“I remember,” he said. “And let’s hope neither of us have to do anything.”
She nodded at that.
They were approaching the furnace. Approaching, Gabe hoped, the golem. He concentrated, pushing out the hitchhiker to see if he could feel any magical disturbances rippling the air. Nothing save for the soft flutter of the wards they’d set up the night the golem went down. Still, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the flask of Vltava River water, just as they came to the door to the furnace room. Gabe and Tanya looked at each other.
“Let’s hope that golem’s still in there,” Tanya muttered.
He could tell she didn’t really mean it, though, and he saw her point: If the golem was responsible after all, it might be a pain in the ass to wrangle it again, but at least they’d know what they were dealing with. Something was stirring in Prague, that much was certain. Gabe was afraid it was the Flame, and he was sure Tanya was too.
“Here goes nothing,” he said, holding up the flask as Tanya muttered a few words to deactivate the wards. She pushed the door open.
Stillness. She crept in first, and Gabe followed. The hitchhiker wasn’t giving him anything. The furnace thumped from somewhere deep inside itself, a few last-season puffs of heat before summer settled in.
Tanya stopped a few paces from the furnace and made a sound in the back of her throat that Gabe couldn’t quite parse. He came up beside her, and saw what she saw: The golem was exactly where they had left it, shoved between the furnace and the wall, completely deactivated.
“Well, shit,” said Tanya, not taking her eyes off the golem. “Now what?”
• • •
The boxing ring was waiting in the sallow warehouse lights. Already people crowded around it, shoving wads of filthy cash toward their bookies, calling out their favorites for the evening’s fight. Nadia sat in a corner, wrapping her knuckles, and watched it all. She had a fierce love for this place and the people who frequented it. They complemented each other: the dirty old warehouse that had been through a revolution and stayed standing, the crowd of workers looking for the truth in violence. This was the proletariat, not whatever lofty ideals the Party expected people to live up to. This was the future.
“You will win tonight, yes, Nadezhda?” Kazimir sidled up to her in his dark suit. He scanned the crowd, eyes glinting. “I have a hundred and fifty that says you will.”
“I always win.” Nadia ripped the tape with her teeth and smoothed it down. Then she popped up to standing, threw out a few practice swings. Kazimir grinned at her.
“That’s my girl.”
“You wish I were your girl.” She winked at him, and he laughed at that, threw an arm around her shoulder. She let him. Why not? She liked him well enough and she needed to get close to his boss, anyway.
“Who do you have for me tonight?” she asked.
“New girl,” Kazimir said. “Van Nguyen.”
Nadia went still, her heart pounding. Van Nguyen. Sharp dark eyes, lightning-fast punches. A ferocity that had burned itself into Nadia’s skull. But she didn’t want Kazimir to know the effect the name had on her. She just asked, as coyly as she could, “Have I seen her fight?”
“Yeah. We watched her together,” Kazimir slid his arm away. “She’s been coming around the last month or so. But I know you’ll win. You wouldn’t let me down like that.”
“Never,” Nadia said, laughing; then she shook her ponytail and strode toward the ring. A couple of regulars exhorted her to make good on their bets and she flashed a toothy grin as she climbed up between the ropes. Her gloves were sitting over in her usual corner, along with her stool, some towels, a bucket of water. She grabbed the gloves and smacked them together a few times, an old superstition she’d picked up somewhere. Her heart was still racing, like she was some silly schoolgirl with a crush.
She pulled on the gloves. A shout went up from the crowd, and Nadia turned around in time to see Van Nguyen, that loping panther of a woman, yanking herself up to the ring. Her shiny black hair gleamed over the lines of her skull, and she was wearing the same little shorts that showed off the thick curving muscles in her legs.
Nadia couldn’t stop staring.
Van caught her, gave a grin. “You Ostrokhina?” she called out into the empty space of the ring. “The girl I’m fighting?”
“Nah,” Nadia called back. “You’re the girl I’m fighting.”
Van threw back her head and laughed.
