"I need to go to the center of town," I said, leaning down toward the window. " Manege Square."

"Get in," said the driver, reaching across and opening the door. He was a cultured-looking man with dark hair, about forty years old. "How could I refuse such a good-looking girl a lift?"

I slipped into the front seat of the old Zhiguli 9 and rolled the window all the way down. The wind hit me in the face- that was some relief at least.

"You'd have got there quicker on the metro," the driver warned me honestly.

"I don't like the metro."

The driver nodded. I liked him-he wasn't staring too brazenly, even though I'd obviously overdone things with the paranjah-and the car was well cared for. He also had very beautiful hands. They were strong, and their grip on the wheel was gentle but secure.

What a pity I was in a hurry.

"Are you late for work?" the driver asked. He spoke very politely, but in a manner that was somehow personal and intimate. Maybe I ought to give him my number? I'm a free girl now, I can do what I like.

"Yes."

"I wonder, what kind of jobs do such beautiful girls do?" It wasn't even an attempt to strike up an acquaintance or a compliment-it was genuine curiosity.

"I don't know about all the rest, but I work as a witch."

He laughed.

"It's a job like any other…" I took out my cigarettes and my lighter. The driver gave me a fleeting glance of disapproval, so I didn't bother to ask permission. I just lit up.

"And what do a witch's duties consist of?"

We turned off onto Rusakov Street and the driver speeded up. Maybe I was going to get there in time after all.

"It varies," I replied evasively. "But basically we oppose the forces of Light."

The driver seemed to have accepted the rules of the game, though it wasn't really a game at all.

"So you're on the side of the shadow?"