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

  “You can loop around, cut him off there. I think we’ll go the aggressive route.” Tanya tapped the tourist’s camera dangling around Nadia’s neck. “I’ll come from behind, pin him in. That dead end about three blocks over should do nicely.”

  “Intimidation? I was hoping for the long game.”

  Tanya grinned at her. It felt good to be working side by side like this—easing away whatever uncertainty had simmered between them the other day. She didn’t like to think Nadia was keeping secrets from her. But working together now, casually picking apart would-be spies, it was easy to conclude that she’d been overreacting.

  “We’ll take the photos, collect his stolen documents, and send him on his way. Let him sweat a few weeks, spend them looking over his shoulder for the StB. Then we’ll decide what to do next,” Tanya said.

  “As you say. See you in five, then.” Nadia flicked two fingers toward Tanya in a wave, then took off for the alley that would lead her back toward Vodičkova, cutting off the assistant.

  Tanya followed the long way, along Vodičkova, humming to herself. The assistant was a block and a half ahead of her, idly chewing on a pastry from a brown paper bag as he strolled and swinging his briefcase with the careless confidence of someone certain he is getting away with something.

  She smiled. They always thought that at first. Someone got a taste of being a spy, tasked by their handlers with collecting some obscure piece of paperwork, and suddenly they believed themselves to be James Bond. Tanya couldn’t care less whether the paperwork actually made it to his MI6 handler or not; all she wanted was to know what exactly he’d stolen on MI6’s behalf. That was far more useful knowledge.

  And disrupting another Western operation, turning one of their assets into a paranoid, twitchy mess, putting MI6 back on the defensive … that possibility tasted sweet as ice wine in summer.

  Nadia emerged from the alleyway, half a block ahead of the assistant, and checked her watch with a heavy sigh. “Hey! Comrade!” She waved to the assistant. “Do you have a bus schedule? Mine must be outdated.”

  Tanya picked up her pace; Nadia angled herself to box the assistant in. Behind him, Tanya. In front of him, Nadia. To his left, a crowd of elderly Czech women waiting for the bus. To his right, a building. Credit where it was due—the assistant must have caught the whiff of Russian in Nadia’s Czech, because he immediately turned from her to run.

  “Hello, comrade.” Tanya bared her teeth at him in something that could only generously be called a grin.

  He pulled the briefcase toward his chest, still clutching the pastry. “What do you want?”

  “Just a few words. Come.” Tanya jerked her head toward the alley. “There’s no need for this to be a scene.”

  “But if you choose to make it one …” Nadia said.

  The assistant’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. Tanya reached for his arm; he didn’t fight back. “All right. Fine.”

  They dragged him into the alley, scarcely wide enough for them to stand abreast, and Tanya beckoned for him to hand over the briefcase. He shoved it at her with a scowl, then tore off a hunk of pastry with his teeth. Tanya popped the briefcase open—he hadn’t even bothered to lock it—and began to leaf through the documents.

  “Expenditure outlays, travel plans … My, my, what a busy man you’ve been.” As Tanya leafed through the documents, Nadia snapped pictures, keeping Tanya in profile as she angled the documents toward Nadia with the assistant’s face in the frame. “This must be quite helpful to your British friends in determining when and how they can corner your boss for a pitch.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the assistant grumbled, his cheeks stuffed. “I am simply carrying documents for my boss—”

  “Don’t lie to us.” Tanya snapped a manila folder against the corner of the briefcase. “No one is foolish enough to carry all this information together by accident. Not around here. And if they are, they deserve to be kicked out of government service.”

  The assistant said nothing.

  “Begin talking.” Tanya gripped him by the chin. “And perhaps this day can go better for you than it will otherwise.”

  With a mouthful of food, he sneered at her and said, “Don’t threaten me, děvče. I’ve lived through far worse than you and your thugs.”

  Tanya narrowed her eyes, the last dregs of her patience spent. She crooked her fingers at her sides, where the assistant couldn’t see, and uttered an ancient word.

