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

  Josh took another drink. Longer this time, like he was sitting alongside Kazimir at the boxing ring and not Alestair at the opera.

  The lights blinked. Voices rose up from the orchestra seats. Josh couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Is something wrong?” he blurted.

  Alestair looked at him. His eyes were so blue. “Why would you say that?”

  “You aren’t talking,” Josh said, then immediately regretted it, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

  Alestair’s mouth quirked, just for a moment, into a smile. “I don’t know if I should be offended by that or not.”

  “I’m not saying—” Josh shook his head. “I just wanted to make sure this was okay. Me sitting up here with you.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  The lights dimmed and the crowd broke into polite applause. Neither Josh nor Alestair joined in.

  “I don’t know. You just seem—distant.” Distant? Josh cursed at himself.

  The curtain swept open, revealing a grand ballroom, ladies in dresses like Impressionist flowers swirling around in a dizzying waltz. Josh leaned back in his seat, regretting even bringing the matter up. Now he could barely register the singing.

  “If I’m being honest,” Alestair said, his voice pitched low, “I do have concerns.”

  Josh’s whole body went still.

  “Not about this, of course.” Alestair watched the stage, his face in shadows. “I’m delighted you were able to join me. But about your—professional choices.”

  “What?” Josh blinked in surprise. “Professional—you want to talk about that now?”

  Alestair glanced at him sideways. “I really don’t like that you’re debasing yourself down at the docks with Kazimir and his band of criminals.”

  “Debasing—” It came out too loud, and the last thing Josh wanted was for the elderly couple in the next box over to hear their conversation. “Debasing myself?” he hissed, pitching his voice lower. “What the hell? You certainly didn’t have a problem with it when I passed that package for you. You said you wanted to help me with that connection.”

  “I’ll admit I took advantage of your connection,” Alestair said. “But I still find the whole arrangement—unbecoming.”

  Josh felt a flare of anger. “It’s my job,” he said. “And yours, too, I might add.”

  On stage, Olga and Lensky argued back and forth, their voices swirling together into a crescendo. Josh’s attention, however, was fixed on Alestair, who kept calmly watching the stage as if nothing was wrong.

  The singing softened. Alestair finally spoke.

  “Your job,” Alestair said, “does not require you to involve yourself with unsavory elements.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Too loud again, especially in the calm of the music. Alestair looked at him sharply, and Josh leaned forward, not missing his opportunity. “We’re spies, Al. Of course we have to involve ourselves with—” Josh stopped. Alestair watched him with that infuriatingly implacable expression of his. “This isn’t about my work,” Josh said, realization swelling in the back of his head.

  “Of course it is.” Alestair turned back to the stage. Couples danced in wide, sweeping arcs. “You’re acting as a go-between for mobsters.” Another sideways glance. “As I said. Unbecoming.”

  “These are contacts,” Josh said furiously. “If we help them, they can help us. It’s one of the most basic tenets of our profession. For God’s sake, Alestair, you’re being such a fucking snob.”

  Now it was out in the open air, hovering between them. The truth. The season pass to the opera, the box seats, the martini—it all spoke to the larger truth. Alestair was a snob. He looked down on Kazimir. And Josh knew that meant that in some way Alestair had to look down on him, because Josh liked Kazimir. He liked Kazimir, and he liked the boxing matches, dirty and hot and loud, as much as he liked attending this staging of Eugene Onegin. He could have it both ways. Alestair couldn’t.

  The tutor finished praising Tatyana, his voice rich and sonorous, and in the applause that followed Alestair turned to Josh, his eyes gleaming.

  “I’m worried about you.” His voice was almost gentle. “If that makes me a snob, then I suppose I’ll have to accept it.”

  “Worried?” Josh blinked.

  “I like you,” Alestair said, and the words felt dangerous, even as they were masked by music and isolation, even though he whispered them barely above an exhalation of breath. “I do not want to see you hurt at the hands of—of those people.”

