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

by Lindsay Smith

  “Because it’s true.” Alestair’s voice sharpened. “I don’t think you understand the severity of this situation. You’re too blinded by your own nationalism.”

  Icy river water, his breath condensing in clouds on the air. A row of bodies, each one lying unmoving in the cold. The stink of magic everywhere.

  Gabe understood the severity of the situation just fine.

  “I don’t want her to die, either,” Gabe finally said. “But I don’t know what you expect me to do.” He looked over at Alestair. “How did the Russians find out about Sokolov, anyway?”

  “I don’t know.” Alestair looked like he was telling the truth. “Nadezhda didn’t tell me.”

  Nadezhda. Tanya’s partner. Not just in the KGB, but in the Ice, too. They had to know Sokolov was a Host, but hadn’t appeared to tell Alestair. Gabe wasn’t sure what to make of that. He fiddled with his coat buttons.

  “Gabe,” Alestair said softly. “There are stronger and more dangerous forces than the KGB.”

  Gabe thought back to Cairo, back to the ritual he had interrupted. Dry heat and watering eyes. It couldn’t have been more different than the barge, and yet—

  “The Ice are trying to protect you,” Alestair said fiercely. Gabe stared at the trees, Alestair’s voice like an insect whine in his ear. “They’re trying to protect everyone. The Flame only care about their own. If we lose Tanya, that makes it that much easier for the Flame to burn the world down.”

  “The Ice doesn’t want to protect everyone,” Gabe muttered.

  “Pardon?”

  Gabe stood up. He needed to take this to Dom, let him know the Russians were coming. He wanted to leave Alestair sitting in the cold. Let him deal with his world of magic.

  “I’ll remind you,” Alestair said, “that it’s the Ice who has helped you with your hitchhiker. The Flame would never have done so.”

  Gabe hands curled into fists. He whirled around to face Alestair, who was regarding him with the kind of stony stare that reminded you he really was a spy. It sizzled on the tip of Gabe’s tongue, the confession that he’d seen the barge. But he kept it close to his chest. This was not the place. Not the time.

  He knew that Alestair was, in some ways, right. The Flame were dangerous. Gabe had a hitchhiker shoved into his thoughts because of the Flame.

  But the Ice weren’t exactly paragons of virtue, either. And if anyone was being blinded by loyalties, it was Alestair—not loyalty to Britain, but to the Ice. He trusted Nadezhda Ostrokhina, a fucking KGB officer, over Gabe, solely because she was Ice.

  And maybe Gabe could use that against him. Make him see the Russian Ice weren’t being as forthright as he thought. It required a sacrifice, sure, but what didn’t these days, in this kind of war?

  “Ostrokhina didn’t tell you the whole story,” Gabe said.

  Alestair stared him, his face dispassionate.

  “It wasn’t the KGB that found Sokolov. It was the Ice.”

  “What in God’s name are you talking about?” Alestair said.

  Gabe shifted his weight from foot to foot, a little dance to help him warm up in the cold. He stopped before he spoke.

  “Maksim Sokolov is a Host,” Gabe said.

  Alestair’s eyes widened and for a moment he lost his composure. He was genuinely shocked. Good, Gabe thought, even if he couldn’t rid himself of that dull aching guilt that he’d condemned Sokolov to a fairy-tale curse.

  “Are you certain?” Alestair said. “How do you know?”

  Gabe tapped the side of his head. “The hitchhiker. Sokolov set it clanging around the minute I saw him. Morozova and Ostrokhina must have sent one of those—things they use to track Hosts—”

  “Constructs,” Alestair murmured.

  “Yeah, constructs. That’s how they knew where he was.”

  “The Ice doesn’t use constructs,” Alestair said. “Not for this. But we have ways of tracking.” He closed his eyes, rubbed at his head. “You’re sure the defector is a Host?”

  Gabe nodded. “I told you Ostrokhina was keeping information from you.”

  “Not just her! You knew Sokolov was a Host, and you kept it a secret?”

  Gabe stared at him.

  “Why on earth would you do such a thing?”

  A second of silence passed between them.

