*****
Sophie carefully carried the mugs of coffee as she descended the dimly lit stone stairs. She hissed when the hot drink spilled onto her hand and swore under her breath. For the past week, since the disappointing MMC meeting, Sophie felt like she’d done nothing but traipse up and down carrying drinks and sandwiches, or reading old manuscripts. On the whole it felt like she was achieving nothing.
Hunter and James had been researching too, but also had the more interesting duty of travelling to meet sources. They hadn’t taken Sophie, citing her inexperience, and needing to spread their resources as less than satisfactory reasons.
But today they were all in the Manor. They had found nothing more promising than Old George had killed the last Shadow Witch. Hunter reasoned that his grandfather’s belongings might hold some secret, protection or a weapon perhaps? No one had looked at the Astley Collection in detail for years now, so today they were attacking it with a vengeance. And Sophie was playing the little tea lady.
“Hey, coffee.” Sophie announced as she entered the library. She glanced to Hunter who was absorbed in his work, and the last mug of coffee she'd brought him sitting untouched and stone cold at the side of the desk. She sighed. "You know, I won't bother if you're not going to drink it."
Hunter looked up guiltily and took the hot, fresh coffee from her, overly alert that their fingers brushed at the exchange. Sophie seemed to notice it too, a faint rise of colour in her cheeks, and she looked swiftly away.
"Did you find anything new?" She asked casually.
Hunter shook his head, “Old George didn’t believe in organisation. If he had a filing system, it wasn’t one known to man. I’m struggling to find anything in his notes either.”
Hunter sighed and leant back. Actually, he was discovering that he and Old George were alike in these traits. The only difference was that Old didn’t have James twittering and moaning in the background, but somehow making everything miraculously work smoothly.
Sophie put her hand on his shoulder and leant forward to view the erratic notes, the papers weighted down with random objects of random interest. Her silky, dark brown hair fell forward, with a rich scent that Hunter couldn’t help noticing.
“Well, we’ll just have to keep at it.” Sophie replied, turning to face him as she spoke.
Close to, her hazel eyes had little flecks of gold. She was as harsh as ever, but that was something Hunter had come to accept. But he couldn’t help but stop with the realisation that she was beautiful. It did tend to make work awkward.
“Thank you.” Perhaps he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t break that gaze.
Sophie frowned. Her expressions were always so slight, but they were familiar now, the way her down-turned lips were set, the delicate crease of her brow.
“Look, Hunter…”
“HUNTER!”
They both jumped. There was the sound of trainers down the stone steps.
“Intercom, James.” Hunter chided.
“Yeah.” James answered offhandedly. “Anyway, I just got off the phone wi’ bloody Americans. Good news, they’re taking this seriously and want to act. Bad news, they want to run the show.”
“Ugh, I can’t be dealing with them.” Hunter muttered. He couldn’t deny that having them on board would be a huge help, but having them in charge - America’s way of running things resembled a big, bolshy kid with all brawn no brain.
“More good news.” James added, waving some paper in the air. “The German’s sent this through on the fax just now. I had some friends in their Council dig up anything from the 1940’s that could relate to the previous Shadow Witch. They found some letters they thought might help.”
“Good, good.” Hunter replied, interested now. “If you’d do the honour, James.”
James grinned then read out the short letter.
“’Bericht. Wir haben schließlich befindet sich die-’”
“Wait, what?” Sophie interrupted. “In English?”
James stared at her accusingly. “You don’t speak German? Shame. Things tend to lose something in meaning in translation.”
“James.” Hunter said in a quiet, warning tone. He’d had to put up with James being unnecessarily nasty to Sophie ever since she turned him down. Hunter had had enough.
“Fine.” James grunted, then translated as he read, speaking quickly in a dull voice. “’Report. We have, in the end the items. You may report with confidence that we are ready for the first attempt - everything is very promising. Herr Braun and Herr Hartmann have proved helpful in the deciphering of the information and breaking the protection around all the items. Herr Braun demands that more witches are brought in to help with the final incantation. I suggest that Hartmann lays immediately to go hunting more witches. We wait for your orders. Herr Richter.’”
“Richter? What do we know about him?” Hunter asked, the name completely unfamiliar to him.
James shrugged. “Not much, he was part of the group that researched occult powers for the Nazi party.”
“And the others mentioned, Braun and Hartmann?”
“Braun was a witch - he got caught and killed after the war. Hartmann, well, from this it sound like he was a witch-hunter.”
Hunter frowned. “A witch-hunter working alongside a witch?”
“The Second World War was a pretty big deal, Hunter, I think the lines of what was right and wrong got skewed, especially working for the Nazi party.” James responded succinctly. “But what do you think? All this magical activity and research shortly before the arrival of a Shadow Witch in Britain. Could they have found a way to raise a Shadow Witch?”
“It seems perfectly possible.” Hunter took the copy of the letter and read it for himself. If the Germans found a way to raise a Shadow, the witch could have awoken anywhere in the world; in England, alone and unprepared, relatively easy prey for the local witch-hunters…
Hunter sighed, putting the letter on his cluttered desk, he didn’t voice his thoughts.
Ten
“You really think she’s up to it?” James asked.
Sophie gave an uncharacteristically inelegant snort of derision at his question.
The three of them were in the Land Rover, Hunter driving, James in the passenger seat, and lowly Sophie sitting in the back. Hunter’s hands tightened on the wheel as he concentrated on the road rather than answering James’ question.
“Hunter? You think she’s ready?” James persisted. They were on their way to a raid, it would be Sophie’s first time coming up against witches as a witch-hunter, and typically James wasn’t happy about the idea.
