The Day Watch (3 page)

“Little one, are you going to be late again today?” Mom asked, without even turning her head in my direction.

“I don’t know.”

“Alisa, I don’t think you ought to let it happen. Normal working hours are one thing, but keeping you there until one in the morning…” Mom shook her head.

“They pay for it,” I said offhandedly.

And then Mom did look at me. And her lips began to tremble. “So you hold that against me, do you?”

My mother always did have an expressive voice, like an actress’s. She should have worked in the theater.

“Yes, we live on your wages,” my mom said bitterly. “The state robbed us and threw us out to die at the side of the road. Thank you, dear daughter, for not forgetting about us. Your father and I are very grateful to you. But there’s no need to keep reminding us…”

“Mom, I didn’t mean anything of the sort. You know I don’t have a standard working day!”

“Working day!” My mom flung her arms in the air. She had a crumb of cake on her chin. “Working night, more like! And who knows what you get up to?”

“Mom…”

Of course, she didn’t really think anything of the kind. On the contrary, she was always proudly telling her friends what a fine, upstanding girl I was. It was just that in the morning she felt like arguing. Perhaps she’d been watching the news and she’d heard yet another disgusting story about our life here in Russia. Perhaps she and

Dad had had a fight first thing in the morning-that would explain why he had left so early.

“And I’ve no intention of becoming a grandmother at forty!” my mom went on, without following any particular logic. What logic did she need, anyway? She’d been afraid for ages that I would get married and leave home and she’d be left living with just my father. Or maybe she wouldn’t-I’d taken a look at the reality lines, and it was very probable that my dad would leave her for another woman. He was three years younger than Mom, and unlike her, he took care of himself.

“You’ll be fifty this year, Mom,” I said. “Sorry, I’m really in a hurry.”

When I was already in the hallway, I heard my mom’s voice, full of righteous indignation: “You never did want to talk to your mother like a normal human being!”

“There was a time when I wanted to,” I muttered to myself as I skipped out the door. “When I still was a human being I wanted to. But where were you then…”

I knew for sure that Mom was taking comfort in thinking about the argument she would have with me in the evening. And she was dreaming about involving Dad in it too. When I thought about that, it instantly put me in a foul mood.

What kind of way to behave is that-deliberately provoking a fight with someone you love? But Mom just loves to do it. And she doesn’t understand it’s her own character that killed my father’s love for her.

I’ll never do that to anyone.

And I won’t let Mom do it either!

There was no one in the hallway, but even if there had been it wouldn’t have stopped me. I turned back to face the door and looked at it in a special way, with my eyes slightly crossed… so that I could see my shadow.

My real shadow. The one that’s cast by the Twilight.

It looks as if the gloom is condensing in front of you, until it becomes an absolutely black, intense darkness-so black it would make a starless night look like day.

And against the background of that darkness you see a trembling, swirling, grayish silhouette, not quite three-dimensional but not flat either… As if it had been cut out of dirty cotton wool. Or maybe it’s the other way around-a hole has been cut through the great Darkness, leaving a doorway into the Twilight.

I took a step forward onto the shadow and it slid upward, enfolding my body, and the world changed.

The colors almost completely disappeared. Everything was frozen in a dark, gray blur, like what appears on a television screen if you turn the color and contrast all the way down. Sounds slowed down, leaving silence, with nothing but a barely audible background rumble, as faint as the murmur of a distant sea.

I was in the Twilight.

I could see Mom’s resentment blazing in the apartment. A bitter, lemon-yellow color mixed with self-pity and her acid-green dislike of my dad, who had chosen the wrong time to go to the garage and tinker with his car.

And there was a black vortex slowly taking shape above Mom’s head. A curse directed at someone specific, still weak, on the level of “I hope that job of yours drives you crazy, you ungrateful creature!” But it was a mother’s curse, and they’re especially powerful and tenacious.

Oh no, my dear mom!

Thanks to your efforts, Dad had a heart attack at thirty-seven and three years ago I barely managed to save him from another… at a cost that I don’t even want to remember. And now you’ve set your sights on me?

