“Another of my grandmother’s,” Nadia explained, once Van asked about it (covering the question in a handful of others—maybe she was better at spycraft than Nadia first thought). “She was an interesting woman.”
“So it would seem.” Van exhaled a ring of smoke. “Sounds like a superstitious sort.”
A test. Should she match Van by downplaying magic, or should she challenge it? “It was a different time,” Nadia said. “When she was younger, many in her village came to her for herbs, remedies … charms.”
Van’s eyebrows flickered for only a moment, but Nadia caught it. “And after the revolution?”
“She adjusted.” Nadia stretched her fingers out on the bedsheets. “Tried to teach me a bit of what she knew.”
Van nodded. “Tried,” she echoed.
Nadia steeled herself, as if bracing for a blow. “Sometimes we must find our own way.”
Van reached across her for the ashtray and crushed the cigarette butt into the ashes, eyebrows furrowed. When she leaned back, there was a curious twist to her lips. “Mm. So we must.”
• • •
Alestair checked and double-checked the array of charms and infused items in the trunk of the Moskvich, then slammed it shut.
He drove twenty kilometers north, at a south-southwest angle away from where the barge went up in flames, along the nearest ley line’s path. He felt the subtle judder and shake of the car just before the charms went off, alerting him when he had crossed the line. He slowed to a stop, scanned the dirt road in both directions, then put the car into reverse. Backed up into the line of scrubby pines and untouched undergrowth. And kept going, until the charms pinged fully again.
“Hello, old friend.”
Alestair parked the Moskvich and climbed out. The spring air was woolly and damp with the stink of vegetation in full bloom and the incessant whine of countless insects. He glanced down to see a thorny vine was already clinging to his trousers. Straightening his vest, he went around to the trunk and popped it open once more.
Aqua regia.
Lead.
Stone.
Antimony.
Bismuth.
And more. A detection charm for each of the elements whose Hosts were currently missing or unknown, though in particular he was focused on the ones whose Hosts had recently perished in the area. He’d seen plenty of proof in the city proper that the elementals were wreaking havoc there, but here, along the ley line, he felt sure he could attract at least one of them. Even one liberated elemental located and snared so that the Ice could recapture it—that was all he asked. He only needed to contain it long enough for the Ice to determine how they wished to proceed, but time was of the essence if they didn’t wish to lose track of it once more. Anything to recover some of what they’d lost in the Flame’s attack.
It helped that, as a high-ranking member of the Consortium of Ice, he had access to artifacts the others did not. He should be using this energy to fuel the shielding charm he’d need in a few days’ time, when they would move the Hosts. And he’d do so with all promptness and haste, to be sure. But for now, there was a chance at harnessing something far greater. A chance he could not let slip by.
Alestair unwrapped the dagger from the chamois in which he’d stowed it. It was heavy, made of bronze and some other alloy, and its blade was actually four blades set in a cross shape for maximum puncturing and wounding. Its pommel was capped with a dazzling pale blue crystal that sparked and caught even the cloud-weakened sunlight.
Alestair took a deep breath, positioned his hand over the mortar and pestle in the car’s trunk, and pressed the dagger’s tip against the vein in his palm.
Runes flickered along the dagger’s blades as blood ran down the edges and dripped into the mortar. Alestair tipped his head back and counted, keeping the blade pressed into his flesh, until finally he reached thirty. He tossed the blade aside and clenched his cut fist around a rag, then began emptying an assortment of vials into the mortar.
Once he’d made a thick paste of all the ingredients, he picked up the mortar and set it down in the thick brush, right along the ley line. Then he leaned back against the open trunk, folded his arms, and waited. Within minutes, a smell like loamy, fresh-tilled dirt surrounded him.
Earth, then.
Alestair straightened up and seized another charm. To call it a mere “charm” was a disservice, perhaps; the convoluted hexagonal device held stored energy from a twenty-person strong ritual. Another benefit of his station. He opened a latch on the device’s front.
