*****
“We need to talk about what happened.” James said seriously. They were perched on the church wall and the first people from the MMC were just arriving.
Hunter remained silent, staring into the dark countryside.
“Hunter, I think the MMC will notice the church, they can count too - two of us against twelve witches that appeared out of nowhere. You’re gonna have to talk to them. But first, we need to work out what happened.” James paused for breath. He’d been expecting to die tonight - he should have died tonight. “That much power, it had to be the Shadow Witch, but does that mean she’s playing with us, or she wants you alive for some scary reason. Did you feel her presence, her magic?”
Hunter shook his head, no he hadn’t felt anything, nothing except his own anger. And now he felt dead inside. “Let’s go home.” He muttered.
“We’ve got to stay, to help the Council. We’ve still got work to do.”
“I don’t bloody care!” Hunter shouted, getting fired up again, “The Council can go f-”
He jumped down from the wall and marched off. James had to rush to catch him.
“Ok mate, we’ll deal with them later. But I’ll drive.”
Fourteen
It was dawn by the time they got back to Astley Manor. The trio shivered against the cold of the morning as they staggered into the entrance hall. There they stood, all unsure of what to do, how to act next.
James was the first to speak, his voice shaking with his own sorrow. "Hunter... do you want to, er, talk?"
"Will talking bring Charlotte back?" Hunter asked in a dead voice. His tired eyes looked up at James. "No, I didn't think so. I don't want to talk."
Hunter sighed and pushed past the others, disappearing into the recesses of the mansion.
Sophie went to follow him, but hesitated, every part of her uncertain. "Should I... is there anything I could do?"
"No." James snapped, then shrugged. "Sorry. But I think we should leave him for a while."
They stood in the hall for several long, silent minutes before James broke the silence again. "Perhaps you should just go to bed, you've had one hell of a night." He suggested, moving off up the staircase himself. One hell of a night for all of them. Christ.
Hunter had wandered into the sitting room, where a fire crackled in the grate. He’d been standing here only twelve hours ago, yet so much had happened.
“Oh, so you all decided to come back then?” A familiarly sharp voice came from the doorway, “I swear you use Hallowe’en as an excuse for all night frivolities, as Young did.”
“Not now, mother.” Hunter said through gritted teeth as he turned to face the bitter little woman.
“Oh dear, what happened?” Mrs Astley asked, somehow managing to make a possibly caring question sound harsh and spiteful.
“Charlotte. They killed Charlotte.” Hunter turned away as his eyes filled with tears. Oh God, why her. He felt as though he’d lost a reason to live. The Shadow Witch was right about him, he was weak because he cared.
Mrs Astley sat down and looked at her son carefully. “Charlotte? That black girl you were infatuated with at university? Well there’s no point blaming yourself, everyone dies and you know that.”
“I do blame myself, it’s my fault mother. All because I loved her.” Hunter felt a pang of regret, he’d never openly told Charlotte he loved her. He had stood back and watched her marry someone else and never said a thing. There was no point lying about it anymore.
“Don’t start fretting over it, George. Anyway, she would never have been a suitable wife. Good heavens, could you imagine a coloured mistress of Astley Manor?”
Normally Hunter would ignore any and all comments from his ignorantly racist mother, no matter how foul, but anger still throbbed in his veins.
“Shut UP, you miserable old bag. Charlotte deserves respect, and as master of this house I will throw you out if you do not hold your tongue!”
Mrs Astley looked affronted, unused to her son being so reactive. She stood up suddenly. “I will not be spoken to in such a manner. Have Charles send tea up to my rooms. And we shall speak when you have calmed down and remembered your manners.”
Hunter watched his mother leave the room. She was an irritating, narrow-minded…
He took a deep breath, his mother had never liked Charlotte, so her reaction hadn’t surprised him. What was surprising was the raw energy of anger that refused to leave his otherwise numb body. Even though he’d not slept that night, he did not feel tired. He wanted to run, to fight, to do something other than give in to grief - and this anger whispered to him that he could. Yet his legs seemed not to respond.
He didn’t know how long he stood there alone, leaning against the fireplace, his knuckles turned white in their fierce grip of the mantelpiece. But he couldn’t feel it. He could not feel the heat from the fire burning his legs. It seemed that nothing now registered beyond the forlorn pounding of bitterness and repetitive thoughts that filled his mind.
“Hunter?” Sophie’s voice broke through as she hovered by the door. But the figure by the fire made no comment, nor even recognised her presence. “George, please.”
Sophie moved quietly towards him.
“She’s dead.” Hunter said in a harsh burst, finally turning to face Sophie. “Charlotte’s dead. I couldn’t save her. Never, never has my job - if I can’t protect those I love… And I’m up against a Shadow.”
“You should have killed her when she was in me. You could have ended it right there.”
When Hunter looked at her he was surprised to see guilt and sadness in that normally cold face and icy hazel eyes. “I could never have killed you, though.”
He stepped forward and took her in his arms, his lips pressing against hers, driven not by lust but utter despair.
Sophie pushed him away immediately, and when she spoke there was a warning plea in her voice. “Hunter, don’t.”
Hunter paused, his thoughts catching up with his actions. But his heart was beating and his breath coursed his lungs. This he could feel. He stepped towards her again.
“Then tell me you don’t want me.” He said softly, wrapping his arms about her elegant frame. His lips found hers again, and this time he felt Sophie yield to his embrace.