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

  It also gave her a good view of Gabe and Alestair. With them was Joshua Toms, unsurprisingly, and a woman Tanya didn’t recognize. Sturdy but not dowdy, elegant but not extravagant like Zerena, and watching the room with a half-hidden smirk that suggested a deep vein of arrogance. Another American, then. But who was she? She and Gabe certainly seemed comfortable with one another.

  Tanya started working the room, rebounding from each interaction in a pseudorandom walk toward Gabe. He was also watching the ambassador’s path, so when she crossed Zerena’s wake he looked straight at her. Immediately, he scratched the bridge of his nose then looked at his wristwatch.

  Wave off. Do not approach.

  By way of meager explanation, he gestured at his new friend in the guise of introducing her to the Romanian cultural attaché. Tanya was too far away to hear what he said. Who was she?

  Very well. She’d find out sooner or later. Gabe couldn’t brush her off forever. Failing that, she’d get answers from Alestair, perhaps via Nadia, if need be.

  “Tanushka!”

  The voice was familiar, the use of her diminutive overly so. But Tanya banished her incipient scowl, adopted what she hoped was a plausible smile, and turned. Zerena beamed at her, arm twined around her husband’s elbow like a shepherd’s crook. Tanya couldn’t recall offhand the last time she’d seen the ambassador, but life since certainly appeared to agree with him. Cold War diplomacy in the shadow of mutually assured destruction tended to prematurely age those at the higher echelons of the game, but Pulnoc showed just a minor graying at the temples. His eyes were bright and lively, too, for somebody who frequently worked such long hours that he rarely made his wife’s gatherings.

  After the introductions and requisite niceties, Tanya said to Zerena, “I have a gift for you.” With a quick glance at the ambassador, she added, “A token of appreciation for hosting so many evenings.”

  Zerena accepted the locket with profuse gratitude, knowing full well that it was merely a cheap wrapper. The trinket contained a tuft of wool shorn from a lamb born on Easter morning, stained red with the blood of a roan bull slaughtered with a silver blade. A unique item from Jordan’s special inventory, and one that had cost Tanya both in cash and the promise of favors yet uncollected.

  The ambassador’s wife lamented her lack of pockets or clutch. “I’ll have this put in a safe place,” Zerena said, waving down a passing server.

  Tanya reeled as if slapped.

  “Be a dear and put this with my other necklaces, won’t you, Andula?”

  Andula Zlata. The university student, the Host, whose trust Tanya had painstakingly labored to earn after saving her from minions of the Flame. The girl she’d later discovered, to her horror, encased in magical stasis aboard Ice’s barge.

  But Tanya couldn’t mention any of that. Instead she smiled and said, “Have we met?”

  Andula’s glance dripped venom. It seemed a miracle Tanya wasn’t blinded, her skin left blistered and smoking. Then the girl turned from her to take the locket from Zerena with a curtsy. “Right away, ma’am.”

  Tanya excused herself and went straight to the wine, wishing it were vodka.

  Zerena had found Andula and turned her against Tanya. And now the Flame agent had her own pet Host.

  • • •

  Terzian didn’t stick around for the duration of the party. Gabe made his excuses soon afterward and trailed him. Once attuned to the old man’s cane, the hitchhiker made an excellent bloodhound.

  They weren’t the only two wandering the embassy district at this time of night. Somebody followed Gabe just as he followed the old man. Well, not exactly; Gabe had tradecraft and the hitchhiker on his side, which together made him nearly invisible. His follower, on the other hand, seemed to have no concept of tradecraft. He glimpsed the cloaked figure twice, darting from one pool of shadow to the next. Sometimes his stalker got so close he could hear shoes creak. Definitely not a professional. He could worry about it after tracking Terzian to his lair.

  Which, unsurprisingly, was not in one of the usual khrushchyovka blocks. The building Terzian entered was an architectural remnant of the Habsburg days, like a layer cake baked from brick and steel and glass. The roof of the tobacconist across the way afforded Gabe a clean view of the main entrance. He hunkered down behind the parapet. A cold vigil in formal clothes.

