Last Watch

by Sergei Lukyanenko

  There was another click and something ricocheted loudly off the bronze bird. The hot bullet hissed as it fell into the water, finally convincing me that I had almost been killed beside the parrot fountain.

  Someone was shooting at me!

  At me, an Other!

  A Higher Magician, who could destroy palaces and raise up cities with a wave of my hand!

  Well, all right, the cities are a bit of an exaggeration... breaking down is always easier than raising up.

  Squirming in my hiding place behind the fountain, I looked hard into the darkness. No one. OK, how about through the Twilight?

  The result astounded me.

  The shots had clearly come from the side street next to the one that had led me to the fountain. But I couldn’t see anyone, either human or Other!

  At least it was only a flesh wound. The bullet had passed straight through the soft tissues. I had stopped the bleeding in a reflex response, within a second. After that I recalled a couple of good healing spells to knit the damaged muscles back together.

  Another shot. The bullet passed over the top of my head and a wave of heat tousled my hair. The soft sound suggested that the gun must have a silencer. The fact that I hadn’t been killed yet suggested that the shooter was firing from a pistol, and firing very well, or from a sniper’s rifle, and extremely badly.

  But why couldn’t I see the gunman?

  I waved my hand and spread a five-minute Morpheus spell over the entire street. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, I spread it across all the windows. And the roofs of the buildings, and the nearby side streets. Morpheus is a gentle sleep-inducing spell; it gives a man about five seconds before it puts him out altogether. If he’s standing, he can sit down; mothers holding children can put them down; drivers can slow down. There wouldn’t be any casualties. Or probably not.

  Silence.

  Had I got him?

  I got up and looked through the Twilight again. Well, now, whoever you might be, if you’ve fallen asleep, your camouflage will fail... .

  A click. A faint flash in the side street. And another bullet went flying into my poor right shoulder! In exactly the same spot!

  Well, I could take some grim comfort in the fact that I already had a wound there in any case. But it was really painful! Why did it hurt so badly if there was already a hole there?

  I squatted down so that the fountain again shielded me from the gunman. Now there was no doubt that the shots really were coming from the side street.

  What was I going to do? Hurl Fireballs into the darkness and try to strike the camouflaged gunman that way? Scorch everything around me with the White Mirage? Put on a Magician’s Shield and go into open battle? But if I couldn’t see my enemy, then I was facing a magician more powerful than I was!

  Maybe I could call for help, ring the police, call in Gesar and Foma?

  Wait.

  It didn’t have to be Gesar and Foma.

  Zabulon had said contact, help, advice.

  A bit of protection would come in handy right now.

  I took the little figure out of my pocket and set it down on the cobblestones of the roadway. I touched it gently with Power and shouted, “I! Need! Help!”

  It all happened in a split second. The air struck my face so hard that for a moment I thought the invisible gunman had switched to grenades. But it was the figure in the amulet being transformed—swelling up and softening and turning into a shaggy gray shadow. White fangs glinted in the darkness, yellow wolf eyes glittered, and the werewolf leaped straight over the fountain, then immediately jumped to the right. There was the click of a shot, but obviously it missed. Skipping from side to side as precisely as only a creature that is targeted by gunfire can, the beast went dashing into the side street. I heard growling, then there was a rumble and a metallic clang. The clicks of the shots carried on sounding in the same way, at regular intervals of a second or two, but something told me the bullets were going astray and the gunman wasn’t dangerous anymore.

  I jumped up and ran after the wolf, covering myself with a Shield just in case. And I finally did what it would have been a very good idea to have done in the first place: I created light. A simple spell that any Light Magician can manage. An appeal to the Primordial Power, and there was a bright white light swaying in the air above me.

  And I immediately saw the one who had nearly killed me. The one who had not been visible in the Twilight.

  But it wasn’t a “who.” It was a “what.” A fancy metal tripod similar to a professional stand for a video camera. Standing on a rotating disk on the tripod was a cylinder with gleaming lenses. Attached to the disk by a spring recoil clamp was a short rifle with a round magazine like the old Soviet PPSh, with a long ridged silencer on the barrel. A metal-clad cable ran up to the trigger, ending in a clamp with a wire that ran around the trigger.

  The machine was still functioning. The cylinder was twitching with a quiet buzzing sound, the clamp was pressing the trigger, and the rifle, now pointing upward, was firing into the sky. I leaned down, feeling the blood flowing over my shoulder. I put my good hand on the cylinder. On the side I found a little lid with an inscription in Chinese characters—SHOOTER I—followed by a number: 285590607. Below the hieroglyphs was a round, smiling child’s face sketched in a few simple lines.

  Humorists.

  I pried open the little lid with my fingernail and turned the power switch to Off.

  “Shooter I” gave a quiet whir of its servomotors and then fell silent.

  “Greetings from the Heavenly Kingdom,” I said, and sat down beside the machine. I looked at the short rod of the aerial, protruding from the cylinder. Yes, the real gunman could be absolutely anywhere. I had been fighting a robot.

