I wasn't going to a concert. Just a little Pioneer brigade campfire.

Every one of the summer houses had a campfire site. It was obviously one of the Artek traditions. The impression was spoiled a bit by the fact that the wood for the campfire looked a bit too "official"-it was all neatly cut blocks. I could just imagine the camp leaders turning up at the supply office and writing out a request: "Firewood for the holding of a brigade bonfire to last two hours..."

But this was no joke. I would probably have to organize something of the kind too. Write out a request, bring the wood-or would the workmen deliver it? Never mind, I'd find out later.

Everything was ready: the wood had been heaped up, the boys of the fourth brigade and the girls of the seventh were sitting round it. And s.p.a.ce had considerately been left for my charges too. How very thoughtful...

Igor was sitting beside the huge campfire with his boys swarming all over him. He was quietly strumming the strings of a guitar, and I almost groaned out loud when I realized that songs by the Russian "bards" were an integral element of parties like this. What an unfortunate instrument the guitar is! An instrument of such great n.o.bility, a genuine monarch of music-reduced to a pitiful lump of wood with six strings, constantly abused by people with no ear and no voice.

Jut I would have to put up with it.

It would just be a shame if such an attractive human specimen turned out to be one more singer without any voice or any talent. Oh, and what if he even sang his own songs? That's a real nightmare-when someone who writes bad verse learns three chords, decides that one negative quant.i.ty multiplied by another will give a positive result, and becomes a "singer-songwriter." I've seen so many of them. When they start to sing, their eyes glaze over, their voices are filled with mysterious, romantic, manly courage, and it's absolutely impossible to stop them.

Like wood grouse in the mating season! The only alternative is popular songs in the garbled renditions that are the best they can manage. Numbers by Victor Tsoi and Kino or the group Alisa... or whatever it is that young people like today.

Anyway, whatever it was, I wasn't going to like it.

When he saw us there, Igor got up to greet us and all my forebodings immediately evaporated. Yes, he was a really handsome man. "h.e.l.lo." He spoke as if we were already close. "We haven't started, we were waiting for all of you."

"Thank you." I felt myself losing control. My little girls were already sitting down, elbowing the boys aside-they were a little bit wary of the older girls-and I was still standing there like a fool, attracting knowing glances.

"You're a great swimmer," Igor said with a smile.

Aha!

So he had found time to look around on the beach after all.

"Thank you," I said again. What was wrong with me? I was petrified, like some naive, inexperienced girl. I didn't even need to pretend. My anger at myself immediately gave me strength. I sat down on the gra.s.s between Olechka and Natasha. My own private little guard, the spy and the adviser... But they had no interest in me right now. They were too excited by the prospect of the campfire.

"Okay, Alyoshka, begin!" Igor said in a jolly voice and threw a box of matches to a thickset boy with blond hair.

The boy caught it deftly, then crawled up to the campfire on all fours and sat down with his legs crossed. It was like the preparations for some sacred ritual.

The boy took a match out of the box with meticulous precision, cupped his hands like an inveterate smoker, and struck it. He leaned over toward the fire. It didn't look as if there was any paper there to start the blaze, just pine needles and small chips of wood. Everybody held their breath.

It was a ridiculous performance. But even so, I was curious to see if the little pyromaniac would manage to light the campfire with one match or not.

He did. The first tongue of flame flickered in the gathering gloom. It was greeted with universal howling and squealing, as if the campfire were surrounded by a tribe of primordial humans who were freezing in the bitterly cold weather.

"Well done!" Igor reached out and shook the boy's hand and then immediately ruffled his hair with a smile. "You'll be our campfire monitor."

Alyoshka's face expressed immense pride.

Five minutes later the campfire was already blazing and the children had settled down a bit. All around they were chattering, laughing, and whispering, running away from the fire and then back again, throwing on little branches and pine cones, trying to roast pieces of sausage threaded onto twigs. The rejoicing was unconfined. Igor sat in state in the middle of the children, punctuating the conversation with phrases that sent everyone into peals of laughter, or tasting the half-burnt food, or calling back children who were getting too close to the fire. The life and soul...

Galina was besieged by her charges too. I was the only one sitting there like a total fool in the middle of the jolly crowd, giving irrelevant answers to the girls' questions, laughing belatedly when they did, and turning my eyes away the moment Igor looked in my direction.

Fool! What a fool I am! The last thing I need is to fall in love for real with a human being.

