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)

by Lindsay Smith

  The barge. The fire. Tanya couldn’t breathe. “You know who attacked the barge?”

  Zerena said nothing, only smiled.

  This will pay off eventually, Tanya thought.

  And slowly, she nodded. Her voice scratched against her dry throat as she spoke: “Tell me what I need to look for.”

  5.

  It was not a scene Gabe had ever expected to see when he signed up for the CIA. Maybe he should have.

  He sat in a small, cramped office down at the docks, flanked on one side by Josh and on the other by Edith. Across the desk lurked Kazimir, still looking like the kind of man you wouldn’t want to see in a back alley. But he was grinning, laughing, joking around with Josh. Who joked back, easy as could be.

  “We want something that will work out for all of us, yes?” Kazimir said. He was stuffed into a cheap suit, the fabric stretched shiny across his shoulders. Hoping to make a good impression, Gabe supposed. He wondered how it was working on Edith. She gave nothing away.

  “Same here,” Josh said. “I know all three of us think this could be—mutually beneficial.”

  “Mutually beneficial, yes! This is what I tell my own bosses. Is important we all walk away happy tonight.” Kazimir turned his gaze over to Gabe and Edith. “What do you say, my friends?”

  “I completely agree,” Gabe said. And he did. Not just for the CIA and Kazimir, but for the Ice, too. Hell of a thing, negotiating on behalf of a group he couldn’t even acknowledge.

  Edith gave a tight librarian’s smile and nodded once.

  Kazimir rubbed his massive hands together. “Then let us get started! Payment first, eh?”

  Payment was not the CIA’s priority with this, of course, but it was a good starting point, something to ease Kazimir into the more important conditions. Josh rattled off a price for the CIA’s services that made Kazimir’s face light up in a brilliant grin.

  “This is why I like you!” he cried.

  “We do have certain expectations,” Edith interjected, leaning forward. She met Kazimir’s eye, not showing an ounce of fear. Good for her. Gabe straightened up, though. These other conditions—this was where this whole endeavor could affect the Ice.

  Kazimir gave Edith a guileless smile. “For that price, I do not expect anything less.”

  Edith and Josh glanced at each other; Edith gave a little nod. Josh turned back to Kazimir. “We would like this to be the start of a partnership,” he said.

  Kazimir nodded, listening.

  “A reciprocal partnership, of course.” Edith added.

  “Of course,” Josh said. “If we help you tomorrow night, you’ll help us, when we need it. Considering the price, I think that’s only fair.”

  Kazimir leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin, pretending, Gabe suspected, to mull over Josh’s proposal. He didn’t keep up the ruse for long. A moment later, he slapped his hand on his desk and said, “You are friend of our organization, which means your friends are our friends. If you need help”—Kazimir nodded—“we will help, yes.”

  Moving along easily. Josh had done a lot of work, greasing these wheels. “What about the job tomorrow?” Gabe said. “What are the conditions there?”

  Josh glanced at him; he could feel his gaze burning into his skin. He knew Josh didn’t want him here, but he didn’t give a damn. He needed to know that the Ice would be able to transport those Hosts without the CIA finding out the boxes they were moving contained frozen bodies.

  “Ah, yes.” Kazimir nodded. “Important thing to discuss. Especially if we will be helping you in future—those trades should be fair, yes? So we want our work tomorrow to be fair to you.”

  “Of course,” Josh said.

  Kazimir settled back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. “The cargo tomorrow, it is precious. And this group, they have strange enemies.”

  Gabe’s whole body seized up. Edith frowned. “Strange enemies? What do you mean?”

  Kazimir shrugged. “I do not know details. They keep to themselves. Who knows what they are transporting. Will not tell us, only that it is precious, is—what is word in English—fragile.” He nodded. “If we drop one box, cargo could shatter into a million pieces.” Kazimir mimed an explosion with his hands, and Gabe remembered the Hosts he had seen aboard the barge, their skin tinged blue from cold and from magic. He imagined them falling, lines appearing in their skin, shattering in pieces like fine china.