  And it was very lucky for me that its sights had been slightly off center.

  “Would you believe it?” I said, examining the robot. “What are we going to do about this sort of thing? Start inventing spells against technology?”

  The wolf walked out of the darkness. He sat down facing me and started licking his paw. I couldn’t see any wound; he had probably burned himself on the hot gun barrel when he knocked the tripod over.

  “If Martian tripods had fleas, they’d look like this,” I said to the wolf. “Have you read War of the Worlds?”

  At first I didn’t think he would answer. Not all werewolves are capable of speech when they change into animal form. But the wolf looked up at me gravely and barked, “On-ly-the-mo-vie.”

  “Then you know what I mean,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “Lick-the-wound.”

  “I’m no shape-shifter, to go licking my wounds... ,” I said, pressing my palm to my right shoulder and concentrating. I felt sick and the pain pulsed in my hand. A gun wound is a nasty business. Even for a magician. Sveta, now—she’d have healed me in a couple of minutes...

  “Whose-tail-have-you-stepped-on?” Words were coming more easily to the werewolf now. “The-Eif-fel-Tow-er’s?”

  I didn’t get the joke immediately. I shook my head. “I see you’re as witty as Petrosian. Thanks for your help. Were you hurt?”

  “My-paw,” the wolf said indistinctly, starting to lick himself again. “The-ma-chine-burned-it.”

  “Change to human form and I’ll heal it,” I said, standing up. I wasn’t bleeding anymore. Casting a Camouflage spell on the disabled tripod (everyone would see something quite ordinary and uninteresting in its place), I put it under my left arm. It was heavy, with a strong smell of hot metal, sour gunpowder smoke, and something oily. But I’d have to carry it, I couldn’t just leave a weapon lying in the center of the city.

  “La-ter,” the wolf said evasively. “In-a-safe-place. Where-are-you-stay-ing?”

  “In a hotel. You’ll like it, let’s go. Only, stay by my leg all the way and try to look like a g
ood dog.”

  The wolf growled, but then immediately hid his fangs. He wasn’t really such a big beast. In the darkness he could pass for an Alsatian.

  To be honest, I wasn’t expecting that to be the end of the day’s unpleasantness. But we reached the hotel with no problems. There was a new receptionist looking bored behind the counter, but he didn’t ask any questions; he’d obviously been given instructions and guidance about me. He gave the werewolf a curious look but didn’t make any comment about him, either. I walked up to the desk and said, “The key to the Dark suite upstairs, please.”

  The receptionist didn’t argue, but he did inquire, “Could you not spend the night in the same suite?”

  “I have an allergy to animal hair,” I replied.

  I could hear voices and glasses clinking in the restaurant. Guests relaxing. But I didn’t really feel like joining in a party at which a Bloody Mary was the most popular drink and its name was taken quite literally.

  .

  .

  COMMON CAUSE

  Chapter 5

  First I unlocked the wolf’s door, then mine. the wolf darted into the dark room, turned around, and slammed the door shut with his muzzle. Immediately I heard a damp tearing sound, as if someone was ripping wet foam rubber into pieces. The werewolf had begun transforming back into a human.

  I walked into my suite, switched on the light, and closed the door. I put “Shooter I,” still smelling of gunpowder smoke, in the corner. I pulled off my bloody T-shirt and threw it in the rubbish bin. I took a look at myself in the mirror.

  A handsome devil. One shoulder caked with blood and a terrible crimson scar where the bullets had entered.

  But never mind. The important thing now was to patch up the wound. I’d apply an Avicenna spell now, and by morning there wouldn’t be a single trace left. What was a bullet wound to us magicians? Pah! A mere trifle. But I closed the curtains across the windows anyway and switched off the ceiling light. If I got another bullet in the head, no magic would save me.

  I stood under the shower, washing away the sweat and blood and simply luxuriating in the warm streams of water, trying to fit all the pieces together.

  The Dungeons of Scotland were an anomalous zone through which Power drained out of our world... to where? To the lower levels of the Twilight, obviously. That was clear enough.

  Egor had been invited to Edinburgh as a potential Mirror Magician. That is, as a magician who would take the side of the Night Watch—Foma wouldn’t work against his own interests! And so Foma was afraid of a serious battle in which the Dark Ones would get the upper hand. He was so afraid that he was trying to cover himself in every possible way. And Gesar had apparently sent me to Scotland at his request. That was clear enough too.

  But after that, things were a bit less clear!

  Victor’s blood had been sucked out; only a vampire, with his throat built like a vacuum pump, could drain a man dry like that in three or four minutes. But the vampire had immediately puked the blood into the trough. Why? Was he not hungry? A vampire is never well enough fed to turn down another helping. Blood is not so much food as energy in the only form that vampires can absorb. A vampire can digest the blood he has drunk in fifteen minutes. Why pour it away? So no one would think it was a vampire? But people don’t believe in vampires anyway, and the form of the wound would make everything clear to the Watch.

