“Anton Gorodetsky, Night Watch,” I said, preferring to introduce myself formally in any case, and not slip into an informal tone. “What’s happening?”

The vampire didn’t take up my cool tone.

“Ah, the usual business with you Light Ones. Some young guy wants universal good and justice. And right now, straight away, as usual. He’s sitting in the stand, sector B, up at the top, pumping Power out of everyone on all sides.”

“We get some interesting cases with you Dark Ones as well,” I said. “When you get the urge for a drop of hot blood . . . and off you go into the dark streets at night.”

The vampire licked his lips. But he carried on smiling.

“Tell me about it, Anton. The young folk these days have got so wild. We struggle and strain, trying to educate them . . . frighten them—with your name, by the way. Tell them Gorodetsky will come and dematerialize them . . .”

I realized I was taking a hopeless beating in this duel of words. So I pretended it had never even happened.

“Right then, we’re onto it,” I said. “Your assistance is no longer required, you can go.”

“I’ll stand here for a while and watch,” the vampire chuckled. What was his name . . . I’d seen his picture at briefings in the Night Watch office, but his name had completely slipped my mind. Something very ordinary, either Sasha or Andrei . . . “It’s not every day you see Light Ones clobbering their own.”

That finally got my back up.

“Fine,” I said, spreading my hands. “You can observe. But bear in mind that if I can’t disarm the guy immediately—and I can’t guarantee anything—then the first thing he’ll probably start doing is clobbering bloodsuckers. That’s a bad character trait we Light Ones have—we dislike the Lower Others most of all.”

His face twitched briefly, but then he smiled again.

“I can’t argue with that. You do have a bent for discrimination. Thanks for the warning—I’ll be careful.”

I walked past the Day Watch representative, imagining to myself (with great pleasure) how I could flatten that insolent vampire with a Press and then rip off his registration mark, and he would crumble into gray ash.

What was it with the vampires these days? Insolent, smug . . . First that one who was hunting near Bolotnaya Square, and now this one . . .

The policemen at the entrance moved towards me uncertainly. They could sense that something was wrong—their instincts told them that the people in the stadium were behaving oddly . . .

What kind of nonsense is this? What instincts? These are people, not animals!

“Show me your invitation, citizen,” said a rosy-cheeked young man in uniform, blocking my way.

“You’re not concerned about my invitation,” I said morosely, waving my hand in the style of the Jedi knights. The vampire behind me giggled audibly.