The Shadow Reigns (Witch-Hunter #2)

by K. S. Marsden

  He thought back to the first time he had transported himself, the first time he had used his shield. It had all happened so easily then, so why was it so hard now? Did he honestly have to wait for his life to be endangered before he unlocked more powers? Or was this it?

  Hunter moved to settle down to do more reading, but froze. It was so faint, that at first he thought it was his sleep-deprived imagination. But no, there was the familiar pain that radiated through his brain. Someone was using magic. Hunter got to his feet and focused on it. The source was fifteen miles to the North, only just within range for him to detect.

  Before he could even think of getting a team together and investigating, Hunter worked out why this felt so odd. Fifteen miles. He remembered talking to Sophie in this very library, about how a witch-hunter perceives magic. About how he could detect further than the lesser generations. And how far had they agreed he could sense magic?

  This was for him. Someone wanted him alone to know that they were there. Before common sense got the better of him, Hunter took a deep breath and focused on the site of the source.

  One moment he was in the library. The next he was in the woods that stretched most of the way between Little Hanting and the nearest town.

  “Sophie?” He called out, stepping forward. Hunter stopped abruptly, feeling the dewy grass beneath his feet. Barefoot again, damn it. He glanced down to confirm that he was still in his scruffy grey pyjamas.

  “Sophie’s not here.” A familiar voice called back, as a figure stepped forward.

  Tall and willowy like her daughter, with the same dark brown hair. Beverley Murphy.

  “Bev? What are you doing here? Is Sophie alright?” Hunter rattled off before he could help himself.

  In the darkness Bev smiled, her assumptions correct on how this man still felt about her daughter.

  “She’s fine, Hunter.” Bev replied. “I’m here to pass on a message: yesterday she gave birth to a healthy baby boy.”

  Hunter was struck silent, and after a minute he reminded himself to breathe. He had known that Sophie was pregnant, had known that this day would come. But it was still a shock. He was a father.

  “A boy?” He repeated, unable to bring together a more coherent sentence.

  “Yes.” Bev smiled at the thought of her first grandchild. “Sophie named him Adam.”

  “Adam?”

  “You didn’t expect her to call him George, did you?” Bev gave him a shrewd look. “Sophie has had trouble enough hiding the fact that you’re the father.”

  Hunter frowned at this information. “The witches don’t know?”

  Bev glanced away into the dark woods. “The few that do know decided that it was best the truth was hidden. They don’t want the masses to know that their heroic Shadow Witch might have formed an emotional bond with their enemy.”

  “Sounds familiar.” Hunter muttered. Then his eyes narrowed in Bev’s direction. “Sophie took a risk sending you, I could have killed you. Why didn’t she come herself?”

  Bev crossed her arms defensively. “Sophie gave birth yesterday, she’s at home recuperating with her newborn son. I was the obvious choice of messenger – you know me, and I, well…”

  “You helped me and James escape.” Hunter finished, knowing that Bev was telling the truth. She was the one witch he would be willing to listen to. “Thank you, by the way.”

  Bev shrugged off his thanks. “And Sophie wanted me to… renew her offer.”

  “The offer where I switch to the side that was willing to kill my best friend?” Hunter returned.

  “If you joined us, what is left of the witch-hunters would crumble and yield. You could end this war, you could save so many lives.” Bev near begged.

  “Do you really believe that I am that important?” Hunter demanded. “Each and every witch-hunter is driven by their own desire to do what is right and good. I could disappear tomorrow and they would still fight on.”

  Bev remained silent, as though she had expected this reaction, even as she hoped for better.

  Hunter took a deep, calming breath. “If Sophie’s so desperate to join forces, tell her to bring a white flag and re-join the MMC.”

  Bev tutted at the younger man’s suggestion. “As if they would accept her. You have more in common with witches than she has with the witch-hunters.”

  The scene fell silent, Hunter and Bev stood facing each other without speaking as another long minute dragged on.

  Eventually, Bev was the one to break the silence. “If there is nothing else, I should be getting home.”