  Why had the watchman been killed? And in such a cruel manner? Was he getting under somebody’s feet in the Dungeons? There were plenty of ways to put a man out of action without doing him any harm. That Morpheus spell, for instance. The Vampire Call. If it came to it, a blow across the head with a club—cruel, but not fatal! An incomprehensible, unnecessary murder...

  And then everything really got tied into knots with the robot shooter! Sometimes we and the Dark Ones do use firearms. It’s particularly common among young Others—a serious faith in heavy pistols, machine guns loaded with silver bullets, powerful grenades. But who could have brought a remote-controlled robot shooter to peaceful Edinburgh? I hadn’t even known that such devices had already gotten past the prototype stage and been put into mass production in China. There was nothing complicated about them, of course—a rotating turret, a TV camera, and a night-vision device. Whoever had set up the robot on my route had been hiding somewhere far away, staring into the screen of a switchboard, twirling a joystick, pressing the Fire button. Any magician—or any vampire—could do it. Or any human being, come to that.

  What was going on? Why was there so much aggression directed against me? Attacking a Higher Light One, and a member of the Night Watch, was a very serious step to take. Whoever had taken it must have nothing to lose... .

  As if someone had read my thoughts, there was a knock at the door. I groaned, closed my bathrobe, and went to open up.

  Standing outside on the doorstep was a girl, or a very young woman—she was about fifteen, the age that can be interpreted in different ways. The girl was barefoot, her short black hair glistened, and her black-and-red dressing gown seemed to be the only thing that she was wearing.

  “May I come in?” she asked in the voice of an exemplary schoolgirl.

  “I ought to have guessed straightaway,” I said. “Yes, come in.”

  “And how ought you to have guessed?” the girl asked, lowering her eyes. “By taking a better look at the figurine?”

  “I didn’t have a microscope with me. But a male wolf would certainly have pissed on the gun.”

  “Oh, how crude you are, and a Light One, too!” the girl said with a frown. She walked over to an armchair, sat down, and crossed her legs. “Not pissed on it, marked it! You don’t mind me coming in? I won’t compromise you?”

  “Unfortunately no, my child, you won’t compromise me,” I said, opening the minibar. “Would you like something?”

  “Warm milk with honey.”

  I nodded. “All right, I’ll just call the restaurant.”

  “There isn’t any room service here.”

  “They’ll make an exception for me,” I said confidently.

  “Never mind, pour me some wine. Red.”

  I poured myself a whisky with ice. Then I spotted a fifty-gram bottle of Drambuie and poured that into the whisky. Just what I needed for a sound night’s sleep—a large serving of Rusty Nail. If the girl could do without her milk and honey, that was no reason for me to do without my honeyed whisky... .

  “So whose tail have you stepped on so hard?” the girl asked. “That’s the first time I’ve seen a robot rod blazing away like that... “

  “It isn’t a rod...”

  “What’s the difference?” My guest snorted. “I’m a girl. I’m allowed to get it wrong.”

  “You’re not a girl, you’re a werewolf.” I looked closely at her face. “And I remember you.”

  “You do?” All her bravado suddenly evaporated. “You remember?”

  “Of course. Your name’s Galya. Galina Dobronravova. You were the one who noticed the witch Arina when she kidnapped my daughter.”

  “You do remember,” the girl said with a smile. “And I thought you must have forgotten a long time ago.”

  “No.” I handed her the glass of wine. “Thank you. You really helped a lot that time.”

  “You have a fine daughter.” She took a bold gulp of wine and frowned slightly. “And your wife is very beautiful.”

  I nodded and asked, “What are you going to do now?”

  “I don’t know. Zabulon told me this is a very important assignment. He said I have to help you, even though you’re a Light One. Protect you against everything.”

  “But why you?” I asked. “Pardon me for saying so, but you are very young. And you’re only fifth-level.”

  “Because I...” Galya hesitated. “Was I some help? Even though I am only fifth-leve
l?”

  “Yes, you were.” I downed my cocktail in a single gulp. “I’m sorry, I’m terribly sleepy.”

  “So am I. But I feel so afraid in there. It’s all red and black. Can I stay with you?” She looked at me and lowered her eyes in embarrassment.

  I put down my glass and nodded.

  “Of course. Will the sofa be all right for you? I’ll give you a pillow and a blanket.”

  “Light One...” the girl began slowly in an offended voice, but abruptly changed tack. “All right, I’ll leave these heavenly halls and go back to my anteroom to hell. It will probably feel more cheerful in any case!”

  She walked proudly out of the room, clutching the glass of wine in her hands. I glanced into her doorway—her suite really was decorated in crimson and black. On the floor I saw tufts of black fur. The girl had transformed so quickly that she hadn’t given her skin time to change completely.

  As she closed her door, Galya stuck her tongue out at me.

  And after I closed mine, I started laughing quietly.

  Acceleration, emancipation, and the sexual revolution! No, I won’t lie, I liked the idea that this girl had fallen for me four years earlier. Or maybe not four years earlier, maybe she had fallen in love afterward. Retrospectively, so to speak, when the flood of hormones brought the time for romantic emotions and vague desires.

  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.