The young man looked at me in surprise. “No, it wasn’t. A company invited me, Scottish Colours. Why do you ask?”

“I thought I could give you a hand, if necessary,” I lied without a moment’s hesitation. “Find you an agent.”

“Thanks,” said Egor, and the warmth in his voice made me wish the earth would open up and swallow me. “No need, but thanks anyway, Anton.”

I sat there, looking at the dregs in the bottom of my cup. Were there still not enough coincidences for me? Maybe I should use the coffee grounds for a bit of fortune-telling?

“Scottish Colours,” I muttered.

My chest was feeling so cold now that it didn’t hurt anymore.

Chapter 4

THERE’S NOTHING MORE ABSURD THAN TO ARRIVE IN A NEW CITY AND spend your time in a hotel room. That’s OK for the red-hot afternoon of the Spanish siesta. Or for newlyweds on their honeymoon, when the size of the bed is far more important than the view out the window.

So Valeria was caught in a hopeless situation. The police had told her not to leave the city. And she simply didn’t have the strength to go out into that crowd of merrymakers, that swirling mass of tourists.

She opened the door immediately, as if she had been waiting just behind it. Although, of course, no one could have warned her, since I’d walked past the receptionist under the protection of a Circle of Inattention.

The girl was wearing nothing but shorts and a bra. Well yes, it was quite hot outside, of course. Even the good hotels here didn’t have air-conditioning; the climate in general didn’t really require it. But it was quite hot-especially if you were drinking.

“Yes?” Lera challenged me drunkenly.

Her black hair was styled in a blunt bob. She was attractive, thin, quite tall.

One of her hands was on the handle of the open bathroom door. I had arrived just as she was on her way to the toilet.

“Hello, Lera,” I said politely. I wasn’t exactly looking super-respectable, just shorts and a T-shirt, but I still chose the “representative-of-the-authorities” tone of voice. “Can I come in?”

“Why not?” Lera said in surprise. “Come”-she hiccupped-“come on through. Only…I’ll just be a moment.”

She went into the bathroom without even bothering to lock the door behind her. I shook my head, walked past the un-made bed, and sat in an armchair by the window. It was a small room, quite comfortable in a formal sort of way. There was a bottle of Glenlivet whisky on the coffee table. It was more than half empty. Glancing at the door of the bathroom I sent a simple spell in Lera’s direction.

I heard the sound of coughing in the bathroom.

“Need any help, Lera?” I asked, pouring myself two fingers of whisky.

Lera didn’t answer. She was being sick.

I found some cold mineral water in the mini-bar and poured a little bit into Lera’s glass to rinse it out-it smelled strongly of whisky. Then I splashed it out straight onto the carpet and poured in more water.

“I’m sorry…,” said the girl as she emerged from the bathroom, looking a lot livelier. “I…I’m sorry.”

“Have a drink of water, Lera,” I said, holding out the glass.

A good-looking girl. Very young. And with very sad eyes.

“Who are you?” she asked, and drained the glass avidly. “Hell…my head’s splitting.”

She sat down in the armchair opposite me and took her head in her hands.

We’d never be able to make conversation like that.

“Can I help?”

“Do you have any aspirin? Something for a headache…”

“Ancient Chinese massage,” I said, standing up and going around behind her. “The pain will soon be gone.”

“Oh, sure, I believe in massage, all the guys say they can do massage, anything to get their paws on you…,” Lera began, but stopped talking the moment my hands started taking away the pain.

Of course, I don’t really know how to do massage. But I can disguise healing magic as massage.

“That’s really good…you’re a magician…,” Lera murmured.

“Yes, I am,” I agreed. “A fully qualified Light Magician.”

Right…stop the blood vessels cramping…draw the alcohol out of the blood…OK, pass it through the kidneys…neutralize the metabolites…balance the serotonin and adrenaline…restore the pH of the blood to normal…OK, and at the same time we’ll reduce the output of hydrochloric acid in the stomach…

Of course, I’m nowhere near as good as Svetlana. She could have done all this with a single touch. I labored away for about three minutes. I had the Power, but I lacked the skill.

“Miracles like that don’t happen,” Valeria said nervously. She turned around and looked at me.

“Oh, yes, they do,” I said. “You’ll want to go to the toilet now. Don’t be embarrassed and don’t wait; you’ll pass water every fifteen minutes. Until you get all the garbage out of your system… Stop. Wait a moment…”

I looked at her closely. Well, would you believe it!

“Don’t drink any more alcohol,” I told her. “Not at all.”

I went to the bathroom to wash my hands. The running water carried away the fatigue from my fingers and the imprint of an aura distorted by suffering. I could have used Power to clean myself, but the old folk methods are still the best.

“Why are you ordering me about?” Lera said darkly when I got back. “But thank you, the massage was good…I’ll just be a moment!”

I waited for her to come back from the toilet. She was clearly shocked by the speed and efficiency with which her body was being purged. Once she had sat down, I explained.

“You’re pregnant. You shouldn’t drink now.”

“My period is due to start tomorrow,” Lera retorted so furiously that I realized she could sense it. Through sheer feminine intuition, without any outside help, she had realized she was pregnant. Then she had rejected the idea and started binge-drinking.

“It won’t start.”

She didn’t argue. She didn’t even ask how I knew. Probably she put it down to the wonders of oriental medicine. She asked, “Why would I want a child without a husband?”

“That’s for you to decide,” I said. “I’m not going to try to persuade you either way.”

“Who are you?” Lera finally asked.

“Gorodetsky. Anton Gorodetsky. I’m from Moscow. I…I was asked to investigate the circumstances of Victor’s death.”

Lera sighed and said bitterly, “Vitya’s father is using his contacts…What’s the point…now?”

“To find out the truth.”

“The truth…” The girl poured herself some water and drained the glass in one gulp. Her body was driving her blood through her kidneys at a furious rate, removing the alcohol and its metabolic products. “Victor was killed by a vampire.”

“Vampires don’t exist, Lera.”

“I know. But what do you do when a guy says, ‘There’s someone drinking my blood,’ and then they find him with a bite mark on his throat and no blood left in his body?”

There was a subtle note of hysteria in her voice.

“I checked the channel the boat was sailing in,” I said. “There’s blood in it. A lot of blood. Calm down, Lera. Vampires really don’t exist. Someone killed your friend. He bled to death. That’s terrible, it’s cruel, but vampires don’t exist.”

She said nothing for about a minute. Then she asked, “Why didn’t the police tell me that?”

“They have their reasons. They’re afraid of leaks of information. Perhaps they even suspect you of something.”

That didn’t frighten her at all. In fact it seemed to make her angry.

“The bastards. I can’t get to sleep, I get sloshed on whisky in the evenings. Yesterday I almost dragged some guy into bed. I’m afraid to be alone, understand? Afraid. And they don’t tell me anything… Excuse me, I’ll just be a moment.”

I waited for her to come back from the toilet and said, “I must have overdone it a bit with the massage. But I’m not a professional, I’ve just picked up a few moves.”