Mitsuru grunted, watching the guards smoke, wishing she could spot the third man who was supposedly out there somewhere.
Analytics had reviewed Etheric activity in the area for the last year. Analytics weren’t sure how a Witch’s workings functioned, but when they were used, they created ripples in the Ether of a type that was similar in nature but distinct in form from an Operator’s protocols. The review turned up incidences resembling such activity in the area, but it was minimal and sporadic. Hardly the proof Mitsuru was looking for.
“You want more, that’s your problem, Auditor. My cartel has gone well beyond its obligation to assist an Audit.”
“You have done a great deal to assist with this Audit,” Mitsuru agreed, focusing on the old wooden house’s windows one at a time, hoping to catch a glimpse of something definitive – a beautiful woman with crystals woven into her hair, for example. “But I’ve seen some other interesting things while in-country. If I don’t feel that I have received sufficient support from the local cartels, then it might prove necessary to look into something besides local Witches.”
Davit spat loose tobacco on the floorboards of the decrepit barn and muttered curses under his breath in his native blend of Georgian and Hebrew.
“What else could you want?”
“Documents. Someone bought this house. I want to know who. Someone owned the land before them. I want to know that as well. I want you to follow the money trail until you find something worth telling me.”
Davit nodded curtly, then stepped into the next room of the crumbling barn to make a phone call, barking orders in Russian to whoever was on the other end. Mitsuru didn’t need to activate her language protocol to know that Davit was giving someone hell, which was understandable. She was giving him a hard time because she was frustrated, so it was only logical that he pass on the favor to one of his subordinates.
Mitsuru checked all the windows methodically, top to bottom, front to rear, and saw nothing of note. She repeated the process, having nothing better to do, the increasing light of the morning allowing her to make out small portions of the furnished rooms behind the glass. The decor was homey and vaguely Russian in decor, and tended heavily toward local handicrafts. Nothing that would stand out, nothing out of place for the area – except for the men wandering near the entrance to the property, toting assault rifles. These days in Georgia, that wasn’t altogether uncommon either.
Bedrooms, empty. Bathrooms, empty – the slight oddity of clear glass looking in on a porcelain sink and a cracked mirror. Entryway, living room, dining room, all empty. Kitchen...
A woman was looking out the window, her neck-length dark hair worn in braids, the light catching on smoky quartz and lapis lazuli woven into her locks. She had a copper teakettle in one hand. With the other, she waved at Mitsuru, beckoning her through the lens of the Russian sniper rifle.
***
Anastasia reviewed documents on a Korean smart tablet in the back of the limousine, looking bored, while Svetlana thumbed through a book of modern photography. Timor drank half a Pilsner, shifted seats, glanced out the window, tapped his fingers on the upholstery, and envied their quiet discipline.
“Timor,” Anastasia said, sparing him a quick glance over the top of the liquid-crystal display, “do try and find something to occupy yourself.”
“Yes, Ana.”
He stared out the window, shuffled his feet, peeled the label from the warming bottle.
“Very well,” Anastasia said, putting aside the tablet with a sigh. “What troubles you, beloved cousin?”
“Nothing,” Timor lied, then immediately contradicted himself. “Are you sure that this will work? The nature of my protocol is not exactly a secret, despite our efforts to purge the official records...”
“I am certain that our enemies have divined the nature of your abilities,” Anastasia said, smiling indulgently at Timor. “My plan hinges largely on that.”
“What? But I thought...”
“Naturally. And so did they. They will factor your slight anticipation into their plans, and use a method that will render it irrelevant. Similarly, the exhibition that I arranged for their benefit will convince them to act indirectly. Something other than a protocol. They will believe themselves to have divined my vulnerability. I am not relying on deception, Timor. I was simply going through the motions of subterfuge because they are expected. If I did otherwise, that in and of itself might have aroused their suspicions.”
Timor shook his head, sipped his warm beer, made a face and set it aside.
“This is all too much for me, Ana. I’m glad the burden of leadership is on your shoulders and not mine.”
“As are we all, Timor.”
“Still, if you are not relying on my precognition to protect you, then how…”
Anastasia held up a finger to her lips.
“Watch and learn, cousin. I have my ways.”
***
Alex pressed Eerie against the rounded porcelain lip of the tub, kissing the side of her neck. His chest rubbed against hers, one hand resting on the swell of her breast, tracing the perimeter of her nipple with his thumb and forefinger. They were wreathed in steam, her fingers running through damp strands of his hair. Eerie’s white skin tasted like sweet tea and Alex breathed in the scents of sandalwood and white sage. He was enamored and pleasantly dazed, his thoughts languid in contrast to the urgency of his movements.
He was overwhelmed by the steam and heat. The hand he rested on the contour of her hip was numb, and his heart pounded in his chest, a deafening rush of blood. The light was refracted and prismatic when he opened his eyes, the energy between them intoxicating, a vivid current that made his pulse race. He pulled away to catch his breath, grinning and flushed. Eerie smiled at him with half-lidded eyes, her expression unusually animated, her dilated pupils flecked with gold. Alex hesitated, staring at the glittering aura of sparkling, honey-colored light, given pause by her uncharacteristic demeanor.
