“We’ll speak to Wardell – she’s in charge of accommodating allies. She’ll find space for you.” Marks replied. Finding space might be easy – finding other lodgers that could put up with Halbrook might prove tricky.
Eight
“You used to work with Halbrook?”
Hunter was snapped out of his private reverie, and back to the dull, unused warehouse situated in one of Manchester’s boroughs. The rain thrummed down on the distant roof. James and Alannah stood staring out of a grey window, and Hunter stood with Maria and Ian beside some silent machinery.
Hunter saw the incredulous look on Maria’s face as she voiced her question.
“Not if I could help it.” Hunter said with a shrug.
Beside him, Ian grunted, although Hunter could not tell if it was from amusement or disbelief.
“Regardless of the fact that he is a prick, with no social graces; Gareth Halbrook was always too rash, too gun happy.” Hunter explained. “He always believed that all witches were evil and must be killed. There were others that thought similarly – but he was the most vocal about it. The MMC is – sorry, was – moving away from considering it all so black and white. Personally, I always strived to capture witches alive.”
“Perhaps Halbrook was right.” Ian muttered.
Maria shushed him. “You don’t mean that!”
“Maybe not.” Ian replied. “Look Hunter, I don’t blame you for hoping witches can be redeemed, or whatever. I mean, you’re one of them now.”
There was the thud of Maria’s punch to Ian’s side, although it came too late to stop her comrade’s heresy.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Hunter, it’s just that up until a few months ago, witches didn’t exist outside storybooks for us. Even with what we’ve scrabbled to learn about the MMC… it’s hard to tell the difference between what you do and magic.” Maria kept a steady eye contact with Hunter, she wasn’t embarrassed about her ignorance, she was just stating the facts. It was a relief for Hunter to have someone so matter-of-fact.
“It’s not magic. It’s sort of the opposite. Having seven generations of fighting against magic and witches, I guess I’ve evolved to oppose them.”
“You know that’s a weak-arsed argument.” Ian replied, looking very unimpressed.
“So you’re basically an anti-witch?” Maria asked, trying to keep a straight face after Ian’s interjection.
“Something like that.” Hunter replied. “But that’s no reason not to trust me.”
“Who doesn’t trust Hunter?” Alannah piped up defensively. She and James had wandered back to hear the tail end of the conversation.
Maria rolled her eyes, proving that you never outgrew that little expression.
“No one.”
“If you want the proof – look at that blinking thing of yours.” Ian argued. “We basically put our lives in your hands every time we travel.”
Hunter stood silently, suddenly touched by the mutual respect in his team after such a short time. He didn’t know why these good people trusted him; but he was grateful.
“Sorry to break up this love-in. But they’re here.” James announced, nodding towards movement in the west side of the open warehouse.
Hunter and the rest of his team turned to face the newcomers, automatically defensive. A small party made their way towards them, six figures in all, each looking alert and wary.
“Astley?” A woman’s voice called out.
Hunter moved forward, his hand reflexively touched the dog tags at his throat, but managing to stay away from his gun.
“It’s good to finally meet you.” A woman stepped forward, holding out her hand. She looked very young, but the creases around her eyes, and the threads of grey in her otherwise black hair made Hunter guess that she was in her forties.
“Nadira Shah, 4th gen.”
Hunter shook her hand, feeling slightly embarrassed that he should finally meet Nadira Shah properly. Oh, he’d seen her years ago, when she’d had occasion to visit his father, but this was different.
“Nadira, a pleasure. How are things going in Manchester?”
Nadira paused, considering how to phrase her answer. “We are winning, for now. The interim mayor has accepted our help. The people are starting to build their lives again. We have neighbourhood watches that sweep designated areas and report anything suspicious. Some sort of communication has been established.”
Hunter listened, impressed with their progress. “And the witches?”
“We’ve had a few individual confrontations. Nothing that felt orchestrated. But it’s only a matter of time before the Shadow looks this way.”