Hunter shrugged, not the most positive gesture, he realised. “She’s done her training well. Besides, would you rather she have her first time out at Hallowe’en? She needs to operate in the real world.”
“Hallowe’en is nearly a month away, she has time for more preparation if you’re not sure.” James cautioned.
“She, she, she!” Sophie suddenly spat. “I’m sitting right here. Why don’t you ask me if I think I’m ready?”
Hunter shot her a look in the rear-view mirror. “Because, my dear, we know exactly what you think. You’ve been champing on the bit these last few weeks, dropping increasingly obvious hints every time a job comes through from the MMC. If you had your way, this would be your fifth raid, not your first.”
Sophie sat back, a rather superior smile on her lips. For once she didn’t rise to the ribbing, she was getting what she wanted right now.
“This isn’t my first time, anyway.” Sophie suddenly said, breaking the silence. “Brian took me to a raid. Although I wasn’t allowed to actually do anything, just watch him and the other witch-hunters outnumber and overpower a small coven.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure Brian knew what he was doing.” Hunter replied distractedly. “And I doubt you’ll be doing anything this time, there are more than enough higher gen witch-hunters to deal with
the threat. But you need to learn, so you are going to stand there and do exactly as instructed, even if that is to stand and watch; even if that is to return to the car and wait. Understood?”
When Sophie didn’t respond, Hunter met her gaze in the rear-view mirror. “Understood?” He repeated, harder.
Sophie looked away. “Yes.” She said quietly, gazing out the car window.
Hunter suddenly turned off the road onto a dirt track. The Land Rover lurched over the rubble and potholes for a few hundred metres until a big black Jeep and a blue Volvo came into view. Hunter pulled up next to the other parked cars, and as if on cue, every car door opened and seven people were clambering out.
“Hey Hunter!”
Hunter squinted in the low afternoon sun. He smiled, matching the voice to the driver of the Volvo. “Toby! It’s been a while. How’s the wife?”
“Bloody chitchat. You’re late, Astley.” The driver of the black Jeep grumbled, interrupting the polite exchange.
Hunter grit his teeth against the insulting tone, his eyes suddenly cold. “I would say that we are right on time, Mr Halbrook. We were told to meet at 4 o’clock.”
“Yeah, so good of you not to arrive a minute earlier than necessary, Mr Astley.” He responded, deeply bitter.
Hunter sighed, it hadn’t been his choice to have Gareth Halbrook on the team, but the MMC had assigned him, and there was no getting rid. Oh dear, best to just get the job over and done with quickly.
“Who have you brought?” Hunter asked, nodding casually to the two young men that had climbed out of the black Jeep.
“Matt and Dave Marshall, 3rd gens. I took over their training after their old da got killed a few months ago.” Gareth responded unenthusiastically. “What about your guys?”
“James Bennett and Sophie Murphy, both first gens.”
The Marshall brothers looked at them all silently, their faces betraying an unprofessional interest as they glanced at Sophie. Sophie grimaced in disgust and shifted closer to James.
“Firsts? You brought a couple of firsts?” Gareth demanded, spitting slightly in his anger. “What the hell use is that?”
“They are fully-trained, Mr Halbrook. I don’t have time to argue with you.” Hunter said, fighting to keep his calm. “Can we please get on with the planning?”
Gareth folded his arms and glared at Hunter challengingly. “Whatever you say, sir.”
Toby, the Volvo driver that had greeted Hunter, now stepped forward, shaking his head at the conflict. He laid a large sheet of paper on the bonnet of Hunter’s Land Rover.
“The MMC have received reports of frequent gatherings of witches at a nearby wood. They meet and cast at sunset, I know, predictably dramatic. We estimate four to six witches, none showing extraordinary magic.” Toby reeled off the information he had collected while at the MMC headquarters earlier that day. He leaned over Hunter’s car, indicating the paper. “This is a map of the surrounding area. The clearing is here, about a mile into the wood. Unfortunately there’s no natural barriers, so we’ll just have to surround them and hope they don’t break through.”
Gareth leaned over the map. “We don’t know which way they’ll be arriving, so we should wait until they start casting before we move into position. It is more dangerous, I know, but it’s our best chance of surrounding them. We could probably park up here to wait.”
He jabbed at a spot on the map, then looked up, and shrugged. “But what do I know, I’m just a 4th gen with twenty years’ experience, obviously not enough to be in charge. What do you think, Astley?”
Hunter frowned. He really didn’t like the fact that his 7th gen status gave him superiority over more experienced witch-hunters. And he liked it even less when odious individuals like Gareth Halbrook held it over him.
Hunter gazed at the map, uncomfortably aware of the silence and the eyes all focussed on him. Damn Gareth. “No, I agree. Let’s move out.” He finally admitted through gritted teeth.
Gareth turned back to his jeep, a smug smile on his face, with the two Marshall brothers in tow.
“Want a lift, Toby?” Hunter offered. “I don’t think your little car is up to a cross-country jaunt.”
Toby folded the map and smiled. “Sure, why not. If it isn’t the witches that kill me, it’ll be your driving.”
The four of them piled into the Land Rover, James now demoted to the back seat with Sophie.
“Behave yourselves back there, children.” Hunter teased as he started the engine.
He smiled as Sophie swore under her breath, then put the car into gear and leapt across the field, following the tracks made by Gareth, racing after the black jeep towards the dark shadow on the horizon.
“Who the hell invited Gareth Halbrook?” James demanded, holding on tight against the bumping, speeding car. “Of all the witch-hunters they could’ve assigned, why that git?”
Toby smiled sadly. “It’s Hunter’s fault.”
“What?” Hunter asked sharply.