I reached out through the Twilight as hard as I could, so hard I got a stabbing pain under my shoulder blades, and grabbed hold of Mom’s mind-it twitched and then froze.

Okay… now this is what we’ll do…

I broke into a sweat, although it’s always cool in the Twilight. I wasted energy that would have been useful at work. But a moment later Mom no longer remembered that she’d been speaking to me. And in general, she was really pleased that I was such a hard worker, that I was appreciated and liked at work, that I went out when it was barely light and didn’t come back until after midnight.

That’s done.

Probably the effect would only be temporary. After all, I didn’t want to delve too deeply into Mom’s mind. But at least I could count on a couple of months of peace and quiet. And so could my dad-I’m my dad’s daughter and I love him a lot more than my mom. It’s only kids who can’t tell you who they love more-their mom or their dad-grown-ups have no problem answering the question…

When I was finished, I removed the half-formed black vortex, and it drifted out through the walls, looking for someone to attach itself to. I took a breath and cast a critical glance around the entrance.

Yes, it hadn’t been cleaned for a long time. The blue moss had crept over everything again, and it was thickest around our door. That was only natural. With Mom’s hysterical fits, there was always something for it to feed on.

When I was little I used to think the Light Ones planted the moss to annoy us. Then it was explained to me that

the blue moss is a native inhabitant of the Twilight, a parasite that consumes human emotions.

“Ice!” I commanded, flinging out my hand. The cold obediently gathered at my fingertips and ran across the walls like a stiff brush. The frozen needles of moss dropped to the floor, instantly decaying.

Take that!

That will teach you to go feeding on people’s petty little thoughts!

That’s real Power, the Power of an Other.

I emerged from the Twilight-in the human world less than two seconds had passed-and straightened my hair. My forehead was damp. I had to take out my handkerchief and blot off the sweat. And of course when I looked in my mirror I could see that my mascara had smudged.

I had no time to fuss over my appearance. I just threw on a light veil of attractiveness that would prevent any human being from noticing the faults in my makeup. We call it a “paranjah,” and everybody likes to poke fun at Others who wear it, but we all use it anyway… When we’re short of time or we need to be absolutely sure of making a good impression… or sometimes just for fun. One pretty young witch from Pskov-who doesn’t really know how to do anything right except throw on a paranjah-has been working as a model for three years. She makes her living from it. The only trouble is that the spell doesn’t work on photographs and videos, so she has to keep turning down all the offers she receives to work in advertising…

Nothing was going my way today. The elevator didn’t come for ages, and the second one’s been out of order for a long time now, and on my way out of the hallway I ran into Vitalik, the young guy who lives above us. When he saw me in my paranjah, he just froze with a stupid smile on his face. He has been in love with me since he was thirteen-stupidly, hopelessly, silently in love. It’s the result of my sloppy work, to be quite honest. I was learning the love spell and decided to practice on our neighbor’s little boy, since he took every chance he could get to ogle me while I was sitting on the balcony, sunbathing in my bikini. Well… I practiced. And I misjudged the limiting factors. He fell in love forever. When he doesn’t see me for a long time, it all seems to pass off, but it only takes a fleeting encounter, and everything starts up again. He’ll never be happy in love.

“Vitalik, I’m in a hurry,” I said, smiling at him.

But the young man just stood there, blocking the doorway. Then he decided to pay me a compliment.

“Alisa, you look really beautiful today…”

“Thanks.” I gently moved him aside and felt him tremble when my hand touched his shoulder. He’ll probably remember that touch for a week…

“I’ve passed the final exam, Alisa!” he said hastily, talking to my back. “That’s it, I’m a college student now!”

I turned back and took a closer look at him.

Was this boy, who still used acne lotion, getting wild ideas into his head? Was he hoping that now he’d got into college and launched into “adult life” he could have a chance with me?

“Squirming out of the army?” I asked. “Men today have no balls. They’re all wimps. They don’t want to serve their time and get a bit of experience, and then go and study.”