The smell swirled around him, strong as a freshly dug grave and just as cold and musty, but he kept his grip on the charm, holding it high. “Come, now,” he muttered to himself. “You’ll be far better off in here than out there, I assure you of that.”
The markings along the device began to light up. Yes, that was it; the elemental was nestling inside—
And then, just as quickly, it was gone. No earthy smell, no lit runes, no hairs raised along his arms.
Alestair swore and slumped back against the car. The determination he’d felt, the certain energy driving him, was gone, and with it, the elemental. He looked down at the paste in the mortar bowl; it was nearly used up. He’d had his chance, and he’d lost it.
But perhaps, if he kept pushing …
Alestair took a steadying breath and set the device back inside the trunk. He rolled up one sleeve to the elbow.
Then picked up the dagger again.
3.
Nadia felt she’d pushed as hard as she dared; until Van was ready to admit her own knowledge of magic, there was no point in probing further. She needed to let Van be the one to come to her now. For the moment, Nadia would have to maintain the gentle fiction of this folklore magic passed down by her grandmother—which wasn’t strictly a lie, but also not strictly true—and wait. So she waited. And pretended to sleep.
Van slipped off to the bathroom. After a flush and running water, Nadia heard nothing. She kept very still, breathing low and slow. Beneath the bathroom door, she could still see Van’s feet, not moving. Odd. She waited, but no sounds came.
Then the color of the light beneath the door shifted from yellow to green.
Nadia tensed. If she’d had one of her charms, she might have been able to detect something about the spell’s nature, but she’d buried them deep in her usual hiding place beneath a false panel in her kitchen cabinets. But without setting eyes on the spell components or hearing the words, it was impossible for her to discern.
The color returned to gold and the door opened. Nadia closed her eyes and held her pose as Van dressed. She sensed the woman hovering over her for a moment. Watching her? Trying to determine if she was awake?
“I know you’re awake,” Van said.
Nadia huffed softly. “Can’t sleep.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
Nadia rolled onto her back and looked up at Van, her black hair shiny in the sketch of moonlight. “Then what is it you mean?”
“Well, what is it you want?” Van asked. She folded her arms; her legs were spread just enough to lower her center of gravity and give her better balance. Like she was waiting for a punch to land. “You clearly want something.”
Nadia sluggishly pulled herself up to a sitting position and crossed her legs beneath her on the mattress. “Well, I thought it was pretty obvious, but … you.” She leaned forward, arms open to pull Van into her embrace.
But Van took a step back. “No. There’s something else.” She tilted her head. “Are you sure there isn’t something you want to ask me? Something you’ve been working me up to?”
Nadia exhaled through her nose. No spy liked getting caught in the recruitment cycle, but this process was more convoluted than any others she’d run. “I think you …” She clenched her jaw, trying to sort through the best options for how to approach this. They were all terrible. “I think we have something else in common.”
A ghost of a smile crossed Van’s shadowed face
. “And just what might that be?”
Bozhe moi, but the woman wasn’t going to make this easy for her. “A family tradition.” She swallowed. “Magic.”
Van was silent for a long moment—long enough that it almost made Nadia start to doubt. But then Van dropped her arms to her sides. “Now, was that really so hard?”
“Most people would find it so,” Nadia said.
“And did you think I was most people?”
Nadia shrugged. “You said it was a family marking, that tattoo.”
“We’ve both said a lot of things,” Van replied.
Nadia winced. “It can be … difficult, to be alone in Prague. Especially with knowledge like ours.”
“Here we go.”
Nadia lifted one eyebrow. “Well, I’m assuming you practice alone. If I’m mistaken …”
“Oh, no. I definitely practice alone. Never had much use for other witches before. Sure as hell don’t now.”
Tread carefully. “I used to think so, too,” she improvised. Steadied herself for the pitch. “But then I found a group I could trust.”