“We’ve got a treat for you tonight!” The emcee’s voice boomed through the warehouse, and the crowd shifted, moving their attention toward the ring. Nadia slammed her gloved fists together, never taking her eyes off Van. Van knew it, too. She ran one hand over her hair, pieces of it appearing and then disappearing between her fingers. Then she shook out her arms and pulled on her gloves, sneaking little glances at Nadia the whole time, half-smiling, like Nadia had just told her a stupid joke. The emcee kept chattering in the background, pumping up the audience. Cheers rose from the crowd. Radko, the ref, stepped into the ring, walked to the center. Gestured for Nadia and Van to join him.
Nadia strode over, swaying her hips a little. Someone had switched on the portable spotlights that circled the ring, and Van’s eyes glittered in the yellow glare.
“I want a fair fight, girls,” Radko said. “No fucking around.”
“We won’t fuck around at all,” Nadia said, although she spoke to Van.
Van just laughed again. “You sure you’re ready for this?”
“You sure you are?” Nadia countered.
Van winked, and Nadia’s heart fluttered like a hummingbird.
The bell rang. The crowd roared.
Van and Nadia lunged toward each other.
Van was fast, Nadia would give her that. She moved with a brutal grace, a dancer out for blood. But Nadia was fast too. Van swung; Nadia blocked. Nadia swung; Van darted around, moving in a tight, looping circle. Trying to stay on Nadia’s periphery. Trying to come at her sideways.
“Not so fast, belka.” Nadia struck hard and quick, whipping her body around at the last minute. But not quite quick enough—her glove made contact with Van’s shoulder, and Van spun away, grinning over her gloves.
“I heard good things about you, Ostrokhina,” Van said. “Don’t let me down.”
Nadia wiped a bead of sweat away from her forehead. “This is just a warm-up.”
Van’s smile widened and it was like her whole face lit from within. She darted forward. Right hook, haymaker, block, block. All of Nadia’s attention had narrowed to a single focus: Van. Van and her vicious strength, Van and the muscles cording beneath her skin shining with sweat, Van with that shock of black hair.
And then the world screeched to a halt. Nadia’s vision faltered. Light flashed around her. Pain blossomed along her left cheek.
Van had gotten a fucking hit in.
“Eh, no hard feelings, right, comrade?” Two Vans wove in and out of each other. Nadia shook out the stun of the hit. The world blurred back into focus. Van, the light, the crowd screaming for blood.
“Hard feelings? That was nothing.” Nadia lunged forward, feinted. Van didn’t fall for it. She was good. But Nadia couldn’t let that distract her. She wasn’t about to let a pretty girl lose her a fight.
They circled around each other. Van’s eyes were bright above her gloves, bright and mischievous, and Nadia cursed herself—no distractions. The crowd was chanting something, too growly and indistinct for Nadia to make out.
Van flicked her gaze over to the crowd, though. Nadia took her chance. Her fist connected with Van’s jawbone. Van stumbled but didn’t fall, not that Nadia had expected her to. She was back up in seconds, and she was grinning.
“Now that,” she said, “is more like what I expected from the great Nadezhda Ostrokhina.”
With that, they flew at each in earnest. Everything before then had just been foreplay, a bit of teasing to get each other ready. Van’s blows came in a blur, and Nadia fought back as furiou
sly as she could. They tangled with each other, gloves slapping against wet flesh. Strands of Van’s hair, soaked through with sweat, clung to the side of her face, and her expression was all twisted up in a kind of violent ecstasy. Nadia felt it, too. Her whole body was on fire. She and Van moved together, a pair of mirror images. You wouldn’t call it a dance. But it was sure as hell close.
And then Nadia saw her opening. Van had dropped her guard, just a few inches. Getting tired? Nadia didn’t have time to think about it. She took the chance, throwing her punch with as much force as she could muster.
Van flew back, landing hard on the mat. She groaned, her chest heaving. Radko knelt beside her, started the countdown. Van dropped her head and her eyes caught Nadia’s. She smiled. It was the sort of smile that made Nadia’s stomach feel like it was full of electricity.
“Eight!” Radko shouted. “Nine!”
Nadia straightened her shoulders, braced herself for Van’s recovery. But Van just kept watching her through half-opened eyes, grinning the entire time.