  “The same reason Ostrokhina did,” Gabe said. “Because I’m a spy.” Revealing the truth about Sokolov didn’t make Gabe feel better about the situation—if anything, it ignited the frustration he should have felt from the beginning, that this magic nonsense was going to screw him. Alestair was worried about Tanya, but Gabe was worried about keeping ANCHISES from going belly-up.

  “Nadia had her reasons for keeping the identity of the Host from me,” Alestair said softly. “Ice reasons.”

  Gabe jolted at the diminutive. What the hell was he dealing with here?

  “This only complicates things, Gabriel. It only makes it even more imperative that we protect Tanya. And now we have to protect the Host, as well.”

  Gabe snorted. “Up until you freeze the poor bastard.”

  Alestair’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me. I know what you do to those Hosts.” Gabe shoved his hands into his pockets. Anger flushed in his cheeks. He couldn’t believe Alestair didn’t seem to give a shit that Nadia had kept the Host’s identity from him. “I found your barge. Climbed right on board. Found the cargo.” He spat out the last word.

  Alestair lifted his chin, his expression unreadable. He said nothing.

  “My job comes before the Ice. Always has.” Gabe looked up at the spiderweb of bare tree branches. “We’ve got to protect Sokolov, Al. That’s how it is. And shoving a Sokolov Popsicle into a barge isn’t succeeding.” He looked back down at Alestair. “The West needs him. You know that. What’s the Ice going to do with him? Put him on ice like he’s somebody’s dinner? I’m not saying I want Tanya to die, but right now, my job is to help Maksim Sokolov.”

  “I see,” Alestair said.

  Gabe pushed his hands into his pockets. Turned to leave. He didn’t have anything else to say. He’d already endangered Sokolov’s life on a gamble that didn’t pay out.

  “The Ice has saved your life,” Alestair called out. “You and I both know this. I’ve already clearly said that no one, not even Nadia, expects you to betray your country. And the barge is—a complicated matter, and I understand your concern. Someday I hope I can explain its reasons to your satisfaction.”

  Gabe scoffed. Kept walking.

  “Gabriel, I didn’t come to you about a Host. I came to you about Tanya.”

  At that, Gabe stopped. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t look at Alestair. But he was listening.

  “At this point, I don’t see how you can pretend that Tanya is simply your enemy. You’ve worked alongside her. You’ve aided her. She is Ice, and whether you want to admit it or not, you are an Ice ally, in your own way.”

  Gabe gazed out at the dead, empty park again. Still no sign of green. Still no sign of spring.

  “If you let this happen—if you let her storm your safe house and sacrifice herself to ensure this defector doesn’t defect—then the Ice will have lost a powerful sorcerer. One whose power, I’ll add, has gotten you out of a tight spot or two.”

  “Jordan,” Gabe muttered. “She’s the one who helped me. And you. Not Tanya.”

  “Bollocks. You don’t believe that.”

  It was true. Gabe didn’t. He remembered the way he and Tanya had combined their strength to take down that golem. He sighed and turned around to face Alestair. Pressed his head into his hands. He missed the world as it had been before Cairo, when a woman like Tanya would have only been his enemy, when a defector was only threatened by the Russians.

  “What do you say?” Alestair’s voice was a low murmur, calm like a nurse consoling a dying man. “Will you do this favor for the Ice? Find a way to stop your boys from killing our girl?”

  An enemy and an ally.
Ice and KGB. Gabe could just see the lines of the US embassy building through the trees.

  “I’ll see if I can move Sokolov,” he finally said. “But that’s all I can promise.”

  • • •

  “You’re shitting me.”

  Gabe shook his head. Across the table, Dom leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. He gave a short, barking laugh.

  “What the hell do they think they’ll accomplish?” he asked. “Busting in on us like that?”

  “I don’t know.” Gabe hadn’t, of course, told Dom the entire story. He’d carefully stripped away any mention of magic, of Hosts, of barges filled with frozen bodies. But he’d told him enough. Gabe had left Alestair and come straight to the embassy, where he sat down with Dom in one of the spare meeting rooms and laid out everything non-magical that he knew.

  “Well, I say that if they want to embarrass themselves, let ’em.” Dom smirked. “We’ve got the firepower to show ’em that they’ve made a mistake.”