I failed to look away yet again and Igor smiled at me. He reached out and picked up a guitar off the gra.s.s. The silence spread out from him in a wave-the children nudged each other, stopped talking, and prepared to listen with a strange, affected sort of attention. I suddenly wished desperately that he would sing some kind of stupid nonsense. Maybe some old-time Young Pioneer song about potatoes roasted in the fire, the sea, the Pioneer camp, firm friendship, and the kids' readiness to enjoy themselves and to study. Anything that would dispel this idiotic enchantment, anything to stop me inventing all sorts of nonsense and seeing imaginary positive qualities in that handsome physical sh.e.l.l.

When Igor started to play, I realized I was done for. He could play the instrument. The melody wasn't all that complicated, but it was beautiful, and he didn't hit any wrong notes.

And then he began to sing: Two boys saw a heavenly angel Come flying into their attic.

Without telling anyone, the boys Went rushing up the fire stairs...

Two boys climbed in through the window, It was dusty, deserted and dark, But just four steps away from the corner A pair of white wings lay on the floor...

Yes, boys, oh yes!

Angels are not forever, But stealing is a sin, There aren't enough wings for everyone...

They want to soar up into the sky, They only have to put on the wings...

But they didn't dare, they had been taught well, They knew what was right, what was wrong.

This wasn't a song for children. Of course they listened to it quite attentively, but at that moment you could have sung them a math textbook set to guitar music-anything would have been good enough. A campfire in the evening, with your favorite camp leader and his guitar-in a situation like that children will like anything.

But I realized Igor was singing for me. Even if he was looking into the flames the entire time, even if the song wasn't about love, even if we'd barely spoken two words to each other. It was as if he had sensed my expectations-and decided to refute them. Maybe that was what it was, I thought-many people possess powerful intuition, even if they're not Others.

Two boys grew up and they followed Different paths through the maze of life.

One was a bandit and one was a cop, And both of them regretted it...

Yes boys, oh yes!

Angels are not forever.

But stealing is a sin, There aren't enough wings for everyone...

He looked at me and smiled. His fingers ran quietly across the strings again and he repeated quietly: There aren't enough wings for everyone...

The kids started kicking up a din.

They actually seemed to like the song, though I couldn't imagine what they could have understood in it. Maybe they were amused by the phrase about "right and wrong," or maybe in their little minds they imagined a real adventure-climbing into an attic that an angel had flown into... But I thought the song fitted the Others-Dark Ones and Light Ones.

It was a good song. Just not quite right about one thing. The boy who would later join our side would have put on the wings. Or at least tried them on. Because for us the i.e. of "right and wrong" doesn't exist.

"That's a good song. But it's very serious," said Galina. "Did you write it?"

Igor laughed and shook his head: "No, afraid not. It's by Yulu Burkin. Not a very well-known singer, unfortunately."

"Igor, could you play... one of our songs?" Galina was flirting with him for all she was worth. The stupid fool...

"Sure!" Igor agreed.

He strummed the strings, striking up a jolly rhythm, and started singing simple-mindedly all about "the very, very best camp of songs and friends in all the world."

That was what they wanted. From the second couplet everybody started joining in, because it was no problem to guess what the next word would be. When they sang about the sea, and how you had to go running into it with your camp leader, because he loved "the splashing water and the sand" too, they all howled with great inspiration. Everybody was pleased, even Galina and her girls. At one point Igor sang about "a stone with a hole inside it" that was found on the seash.o.r.e... as if anyone could imagine a stone with a hole outside it. I noticed that lots of the kids reached for the stones dangling around their necks.

Well, well. Faithful devotees of the chicken G.o.d! Maybe someone in Artek had a special job-producing stones with holes in them? Some drunk who never shaved, sitting in a workshop somewhere, drilling holes in stones all day long and scattering them on the beach in the evening to delight all the kids. If not, an opportunity had clearly been missed.

Igor appeared to be enjoying himself as much as the kids. He sang the song enthusiastically, except that... all the enthusiasm was for the children. Igor was amusing them, but he really felt nothing for the song one way or the other.

I relaxed.

At the very least he liked the look of me.

And I liked the look of him too.

Igor sang another couple of songs. Then Galina took over the guitar and coerced it into playing-the instrument resisted as hard as it could, flatly refusing to produce any normal sounds, but Galina still sang "Let's all hold hands, my friends" and yet another Young Pioneer song. Even the boy from the fourth brigade, who was barely strong enough to press down the metal strings, played better than she did.

Then Igor clapped his hands. "All right! Now we'll put the fire out and go for supper!"

They brought two buckets of water from somewhere and he began dousing the glowing embers.