  Hunter realised that if he had any true conviction he should stop her, apprehend her for witch-craft, kill if necessary. But instead he just nodded.

  “Is there any message you would like me to pass on to my daughter?” Bev asked.

  “Tell her… tell her that I…” Hunter grimaced as he broke off. “Never mind. Goodbye Bev.”

  Before he could break and show emotion, Hunter blinked back to the Manor.

  Leaving Bev in the woods. The sound of a sob broke through the night air. Beverley turned to the sound, to find her daughter behind one of the trees.

  “I told you not to stay, my darling.” Bev said in a hushed voice.

  Sophie tilted her head back, taking deep breaths to restore her calm. She brushed the tears from her cheeks, then held her hand out to her mother. Her hazel eyes burnt all the brighter, and they too were gone.

  Thirteen

  Hunter blinked back to the library, hoping that way no one would notice his absence. But as he made his way upstairs, the house was quiet and his caution unnecessary.

  Instead of heading for his own room, Hunter stopped at James’ and knocked on the door. Hunter leant against the doorframe, waiting for James to get his arse out of bed, and was surprised to hear muffled voices from the room.

  A minute later, the door cracked open and James’ head popped round. He squinted in the bad light until he recognised his friends.

  “Oh Hunter, it’s you. What’s up?”

  “I was hoping we could talk.”

  “What, now? It must be two in the mornin’.” James grumbled, then sighed resignedly. “Fine, what is it?”

  “Let’s go downstairs, I think I need a drink. Plus it’s kind of private.” Hunter said, pointedly looking at the door and whoever James was trying to hide behind it.

  “Alright, let me just… let me put summat on.” James replied, then shut the door in Hunter’s face.

  Hunter could hear voices and movement, and then the door opened and James was back.

  Despite being plagued by thoughts of tonight, Hunter smirked as James tightened the tie on his robe.

  “What?” The Yorkshireman demanded.

  Then the door opened behind him and a familiar figure shuffled out, half asleep, and with a white guest robe about her.

  “Maria?” Hunter started.

  “Ugh, now you’ve woke me up, I need the loo.” Maria muttered. “Don’t keep James all night.”

  Hunter watched in silence as the blonde woman padded barefoot down the corridor to the nearest bathroom.

  “I’m surprised, that’s not who I expected to come out.” Hunter admitted.

  “What?” James repeated.

  “Well, you and Alannah always seemed so chummy, I thought…”

  James frowned. “Alannah? Nah, we’re just friends. Come on, I thought you wanted a drink?”

  Before Hunter could interrogate him on his love life and further, James led the way downstairs to the drawing room. Once inside, Hunter made a beeline for the drinks cabinet.

  “Whisky?” James warily watched Hunter pour healthy measures into two glasses. “This must be serious.”

  Hunter handed his friend a glass, then jumped straight in before he could lose his nerve. “I have a son. Sophie gave birth yesterday.”

  James stood there, holding his drink half-way to his lips. A minute dragged by until he was able to speak.

  “Con…gratulations?” The single wo
rd rose in pitch. James coughed and tried again. “Are you alright, Hunter?”

  Hunter shrugged, and tilted the golden liquid in his glass. “I don’t know. I mean, I knew the day would come.”

  “What will you do about it?” James asked, sitting on one of the armchairs.

  Hunter let out a groan. “What should I do? I can’t reconcile things with Sophie. I can’t take a newborn baby from its mother. So where does that leave me?”

  James shrugged helpfully. “Carrying on as before? It might be a terrible thing to suggest, but Sophie isn’t going to hurt him. Maybe… let’s finish this thing, then we can concentrate on getting your son.”

  Hunter drummed his fingers against the glass. “You know what else this means – Sophie is going to step back into the fray, and things are going to get worse.”

  “You know this?” James asked sceptically.

  “It’s an educated guess.” Hunter countered. “It has been my suspicion that the absence of the Shadow Witch has been due to her pregnancy, rather than any injury gained from the last battle.”

