The Shadow's Son (The Witch Hunter Saga)

by Nicole R. Taylor

  When a witch had contacted her during her meditation the previous evening, she knew it wasn't good news. There were only a few people alive who knew the truth of who and what she was and not all of them were good. Despite this, Gabby knew it was in her best interests, along with everyone else's, if she came here today. There was no fear or worry in her heart, only a morbid sense of curiosity. What could he possibly want from her?

  Sighing, she crossed the room and sat across from the dark figure. Raising an eyebrow she said, "This better be worth my time."

  Regulus smirked at the young witch. "Ismena was always quite talented. Good to see she passed it on."

  "If anyone finds out I came to meet you," she began, an unmistakable note of warning in her voice.

  "But, dear Gabrielle, they won't. Not anyone that matters, anyway," he disregarded her warning with a flick of his hand.

  A waitress stopped by the table then, but she waved her away. She didn't want to stay here a moment longer than she had to. "What do you want, Regulus? I have better things to do, you know."

  The Roman leant back and surveyed her with a glint in his eye that should have unsettled her, but she only glared at him. His lip curled up into a sneer and he said, "Don't think for a second that I don't know what you've been poking around for."

  "And what might that be?" she laughed.

  "Want to make your own army, Gabrielle?"

  Clearly, his fingers were in a lot more pies that she had thought. Since she had gotten wind of his arrival, she'd been trying to track down the spell that had created the founders in hope that she could undo it. So far, she'd come up with nothing but hearsay. "Who needs an army when all I have to do is to will my enemies to their knees?"

  "Now I see why Arturius liked you. You have some mouth, Gabrielle." He said it suggestively, wiping his bottom lip with a thumb.

  "In your dreams," she rolled her eyes. "I know you've been poking about Ashburton and I suggest you leave him alone."

  "Now, why would I do that?"

  "That town and everyone and everything in it is under my protection," her eyes narrowed in warning. "Leave him alone. He's been through enough without you trying to destroy him as well."

  Regulus slammed a fist down on the table top, making her jump. "Zachary is mine," he spat. "He's already agreed to come along, so save your threats for someone who wants to be saved."

  "No…" Why would he do such a thing when she was there to help him?

  "Yes," Regulus said. "Now, if you don't mind, witch, I have some business to discuss with you."

  He pushed a vial of blood across the table and she scooped it into her bag, glancing about the cafe to see if anyone had noticed. "What the hell are you doing?"

  The Roman laughed at her. "Do you think any of the people in here are a match for me? I've been around a long time, dear. If I desired it, everyone in this cafe would be dead before they reached the door. There would be no time to let out a scream."

  "What do you want me to do with this?" she said through gritted teeth.

  "You will link me to Zachary."

  "Why?"

  "Insurance, dear."

  "Insurance from what?" As she asked the question, she understood the answer. If Zac died, the link would let Regulus know. Or if Zac attempted to kill him, then the magic would end him instead. It was exactly what Katrin had done to the Romans and every other vampire that had served her.

  He ignored her question. "I know where your parents live and that darling witch Sophia. She's a live wire that one, considering her age."

  "Don't you dare threaten me, Regulus, or I'll-"

  "Or you'll what?" He leant over the table, his eyes becoming dark.

  Gabby sat back as far as she could in the booth, knowing her threat was empty where Regulus was concerned. When he had said the word discuss earlier? What he really meant was order. There was no choice here if she wanted her friends to remain safe. Could she use her power on him? There was a very high chance that he was also immune like Arturius had been. After she had detained Caius all that time ago at the silo, they had learned how to counter her.

  "Do what I ask and nothing need happen to them," he smiled, leaning back, knowing that he had her in the palm of his hand. "Oh, and what I continue to ask you to do."

  "Asshole," she spat, much to his amusement.

  "I've been called much worse things." As she stood up to leave, he said, "And I will know if you haven't done it. So, I suggest you do what I ask the moment you get home. I intend to leave as soon as possible."

  He didn't have to threaten her, she knew exactly what would happen if she defied him. Glaring, she stalked towards the exit of the cafe, her skin crawling.

  "Adiós, preciosa," he called out after her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  London had changed dramatically in the last one hundred and ninety years since Aya had been here. She marveled at all the advances so much she almost forgot the depression she had sunk herself into. Not even the 747 airplane she and Tristan had taken to get here had pulled her out. Usually, she would have taken in everything about that. He'd arranged a counterfeit passport for her, which was much more effective than compulsion. Airport security and all the rules and forms that had to be filled out and followed puzzled her. Humans had become more suspicious of one another to a point where it almost seemed absurd.

  Tristan apparently liked the finer things in life and had procured first class tickets and a rather fine room at The Ritz, one of the best hotels in the city. Not that she complained. He said he had a black credit card that let people know that he was stinking rich. Aya had no need for finances. She had always taken what she had needed from people who had too much of it to care.

