The door didn't open.
That couldn't happen!
In the real world all the locks on the door could be closed, but the Twilight has its own laws. Only vampires need an invitation to enter someone's home, that's the price they pay for their strength and their gastronomic approach to humans.
In order to lock a door in the Twilight, you had at least to know how to enter it.
'Fear,' said Olga. 'Yesterday the boy was in a state of terror. And he'd just been in the Twilight world. He locked the door behind him, and without knowing it, he locked it in both worlds at the same time. Come deeper. Follow me.'
I looked at my shoulder – there was no one there. Summoning the Twilight while you're in the Twilight is no simple trick. I had to raise my shadow from the floor several times before it acquired volume and hung there, quivering in front of me.
'Come on, come on, you're doing fine,' whispered Olga.
I entered the shadow, and the Twilight grew thicker. Space was filled with a dense fog. Colours disappeared completely. The only sound left was the beating of my heart, slow and heavy, rumbling like a drum being beaten at the bottom of a ravine. And there was a whistling wind – that was the air seeping into my lungs, slowly stretching out the bronchi. The owl appeared on my shoulder.
'I won't be able to stand this for long,' I whispered, opening the door. At this level, of course, it wasn't locked.
A dark grey cat flitted past my feet. For cats there is no ordinary world or Twilight – they live in all the worlds at once. It's a good thing they don't have any real intelligence.
'Kss-kss-kss,' I whispered. 'Don't be afraid, puss . . .'
Mostly to test my own powers, I locked the door behind me. There, kid, now you're a little bit better protected. But will it do any good when you hear the Call?
'Move up,' said Olga. 'You're losing strength very fast. This level of the Twilight is a strain even for an experienced magician. I think I'll move up a level too.'
It was a relief to step out of it. No, I'm not an operational agent who can stroll around all three levels of the Twilight just as he likes. But I don't normally need to do that kind of thing.
The world turned a little brighter. I glanced around. It was a cosy apartment, not too polluted by the products of the Twilight world. A few streaks of blue moss beside the door . . . nothing to worry about, they'd die, now that the main colony had been exterminated. I heard sounds too, from the direction of the kitchen. I glanced in.
The boy was standing by the table, eating garlic and washing it down with hot tea.
'Light and Dark,' I whispered.
He looked even younger and more helpless than the day before. Thin and awkward, but you couldn't call him weak, he obviously played sport. He was wearing faded jeans and a blue sweatshirt.
'The poor soul,' I said.
'Very touching,' Olga agreed. 'It was a clever move of the vampires to spread that rumour about the magical properties of garlic. They say it was Bram Stoker himself who thought it up . . .'
The boy spat into his hand and started rubbing garlic on to his neck.
'Garlic's good for you,' I said.
'Oh yes. It protects you. Against flu viruses,' Olga added. 'How easily the truth is lost, and how persistent lies are . . . But the boy really is strong. The Night Watch could do with another agent.'
'But is he ours?'
'He's not anyone's yet. His destiny's still not been determined, you can see for yourself.'
'But which way does he lean?'
'There's no way to tell, not yet. He's too frightened. Right now he'd do absolutely anything to escape from the vampires. He's equally ready to turn to the Dark or the Light.'
'I can't blame him for that.'
'No, of course. Come on.'
The owl fluttered into the air and flew along the corridor. I walked after her. We were moving three times faster than humans now: one of the fundamental features of the Twilight is the way it affects the passage of time.
'We'll wait here,' Olga announced, when we were in the lounge. 'It's warm, light and comfortable.'
I sat in a soft armchair beside a low table and glanced at the newspaper lying there.
There's nothing more amusing than reading the press through the Twilight.
'Profits on loans down', said the headline.
In the real world the phrase was different: 'Tension mounts in the Caucasus'.
I could pick up the newspaper now and read the truth. The real truth. What the journalist was thinking when he wrote on the topic he'd been assigned. Those crumbs of information that he'd received from unofficial sources. The truth about life and the truth about death.
Only what for?
I'd stopped giving a damn about the human world a long time ago. It's our basis. Our cradle. But we are Others. We walk through closed doors and we maintain the balance of Good and Evil. There are pitifully few of us, and we can't reproduce – it doesn't follow that a magician's daughter automatically becomes an enchantress, and a werewolf's son won't necessarily be able to change his form on moonlit nights.
We're not obliged to like the ordinary, everyday world.
We only guard it because we're its parasites.
I hate parasites!
'What are you thinking about now?' asked Olga. The boy appeared in the lounge. He raced across into the bedroom – very quickly, bearing in mind that he was in the everyday world. He started rummaging in the wardrobe.
'Nothing much. Just feeling sad.'
'It happens. During the first few years it happens to everyone.' Olga's voice sounded completely human now. 'Then you get used to it.'
'That's what I'm feeling sad about.'
'You should be glad we're still alive. At the beginning of the twentieth century the population of Others fell to a critical threshold. Did you know there were debates about uniting the Dark Ones and the Light Ones? That programmes of eugenics were developed?'
'Yes, I know.'