Aton, the
negation of non-life. For a long time I'd wanted to find out if the
ancient North African spells worked on modern Russian creatures
of the Dark.
Kostya glanced warily at the incomplete sign. Either he knew
what it was, or he'd caught a whiff of power. He asked:
'Are you allowed to breach your disguise?'
I lowered my hand in annoyance.
'No. But I might just risk it.'
'No need. If you say so, I'll leave. But right now we're doing
the same job . . . we have to talk.'
'So talk,' I said, dragging a stool over to the window.
'You won't let me in then?'
'I don't want to be all alone in the middle of the night with a
naked man,' I laughed. 'Who knows what people might think?
Let's hear it.'
'What do you make of the T-shirt collector?'
I looked at Kostya quizzically.
'The guy on the tenth floor. He collects funny T-shirts.'
'He doesn't know anything,' I said.
Kostya nodded:
'That's what I think too. Eight of the apartments here are occupied.
The owners of another six show up from time to time, but
all the rest are very rarely here. I've already checked out all the
permanent residents.'
'And?'
'Nothing. They don't know anything about us.'
I didn't ask how Kostya could be so sure. After all, he was a
Higher Vampire. They can enter another person's mind as easily
as an experienced magician.
'I'll deal with the other six in the morning,' said Kostya. 'But
I'm not hopeful.'
'And do you have any suggestions?' I asked.
Kostya shrugged:
'Anyone living here has enough money and influence to interest
a vampire or a werewolf. A weak, hungry one . . . newly initiated.
So the list of suspects is pretty long.'
'How many newly initiated lower Dark Ones are there in
Moscow?' I asked. I was amazed at how easily the phrase 'lower
Dark Ones' slipped off my tongue.
I never used to call them that.
I used to feel sorry for them.
Kostya reacted calmly to the phrase. He really was a Higher
Vampire. In control, confident.
'Not many,' he said evasively. 'They're being checked, don't worry.
Everybody's being checked. All the lower Others, and even the
magicians.'
'Is Zabulon really concerned?' I asked.
'Well, Gesar isn't exactly a model of composure,' Kostya
responded. 'Everyone's concerned. You're the only one taking the
situation so lightly.'
'I don't see it as a great disaster,' I said. 'There are human
beings who know we exist. Not many, but there are some. One more person doesn't
change the situation. If he makes a sensation out of this, we'll soon locate
him and make him look like some kind of psycho. That sort of thing has already
. . .'
'And what if he becomes an Other?' Kostya asked curtly.
'Then there'll be one more Other,' I said and shrugged.
'What if he doesn't become a vampire or a werewolf, but a
genuine Other?' Kostya bared his teeth in a smile. 'A genuine
Other? Light or Dark . . . that doesn't matter.'
'Then there'll be one more magician,' I said.
Kostya shook his head:
'Listen, Anton, I'm quite fond of you. Even now. But sometimes
I'm amazed at how naïve you are.'
Kostya stretched – his arms rapidly sprouting a covering of short
fur, his skin turning dark and coarse.
'You deal with the staff,' he said in a shrill, piercing voice. 'If
you get wind of anything, call me.'
He turned to me, his face distorted by the transformation, and
smiled again:
'You know, Anton, a naïve Light One like you is the only kind
a Dark One could ever really be friends with.'
He jumped down, flapping his leathery wings ponderously. The
huge bat flew off into the night, a little awkwardly, but quickly enough.
There was a small rectangle of cardboard lying on the outside
sill – a business card. I picked it up and read it:
'Konstantin. Research assistant, the Scientific Research Institute
for Haemotological Problems.'
And then the phone numbers – work, home, mobile. I actually
remembered the home number – Kostya was still living with his
parents. Most vampires tend to have pretty strong family
negation of non-life. For a long time I'd wanted to find out if the
ancient North African spells worked on modern Russian creatures
of the Dark.
Kostya glanced warily at the incomplete sign. Either he knew
what it was, or he'd caught a whiff of power. He asked:
'Are you allowed to breach your disguise?'
I lowered my hand in annoyance.
'No. But I might just risk it.'
'No need. If you say so, I'll leave. But right now we're doing
the same job . . . we have to talk.'
'So talk,' I said, dragging a stool over to the window.
'You won't let me in then?'
'I don't want to be all alone in the middle of the night with a
naked man,' I laughed. 'Who knows what people might think?
Let's hear it.'
'What do you make of the T-shirt collector?'
I looked at Kostya quizzically.
'The guy on the tenth floor. He collects funny T-shirts.'
'He doesn't know anything,' I said.
Kostya nodded:
'That's what I think too. Eight of the apartments here are occupied.
The owners of another six show up from time to time, but
all the rest are very rarely here. I've already checked out all the
permanent residents.'
'And?'
'Nothing. They don't know anything about us.'
I didn't ask how Kostya could be so sure. After all, he was a
Higher Vampire. They can enter another person's mind as easily
as an experienced magician.
'I'll deal with the other six in the morning,' said Kostya. 'But
I'm not hopeful.'
'And do you have any suggestions?' I asked.
Kostya shrugged:
'Anyone living here has enough money and influence to interest
a vampire or a werewolf. A weak, hungry one . . . newly initiated.
So the list of suspects is pretty long.'
'How many newly initiated lower Dark Ones are there in
Moscow?' I asked. I was amazed at how easily the phrase 'lower
Dark Ones' slipped off my tongue.
I never used to call them that.
I used to feel sorry for them.
Kostya reacted calmly to the phrase. He really was a Higher
Vampire. In control, confident.
'Not many,' he said evasively. 'They're being checked, don't worry.
Everybody's being checked. All the lower Others, and even the
magicians.'
'Is Zabulon really concerned?' I asked.
'Well, Gesar isn't exactly a model of composure,' Kostya
responded. 'Everyone's concerned. You're the only one taking the
situation so lightly.'
'I don't see it as a great disaster,' I said. 'There are human
beings who know we exist. Not many, but there are some. One more person doesn't
change the situation. If he makes a sensation out of this, we'll soon locate
him and make him look like some kind of psycho. That sort of thing has already
. . .'
'And what if he becomes an Other?' Kostya asked curtly.
'Then there'll be one more Other,' I said and shrugged.
'What if he doesn't become a vampire or a werewolf, but a
genuine Other?' Kostya bared his teeth in a smile. 'A genuine
Other? Light or Dark . . . that doesn't matter.'
'Then there'll be one more magician,' I said.
Kostya shook his head:
'Listen, Anton, I'm quite fond of you. Even now. But sometimes
I'm amazed at how naïve you are.'
Kostya stretched – his arms rapidly sprouting a covering of short
fur, his skin turning dark and coarse.
'You deal with the staff,' he said in a shrill, piercing voice. 'If
you get wind of anything, call me.'
He turned to me, his face distorted by the transformation, and
smiled again:
'You know, Anton, a naïve Light One like you is the only kind
a Dark One could ever really be friends with.'
He jumped down, flapping his leathery wings ponderously. The
huge bat flew off into the night, a little awkwardly, but quickly enough.
There was a small rectangle of cardboard lying on the outside
sill – a business card. I picked it up and read it:
'Konstantin. Research assistant, the Scientific Research Institute
for Haemotological Problems.'
And then the phone numbers – work, home, mobile. I actually
remembered the home number – Kostya was still living with his
parents. Most vampires tend to have pretty strong family
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