  “Do you need us for protection?” Christ, Gabe hoped the CIA wouldn’t be handling the boxes. Get Edith too close and she was sure to peek in one if she got the chance. She’d want to know the kind of deal the CIA was entering into.

  “Ne.” Kazimir grinned. “Logistics.”

  “They need to get the cargo out of the country,” Josh said, glancing down at Gabe. “Which can be complicated, due to, ah, political allegiances.”

  Will we be touching the boxes? Gabe kept himself from asking it out loud.

  “You want us to make things official,” Edith said, lifting her chin a little. “To smooth the way.”

  “Exactly!” Kazimir grinned. “I like this one,” he said to Josh.

  Edith allowed him a smile.

  “For this job,” Kazimir went on, “we’ll need you to sign the papers, to vouch for us if things go bad.”

  “From the strange enemies,” Edith said slowly.

  “No.” Kazimir shook his head. “From Soviets. They don’t like things moving into the West.” He smiled, his eyes glittering—he was slyer than he let on. “You understand.”

  “We’ll make the operation legitimate,” Josh said. “We go, we watch the whole thing so if there are any questions from the Soviets, from the Czech government—they can confirm our presence there. That’s it.”

  “I think this sounds good,” Gabe said, maybe too quickly, too suddenly. But if they were just there for legitimacy’s sake, he should be able to keep Josh and Edith away from the cargo itself. “Especially if Kazimir and his crew are going to help us out in the future.”

  “Of course we will,” Kazimir said.

  “You understand,” Edith said, “that what you’re asking of us—it’s difficult to accept, when we don’t know the cargo we’re approving.”

  Gabe tensed. He had been so damn close. Leave it to Edith to start prying again.

  “But I do not know the cargo.” Kazimir spread his hands defensively. “I never do, not with this group.”

  “Who are they, exactly?” Edith’s eyes narrowed. Her lips pursed. She was like a bloodhound tracking a scent.

  Kazimir shrugged. “The sort of group that would come to us for help, yes? They don’t give me a name. They tell me, ‘Kazimir, don’t ask questions.’ So I don’t ask questions. But they pay fair and on time, and they help with the work.”

  There was that guilelessness again; Gabe thought it was clear he was telling the truth. But Edith was tenacious—would she accept those vague answers? Would she go digging when they were in position tomorrow?

  All Gabe wanted was for the Hosts to get the hell out of Prague without Edith or Josh peeling back a lid and finding a witchcicle sleeping on the other side. Kazimir’s concerns about legitimacy were valid, and it gave the CIA a reason to be there with minimal involvement. It was the perfect arrangement. As long as Edith stopped prying.

  Gabe cleared his throat. “We’ll look the other way on the cargo,” he said. “This is too good an opportunity to pass up.” He grinned at Kazimir. “For all of us.”

  Kazimir beamed back. “Exactly!”

  Edith glanced over at Gabe. Studying him, the way she did.

  “It’s opening up connections,” Gabe said. “Connections we need.”

  “Connections that help all of us,” Josh added, glancing over at Kazimir. Thank you, Gabe thought.

  For a long moment Edith said nothing. Then she nodded. Gabe’s whole body flooded with relief. Now to just make sure she doesn’t go snooping the night of.

  “Excellent!” Kazimir reached into his
desk, pulled out a map of the docks. “Let us see what you will be doing tomorrow night, ne?” He smoothed the map over the desk and began laying out the plan—the point at which they would rendezvous with his clients, the place the where the transport boat would be docked, the route the boat would take out of the city and then out of the country. Josh and Edith listened, Josh nodding occasionally, his eyes bright with excitement. Gabe was just glad they’d reached some semblance of an agreement.

  They were working together. Ice and CIA. He told himself it would be fine.

  • • •

  Miles Davis poured out of the speakers of Nadia’s stereo, loud enough it was surely disturbing cranky old Mr. Horaček next door. She knew she ought to turn it down, but instead she poured another shot of vodka and slammed it back, the liquor burning her throat. The lights in her apartment took on a syrupy golden haze. She carted the vodka bottle over to her couch and sank down in the lumpy cushions. The music swirled around her.