  A spark of gold. Just like when Zerena had uttered it, turning her bitter coffee into a sumptuous roast. But Tanya breathed in as she spoke it.

  And it turned the food in the man’s mouth to rot and decay.

  He doubled over, gagging and choking, spitting the pastry on the ground. Nadia’s eyes went wide; for a moment she released her hold on the assistant to stare openly at Tanya. But she quickly recovered and scooped him off the ground, just as the rest of his lunch came up to dribble down his chin and onto his nice new loafers.

  The look she shot Tanya was one of unmasked rage, with notes of we’ll discuss this later.

  “Now,” Tanya said, “about these papers.”

  • • •

  “What,” Nadia asked, slamming the door to her apartment, “the hell was that?”

  “He needed to take us seriously,” Tanya said. “So I gave him good reason to.”

  Nadia yanked a bottle of vodka from her freezer and poured herself a glass. She did not extend the offer to Tanya. “You used magic in front of a mark.”

  “You’ve done it before, yourself.” Tanya frowned.

  “And not only that, you used unsanctioned magic. Vulgar magic. Magic without elemental roots, drawn straight out of the air.” Nadia tossed back a swallow of vodka. “I could report you to the Consortium for even thinking to use such a spell, much less actually going through with it.”

  “But Nadia—”

  “It is simply not done.”

  Tanya sank into a chair at the kitchen table. Was it really so dire as Nadia claimed? Yes, the Ice relied on spells and rituals that grounded themselves in the thirty-six elements. To leave herself to the whim of any power drifting through the air, the power in the magic words, was to invite chaos and instability. The Flame dealt in such things.

  And yet it had been so minor. She’d needed to improvise, was all. Why should she feel guilty for this, a single offense? It had been there in the back of her mind, waiting to be used, and she’d had no other charms on hand that would get the job done.

  A spy used what was available.

  Nadia pressed the cool glass against her forehead and closed her eyes. “Where,” she asked, “did you even learn such a thing?”

  Tanya waited too long to answer. “Zerena Pulnoc.”

  Nadia swore thoroughly enough to curl a sailor’s toes and then took another swallow. “Is this the little game you’ve been playing since you returned from Moscow? Is this how you keep Sasha from slitting your throat, when he knows exactly what you are, exactly how determined you are to stop him?”

  I’m not the only one playing games and keeping secrets around here, Tanya thought, but she kept her jaw clamped on that. Instead, she said, “We are using one another, and if it keeps me safe and gives us information on the Flame’s movements, then what of it?”

  “Gives us information? What information has it given you? I’ve not heard any of it. Are you sharing it with Winthrop? Who else?”

  Tanya swallowed.

  “—With Pritchard. Of course.” Nadia swore again. “He may have helped us once, but he is not Ice, Tanushka. You cannot forget that.”

  Tanya gripped the table’s edge. “He thinks he encountered a Host the other night. Short, dark hair—she knew what he was. And there was something off about her—his elemental didn’t see her at all. Like she wasn’t even there. Like there was a magical dead zone.”

  Nadia paused, glass partly to her lips, then set it aside. “He thinks there was.”

  “If someone is able
to—” Tanya stopped. To make charms die. To block magic. Like Nadia’s mystery guest had, when she walked right past Tanya’s hiding spot. Her stomach churned. “I—I … just worry,” she stammered. “That someone could have that kind of power.’

  Nadia’s face went blank as stone. She drummed her nails against the side of her glass, then folded her arms. “Well, I hope he reported it to Winthrop. It is a matter for our superiors now.”

  Tanya’s mind turned it over and over—the possibility that Nadia’s guest and this mystery Host could be the same person. But she fired back, “And just like that, you’ll roll over and show your belly to an officer of the MI6?”

  “He is the most senior member of the Ice in Prague,” Nadia replied, laying each word out as carefully as a poker hand. “That is all that matters here. If we cannot trust in the Ice, then we throw all hope of order out the window.”

  Tanya’s anger prickled, a thorny thing. “You think I don’t know this?”