  Josh glowered. “Those people? They can help us. They have contacts—”

  “With other criminals,” Alestair snapped. “What do you think will be in those boxes you’re helping to transport in a few nights? Well-meaning propaganda pamphlets? It’s bad enough that you’re putting yourself in danger, but dragging your team into the mix?” He gave a tsk, then fixed his gaze back on the opera.

  “The team knows what they’re getting themselves into,” Josh said. “You really have no right to tell me how to do my job.”

  Alestair said nothing to this, but Josh thought he saw his companion’s features flicker, as if the words had hit a nerve. Good. The wailing from the singers was starting to grate.

  “I simply don’t think it’s a good idea,” Alestair said, very quietly, his gaze focused on the stage. “You are involving yourself in a situation you don’t completely understand.”

  Josh wanted out of that box, out in the crisp spring air, away from the warbling soprano on stage and away, too, from Alestair.

  “You don’t think I’m cut out to be a spy,” he said, not sure if he was angry or sad or both.

  Alestair looked at him. “I did not say that.”

  “You did.” Josh narrowed his eyes. “If you think I can’t handle myself with Kazimir and his crew, then you don’t think I can handle myself in more dangerous situations.”

  “I said,” Alestair said softly, “that you don’t understand the situation with the gangsters.”

  “And you do?”

  Alestair fell quiet—finally at loss for words, then? Or maybe he was indeed worried, on some level. But really this was about propriety. This was about him graduating from Eton and growing up in an honest-to-God mansion because some asshole in his family had a title bestowed on him eight hundred years ago. It was all bullshit.

  Josh crossed his arms over his chest and sulked down in his chair. He watched the performers on stage but the music flowed over him, and the story felt scattered and illogical, dead leaves caught up in a winter wind. His face burned and his ears buzzed, and he was acutely aware of Alestair sitting beside him. Probably chastising himself for getting involved with the likes of Josh, Josh the Jewish boy from Brooklyn, Josh who knew how to talk to mobsters because he’d learned to run from them when he was a kid. Josh, who’d had to work his way into the Ivies. Josh, who was nothing like Alestair.

  But you didn’t have to be like Alestair to be a good spy. Josh would show him that.

  • • •

  The phone jangled through Tanya’s apartment, throwing her off-balance. She’d been poring over the files from Alestair—last-minute details about the transfer of Host bodies. Thinking on them, frozen for their own protection, still made her queasy. But after the fire at the barge, she understood that Ice had to get them away. If that meant this crude method—

  So be it.

  She had hoped the caller would hang up, but they were persistent, the shrieking rings burrowing into Tanya’s skull. She shut the file with a sigh and went into the kitchen to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Tanya, dear! I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”

  Tanya froze. She recognized Zerena’s cold purr instantly these days.

  “Yes?” she said carefully. “Can I help you with something?”

  “Are you busy this evening?”

  Tanya stared down at the scatter of files. There was an undercurrent to the question, crackling like electricity. This was a question
with only one acceptable answer. If Tanya said no, Zerena would find a way to punish her for it.

  “Not really.” Her fingers curled around the edge of one of the files.

  “Oh, wonderful! I was hoping to have you over for tea.”

  “Tea,” Tanya said flatly.

  “You work too much.” Tanya could hear the cruel smile twisting through Zerena’s words. “I thought a bit of socializing would be beneficial. Help you relax.”

  This wasn’t about socializing, that much Tanya knew—but beyond that, she wasn’t sure. Her thoughts wandered back to Zerena’s promise to act as go-between for her and Gabe. And then to all the other little favors Zerena had bestowed upon her: the charms, the whispered bits of information.

  So Zerena was finally collecting payment.

  “Yes,” Tanya said. “It would be nice to relax.” The words curdled on her tongue.

  “Wonderful! I’ll see you soon.”

  Tanya hung up the phone and stared down at it, her hand still pressed against the receiver. Nadia had warned her about this, hadn’t she? Not that Tanya had needed to be warned. This, after all, had been her plan all along.

  Earn Zerena’s trust. Then exploit it.