“Eerie? Are you…okay?”
“Better than that,” she assured him, her voice confident and vaguely unfamiliar. “Very much so.”
“Uh, maybe we should get out. Are you sure you are feeling okay?”
She took his hand and allowed him to help her out of the tub and onto the wet cedar floor. Golden motes of light swam through the damp air around her and shone within her swollen pupils.
Eerie lay down on the floor of the bathhouse, tugged Alex down on top of her. He propped himself up with his arms, captivated by the copper-gold light and her smiling face. Her skin was so damp he didn’t notice for a moment that tears were leaking from her eyes.
“Eerie? Is something wrong?”
“No. Not at all. It’s just that I like you so much, Alex. I’ve missed you…”
He shook his head and smiled hesitantly, puzzled.
“You mean during the week?”
She shook her head, water dripping from the ends of her blue hair.
“No, Alex,” she said softly, one hand on the center of his chest, the singsong quality of her voice entirely absent. “It’s been so much longer than that for me.”
***
Audits training was extensive, and Mitsuru had been through it twice. Her trainers had included field veterans and precognitives, who had done their best to prepare her for every conceivable scenario that she might face as an Auditor. Despite the years of training, and her own considerable field experience, despite working personally with two Chief Auditors and acting as a trainer for a whole generation of future Operators, Mitsuru was completely unprepared for the situation in which she currently found herself.
A Witch was pouring her a cup of tea.
The sitting room they occupied was comfortably appointed with handmade furniture, local handicrafts, and a selection of tasteful watercolors, mainly landscapes. The china was modest but well-crafted, the tea was from Twinings of London. Along with the brass kettle and the two cups and saucers, the table was laid out with toasted scones, butt
er, honey, and slices of lemon.
Mitsuru reinforced her telepathic protection, and kept a hand near her .45, ill at ease on a goose-down cushion.
“Thank you for joining me.”
The Witch’s voice was low and resonant, nearly as lovely as her own sculpted and ageless features. She had no discernible accent, and the shortest hair of any Witch Mitsuru had seen or heard of. Mitsuru didn’t respond, quietly running an analytic protocol on the contents of her cup. As she had suspected, the contents were benign. Depending on individual feelings regarding lactose, the tea was otherwise free of toxins.
“I thought a cup of tea might be appreciated. It must have been cold, spending the night out there in that ruined old barn.”
The Witch added two sugars to her own cup. Mitsuru refused the dish with a slight shake of her head.
“I apologize for not inviting your friend – but he is, in my estimation, a rather dreadful individual.”
The Witch studied Mitsuru with her washed-out blue eyes while she buttered a scone. Mitsuru met her gaze, careful not to show any emotion. She was running a number of different psychic countermeasures, alert for the slightest attempt at telepathic or empathic manipulation, but all the indicators remained flat.
“You are the Auditor known as Mitsuru Aoki, are you not? You must forgive me for having the advantage, in that sense. I do not have a name as you would understand it. You may call me Yaga, though, if it makes you feel more comfortable.”
Mitsuru wanted to run the Inquisition Protocol, but her implant was overtaxed as it was – and since the Inquisition Protocol operated by analyzing a combination of telepathic and physiological factors, there was no guarantee it would work on a Witch. She would simply have to trust her instincts to judge the Witch’s veracity.
“You are Japanese, yes? I have never had the opportunity to travel to the East. I have been led to believe that reticence is part of your national character. Is that the case with you, Auditor Aoki?”
Mitsuru shrugged.
“I’m Japanese-American, so I can’t speak for the Japanese national character. In the current circumstances, it might have more to do with the company.”
The Witch laughed pleasantly while she stirred her tea.
“I see. While I may be in the minority, I feel it is a pity that our respective kinds have perpetually been at odds. Given that Operators are as close to peers as this rather pitiful world has produced, it seems a shame that we cannot enjoy more cordial relations.”
Tea was tempting after thirty-six hours in a drafty barn, sleeping on the ground and drinking instant coffee brewed on a camp stove. It would have been second on her list, after a hot shower. But Mitsuru held firm, more from principle than suspicion. Whatever the Witch had in mind, she was fairly certain that poisoning her was not on the agenda.
“I suggest, then, that you do not allow this opportunity to pass you by.”
The Witch nodded while she drizzled honey from a lovely green glass antique bottle on the scone.
“Fair enough. May I ask what I have done to draw the attention of your organization, Auditor Aoki?”
“You may ask. I will not provide you with an answer, however.”
“I see,” the Witch answered, taking a bite from the scone. Mitsuru had never heard of a Witch eating – she knew that they did not require food as sustenance – but it followed that they would be able to do so, since they often passed as human for centuries. “Allow me to hazard a guess, then. It has something to do with weapons that my co-opted sisters provided, in all likelihood to the branch of your own people that I believe you refer to as the Anathema.”