That bitch was gonna let her win.
“Ten!” Radko shouted, and he jumped to his feet and grabbed Nadia’s wrist to hoist her hand above her head. “We’ve got our winner!”
The crowd clamored with approval and disappointment. Already the bookies were handing out payments. Radko dropped Nadia’s hand and she looked over at Van, sitting up against the ropes, her arms draped over her knees.
“Good fight,” Van said.
“Better for me.”
Van peered up at her. “Depends on how things shake out tonight.”
Excitement flickered up Nadia’s spine. She strolled over to her bucket of water, yanked off the gloves, splashed her face. The coldness of it was like a kiss. She glanced back at Van.
“And how are things going to shake out tonight?”
Van just smiled. She stood and ambled over to the bucket, splashed her own face. Nadia handed her a towel and watched as she dried off.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Van said, not looking at her. “I could go in for a round two.” She gave Nadia a quick sideways glance and Nadia’s heart pumped. “I hate losing.”
“So do I,” Nadia said. “But I hate it when someone lets me win even more.”
Van flipped the towel over her shoulder and turned to Nadia. She gazed at her from under her long dark lashes. “You think I let you win?”
“Seemed that way to me.” Nadia smiled a little. “You could have gotten up.”
Van smiled. “Well, then we should definitely go for round two.” She stepped in close to Nadia and everything else fell away. The only thing that mattered was Van. “My place or yours?”
Bold of her, putting it out in the open like that. But Nadia liked bold. Bold got things done.
“Loser picks,” Nadia said.
“Trust me,” Van said, her eyes sparking, “I am not the loser tonight.” And then she turned and strolled toward the exit, her muscles moving beneath her sweat-soaked shirt.
Nadia didn’t hesitate to follow.
2.
Tanya sat on a stained sofa crammed up next to a window overlooking the Vltava; a lookout point, she supposed, for checking on the ley line that ran beneath it.
“So the golem is not the culprit,” Alestair said. “What options does that leave us?”
“The Flame,” Tanya said, her gaze still turned toward the river. Already flowers were growing along its banks, their colors too vivid in the dim light. They weren’t natural blooms. One of the elementals that had been lost in the barge fire, still lingering in the air above Prague, leaving its mark in the soil. “The house was on a ley line. It was likely a ritual space.”
“A fair guess,” Alestair said, “I’m inclined to agree. Gabe, what do you think?”
Tanya turned to Gabe expectantly. He was sitting beside Alestair on one of the rickety chairs the British agent had dragged in from the kitchen. This apartment was an Ice safe house Alestair had set up. A way for the three of them to communicate, although Gabe had still grumbled about it, insisting that they needed to keep their in-person meetings to a minimum.
“I suppose,” he said carefully. “The fire at the house was likely tied to the fire at the barge—similar magic, at any rate, since the barge fire had blue flames, according to reports from operatives who were there. And that fire at the hotel definitely had magical ties as well.”
He met Tanya’s gaze briefly. The discomfort in his expression mirrored her own. She didn’t want to think about the barge, either.
“A new type of magic,” she said, forcing herself to look at Alestair. “Something they can’t quite control yet, maybe. It would make sense, with a new Flame leader in town.” She paused. “And Gabe has a new friend at the CIA office. We know what happened the last time that was the case.”
Gabe scowled at her.
“You’re referring to Edith Lowell, I assume?” Alestair leaned back in his chair. He managed to make the old wooden frame look elegant somehow.
“I am.”
“Edith Lowell is a pain in the ass,” Gabe said, “if for no other reason than she makes it next to impossible for us to meet. But I don’t think she’s Flame. She was with me the night of the hotel fire, for one thing, when we were tracking Terzian. I’m fairly confident we can trust her.”
“How can you be so sure?” Tanya asked.
“Because I had to drag her out of the fire! Besides…” Gabe paused. “Do you really think the Flame would try to pull the same trick twice?”
Tanya shrugged. He had a point—and yet it was a bit of a coincidence, wasn’t it? Rumors of a Flame leader making their way into Prague, and then the appearance of some CIA woman—as if it were easy for a woman to make her way into American spy work!—at the offices. She didn’t like it.
