Even riding at a hundred kilometres an hour the air still felt hot. The wind struck at my cheeks like a rough towel. It felt like we were riding through a furnace, an endless tarmac furnace full of vehicles that had already been roasted in the sun, slowly crawling along. At least three times I was sure we were going to crash into a car or an inconveniently placed pillar.

It wasn't likely that we'd be killed outright. The rest of the team would sense what had happened and come and put us back together, piece by piece, but it wouldn't exactly be fun.

We arrived without any mishaps. After the ring road Semyon used his magic about five times, but only to make highway patrolmen look the other way.

Semyon didn't ask my address, even though he'd never been to my place. He stopped outside the entrance to the building and switched off the engine. The teenagers swilling cheap beer in the kids' playground stopped talking and stared at the bike. How great it must be to have such clear and simple dreams: beer, E at the nightclub, a hot girlfriend and a Harley.

'How long have you been having premonitions?' Semyon asked.

I started. I hadn't really told anyone that I'd been having them.

'Quite a long time now.'

Semyon nodded. He looked up at my windows. He didn't tell me why he'd asked the question.

'Maybe I ought to go up with you.'

'Listen, I'm not a girl who needs to be seen all the way home to her door.'

The magician smiled.

'Hey, don't get me mixed up with Ignat. Okay, it's not such a big deal. Be careful.'

'Of what?'

'Of everything, I suppose.'

The bike's engine howled. The magician shook his head.

'There's something coming, Anton. Coming this way. Be careful.'

He zoomed off to roars of approval from the adolescents, and slipped neatly through the gap between a parked Volga and a slow-moving Zhiguli. I watched him go and shook my head. I didn't need any premonitions to know that Semyon would spend the whole day zooming round Moscow. Then he'd attach himself to some group of rockers and a quarter of an hour later he'd be a fully fledged member, already creating legends about a crazy old biker.

Be careful. . .

Of what?

And more importantly, what for?

I tapped the code into the keypad, walked into the lobby and called the lift. That morning I'd been on holiday with my friends, and everything had been fine.

Nothing had changed now, except that I wasn't there any longer.

They say that when Light Magicians go off the rails, the first sign is always flashes of insight, like the ones epileptics have before a fit. Then the pointless use of power, like killing flies with fireballs and chopping firewood with combat spells. Quarrels with the people they love. Sudden disagreements with some friends and equally unexpected warm relations with others. Everyone knows that, and everyone knows what happens after a Light Magician goes off the rails.

Be careful . . .

I walked up to the door and reached for my keys.

But the door was already unlocked.

My parents had a set of keys. But they would never have come all the way from Saratov without giving me any warning. And I would have sensed that they were coming.

No ordinary human thief would ever break into my apartment, the simple sign on the threshold would have stopped him. And there were barriers against Others too. Of course, they could be overcome with sufficient power. But the sentry systems ought to have been triggered.

I stood there, looking at the narrow crack between the door and the doorpost, the crack that shouldn't have been there. I looked through the Twilight, but I didn't see anything.

I didn't have a weapon with me. My pistol was inside the apartment. So were the ten combat amulets.

I could have followed instructions. A member of the Night Watch who discovers that a home secured by magical means has been penetrated by strangers must first inform the duty operations officer and his supervisor, and then . . .

But the moment I imagined appealing to Gesar, after he'd casually scattered the entire Day Watch only two days earlier, I lost any desire to follow instructions. I folded my fingers into the sign for a rapid freeze spell, probably because I remembered how well it had worked for Semyon.

Be careful?

I pushed open the door and walked into the apartment that had suddenly stopped being mine.

And as I walked in, I realised who had enough power, authority and sheer chutzpah to come calling without an invitation.

'Good afternoon, boss!' I said, glancing into the study.

I wasn't entirely wrong.

Zabulon was sitting in a chair by the window, reading a newspaper. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and put down the paper. Then he carefully took off his spectacles with the slim gold frames.

'Good afternoon, Anton. You know, I'd be very glad to be your boss.'

He smiled. A Dark Magician beyond classification, the chief of the Moscow Day Watch. As usual, he was wearing an immaculately tailored black suit and a light grey shirt. An Other of indeterminate age, with a lean frame and close-cropped hair.

'My mistake,' I said. 'What are you doing here?'

Zabulon shrugged:

'Take your amulet. It's in the desk somewhere, I can sense it.'

I walked over to the desk, opened the drawer and took out the ivory medallion on a copper chain. I squeezed the amulet in my fist and felt it grow warm.

'Zabulon, you no longer have any power over me.'

The Dark Magician nodded:

'Good. I don't want you to have any doubts about your own safety.'

'What are you doing in a Light One's home, Zabulon? I would be within my rights to report you to the tribunal.'

