Hunter glanced over towards Ian. The sergeant was the calmest in the group. But as he was also the oldest, in his late-thirties, Hunter wondered if that had anything to do with it.
Lieutenant Maria Coulson leant against the kitchen top near Ian. Her blonde hair was scraped back into a hasty bun, and her blue eyes were half-closed over her coffee. Hunter hadn’t personally met Maria before, but had heard good reviews about her. She was supposed to be one of the best gunmen in General Hayworth’s regiment.
James yawned, looking outwardly relaxed as he slumped over the breakfast bar. But Hunter could see his nervous tells as James irritatingly tapped his mug.
Next to James, Alannah was wide-eyed and positively bouncing. When she noticed Hunter looking her way, she grinned.
“It’s my first big assignment.” She spurted out in her lovely Welsh tones. “I’d just finished training when all this kicked off.”
“Who did you train with?” Hunter asked.
“Timothy Jones, near Cardiff.” Alannah replied. Tucking loose hair behind her ear. “He’s on the missing list, so I’m hoping we get to find him.”
“Well, I can talk to Colin Dawkins for ya.” James piped up, beside her. “Get him to bump up the priority of Jones.”
Alannah turned to James, smiling at his help; just as Hunter rolled his eyes at his friend’s chumminess with the sergeant.
“Sorry to interrupt, but when are we going?” Ian suddenly asked, looking over at the three witch-hunters.
Oh yes, the business of the day. Hunter glanced round his team. “Get kitted up and meet me back here in ten minutes.”
*****
Hunter checked and re-checked his gear. The black stab-vest was comfortable and familiar, his hands traced over the guns and knives that were MMC issue; finally his hand rested on the ever-present dog tags at his neck. This tarnished accessory wasn’t just a memento from the last World War, it had come from the Astley collection and was charmed to protect the wearer from certain spells.
Hunter tucked the dog tags into his shirt and made a detour to the vault that lay beyond the library. Taking a lamp with him into that windowless room, he quickly picked out a few suitable pieces. Hunter made his way to the kitchen where everyone was already waiting for him.
“Here, take these.” Hunter handed out a necklace to Alannah; a brooch to Maria; and a bracelet to Ian.
Alannah looked excited, understanding the gift immediately, but the two soldiers looked a little confused.
“Uh, thanks?” Maria replied, turning the bronze brooch with amber stone in her hands.
“They’re charmed items for extra protection against witches.” James explained with a chuckle. He raised his right hand, showing the thick gold ring that he never went without. “You’re part of a select group now. Hunter doesn’t openly share his treasures.”
Hunter stood quietly by the kitchen door. Since he’d taken charge of Astley Manor and its contents six years ago, he’d only given out a very few of these items. James Bennett and Charlotte King had been the first. Sophie Murphy had been the most recent, Hunter wondered whether she still wore the silver and opal necklace.
“Come on, if everyone is ready, we should go.” Hunter closed the topic.
Maria pinned her new brooch onto her shirt, then looked up at Hunter, nervous for the first time. “So… what do we have to do? Set candles? I can’t promise to be any good at chanting.”
Hunter ignored James who immediately burst into laughter at Maria’s naivety.
“No, it’s not magic. And not that type of magic – that’s casting you’re thinking of.”
Maria blushed, but remained defensive.
“Well I didn’t know. Two months ago I didn’t know witches existed, so give us a break while we catch up.” Her eyes narrowed in the direction of James, who was gaining control of his mirth.
“All you have to do is hold onto me, I’ll do the rest.” Hunter explained calmly. “Close your eyes if you want. It can be a, ah- disorientating experience the first time.”
“Tell me about it.” Ian muttered. He was pale from the mere memory of it, having been part of the regiment Hunter had brought to Little Hanting to face the Shadow Witch.
Hunter sighed and held out his arms. Once he felt four hands gripping him tightly, he closed his eyes and let his mind refocus.
The next moment they were gone.
*****
They reappeared in the middle of a field, the rain pouring relentlessly down and soaking each man and woman to the bone within minutes.
“Right, we’re five miles outside of Newcastle, there’s a small MMC branch a mile to the East of our location.” Hunter stated, looking up to see the Angel of the North to confirm his bearings, but only seeing grey cloud. He hoped he wasn’t too far out.
Hunter looked at his team, and was hardly surprised to see the youngest, Alannah, on her knees in the mud trying not to throw up. James hovered next to her, trying to be supportive.
The two soldiers had a little more control, although they looked very pale – but that could just have to do with the rain rather than Hunter’s method of travel.
“And we’ve gotta do that every mission?” Maria gasped, half regretting her promotion to this team.
“There and back.” Hunter confirmed. “But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get used to it.”
Maria groaned at his lack of helpfulness.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Ian asked. “Winton, you good?”
Alannah nodded and with James grabbing her hand for support, she got back to her feet.
“Lead the way, sir.” Ian turned to Hunter.
Hunter recognised the expression that flickered across the usually cool sergeant’s face. It was the same expression that so many wore when first working with Hunter. Doubt. So many people were sceptical of the supposed skill of the 7th gen, and questioned his right to lead. Especially when that person was older or more experienced.