  A few hours later, Tanya’s beat-up car was navigating the baroque streets of the town center to Zerena’s mansion, a rusty bull amid the frothy architecture. Her stomach fluttered with anxiety. It was strange coming here during the day, when the house wasn’t alight with tipsy party guests and a silent sea of hired servers. When Tanya didn’t know exactly what to expect.

  She parked a block away so she could walk and clear her head. The air was drowsy with pollen. She concentrated, trying to get a sense of any magic in the air, any surges of energy. But everything was quiet.

  She rang the bell and waited. Her heart pounded. Footsteps on the other side. Tanya told herself she could maintain control. That she had to maintain control.

  The door swung open, revealing Zerena in a beige silk dress, her shoulders bare. Jewelry glittered at her throat. “Tanya!” she beamed. “I’m so glad you decided to join me.”

  As if Tanya had decided anything. But Tanya only gave a forced smile, nodded once. “Thank you for the invitation.”

  Zerena waved her off, then stepped back from the door so Tanya could step inside. The house seemed shabbier during the day. The sunlight pouring through the windows illuminated the faded patches on the wallpaper, the scuffs on the wooden floor. “This way,” Zerena said, breezing off down the hallway. Tanya followed. She slipped her hand into the pocket of her trousers and fingered the charm she had brought with her. If Zerena tried anything, at least Tanya would have some measure of protection.

  They stepped into a room that Tanya didn’t recognize from any of the parties. A parlor, elegant furniture arranged around a table laden with Zerena’s false civility: a teapot painted with blue flowers, teacups turned upside down on a tray, bowls of sugar and milk, platters of tiny triangular sandwiches, a miniature cake. Zerena sank down into her chair and gestured for Tanya to do the same.

  “Milk, no sugar, yes?” Zerena said, pouring tea into a cup.

  “That’s fine.” Tanya perched stiffly on the edge of her seat, watching as Zerena fussed with the tea. All the food on the table looked like a store display. Too perfect, the lines too straight, the arrangement too artistic.

  “Have a watercress sandwich,” Zerena said. “My cook makes the best I’ve ever had.” She handed Tanya the teacup. “And the tea is delicious—it’s a specialty blend I had shipped here from England.”

  Tanya sipped carefully, forcibly stilling the tremble in her hands. The tea was quite good.

  Zerena plucked one of the white triangles off the platter, laid it on a tiny china plate, and handed it to Tanya, who nibbled the sandwich politely, just so Zerena would stop forcing snacks on her.

  Zerena busied herself with her own cup of tea, hands fluttering over the sugar bowl like butterflies. When she finished, she settled back in her chair and, with a sip from her cup, fixed her gaze on Tanya.

  Tanya felt as if a bolt of electricity shot straight through her.

  “How do you like it?”

  Tanya swirled the tea around, watching as it tried to scale the walls of its porcelain prison. Her shoulders were stiff with tension. “It’s good.”

  “Wonderful! And the sandwich?”

  “Also good.”

  Zerena smiled, sharp and glittering. Then she leaned forward, teacup clinking as she set it on the table. She lifted a third cup that had been sitting with the set, revealing a tangle of wire and dried yellow grasses. Tanya went stiff.

  “Don’t look so concerned,” Zerena said. “This is just to protect our conversation.”

  She poured tea into that third cup, then dropped in the charm, stirred it around. Tanya felt a bright surge of magic, as if a curtain of light had been drawn around them. The air suddenly felt stuffy and thick.

  “I don’t want anyone listening in,” Zerena said with a smile, and set the charm in the center of the table. She picked up her own cup of tea again.

  “Why am I here?” The magic seemed to squeeze the breath out of Tanya’s lungs.

  Zerena smiled. “I have a request.”

  Tanya sat very still.

  “It’s rather too—delicate to discuss in public. I wanted to ensure the utmost privacy.” Zerena lifted one hand through the thick, magic-choked air. “A wall of silence inside my home seemed the best idea.”

  “What,” Tanya said, irritation gnawing at her insides, “do you want me to do?”