  But, then, he didn’t have to wait very long. Metal clanged as his inexpert follower clambered up the fire escape. A nearly full moon gave him his first good look at her silhouette, which was smaller than he’d expected, given the noise she could make. Her diminutive frame belied the strange solidity of her presence. He’d never met anybody so carelessly self-confident.

  “You might as well tell me who you are and why you’re following me,” he said. “No offense, but you’re not very good at it.”

  “If I were as bad as you say,” she said, leaning casually against the parapet with legs crossed as if she were chatting with somebody in a bar, “you’d be alone now.”

  “You’re obviously on your own and out of your depth. That can be a dangerous place.” Shadows hid her face, but the dismissive snort implied a smirk or scowl. He continued, “And now, having done my moral duty by dispensing friendly advice to somebody who obviously needs it, I’m still wondering who you are and why you’re following me.”

  “Oh, I’m just a tourist getting acquainted with the city. Its sights, its scents. And yours, Quicksilver, might be the most intriguing I’ve ever encountered.”

  Gabe flinched. The hitchhiker, an elemental spirit, had become partially wedged inside him during a botched Flame ritual in Cairo. And, like all elemental spirits, it had a supernatural affinity for a particular alchemical element. In this case, mercury. Quicksilver.

  He could count on one hand the number of people who knew this. “What did you call me?”

  “Oh, so you do know. How interesting.”

  Jordan’s words—and the sight of her knuckles, bone-white with an anxiety she’d tried but failed to hide—came back to him now. There’s somebody new in town. Don’t know who she is, but she’s to be taken seriously… She’s a strong magician. Very strong.

  Gabe nudged the hitchhiker again. Then added a shove for good measure. Get your lazy ass out of bed and do your job. It snapped at him, momentarily filling his head with ethereal white noise, the chatter of a trillion intangible teeth, but its awareness made a circuit of the rooftop and, like a housecat finding no mice in the vicinity, promptly went back to sleep. If this lady was Jordan’s magician, the hitchhiker either couldn’t tell or couldn’t care less.

  “You visited Bar Vodnář recently, didn’t you? You made an impression on Jordan.”

  “Jordan?” The silhouetted figure cocked her head, as if trying to place the name, then straightened. “Oh. The bartender. Now, why would she bother to mention our little conversation?” She waved a finger, as if scolding a naughty child. “I get it. She knows about you, too, doesn’t she, Quicksilver? So she warned you about me.”

  “She’s a friend. What did you do to her?”

  The figure paused again, cocking her head and sniffing the air, her manner turning almost feline. “Self-aware, but not actualized. And you have a trusted circle.”

  He could feel the intensity of her gaze as she assessed him. The hitchhiker didn’t stir, didn’t stretch, didn’t bat an ephemeral eyelash. Nevertheless, her scrutiny was unsettling. “Who are you?”

  She gave him a little salute. “I’ve got what I need for now. See you around.”

  Then she straightened, stretched her legs, and fell backward over the parapet. Gabe yelped, leapt to his feet, and raced to the spot where she’d slouched just seconds earlier. He peered over the edge, dreading a tragic mess on the moonlit cobbles below.

  She was gone.

  The Witch Who Came In From The Cold

  Season 2, Episode 4

  Earth and Salt, Fire and Mercury

  Cassandra Rose Clarke

  Prague, Czechoslov
ak Socialist Republic

  April 11, 1970

  1.

  The sunset splashed lurid oranges and pinks across the sky, casting the buildings of Prague into silhouette. The days were finally starting to get longer, and Tanya was grateful to be outside. The cool air cleared her head after a long, frustrating day. Sasha had her jumpy; she could sense him moving through the offices like a shark, eyeing her, waiting for her to make a false move. An ominous stack of paperwork had materialized on her desk over lunch, and she’d spent most of the afternoon hunched over her typewriter, filling out forms and scrawling her signature until her wrist ached.

  The walk home offered a chance to clear her thoughts, to think through this precarious position she found herself in. Sasha on one side, Zerena on the other. Flame all around.

