no use to anybody?"

  "You did very well, Alya," said Zabulon.

  And he smiled.

  The same way he used to smile. Exactly the same way.

  "But now I…" I stopped, because Zabulon took a step toward me-and I didn't need words anymore. I couldn't even get up out of the chair: I put my arms round his legs and hugged him, pressed myself against him-and burst into tears.

  "Today you laid the foundation for one of our finest operations," said Zabulon. His hand was ruffling my hair, but at that moment he seemed to be somewhere very far away. Of course, a Great Magician like him could never afford to relax: He carried responsibility for the entire Day Watch of Moscow and the surrounding region, for the fates of the ordinary Dark Ones living their calm and peaceful lives. He had to fight the intrigues of the Light Ones and pay attention to people's needs… "Alisa, after your stupid trick with the Prism of Power, I decided you weren't really worthy of my attention."

  "Zabulon, I was a conceited fool…" I whispered, swallowing my tears. "Forgive me. I let you down…"

  "Today you made up for everything."

  Zabulon lifted me up out of the armchair in a single swift movement. I stood on tiptoe, otherwise I would have been left dangling in his arms, and I remembered how astonished I had been the first time by the incredible strength of his skinny body. Even when he was in his human form…

  "Alisa, I'm pleased with you," he said and smiled. "And don't worry about having drained your Power. We have certain special reserves."

  "Like the right to perform a sacrifice?" I asked, trying to smile.

  "Yes," Zabulon nodded. "You're going on vacation, starting from today. And you'll come back better than ever."

  My lips started trembling treacherously. What was happening to me? I was wailing like a hysterical child. My mascara must have run all over my face, I didn't have a single ounce of Power left…

  "I want you," I whispered. "Zabulon, I've been so lonely…"

  He gently took my arms away. "Afterward, Alya. When you come back. Otherwise it would be…" Zabulon smiled. "… an abuse of my official position for personal ends."

  "Nobody would dare say that to you!"

  Zabulon looked into my eyes for a long time. "There are some who would, Alya. Last year was a very difficult one for the Watch and there are many who would like to see me humiliated."

  "Then don't do this," I said quickly. "Don't take the risk. I'll restore my own Power bit by bit…"

  "No, it's the right thing to do. Don't you worry, my little girl."

  My heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice. At that calm, confident Power.

  "Why would you take such a risk for me?" I whispered, not expecting any answer, but Zabulon did answer:

  "Because love is also a power. A great power, and it should not be disdained."

  Chapter three

  –«¦»-

  Life is a strange business.

  A day earlier I had left my apartment, a young, healthy witch full of Power-but unhappy.

  Half a day earlier I had been standing in the Watch offices, crippled, with no hope or belief in the future… How everything had changed!<
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  "Would you like some more wine, Alisa?" asked Pavel, my escort, looking quizzically into my eyes.

  "A little bit," I said, looking out of the window.

  The plane had already begun its descent for the landing at Simferopol airport. The old Tupolev jet creaked as it slowly heeled over, and the passengers' faces were anxious and tense. Pavel and I were the only ones sitting there quite calmly-Zabulon himself had checked to make sure the flight was safe.

  Pavel handed me a crystal wine glass. Of course, the glass hadn't come from the stewardess's standard stock, and neither had the South African sauterne that was in it. The young shape-shifter seemed to be taking his mission very seriously indeed. He was flying south for a vacation with some friends of his, but at the last minute he'd been taken off the flight to Kherson and instructed to accompany me to Simferopol. The rumors that my relationship with Zabulon had been restored had clearly already reached him.

  "Why don't we drink to the chief, Alisa?" Pavel asked. He was trying so hard to ingratiate himself that it was beginning to annoy me.

  "All right," I agreed. We clinked glasses and drank. The stewardess walked past us, checking for the last time that all the seat belts were fastened, but she didn't even look at us. The spell of inattention that Pavel had cast was doing its job. Even this wretched shape-shifter could do more than I could now…

  "You must admit," Pavel told me after he'd taken a sip of wine, "that the way our chief treats the staff is pretty good!"

  I nodded.

  "And the Light Ones…" he said, putting all the contempt he could muster into those two words, "… they're much greater individualists than we are."

  "Don't overdo it," I said. "That's not really true."

  "Oh come on, Alisa!" The wine had made him talkative. "Do you remember how we stood in the cordon a year ago? Just before the hurricane?"

  That cordon was probably the only place I remembered having seen him before. The shape-shifters do all the crude work and our paths seldom cross. Only during combat operations, and on those rare occasions when the entire Watch personnel is convened.

  "I remember."