Chapter 6

Halfway to the airport a highway patrol car pulled out and sat on our tail. I put a spell that diverts people's attention on the Bora, 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 soon removed it when a truck nearly flattened us a minute later.

"We'll be at the airport in fifteen or twenty minutes," Roman reported as he swung the wheel. "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 in conclusion-an announcement from the cosmodrome at Baikonur, where a joint Russian-American crew is already preparing for liftoff. The launch is planned for six-thirty this evening, Moscow time. And now we continue our musical…"

"Like some whisky?" Las asked.

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

"Alexander, pull yourself together, this is no time to be drinking," Roman barked 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 imagine that he was James Bond-or at least his assistant.

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

"You will guard the car," I told him. "This is a very responsible assignment. We are relying on you."

"I serve the Light!" Roman barked.

"I'd never have believed it…" Las groaned in the back seat. "Shall I guard the car too?"

"Yes." I nodded. "Only… please, please… don't try to run away."

I heard more liquid gurgling from the back seat. Maybe I ought to turn Las to the Light too? It would be more humane… the poor guy was suffering unnecessary torment.

But I had no time left to think about it-the car flew out onto the square in front of the terminal building and pulled up at the entrance with a squeal of brakes. Nobody took any notice of that-someone was late for his flight, it happened all the time…

I took out Arina's note and looked at the compass.

The pointer was swaying, but it still indicated a definite direction.

Had Kostya sensed my approach? Gesar had been sure he would.

And what was in store for me?

Strangely enough, up until that moment, I hadn't felt any fear. In my heart of hearts I hadn't been prepared to see Kostya as an enemy-and especially not the kind of enemy who might kill me. I was a second-level magician-that was already something not to be taken lightly. I had the entire might of the Night Watch behind me and now-something quite unheard of-the might of the Day Watch as well. What could one solitary vampire possibly do to me, even if he was a Higher Vampire?

But just at that moment I recalled Witezslav's face with his fangs bared.

Kostya had killed him. Overwhelmed him.

"Las," I said curtly. "One small request… Walk behind me. At a distance. If anything happens… they'll find you afterward; tell them about it."

Las gulped, dropped the empty flask on the seat and said soberly, "I'll do it, why not? Forward, my pale-faced Blade!"

It seemed like he was past the point of worrying about anything. Getting drunk is a good way to give yourself partial protection against a vampire. They find the blood of someone who's drunk unpleasant-and if he's really drunk it's toxic to them. Maybe that was why vampires had always preferred Europe to Russia?

But a vampire doesn't have to drink the blood of someone he's killed. Nourishment is one thing, but business is business.

"Don't come close," I repeated. "Keep your distance."

"Watch your back, boss," Roman told me. "Good luck! We're counting on you!"

I looked at him and remembered Zabulon's parting words.

How alike we are.

How alike all of us are-Others and people, Dark Ones and Light Ones.

"Keep it cool, no rush, no aggression," I said to myself, glancing at the men smoking at the entrance to the terminal building. Most of them were respectable types, wearing neckties. The cleaning lady in an orange jacket standing beside them and puffing away on a Prima looked absurd.

"Calmly and quietly…"

I walked toward the building. The smokers moved aside to make way-there was so much Power in me now that even ordinary people could sense it.

Sense it, and do the sensible thing-move aside.

I looked around as I went in. Las was shambling after me, smiling benignly.

Where are you, Kostya?

Where are you, Higher Vampire who has never killed anybody for the sake of Power?

Where are you, boy who dreams of becoming Lord of the World, like in some cheap Hollywood action movie?

In the same place as the vampire trying to cheat his own destiny…

I will kill you.

Not "I must kill you," not "I can kill you," not "I want to kill you." No more auxiliary verbs. I've already been through "I must"-in tearful heart-searching and self-justification. I've already been through "I can"-struggling with the complexes of a third-level magician who has reached his ceiling. I've already been through "I want to"-with all those turbulent emotions: the passion, the fury, the pity.

Now I'm simply doing what I have to do.

I couldn't give a hoot for the false ideals and the fake goals, the hypocritical slogans and the two-faced principles. I don't believe in the Light or the Darkness any longer. Light is just a stream of photons. Darkness is just the absence of Light. People are our young brothers and sisters. The Others are the salt of the earth.

Where are you, Kostya Saushkin?

Whatever your goal is-ancient eastern artifacts or a million-strong army of Chinese magicians-I won't let you win.

Where are you?

I stopped in the middle of the hall-the rather small hall of a provincial airport. I thought I could sense him…

A heavily perspiring man carrying suitcases bumped into me, apologized, and walked on. I noted his aura in passing-an uninitiated Other, a Light One. He was afraid of flying but he'd arrived safely and now he'd relaxed-which was what had made him noticeable.

I wasn't interested in that right now.

Kostya?

I swung around as if someone had called my name and stared at the door with a sign that said "Service Entrance" and a coded lock.

A melody that no one else could hear threaded itself through the hubbub of the airport.

Apparently he was calling me.

The buttons on the keypad lit up helpfully when I reached my hand out toward them. Four, three, two, one. A very cunning code…

I opened the door, looked around and nodded to Las, then closed the door behind me carefully, so that it wouldn't latch.

Empty corridors, painted a depressing green. I moved along one of them.

The melody grew stronger, swirling in the air, soaring upward and gliding back down. Like an intricate passage on a classical guitar, with the subtle notes of a violin.

This was it-a genuine vampire's call, directed at me…

"I'm coming as fast as I can," I muttered, turning off toward another door with a code lock. A door banged behind me-that was Las following me in.

A new lock, a new code. Six, three, eight, one.

I opened the door, and found myself on the apron of the airport.

A round-bellied airbus was creeping slowly across the concrete. Further away a Tupolev was taxiing out to the runway, its turbines roaring.

Kostya was standing about fifteen feet away from the door, holding a neat little plastic briefcase-I guessed that was where the Fuaran must be. Kostya's shirt was ripped-as if at some moment it had suddenly become too small.