There was a small portal leading straight out onto Tverskaya Street; behind the glass door I could sense, rather than see, the silhouette of an Other. “Well, well, well!” I said. My voice sounded hollow, like all sound in the Twilight. My colleagues all turned their heads as if by command. “What? Haven’t you seen it before?” “No.” “It impresses everybody the first time. Come on, you’ll have plenty of time to admire it.” We went up a few steps and found ourselves in a tiny duty office. The vague figure behind the door had materialized into a skinny, dismal-looking young guy—I think he was a shape-shifter. But he was laughing in joyful delight as he read Victor Pelevin’s story, “A Werewolf Problem in Central Russia.” But the moment Edgar entered the duty office, the young mbt online guy was transformed. His eyes flashed and the book dropped onto the desk. “Hi, Oleg.” Edgar greeted him in a Baltic accent that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

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