Hunter felt his pride flare up. Well, he’d just have to prove to Ian, and anyone else that might question him just why he deserved to lead.
But for now, they had to get out of this rain. It was no fun, trudging across the muddy field, slipping in the harrows and their boots getting heavier with mud and rain. Eventually they hit a road, and followed it until it led to the A1. The motorway was eerily quiet, and Hunter and his team jumped across the barriers and walked across the tarmac, the only noise the consistent rain.
On the other side of the main road was their destination. It looked like any other trading estate, with industrial offices standing blandly side by side, and the token car depot. But amongst the boringly normal enterprises here, the MMC had held an office for years.
Hunter led the way to a red-brick building. There was an electronic keypad by the main door, which had been rendered useless along with most other things, when the witches had overturned technology with magic.
But there was a keyhole. Unfortunately Hunter didn’t have the key. He wondered… Hunter focused on the lock, tried to mentally feel out the latch and give it an invisible shove… It felt like it was about to move, but always slipped at the last moment.
From the back of the group, James huffed and pushed to the front.
“Get out the way.” He muttered to his friend. Hunter might want to experiment, but James was bored with getting soaked and was impatient to get inside.
James took out his tools for the job and knelt by the door. Less than a minute later there was the rewarding sound of a click, and the door drifted open. James stood back and allowed Hunter to lead the way into a dark corridor.
“Stop there. Identify yourself.” A voice came from the far end of the corridor.
Hunter’s sharp eyes made out the shape of a person kneeling, a gun in hand. He had no doubt that this person could see them, silhouetted in the doorway.
“We’re from the MMC. I’m Hunter Astley, 7th gen.”
“Really?” The voice remained wary. “Come to the control roo
m, and we’ll see.”
A door opened, letting daylight in the far end of the corridor.
Hunter spared his team a quick glance, then led the way down to the door. He stepped into the ‘control room’, which looked like it had once been the main meeting room for this MMC branch. Now tables had been pushed together and were piled with papers. On the wall were two maps – one local and one national – both had marks and notes covering them.
But more importantly, half a dozen men stood aiming guns at the trespassers.
“Hunter?” One of the men lowered his gun and moved to the front. “James? Christ, I’m glad to see you two!”
“Toby? What on earth are you doing here?” James piped up.
Hunter quickly placed the face. Toby Robson, a 4th gen witch-hunter that had been listed as missing. But they had been searching for him near his home of Oxford, not Newcastle.
“Oh, long story. I was on my way back from a family excursion to Scotland when everything happened. I got stuck here, and well, we’ve been busy ever since. We had no idea if there were other survivors.” Toby replied, his eyes locked on his old friends, savouring the sight of them again. “What about you? I mean, what’s the state of the MMC? What happened after the blackout? Hell – what was the blackout?”
“Sir?” Maria piped up from behind Hunter, the soldier looking amused at the flood of questions. “Perhaps we should check the others off our list while you fill your friend in.”
Hunter nodded, glad that someone had suggested something sensible. He coughed, wondering where to start for Toby. “So… what do you know?”
*****
An hour later, Alannah was still quizzing the other witch-hunters over what they knew of their colleagues and witches; and the other three members of Hunter’s team sifted through the stacked data.
Hunter was sat with Toby, who looked a little dazed at all he had just been told. He’d been sitting like that for nearly ten minutes, and Hunter wondered whether he should speak, or wait patiently for his friend to snap out of it.
Hunter coughed, and less-than-subtly drummed his fingers on the table-top.
Finally Toby looked up at him. “Sophie, you’re sure?”
Hunter nodded. “I hoped it was some spell, a charm or possession of some sort. But no, it was her all along. She took great pleasure in ridiculing the trust I put in her.”
“But… weren’t you-“
“Can we change the topic?” Hunter cut through, before Toby could go any more in-depth. “So tell me, how did you end up here?”
Toby shrugged, not finding his own story half as interesting. “We took the baby up to see the in-laws. Little Molly is a few months old now; it was her first trip to Scotland to see Claire’s side of the family. We were still up there when the mass-breakout occurred. I made sure Claire and Molly were safe, then went to fight at the Glasgow prison.
“It took a few days to help with the casualties and a few sporadic witch attacks. After that, I was determined to get back and report to our MMC, but only got as far as Newcastle when everything blacked out. I came straight here to get answers, but everything was chaos. They’d lost all contact with the head office, and of the witch-hunters that hadn’t been killed, many were missing. I stayed to help – I’ve been here a month now.”
“Are you in charge?” Hunter asked. “What have the primary aims been?”
Toby nodded in answer to his first question. “Yes, I’m the highest gen here, and even though I’m not a Geordie, they seem to trust me; and need me. As for what we’ve been up to – re-establishing links; trying to find lost hunters; trying to get in touch with other survivors and sounding out what the witches are up to.”
“Sounds much the same as us.” Hunter murmured.
“Do you need me to come back with you?” Toby asked.
Hunter shook his head. “I think you’re more useful to the MMC here, doing what you are already doing. As long as you don’t mind?”
