Sixth Watch Read Free

“You’ve been in the training and education section ten years—a bit too long, don’t you think?”
    I started pondering.
    This conversation reminded me of something.
    â€œAre there any complaints?” I asked. “I reckon I do a pretty good job . . . and I don’t avoid work in the field.”
    â€œThat is apart from saving the world every now and then, raising a daughter who’s an Absolute Enchantress, and getting along well with your wife, who’s a Great Enchantress . . .” the boss said sourly.
    â€œI also tolerate my boss, a Great Magician,” I replied in the same tone.
    Gesar finally condescended to look up. He nodded.
    â€œYes, you tolerate me. And you’ll go on tolerating me. Right, then, Anton Gorodetsky. There are unregistered vampires operating in the city. Seven attacks in a week.”
    â€œOho,” I said. “They gorge themselves every day, the perverts. What about our field operatives?”
    Gesar seemed not to have heard me. He sorted through his papers.
    â€œThe first victim . . . Alexander Borisov. Twenty-three years of age. A salesman in a boutique . . . unmarried . . . blah-blah-blah . . . attacked in broad daylight in the Taganka district. The second victim, the next day. Nikolai Evgeniev. Forty-seven years of age. An engineer. The Preobrazhenka district. The third, Tatyana Rumiantseva. Nineteen years of age. A student at Moscow State University. Chertanovo district. The fourth, Oxana Elizeeva, fifty-two years of age. A cleaning woman. Mitino district. The fifth, Nina Andronnikova, a schoolgirl, ten years of age . . .”
    â€œWhat a scumbag,” I blurted out.
    â€œIn broad daylight, Matveevsky district.”
    â€œHe’s switched to women,” I said. “He’s sampled them. And now he’s started experimenting with age.”
    â€œThe sixth victim, Gennady Davydov. Sixty years old. A retiree.”
    â€œIs there a pair of them carrying out the attacks, then?” I suggested.
    â€œMaybe it is a pair,” said Gesar. “But there’s definitely a female involved.”
    â€œWhere’s the information from? Did someone survive and tell us?” I asked.
    Gesar ignored my question.
    â€œThe seventh and, for the time being, the last victim: Olya Yalova, a schoolgirl, fifteen years old. By the way, say thank you to your old acquaintance Dmitry Pastukhov. He found her and delivered her to us quickly . . . which was very helpful.”
    Gesar gathered all his papers together, straightened up the edges with the palm of his hand, and put them in a folder.
    â€œSo, one of the victims survived?” I asked hopefully.
    â€œYes.” Gesar paused for a second, looking into my eyes. “They all survived.”
    â€œAll of them?” I exclaimed, baffled. “But then . . . were they turned?”
    â€œNo. Someone just fed on them. A little bit. They sucked on the last girl pretty seriously; the doctor says she lost at least a quart of blood. But that’s easily explained—the girl was on her way to see her boyfriend, and apparently they planned to have . . . er . . . intercourse . . . for the first time.”
    Strangely enough, Gesar got embarrassed when he mentioned it. And his embarrassment was clear in any case from the formal term that he used instead of “sex.”
    â€œI get it,” I said with a nod. “The girl was full of endorphins and hormones. The vampire, whatever gender it was, got drunk. It’s lucky he or she pulled away at all. I’ve got the whole picture, boss. I’ll put a team together straightaway and send them—”
    â€œIt’s your case.” Gesar pushed the folder across the desk. “You’re the one who’s going to hunt this vampiress . . . or these vampires.”
    â€œWhy?” I asked, astonished.
    â€œBecause that’s the way she or they want it.”
    â€œHave they made any kind of demands?