Tanya pulled out a set of lock-picking tools and fiddled with the padlock. Gabe was certain it would be rusted shut, but she clicked it open without trouble.
“Impressive,” Gabe murmured. He meant it.
“Hush.” She pushed the door open. No light on the other side. She crept in, gestured for Gabe to follow.
The warehouse wasn’t empty, as Gabe had expected, but filled with shipping crates. A light burned on the other side of the rows of crates, and Gabe could hear a soft thud thud thud, over and over. He and Tanya glanced at each other. Tanya frowned. So she didn’t recognize the sound, either. Maybe it was some kind of magic thing.
Not that the hitchhiker was stirring at all.
He nodded at Tanya, pointed to his left, then to his right. Split up, converge on the target. He wasn’t sure she’d understand what he meant, but she darted off into the packing crates to the left, vanishing into a narrow gap between them.
Gabe worked his way along the far wall, stepping lightly. He should have brought one of Alestair’s charms to go with this gun.
The thumping grew louder as he approached, punctuated by sharp inhalations. The light was right up ahead. He pressed himself against a packing crate, took a deep breath. Willed himself to be as silent as death.
He peered around the edge of the crate.
And almost broke into stupid, relieved laughter.
It was the woman who’d tracked him the other night, but she wasn’t casting some spell. She was slamming her fists into a punching bag, over and over, with the easy determination of someone who had done this a million times before. The soft powdery thump of her fists was a sound Gabe had heard before and should have recognized, but it was the last thing he had expected.
Her back was to the crates, but Gabe was certain it was the same woman: same height, same short black hair, same compact muscular build. He scanned the opposite side of the room, caught sight of Tanya lurking in the shadows. She was checking out the scene; she probably had a better view of it than he did.
The hitchhiker was still, but that was no surprise. Gabe didn’t see any signs of magic here.
Who the hell was this woman?
He pulled back, creeping through the crates as quickly as he could. The sound of her punches followed him, let him know she hadn’t realized she was being watched. He spilled out into the cold night air. Tanya wasn’t far behind him.
“Was that her?” she asked. “Your mystery woman?”
Gabe nodded. They walked briskly away from the warehouse, focused on getting away without drawing too much attention. “Did you see anything from your position?”
“Got a name,” Tanya said. “It was printed across her bag: Nguyen. But no magic.” She stopped and turned to him, frowning in the moonlight. “Are you sure she called you Quicksilver? If she’s Flame, we wouldn’t have been able to sneak up on her like that. She should have at least had some kind of ward up.”
Gabe frowned. “I don’t know what the hell is going on any more than you do, but I know what I heard.”
They stared at each other. Gabe wished he had a better answer—not just for Tanya or the Ice, but for himself. His first encounter with this Nguyen woman had left him rattled.
And finding her hadn’t done much to help with that fear.
• • •
Zerena drifted into her bedroom, the stench of salt and magic still clinging to her clothes. When she closed the door, she did so with too much force, and the pictures on the wall trembled. She sighed.
“I’m sorry, darling,” she said, gliding over to her vanity. “I had a difficult night.”
She sank down on the stool and looked at her reflection. The vanity’s unforgiving lights made her look older than she was. More tired. Or perhaps that was just the humiliation from tonight.
She only allowed herself this one moment to admit her defeat, to look at herself and see the ruined woman Sasha had gloated over as they left the farmhouse. One moment of despair. Then she put her facade back on.
“I hope you had a pleasant evening,” she purred, watching her reflection. She slipped off her bracelets, her necklace. Smeared a dollop of cold cream on one finger and began wiping the makeup away from her face. “I think I should have perhaps stayed home as well. The gathering was—”
She hesitated. Her half-removed mascara was smeared on her right eye. I am destroyed, she thought.
“Rather a bore. Terrible company. Sasha was there, if that gives you an idea of the caliber of the guests.” She wiped the rest of her mascara away and then turned from the vanity. She reached back with one hand, twisting her spine so she could pull down the zipper of her dress. It fell around her in a glimmering pool. She stepped out of it daintily and walked in her underwear over to her husband. He was sleeping.