  Zerena paused, watching Tanya over the lip of her teacup. “I want you to break into Sasha Komyetski’s office.”

  Tanya felt dizzy. The magic from Zerena’s shield buzzed around her. She’d known this was coming, hadn’t she? She just hadn’t expected Zerena to go so far as to ask her to commit treason against the Soviet Union.

  “I’ll make it worth your while, of course.” Zerena bit off a corner of a sandwich, as if they really were just two friends meeting for tea, as if they were discussing their husbands, their children. “I have a piece of information that you’ll find—intriguing. You and your colleagues.”

  “Colleagues.” Tanya shifted in her seat, trying to relieve the stress tension in her limbs. “Which colleagues?”

  Zerena smiled. “Not the ones who work with Sasha.”

  Zerena had information useful to the Ice. Tanya’s cheeks burned. “What kind of information?”

  Zerena held up one finger. “You can’t expect me to tell you! Really, Tanya, I would think you’d know how to play this game by now.”

  Tanya clenched her fingers in her lap. She was sure Zerena noticed but she didn’t care. “You’re asking me to commit treason,” she snapped. “So yes, I know perfectly well how to play this game.”

  Zerena considered this, tilting her head, stirring her tea. The spoon clinked against the porcelain. “Perhaps ‘intriguing’ was the wrong word,” she said, after a moment. “Perhaps I was understating the nature of this information more than I should have.”

  Tanya watched her, trying to find tells in the planes of Zerena’s face. There were none. There never were.

  “This is information your, ah, organization desperately needs,” she continued. “Information you have been looking for.” She set her teacup down and leaned forward, hair falling like a line of sunlight along the side of her face. Tanya didn’t move. “Information that will help you, tremendously, at the expense of my own—allegiances.”

  “Why?” Tanya said immediately. “Why would you sell out the Flame to help the Ice?”

  Zerena laughed and lifted her cup to her mouth. “When you spray for wasps you run the risk of killing the honeybees, too.”

  So she was still trying to take out Sasha.

  “What’s in Sasha’s office?” Tanya took a drink of her own tea, barely tasting it.

  Zerena sighed, waved one hand. “He has a file somewhere in that maze of an office. There are some papers in
it. I want those papers.”

  “What papers?” Tanya asked. Treason, yes, but to what degree? To what degree was she willing to betray her country in order to aid the Ice? That was, of course, assuming, Zerena’s information was legitimate. But Tanya found herself not doubting that part of the arrangement. All of Zerena’s favors had worked out so far. In that way, she was indeed honest.

  “Nothing terribly sensitive in the grand scheme of things,” Zerena said, settling back into her chair. She toyed with her necklace, metal and diamonds glinting in the parlor lights. “Nothing Sashenka would want out, of course, but nothing that will weaken Russia herself.”

  Tanya took a deep breath. She was aware of Zerena watching her. Waiting.

  “If I say no?” Tanya asked. “What then?”

  “I’d be terribly disappointed.” Zerena frowned, a kind of mock pout. “And you’d be denying the Ice the information. It’s quite good, I promise.” She smiled. “Almost as good as the cake. You really ought to have a slice.”

  Tanya shook her head. She couldn’t stand the thought of all that sugar sitting like cotton in her mouth. Could she stand the thought of stealing those papers? She knew if she got caught with them, it would be the end of everything. Her career. Her life.

  “This information,” Tanya said, slowly, carefully, hardly believing she was coming so close to saying yes. “I need to know it’s worth it.”

  Zerena’s eyes glittered. “Of course it’s worth it. All my information is.”

  Tanya fixed her with an unyielding gaze. “You are asking me to commit treason,” she said, enunciating each word.

  Zerena sighed. Brushed her hair away from her face with the back of her hand. “You want to get rid of Sasha as much as I do—”

  “Zerena,” Tanya said, hoping that her tone didn’t veer into desperation.

  “Yes, yes.” Zerena leaned forward. She smiled as she spoke. “This information—it concerns that precious barge of yours.”