  She’d pushed too hard. She’d pushed too early. Now Van was an unknowable agent again, and there wasn’t a damn thing Nadia could do about it.

  She took a long pull from the bottle and remembered running her hand through Van’s short black hair as they rolled around on that rickety bed. Remembered Van’s smirk above her raised boxing gloves, the ring lights bright as the sun. Remembered kissing Van’s tattoo, her skin salty with sweat.

  The tattoo. The damned tattoo. If it weren’t for that tattoo, Nadia wouldn’t even know about Van’s magic, would she? And they could still be fucking and boxing. Sometimes it was better to live in ignorance.

  Nadia shook her head. No, that was the vodka talking. That tattoo wasn’t the problem. Nadia had moved too quickly and screwed everything up by trying to recruit Van when she wasn’t ready. If Nadia had just done her job properly, she’d still have Van, and the Ice would have all Van’s strength and fury and power on their side.

  “Shit,” Nadia grunted.

  The music swelled, horns screaming. But something was off—she’d played this album a million times before, but this time there was a counter beat beneath the music, sharp and arrhythmic—

  Damn. Someone was at the door.

  “I’m coming!” she shouted, getting shakily to her feet. She stumbled, slammed her shin up against her coffee table. Cursed. The knocking persisted. Probably Mr. Horaček waiting with crossed arms in that ugly sweater he was always wearing.

  She shambled over to the door, vodka bottle dangling at her side. Flung the door open. “The music’s not even that—”

  She froze.

  “I could hear it from the stairwell,” said Van.

  The music seeped around them, suddenly too loud even for Nadia. Van stood with her arms over her chest, a thin white T-shirt thrown on over a pair of brown men’s trousers. She didn’t look Nadia in the eye.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Of—of course.” Nadia felt dizzy. Van stepped into her apartment, her hands shoved into her pockets. Still not quite looking at her. Nadia darted over to the record player and lifted the needle. The silence made her ears ring. “Mr. Horaček will thank you for that,” she muttered, setting the vodka bottle down.

  Van didn’t say anything. Nadia turned back to her. “You want a drink?”

  Van shook her head. Smiled. “I think vodka might be too much for me right now.”

  That familiar smile sent a warmth rushing through Nadia’s body. But then it vanished just as quickly as it appeared.

  “At least sit down,” Nadia said.

  Van looked at the couch, looked over at Nadia. “You haven’t asked me why I’m here.”

  Nadia grinned. “I figured you’d tell me soon enough.”

  Van studied her. “That’s not what I would expect from someone trying to recruit me into her mysterious little club.”

  There it was. Nadia shuffled over to the couch and collapsed onto it, a boxer leaning on the ropes. Standing took too much of her energy, and she needed it all to speak with Van. To not fuck this up a second time.

  “I’m not trying to recruit you anymore,” she finally sighed. “You told me no. Why are you here?”

  They stared at each other for a moment. Then Van walked over to sink into the cushions beside Nadia. Her nearness set all of Nadia’s molecules on fire.

  “I didn’t come here to join up with you,” Van said, staring at the stack of beat-up old paperback novels Nadia hadn’t bothered to clear away from the coffee table. “I came—because I missed you. You,” she said sharply, fixing her gaze on Nadia’s. Nadia’s heart thrummed. “I liked what we had.”

  “So did I,” Nadia whispered. Her loyalties were clamoring in the back of her head but she shoved them aside.

  Van’s eyes glittered. “I’m not here because I changed my mind. I don’t want shit to do with your group.”

  That stung, but Nadia didn’t try to argue with her.

  “If we keep this up,” Van continued, “you go into it knowing that. You have to want me for me.”

  “I always did.” Nadia leaned forward, pressed her hand against the side of Van’s face. Van didn’t pull away. Nadia’s heart pounded. “I was just hoping to recruit you too. I told you I care for you. Genuinely.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Van ducked her head and Nadia dropped her hand. “I remember. That’s the only reason I’m here, by the way.” She looked back at Nadia. “Because I just—if any part of it was true—”

  “It was all true,” Nadia said, flush with the possibility of a second chance. “Look, I realized you could be an asset, I’m not going to lie about that. But I came to you because I wanted you, not your magic. I didn’t even know you could do magic when we first got together. The recruitment was secondary.”