He was usually sleeping.
“Darling,” she said softly, and she pressed her fingers to the glass box in which he slept. It was warm to the touch—the Ice used the cold when they did this, but Zerena had developed her own method. She leaned over the box. Her husband’s eyes were closed, his mouth resting in a smile. He looked so peaceful like this. It was good for his heart, she had told him. The rigors of the job caused too much stress. Better for her to use one of her little tricks on him, to keep him healthy. To keep him safe.
He didn’t need to know all of her reasons, of course.
Zerena brushed her fingers gently against the box, as if brushing his cheek. Seeing him soothed her jangling nerves. Reminded her that the failed ritual wasn’t the end of the world. Not even close.
“You mustn’t worry, though,” she whispered, speaking to him, speaking to herself. “I have other plans in mind.”
Her smile reflected across the glass box, and across her husband’s sleeping face.
The Witch Who Came In From the Cold
Season 2, Episode 5
Trust, But Verify
Lindsay Smith
Prague, Czechoslovak Soviet Republic
April 17, 1970
1.
Kazimir took a lengthy drag from his unfiltered cigarette, waited an unseemly amount of time, and then exhaled into Alestair’s face. Seemed about right for the way this whole process had gone. Nadia leaned back against the warehouse wall and waited for the stalemate to break. The Brit, for his part, managed not to gag too violently, but his frown said plenty for him.
“Permit me to get this matter straight,” Kazimir said in bitter Czech. He flicked the cigarette to his feet and crushed it beneath his scuffed-up work shoes. “You are under the impression that, after your organization and your precious cargo got my men attacked, after working with your organization brought down this unholy fire upon them, that we are at fault? That it is our duty to correct this breach of contract?”
“We paid you to deliver our merchandise. Instead, you lost half the merchandise and nearly let the other half sink to the bottom of the Vltava.” Alestair regarded him coolly. “So yes, I’d damn well say we are owed better.”
This was why the Ice should never send a capitalist to manage their affairs. For more than a week now they’d been trying to arrange to get the remaining Hosts from the barge catastrophe shipped safely off, but understandably, no one was too keen on getting their boat set on fire and their men melted. “Kazimir,” Nadia said, switching the discussion into Russian. “If I may—”
“Don’t you say a fucking word, apparatchitsa.” Kazimir’s usually laissez-faire expression contorted with rage as he stayed stubbornly in Czech. “If it weren’t for the devils you keep company with rolling their tanks into my country—”
“If it weren’t for us, then what?” Nadia folded her arms. She stayed loose-limbed, even though every fighter’s instinct she had was screaming at her to square up. “You would be a legitimate businessman, running a legitimate shipping enterprise? Please.”
“I wouldn’t have to deal with the likes of you. Either of you.” Kazimir looked between them. “Witches, heretics, trying to burn my city down. Devil take al
l of you.”
“We’re trying to save your city,” Nadia snapped.
“Like you saved your merchandise from these green-flamed demons? Bah.” He spat, something viscous and brown. “Our city’s had quite enough of your help.”
“You have no idea how much worse it could be,” Nadia started, but then she caught sight of Alestair and her argument crumbled to ash.
He’d slipped a piece of chalk from his breast pocket and was calmly scrawling a vast circle on the rusted metal warehouse wall. One loop, two, three. Then he began filling in details on the circle, sharp zigzags of lightning and curling tails. His face remained as smooth as glass as he worked.
“Alestair.” Nadia sprang from the wall and stepped toward him. “Alestair, what are you doing?”
“I’m offering your men a choice,” Alestair said to Kazimir, ignoring Nadia. He stepped back from the sigil he’d created: a circle containing delicate whorls, bisected by sharp lines. “With the right kind of blessing from the Ice, you could become impervious to all competition. A fearsome force of the Prague underground, luck constantly seeming to bend your way, and fortune armoring your men against further assault.”