“Oh, did you,” Van said sourly.
Nadia swallowed. “I can accomplish so much more now than I could alone.”
Van snorted. The shadows had turned her expression ugly. Her very presence felt heavy to Nadia, like something pressing in on her mind, some kind of dead zone. “Well, I’m glad you’ve got your pals, then.” She grabbed her jacket and bag. “But you can count me out of it.”
“Van, wait—”
Nadia leapt from bed, legs tangled up in the sheets, but she was too late. The front door was already slamming.
• • •
Alestair’s spine, Josh thought, was as knobby as a row of buttons. The Brit was standing in front of his balcony window, smoking through the cracked door, moonlight not so much gilding his body as giving it a harsh varnish. He was naked, not that there was anyone close enough to his window to care. His flat was right on the river and so far from MI6-issue it might as well have belonged to a Rockefeller. Josh had never felt fully comfortable in it; had never spent the night in the soft, downy bed without waking up hours and hours before dawn. And this early, early morning, it looked like Alestair felt much the same.
“Your friend,” Alestair said. He knew Josh was awake—of course he knew. Usually so casually observant, his shrewdness had taken on a sharp edge of late, and hinted at more beneath the surface than he would ever let Josh see. He’d sliced his palm open somehow, and would only give Josh some weak explanation about a paring knife. As if Alestair had ever prepared his own meal in his life.
“My friend,” Josh repeated. It took him a long minute to figure out who the hell could possibly qualify as his friend. “Gabe?”
“No.” Alestair exhaled a stream of smoke out the door. “At the docks.”
Oh. Kazimir. That sort of friend, then. “What about him?”
“I need you to bring him something.” Alestair flicked ash into the brisk nighttime wind.
Josh’s shoulders tightened. That sounded suspiciously like a foot-in-the-door, the grooming stage of a recruitment cycle. But they were on the same side, weren’t they? They protected one another. If he worried that any man who’d fall into bed with him was only fishing for kompromat—
It was no way to live.
“What kind of thing?” Josh asked finally, staring at the ceiling.
“A gift. For his niece.”
Josh had forgotten—Alestair had crossed paths with Kazimir’s crew before, something Kazimir had confided in Josh as a compliment of sorts for being a softer touch than the other Western services who’d come calling. Kazimir clearly wasn’t a fan, then, but if delivering this ‘gift’ could tilt him closer to the West’s favor, then Josh supposed it couldn’t be all bad.
Didn’t mean he had to be eager about it. “And why is that?”
“You’re softening him, aren’t you?” Alestair asked as his fingers fumbled with a lighter for a fresh cigarette. “I’d like to help.”
Josh snorted and rolled onto his back. “Since when?” he asked, though he kept it under his breath.
Alestair half-glanced back at him, something gleaming in his eye as it appeared over his shoulder. “I think you’ll find it worth your while.”
“Maybe so,” Josh said, and he almost sounded like he believed it.
He was feeling that way about a lot of things that were supposed to be good for him these days.
• • •
Zerena lit another cigarette.
“Do you feel it?” she asked, as the golden light that had swirled around Andula began to subside. “The way your elemental stirs and comes to life when you use it well?”
Andula lowered her arms and waited for the light to fade away. “I feel something. But I’m still not sure I’m in control of it. It feels like it just happens, independent of anything I’m doing.”
Zerena exhaled a stream of smoke. “It will come in time. But you must keep practicing.” She gestured to the tray of charms set out for Andula’s use. “Anyone can use magic with enough practice. But if you wish to truly master it …”
“I do.” Andula’s expression hardened. “I want to be able to protect myself.”
Zerena tapped the ash from her cigarette. She liked the spirit on this one, to be sure, but such spirit could too easily be turned against her. Sasha didn’t have the sense to do it himself—he’d never been good at fieldwork, after all. But Terzian might. The longer she was able to keep Andula as her particular protégé, the longer it took to bring her into their circle, the better.