  Van’s expression softened, but only a little. Nadia cupped her face again. Her thoughts were hazy; the room was hazy. The only clear thing was Van.

  “You’d better not be lying.” Pain laced through the urgency in Van’s voice.

  In response, Nadia kissed her.

  6.

  Sasha deactivated the charm lying across the lock of the crumbling brick house. Magical power evaporated out of the walls. He slipped inside, humming a Vladimir Vysotsky tune that had been stuck in his head for the last two days. The savory scent of garlic soup wafted up from the bag dangling from the crook of his arm.

  He didn’t bother turning on any of the lights, just strolled through the darkness to the basement door. A bundle of dried herbs and precious metals hung from the doorknob, and he eased it off carefully, then slipped it into his pocket. Unlocked the door. Pushed it open.

  He’d left the lights on down here, for the girl. He wasn’t stupid, of course; he’d also chained her to the wall. He heard the chains rattling as he descending the steps, still humming.

  “Let me go, you Flame monster!” The girl lunged at him as he approached the bottom step, but the chains stopped her, yanking her backward. She landed hard on the cold cement floor. Her sparkly dress was ripped and dirty, and her makeup had smeared, leaving her looking bruised and battered. Sasha, of course, hadn’t touched her. At least not physically. If she proved more intractable than his old friend’s reports had claimed, perhaps he’d go that route. But for now, he offered food.

  “Hello to you, too,” Sasha said cheerfully. He made his way to the card table he had set up in the corner. Magic was thick down here—Flame magic, his magic. Every protection charm he knew hung from the ceiling. Little dolls made out of twigs and twisted up in strips of copper. Satchels of dead grass. Miniature fires burning in hanging pots, the flames fueled with shredded pine needles.

  The girl lashed at him as he walked past her—just beyond her reach, of course. She was ready for the chains this time, though, and she didn’t snap back. He could feel the angry heat of her gaze as he pulled the containers out of the bag. The garlic soup, a plate of schnitzel and potato dumplings, a honey cake. He’d already brought utensils down here, and a clean napkin. He pulled the last item from the bag—a
Coca-Cola, ice cold. Being Prague Chief of Station had its perks.

  “Well,” Sasha chirped, when everything was to his liking, “this is quite the feast, isn’t it?”

  He looked up at the girl. She wasn’t looking at him, but at the food. He’d kept her down here without food. Just enough water to keep her alive. She wasn’t a spy; she wouldn’t have trained for this. She was just some spoiled daughter of a high-ranking Ice bureaucrat who had sent her to school for a semester in Prague. Someone who had inherited her power, rather than earned it.

  “It’s a shame,” Sasha said, “that I’ve already eaten. I don’t suppose you’re hungry?”

  The girl flicked her gaze over to him. Back to the food.

  “Are you?” he prompted.

  “Yes,” she snarled.

  “Well, then.” Sasha peeled back the lid on the container of garlic soup. “I suppose I could share some of this with you.” He set the soup aside and lifted the honey cake. Glanced at her. “Of course, I’m not giving it away for free.”

  The girl said nothing. Sasha continued to open up the food containers. “I know you don’t have any money,” he went on, “since you dropped your purse when I brought you here. But you do have information. The answer to the question I posed earlier.”

  Everything was ready. Sasha looked up at the girl. No, he hadn’t beat her, but he had … manipulated her, just a bit—magic was useful that way. Sent some magical charges running up her spine. Drained her of her energy so that she would feel her hunger even more acutely. Sasha almost felt sorry for her. Poor thing, used to parties and elegant dinners.

  Sasha picked up the schnitzel plate and the silverware and the Coca-Cola. Walked over to her. She didn’t lunge at him this time. The chains pooled around her like snakes.

  “Well?” he said. “I’m afraid the food is getting cold.”

  Tears glimmered on the girl’s cheeks.

  Sasha waited.

  “Tomorrow,” she said, and Sasha heart pounded with his victory. “They’re handing off the in-stasis Hosts tomorrow night at the docks. Now give me my fucking food.”