Toby spared a quick glance around the other passengers and propped himself against the door, grimacing as the car lurched over uneven ground. “The buzz at the headquarters is that Hunter is too big for the Council.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hunter asked, not liking the sound of it.
“Ah, you know the influence you have. Enlisting Sophie here, determining where she carries out her training. Your preferential treatment of James, that he gets to see more than some higher gens, that you refused to let the Council reassign him last year. The fact that you refuse to take on 1st gens for training, and your lack of attendance at the headquarters. Christ, even Charlotte was promoted quickly beyond her years on your advice.”
“That isn’t fair.” Hunter said, when he’d heard enough. “My influence? I will act how I see fit, but I am loyal to the MMC and they will always have the final decision in everything. This ‘influence’ isn’t of my making - it is the Council’s way of treating me.”
“I know Hunter.” Toby said in a pacifying tone. “But you are the miraculous 7th gen, no one knows what you could be capable of. The Council wants to keep you sweet, but at the same time they doubt their ability to control you. Hence, Gareth Halbrook. They’re giving you your birthright to lead, yet proving that they are in charge by making you work with that arse.”
Hunter sat in silent thought, staring straight ahead to the looming woods where the black jeep had already pulled up.
“You’d think,” Hunter said quietly. “That the Council would have more pressing issues to deal with than these ridiculous games.”
Nobody replied, it was obvious where Hunter’s thoughts lay - the MMC were spending time and energy worrying about non-existent problems, when there was one very real, glaring threat of the re-emergence of the Shadow Witch about which they did nothing.
The uncomfortable silence was ended by their arrival at the edge of the woods. Everyone clambered out again, the day still too hot to stay inside the stationary vehicle. There was nothing left to do but wait for the sun to set and the witches to make their move.
Sophie was sitting against the trunk of a shady oak, wondering how best to phrase her thoughts.
“So… what have these witches done? To upset the MMC?”
Hunter stopped his pacing and looked at her. “What do you mean?”
Sophie kicked the dirt in front of her. “I was just curious as to what their crime was. The usual murder and mayhem?”
“Their crime is that they’re witches, love.”
Sophie looked up at the sound of the rough voice; Dave, or Matt, she couldn’t remember which, was looking back with a laughing sneer.
Hunter ignored the Marshall boy. “They’ve done nothing that we know of, yet. This is a pre-emptive strike.”
“So… they’re going to be punished, possibly killed, in case one day they are guilty.” Sophie frowned, trying to get her head around the concept.
&
nbsp; Her statement stunned everyone. One of the lads guffawed; and Gareth gave a sharp ‘ha’, throwing Hunter a dirty look. Even Toby and James looked mildly disgusted at the insinuation.
Poor Hunter felt a flush of embarrassment at his trainee’s ignorance. “You’re doing it again, Sophie, you’re thinking they are like humans. They are witches, it is inevitable that they’ll do evil - should we wait for innocent people to get hurt before we act? And we can’t punish them for things they haven’t done - we’ll just bind them and process them, and set them free. I doubt it will be necessary to kill them.”
“More’s the pity.” Gareth grumbled.
Hunter’s head snapped round at this. He knew that some of his colleagues harboured this opinion privately, but no one ever voiced it. Apart from this bastard.
“Oh, I know you champion the non-violent outcomes, but be serious, binding witches wastes time and resources. Honestly, the only good witch is a dead witch, and if I had my way…”
“I know what would happen if you had your way.” Hunter warned. Oh, he knew. He was very much aware of Halbrook’s trigger-happy reputation. “But I’m in charge here and we’re doing it my way.”
“Sorry, sir.” Gareth responded sarcastically. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll take care of myself. You just watch your witch-loving first.”
Hunter took a stride towards him, not sure if he was going to shout, scream, plead or punch. Maybe all four. But he stopped in his tracks. There was a faint hum of a whisper in that part of his mind that was always alert and dominant.
“It’s time.” Hunter said, suddenly realizing the sun had dropped below the horizon.
Nearly a minute later, Toby, the Marshalls, and Gareth cocked their heads as though hearing something faint.
On a sudden impulse, they all rose, quickly inventoried their defences and weapons, then looked to Hunter.
“Let’s go.” He simply said, striding into the shadow of the trees.
Sophie and James came close behind, followed by Toby. Gareth and the Marshalls left a long, defiant gap, yet followed Hunter’s lead.
Hunter walked into the deepening gloom of the evening woods, his senses sharpening with every step. He was aware of the six bodies behind him, their warmth, their separate breaths and footsteps. He was aware of the building throb of magic ahead of them, drawing closer he could sense the individual rhythm of the spells that bubbled up and called to him. He couldn’t read any violence from it, and repeated this observation aloud for the others.
“There are four witches actively casting, but keep alert.” Hunter added in a low voice. “This should be an easy one, so let’s try to keep it civil.”
This last part was directed obviously at Gareth, who pretended not to hear.
“Please don’t say it’ll be easy.” James muttered, sharply knocking the nearest tree.
The others smiled nervously at his remark, then turned in the direction of the threat. Hunter signalled them to move into position, muttering last minute instructions and warnings, before allowing them to leave.
This was the part he hated most, he reflected as the other witch-hunters disappeared into the forest, he was personally brave and would risk his life as and when required. But to send others out to risk theirs always made him nervous, and yes, a little bit guilty.
But, as the boss of this operation, he could at least put the weakest in the safest place. New girl Sophie was behind the first line, Hunter voicing that they needed someone to stop the witches breaking through their circle. The excuse fooled no one, but Sophie, excited to be on her first real raid, didn’t argue and docilely fell into place behind Toby and Matt Marshall.