Mitsuru did not respond, she did not allow herself even the slightest movement or expression, for fear of what it might reveal. She was not sure what was safe to tell the Witch, so she had decided to default to nothing, if it all possible. The Witch watched her with amused and knowing eyes as she munched her scone. What she had said was too intriguing for Mitsuru to let it pass entirely.
“What do you mean, co-opted?”
The Witch dabbed her painted crimson lips with a napkin politely before continuing.
“Exactly that. The Witches at the head of the weapons-smuggling ring that you are investigating are under the control of an outside force, which dictates the nature and extent of their activities. This situation, while we are on the subject, is far from unique. The same thing is occurring amongst my sisters the world over.”
“Assuming that what you say is true,” Mitsuru said guardedly, “then what is this ‘outside force’?”
“Are you certain won’t have tea?” The Witch’s beautiful face oozed congeniality. “I could make coffee instead, if you prefer.”
Mitsuru shook her head.
“Very well. I would assume that you know them better than I,” the Witch said, with a smile that in any other circumstances could have easily been called bewitching. “I believe you call them the Anathema.”
Mitsuru tried to absorb the information without reacting, without giving the Witch anything to work with. She had no idea what Yaga’s intentions were, no way to judge her truthfulness; but Mitsuru had no intention of letting her guard down, even if she was utterly benevolent.
“What do you mean?”
“The Anathema,” the Witch said pleasantly, sipping her tea. “The Operators who reside in the Outer Dark. Their leader is John Parson, formerly among your ranks.”
While she was hesitant to believe anything a Witch told her, it did make sense. There had been Witches and Weir among the Anathema troops when they attacked Central. The running theory was that some form of alliance had been made between the two factions, in the light of their mutual interest in harming Central. If this was not the case, then much of the work Analytics had done since the attack was based on false assumptions.
“It seems to me,” Mitsuru offered cautiously, aware that she was on dangerous ground, “that your interests and those of the Anathema would frequently align.”
“I hope you will not think me rude when I say that this simply shows how poorly you understand our interests,” the Witch said, her perfect lips formed into a gentle smile. “Humans have an expression, ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’, yes? Well, we do not subscribe to this notion. However dramatic the differences between yourselves and the Anathema may be from your perspective, from our own, they are insignificant. We view you as largely one and the same.”
“Then why are we having this conversation?”
“I am something of an anomaly among my peers,” the Witch explained. “That is one reason. The other is a trifle more embarrassing to admit. I have recently conducted a review of our affairs across the globe, and discovered that the Anathema have subverted a vast number of my sisters, far more than I suspected. Our situation has become unexpectedly dire, so I find myself considering the possibilities of new and radical strategies.”
“Such as, ‘The enemy of my enemy’...”
“My kind is not capable of friendship,” the Witch assured her. “Do at least try the scones. The honey is locally produced, and quite excellent.”
“Again, why are we having this conversation?”
“While an alliance is impossible, the notion of having one of our enemies serve us is not. Your war with the Anathema is fundamentally a civil war, one that weakens you regardless of the outcome. Moreover, it appears that we have a vested interest in seeing one side prevail, as we find ourselves in an untenable position. Offering aid to you in an endeavor that will inevitably weaken you, while potentially eliminating an existential threat, is a very viable possibility.”
Mitsuru felt anger and suppressed it. She would not be goaded into revealing any more to this creature than was strictly necessary – nor would she pass up the opportunity to extract whatever information was available.
“I believe I understand your position,” Mitsuru said flatly. “What ‘aid’ can you offer?”
The Witch clapped her hands with what looked like joy, and Mitsuru had t
o remind herself that Rebecca believed their race to be incapable of true emotion. What she was watching was a display of copied mannerisms learned through decades of human interaction, designed to put her at ease and create a false sense of familiarity.
Mitsuru very much hoped that Rebecca was correct.
“The Witches that you are seeking fled the area several weeks ago. Whether in advance of my arrival, or of your own, I am unsure. You understand from interrogating my captured Witches that we share a certain level of consciousness, yes? The renegades amongst us, those subverted by the Anathema, have been severed from this coexistence, to a degree. The degree of separation, however, is less than they believe it to be.” The Witch wiped her thin fingers and exquisitely maintained nails with the cloth napkin, then reached into a concealed pocket in the patterned dress she wore. She slid a folded piece of handmade paper partway across the table, leaving it within easy reach for Mitsuru. “This is where they have relocated. It is in Kiev, at a location we believe to be an Anathema stronghold. You may do what you wish with this information.”
Mitsuru pocketed the paper without examining it. That was a job for Analytics.
“And?”
The Witch smiled again.
“As I said, you are free to do what you like. If, however, you choose to eliminate our wayward sisters, we will know it. Should you choose to embark on this course of action – and I must emphasize that this means their deaths, not their captivity – then I will find you. I will provide you with further information. Additional locations, Anathema operations, and strategies – information that will provide you with an advantage in your conflict. Should you decide to do otherwise, if you return to this house, you will find it abandoned. I will disappear, and no further offers of aid will be forthcoming. Now, then, before you go,” the Witch said, leaning forward solicitously, “are you certain that you won’t have some tea?”
The Far Shores (The Central Series) Page 22
