The Witch Who Came in From the Cold - Season One Volume Two

by Lindsay Smith

  Nadia sighed in frustration.

  “—and tends to lose its potency if not used immediately. The kind of power to stop death? It’s not easy to come by.”

  “But it’s not impossible,” Nadia said. “And Tanya’s worth it.”

  “I don’t disagree. I’m merely saying that we don’t have the time or the resources to make such a charm before tonight.” Alestair paused and sipped at his tea. “Not even I have the resources to make such a charm. Believe me, Nadia, I would if it were at all possible.”

  Nadia slumped back on the couch. She stared down at her tea. This had been her last chance. She wondered if Alestair were lying, if she could trash the place and see what turned up. But she took one look at him, at his worried expression, and she knew he was telling the truth. He might be MI6, but he wouldn’t let an Ice sorcerer die for no reason.

  “However,” Alestair said, “I do believe I can help in another way.”

  Nadia sat up, alert. “What? How?” She felt a thrill of relief. Maybe Tanya could be safe after all.

  “Tanya is lucky in that she has an . . . ally, of sorts, with connections to the defector.”

  “What are you talking about?” Nadia demanded, her relief vanishing. What was he playing at? “Tanya has no connections to the CIA.”

  Alestair looked pointedly at her, and Nadia realized to whom he was referring. Pritchard. She cursed in Russian.

  “So you do know him.”

  “Stupid capitalist schlub,” Nadia snapped. “And as we aren’t in need of a golem tonight, I don’t see how he’s going to help us.”

  Alestair chuckled. “Yes, that was a rather ill-informed decision on his part. But he can still be useful. I’m not sure how much Tanya has told you—”

  Not much, Nadia thought, although she said nothing

  “—but she has been assisting him as of late. Solely on Ice business, of course, but it’s still enough that he, as the Americans say, owes her one.”

  “What are you getting at?” Tanya was too entangled with Pritchard as it was. If she owed her life to him—that would be a dangerous thing.

  “I can pass word along that Tanya will be coming to the safe house tonight.” Alestair sipped at his tea. “If he could have his countrymen, let’s say, move the defector to another location, and the safe house is empty when Tanya arrives . . .” Alestair shrugged. “What international incident could that incite? A KGB officer breaks down the door to an empty house? It might be an embarrassment to her, yes, but at least she won’t be dead.”

  Nadia studied him. He seemed sincere. He was Ice. They were not complete enemies.

  “Is this Pritchard to be convinced?” She still wished they could use magic to protect Tanya. Magic was more trustworthy than an American.

  Alestair smiled. “Leave the convincing to me. I’ve been helping him with his troubles these last few weeks, and I believe he’ll listen to a MI6 man, if not to reason. I assure you this plan is better than any charm we could cook up in the time we have.”

  Nadia set her tea down and looked over at the window. The curtains were drawn, but not tightly; a sliver of sunlight fell through the crack and into a bright line across the floor. A line of energy, although a different sort, a more mundane sort, than the ley lines that were the source of all her troubles.

  “If she dies,” Nadia said, “I will hold you accountable.” She turned to Alestair one last time, so that he would know she was serious.

  “I understand,” Alestair said.

  Nadia stood and studied Alestair for a moment, long enough to decide she trusted him. And then she marched out of the apartment, away from the West, back to her side of the war.

  • • •

  Tanya stared down at her typewriter, fingers poised over the keys. She was supposed to be typing a report, a run-of-the-mill thing, something she did every day. But her thoughts were too cloudy to concentrate. She kept seeing Sasha in her head. Sasha leaning over her desk, the radio, her radio, the one thing she had left of her grandfather, sitting in his office as if it belonged there. Sasha flashing her a knowing look as he passed her in the hallway. Sasha informing her that she was to raid the Americans’ safe house, to bring the defector back to Russia. And then Nadia, uncharacteristically worried about the danger, commanding Tanya not to go.