  The first few days, Aya walked the city that was so eerily familiar. Cars, trucks, busses and taxis clogged the streets where once there were horse and carts, electric lights replaced darkness and tourists flocked to the museums and landmarks like locusts. She walked streets that used to be the slums of Cheapside, past the gates of palaces that had housed some of the most terrifying and powerful monarchs of the Middle Ages. There, where people picnicked and took their morning jog, she remembered the gallows of Marble Arch, where humans had died in the thousands.

  The explosion of art and culture that had overcome London was something else. Aya almost felt sorry that she had missed it all. She would have, but all she could think about was Zac and how he'd walked away from her believing that she had betrayed his trust. Used him. Tricked him.

  But for all her agony, she couldn't help but feel relief that she only had to look out for herself again. Tristan was smart, they'd worked together for over a hundred years. He knew that she was a solitary being and didn't feel the need to latch onto her. She didn't need to protect him. Love was an unnatural feeling to her. She would do anything for Zac, even if that meant leaving to protect him. He'd said it himself. Their love was driving him mad. Perhaps if they had met under other circumstances it would be different.

  Aya couldn't love him the way he wanted. The way he needed. Not right now, not until she found Victoria's secret and Regulus was a pile of ash. When the threat was eliminated, she would find him again and hope it wasn't too late. She needed his love as much as he needed hers.

  Hope was a strange thing.

  "You need to forget him," Tristan's voice broke through her melancholy. "Wallowin' is not productive, Arrow."

  "How do you know what I'm thinking?" she hissed.

  "It's written all over your face," he shrugged. "Regulus will keep. I know for a fact that he's not in London right now. He will come back, but we should use this time to find out about Victoria."

  "Yes, of course."

  "That is, after all one of the reasons we came here."

  "Where do you suggest we begin?" she asked, having no idea how to go about it in this day and age.

  "The British Library," he said. "It holds a lot of records. Births, deaths, that kind of thing. If we're lucky it will hold records of her ancestors."


  "I don't like our chances," she said. "I have a feeling that any trace of her might have been erased. Especially after Regulus turned her."

  "You forget, Arrow," he winked. "I was in Regulus' back pocket for two hundred years and I have a very good memory."

  She sat up sharply, "What do you know, Tristan?"

  "I know her true name. I'm hopin' that we will find what we need with that. There is a high chance that everythin' is there…"

  Aya sighed, cutting him off, "Maybe, but don't get your hopes up. Witches are annoying when they want to hide something."

  "That they are, but I don't know where else to start."

  Truth was, neither did Aya. She hadn't known much about Victoria other than the glaringly obvious. She had been a witch and foolishly, she had been in love with Regulus. From what Zac had told her, she had fallen out of favor with the Roman and had followed her to America, where she had already gone to ground before she could catch up.

  "Then," she said. "Let's go to the library."

  The British Library stood near Kings Cross and St Pancras station. The buildings had been modernized somewhat, but they still bore a striking resemblance to what they had once been and still were. Train Stations. Here, Tristan told Aya, you could get a train to Paris in under three hours through a tunnel that had been built under the channel.

  Watching the flow of humans, Aya shook her head. She couldn't seem to get over the amount of people going to and fro, into the station and the Tube, onto busses and on foot. London had always been busy, but it had multiplied by thousands.

  To her annoyance, Tristan pulled her down the street and into the main foyer of the library, where the clerk sitting at the cloakroom eyed them suspiciously. They really were a pair. Tristan with his tall stature and broad shoulders and shock of curly hair and her in her dark clothing and long hair which he had told her made her look like something called a punk. To human eyes, they didn't fit together at all.

  She glared at the clerk, who looked away quickly as she followed Tristan towards the stairs, taking them two at a time. Coming out into a modern looking reading room, books lining every available space, she asked, "So, what's Victoria's real name?"

  "Dowling was her family name. She came from Wiltshire to the west. That's all I know."

  "Surely she would have been intelligent enough to use a different family name," Aya rolled her eyes as they came to the enquiries desk.

  "Perhaps, but we have nothin' else to go on." Tristan turned to the woman who sat there and said, "Hello."

  The librarian looked up from the desk and smiled. She seemed rather young to be stuck in the library all day. Late twenties, perhaps, long red hair and pale skin that was dusted with freckles. She pushed her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose and said, "How may I help you?"

  Tristan leant forwards on the desk and winked at her. "If you don't mind, could you find everythin' you can on one Victoria Dowling, born in Wiltshire in the mid to late 1700s. She died around 1788."

  The librarian frowned and shook her head. Finally, she smiled brightly at the vampire and nodded, "Of course. I might be some time, sir. Do you want to wait or come back?"

  Aya gave him a look. "We will wait," he told her and she hurried off into some dark recess of the library to do their compelled bidding.

  "What are you really hopin' to find, Arrow?"

  "Victoria was a witch. It has to be something to do with it, I know it. Perhaps we can find a living relative, a name that I remember, a story, a picture, a grave site. Anything. Witches are secretive, but that doesn't mean I can't find what they're hiding."

  Tristan sat in one of the chairs at a free table and kicked his feet up, much to the annoyance of a woman sitting across the way. "And what do you think she has to do with your boyfriend's blood? It wasn't like she was anythin' special."