And it bought Zerena time. More important, it bought her just the fuel she needed.
Zerena leaned over the tray between them and plucked up a larger, more complicated working; perhaps, in some witches’ parlance, it would be called a ritual focus rather than a charm. But if a single Host could charge it, well, that didn’t constitute a ritual, as far as Zerena was concerned.
“Andula, darling. Perhaps you could try this one.” Zerena held the looping iron figure out to her; the wires dangling from it chimed pleasantly. “It might be a bit tricky, but I think you’ll find it a good challenge.”
Andula took the device and turned it over in her hands, frowning. “This feels—it feels strange. It’s like the elemental is pulling toward it.”
“Your elemental has an affinity for it,” Zerena said smoothly. After one last drag, she extinguished her cigarette in the ashtray, then stood. “I’ll teach you the words to charge it. We can do it together, yes?”
Andula curved inward. The tightness in her eyes betrayed her distrust. They were still fighting this battle, then.
“You wish to protect yourself against the Consortium of Ice,” Zerena said.
Andula nodded once, a quick jerk of her chin. “They lied to me. When they said they’d protect me, I didn’t know they meant—”
“The stasis. Yes, I know.” Zerena’s lips pursed in sympathy. “Well, this item—a relic, you could call it—is far more powerful than these charms. Does your elemental offer any hint of what it can do?”
Andula looked down at it for a moment, then shook her head.
“It can protect you. It can create a powerful bubble that blocks spells aimed at you, while containing your own spells and energy.”
“Not even their spells could get through the barrier?” Andula’s brows were drawn down, disbelieving. Zerena supposed she couldn’t blame her.
“No. Not even their spells.” Zerena took a step closer. “Not even the one that encased you in stasis.”
Andula took a deep breath and raised the relic before her, scrutinizing it. “How do you know? Have you used it before?”
Zerena pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth. A delicate matter demanded caution. But she suspected Andula would sense an outright lie; her guard was up, and it wasn’t coming back down anytime soon. “I have seen it used.”
“How?”
“A powerful ritual. More than
a dozen witches were involved.” Zerena took another step. “They needed to ensure the magic they were calling down could not escape the ritual circle—not even a drop of it.”
“Keeps things out, holds things in.” Andula nodded, seemingly satisfied. “And you’ll show me how to do it.”
“Yes, of course.” Zerena tapped one finger against the relic. “It’s an old Sumerian incantation but when you speak it, you must summon the image of a bubble—”
“You’ll show me how to do it by myself,” Andula said.
Zerena turned one palm up, as if swearing an oath. “Of course.”
“Okay.” Andula shook out her arms, then held up the relic again. “Okay. Show me how.”
Zerena spoke the words, and a splash of silver engulfed them both.
She sensed the moment Andula’s elemental stretched, taut as a rubber band. The girl was still trying to learn how to best use it, after all, and wasn’t prepared to work it exactly as she ought to fuel the relic. But in time, she would be able to. In time, she’d build a shield around herself, protecting herself and Zerena and whoever else from the Ice.
And, more crucially, holding Andula’s elemental inside.
• • •
The back door to the bar swung open, and out stepped the assistant to the deputy federal assembly representative of the Prague branch of the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia. Tanya smiled and took another bite of her pastry, then set her newspaper down on the metal outdoor café table before standing to stretch. The assistant was headed north, and moving slowly. It looked as if his shiny new leather loafers might be pinching him, hindering his pace.
Tanya stuck her hands in her trouser pockets and strode toward the corner where Nadia was waiting for her. “Poor dear. One of the perils of bourgeois extravagance,” she said to Nadia. “Must have spent his MI6 stipend on a new wardrobe.”
“They usually do.” Nadia watched him as he turned the corner off of Vodičkova. They both wore heavy makeup and wigs to disguise their appearances, and Nadia kept her shoulders contorted to alter her posture and height. “How shall we play this?”
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 18