  But she had to go. Nadia should understand that, but Nadia’s brains had apparently been rattled from all her boxing. This was a hopeless situation that could only turn more hopeless if Tanya failed to act. Doing nothing would be a betrayal of Russia, and Russia was the one loyalty she could still cling to. She had the Ice, yes, but when it came to defectors—

  Tanya closed her eyes. There was another reason she had to go, a reason she couldn’t tell Nadia. If the defector, the Host, left Prague, his fate would rest heavy on her conscience. Either he would be usurped by international Flame operatives, or the American Ice would collect him and freeze him for his own safety. Imperfect options, both of them, and some small part of her thought maybe, maybe, she could find another way. Even if she died tonight. Even if the defector died tonight. Sometimes, death was the better choice.

  Tanya shoved away from her desk. She looked up at the clock on the wall. The hands were inching toward afternoon, evening, nightfall. The embassy bustled around her, the voices of the secretaries a faint chatter in the background, and she couldn’t stand it. In these last hours, she needed silence and sunlight and the light touch of the breeze outside. Not this dead, fluorescent office air.

  She grabbed her coat and scarf and slipped out. Did she avoid Sasha’s watchful gaze? At this point, she wasn’t sure it mattered anymore. He already had her radio, already knew he was sending her to die.

  The day was surprisingly bright, the still-bare trees stark against the brilliant blue sky. Tanya tightened her scarf around her throat and tucked her hands into her pockets as she made her way down the embassy steps. The air stung at her cheeks, made her eyes water. It might look like spring was nigh, but they were still in the depths of winter.

  “Tatiana? Tatiana Morozova?”

  The voice rang out like a bell, but it took Tanya a moment to place it. She wasn’t used to hearing it here, but rather at parties, with soft music tinkling all around. She glanced over and found Zerena Pulnoc walking toward her, one hand clasping her tasteful wool coat closed at her throat.

  “Hello, Zerena.” She looked around the empty steps, trying to find a way to excuse herself.

  “It’s a lovely day, don’t you think?” Zerena floated closer. “I can feel spring moving in.”

  Tanya could feel no such thing, only that shivering, biting cold, strong enough to drown out the heat of the sun. But it didn’t surprise her that Zerena felt in her element out here.

  “In fact,” Zerena said, “if you aren’t busy—and, forgive me, it seems you aren’t, if you’re leaving the embassy so early—perhaps we could go for a walk. To enjoy the spring air.” Here, she gestured toward the lifeless trees.

  Tanya studied Zerena’s bright smile; Zerena, of course, gave nothing away.

  “Yes,” she said finally. “A walk.”

  “Wonderful!” Zerena tucked her arm into Tanya’s as if they were schoolgirls, and together they made their way down the steps and onto the path that wove through the line of trees. “Nothing like a walk to clear your head in times of difficulty, don’t you think, Tanya?”

  Tanya stiffened. What did Zerena know?

  Zerena laughed. “Oh, I’m not blaming you for the Americans’ capture of Maksim Sokolov. Don’t worry. But these things can make for tense times at the embassy, yes?”

  Tanya pulled her arm away from the crook of Zerena’s elbow. Her chest was tight. “Yes,” she said. “It can.”

  “Such troublesome times we live in,” Zerena went on, speaking airily, looking toward the trees as if discussing quotidian frivolities and not the KGB’s deepest failures. “That’s why I think my parties are so important. They’re a distraction from the difficulties of your job. I
see the toll it can take on my husband. Poor thing. Always so sick.”

  “I’m managing well, thank you,” Tanya mumbled. Zerena had never shown her any real kindness, much less made overtures of friendship. She had always been distant and untouchable. Unimportant, really, in Tanya’s day-to-day life. And yet here they were, their boots clacking out of sync on the stone path while the cold wind whipped around them.

  “Are you? You seem rather pale.” Zerena stopped and turned toward Tanya, who stumbled, unsure what to do next. Zerena studied her for a moment, her eyes burning across Tanya’s skin.

  “I’m fine,” Tanya snapped, and then she continued walking. Get this bizarre stroll over with, and then she could find a place to be alone, to think, to accept her fate.

  “You may be a professional liar,” Zerena purred, falling into step alongside her, “but we both know you’re not telling the truth.”

  Tanya said nothing. Her heart pumped. She stared at the path ahead, curving around into the trees.

  Zerena leaned in close, her breath warm on Tanya’s ear. “I know what Sashenka has asked you to do.”