  "I have a feeling, Tristan," she whispered, sitting beside him. "Zac's blood is potent to me, to my abilities. It has something to do with those parts of me. I know it."

  "You never told me where you came from," he said carefully. "I know you're a hybrid, Arrow. But with what? Sometimes you scare the hell out of me."

  "I'm not at liberty to discuss such things," she said absently.

  "But Zac knows all of it, doesn't he?"

  "That was a matter of consequence. He is bound to secrecy as much as I."

  "You gave him your blood." Tristan was shaking his head.

  "It seems I don't give you enough credit, Tristan. You've become more observant in the past six hundred years. Congratulations."

  "Of course," he shrugged. "Hangin' out with the bad guys makes observation a necessity."

  Sighing, Aya didn't bother answering. She didn't have the patience to argue with him, especially since he was in such a cocky mood. Instead, she let her eyes wander the reading room, taking in the stacks, where shelves upon shelves of books stretched up three floors, the edges of each lined with thick glass. Watching the humans who sat at the tables around them, she regarded what each were reading. Most seemed to be students, some had piles of medical texts, while others had old looking books on ancient cultures.

  One man caught her attention, though. He didn't seem to be doing anything. Taking in his rumpled appearance, she frowned. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, his messy brown hair looked greasy, there was several days of stubble on his chin and his eyes were dull. Looking at the books he was studying, she tilted her head to the side to read the titles more clearly. Witchcraft in the Middle Ages, Celtic Myth and one that made her eyes narrow, Wales and Witchcraft 1542.

  1542 was the year she assisted a woman in northern Wales who had been harassed by a witch who'd given herself to evil. That woman, the witch who had been pure, she was one of Gabby's ancestors and the witch that had written the summoning spell that had woken her all those years later in Ashburton. The spell that Gabby and Zac had cast. She wondered what the book was about and what exactly it told about that time.

  She caught the gaze of the man, who automatically glanced back to his work. Looking him over, curiously, she didn't detect anything out of the ordinary. If he knew who they were, he would have taken the first opportunity to leave. Most people would. He was still there fifteen minutes later working, and it was obvious he was in for the long haul.

  Tristan raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged, disregarding the man. His research could mean anything and they had been in London for only three days. In that time, Aya was positive that they had not been seen or followed by anyone. And when she was positive about something, that meant she was always right.

  When the librarian finally came back, Aya had had enough. Tristan reached the desk before she did and she stifled a sigh.

  "I've found something, but it's not much," the librarian said, pushing a piece of paper across the desktop.

  Aya snatched it before Tristan could get his hands on it. "A grave site?" she exclaimed, her eyes scanning the paper.

  "Yes, it's the same name and it matches the dates you gave, give or take a few months. It's all I could find, I'm afraid."

  "No," Tristan said, taking the paper from Aya. "You've been a great help. Thank you."

  Aya glared at him and turned back towards the librarian. Leaning forward she said, "Now forget we were ever here."

  The librarian looked confused for a moment, her gaze piercing through the two vampires like they weren't even there. When she turned away, Aya snatched the paper back from Tristan and strode across the room towards the exit.

  "Where you goin' in such a hurry?" He had to run to catch up with her.

  "Where do you think?" she rolled her eyes, shaking the piece of paper in his face. "Salisbury."

  Aya watched the countryside flash past out of the double glazed windows of the train and found herself thinking back to a time long past. She had always had a soft spot for this place, perhaps that had something to do with the fact she was born here. Not this place exactly, her home had been farther north in a place that was now called
the Lake District. A small village that had sprouted up there in later centuries was eerily close to her forest, and it was called Grasmere. She had not been back to that place since she had found what was left of her family.

  Remembering when she had first met her unlikely friends in Ashburton, she had told them she was from here. Snorting at that thought, she conceded she should probably amend that to friends who were unlikely to welcome her home. Home... How she had wanted to make that place her home.

  Tristan shifted in his seat opposite and her eyes flickered to his and she scowled when she saw his puzzled expression. He was trying to figure out what she was thinking. Pointedly ignoring him, she looked back out the window and filtered him out.

  The countryside of England, or the United Kingdom as it was now called, was even more greener than she had remembered. The sky was grey and heavy with clouds that constantly threatened rain and the air was heavy with moisture. She had already noticed the nights had become colder, even though it was still only the first week of October. Winter wouldn't officially start until December, but it seemed autumn was going to be skipped entirely this year. Snow would come early and it would hit hard.

  Finally, she felt Tristan's gaze turn away. Peering out the corner of her eye, she regarded the knight as he looked out the window and wondered when she had decided to trust him. It hadn't been a conscious decision, it had just happened. Why the hell could she trust Tristan of all people and not Zac? But, what was trust when she couldn't share her true self with him. She had to keep a part of herself from everyone she met. It was just the way it was.

  But, not with Zac. She still didn't know why she couldn't tell him her fears over what her power had done when she had taken Arturius. It was like she'd had her heart ripped out again. As she sat there on the train, she knew that nothing had happened. She was as she always was and that was a hard truth to swallow. Had she pushed him away for nothing?