In formation they moved forward on silent feet, led on by the promise of firelight ahead.
It was as Toby described, a clearing only 20 metres in diameter, a fire cracking, in its light four figures moved. Physically, the witches were unremarkable and unrecognisable as something other than human. But there was the aura of something more.
There were two female and two male witches, looking, in an ordinary light, as two couples having a bonfire night.
Hunter took a deep breath and stepped into the circle of light.
“I am Hunter Astley, by the Malleus Constitution you will surrender now to my authority to be bound and registered.” He called out, confidently. “If you refuse to come quietly, we are empowered to take any means necessary.”
Out of the shadows, he rest of the witch-hunters stepped forward, guns raised.
The witches, who had gazed at Hunter curiously as he approached, now reacted as they were surrounded. The men instinctively moved to protect their partners. Their breath quickened and anger and fear tainted their expressions.
“We have done nothing wrong.” The nearest male witch spat.
“Nevertheless, by the Malleus Constitution, all magic must be bound.” Hunter replied formally. His eyes flicked up to Gareth, who looked bored and impatient. “Please, you are outnumbered, just surrender.”
The male witch exhaled, his shoulders dropping with resignation. “There are worse things than death.” He muttered, then raised his hands. Everything went black.
In a blind panic, Dave Marshall fired his gun into the darkness. There was a scream as the bullet ripped through flesh and bone.
“Stop!” Hunter shouted, furious at the witch-hunter. His 7th gen eyes piercing through the magic, he could see the blurred shape of the male witch still in front of him. Hunter gritted his teeth and launched himself at the witch, moving with unnatural speed, he knocked aside the witch’s sluggish reaction and dealt a blow of such strength the man fell to the floor.
Around him the darkness faltered and faded, the light of the fire and stars perceivable again. Hunter looked around quickly, the male witch lay incapacitated at his feet. Off to his right, there was the result of Dave Marshall’s nerves - Toby lay on the floor, trying to stem the blood flow from his arm.
One of the female witches jumped at the opportunity and ran at this weak spot in their circle.
“Stop!” Matt Marshall stepped into her path, but a wave of magic sent him flying unceremoniously head over heels, hitting a tree with a sickening thud.
“No.” Gasped Hunter, as the witch faced the last witch-hunter blocking her escape.
Deadly pale, Sophie raised her gun and fired.
The female witch gave a strangled cry and stumbled, falling to the forest floor. Blood blossomed a startling red from her chest and she could be seen to be gasping erratically from pain and shock.
Hunter ignored the unconscious male witch at his feet, he ignored the two remaining witches that now surrendered to James and Dave Marshall; Hunter stepped past the bleeding female witch and straight up to Sophie.
“Are you ok? Did she hurt you?” He asked, his voice low and desperate. He quickly glanced over her, there wasn’t a mark on her, but Sophie was white and shivering. Hunter slowly moved closer, reaching out and gently prying the gun from her hand. “Sophie, it’s ok, it’s over. You did good.”
Sophie’s eyes snapped onto his, wide with panic and adrenaline. She was drowning in the shock of the moment and Hunter felt a sudden urge to reach out and save her, hold her close and protect her. An urge that he fought.
Hunter stepped away from Sophie, unsettled by this sudden intimacy. He forced himself to look around and assess the situation.
Toby was sitting on the mossy ground, staunching a wound in his arm. He looked bloody and pale, but otherwise ok, with Dave Marshall kneeling next to him, babbling out incoherent apologies and excuses.
The scene re-lit the anger Hunter felt towards that arse, Gareth Halbrook, who with his trigger-happy team had ruined a smooth operation. Hunter turned to look for the offending git and was surprised to see Gareth walking calmly in his direction.
Hunter opened his mouth to shout and course his anger, when Gareth raised his gun and shot a single round at the injured female witch at his feet.
/>
Hunter felt a shock of fury as her heartbeat and irregular breathing left the web of sounds.
“You murderous bastard. What the hell did you do that for?” He shouted.
“Put her out of her misery.” Halbrook replied roughly, staring challengingly at Hunter.
“She could have survived - there was no need.”
“Survived for what? The taxpayers to pay for us to keep her. No thanks. As I said, the only good witch is a dead witch.” Halbrook glanced over his shoulder at the living witches, obviously picturing the same fate for them.
Hunter shook with rage, completely unable to speak after such a statement. He felt a restraining hand on his arm and turned to face a pale and worried James.
But James was looking at Gareth Halbrook. “Mr Halbrook, take the prisoners to HQ.”
Gareth frowned at James’ assumed authority. Damned first gen, suddenly getting bossy, just because he was the famous Hunter Astley’s friend. “Look ‘ere-”
“No, you look,” James interrupted. “You and your boys take care of the witches, ‘cos I don’t want t’leave Toby in your hands. And if you know what’s good for you, those witches’ll arrive at HQ without a single mark on them - got it?”
Gareth ground his teeth, obviously weighing up the cost of saying what was on his mind at this point. But in the end he grumbled something inaudible and stomped off, jerking his head at the Marshall brothers. The three trouble-makers left, herding the two witches before them, Halbrook picking up and carrying the still-unconscious male witch.
James finally looked to Hunter. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll help Toby, if you help Sophie.”
Hunter nodded, and finally dragged his attention back to his other colleagues. He watched James help Toby to his feet and support him, they set off in the direction of the Land Rover at a slow, stumbling pace.
Hunter turned to Sophie, who looked still pale, but more composed now. “Can you walk?” He asked, uncertainly.
“I’m not an invalid.” Sophie snapped in a reassuringly offended manner. Her cold, sharp self returning now the immediate shock was passing. “Don’t treat me like a damsel in distress.”
