The Shadow Reigns (Witch-Hunter #2)

by K. S. Marsden

  “Everyone’s here, Hunter.” Halbrook snapped. “Except Marks.”

  “He’s rear guard.” Hunter replied shortly, pushing his way through. He noticed that a section of the wall had been cleared of all pictures and clutter in anticipation of use.

  “You’re front guard.” Hunter added, placing his hand on the wall. “Escort Mrs Astley though, and secure the other side.”

  General Hayworth looked affronted at being ordered around by the younger man, and there was the gut-wrenching realisation dawning on his face at what Marks was really up to.

  But before he could collect his thoughts and argue, a very determined blonde battle-ax linked her arm through his. Despite the fact of the difference in height and build, the petite Mrs Astley led the General to the wall.

  Whether it was in compliance through shock, or the sense of duty awakening, Hayworth stepped forward.

  Hunter concentrated on opening a link, and watched as Hayworth and his mother vanished through the solid wall. With a curt nod, the rest of the men and women filed through, until only his team was left. Sweat was breaking out at the strain of holding it open, but the four remained, in a protective circle around him.

  “Go.” Hunter ordered.

  “Hunter…” James started.

  “Go.” He repeated. “I’ll follow. I promise.”

  James sighed at his friend’s stubbornness, but signalled to the others. Without another word, they left.

  Hunter dropped his hand from the wall and let the link go. He stood panting for a moment, then turned in the direction of the front hallway. He had spent less than five minutes here. Was he too late to stop Marks? Probably.

  Was he too late to save him? Possibly, but he was going to take that chance anyway.

  Not wasting a moment, Hunter focused on the location of the witches, then closed his eyes. Hunter felt the familiar pressure close around him, increasing as he attempted to move closer to the source of his distress, until it was suffocating.

  Hunter tried to push through again, but found a blockade of magic. Even though he wasn’t convinced he was physically anywhere, Hunter could feel the burning in his lungs from the prolonged lack of oxygen. He had never felt anything like this and started to panic over his inability to set down. A debilitating pain began sharp spikes in his mind, as he found his struggle for control slipping. And fading.

  “Hunter!” The female shriek pierced faintly through his conscious.

  Then Hunter felt a wedge of energy knock the last of the breath out of him.

  Hunter landed with a heavy thud and coughed, gasping at the cool air that was a relief to his lungs. He opened his eyes and spots danced before them but he could see, of a sort. It was night, but he could make out the long grass that surrounded him.

  The next sense to reawaken was his hearing, he could just hear the hurrying of feet, and several people calling his name.

  “Here.” He choked, then cleared his voice. He raised his arm sluggishly to make his point. “Here!”

  The feet came closer, and Hunter felt a pair of hands run over him in assessment.

  “He’s ok.” James’ familiar voice came through. “What happened?”

  Hunter sat up, which seemed a good idea at first, but quickly made his head throb again.

  “Hunter, where’s Marks?” General Hayworth insisted.

  Hunter sighed and hung his head. “I tried. I tried to save him.” His voice came out as weak as his argument.

  There was an abrupt roar, which took Hunter by surprise, as Hayworth turned and swore at the night sky. Anthony Marks had been an ally, and had become a close friend.

  Ian moved into Hunter’s eye line and pulled a small stone out of his pocket. “A distress signal was sent to Nadira. Hopefully her witch-hunters will be on the look-out.” Ian turned the stone in his palm, before re-pocketing it.

  Fifteen

  Nadira’s patrols found them within a couple of hours and that same night, Hunter and the other survivors were housed in cramped, but welcome accommodation.

  It was nearly midday by the time Hunter dragged himself out of bed by the following day. His limbs felt like lead after the previous night, and his head pounded as though he’d downed a bottle of whisky.

  As soon as he left his sleeping quarters, he bumped into Alannah, who recognised his need for coffee and steered him to the nearest source. Once he had his second cup, Ian arrived and let Hunter know that he had been requested for a meeting.

  Hunter allowed himself to feel relief that his team was alive and well, before he succumbed to the dread of the meeting ahead. He hated meetings, he had often made James go as his representative when the old Council at Oxford expected his presence. But Hunter guessed that he couldn’t get out of this one. If anything, he respected Anthony Marks too much to miss it.

  *****

  The meeting came and went, and was exactly how Hunter imagined it would be. With frayed tempers and ‘what ifs’. It didn’t matter, a great man was still dead. After they had lost George “Young” Astley and Brian Lloyd; Anthony Marks was one of the last of that generation.

  Oh no, wait, there was Gareth Halbrook too. Hunter thought that fate had a cruel sense of humour that he was still alive, when they had lost so many good guys. At least Halbrook was posted down in London with Sergeant Dawkins and was well out of the way.

  During the meeting they had quickly discussed Mark’s successor, all eyes turning expectantly towards Hunter.