Something about the way Nadira said it made her statement very foreboding.
“You know this?” Hunter asked.
“Manchester is the capital of the North. Logic tells me that – after London – Manchester will be her next target.” Nadira stated, then glanced uneasily over her shoulder. “But there’s also whispers, ones that we would be foolish to ignore.”
“What do you mean?” Hunter frowned, worried that they were missing something.
Nadira motioned one of her men forward. “This is Jonathan. He is here to represent his kin.”
“His kin?” Hunter felt foolish for echoing Nadira, and looked to the man instead. He looked like an ordinary person, but then so did witches and witch-hunters on the surface. Hunter looked a little more closely, then understood.
Over the years, Hunter had noticed that there was a faint residue of magic everywhere. Witch-hunters naturally repelled it; and witches acted as both a source and magnet of it – which they could increase, or hide completely with practise.
Normal people were not aware of these residues, and the magic ignored them. But this man, Jonathan, fell into a different category. The flecks of magic moulded playful to his fingertips, and followed each breath in and out. It did not belong to him, but was there to be borrowed.
“You’re a wiccan!” Hunter stated, trying to keep the note of accusation out of his voice.
“Very astute, Mr Astley.” Jonathan returned, mildly amused at the witch-hunter’s reaction. “They told me you would be.”
“A wiccan?” Ian’s deep voice rang out. Hunter did not have to look to know that his friend was tense with the idea of the unknown.
“Relax.” James answered. “It’s like a witch without powers… or a human with magic. Something like that.”
Jonathan looked as confused by James’ description as the rest of those present.
“I am just a normal man. Wicca has been my religion and education, which allows me to access the world around me.”
“What I want to know is why you’re here?” Hunter asked, surprised that Nadira would bother with a wiccan. Historically, witch-hunters didn’t bother about them – they were relatively powerless, not worth seeking as an ally. And if they turned bad, that was a job for the good old police force, not enough of a threat for the MMC to bother stepping in.
Jonathan smiled bitterly, as though reading Hunter’s mind. “Let’s forego the traditional prejudice, and you and I might just get on.”
“I’ll reserve judgement for now.” Hunter replied, crossing his arms. “It’s the best you’re going to get.”
Nadira tutted in the background. “You are as arrogant as your father, Hunter. Men are such bothersome creatures. Jonathan is here because his coven, and other cousin covens wish to form an alliance with the witch-hunters against the witches.”
“Wait.” Maria spoke up. “I would have thought that wiccans would be on the witches’ side. What with it all being magic.”
Jonathan shrugged, and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, looking very normal and non-magical indeed. “It’s true that some wiccans have been seduced by the promise of power, they have broken their Rede with us and joined the witches.”
“Rede?” Maria interrupted.
Jonathan took a deep breath, and began to recite. “’ An Ye Harm None, Do What Ye Will.’ It’s
basically the codes and rules that bind us. Including binding us from doing harm. We are the servants of nature – and nature is very much out of balance. It is our duty to rectify that.”
Hunter sighed. “I appreciate your good intentions, but what good does that do us? We’re in the middle of a war, and you’ve already explained that your code binds you from helping.”
“There are more ways to help than fighting and killing!” Jonathan returned sharply. “We have methods of communication for simple messages, and spies that have infiltrated witch ranks as wiccan absconders. Both of which you need, I would imagine.”
“Oh.” Hunter couldn’t think how to reply to that.
There was a snicker from James, the Yorkshireman amused and impressed that the wiccan could silence his friend.
Nadira looked similarly amused. “You honestly thought I would waste your time with someone of no use, Hunter?”
“Fine, what do-“
Hunter was interrupted by a sudden and familiar sound. A single gunshot echoed through the warehouse. Jonathan grunted as the bullet hit and knocked his to the ground.
Hunter shifted closer to the others, throwing up his shield – it was designed to defend against magic, but he had been known to stop a bullet. Once.