Hunter shrugged, his mind too full of other concerns to be too relieved that Sophie was okay. They walked together, slowly following James and Toby back to the car. The four travelled in near silence. When they got back to the Land Rover, they found Gareth’s Jeep already gone. The four witch-hunters climbed back into Hunter’s vehicle and made their way back to the road, slower this time, Hunter diving more carefully so as not to jostle Toby. Again there was silence.
They finally turned onto a dirt track and the headlights lit up Toby’s blue Volvo. Hunter pulled up next to it. Again, James took charge.
“Right, I’ll drive Toby up t’hospital, then I’ll head to the MMC - it’s late, but I want to follow up Halbrook. Go home Hunter.” After helping Toby into the back seat of the Volvo, James spoke quietly to Hunter. “Just keep an eye on Sophie, I think she’s hiding her shock.”
Hunter nodded, clapping his friend on the back and climbing back into the driver’s seat of his Land Rover.
James said something privately to Sophie, wearing a serious expression, then got into the Volvo.
“Are you sure you’re ok?” Hunter asked again, as Sophie climbed into passenger’s seat beside him.
“Yes.” She replied exasperatedly. She then stared resolutely out the dark window.
Hunter nodded again. Good, silence, that was fine.
They were roaring down the motorways, Hunter showing a certain disregard for speed limits, when he decided to speak.
“What did James have to say?” He asked, his voice suddenly seeming loud after the silence.
Sophie finally looked at him, but only briefly. “Nothing.” She muttered.
Hunter was unconvinced. He had an odd feeling that just as James had asked him to watch Sophie in case she went into shock, the annoying Yorkshireman had asked Sophie to keep an eye on Hunter’s mood after the run-in with Halbrook.
They lapsed into silence again. Then Sophie shifted uncomfortably. “Does it get any easier?”
“What do you mean?”
“Killing witches, does it get easier with time?” She asked, turning to face him.
Her hazel eyes burnt with the pain of the question, she seemed shaken, yet strong. Again Hunter felt that dragging sensation that he should hold her, that he could keep her whole.
A horn blared as he nearly collided with another car. Hunter snapped his attention back to the road, his hands tightening on the wheel. He could feel the pressure of the seat belt against his shoulder, and was bizarrely glad for such a restraint.
“No, it doesn’t get easier.” He replied honestly, staring resolutely ahead. “And I don’t want it to, I don’t want to be like him, like Gareth.”
No, Hunter couldn’t imagine that killing witches would ever mean nothing to him, or worse, that he’d take some sick pleasure from it.
It seemed to take forever to get back to Astley Manor. It was midnight by the time they pulled up the gravely drive to the big old house. The lights were still on, the fires lit ready for their return, and they gladly went into the warmth.
“Are you sure you’re ok?” Hunter asked again, as they stood together in the hallway.
Sophie gave him a withering look. “Goodnight Hunter.”
Hunter watched Sophie walk away from him and move up the main staircase, heading straight for her room. He didn’t want her to be alone; he told himself that she shouldn’t be alone after such a day. But a part of him knew better. Oh god, he was in trouble.
“Sophie…” He called out, then thought better of it as she paused on the stairs. “Sophie, tell James that I don’t need babysitting.”
Eleven
Hunter sat alone with Sophie in the library, books spread out down the long table. He was aware of the furtive looks she kept shooting him. Despite the dark matter of the books around him, and the oppressive environment since his discovery, Hunter found this amusing.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her look again. This time he smiled. “Is there something I can help you with, Sophie?”
A blush crept over her cheeks. “What’s it like?” She blurted out.
“What is what like?” Hunter asked, smiling at the vague question.
Sophie closed the heavy volume in front of her, Hunter saw the faded title: ‘Witches and their hunters of the Romanic region: 16th century study’. Hmm, poor girl, no wonder her mind was wandering.
“What’s it like, being a further generation witch-hunter? Do you feel differently from other people?” Sophie asked, using more detail this time.
Hunter thought about this, not for the first time. “Honestly, I don’t know, I’ve never been normal so how can I compare? Perhaps I should ask if you feel different from a 7th gen.”
Hunter smiled teasingly, but closed his book, willing to be more serious. “Everything I do feels normal and natural, but sometimes I see other people’s reactions when I move too quickly, or show too much strength and so on. So surely there’s something abnormal enough to catch their attention. Does that answer your question well enough?”
Sophie said nothing for a minute or two, staring into space with her own thoughts. “And… what is it like when you perceive magic?”
Hunter looked at her with askance.
“What, I’m not allowed to be curious because I’ll never experience it?” Sophie demanded.
“Fine.” Hunter said, leaning back in his chair, his gaze fixed on his new charge. “It’s… it’s like a headache, or at least it used to be when I was younger. A niggling, burgeoning activity that can be mistaken for pain. But you can train yourself to concentrate on it, read it, taste it. Every strain of magic has a different taste, or rhythm. As soon as a witch casts, I can tell what the magic is for, even who cast it.”
Hunter stopped, grimacing at hi
s own description, as though he were a connoisseur of art or fine wine. Had he really gotten so expert in his dark career?
“And it improves with each generation?” Sophie encouraged. “What’s the furthest you’ve perceived magic?”
Hunter nodded, oh yes, as the famous 7th gen he was born with unfair advantages against the witches.
“The furthest?”
Hunter broke off as James made his entrance kicking the old door open so he could carry in the coffee tray. “Couldn’t find Charles, so made it meself. Hope you like strong coffee.”
“James, what would you say is the furthest I’ve felt a casting?” Hunter asked mildly. “Ten miles?”