  Tanya froze. Her throat closed up. A stupid move, a rookie move, one that gave everything away, and yet she was distracted, she was not herself—

  Zerena laughed. It sounded like icicles clinking together. Tanya’s face flushed with heat. It was one thing for the ambassador’s wife to know about the defector, but for her to know that in less than eight hours’ time Tanya would be breaking international treaties—

  Zerena linked arms with Tanya again and pulled her forward. “You look like a deer caught in a hunter’s scope,” she said. “Don’t be so frightened! I’m not here to hurt you. Quite the contrary.”

  And then she reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a linen handkerchief folded into a neat square. She picked up Tanya’s hand and placed the handkerchief in her palm, then curled Tanya’s fingers around it.

  “A gift,” she said. “For a new friend. You can open it here, in the privacy of the trees, but you’ll see that it’s perhaps something to keep secret.”

  Tanya glanced up at Zerena, trying to find some guidance in her inscrutable features. The object was light, a barely noticeable weight in her palm.

  “Go on,” Zerena said. “It won’t hurt you.”

  And so Tanya unfolded the linen, hands trembling. When she saw what was wrapped inside, her breath stuck in her throat. She almost dropped the object to the ground and ran.

  It was a charm, although it looked like a piece of jewelry—silver pounded into a flat triangle, copper wires wrapped around it in byzantine patterns. It was beautiful. And not of Ice design.

  “I made it myself,” Zerena said. “You can wear it as a brooch, if you desire, or keep it tucked away out of sight.” She leaned in close, pitching her voice low. “It’s for protection.”

  “Why are you giving this to me?” Tanya stared down at the charm. It gleamed in the sunlight.

  “I want you to take it to the safe house with you tonight.”

  Tanya whipped her gaze around to Zerena. “What? Why?”

  Zerena flicked her hand dismissively. “Is that your concern? Let’s just say that I don’t always agree with Sasha’s motivations. Please, Tatiana, promise me you’ll take it with you.”

  “Only if you tell me why you’re helping me.”

  Zerena laughed. She took Tanya’s hand in hers and pulled her along the path. “What reasons are there? I could say patriotism, that I don’t want Russia to suffer such a terrible embarrassment. Or I could say kindness—perhaps you are my charity case for the season.” Zerena looked over at Tanya. “Only know that I feel some people are better alive than dead. Surely that’s enough?”

  It wasn’t. But Tanya looked down at the charm again. If she were closer to a ley line, she wondered if she would be able to feel its power, to get a sense of what it would do to protect her.

  “You think this is a trap.” Zerena smiled and shook her head. “Sashenka has you paranoid. We aren’t all as cruel as he.”

  “We?” Tanya said.

  Zerena didn’t look over at Tanya, but her mouth curved up into a teasing smile. “Oh, Tatiana, don’t pretend you don’t recognize the origin of that charm’s magic.”

  Tanya stopped. The charm pressed against her palm. Zerena strode a few steps farther and then she stopped as well, and glanced over her shoulder.

  “You’re Flame,” Tanya whispered. Her head buzzed. The charm seemed to burn against her skin.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Zerena slinked back toward her, her movements as graceful and easy as if she were dancing. “But if we’re to be friends, I will tell you this.” Zerena leaned in close, the tips of her hair grazing against Tanya’s cheek. Tanya stood very still, afraid that if she moved Zerena would lash out with Flame magic. “I know the names of all the Flame operatives in Prague,” Zerena whispered. “And as a show of faith, I’ll tell you one now.”

  “Why?” snapped Tanya.

  “Shhh. Listen.” A pause. Tanya could barely breathe. What did it mean for Russia, that the ambassador’s wife belonged to the Flame? And why was she helping Tanya? Tanya curled her fingers over the charm. A trap. It had to be a trap.

  “Sasha Komyetski,” Zerena said.

  Tanya jerked away, stunned. She blinked at Zerena, who was watching her with a calm, appraising expression.

  “What did you say?” Tanya hissed.

  “Sasha Komyetski, head of KGB Prague Station, is an Acolyte of Flame.” Zerena waved one hand dismissively in the direction of the embassy. “Now you know why he was so insistent on sending you to your death. But as I said,” and here she smiled her dazzling party smile, “I don’t agree with his choice of actions.”

