“She used to be a Dark One,” I said. “But that’s not the point: there are some Light Ones who don’t have a single white spot left on them.”

“Anton, you’re being insulting!” Arina exclaimed indignantly.

She looked entirely peaceable. A long dress, long hair arranged in a bun, looking like an elderly village school teacher. The large fluffy slippers on her feet completed the picture.

“What have you come for?” I asked.

I wasn’t really afraid. Svetlana would arrive in a moment. I was in my own flat—and at home the very walls lend you strength, every Other knows that. And in addition, I had my daughter beside me. Not very skillful, but infinitely powerful. And if she struck out—with anything at all—Arina would go flying out through the wall.

“As I understand it, you’ve decided to do away with the chalice,” Arina said. “I’d like to watch that. May I?”

“I’m going to burn it,” I said. “And don’t try to change my mind.”

Something elusive glinted for a moment in her eyes. Could it really have been relief?

“I swear that I won’t! But can I just watch? And then I’ll leave! I swear—”

“I’ve had enough of your oaths!” I growled. “You should be thankful that the children are here. Nadya, Kesha! Stand over there, in the corner! I’m just going to burn this lump of wood, then Arina will say bye-bye and leave. Okay?”

“Can I say ‘See you later, alligator’?” Arina asked, smiling sweetly.

“How come you have such a good knowledge of 1950s slang?” I asked. “You were asleep then!”

“I’ve been watching a lot of movies just recently,” she said. “I don’t like the modern ones very much, they’re spiteful. But fifty years ago people knew how to make good-hearted films.”

“A good-hearted Baba-Yaga,” I snorted, and prepared to strike the match. Arina watched me attentively, not looking as if she wanted to interfere. But one of her hands was tightly clenched on something. “The Minoan Sphere!” I said, realizing what it was. “Put it on the floor and take a couple of steps back!”

She didn’t argue. That should probably have put me on my guard. She opened her hand, showed me the small sphere of white marble . . . so that’s what you look like, you famous Minoan Sphere, the Inquisition’s number one headache. Then she squatted down, carefully placed the sphere on the floor, and set it rolling in my direction. Either the floor of the flat wasn’t very even, or Arina’s hand trembled, but the sphere rolled under the shoe locker.

“Anton, I’m playing fair and square.”

Oh, but I don’t believe in honest Witches at all—and not very much in honest Others . . .