James slid the coffee tray onto the busy table. “Ten easy. Remember the one in Hereford last month, must’ve been fifteen.”
Sophie just nodded, silently taking in the information.
“You know this is summat you’ll never experience.” James said, casually cruel. “Not jealous of our Hunter, are you?”
Sophie gave him a haughty stare in reply, flicking her brown hair back over her shoulder.
“I’m curious, surely that’s allowed.” She said coldly. “Besides, this all sounds a touch too close to magic.”
The effect was instantaneous. James stopped laughing at her and Hunter’s smile froze.
Sophie seemed to realize the severity of what she’d said, and started stuttering. “Look… it’s not… I didn’t mean-“
“Never say that.” Hunter warned in a chilling tone, his eyes furious. “How dare you even make such a heinous association?”
Hunter stood up so quickly, Sophie flinched as though expecting him to hit her. But Hunter kept his fists by his side and turned towards the door, needing space.
“You don’t seem to realize how offensive your ignorant comments are, Sophie. And showing me up in front of Gareth Halbrook and his cronies last week – no, I haven’t forgotten that. I’ve been pretty damn lenient with your whole attitude, but one day you’ll have to deal directly with the MMC, and they won’t be as understanding.” Hunter took a deep breath, the worst of his rant over, but his eyes still blazed. “You said you wanted to be a witch-hunter. Well, you’ve got to be in this a hundred percent, you’ve got to sort your attitude out and stop this… this sympathy for magic. Or you need to walk out that door right now.”
Hunter motioned towards the open library door. The room was silent and motionless again.
Sophie was tense, her hazel eyes cast down. But the fact that she wasn’t biting back showed that there was at least some truth in Hunter’s outburst.
“I’m here. I’m in.” She eventually muttered. She looked uncertain for a minute, then quietly turned back to her book.
Hunter felt no joy in setting Sophie straight, he felt strangely empty after letting loose, and now stood by his chair, not sure what to do.
James on the other hand felt perfectly comfortable in giving Sophie a disgusted look before turning to Hunter. “You know, this coffee isn’t working. How ‘bout we knock off and head down t’local instead?”
Hunter looked at his watch and sighed. “Yeah, sure. I’ve time for a drink before I take Rachel to dinner.”
The two boys promptly left the library to get their coats, and Sophie (who was unsure whether or not the invitation extended to her) sat alone, quietly reading the dusty volume before her.
Twelve
There’s something about Hallowe’en that seemed to excite the witchkind. Perhaps it was to do with the pagan fire ritual of Samhain, their magic amped up by something earthly. Or maybe it was just the thrill of moving openly, while a world of naïve victims actually celebrated their existence.
If it was anything like last year, it would be uncontrolled chaos. Even the newspapers and the general ignorant public had suspected something after the wave of identical murders that the MMC hadn’t been able to completely cover up.
So all the witch-hunters were on high alert. Even if they looked foolish…
It was early evening, but it was already dark outside. Hunter stood close to the warm fireplace, the old house did get cold once autumn came round, and Charles worked overtime keeping it pleasant for the Astley family and their guests.
Making the effort for Hallowe’en without sacrificing style, Hunter was wearing a tasteful black suit with a long black cloak and a white mask covering half his face.
“Let me guess, ‘Phantom of the Opera’ meets Armani?”
Sophie stood in the doorway, looking so fantastic that Hunter was left momentarily speechless. She smiled in her own grimacing way and turned so that he could see her outfit, sultry dark red tones on black, close fitting to her slim curves, the long skirt slit to the thigh. She’d done something clever with her make-up to make her face pale, but still stunning. Oh yes, and rubber fangs sticking out over her lower lip.
“Sexy vampire?” Hunter asked needlessly.
“Well, I was going to be a witch, but I thought that would be too ironic.” Sophie replied, lisping slightly over the false teeth. She shook her head and pulled them out, “Hm, I don’t think I’ll be wearing these all night though. I don’t see why the MMC want us to dress up and go out like a group of normals, when there’s going to be so much activity.”
“Ah well,” How embarrassing. Hunter had previously told Sophie what she needed to hear. “We have no intel on what will happen where, so the MMC likes its witch-hunters to be on the move, in the thick of it, so they can act immediately.” This was repeating his earlier statement. The next bit she may not like. “But the dressing up like a prat is my idea. You know, to fit in. Come on, we’ve got to pick James up. Are you kitted up?”
Sophie’s frown deepened, but she nodded. Hunter had provided her with a personal handgun and small dagger - where she’d managed to hide them in that figure-hugging ensemble though… Hunter snapped back to attention.
“Yes, James, let’s go.”
They took the Land Rover, the 4x4 equipped with protective charms and the boot stocked with the tools of their trade. Sophie jumped into the passenger seat, and they drove in familiar silence to James’ modest house.
And out came a pirate. And hadn’t he put the effort in: hat; dreadlocked wig; bandanna; skull shirt with homemade tearing; long shorts (again with the tears); and lord knows where he got the long boots, probably the same place he got the courage to wear them.
“Nice outfit.” Sophie said carefully as James clambered into the back seat.
“Thanks.” James replied, shooting a victorious look at Hunter.
Friend or not, what an idiot. “James has worn the same outfit for the past three years. He got a bit of a Johnny Depp fixation when we were at university.” Hunter told Sophie, with a commendably deadpan expression.
“Hey.” James shouted from the back. “I didn’t have a ‘fixation’. I just really enjoyed Pirates of the Caribbean, and I dare you to say Captain Jack wasn’t cool.”
“I agree.” Hunter conceded. “He was cool. Five years ago. Now it’s only obsessives with no personal, original imagination of their own-”
And Sophie sat quietly, staring out the car window at the moonlit fields and cottages. Over the past couple of months she’d gotten used to the two boys bickering like an old married couple.