  Gabe knew he should have seen this coming, this American machismo grandstanding. “We still need to move the defector,” he said. “As quickly as we can.” Hope that’s good enough for you, Al.

  Dom considered this. “Think that’s such a good idea, though? They’re probably watching the safe house as we speak.”

  Damn it, Dom was probably right. Even if Ostrokhina didn’t actually want Tanya to attack, the KGB themselves were still going to have eyes on the place.

  “So we—what?” Gabe said. “Let the Russians blow a hole in Sokolov? We really can’t afford to be flippant about this.”

  Dom laughed, slapped one hand down on the table. “I like that spirit, Pritchard. Obviously we’ll start working up a getaway plan. While the Russkies are bum-rushing through the front door, we’ll be escorting Sokolov out the back.” He grinned. “Perfect plan, really. Sokolov gets away but the Russians can still embarrass the hell out of themselves.”

  Gabe shifted his weight in his seat. Glanced over to the window that gave a view of the hallway. Dom had closed the blinds when they came in, but Gabe could see a flicker of movement in the place where the blinds had gotten shoved aside. People walking past.

  “You’re putting our men at risk,” Gabe said, still looking at the window. “Unnecessarily.”

  “Not unnecessarily at all. And you know it.”

  Gabe looked back at Dom, who was sitting up straighter now, acting more serious.

  “It could be a disaster if we try to move Sokolov before the Russians show up,” Dom went on. “If we let them attack us, we’ve got the upper hand. We’ll be ready for them. I’ll bring in reinforcements.” He grinned, although there was no real mirth behind it. “You saying our guys aren’t up for the challenge?”

  Gabe scowled. “No one should have to die over this.” He saw a flash of Tanya’s face as he spoke. “But yeah, you’re right. Moving early could be a problem.”

  “So it’s settled.” Dom stood up, smoothed out his jacket. “I’ll get the ball rolling on that escape plan. I’ll let Sokolov know, too. Get me the location of some alternate safe houses within the hour so we can have them prepped.”

  Gabe nodded, although he didn’t move to get up. He knew damn well he’d done the right thing for the US, bringing the information to Dom. But now he wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing for Alestair, for Tanya. Not if Dom was going to have their men playing shoot-’em-up with the Russians.

  “Within the hour,” Dom repeated as he pushed the door open, letting in the yellow light from the hallway.

  “Will do,” Gabe said, and he decided in that moment that he would be at the safe house tonight, too.

  • • •

  The Americans’ safe house was a ramshackle brick building tucked away in a narrow alley. Tanya slipped through the darkness, her little Makarov pistol held low, Zerena’s protection charm pinned inside her coat. Yes, she’d brought it. Maybe it was a stupid idea. But she hadn’t sensed any danger from it, and with this situation, her whole career and her whole life about to be blown open, she didn’t think it could do any more harm.

  Tanya was aware of Nadia slinking alongside her—she’d insisted on coming, said she’d be damned if she was going to let her best Ice operative blink out in such an absurd, pointless way. And Tanya hadn’t fought it. She knew it was useless, that Nadia was going to try to protect her. Somehow.

  They lurched to a stop at the edge of the alley. Three other KGB officers took their positions in the darkness up ahead, and Tanya could only see the faint glint of their guns in the moonlight. She felt sorry for them, angry that Sasha was willing to let others die just to carry out this absurd plan. But they were all low-ranked and loyal to the Party, willing to do something desperate if it meant glory. They wanted to be here as much as she didn’t.

  All the windows of the safe house were dark save for one on the second floor, its glow thin and muted behind a curtain. No one was standing guard outside, but that didn’t mean a damn thing. Tanya glanced over at Nadia, her eyes fixed straight ahead, her hands gripped tight around her gun.

  “Are you ready?” Tanya asked in a low voice.

  “It’s not too late to turn around.” Nadia didn’t look away from the safe house. “We can knock out the others and leave town. You know the Ice will protect us both.”

  “You’d betray our country?” The safe house loomed up ahead. The other operatives were inching closer, ready for a fight, ready to die.

  “Maybe some things are more important,” Nadia said.

