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you'll have this time. But you're so stubborn. I don't understand you, Anton."
"And I don't understand you, Zabulon," said the boss, blocking his way.
The Dark Magician reluctantly turned his gaze to him.
"Then you must be getting old. The person in your lover's body is Anton Gorodetsky, the same person we
suspect of the serial killings of Dark Ones. Just how long has he been hiding in there, Boris? Didn't you notice
the substitution?"
He giggled again.
I looked around at the Dark Ones. They still hadn't understood. They needed another second, or half a second.
Then I saw Svetlana raise her hand, with a yellow magical flame flickering on the palm.
So now she'd passed the fifth-level test-but this was still a battle we could only lose. There were three of us and
six of them. If Svetlana struck-not to save herself, but to get me out of this fix-there'd be a bloodbath.
I jumped forward.
It was a good thing Olga's body was well-trained and in such good shape. It was a good thing that all of us-Light
Ones and Dark Ones-weren't really used to relying on the strength of our arms and legs, on simple, crude
violence. And the best thing of all was that Olga, who had been deprived of most of her magic, hadn't neglected
the skills of physical combat.
Zabulon doubled up with a hoarse gasp when my fist-or rather, Olga's fist-sank into his stomach. I swept his legs
from under him with a single kick and dashed outside.
"Stop!" howled Alisa in a voice filled with admiration, hate, and love all at once.
The hunt was on.
I ran down Pokrovka Street in the direction of Zemlyanoi Val Street, with my purse bouncing hard against my
back. It was a good thing I wasn't wearing high heels. I had to get away, disappear. I'd really enjoyed the urban
survival course, but it was so short, really short-who could have imagined a Night Watch agent would end up
running and hiding, instead of chasing and catching?
I heard a screeching wail behind me.
I leapt aside in a pure reflex response, before I could even understand what was happening. A streak of crimson
flame came hurtling down the street, coiling and twisting as it passed me, then it tried to stop and turn back, but
its inertia was too great: the charge crashed into the wall of a building, momentarily turning the stones white-hot.
But that was... !
I tripped and fell, glancing back. Zabulon was recharging his battle staff, but he was moving very slowly, as if
there were something hindering him, slowing him down.
He was shooting to kill!
There wouldn't have been even a handful of dust left of me
There wouldn't have been even a handful of dust left of me if I'd been caught by Shahab's Lash!
So the boss was wrong after all. The Day Watch didn't want what was inside my head. They wanted to eliminate
me completely.
The Dark Ones were running after me. Zabulon was aiming his weapon. The boss was restraining Svetlana as she
struggled to break out of his grasp. I jumped up and started running again, already knowing there was no way I
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could escape. At least there was nobody around: Instinctive, subconscious fear had swept everybody off the
street the moment our confrontation began. Nobody else would get hurt.
I heard a squeal of brakes and looked around just in time to see the Day Watch agents jump out of the way of a
car careering wildly along the street. The driver stopped for a moment, evidently thinking he'd driven into the
middle of a gangland Shootout, then picked up speed again.
Should I stop him? No, it wasn't allowed.
I jumped up onto the sidewalk and squatted down, hiding from Zabulon behind an old Volga, letting the stray
driver past. The silver Toyota hurtled past me and then screeched to a halt with a smell of burning brakes.
The door on the driver's side opened and a hand beckoned me.
Things like this just didn't happen!
Heroes only got rescued by passing cars in cheap action movies.
At least that's what I was thinking as I opened the back door and threw myself inside.
"Get us out of here!" shouted the woman I found myself next to. But the driver didn't need any encouragement; we
were already moving. There was a flash behind us, and the driver swerved out of the path of a streak of fire. The
woman began wailing.
How did they see what was happening? As automatic gunfire? Salvoes of rockets? A blast from a flame-thrower?
"Why did you come back, why?" the woman asked, trying to lean forward to hit the driver in the back. I was all
set to grab her arm, but before I could, the car jerked forward and tossed the woman back against the seat.
"Don't," I said gently.
She glared at me indignantly. She had every right. What woman would be pleased to see her husband stop and
risk his life for an attractive, dishevelled female stranger and take her into his car when it's being chased by a
gang of thugs?
At least the immediate danger was past now. We came out onto Zemlyanoi Val Street and drove on in a solid
stream of traffic. My friends and my enemies were both left a long way behind.
"Thanks," I said to the short hair on the back of the driver's head.
"Did you get hit?" he asked without even turning around.
"No, thanks to you. Why did you stop?"
"Because he's an idiot!" the woman beside me screeched. She moved away to the far side of the car, shunning
me as if I had the plague.
"Because I'm not an idiot," the man replied calmly. "Why were they out to get you? Never mind, it's none of my
business."
"They wanted to rape me," I said, blurting out the first thing that came into my head. But it was a pretty good
story. Right there on the table: not like Moscow, even with all its gangland excesses, more like some saloon in
the Wild, Wild West.
"Where do you want to go?"
"This will do fine," I said, looking out at the flaming red letter M above the metro entrance. "I'll make my own way
home."
"We can drop you off."
"No need. Thanks, you've done more than enough already."
"All right."
He didn't argue or try to change my mind. The car braked and I got out. I looked at the woman.
"Thank you," I said.
She snorted and jerked away, slamming the door shut.
Well, there you go.
But things like that still went to prove that our work did make some kind of sense after all, I thought.
I automatically straightened out my hair and dusted down my jeans. People walking by eyed me cautiously, but
they didn't shy away, so I couldn't be looking all that bad.
How much time did I have before the hunt picked up my trail? Would the boss be able to slow them down?
That would be good. Because I thought I was beginning to understand what was going on here.
And I had a chance, only a tiny one maybe, but still a chance.
I set off toward the metro, taking the cell phone out of Olga's purse on the way. I started dialing her number, then
swore, and dialed my own.
It rang five times, six, seven.
I canceled the call and dialed my cell phone number. This time Olga answered right away.
"Hello?" said a slightly hoarse, unfamiliar voice. My voice.
"It's me, Anton," I shouted. A young guy walking past looked at me in surprise.
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"You dimwit!"
I wouldn't have expected anything else from Olga.
"Where are you, Anton?"
"Getting ready to go underground."
"You'll have plenty of time for that. What can I do to help?"
"Are you up to speed on the situation?"
"Yes, I'm maintaining parallel contact with Boris."
"I need to get my body back."
"Where can we meet?"
I thought for a moment.
"The station where I got out after I tried to detach that black vortex from Svetlana."
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