Soon, the view out her window was the stream of slow-moving cars and the bright lights of bars. The sound of music and the laughter of the revellers hit the car. Hunter parked up and they all got out and made their way into the nearest bar.
“I know the MMC like us to be out and ready for action, but this?” Sophie asked, looking around with distaste.
“Look, most activity isn’t until midnight. Sure, most witch-hunters will be sitting in their cars, drinking coffee and trawling the streets. But the MMC doesn’t care if we have one last party before getting on the job, as long as we stick to soft drinks.” Hunter replied seriously, after just handing out the first round of beer and wine.
“You never know when it’s your last call. Besides, look around, we’re surrounded by victims. So relax, enjoy yourself for once.”
Hmm, although she didn’t go wild, Sophie gave in to the party spirit and, after another glass of wine, she even deigned to smile every now and then.
James, with the odd confidence bestowed by wearing a pirate costume was enjoying the dancefloor a bit too much for his sober state. Hunter had the fun of watching his friend make an arse of himself - he’d remind James of these embarrassing intervals at later times.
Every now and then, bonny girls walked over to try and get Hunter to join in the dancing, but he declined and the girls were often chased away by a cold glare by Sophie.
“Not getting jealous, are you?” Hunter laughed, leaning in towards her. “And I thought you didn’t like me!”
Sophie, stiff and frozen as ever, turned away from him. “I just don’t think it is right. We’re working.”
Hunter smiled, she didn’t change. He reached out and placed his hand on her lower back, he felt a thrill when she didn’t pull away. He got the sudden image of trying to gentle a wild horse that could turn and kick you in the head at any moment.
“Come on, it’s twenty to twelve. Let’s get the dancing pirate and go.” Hunter said to her quietly.
The trio emerged from the warm pub into the brittle, clear night. The first stop was the car, where they threw in their extraneous costume and pulled out a kit bag each. Then they meandered without any particular aim to the edge of the night scene. It was here, where drunken revellers stumbled away from their pubs and clubs, making their way home, it was here the witches were likely to hunt their prey.
All they could do was wander the streets, waiting for something to prick Hunter’s senses. Hunter glanced at his watch, nearly midnight. A sigh escaped him, this time last year he was being torn apart by all the magic being used. He was pretty confident that he could sense magic within a fifteen mile radius. But still nothing. What the hell was going on?
“Hunter.”
Thirteen
“Hunter?”
Sophie’s voice came so quiet and she sounded so scared, Hunter felt fear grip his heart as he turned. Sophie stood there, looking strangely stiff.
“Sophie, you alright?” James asked, looking at her carefully.
Sophie didn’t reply. Her eyes closed and slowly a smile creased her red lips. There was a bristling of energy about her.
“Oh shit.” Hunter grabbed James and pulled him back from her, expecting an outburst.
But nothing flamboyant happened, yet. The energy of magic was so high that Hunter felt deafened by it.
Sophie opened her eyes, unseeingly. By the lamplight her hazel eyes were clouded over with what looked like thick white cataracts.
“Sophie, what are you doing? Can you hear me?” Hunter said loudly.
Sophie tilted her head slightly and looked at Hunter with an expression of curiosity. “Sophie can hear you. But unfortunately can’t answer, you see she has given control of this vessel to me tonight.” The voice was Sophie’s with something of a deeper tone, throbbing with power.
“You’re a witch. She wouldn’t - Sophie would not help a witch.” James almost shouted back.
Sophie turned slowly to look directly at James with those clouded eyes. “Simple boy, I don’t need a willing soul, she still fights my presence - quite annoying, very stubborn. But I am stronger. Shall I prove it?”
Her hand threw up and James gasped, dropping to his knees and clawing at his constricted chest, unable to breath, his heart struggling to beat.
“Stop!” Hunter screamed. “By the Malleus Maleficarum I command you to stop.”
“For now.” The voice replied, dropping Sophie’s hand. Immediately James began to gulp down lungful’s of air, his face red. “If he speaks again, he dies.”
“What do you want?” Hunter asked, forcing himself to remain calm. What else could he do, a witch was attacking his two friends.
“I want to see you, you who discovered my return; you Astley, whose family seems tied to my fate.”
“Shadow… The Shadow Witch.” The words whispered from his lips in disbelief. Hunter had a right to be scared. “Then here I am, leave my friends out of it.”
Sophie smiled. “I have not come to kill you, not tonight. But now I see your weakness, I see how close you are to these insignificant mortals. I see into this girl’s thoughts and I see what pain I could inflict by killing them instead.”
“No, you can’t. I won’t let you.”
“Ah, now we come to it, Astley.” The Shadow Witch spat his name out with such hatred, as though they had cursed his existence in their heart every day. “Can you stop me? You are a remarkable young man, I am sure. But now, I stand before you as vulnerable as you will ever find me. I am so strongly within this girl for this brief time - shoot her, kill us both.”
Hunter raised his gun, pointing the barrel level at Sophie’s chest. Yes, Sophie was just one person, with her death she could spare hundreds, possibly thousands of lives. His hand was steady, which was a miracle in itself.
No, he was not a murderer, not for the greater good. And he couldn’t sacrifice Sophie, of all people. He slowly lowered the gun.
Sophie smiled, clouded eyes still fixed on Hunter. “I will make you regret your weakness, Astley. She will die.”
“Don’t you dare hurt Sophie, or I’ll make it your regret. Now relinquish this girl.” Hunter said fiercely.
