Сергей Лукьяненко - Day Watch

Edgar gave a sympathetic nod and everyone else listened to the doctor with interest as he continued with his florid rhetoric. "The special abilities of an Other are similar in some ways to any other energy reaction-take a nuclear reaction, for instance. We maintain our abilities by drawing Power from the world around us, from people and other less complex objects. But in order to begin receiving Power, first you have to invest some of your own-such is the cruel law of nature. And Alisa has practically none of that initial Power left. Simply pumping in Power is no help in this case, just as a piece of heavily salted pork fat or an overcooked, crispy steak won't save someone who's starving to death. The body can't digest that kind of food-in fact, it will kill, not cure. It's the same thing with Alisa-we could pump energy into her, but she would choke on it."

"Could you please not talk about me in the third person?" I asked. "And not in that tone of voice!"

"I'm sorry, my girl." Karl Lvovich sighed. "But what I'm saying is the truth."

Edgar gently released my hand and said, "Alisa, don't take it too much to heart. Perhaps the chief will think of something. And by the way, talking about steaks… I'm absolutely ravenous."

Lemesheva nodded. "Let's go to some little bistro."

"Wait for me, okay?" said Zhanna. "I'll just take a shower, I'm lathered in sweat…"

I didn't even have enough strength left to feel horrified. I stood there like a fool, listening to their conversation, trying to sense anything at all at the level of an Other. To see my real shadow, to summon the Twilight, to feel the emotional background…

There was nothing.

And they seemed to have forgotten about me already.

If it had been Zhanna or Lena in my place, I would have behaved exactly the same way. After all, there's no point in hanging yourself just because someone else got careless, is there? Did anyone ask me to give everything, down to the very last drop? No, it was my fault for trying to be a hero!

It was all because of Semyon and Tiger Cub. When I realized who we'd come up against, I decided to take my revenge. To prove something… to someone… for some reason…

Now what was I going to do? I'd proved it, all right, and I'd been crippled. And far more badly than in the fight with Tiger Cub…

"Just be quick, Zhanna," said Lemesheva. "Alisa, will you come with us?"

I turned toward her, but before I could say anything, someone spoke behind my back: "Nobody's going anywhere."

Lemesheva's eyes opened wide and I shuddered as I recognized that voice.

Zabulon was standing by the elevator.

He was in his human form: skinny and sad-looking, with a rather preoccupied air. Many of our people only know him like that-calm and unhurried, even a little bit boring. But I know another Zabulon too. Not the restrained boss of the Day Watch, not the mighty warrior who takes on demonic form, not the Dark magician beyond classification… but a cheerful, inexhaustibly inventive Other. Simply an Other, without any traces of the gulf between us, as if there were no difference in age, experience, or Power.

That's the way it used to be. Before…

"Everybody come to my office," Zabulon ordered. "Immediately."

He disappeared-dived into the Twilight probably. But before that he rested his glance on me for a brief moment. There was no expression at all in his eyes. No mockery or sympathy or affection.

But he did look at me, and my heart stood still. For the last year Zabulon had seemed not even to notice the unfortunate witch Alisa Donnikova.

"So much for bistros and showers," Lemesheva said dourly. "Come on, girls."

It was an accident that I ended up sitting apart from the others.

My feet automatically took me to the armchair by the fireplace-the broad leather armchair in which I used to curl up, half-sitting, half-lying, watching Zabulon at work, looking at the smokeless flame in the hearth, the photographs hanging all round the walls…

When I realized that I'd unwittingly separated myself from the others, who had taken appropriate places on the divans by the wall, it was already too late to change anything. It would only have looked stupid.

Then I kicked off my sandals, pulled my feet up, and made myself comfortable.

Lemesheva glanced at me in astonishment before she started her report. The others didn't even dare to look-their eyes were fixed adoringly on the boss. The sycophantic toadies!

Leaning back in his chair behind his huge desk, Zabulon didn't react to me at all either. At least not on the outside.

Well, don't look then…

I listened to Lemesheva's smooth voice-she delivered her report well, speaking briefly and to the point, nothing superfluous was said and nothing important was omitted. And I looked at the photograph hanging above the desk. It was very, very old, taken a hundred and forty years earlier, using the colloidal method- the boss once gave me a detailed explanation of the differences between the "dry" and "wet" techniques. The photograph showed Zabulon in old-fashioned clothes as a student at Oxford, against the background of the tower of Christ Church College. It was a genuine original by Lewis Carroll. The boss once remarked that it had been very difficult to persuade the "dried-up prim and proper poet" to spend some time on one of his own students instead of a little girl. But the photograph had turned out very well-Carroll must have been a real master. Zabulon looks serious, but there's a lively glint of irony in his eyes, and he looks a lot younger too… but then, what does a century and a half mean to him…

"Donnikova?"

I looked at Lemesheva and nodded. "I entirely agree. If the absolutely essential goal of our mission was to free the prisoner, then forming the Circle of Power and threatening to perform the sacrifice was the best solution." I paused for a moment and then added skeptically, "Of course, that's if that stupid fool was worth all the effort."

"Alisa!" There was a metallic ring to Lemesheva's voice. "How dare you discuss the chief's orders? Chief, I apologize for Alisa. She's overwrought and not… not entirely well."

"Naturally," said Zabulon. "Alisa effectively ensured the success of the entire operation. She sacrificed all her Power. It's hardly surprising that she feels like asking questions."

I raised my head sharply at that. Zabulon was quite serious. Not a hint of mockery or irony.

"But…" Lemesheva began.

"Who was just talking about respect for seniority?" Zabulon interrupted her. "Be quiet."

Lemesheva broke off.

Zabulon got up from behind the desk and walked over to me without hurrying. I kept my eyes fixed on him, but I didn't get up.

"That stupid fool," said Zabulon, "was not worth all the effort. Of course not. But the actual operation against the Night Watch was extremely important. And all of the injuries you suffered in the battle are entirely justified."

I felt as if I'd been stabbed in the back. "Thank you, Zabulon," I replied. "It will be easier for me to live through all these years, knowing that my efforts were not in vain."

"All what years, Alisa?" Zabulon asked.

It was strange… we hadn't spoken at all for a whole year… I hadn't even received any orders from him in person… and now when he spoke to me, there was that cold, prickly lump in my chest again.

"The healer said it will be a long time before I can restore my Power."

Zabulon laughed. And then suddenly he reached out his hand! He patted me on the cheek… affectionately… in that old, familiar way…

"Never mind what the healer said…" Zabulon declared peaceably. "The healer has his opinion, and I have mine."

He took his hand away and I had to struggle to stop my cheek following it…