The Twilight Watch by Sergei Lukyanenko

looked through the Twilight – at a pattern of branching coloured lines against a background of darkness. Like a crumpled bundle of optical fibres – some green, some yellow, some red. I'm not the best at reading the lines of probability, but this time I found it surprisingly easy. I was feeling in better shape than I ever had before.

That meant there was already power flowing into me. Power from Gesar and Zabulon, Edgar and the Inquisitors. And maybe at that moment Others were entranced right across Moscow, Light Ones and Dark Ones – the ones Gesar and Zabulon had the right to draw Power from.

I'd only ever felt anything like this once before. That time when I drew Power directly out of people.

'We go left at the third turn, there's a traffic jam ahead,' I said. 'Then we turn right into the yard and out through the archway . . . into the side street there . . .'

I'd never been in Saratov before. But that didn't make any difference right now.

'Yes sir!' Roman replied briskly.

'Faster!'

'Very well!'

I looked at Las. He took out a pack of cigarettes and lit up. The car hurtled through the crowded streets. Roman drove with the wild fury of a tram driver who's been given a chance to lap Schumacher in a Grand Prix.

Las sighed and asked:

'Now what's going to happen to me? Are you going to take a little torch out of your pocket and tell me "it was a marsh gas explosion"?'

'You can see for yourself – no torch required,' I said.

'But will I survive?' Las persisted.

'Yes,' I reassured him. 'But you won't remember anything. I'm sorry, but that's standard procedure.'

'I get it,' Las said sadly. 'Shit . . .Why is that always the way? . . .Tell me, since it makes no difference . . .'

The car tore along a side street, bouncing over the potholes. Las stubbed his cigarette out and went on:

'Tell me, who are you?'

'An Other.'

'What sort of other exactly?'

'A magician. Don't worry – I'm a Light Magician.'

'My, but you've grown, Harry Potter . . .' Las said. 'What a crazy business. Maybe I've just lost my mind?'

'No chance . . .' I said, pushing my hands hard against the roof. Roman was really going for it, driving straight across some flowerbeds to cut a corner. 'Careful, Roman! We need to move fast, but safely!'

'Then tell me,' Las carried on. 'Does this car race have anything to do with that abnormally large bat we saw yesterday night?'

'Believe it or not, it does,' I confirmed. The Power was seething inside me, as intoxicating as champagne. It made me feel like clowning. 'Are you afraid of vampires?'

Las took a flat bottle of whisky out of his bag, tore the top off and took a long swig. Then he said cheerfully:

'Not a bit!'

CHAPTER 6

HALFWAY TO THE airport a militia patrol car pulled out and sat on our tail. I put a spell on the Bora that diverts attention and the patrolmen immediately fell back and disappeared. Others normally use that spell to protect their cars against being stolen, so I was delighted to have found a new use for it. But I quickly removed it when a truck nearly flattened us a minute later.

'We'll be there in fifteen or twenty minutes,' Roman reported. 'What will our instructions be, boss?'

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Las shake his head and take another swig. We were already out of town and hurtling along the road to the airport. A fairly decent road by Central Russian standards.

'Turn the radio on,' I said. 'This journey's getting a bit dreary.'

Roman turned it on. He just caught the end of the news:

'. . . to the delight of millions of readers, whose three-year wait has finally come to an end,' the presenter declared. 'And to conclude – an announcement from the cosmodrome at Baikonur, where a joint Russian-American crew is already preparing for lift-off. The launch is planned for six-thirty this evening, Moscow time. And now we continue with our musical . . .'

'Like some whisky?' Las asked.

'No, I've got work to do.'

'Alexander, pull yourself together, this is no time to be drinking!' Roman declared briskly. 'We've got work to do!'

This extremely amiable man, who probably couldn't even have slit a chicken's throat in real life, seemed to think that he was James Bond – or at least his assistant.

We all have something we never got out of our systems when we were children.

'You

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