I produced one too—I struck the windshield with both hands, surprising myself by knocking it out completely, and held my open palms out towards the blazing sphere flying at us. I didn’t even have time to think what I was going to use—the Sphere of Negation or the Magician’s Shield. Because it turned out that I was already instinctively using the Press—striking at the bundle of flame with pure Power.

And the instinctive response worked. Whether or not a Shield could have withstood the impact of such a prodigious fireball is open to question. Whether Gesar could have dodged out of the way in time was not clear either. A good fireball vectors in on its target, like a modern missile.

But the pure Power strike did the trick. The fireball burst, splashing in all directions like hot oil. Some small gobbets of flame even hit the car, but Olga had her wits about her too and we were covered with the semi-transparent scales of some cunning form of defense. The car itself was clearly pretty much pumped full of spells too. The flames streamed downwards, under the wheels, and we bounded straight through the roaring, raging firestorm.

Just in time to catch sight of our adversary.

To me he didn’t look anything like the descriptions that the policemen had given.

Very young, a little over twenty years old.

Slim, with blond hair.

A pleasant face, very genial, almost noble-looking somehow.

Light-colored clothes (you can’t make out more than that on the second level of the Twilight) and a cloak. Honestly, I swear, a cloak! A genuine one, fluttering behind his shoulders, as if he was some kind of comic-book Superman!

The young man stood there and gazed at the car thoughtfully. Not exactly looking disappointed, but certainly rather surprised.

“Come on,” said Gesar, switching off the ignition and slipping out from behind the steering wheel. Olga and I followed him. Outside the car the cold of the Twilight seized us in its viselike grip. There was a steady, freezing wind blowing, the eternal wind of the second level.

“Who are you and what do you want?” shouted Gesar.

The young man didn’t answer. He seemed to be pondering something.

“Night Watch! Leave the Twilight!” I said, not quite raising my voice to a shout but in a loud, impressive tone.

“Otherwise we shall use force,” Olga put in, backing me up.

The young man started to smile. And Gesar said in a low voice:

“Now, I wouldn’t have said that. What if he—”