  Tanya closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She didn’t know if she agreed or not. All her life she had been trained to do as the Party asked, to do as the Ice asked. The Ice had lied to her. Perhaps the Party had lied to her as well. But she’d never caught them in a lie, and her loyalties to Russia felt stronger in this moment, as she crept toward the house. And it would be easy, to make sure the Host was caught in the crossfire. Zerena’s charm didn’t have to extend to him.

  Surely a quick death was a better fate than the alternative.

  Tanya looked at the house. She could hear Nadia breathing beside her.

  “Let’s move,” she said.

  She darted forward, her shoulders hunched, her muscles tight with anxiety. The other operatives skittered over the cold cement. Was Nadia following? Did it matter?

  Tanya stopped at the door. Lifted her gun. The operatives fanned out behind her—and then Nadia was at her side, smiling bitterly, her gun up.

  “You won’t get away from me that easily, Tanushka,” she murmured.

  Tanya nodded at the largest of the operatives, Ilia, and he returned the nod, acknowledging, then stepped forward and kicked the door in.

  The world exploded into noise and light.

  Tanya ran inside. Her heart beat so fast she could only hear the blood in her ears, a sound like the ocean. Nothing else. She didn’t hear the Americans screaming in English as they swarmed into the hallway, three of them, all carrying M16s. She didn’t hear the rattle of bullets. She didn’t hear Nadia laughing as she fired her weapon and ducked into a darkened room on Tanya’s left. She didn’t hear the blast of her own pistol, only felt it, the way it jerked her arms back over her head.

  The Americans had terrible aim. Their bullets shredded the wall behind her but she was able to drop to the floor and roll out of the way, firing off shots as she did so. One of the operatives, Sergei—a kid, really, just out of school—slammed hard onto the floor beside her. His eyes were glassy and blank.

  The sight of those empty eyes filled Tanya with a sudden, all-encompassing rage. Damn you, Sasha. She slid up along the wall and fired at the Americans until her clip ran out and the Americans, all of three of them, were lying in a tangle on the blood-soaked floor. The third operative, Yuri, was slumped in a corner, bleeding from his stomach. Ilia and Nadia were gone—vanished into the back of the house, and Tanya could hear shouting, feet pounding overhead.

  The Host. She had to find the Host.


  She skirted around the edge of the room, avoiding the bodies splayed out on the floor, and knelt beside Yuri. He peered up at her, blood glistening on his lips, and smiled.

  “You’re a lucky one,” he mumbled. “Their bullets didn’t even graze you.”

  Tanya suddenly felt the weight of Zerena’s charm pressing against her ribcage.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “Lucky. You need to get out. Find help for your wounds. Nadia and Ilia and I can find the defector.”

  Yuri coughed. Blood gushed from the hole in his stomach. Tanya wasn’t sure he could even walk.

  “Find help,” she said, feeling hopeless, and then she stood up and reloaded her gun before she followed the sounds of the shouts she had heard earlier. The house was silent again: a bad sign. Nadia could be dead. The Host could be gone, all this madness for nothing.

  Before she got to the stairs, a figure darted out of one of the darkened doorways and raced down the hallway.

  “Stop!” Tanya shouted in English, and then she followed, careening around the hallway corner, ready to fire. A door slammed. Tanya ran up to it, wriggled the handle. Locked. She pointed her gun, turned her head away, fired—

  Something slammed into her, flinging her into the far wall. Her vision flashed black and white. She fired again, wildly.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” A hand was on her throat; the voice was rough in her ear. She struggled against the grip, and it took her a moment to realize that her assailant spoke Russian, his American accent turning the vowels to mush. “Are you Reds crazy? You think this is actually going to work?”

  He flung her to the floor. Tanya rolled onto her back and fired her gun. There was a flash of light and a sudden eruption of noise, like a thunderstorm. Her assailant dropped to the floor, blood pooling over the floorboards. Tanya got shakily to her feet. She had shot him in the forehead and now she couldn’t see his face, only a black mess of blood and bone, and she didn’t know who it was. She jogged back over to the door, pulled on the handle. It fell off in her hand and the door swung open, revealing a long line of stairs plummeting into the earth. A single bare light bulb burned down below, the string still swinging back and forth.