There was another resounding shot… this time the bullet hit Hunter’s defences in front of his chest. Hunter glanced down at the small lump of metal, but after learning his lesson last time, didn’t touch it. He let it fall to the ground.
Movement on the gangway on the far side of the warehouse caught Hunter’s eye.
Luckily, it caught Maria’s too. Without hesitation, she raised her gun and shot two rounds.
There was a human cry of pain, and the figure slumped.
Hunter nodded to the lieutenant, and they both set off, running in the direction of the attack. The gangway was twenty feet in the air, but Hunter found the metal ladder, going up first. As he drew up to the level, Hunter could hear laboured breathing. He took slow, measured paces, with his gun steady before him. Hunter noticed a spatter of blood by his feet, and followed the red trail.
Hunter spotted the gunman, collapsed in a corner, his breathing shallow, and his face already pale and sweating profusely. The man’s black jacket and trousers were wet with blood at the shoulder, and thigh. The man’s eyes widened with fear as he spotted Hunter, and he made a weak attempt to raise his gun. Hunter knocked his slow movement aside with his usual speed and dexterity. The gun clattered across the metal gangway.
Hunter heard Maria’s light tread behind him. “Let’s get him down to the others.”
“Yes sir.” Maria replied automatically. Then frowned. “How are we going to get him down? I mean, I’m not averse to throwing him over the edge…”
Hunter snorted without humour. Not wasting words, he knelt down and touched the man’s shoulder.
A moment later they were back in the midst of the group. The gunman was ash white, but Hunter could only guess whether it was the travelling, or the blood loss that was the cause.
Across the warehouse, Hunter could faintly hear Maria swearing, and clanging back down the metal staircase as she was left to take the slow route.
“I thought you guys could detect witches.” Jonathan muttered as soon as he got over his shock at seeing two people materialise in front of him. The wiccan sat on the floor, his shoulder being strapped with a makeshift bandage, by the ever-practical Ian.
“We detect magic, not witches.” Hunter clarified. “We can’t feel anything out of the ordinary, unless they start casting.”
“Oh fantastic!” Jonathan groaned. “I’ll remember that excuse later.”
Hunter frowned, but looked down at the bleeding gunman at his feet. “Anyone you recognise, Nadira? Jonathan?”
“No.” Jonathan replied with a sharp hiss as Ian tied off the bandage.
“Well someone has given our position away.” Hunter said, looking down at the gunman.
“What do we do with him, boss?” Ian stood, having finished his first aid, and nodded to the now-unconscious man on the floor. “Cos if we continue this chit-chat, he’s gonna be dead anyway.”
“Kill him.” James said, uncharacteristically cold.
“James!” Alannah snapped, grasping his arm.
“Think about it: a single witch gunman was sent to take out a wiccan. If they had known Hunter was involved, it would have been a dozen at least. But all we’ve gotta do is let him live and get word back to his boss that a witch-hunter could stop his bullets and travel in a blink – how long do you think it will take them to work out Hunter was here? Then what – they come in force to Manchester, and Nadira and her followers suffer.”
“Ok, you’ve been spending too much time with Halbrook.” Alannah accused, her green eyes narrowing at James. “What you need to do is take him back to base for questioning.”
Ian coughed to get their attention. “Too late. He’s gone.”
They all stopped, and looked at the gunman, pale and lifeless at their feet.
Nine
Nadira escorted Hunter and his team back to their base. Two of her men helped Jonathan, who was pale, but insisted on walking back.
Soon they were all settled in a grey and dull office.
“Jonathan will be back after the doctors have seen him.” Nadira stood by the door, her arms folded. “Today did not go how I expected.”
Hunter pulled out a chair and got comfortable for a possibly long wait. “I doubt it’s your fault, Nadira. But we should look into who might have betrayed you.”
Nadira stared straight into one of the grey walls, her lips down-turned. She took a minute to process the particulars, then shook her head. “It would have been someone with only partial information. As your man pointed out, they did not know it was you we were meeting.”