  Zerena began walking again, and Tanya followed, taking deep breaths, trying to calm herself. She didn’t want to believe Zerena, but this revelation made an unsettling sort of sense. No wonder her grandfather’s radio held such a fascination for Sasha. He’d never thought she was a traitor to Russia—he was only a Flame operative, trying to get at the Ice. Tanya closed her eyes. She wondered if he’d spoken to her grandfather’s construct. What he said, what he asked.

  “What’s in it for you, telling me this?” Tanya asked, although she didn’t expect an answer.

  Zerena smiled. “Such a good little spy. You won’t stop digging until you get that intel, will you?”

  Tanya didn’t respond.

  “Fine. I’ll divulge one more secret: Sasha . . . upset me yesterday. He behaved inappropriately. I won’t say more than that. Perhaps we may soon become true friends, and I will elaborate.”

  They had reached the end of the path. The embassy appeared up ahead, windows shining in the sunlight. Tanya considered it. She thought of her grandfather’s radio, sitting in Sasha’s office, and her stomach turned.

  Tanya didn’t know if she trusted Zerena. But in that moment, she made a decision. She shoved the charm into her pocket. Handed the handkerchief back to Zerena.

  Zerena brushed it away. “Keep it,” she said. “Perhaps, when you are alive tomorrow morning, it will serve as a reminder as to who helped you in this dark time, and who wanted to see you dead.”

  2.

  The longer Alestair talked, the less Gabe liked what he had to say.

  “Wait,” Gabe interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose. They sat on a bench in one of the parks near the US embassy; Gabe had just gotten off defector duty, and this was, in fact, supposed to be his break, a chance for him to catch up on sleep and food until he had to return the next day. But then he’d gotten waylaid by Alestair, and now he saw his day falling into ruin. “I don’t understand—are you asking me to commit treason?”

  “Of course not!” Alestair at least had the decency to look aghast. “I’m merely asking you to aid the Ice.”

  “By doing what, exactly? Handing Maksim Sokolov over to the KGB?” Gabe shook his head, gave a sharp, bitter laugh. “I don’t think so.”

  “I’m asking
you to do no such thing. Surely there can be a mutually beneficial solution to our problem? A way for you to whisk the defector off somewhere so Tanya doesn’t find herself in a position to sacrifice all for Mother Russia?”

  Gabe tilted his head back and blinked up at the bright blue sky. They knew. The KGB. They had tracked Sokolov to the safe house somehow. All his team’s careful planning hadn’t been worth shit. And Tanya, of course she was the one who had to be involved, because her mere presence was enough to complicate—

  Gabe went cold all over. His heart thudded.

  It wasn’t a coincidence that Tanya was the one heading for the safe house, was it? She’d probably been the one to locate Sokolov in the first place. The one to figure out he was more than just a defector. After all, she and that partner of hers had found that other one, that girl—Andula. Sent magic out into the city to find her, isolate her, drag her to that frozen death barge.

  Alestair was still chattering along, drawing up plans to keep Tanya alive, although now his words seemed to drip with menace. Maybe this wasn’t about Tanya at all. Maybe Alestair knew Sokolov was a Host, and this was some way of getting his Ice hands on him.

  But no, that didn’t make sense. If Alestair wanted Sokolov for the Ice, he’d have easier ways of getting at him, more direct ways, without having to involve the KGB. This really was about Ice solidarity—Gabe even thought he could see a trace of affectionate concern in Alestair’s features as he talked about keeping Tanya safe.

  Gabe hunkered down in his coat, contemplating his options. Alestair was stressing the importance of keeping Tanya alive—“I know she’s KGB, but she has the sort of magical talent of which most of us only dream. A maestro, really, and the Ice can’t lose her if it wants any hope of defeating the Flame. Do you understand, Gabriel? We mustn’t let the Flame win.”

  “You keep saying that,” Gabe said. But at what costs should the Flame lose? Gabe understood they were dangerous. Alestair and Tanya had both stressed that enough. But was it worth it, to add another person to that row of bodies in a magic-infused barge, drifting lazily down the Vltava?