“It’s at least a lead,” Alestair said. “The only one we really have, at the moment.”
Gabe shook his head. “No. Not the only one.”
Tanya frowned. “What do you mean?” She glanced at Alestair but he was giving nothing away. “Did you hear something from Jordan?”
“No.” Gabe took a deep breath, ran one hand over his hair. “I had an—encounter the other night. A weird one.”
“You didn’t think this was important enough to mention?” Tanya asked.
Even Alestair looked annoyed, his eyes glittering. “What happened?” he asked. “You really need to keep us abreast of these things.”
Gabe sighed. “What part of there’s-a-CI-investigation-going-on do you not understand? Even if they are just interested in Dom, I don’t want to risk it. Besides, I wasn’t entirely sure the encounter was magic-related. It was—weird. Someone was tailing me. The hitchhiker was completely silent, no sense of magic at all. But she had absolute shit tradecraft.”
“Oh, yours isn’t that good, Amerikanski,” Tanya said, shaking her head. Really, though, she felt a little better. Perhaps it was just some would-be rebel stumbling their way through the dark.
“You said she,” Alestair said. “So you saw her?”
“Yeah. She spoke to me. Called me Quicksilver.” He paused. “As in mercury.”
Tanya and Alestair looked at each other. Tanya’s sense of relief dissipated. “She knew about it,” Tanya said softly. “Your elemental.”
“Yeah,” Gabe said. “But I’m telling you—I didn’t feel any kind of magic on her. None. And I always feel magic. Thanks to this.” He tapped the side of his head. “It was weird, like I said. Could go either way. Spy or sorcerer.” He shrugged. “Maybe the destruction isn’t Flame-related at all.”
“I doubt that very much,” Alestair said.
“So do I.” Tanya curled her hands in frustration. It had to be Flame. Who else would care about the barge?
“The lack of magic, though,” Alestair said, “is very unusual.”
Tanya looked up at him. “They could be recruiting non-magical agents,” she said. “Perhaps with a promise of teaching them Flame spells.”
“Maybe.�
�� Alestair rubbed at his chin. “It doesn’t seem like them, though. They’re always so showy.”
He was worried. Tanya could see it in the thin lines on his forehead.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“If they found a way to hide their magic,” Alestair said, “to dampen it and keep it from being perceived, that could account for Gabe’s peculiar experience the other night.”
A weight dropped to the bottom of Tanya’s stomach. Dampening magic like that was supposed to be impossible. No ordinary sorcerer had ever found a way to accomplish it.
“If that’s true…” she began, not wanting to finish her sentence.
“Yes,” Alestair said. “It would be very bad for us.”
Bad for the Ice, but bad for the whole world, too. The Flame must not have that kind of power.
“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions, however.” Alestair stood up. “Let’s continue this investigation. See what we can find out.”
“That’s going to be difficult,” Gabe said. “Edith may not be Flame, but she could still screw me over royally if she saw me buddying up with the goddamn KGB.”
“You think it’s easy for me?” Tanya shot back.
“It’s difficult for all of us, in these trying times,” Alestair mediated. “But we have our work-arounds. We’ll manage.”
The three of them sat in silence. Outside, the ley line simmering beneath the Vltava flowed through the city, a river beneath the river. What kind of magic would it reveal to them next, Tanya wondered. What awaited them—Flame? Ice? Everyone in between?
There was no way to know. Magic was like a spy. It stayed in the shadows, and it held its secrets close.
• • •
Nadia stretched out on top of the sheets, reaching her hands over her head so that her fingers brushed up against the wall behind her. The window was cracked open, and a spring breeze wafted in, stirring the shabby curtains and cooling the sweat on her bare skin.
“Smoke?” Van slid a pack from the bedside table and pulled out two cigarettes without waiting for an answer. Nadia rolled over onto her side, grinned up at her.
The Witch Who Came In From The Cold: The Complete Season 2: The Complete Season 2 (The Witch Who Came In From The Cold Season 2) Page 13