Nadira sighed. “I almost wish it were someone in my immediate circle of advisors, they are limited in number. But to search for a possible mole in the hundreds of allies here… this war may be over before they are discovered.”
“With any luck, this will be over quickly.” Hunter replied.
Nadira bit back a smile. “You are too optimistic, Hunter. You remind me of Young, he was the same. Now, I shall see about getting tea.”
The woman left Hunter and his team, but was back before they could cause much mischief. This time Nadira brought company into the office.
Jonathan came in, his bloody clothes changed and a fresh white bandage acting as a sling for his left arm. Another witch-hunter followed behind him, carrying a box, which he set on the table.
“How is your arm, Jonathan?” Ian asked.
“It’s fine, thank you, Sergeant. No major damage.” The wiccan replied. He looked very pale still, but determined to finish this meeting. He nodded to the box. “If one of you could do the honours, please.”
Alannah, who was closest to the box, opened the lid. Inside there were at least a dozen smaller boxes about four inches wide. Glancing up to Jonathan, to make sure she had permission, she picked up one of the small boxes and opened it. Inside, on a bed of paper, were two rose coloured stones.
Hunter leant across the table, trying to see what it was. “Is that-?”
“Quartz.” Jonathan answered. “Those ones are rose quartz, to be precise.”
“What are they for?” Maria asked, looking down at the unimpressive stones.
“We use them for basic communication.” Jonathan explained. “These two stones have been cut from the same piece, and have been charmed to interact with each other. If you would pass me one, please, Miss…?”
“Alannah Winton.” The Welsh girl offered her name readily, and passed one of the small pinkish stones to Jonathan.
“Thank you, Alannah.” Jonathan smiled. “If you would hold the other one.”
Alannah grinned as she took up the second stone, it was cool and smooth in her palm.
Jonathan smiled at her cooperation. “So far we have been using these to warn of emergencies. The stone
s stay connected, no matter the distance. And if I run into trouble and need back-up, I simply focus on the stone…”
Jonathan shut his eyes, and closed his fist over the small stone. After a minute of concentration, Alannah yelped, dropping her stone on the table with a clatter. “It got hot!” She exclaimed, looking at the wiccan for an explanation.
“Not enough to burn, or do damage, but enough to get attention.” Jonathan turned the cool rose quartz over in his hand.
Hunter looked on, wondering if he was supposed to be impressed.
“When you mentioned basic communication, I did not realise you meant this basic.”
Jonathan did not look fazed by the witch-hunter’s apathy. “You are letting yourself be blinded to its usefulness, Mr Astley. If I sent a distress signal, how quickly could you get to me? Opposed to how long it would take for a message of trouble to come via mundane means – providing there’s someone able to get that message out, of course.”
Jonathan handed his stone back to Alannah, and indicated that she should put them back in the box. The Wiccan waved his good hand at the collection. “Quartz is a powerful magical amplifier, long used for communication. We’ve just adapted it to suit our needs. There’s rose quartz, citrine and amethyst in there, they won’t fail you. The stones are reservoirs for magic, once charged they won’t run out.”
“Isn’t quartz the stuff they use in crystal balls?” James asked, reserving some scepticism still.
Jonathan sighed. “That’s a different type of magic. But yes. Not that I hold with that type of thing.”
“You mean, there are prejudices within Wicca to different types of magic?” James was positively intrigued by the idea.
Jonathan shrugged. “It tends to change with each generation. Whereas clairvoyance was all the rage ten years ago, a lot of us now are taking a more traditional route. Although I hear there’s a Boston movement-“
“As interesting as this is, can we please focus?” Hunter interrupted. He got the feeling that Jonathan would prattle on about his religion for as long as James wanted to listen. And Hunter recognised that light of interest in his friend’s eyes. They could be there all day. “Let us say that the stones work, and prove useful, there are only a dozen or so here. We would need a lot more if we intended to make it part of every team’s essential kit.”
The Shadow Reigns (Witch-Hunter #2) Page 5