'I know,' Zabulon said with a shrug. 'I know all that. I'm in the wrong. This is stupid. I'm exposing myself to reprisals and exposing the Day Watch too. But I haven't come to you as an enemy.'

I didn't say anything.

'And you don't need to worry about any observation devices,' he added casually. 'Either your own, or the ones that the Inquisition installs. I took the liberty of, shall we say, putting them to sleep. Everything we say to each other will remain just between the two of us, for ever.'

'Believe half of what a human says, a quarter of what a Light One says, and not a word of what a Dark One says,' I muttered.

'Of course, you have every right not to trust me. It's your duty not to. But please hear me out.' Zabulon suddenly smiled in a remarkably open and reassuring way. 'You're a Light One. You are obliged to assist everyone who asks for help, even me. And now I'm asking.'

I hesitated, then went across to the sofa and sat down. Without taking my shoes off, without cancelling the suspended freeze, as if it wasn't utterly absurd to imagine myself doing combat with Zabulon.

There was an outsider in my apartment. So much for 'my home is my castle' – and I'd almost started to believe it during the years I'd been working for the Watch.

'First of all, how did you get in?' I asked.

'First of all, I took a perfectly ordinary lock pick, but—'

'Zabulon, you know what I mean. The sentry systems can be destroyed, but they can't be tricked. They should have been triggered by any unauthorised entry.'

The Dark Magician sighed.

'Kostya helped me to get in. You gave him access.'

'I hoped he was my friend. Even if he is a vampire.'

'He is your friend,' Zabulon said with a smile. 'And he wants to help you.'

'In his own way.'

'In our own way, Anton. I've entered your home, but I have no intention of causing any harm. I haven't looked at any of the official documents you keep here. I haven't left any monitoring signs. I came to talk.'

'Then talk.'

'You and I have a problem, Anton. The same one. And today it reached critical proportions.'

The moment I saw Zabulon, I'd known what we'd be talking about, so I just nodded.

'Good, you understand.' The Dark Magician leaned forward in his chair and sighed. 'Anton, I'm not under any illusions here. We see the world differently. And we understand our duty in different ways. But even under those conditions our interests sometimes coincide. From your point of view, we Dark Ones have our failings. Sometimes our actions seem rather ambiguous. And we are obliged by our very nature to be rather less caring with people. That's all true. But note that nobody has ever accused us of attempting to change the entire destiny of humanity. Since the Treaty was concluded we have simply lived our own lives and we'd like you to do the same.'

'Nobody has ever accused you,' I agreed, 'because whichever way you look at it, time is on your side.'

Zabulon nodded:

'And what does that mean? Perhaps we're more like human beings? Perhaps we're right? But let's not get into those arguments, there's no end to them. I repeat what I have said before. We honour the Treaty. And we often observe it far more closely than the forces of the Light.'

A standard tactic in an argument. First admit to some kind of generalised guilt. Then gently reproach your opponent for being equally guilty of the same general kind of fault. Reproach them a bit and then drop it. Let's just forget the whole thing!

And then move on to what's really important.

'But, let's deal with what's really important here,' said Zabulon, getting serious. 'There's no point in beating about the bush. In the last hundred years the forces of the Light have launched three global experiments. The revolution in Russia. The Second World War. And now this new project. Following the same scenario.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' I said. I suddenly had this desperate aching feeling in my chest.

'Really? Let me explain. Social models are developed that should eventually – at the cost of massive upheaval and immense bloodshed – bring humanity to the ideal society. Ideal, that is, from your point of view, but I won't argue about that. Certainly not. Everyone has a right to his own dream. But your path is so very cruel . . .' Another sad smile. 'You accuse us of cruelty, and not entirely without reason, but what's one child killed in a black mass compared with any fascist children's concentration camp? And fascism was another of your inventions. Another one that got out of control. First there was internationalism and communism – that didn't work. Then there was national socialism. Another mistake? You put your heads together and examined the result. Then you sighed, wiped the slates clean and started experimenting all over again.'

'They turned out to be mistakes thanks to your efforts.'

'Of course! We do have an instinct for self-preservation, you know. We don't construct social models on the basis of our ethics. So why should we tolerate your projects?'

I didn't say anything.

Zabulon nodded, apparently satisfied.

'So you see, Anton. Maybe we're enemies. We are enemies. Last winter you caused us some inconvenience, serious inconvenience. This spring you frustrated me again. You eliminated two Day Watch agents. Yes, of course, the Inquisition declared that your actions were committed in self-defence and out of absolute necessity but, believe me, I was not pleased. What kind of leader is it who can't even protect his own colleagues? So, we are enemies. But now we have a unique situation. Yet another experiment. And you're indirectly involved in it.'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'