What did that mean? That Nadya was capable of destroying the Twilight? And what would happen to her if she did? Would she be killed too? Or lose her magical abilities?

I didn’t want that for my daughter.

That was the whole picture. I wasn’t going to reveal the prophecy. And I was going to destroy the recording.

What about the Tiger?

He wouldn’t come for me. It wasn’t in his interest, he didn’t want the prophecy to be made known to humans. That was what he had said himself. But I wouldn’t tell anyone, and he ought to understand that. I couldn’t vouch for Arina, but the Tiger could take care of her . . .

I finished my cigarette and flung the butt off the balcony in a slovenly gesture. I followed its flight down from the seventh floor—the small dot of fire sliced through the darkness until it was lost to view in the circle of light round a street lamp.

Right at the feet of the man standing there . . .

I grabbed hold of the railing as I looked down. At the young man in a light-colored raincoat. At the Tiger looking up at me.

The Tiger raised his hand and waved to me, either in greeting or farewell. Then he turned and walked away into the darkness.

I took out another cigarette, then put it back in the pack. I went back into the flat, hung up my anorak, rinsed out my mouth in the bathroom so as not to stink of tobacco, and sneaked quietly into the bedroom. Svetlana was sleeping. I lay down and fell asleep too—easily and perfectly calmly.

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

FROM EARLY MORNING THOSE MYSTICAL FORCES RESPONSIBLE for the roads of Moscow (forces that seem more mysterious to me than any Tiger) were well-disposed. I slipped out easily onto the Third Ring Road, and the traffic on it was moving at a lively pace. In the direction I needed, of course—all the cars going in the other direction were barely crawling along—but that was the usual way of things.

I moved into the left lane and switched on the radio. First my heart was gladdened by a strident song with the chorus: “Young teen fluff-head. She’s a lame-brain child.” Another station was broadcasting an interview with an opposition politician who was abusing the authorities in almost obscene language and claiming there was no free speech in the country. As a matter of fact, in any country with a culture of free speech, at the end of that broadcast the politician would have been served with a summons for slander, defamation of character and insinuation. So I carried on wandering through the Moscow airwaves until I came to rest at a station that was broadcasting foreign popular music.

“Turn it down a bit, Anton,” a voice said behind me.