His smile was slowly fading away. It was a wonderful sight!

“Ciao, Vitalik,” I said, and skipped out of the entrance into the sweltering heat of summer. But my mood was a bit better now.

These little pups in love are always fun to watch. They’re boring to flirt with and having sex with them is repulsive, but just watching them is pure pleasure. I ought to give him a kiss sometime…

Anyway, a moment later I’d completely forgotten my lovesick neighbor. I stuck my hand out. The first car drove straight past-the driver looked at me with greedy longing in his eyes, but his wife was sitting beside him. The next car stopped.

“I need to go to the center of town,” I said, leaning down toward the window. “Manege Square.”

“Get in,” said the driver, reaching across and opening the door. He was a cultured-looking man with dark hair, about forty years old. “How could I refuse such a good-looking girl a lift?”

I slipped into the front seat of the old Zhiguli 9 and rolled the window all the way down. The wind hit me in the face-that was some relief at least.

“You’d have got there quicker on the metro,” the driver warned me honestly.

“I don’t like the metro.”

The driver nodded. I liked him-he wasn’t staring too brazenly, even though I’d obviously overdone things with the paranjah-and the car was well cared for. He also had very beautiful hands. They were strong, and their grip on the wheel was gentle but secure.

What a pity I was in a hurry.

“Are you late for work?” the driver asked. He spoke very politely, but in a manner that was somehow personal and intimate. Maybe I ought to give him my number? I’m a free girl now, I can do what I like.

“Yes.”

“I wonder, what kind of jobs do such beautiful girls do?” It wasn’t even an attempt to strike up an acquaintance or a compliment-it was genuine curiosity.

“I don’t know about all the rest, but I work as a witch.”

He laughed.

“It’s a job like any other…” I took out my cigarettes and my lighter. The driver gave me a fleeting glance of disapproval, so I didn’t bother to ask permission. I just lit up.

“And what do a witch’s duties consist of?”

We turned off onto Rusakov Street and the driver speeded up. Maybe I was going to get there in time after all.

“It varies,” I replied evasively. “But basically we oppose the forces of Light.”

The driver seemed to have accepted the rules of the game, though it wasn’t really a game at all.

“So you’re on the side of the shadow?”

“The Darkness.”

“That’s great. I know another witch, my mother-in-law,” the driver said with a laugh. “But she’s already retired, thank God. So why don’t you like the forces of Light?”

I stealthily checked out his aura. No, everything was okay. He was a human being.

“They get in our way. Tell me, for instance-what’s the most important thing in life for you?”

The driver thought for a second.

“Just life itself. And for nobody to stop me living it.”

“That’s right,” I agreed. “Everyone wants to be free, don’t they?”

He nodded.

“Well, we witches fight for freedom too. For everyone’s right to do what they want.”

“And what if someone wants to do evil?”

“That’s his right.”

“But what if he infringes on other people’s rights in the process? Say I stab someone and infringe on his rights?”

This was funny. We were conducting the classic dispute on the subject “What is the Light and what is the Darkness?” We Dark Ones and those who call themselves the Light Ones-we all brainwash our novices on this subject.

“If someone tries to infringe on your rights, then stop them from doing it. You have that right.”

“I get it. The law of the jungle. Whoever’s stronger is right.”

“Stronger, cleverer, more farsighted. And it’s not the law of the jungle. It’s just the law of life. Is it ever any different?”

The driver thought about it and shook his head.

“No, it isn’t. So I have the right to turn off the road somewhere, throw myself on you, and rape you?”

“But are you sure you’re stronger than me?”

We’d just stopped at an intersection and the driver looked at me closely. He shook his head.

“No… I’m not sure. But the reason I don’t attack girls isn’t because they might fight back!”

He was beginning to get a bit nervous. The conversation seemed like a joke, but he could sense that something wasn’t right.

“It’s also because they might put you in jail,” I said. “And that’s all.”

“No,” he said firmly.

“Yes,” I said with a smile. “That’s exactly the reason. You’re a normal, healthy man, with all the right reactions.