  James exhaled. “You’re gonna have to tell Hayworth and Marks. Even if you don’t share all the facts, they need to know to expect a backlash.”

  *****

  After speaking with James, Hunter returned to bed, but tossed and turned and didn’t sleep. Eventually when he felt dawn arriving, he could stop pretending and get up.

  Pulling on his trainers, he headed out running alone – no one else was mad enough to be up and running before six in the morning. He ran harder and faster than normal, pushing his muscles to the limit, and feeling the sweet distraction of his breathing becoming more rugged and his heart pounding in his chest. Hunter lapped the estate twice, then put in a third at a more leisurely pace to bring his vitals back to normal. But he was still filled with an electric energy. He wasted some more time with a cold bath, then made his way to the kitchen, hoping to catch his boss.

  Eventually General Hayworth padded in, looking half-asleep and in the search for caffeine.

  “Sir, could I have a word, please.”

  Taking the General’s silence as permission, Hunter took a deep breath and began to explain his theory that the Shadow Witch had only been delayed by pregnancy, and that her return was imminent.

  Hayworth stood silently listening to him, giving the odd grunt when he thought Hunter was being less than honest in his account.

  “And who told you this?” He barked. “The Shadow’s flying monkey?”

  “No, her mother.” Hunter replied quickly.

  “Why would…” Hayworth trailed off as he quickly put the pieces together. “You know what, I don’t want to know. So have you got any theories on where and how, she will strike?”

  Hunter sighed, glad that he had gotten the General on side. Or at least as much as Hayworth could be. “Nadira Shah’s intelligence points to an attack on the capital. This is backed up with the suspicions of other allies.”

  The General took this in, then finally nodded. “Right, we’ll deploy extra men to London. Dawkins can lead this op.”

  “Sir, I really think that I-” Hunter started to protest.

  “You are too valuable to be stuck in one place, organising troops.” Hayworth countered, guessing where Hunter was heading. “You will continue your duties here. Then, if Dawkins sends a distress signal, you will join the fight. Understood?”

  Hunter’s shoulders dropped, feeling very much like a castigated child. “Yes sir.”

  Fourteen

  Little Hanting seemed very quiet indeed after the upheaval of its military residents. They left one gloomy autumn morning, packed into the vehicles they had spent the last few months salvaging, and coaxing into life.

  Hunter saw them off, then returned to the Manor.

  The next few days felt strange, as Hunter went about his daily routine. When he went running in the morning, only his own team accompanied him; and when he trained after breakfast, less than a dozen joined him in the courtyard. Any less, and they could move the training sessions back inside, like they had at the beginning of the year.

  Another week went past, and no news came from London or Manchester. Hunter knew that he was not alone in wishing that the witches would get their attack over with. Wherever they hit, he would take the remaining forces to bolster numbers. Staying at home waiting was getting tedious.

  Then one evening, dusk was settling over Astley Manor, the beauty of the sunset lost behind thick clouds. When there was a crescendo of magic that nearly deafened Hunter. Before stopping to think, he jumped out of his seat and sprinted to the control room.

  “Attack!” He shouted, barging into his former dining room.

  The control room was already a hive of activity, as people boxed files, and hurried about.

  “Yes, Marks felt it too.” Hayworth snapped. “Get outside, scout numbers and location. You are not permitted to engage the enemy.”

  Hunter nodded, and pausing only to arm himself, he left through the front door.

  Rain was just beginning to fall, and the heavy cloud and low light would help him to remain invisible. Hunter only hoped his eyes were sharp enough to spot any stray witches, before they noticed him.

  He kept off the crunchy gravel of the drive, and padded silently along the lawn, moving as quickly as he could. Up ahead, he could feel more than hear the presence of many. Magic hummed in the air.

  Hunter was surprised that Sophie and her minions hadn’t just tried blasting down the front door of the Manor. Instead, they were hovering on the border of the estate, as though they were still wary of the protection the Manor offered its occupants – and still wary of Hunter.