  She wished she could talk to her grandfather.

  As she passed under an arch of leafing trees, a jolt of energy erupted through the city, igniting all the molecules in the air. Tanya tensed, reached for a gun that wasn’t there, scanned the street for hostiles. Her first thought was bomb. But no, it wasn’t a bomb.

  She was nearly to the Charles Bridge, which meant she was standing near one of Prague’s convergent ley lines. She didn’t usually pay them much attention unless she was casting a spell, but tonight the ley line thrummed, demanding her attention. She raced to the bridge and then, once she felt the pulse of magic beneath her feet, turned in place, trying to get a sense of the direction of the spellwork. It had to be Flame. They were casting something big. Why else would she feel that river of energy bubbling up under her feet? Only big magic could activate the ley lines like that.

  And then she heard the distant wail of sirens, wafting over the city from the east. If this was a Flame ritual, what the hell did it mean that the police were involved?

  No. She raced from the bridge and took off down the street, following the sound of the sirens. The sun had dropped below the buildings, and the streetlamps were turning on, one at a time. Tanya passed beneath puddles of yellow light, her breath coming quick and short. She turned a corner onto a busier street. A wider street, with a better view of the skyline.

  A blue-orange glow rose off the tops of the buildings. The sunset? No. Fire. Elemental fire.

  Tanya was farther from the ley line now but she could still feel its energy rattling beneath the earth. The sirens screamed. Distant flames licked at the sky.

  They should have known this would happen. First the attack on the barge, and then the arrival of that powerful new Flame sorcerer. She had to stop this.

  Tanya threw out her arm and shouted at one of the taxicabs cruising up and down the street. The taxi slid over to the curb, and Tanya ran over to it and threw the door open.

  “The fire,” she gasped. “I need you to take me where the fire is.”

  “What?” The driver peered at her suspiciously in the rearview mirror.

  “Something’s burning!” she cried. “Up ahead. I need you to take me there.” She drew a deep breath. She knew she sounded like a madwoman. “I think it might be my house. If you can just get me as close as you can—”

  “I’ll do my best.” The driver pulled away from the curb and Tanya slumped back in her seat, trying to catch her breath and calm her thoughts. She only had a single protective charm tucked away in her bag, nothing that could take on an entire ritual’s worth of Flame sorcerers. She doubted she’d even be able to get into contact with Nadia, now that Nadia was so ensconced in that assignment with the mobsters.

  The driver turned the taxi down a narrow side street. The fire was brighter here, and smoke floated into the darkening sky. A blockade was set up ahead; police lights flashed amber, glittering in the shadows.

  “This is fine,” Tanya said. “You can let me out here.” They were near another ley line; even in the car she could feel the power rioting. She dug around in her bag and shoved some money at the driver before climbing out. The smoke stung her eyes and she could taste it in the back of her throat. Bits of ash drifted through the air.

  She was in a residential area, shabby little houses crammed next to each other. She jogged up to the blockade, and when the policeman put out a hand to stop her she made a ragged, panicky noise and said, “Please! I live here! I need to get to my house before it catches—I have photographs, jewelry—”

  “Miss, it’s dangerous. We’re not letting anyone through.”

  Tanya managed to eke out a few tears. She blinked, hoped they caught in the firelight. The ley line was going crazy, surging and buzzing furiously. She needed to get past this blockade.

  “Please,” she said, pressing her palms together in prayer. The cop sighed, glanced over his shoulder.

  “Fine,” he said, and she was already pushing past him, toward the heat. “But don’t do anything stupid—leave the fire to the firefighters.”

  She could hear the fire roaring up ahead. She was running on the ley line—she could feel a constant, low vibration that set her teeth on edge. Ash dusted her hair.

  And then she came to it, the fire, burning violently—and burning blue—in the Prague dusk.

  Firefighters were already there, and a crowd of onlookers had gathered, gazing up at the fire with stricken expressions. A house was burning. Streams of water arced in the firelight. Smoke billowed up, hiding the stars. The ley line screamed, and the flames licked orange-blue at the sky. Those blue flames set Tanya’s teeth on edge. There was a whiff of magic about them.