“Alestair …”
“Or a pall could descend over your entire operation. Tainting your men’s hearts and sparking malice. Exposing you to all who’d gladly make you fall. Remind me, Kazimir, is it Vladik who swore he’d have your head on a pike and your stores for himself, or was that Anton and his men?”
Kazimir’s face had turned the color of spoiled milk, but he curled his lip and stood up straight. “I don’t fear your magic.” He waved his hand. “All superstition and trickery. We have no need to work for you if you are going to continue to endanger us.”
“Superstition and trickery? Do you really wish to count on that?” Alestair rested his hands on top of the crook of his umbrella. “You’ve already seen what our enemies are capable of. Do you want to find out our power, too?”
Nadia’s hand made a fist at her side.
Kazimir glowered down at Alestair for a moment. Nadia could almost feel the crackle of energy in the air, raising the hairs on her arms, as the men regarded each other. But finally, Kazimir eased back.
“Very well. We will handle your matters once more.”
“With added security this time,” Alestair said.
Kazimir grimaced, but nodded. “With added security.”
Alestair smiled, his grin impish in the poor lighting. “I’m so glad we’re agreed.”
After they’d settled the specifics and set a date for the operation, Kazimir all but threw them out of the warehouse. The world smelled ferrous and damp from the heavy spring rains, and thick clouds overhead warned of more on the way. Nadia preferred this weather for spy work, though. Much easier to hide beneath an umbrella, and fewer distractions along the street, allowing her to keep an eye out for a tail.
And perfect for Ice-related errands with a known officer of MI6. Usually they worked well together, translating the Ice’s dictates from above effortlessly into something they could act on, divided between themselves. Nadia handled the matters pertaining to the east of the Iron Curtain, Alestair handled the west, and each could rely on the other to perform their duties with minimal coordination. But this was too important a matter—and had gone far too wrong already—to leave uncoordinated.
It would have helped her nerves, though, if she hadn’t seen the way Alestair was going after Ice business like a pit bull locking its jaw.
“You didn’t charge the sigil,” she said, keeping pace with Alestair as they wound toward the boulevard.
“Of course not.” Alestair shook his head. “I don’t carry a power source substantial enough for that. Don’t be absurd.”
“They won’t get the boon you promised them.”
“And we’re all better off for it,” Alestair said, with a flourish of his umbrella. “The Ice has no business elevating one crooked operation over another. We use them to the extent that we must to protect the Ice, and nothing more.”
“Please. Your government and their friends will use anyone they can.” She smirked. This type of argument—one between spies—came much more easily to her. Arguing with superiors in the Ice—she hadn’t quite learned the rhythm of that yet.
Alestair offered only a shrug in return, then changed the subject. “There’s still the matter of the missing Hosts. I’ve already sent my report off to the London Consortium, but they’re adamant. They must be recovered from wherever they’ve gone, or whoever has taken them.”
A chill slithered down Nadia’s spine. “If the Flame still has them, then it won’t be easy. We’ll need the Consortium to grant us a lot more leeway than they normally do.”
“I’ll put in a request to conduct a more advanced ritual of reconnaissance,” Alestair said, “but they won’t be too happy about it. Not after the business with Dominic.”
“Yet the Flame keeps burning.”
Sasha had been particularly insufferable of late, and not even terribly subtle. Despite being left out of the Flame’s partial victory snatching some of the Ice’s Hosts, he seemed to be riding high on some other new game of his, and had no shame in letting Tanya catch a glimpse of his glee whenever possible. But he didn’t know of Nadia’s involvement, too. And if, in this state, he might let his guard slip …
“Actually,” Nadia said, “I just might have an idea.”
• • •
Tanya paused to study the piece of colored string tied to the stop sign. It flapped innocuously enough in the cool morning breeze, but Tanya knew otherwise. She caught it between her fingers to study its color. Blue.