  They were near the location of the last battle of Little Hanting. In fact… they were exactly at that location.

  Hunter felt uneasy as he moved close enough to see the milling crowd. He tried to count them, and estimated two hundred or more.

  Suddenly in the centre of the masses, Hunter saw her. Sophie. Her dark brown hair tumbled down her shoulders, her face tanned from the summer sun. Hunter had forgotten how beautiful she was. Obviously motherhood suited her.

  Sophie stood with her arms open, her lips moving. Hunter was too far away to hear her chant, but a chill crept up his spine.

  Hunter silently swore. He had heard rumours of this ritual, but had never witnessed it. Less than a year ago, more than fifty witches had died violently on this spot. Today Sophie was channelling it.

  Having seen enough, Hunter wasted no time and blinked straight back to the Manor.

  “Hunter, what news?” Marks asked.

  Hunter turned to see Anthony Marks and General Hayworth standing by the window, both armed.

  “Not good, sirs.” Hunter reported. “At least two hundred individuals, plus the Shadow Witch is tapping into the power left by the last battle.”

  Marks swore violently enough to make even General Hayworth look surprised.

  “We’re heavily outnumbered. I doubt we’ll be able to call back the troops in time.” Hayworth assessed aptly. “We have to retreat.”

  Hunter blanched at the idea of abandoning his family home, the famous Astley Manor. But there were more important things to protect than a pile of bricks, surely?

  Without warning, Hunter’s chest constricted, and a voice rang through his head.

  “Astley, give yourself to me, or I shall destroy everything in my path to find you. You have two minutes.”

  “Sophie.” Hunter gasped as air flooded his lungs again. He looked up at Hayworth and Marks, and in that moment he could tell that both men had heard the voice too.

  “Don’t you bloody dare.” Hayworth growled.

  Hunter scowled at them curtailing his sudden urge to be a martyr.

  “Right, that’s sorted then.” Marks announced. “Hayworth, get everyone to the back of the house, have Hunter take them to join Nadira Shah. Hunter, go fetch your mother.”

  Hunter was about to leave, when Marks grabbed his arm. The older man watched t
he retreating back of General Hayworth, then turned to Hunter.

  “Make sure Hayworth escorts your mother first. He must secure the other side. Then send the others, and go. Promise me you’ll go.”

  “What?” Hunter looked at Marks with a heavy suspicion. “And what do you plan on doing while all this takes place?”

  “Stall them.” Marks replied. “The Shadow is already building up to end this – you can feel it too, don’t deny it.”

  “But-“

  “No time, Hunter. Get everyone out, including yourself – that’s an order. Then promise me you’ll do everything you can to get a handle on this power of yours. It may prove to be the decisive weapon.”

  Lost for words, Hunter nodded numbly.

  Before any further argument came up, Marks stepped back. He looked on the verge of saying something more, but just shook his head and walked away.

  Hunter caught his breath. Now was not the time for emotion! He turned and ran up the main staircase, rounding the corner to his mother’s wing of the house.

  “Mother!” He yelled as he flung the door open.

  “What now, George?” Mrs Astley’s voice came from the dining area she’d had Charles set up for her.

  “We need to go. Now.” Hunter replied. “The witches have us surrounded.”

  Mrs Astley blinked, taking this in. “How very inconvenient, I’ve just made a pot of tea.”

  Mrs Astley sat there, looking at her pale blue teapot for a regretful moment. Then with a sigh she got to her feet. “Is there time to pack?”

  “No mother.” Hunter answered firmly.

  “Well, let us go then.” Mrs Astley commanded. “If things are so dire, I cannot understand why you are dallying, George!”

  Hunter looked at his mother with surprise, but Mrs Astley just huffed and grabbed a coat on the way out. Hunter followed his mother downstairs, the amount of magic in the air was suffocating, his overwhelmed senses made him jumpy. But Mrs Astley led the way calmly.

  The dozen people that had remained at Astley Manor were huddled near the library in the recesses of the house. Hunter was relieved to see his team amongst them, and took a moment to do a head count.