. . . What is genuinely cruel is to initiate an Other who is in love, or who is loved with all the ardor of human passion. And to explain that, no, he probably will not be able to rejuvenate or extend the life of the object of his love . . . that he must never tell her anything . . . That must be like living as a spy who has been planted in an enemy country. Except that Others are not spies, and the lovers generally separate. Even if the Other is content to love a human being and can reconcile himself to remaining silent and watching as old age stealthily advances—even so, day after day, year after year, life itself pulls them further and further apart. Interests, tastes and habits change. And love dies.

That’s why those people who decline the chance to be initiated, and so remain human, probably act wisely. Stupidly, but wisely . . .

“I won’t be able to tell Mummy anything?” asked Kesha.

“Not a thing,” Gesar confirmed.

“But Hermione . . .” said Kesha, glancing at Gesar from under his eyebrows, “. . . that’s Harry Potter’s friend . . .”

“I know,” Gesar said approvingly.

“She told her parents.”

“But afterwards, remember, she had to erase their memories,” Gesar remarked gently. “Believe me, it’s best not to say anything at all.”

Yes, after J. K. Rowling’s books the job has become much easier. Children grasp the basic idea without even a blink now, only the absence of Hogwart’s is a serious disappointment for them. Gesar claims that Rowling was commissioned to write her books by the London Watch or, rather, both Watches, and the decision to let her have a strictly controlled amount of information was taken by the Inquisition. Maybe it’s true. Or maybe he’s just joking. For Light Others the ability to joke easily compensates for the impossibility of lying.

“But I’ll still go to ordinary school?” Kesha asked, just to make sure, and clearly hoping to hear the answer “no.”

“Of course,” said Gesar. “Ignorant magicians are no good to anyone. You’ll go to our school after your lessons in the ordinary one. But right now . . . right now you’ll have to live with us for a little while, in the Night Watch. There are rooms there for the staff, they’ll give you one, with a big TV, a games console . . .”

“The Internet,” Olga added.

Kesha turned slightly pale—at ten years old, fright at the prospect of finding yourself somewhere without Mummy is far stronger than any joy at the ability to cast spells. But he asked quite firmly: “And Mummy will let me?”

“Of course,” said Olga, nodding. “We’ll persuade her. And it’s not for long. A few days . . . perhaps a week. Then you’ll come back home.”