  Nadia regarded her coolly. “I think you believe you are doing the right thing. The devil you know, and all that. But you are not prepared for an operator like Pulnoc. She’ll get what she wants from you, whether you know she’s done it or not.”

  “And if what she wants benefits the Ice?” Tanya asked. “It’s no secret she and Sasha are at odds. It makes her careless.”

  Nadia shrugged. “What has she given you, aside from a dangerous bit of spellcraft?”

  Tanya hesitated. Nadia was keeping plenty of secrets of her own. Maybe she didn’t know what the woman was, though that was its own kind of recklessness. But Nadia was right; they were in this together, for better or worse. The alternative was no choice at all.

  “She asked me to keep records on Sasha’s dealings. I think she may be trying to build a case against him to present to the Politburo.” Tanya bit her lower lip. “It’s a dangerous game, I know, but it speaks to some kind of rift brewing within the Flame. If this new leader really is in town, like Pritchard claims, then she could be looking to make a big gesture.”

  “But, as you said, it is a dangerous game. One that could threaten your career as well as the Ice.”

  Tanya sighed. “I know this. I’m not saying I’ll do it. But isn’t it good to know there’s trouble in their ranks? We could use that, couldn’t we?”

  “I just want you to be safe,” Nadia replied.

  Something within Tanya finally snapped. “You are worried about my safety? And what of yours? Do you have any idea what games you’re playing?”

  Nadia blinked as though confused, but Tanya knew better.

  “Whoever this new girl is you’re seeing.” As Nadia unfolded her arms to retort, Tanya raised a palm to stall her. “Please—don’t deny it. I saw her.”

  Nadia clenched her jaw. “Very well. What about her?”

  “There’s something—something not right about her. She affected my charms—same as this person Gabe claims he met. If she’s the same person—”

  Nadia sighed. “Oh, for God’s sake. She’s a witch of some sort. I know that much. But I can’t imagine she’s powerful enough to be some sort of crazed vigilante like you’re describing.”

  “Ah,” Tanya said, unable to conceal the venom in her tone. “But you are competent enough to play games with her.”

  Nadia gave her a wounded look. “I’m not only around her to play games.”

  “But you are playing them, aren’t you?” Tanya asked. “You’re trying to suss out her allegiances. You’re planning to recruit her to the Ice, regardless of who or what she turns out to be.”

  “What of it if I am? It isn’t your concern.”

  Tanya’s anger had ceased burning; now it settled around her like a clammy film. “I didn’t have to tell you about Zerena. And you’ve had plenty of chances to tell me about this other witch.”

  “If you hadn’t told me about Zerena,” Nadia said, “it might have been very troubling for you to be seen with her. The Ice would find it most concerning—”

  “For me to be seen with the Soviet ambassador’s wife? Please explain how that reflects poorly on me. Your witch, on the other hand—especially if you’re not reporting contact with her—”

  “I will handle her how I see fit. As is my prerogative.” Nadia dumped the rest of her vodka in the sink and began aggressively rinsing out the glass. “You have more experience running agents. I have more experience dealing with these matters.”

  “We both risk getting burned,” Tanya said.

  Nadia grimaced. “Then I suppose it’s a risk we’ll both have to take.”

  • • •

  The thing about the KGB was that they were much easier to find when you didn’t wish to find them.

  Kazimir knew it was not merely fire he was playing with; it was napalm, sticky and impossible to scrub away before it combusted. But he could not let that priggish Brit think he commanded Kazimir and his men. A little counterbalance was just the thing to do the trick.

  Finally, he spotted the man he sought entering the lounge and sliding into his usual seat. Ordering a neat glass of sake. Of course they would serve exotic nonsense here. This establishment was too stuffy, too full of apparatchiks for Kazimir’s taste. But occasionally one had to make do.

  Kazimir approached, keeping his face as much behind the glaring pendulum light fixture as he could. “Do you wish to see an angliiskii shpion sweat?”

  Aleksander Komyetski looked up at him with a bemused expression. “And what would I want with some MI6 fool?”

  “That’s your business, not mine.” Kazimir folded his arms. “Do you want it, or not?”