There was one last ghost of a smile on Sophie’s lips and then she crumpled. Hunter grabbed her, barely slowing her fall as Sophie hit the pavement. James, who had been hovering uselessly, now dashed to her side.
“She’s still alive.” James said, having checked her pulse and breathing. He glanced up at Hunter. “What on earth was that about?”
Hunter was equally confused. If that had been the Shadow Witch, what had been the point of contacting Hunter? No information given on either side, no deaths despite the threats. Surely they hadn’t wished to just turn up and gloat in a big bad clichéd way.
“I don’t know.” Hunter responded. “But let’s get Sophie back to the car.”
James picked up the three heavy kit bags, and Hunter gently lifted Sophie’s unconscious form. Although his senses were on high alert, Hunter felt no trace of magic remaining in the girl.
Back at the car the two men struggled to get Sophie onto the back seat.
“Shit!” Hunter jumped and swore as his mobile rang suddenly. He muttered at his own nerves and answered it sharply. It took a moment to understand the fast, panicked voice on the other end.
“Hey, slow down. Now what’s happened?” Hunter asked, still not sure who he was talking to.
“They took her, the witches took her, I thought this place was protected, Hunter. But the shadows grew and wrapped around her and then Charlotte was gone.”
Charlotte. Oh no. No, no, no. When the Shadow Witch had said ‘she’ would die, they had meant someone more important to Hunter than even Sophie.
“Look Steve, we’ll get her back, I promise you.”
“If anything happens, I’ll hold you responsible.”
The line went dead. Hunter sat in a state of shock.
“Hunter.” James’ voice broke through the haze.
“Get on the phone, alert all the witch-hunters, the MMC, everyone. We need to find where she’s been taken.” Hunter said, suddenly spurred into action.
“Hunter.” James repeated calmly. “Sophie’s awake.”
They both twisted in their seats to face Sophie, who was sitting straight and strong again. Looking into her eyes, although filled with panic, they were back to their cold hazel depths.
“The witch, I didn’t let her, I tried to stop her but she was so strong.” She looked down at her hands, flexing them, as though confirming her own control over her body again. “James, I-I’m sorry. And Hunter, it’s all m
y fault. I could feel her, she sifted through my thoughts and memories and I was powerless to stop her. I showed her Charlotte.”
“We don’t blame you.” Hunter said quickly, not sure if it was true. “We need to get moving, to find her before…”
His voice trailed off, so he started the engine.
“We don’t even know where to start.” James reasoned.
“Actually.” Sophie said quietly, surprising the guys with a brief smile of pride. “The Shadow Witch was so preoccupied, she didn’t notice that I could get into her thoughts. I saw a village church, it was a St Peters. It’s not much to go on, but if all witch-hunters head to the nearest one, we’ve got more of a chance.”
James was already on the phone, repeating Sophie’s words to the Council. Hunter slammed the car into gear and sped off, ignoring every traffic rule. James kept his mobile glued to his ear and spewed out directions to Hunter to their nearest St Peters. But soon it was unnecessary, as the miles flew by and they drew closer, Hunter could feel the pull of magic, telling them that this was the place.
They had all fallen silent by the time they had pulled up outside the church. It was a small, stone-built with old leaded windows. It was a lonely little building in a forgotten village.
The two men got out of the car and Sophie made to follow them.
“On no, you don’t, you’re staying in the car.” Hunter said, blocking her way.
“Hunter, I’m a witch-hunter, I’m coming.” Sophie responded, trying to push the car door out of his grip.
“No. The Shadow Witch has gone after you once already - stay in the car where you’re protected.”
Reluctantly, Sophie agreed. James pulled the kit bags out the boot. Hunter grabbed his stab jacket, pulling it on over his shirt. He took a deep breath, well, this was it.
“Hunter.” Sophie grabbed his sleeve as he moved to leave, then pulled him close, pressing her soft lips against his, the scent of her skin and perfume. She released him slowly, reluctantly. “Come back alive.”
Hunter staggered back and followed a silent James up to the church door. He glanced back once, unable to see Sophie’s face clearly in the dark car.
At the church door, James turned to him. “Now what?”
Oh hell. They had never faced anything this big, for someone they cared so strongly for. Was this what it felt like, to know death waited impatiently for you?
“We go in.” Hunter replied, meeting James’ knowing gaze. “It’s been fun.”
They might die here tonight, but they both knew that they would never turn back. Hunter went first, pushing his weight against the thick wooden door. Inside the church was dimly lit by candles along the aisle and eaves. It was quiet, filled with shadows, empty of life. Hunter stepped cautiously up the centre aisle; there was something at the altar.
She lay as though asleep, her beautiful face serene, her arms by her side.
“Charlotte.” Hunter whispered as he forgot all his caution and rushed up to her, desperate for her to respond. He reached out, now scared to touch her, her cheek felt warm against his hand. “Charlotte.”
His hand traced her chest for any heartbeat, but stopped as he felt the soaked material of her black jumper. Blood stained his fingers. “No.” He growled, anger and sorrow firing up within him like never before.
“Hunter.” James hissed.
Hunter turned and immediately saw what had gained James’ attention. Out of the shadows, black-clad figures stepped into the candlelight until a dozen witches faced them.
Hunter welcomed them. A raw fury filled Hunter’s heart and soul. He would die and be with Charlotte again, but he would take as many of these bastards with him as possible.
“Come on then!” He screamed, raised his gun and fired. There was a rumble and a crack and the world seemed to be torn apart. The twelve witches were thrown off their feet and back with a force against the stone walls and pillars. A fierce tempest whipped through the church, shaking it to its foundations. Masonry dust shook from the walls and rafters and suddenly great chunks of torn wood and stone were falling all about them.