Сергей Лукьяненко - Day Watch

"Until the morning," I confessed. "I like him very much, Natasha."

"Were you making love?" she asked in a businesslike tone of voice.

I wagged my finger at her: "Natasha!"

She wasn't embarrassed at all. On the contrary, she lowered her voice and told me, as if I were her bosom friend, "I can't get anywhere with mine. I told him that if he tried to kiss me, I'd punch him in the eye, and he said, "As if I wanted to!" Why are boys so stupid?"

"He'll kiss you," I promised her. And I thought to myself: I'll do my best to make sure he does .

After all, what could possibly be simpler? The next day I would have my powers back, and the boy with ginger hair and freckles would follow Natasha around, gazing at her with eyes filled with genuine love. Why shouldn't I give my best donor a little happiness?

"What were you dreaming about?" I asked.

"Something horrible," the girl answered briefly. "I can't honestly remember. But it was something really, really horrible!"

"About your younger brother?" I asked.

Natasha wrinkled up her forehead. Then she replied: "I don't remember… But how did you know I have a younger brother?"

I smiled mysteriously and stretched out on the sand. Everything was all right. The dream had been extracted completely.

That evening I realized I just couldn't stand it any longer. I found Galina and asked her to keep an eye on my girls for a couple of hours. There was a strange look in her eyes. No, it wasn't hurt, although she'd obviously understood everything, and she'd had designs on Igor herself. And it wasn't anger. It was more like the sad look of a dog who has been punished unjustly.

"Of course, Alisa," she said.

That's the trouble with these so-called good people. Spit in their faces, thwart their desires, trample on them-and they put up with it.

But then, of course, it is very convenient.

I set off toward the fourth brigade's small house. Along the way I frightened two little boys in the bushes-they were smoking shards of glass on a little fire of disposable plastic cups. Actually, to say I frightened them is putting it rather strongly. The kids frowned and tensed up, but they didn't stop what they were doing.

"Tomorrow they'll give everyone special pieces of glass," I said amicably. "But you'll cut yourselves with those."

"There aren't enough of the special ones," one of the kids objected reasonably. "We'll smoke some for ourselves-the cups make great smoke."

"And we'll stick Band-Aids round the edges," the second one added. "And they'll be just fine."

I smiled, nodded to them, and went on. I liked the kids' attitude. Proud and independent. The right attitude.

I was already getting close to the summer house and I could hear the sounds of a guitar when I saw Makar. The kid was standing by a tree, as if he weren't really hiding, but so that he couldn't be seen from the direction of the house. Just standing there looking at Igor, who was sitting in the middle of his boys. When Makar heard my steps, he turned around sharply, started… and lowered his eyes.

"It's not good to spy on people, Makar."

He stood there, chewing on his lip. I wondered what he'd been planning to do. Play some nasty trick on Igor? Challenge him to a duel? Or had he just clenched his fists in helpless fury as he looked at the grown man who'd been making love to the woman he liked the evening before? You stupid, stupid boy. You ought to be looking at girls your own age, not at enchanting grown-up witches with long legs.

"You'll have it all, Makar," I said softly. "Girls, and a night beside the sea, and…"

He raised his head and looked at me derisively, even rather condescendingly. No I won't , his eyes seemed to say. There won't be any sea, there won't be any beautiful naked woman by the edge of the foaming sea. It will all be quite different - cheap wine in a tiny room in some dirty hostel; a girl who could be anybody's after her second glass; a sweaty body turned flabby before its time and a whisper hoarse from smoking: "Where do you think you're sticking that thing, you greenhorn !"

I knew that, as an experienced and cynical witch. And he knew it, this chance visitor to Artek, this short-term guest in "the realm of friendship and love." And there was no point in us pretending with each other.

"I'm sorry, Makar," I said and patted him affectionately on the cheek. "But I really like him very much. You grow up strong and clever, and you'll have every…"

He turned and ran away, an almost grown-up boy who didn't want to waste even a minute of his brief happy summer, who didn't sleep at nights and invented a different, happy life for himself.

But what could I do? The Day Watch has no need for human servants. There are enough werewolves, vampires, and other small timers. I would check Makar, of course. He would make a magnificent Dark One. But the chances were very, very slim that the boy had the natural gifts of an Other…

My girls were probably just perfectly ordinary people too.

And the chances were just as slim that Igor had the gifts of an Other.

Maybe that was for the best? If he were human, then we could be together. Zabulon couldn't give a damn about a petty detail like his girl having a human husband. But he would never tolerate a husband who was an Other…

I looked down thoughtfully at my feet as I walked out of the trees toward the little house. Igor was sitting on the terrace, tuning his guitar. There were only two of his boys there with him- the "campfire monitor" Alyoshka and a plump, sickly looking child I didn't think had been at the campfire.

Igor looked at me and smiled. The boys spoke, greeting me, but we didn't say anything to each other-we read everything in each other's eyes. The memory of that night, and the promise of the next one… and the ones after that…

But there was a hint of confusion and anguish in Igor's eyes too. As if there were something making him feel very sad. My darling… if only you know how great my sadness is… and how difficult it is for me to smile …

I don't care if you don't have the gifts of an Other, Igor. I don't care if my colleagues laugh at me. I'll put up with it. And you'll never know anything about Zabulon. Or about the Watch either. And you'll be amazed at your own success, at the way your career develops, your magnificent health - I'll give you all that !

Igor strummed his guitar strings, gave his boys an affectionate look, and started to sing:

I'm afraid of babies, I'm afraid of the dead,

I feel my own face with my fingers.

And I turn cold with horror inside-

Am I really the same as all these people?

These people who live above me,

These people who live below me,

Who snore on the other side of the wall,

Who live underneath the ground…

What wouldn't I give for a pair of wings,

What wouldn't I give for a third eye,

For a hand with fourteen fingers on it!

I need a different gas to breathe!

Their tears are salty, their laughter is harsh,

They never have enough for everyone.

They love seeing their faces in fresh newspapers,

But next day the papers are flushed away.

These people who give birth to children,

These people who suffer from pain,

These people who shoot at people,

But can't eat their food without salt.

What wouldn't they give for a pair of wings,

What wouldn't they give for a third eye,

For a hand with fourteen fingers on it-

They need a different gas to breathe.

Something cold and sticky stirred inside me. A terrible, dreary, hopeless feeling…