  “What’s it worth to you?” Komyetski countered.

  “A little latitude.” Kazimir shrugged. “But you can see for yourself if it’s worth the trouble or not.”

  “Latitude. Very funny, that you think this is a thing I can grant.” Komyetski looked him over. “Very well, I’m not opposed to the idea.”

  “Boxing match. Warehouse district. Two nights from now.”

  “That doesn’t sound very official,” Komyetski said.

  “So it doesn’t.” Kazimir shrugged. “Doesn’t stop him and his friends from going, though.”

  Komyetski leaned back in his chair, considering, while Kazimir did his best to keep the light’s glare between his shadowed face and Komyetski’s. “You know for a fact he’ll be there.”

  Kazimir hesitated. “I know for a fact he will hear about it.” With a sly grin, he added, “All it takes is a good rumor to make the roaches scurry. He thinks it a safe venue. Might be wise to show him otherwise.” And that Alestair wasn’t the only one with power in their arrangement.

  “Very well. Perhaps it would do the man some good. Perhaps not.” He raised his glass as if in toast. “We’ll see what it’s worth.”

  • • •

  Frank Drummond was too old for this shit.

  It had been more than a decade since he’d done fieldwork, really honest fieldwork, and he hadn’t missed it a bit. God, it had all taken so much effort—scoping out his target’s haunts, identifying one with a two-story café across the street from it, and then dragging his sorry ass up to the second floor. Finding a way to position himself so he couldn’t be seen from the street, but also didn’t look odd to the other patrons.

  Fortunately, there weren’t too many of those. Small mercies. He took a sip of his coffee—bitter and acidic; one sympathized—and kept the entrance to the bar in the corner of his eye. Pritchard was only a regular at the joint inasmuch as any halfway competent operative was a regular anywhere, but he’d seen the bar’s name turn up in enough reports to raise his eyebrows. And then there was the proprietor and her history in Cairo. She’d reacted to the implication that her connection to Gabe and her connection to Cairo were related—that much had been clear.

  So why hadn’t she figured into any of the reports? And what had compelled her to follow Pritchard all the way to this frosty Slavic shithole? It couldn’t be coincidence. Frank didn’t believe in thos
e. But he had also tugged on enough threads to know they weren’t always tied together in the way he thought they were.

  “Interesting view,” a woman drawled behind him.

  Frank swiveled on his stool to find Edith standing over him, clutching her own cup of coffee and a plate of unappetizing bread slices. He jerked backward, prosthetic leg dragging along the tiles, but she set her tray down in front of him and assessed him with a Look.

  “Please. Don’t give me any lectures about how it isn’t what I think.” She sat down and took a bite of her bread, chewing it with all the zeal of chewing wet cement, and grimaced. “Goodness, but that’s dreadful.”

  Frank reached down and adjusted his leg back out to the side. “Fine. I won’t insult you like that.”

  “Glad to hear it.” She shoved the bread aside and blew across the surface of her coffee.

  “But I will ask you if you’re here doing the same damn thing.”

  Edith laughed—a polite sound, but genuine all the same. “Of course I am. It’s my job.”

  Frank opened his mouth.

  “—and not yours. Whether you miss the field or not.”

  Frank sighed. “Fine. But I’m not going to sit by, either, when there’s something under my nose that I could prevent.”

  Edith arched one perfect eyebrow. “And what, pray tell, do you think that might be?”

  “That’s just it. I have no clue. All I know is something stinks. Every time I think I’ve found the source, it starts up all over again.”

  He looked cautiously around the second floor of the café, but they were alone; the streets outside were painted a dusky blue. And still no signs of Pritchard or any other suspicious sorts going into or out of the Vodnář.

  “I honestly don’t know what to think, either,” Edith confided wearily. She looked almost as tired as Frank felt, now that her guard was down. “It’s abundantly clear that there’s something strange going on in this office. In this whole damned city, really.” She dropped her voice. “I was expecting to find a mole, wrap it all up neatly with a bow, and go home. Instead, all I find are tunnels and more tunnels, leading nowhere.”