“She ilekh adonai nekhbad mi a makom a ze!” shouted Jermenson.

The young man took a step back. Cast a quick glance in our direction. Then at Jermenson.

And at that precise moment the darkness behind the stranger thickened and condensed into a black ink blot dangling in the air. A spiked leg that looked like a limb of a gigantic praying mantis stepped out of the blot, to be followed by its owner—a demon every bit as large as the golem.

Unfortunately, the cavalry arrived too late for the fight. The young man cast a quick glance at the demon, spread his arms—and disappeared. Without any flashes, glimmers, or sparks. Without opening any portals, dissolving into the air or sinking down through the ground. He simply disappeared.

It was only reasonable from his point of view. If the heads of the Night Watch and the Day Watch both attack you, and they have a few Higher Others tagging along—the best thing to do is beat it, and quick.

The golem hesitated for a moment and then soaked back into the ground. Golems created to carry out a single assignment usually crumble into dust. But this one didn’t crumble—it didn’t seem to think that its assignment had been completed.

“Hello, Zabulon,” said Gesar.

The demon metamorphosed into a man—an ordinary, rather short man of indeterminate age with an undistinguished face. It had always amazed me that the Dark Others moved through the lower layers of the Twilight in such horrifying forms. I used to think there were dangers that I didn’t know about lurking down there, but it was a long time now since I’d been an inexperienced novice magician. I’d walked the Twilight through and through, on all its levels, and I knew there weren’t any bloodthirsty beasts in it.

Or was I wrong after all? Maybe the Dark Ones followed their own paths, unlike ours?

“And hello to you, Gesar,” Zabulon said with a nod. “What kind of loathsome beast was that?”

I laughed. And I kept on laughing until understanding dawned on Gesar’s face.

“Did you see a repulsive, malicious demon, Zabulon?” he asked.

The Dark One frowned. And nodded.

“I saw a cunning, elderly man,” said Gesar. “Anton, I surmise, saw some pleasant, straightforward young guy. Jermenson saw a wise old Jew. Olga saw a wily, guileful woman.”

“You forgot to add that you didn’t just see a cunning, elderly man, but a very modest, cunning, elderly man,” said Olga.

“Yes, and one with a very high opinion of himself,” snorted Zabulon. “But, as it happens, he only disappeared when I showed up.”

“Maybe he just has a well-developed aesthetic sensibility . . .” Alisher muttered, but in a low voice. It’s not really a good idea for an ordinary Light Magician to quarrel with Higher Dark Ones.