Toby sighed and leant back in his chair. “I want to go home, but at the same time it’s a relief not to. I don’t know how I’d cope to see everything in ruins.”
Hunter could understand Toby’s logic. Didn’t they all want to hide from seeing the worst.
*****
Hunter and his team returned to Astley Manor in the early afternoon. They held gingerly onto their leader and allowed him to rip them from one place to another.
They suddenly appeared in the kitchen, startling Sergeant Dawkins so that he dropped his tea. Not that he seemed to care; he smiled openly when he realised who it was, and what it meant.
“Back already? Amazing!” Dawkins glanced over the team, noting their pale faces with a knowing smile. He wouldn’t voluntarily travel with Hunter again. “What did you find?”
“The Newcastle branch is still going strong. We managed to check off eighteen names that reported to their commanding officer, Toby Robson. And, ah, twenty-six confirmed dead.” Hunter reeled off.
“Very well. Deliver your notes to my team, and I think a successful first mission deserves the rest of the day off. I’ll have your next packet ready in the morning.” Dawkins replied. “Ah, James. While you’re here, could I steal you? I want your opinion on your replacement.”
Six
After their debrief, Hunter left his team and wandered down to the library. The Astley library was famous in witch-hunter circles. It was the most extensive known collection of books, grimoires, and witch-hunter chronicles. All collected over the last two-hundred years by the Astley family.
He picked up the book that he’d left on the desk yesterday: ‘Witches and their Hunters of the Romanic Region: 16th Century study’. The cover was old, brown leather; the lettering dull and cracked. It was just one more book amidst a room full of older, and much more interesting books. But this was the one that contained the reference to the mysterious Benandanti.
There was only a little information, barely a page’s worth; giving a brief account of their history as defenders of the Friuli region of Italy and their abilities. Oh, and of course, their ultimate prosecution as witches by the MMC.
Hunter had read it enough times to know the words by heart, and now he stared at the cover, as though willing it to divulge more. Hunter sighed and put the book back down. He wondered how Sophie had made such a questionable connection between himself and these Benandanti, from such a small piece of information. Had she found more details somewhere in this library? Or had she been so desperate to find a way to keep Hunter with her, she’d made the mental leap?
Hunter couldn’t say which answer made him more hopeful. To know that the information was somewhere within reach was what brought him here so often. But it would also be a relief to know that Sophie had loved him… Oh, logically he could say that the strength of her affections could make her less likely to be able to kill him; but if he was being honest, he just wanted some evidence that she had loved him back.
Hunter shook his head. He had to stop thinking about her. Sophie Murphy was just the human façade of the Shadow Witch, designed to mislead him. That woman was gone, and she was not coming back.
He stalked over to the bookshelves, where James had left a marker for the next in the ‘to-read’ pile. Researching both his new-found abilities, and an answer to defeating the Shadow Witch would be distraction enough.
Hunter picked up a book by an American scholar, Eliade. Being from only the 1970’s it was positively new compared to some of the others in this room. But Hunter was tired of reading and translating the varying spellings of Olde English, at least this would give his brain a break.
Half an hour later he was engrossed in an account of the history of the interaction between the Inquisition and the Benandanti when a shadow crossed into the room.
“Still reading?”
Hunter glanced up to see General Hayworth with his arms crossed in the doorway.
Hunter shrugged, putting a bookmark in place. “I… I need to find out more about what I am.”
Hayworth looked down steadily at the younger man. “Hunter… may I make a suggestion? The books will still be here tomorrow. Spend some time with your team, that’s just as important.”
The General sighed at the stubbornness of this younger generation, then turned and duly left Hunter to his own devices.
Hunter ran his fingers across the spine of the book, not completely convinced. He knew he couldn’t settle to read that stodgy material once more – damn Hayworth for breaking his concentration!
Muttering to himself, Hunter extinguished the lights in the library and sloped towards the living room, drawn by the sound of voices and laughter. He opened the door to see his team sitting around the coffee table, fully entertained by a simple pack of cards. And a few bottles of wine.
“What’s the celebration?”
Four heads turned in his direction.
“Well, you know, surviving our first mission seemed a good enough excuse.” Maria replied with an innocent air.
“Yeah, just to let you know Hunter, you kindly donated the booze.” James informed him.
Hunter shrugged. “Fine. I just hope you guys are fit for duty in the morning.”
Three of them looked suitably abashed, but James just snorted. “Ignore him – he’ll be as rat-arsed as the rest of us by the end of the evening. Ian, deal him in!”
Hunter’s smile finally broke through the stern façade. He stopped to grab a spare glass from the sideboard, then joined his team at the table.
“What are we playing?”
“Blackjack.” Ian replied, dealing seven cards in Hunter’s direction.
Hunter sighed. “Really? Was this James’ idea? You won’t beat him.”
“I might have suggested it.” James replied, smirking as he reordered his cards.
Hunter shook his head, but joined the game. He hadn’t played this particular card game since university – where James Bennett had taught him all of the rules, and none of the cheats.
The Shadow Reigns (Witch-Hunter #2) Page 3
