first,

I see a black sun, and dreams the same colour.

I cannot tell sins from virtues, even to save my life.

They're removing the witnesses, turning us to snakes.

And I am willing to rot under any flag,

Prepared to slither, zigzagging across the ground,

And even sing of love, up to my throat in vomit,

If that is what my Motherland requires.

A light appeared up ahead, somewhere near the slip road onto the motorway. I screwed up my eyes and looked through the Twilight. There was a temporary militia barrier across the road. And two men waiting beside it, with two Others.

Dark Others.

I smiled and slowed down.

My brain is a beehive with ants instead of bees.

The bullet's centre of gravity is displaced towards love.

But the serpent's coils are armour plating.

I see a black sun. A sun that hates me.

I could have surrendered without a fight, caught in the devil's jaws.

But I'll die on my feet – the coils will not let me fall.

The serpent's coils – my brace and my shell.

I see a black sun. And it hurts my eyes.

I stopped right in front of the barrier and waited for the motorway patrolman holding an automatic rifle to his chest. The Inquisition were never too choosy when it came to recruiting people for security cordons.

I handed the militiaman my licence and documents for the car, and turned the sound down.

I looked at the Others.

The first was an Inquisitor I didn't know, a lean, elderly Asiatic type. I'd have said he was at the second or third grade of Power, but with Inquisitors it's harder to tell.

The second was a Dark One I knew very well, from the Moscow Day Watch. The vampire Kostya.

'We're looking for a witch,' said the Inquisitor. The militiamen took no notice of the Others. The militiamen had been ordered not to see.

'Arina's not here,' I replied. 'Is Edgar in charge of the drag-net?'

The Inquisitor nodded.

'Ask him about me. Anton Gorodetsky, Night Watch.'

'I know him,' Kostya said casually, leaning down towards the Inquisitor. 'A law-abiding Light One . . .'

'Proceed,' said the patrolman, handing back my documents.

'You can drive on,' the Inquisitor said with a nod. 'There'll be more security posts down the road.'

I nodded and drove out onto the motorway.

Kostya stood there, watching me drive away.

I turned the sound up.

I'm not for or against. I'm not good or evil.

You've been damned lucky with me, my Motherland.

Your serpent's coils are my home, my trap.

I shall crawl under the sun.

Under this cursed sun,

From here to here, and then from here to here,

From here to Judgement Day.

Story Three

NOBODY'S POWER

PROLOGUE

HE DIDN'T OFTEN dream.

And right now he wasn't even asleep. Even so, it was almost a dream, almost like one of those sweet visions in the instant before waking . . .

A light, pure vision, almost like a child's.

'Scavenging engines . . . key to start position . . .'

The silvery column of the rocket shrouded in light mist.

Flames dancing under the thruster nozzles.

Every Russian child dreams of being a cosmonaut – until he hears that question for the tenth time: 'What do you want to be, a cosmonaut?'

Some stop dreaming about outer space when they become Others.

The Twilight is more interesting than other planets. Their newly discovered Power has a stronger gravitational pull than the fame of a cosmonaut.

But now he was dreaming of a rocket – an absurd, old-fashioned rocket rising up into the sky.

The Earth floating beneath his feet – or is it above his head?

The thick quartz glass of the porthole.

Strange dreams for an Other, surely?

The Earth . . . a veil of clouds . . . the lights of the cities . . . people.

Millions of them. Billions.

And him – watching them from orbit.

An Other in space . . . what could be more ludicrous? Except maybe Other versus Alien. He had watched a science fiction film once, and suddenly found himself thinking that now was just the right moment for brave Ripley to slip into the Twilight – and then strike out and smash those unwieldy, helpless monsters.

The thought immediately made him laugh.

There weren't any Others up there.

But space was up there. Only he hadn't realised what it was for until now.

Now he understood.

He closed his eyes, dreaming about the small Earth rotating slowly under his feet.

Every child dreams of being a giant – until he starts to wonder what the point is.

Now he knew everything.

The parts of the jigsaw all fitted together.

His own destiny as an Other.

His crazy dream about space travel.

And the thick volume bound in human skin,