The Inquisitors whom chance had chosen to make privy to the secret had been put back in the security cordon around the house, and the other six of us were sitting around the table.

Gesar was drinking tea that he'd made himself by taking the witch's brew and adding herbs from her abundant reserves. I took a cup, too. The tea smelled of mint and juniper; it was bitter and spicy, but bracing. No one else was tempted to drink it- Svetlana politely took a sip and put her cup down.

The note was lying on the table.

"Twenty-two or twenty-three hours ago," said Zabulon, looking at the piece of paper. "She wrote the note before your visit, Inquisitor."

Edgar nodded and added reluctantly, "Possibly… just possibly even during our visit. It was hard for us to pursue her in the depths of the Twilight-she had quite enough time to gather her wits and write a note."

"Then we have no grounds for suspecting the witch," Zabulon muttered. "She left the book in order to buy off the pursuit. She had no reason to come back for it and kill the Inquisitor."

"Agreed," Gesar said after a pause, and nodded.

"A most astonishing unity of thought between the Dark Ones and the Light Ones," said Edgar. "You frighten me, gentlemen."

"This is no time for disagreements," Zabulon replied. "We have to find the killer and the book."

They definitely had their own reasons for protecting Arina!

"Good." Edgar nodded. "Let's go back to the beginning. Witezslav calls me and tells me about the Fuaran. Nobody heard the conversation."

"All cell phone calls are monitored and recorded…" I put in.

"What are you suggesting, Anton?" Edgar looked at me ironically. "That the human special services are conducting a campaign against the Others? And when they heard about the book, they immediately sent an agent here? And that agent killed a Higher Vampire?"

"Anton's not that far off the mark," Gesar said in my defense.

"You know, Edgar, that every year we have to suppress human activity directed at exposing us. And you know about the secret departments in the special services…"

"We have our people in them," Edgar retorted. "But even if we assume that they're searching for Others again, that there's been a leak of information, then Witezslav's death still remains a mystery. No James Bond could have crept up on him without being noticed."

"Who's James Bond?" Zabulon inquired.

"That's another myth," Gesar laughed. "Contemporary mythology. Gentlemen, let us not waste time in idle discussion. The situation is perfectly clear. Witezslav was killed by an Other. A powerful Other. And most likely someone the Inquisitor trusted."

"He didn't trust anyone, not even me," muttered Edgar. "Suspicion is in a vampire's blood… pardon me for the pun."

Nobody smiled. Kostya gave Edgar a moody glance, but didn't say anything.

"Are you suggesting we should check the memories of everyone here?" Gesar inquired politely.

"Would you agree?" Edgar responded eagerly.

"No," Gesar snapped. "I appreciate the work done by the Inquisition, but there are limits!"

"Then we're stuck." Edgar shrugged. "Gentlemen, if you are not willing to cooperate…"

Svetlana cleared her throat delicately. "May I speak?" she asked.

"Yes, yes, of course." Edgar nodded politely.

"I think we're on the wrong track," said Svetlana. "You have decided that we need to find the killer, and then we'll find the book. That's right, only we don't know who the killer is. Why don't we try to find the Fuaran? And then locate the killer through the book?"

"And how are you going to look for the book, Light One?" Zabulon asked ironically. "Send for James Bond?"

Svetlana reached out her hand and cautiously touched Arina's note.

"There… as I understand it, the witch put this note on the book. Perhaps even between its pages. The two things were in contact for some period of time, and the book is a very powerful magical object. If we summon up a simulacrum… you know, the way novice magicians are taught to do…"

She faltered under the gaze of the Higher Magicians and began to lose her thread. But both Zabulon and Gesar were looking at her approvingly.

"Yes, there is magic like that," Gesar muttered. "Of course, I remember… they stole my horse once, and I was left with just the bridle…"

He stopped and shot a glance at Zabulon, then suggested in a very friendly tone of voice, "After you, Dark One. You create the simulacrum."

"I'd prefer you to do it," Zabulon replied with equal politeness. "There'll be no unnecessary suspicion of deception."

There was something wrong here. But what?

"Well then, as the old saying goes: 'First lash to the informer!'" Gesar responded cheerfully. "Svetlana, your idea is accepted. Go ahead."

Svetlana looked at Gesar in embarrassment.

"Boris Ignatievich… I'm sorry, these are such simple magical actions… It's such a long time since I performed them. Perhaps we ought to ask one of the junior magicians?"

So that was it… The Great Ones couldn't manage the basic elements of magic that were taught to beginners. They were confused and embarrassed-like academics who have been asked to multiply figures in a long column and write out letters in neat lines.

"Allow me," I said. And without waiting for an answer, I reached out one hand toward the note. I half closed my eyelids so that the shadow fell on my eyes and looked at the gray piece of paper through the Twilight. I imagined the book-a thin volume bound in human skin, the journal of a witch cursed by humans and Others alike…

The image began slowly taking shape. The book was almost exactly as I had visualized it, except that the corners of the binding were protected by golden triangles of metal. Evidently a later addition, one of the Fuaran's owners had taken care to preserve it.

"So that's what it's like," Gesar said with lively interest. "Well, there it is…"

The magicians rose from their seats and examined the image of the book, which only Others could see. The note was quivering gently on the table, as if there was a draft in the room.

"And can we open it?" asked Kostya.

"No, it's only an image, it doesn't contain within itself the essential nature of the object…" Gesar said amiably. "Go on, Anton. Stabilize it… and invent some kind of tracking mechanism."

It was hard enough for me to stabilize the image of the book, and I was definitely not prepared to come up with a tracking mechanism. Eventually I settled on a grotesque simulacrum of a compass-it was huge, the size of a dinner plate, with a pointer swinging on a pin. One end of the pointer glowed more brightly-the end that was supposed to point toward the Fuaran.

"Add more energy," Gesar said. "Let it work for at least a week… you never know."

I added more energy.

And then, completely bushed, but pleased with myself, I relaxed.

We looked at the compass floating in the Twilight. The pointer was pointing directly at Zabulon.

"Is this a joke, Gorodetsky?" he inquired. He got up and moved to one side.

The pointer didn't waver.

"Good," Gesar said, pleased. "Edgar, get all your agents back in here."

Edgar walked to the door and called, then came back to the table.

One by one the Inquisitors entered the room.

The pointer didn't move. It still pointed into empty space.

"Quod erat demonstrandum-that's what we needed to prove," Edgar said, relieved. "Nobody here is involved in the theft of the book."

"It's trembling," said Zabulon, looking closely at the compass. "The pointer's trembling. And since we didn't observe any legs on the book…"

He laughed a wicked, devilish laugh, clapped Edgar on the shoulder and asked, "Well then, senior comrade? Do you require any assistance with the arrest?"