  Tanya walked over to a woman standing a few paces away and pretended to watch the spectacle for a few seconds before speaking. “That’s quite a sight,” she said, as the glass in the windows melted and popped. “Is anyone hurt?”

  “Oh no, thank God,” the woman said. She crossed herself, the kind of superstition that would slip in at a moment like this. “The house was empty. The owners, they would come and go. No one was there tonight.”

  “That’s good,” said Tanya, but she wondered what it meant. The house was on a ley line—the Flame likely used it for rituals. But if this fire had been the Flame, had they left before it started? Was this the remnant of a ritual, the blue fire burning away the evidence of magic?

  The roof of the house collapsed, the flames shooting straight up into the sky. Sparks and embers fells to the street like meteors. The crowd gasped and surged backward; the firemen yelled at one another.

  And beneath the ground, the ley line hummed its strange, chaotic melody, a singer out of tune.

  • • •

  Gabe flipped the newspaper over and pretended to scan an article. Seemed the Beatles were breaking up.

  The hotel lobby hadn’t changed since ANCHISES. Same gaudy chandeliers, same faded velveteen chairs. You wouldn’t know that a CIA op had gone completely belly-up here only a short time ago.

  You also wouldn’t know that the famed Golem of Prague had been shoved into a furnace room in the hotel’s labyrinthine basement system. Which was why Gabe was here today. To make sure that golem had stayed put.

  He flipped the newspaper again, glanced distractedly at the ads for cigarettes and secretary schools. The note had appeared in the dead drop this morning: We have a problem. Need to check up on our old clay friend. The dead drop Gabe had set up himself, personally, after that party with the Soviet ambassador, carving a little space in the bricks over on Hrosnová Street so that he and Tanya wouldn’t have to meet in public to discuss Ice business. Alestair had passed her word about the dead drop, but Gabe doubted he’d told her about Edith and the CI investigation. The thought of both lay heavy on his mind. Even slipping out of the station early felt dangerous.

  A familiar figure strode into the lobby, her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, coat hanging open. Gabe turned his eyes back to his paper and counted in his head, giving Tanya enough time to make it to the elevator without him. Then he tossed the newspaper onto the sofa, stood, and walked over to the elevator bank himself.

  It was empty; good, she’d already descended. When the elevator ding
ed he stepped aboard and rode it down to the basement, then followed a few of the twisting, convoluted pathways leading toward the furnace. He was halfway there when he spotted Tanya waiting for him, leaning up against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest.

  “Amerikanski,” she said.

  “The one and only.”

  She rolled her eyes and fell into step beside him. They moved quickly, winding through the halls.

  “That was a smart idea,” she said suddenly. “Setting up that dead drop.”

  “Yeah. Kinda defeats the purpose though, when we meet like this anyway.” He paused. “So why exactly do you think the golem may be up from his nap?”

  “I saw something,” she said. “A burning house. And there was the fire at the barge, too. Both of them were clearly enchanted. Burning blue and driving the ley lines crazy, according to the reports.” Her voice wavered a little, and she took a deep breath. “Something intensely magical is happening in the city. I want to narrow the possible explanations. The golem is the easiest to rule out.”

  Gabe sighed. “I still don’t see why you need me here.”

  She looked sharply at him. “We’ll need to take action immediately, if it is awake,” she said. “And the golem is too dangerous to go after alone.”

  It made sense. If the golem was still dormant, they’d be in and out and could go from there. But if the golem wasn’t a pile of mud and stones, if it was wandering around the basement—well, they’d need to work together to contain it. Gabe only hoped they could do it quickly enough that it wouldn’t bring him under Edith’s suspicion. Again.

  “You remember where it was?” Tanya said. They had moved into the part of the basement that twisted in on itself, locked rooms and dead-end hallways. She glanced at him, a smile playing at the edges of her lips. “Or am I going to have to do all the work?”