I stood there for a while, following his spa.r.s.e, precise movements. Igor looked as if he'd spent his entire life putting out campfires. Probably he did everything like that-playing the guitar, putting out fires, working on his computer, caressing a woman. Precisely. Conscientiously. Reliably. Satisfaction guaranteed.

White steam billowed up from the hot embers. The children scattered in all directions. Then suddenly, still dousing the fire, Igor asked, "Do you like swimming at night, Alisa?"

I shivered. "Yes."

"So do I. By one o'clock, the children will have settled down and I'll go to the beach for a swim, where we were this morning. Come along if you like."

For just a moment I lost my head. It was a feeling I'd completely forgotten. Instead of me hitting on a man, he was. .h.i.tting on me!

Igor splashed the remains of the water onto the campfire and looked at me. He smiled. "I'd be really glad if you could come. Only... don't get the wrong idea."

"I think I've got the right idea," I replied.

"Will you come?"

I really wanted to say no. Just to provoke him. But it would have been stupid, after all, to give up my own pleasure for the sake of one little gibe.

"Probably," I said.

"I'll be waiting," Igor replied calmly. "Shall we go? A gla.s.s of ryazhenka before bed is very good for tired camp leaders. It guarantees sound, healthy sleep." His smile was wonderful.

In Artek "lights out" comes at half past ten.

The bugles sounded solemnly in the loudspeakers and a gentle woman's voice wished everyone goodnight. I was standing in front of the mirror, looking at my reflection and trying to figure out what was happening to me.

Had I fallen in love?

No, that was impossible! I loved Zabulon. I loved the greatest Dark magician in Moscow! One of the few individuals who really controlled the fate of the world. And what was an ordinary human being, compared to him? Even if he was attractive. Even if he had a fine figure. Even with that idiotic reliability that oozed out of him with every move he made. He was an ordinary male of the human species with the ordinary little thoughts of human males. Pretty good for a resort romance, but nothing more than that. I couldn't really fall in love with him!

The cell phone in my purse rang and I started. Mom? Unlikely-she was terribly careful with money and never rang me on my cell.

I took it out and accepted the call.

"h.e.l.lo, Alisa."

Zabulon's voice sounded tired. Affectionate and tired, as if he'd barely been able to find the strength to make the call, but really felt he had to...

"h.e.l.lo," I whispered.

"You're feeling anxious, I can sense it. What's happened to you, my little girl?"

There's no way to hide anything from him. Zabulon knows everything... at least, everything he wants to know.

"I'm thinking about taking a friend for the month..."I sighed into the phone.

"Weil, what of it?" Zabulon sounded puzzled. "Alisa, I'm not jealous of your dog, and I'm not going to be jealous of some little man who amuses you either."

"I haven't got a dog," I said miserably.

Zabulon laughed, and all my stupid thoughts just seemed to evaporate.

"All right then! I'm not bothered if you have a dog or you don't. I'm not bothered if you have a human lover. Calm down, my little one. Relax. Recover your strength. Amuse yourself any way you like. Debauch the whole of Artek, including all the Young Pioneers and the old plumbers if you like. My little fool..."

"I'm behaving like a human being, aren't I?" I suddenly felt ashamed.

"It's nothing to worry about. It won't last long, Alisa. Build up your strength... only..." Zabulon paused for a moment. "Never mind. It's nothing."

"No, tell me!" I tensed up again.

"I have faith in your common sense," Zabulon said, and hesitated. "Alisa, just don't get carried away, all right?

Your vacation is strictly governed by the terms of the old treaty between the Watches. You don't have the right to take a lot of Power. Only crumbs. Don't turn into some crude energy-vampire. You're on vacation, not out hunting.

If you overstep the mark, we'll lose this resort forever."

"I understand," I said.

How long was that blunder with the Prism of Power going to keep coming back to haunt me?

I didn't start pouring out promises or swearing by the Darkness and my own Power. Promises mean nothing. The Darkness doesn't bother itself with petty details, and I had no Power right then. I simply promised myself that I wouldn't overstep the defined boundaries for anything. I wouldn't let down Zabulon and the entire Day Watch.

"Then have a good vacation, my little girl." I thought I caught a hint of sadness in Zabulon's voice. "Have a good vacation."

"Couldn't you come? Just for a short while?" I asked hopelessly.

"No. I'm very busy, Alisa. I'm afraid we won't be able to talk for the next three or four days. But don't you worry.

What good is a tedious old miscreant obsessed with global problems as a partner for a young witch on vacation?"

He laughed.