Their new message system, after their previous drop box had been bricked over. So Gabe had something new to tell her. Had he learned something about the barge’s attacker? The missing Hosts? About the Flame’s plans? But it was still too unsafe to arrange a meeting, between Prague Station looking closely at Pritchard and Sasha all too eager to catch Tanya slipping up. She picked up a piece of stone on the sidewalk and marked an X on the nearby wall, just beneath the poster for a folk concert. Message received.
If only she could offer more right now.
A few blocks from Nadia’s apartment, Tanya snapped the charm in her pocket to conduct surveillance detection of a different sort. They were far enough off the ley lines that she didn’t need to fear their energy fluctuations causing much interference, so if anyone was doing spellwork nearby, the calmly humming charm in her pocket should increase its frequency. Tanya kept her fingers curled around the charm to muffle the sound as she wound her way up the staircase toward Nadia’s place.
When she was about halfway up, the door to Nadia’s flat on the top floor flew open, and an unfamiliar woman’s laugh carried down the stairwell. Instinctively, Tanya dove into the nearest doorway alcove to avoid being seen. There was no real reason for her not to be seen around Nadia—they did work together at the embassy, after all. But when you were known as a KGB agent, you tended to emit a sort of toxic miasma covering everyone in your radius, and Tanya didn’t care to expose herself to Nadia’s guest without a chance to assess the person first.
Not that she ever doubted Nadia’s occupational discretion when it came to the men and women she brought home from time to time. All the same. Tanya had no desire to take chances.
The footsteps approached, heavy. As Tanya held her breath, she felt the humming charm quiet against her fingertips. Odd. Her head tipped to one side as she craned to see who was passing, but she couldn’t lean too far out without risking revealing herself.
The footsteps slowed.
Tanya’s charm went completely still.
The person uttered, very faintly, what sounded to Tanya’s ears like an amused chuckle. And then she was gone.
Tanya darted out of the alcove on the balls of her feet, keeping her heels from clicking against the linoleum, and crept toward the railing to peer down. But the woman was going too fast; all Tanya could glimpse was a blur of dark hair.
Slowly, the charm began to quiver in her pocket once more.
She swallowed back a curse and continued up to Nadia’s apartment.
“Oh! Tanushka. You’re early,” Nadia said, greeting her at the door in a silky Oriental robe. “Come on in. I was just getting dressed.”
Tanya glanced at her watch; she was, if anything, a few minutes later than she said she’d be. But Nadia had clearly been otherwise occupied.
“Have you had tea?” Nadia called, as she padded toward her bedroom. “There’s a fresh kettle on the stove. Feel free to help yourself.”
“Thanks,” Tanya managed to say, but her throat still felt parched. Should she mention the strangeness of Nadia’s guest? Ask around the issue? Even now, the charm in her pocket was losing its charge, slowing down, and would be useless within a minute or so. Maybe the strange interruption had been a coincidence and nothing more. Maybe.
Spy work and spellwork—in neither was it safe to assume coincidence.
Tanya poured herself a mug of hot water, noting that the kettle was already half empty, then grabbed a tea bag and settled down at Nadia’s kitchen table. She warmed her hands on the mug as she made a quick scan of Nadia’s space. No obvious spell components out in the open, nothing at all that indicated either of her occupations. She was careful, same as she’d always been. Any scolding Tanya might give her would surely fall on deaf ears, considering what a mess Tanya herself had made of everything just a few months back.
Better to keep it to herself, then. There was always a possibility Nadia was unaware of her guest’s nature, but it seemed unlikely, given Nadia’s caution. (A Host? A naturally strong hedgewitch? A collector of rituals and charms?) If Nadia chose to mention it to her, then Tanya could share what she’d observed. If not …
Well, Tanya would see what dark alley that particular line of thought would lead them down. And she’d stay prepared for whatever might lurk there.
Nadia swayed back into the kitchen, dressed in a patterned blouse, stylishly flared trousers, and boots, her hair modishly arranged. “Now, then.” She perched in the chair opposite Tanya. “You’re sure you’re free to help?”
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 16