The Far Shores (The Central Series) (27 page)

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, butter, 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’?”