I fell asleep. And in my dreams there was no one shooting. There was no one cutting off heads with a blunt guillotine. And there was no one chasing anyone else.
There wasn’t a young girl in a silk dressing gown, either. There wasn’t even any room for Sveta. Just someone’s curious, hostile gaze that was fixed on me and never moved.
It’s never nice to be woken by a phone call. Not even if it’s the woman you love or an old friend who’s calling.
It was already light outside. I lifted my head up off the pillow and looked round the bedroom – everything was fine, except that I’d kicked the blanket off onto the floor during the night. I reached out for my phone and looked at the number.
Instead of a number, the screen on the phone simply said ‘Zabulon’, even though the Dark One’s number was not in my address book, of course.
‘Hello, Dark One.’
‘How’s your health, Anton?’ Zabulon enquired sympathetically. ‘Has the shoulder healed up?’
‘Everything’s fine, thank you.’ I touched the place where there had been a wound the day before. The skin there was pink and it itched.
‘I’m glad my gift was of some use,’ Zabulon continued in the same polite tone. ‘I’d like to share a bit of information with you. There are no candidates for the role of Mirror in Great Britain. There is one in France, one in Poland, two in Italy … I can’t imagine why Thomas chose to drag Egor all the way to Edinburgh.’
Clear enough. My naive attempt at cunning had failed. Zabulon had dug up the truth after all.
‘I hope that he won’t be required,’ I said.
‘Of course, of course,’ Zabulon agreed. ‘It really is quite disgraceful to exploit the poor boy again in the interests of the Light… Anton, my dear fellow, what is actually going on there? I heard there was another murder yesterday. Has someone else has his blood drained?’
‘Yes,’ I said, sitting up in bed. ‘Another one. He was beheaded with a model guillotine.’
‘And what did they do with the blood?’ Zabulon enquired.
‘Drained it into the bucket used for washing the floor.’
‘I see.’
‘I’m glad you understand something at least,’ I said.
‘Don’t be so modest, Anton …’ Zabulon said and paused. ‘Ask Foma how long it is since he visited his neighbour in the grave.’
‘What’s that?’ I said, thinking that I must have misheard. ‘His neighbour’s grave?’
‘How long is it since he visited his neighbour in the grave?’ Zabulon said with a chuckle and cut the connection.
Swearing under my breath, I got up and set out for the bathroom. I tidied myself up and took a cold shower, then put on a short-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans. Somehow I wasn’t in the mood any more for frivolous shorts and a T-shirt – if the weather had allowed, I would have put on a sweater or a jacket.
My phone rang again.
‘Hello, Geser,’ I said after glancing at the display.
‘How are you getting on?’
‘The shoulder’s healed,’ I said, absolutely certain that Geser knew everything.
‘Which shoulder’s that?’
‘Yesterday someone shot at me.’ I told him in brief what had happened. And there was such a deadly silence that I blew into the microphone, as if it was an old-style telephone.
‘I’m thinking,’ Geser said drily. ‘Thinking …’
‘Maybe I should go and get some breakfast first?’
‘Yes, do,’ said the boss. ‘And then find Foma. Tell him there’s no time left for half-truths and dissembling. He has to check the Rune.’
‘Which one exactly?’ I asked in the tone of someone who checks Runes every day of the week.
‘Merlin’s Rune.’
‘Ah …’ I said, slowly beginning to understand something. ‘Merlin’s Rune … isn’t that in the grave?’
It was a shot in the dark, but from Geser’s silence I realised that I’d hit the bull’s eye.
‘Anton, how do you …’ He swore briefly. ‘Find Foma and have a completely frank talk with him! I’ll get in touch with him too.’
‘Yessir!’ I rapped and put the phone away my pocket.
Well, how about that!
So there was a Rune. A Rune in a grave. The grave of Merlin.
But Merlin was a mythological character, wasn’t he? King Arthur, the Knights of the Round Table, Merlin … None of them had ever existed!
Aha. But the Great Geser and Thomas the Rhymer didn’t exist, either. Neither did crazed vampires and young girl werewolves, Light Healers and obstinate young magicians who had acquired the Higher level of Power by some oversight…
Strangely enough, my mood was rapidly improving. Maybe because things had finally started moving? I ran down the stairs, said good morning to the previous day’s receptionist and opened the door of the restaurant.
There wasn’t a single human being in there. Only two young vampires and a girl werewolf.
The vampires were eating carpaccio. Galya was eating an omelette. That was surprising – usually after two consecutive transformations werewolves eat meat by the kilogram.
‘Good morning,’ I greeted my fellow guests.
The vampires smiled crookedly and nodded. Galya began prodding at the omelette with her fork. It was obvious why: the hormonal rush had receded, and now she was feeling embarrassed. She’d managed to get some clothes from somewhere – black trousers, a white blouse, a little jacket with short sleeves. Something like the things that schoolgirls wear in Japanese cartoons.
‘Hi,’ I said, sitting down beside her. ‘Had a good rest?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Not bothered by any nightmares? That’s a frightening kind of room you’ve got – I’m not surprised you didn’t want to stay in it. The designer tried a bit too hard, don’t you think?’