  “I nominate Nadira Shah.” He had immediately voiced, surprising them all – none more than Nadira herself.

  There were no objections to the promotion, and Nadira was named the first female leader of the Malleus Maleficarum Council. The congratulations on such a momentous occasion were diluted by the mourning for a good man.

  *****

  Hunter took a couple of days to recover from his suspended time in nothingness. Outwardly he was very subdued. Inward, he was scared. It was a wake-up call that he knew next to nothing about his powers. Had he been foolish in using them so frequently when he was unaware of his limits? The threat of the witches’ rebellion had made him desperate enough to rush in, head on.

  And he’d almost died. Oh, Hunter had come close to death on countless occasions, but it was different when an enemy was going to kill you, rather than his own ignorance.

  If it hadn’t been for that final push… Hunter thought back to the moment when he’d been catapulted away. He didn’t recall doing something, at that point he was close to incapable of planning anything. But he had instances in his past when he’d acted subconsciously. The image of a church brought to rubble flashed into his thoughts.

  Yes, it had to be that. Because the only other explanation… that was too hard to take in, and Hunter purposefully refused to think of her.

  *****

  James drifted in and out while Hunter recovered, much like he had done at the beginning of the year. He was concerned for his friend again, not wanting Hunter to lapse into depression once more.

  General Hayworth had drilled Hunter over every detail of what had occurred at the Manor, and Hunter had replied honestly, but perfunctorily. It was only when he repeated it to James one afternoon that Hunter felt the reality of it stab him afresh.

  James chewed his lip, worried. “Truth is, we don’t know shit about what you can do. With the most extensive library in the UK, we’ve found nowt substantial for months.”

  Hunter shifted, trying to get comfortable on the awful camp bed he’d been given. “A library we no longer have.” He muttered, feeling a spark of anger, knowing that Sophie and her minions might have destroyed it all by now. Or at the very least, would have pawed through all the contents.

  James shrugged, he loved Astley Manor, but that wasn’t the point he was trying to make. “We was getting nowhere, mate. Maybe you need another trip to Italy.”

  Hunter narrowed his eyes, remembering his last holiday to Italy, when he had first met Sophie.

  James could tell where his
friend’s thoughts were going, and he was quick to clarify. “Look, it’s the home of the Benandanti. If you’re gonna find anything, it’ll be there.”

  Hunter groaned and rested his head back against the wall. “The Benandanti were killed hundreds of years ago, I think that’s the definition of a cold trail. Besides, I’m needed here. I am not going to leave you guys facing the witches alone, while I’m off on a wild goose chase.”

  “But it could answer everything!” James argued. “It’d be worth the risk.”

  “James, things are only going to get worse here, I can’t leave.” Hunter replied calmly. “Be honest, if you were in my position, you would do the same.”

  James sighed and muttered something beneath his breath, then stood up to leave.

  “Just… don’t leave it too late.”

  Sixteen

  A few weeks after they had relocated to Manchester, they had company.

  Sergeant Dawkins arrived in an old jeep, accompanied by three other soldiers. He was ushered straight into a room with the General and was introduced to Nadira.

  “Must have been a long journey. Why did you drive? Hunter could have brought you.” The General mused while he put the kettle over a portable stove, and dug out the rations of coffee.

  Dawkins looked over at Hunter. “No offence, General, but nothing short of a life or death emergency will entice me to travel with Mr Astley again.”

  Hunter looked up, a little surprised at Dawkins’ boldness. “Colin, I’m hurt. You know I’m just looking for another opportunity to make you faint.”

  The sergeant tried to keep a serious face, but a smile flashed over his lips.

  “Ok, down to business.” Dawkins pushed on. “We’ve got a good handle on London. It’s too big to know we’ve covered everything, but it turns out the witch-hunter running things, Tyler, knows what he’s doing.”

  “Tyler who?” Nadira asked.

  Dawkins looked a little sheepish. “I’ve been down there a month, and I still can’t pronounce his surname. Begins with an M. But yeah, Tyler – tall, imposing guy, used to part-time as a lawyer…” Dawkins looked about, hoping something would sound familiar. “2nd gen, used to report to the London Bridge branch.”

  “A 2nd gen?” Hunter echoed, surprised that such an important role would go to such a new family.

  “Not every higher generation witch-hunter is made for leadership.” Dawkins replied drily, with more than a tad of insinuation. “Tyler has a good network of allies down there. And then there’s the wiccans. There’s a lot of wiccans.”

  “London has the densest population of them.” Hunter suddenly reeled out. “It’s a very… accepting city.”

  Dawkins looked over at the unnecessary interruption. “Well, they’ve been very helpful.”

  The sergeant looked over to his General. “Sir, I know you’re intel points to an attack on the capital, but we need to be prepared for elsewhere. We are strong there, possibly too strong for the witch army. I can’t imagine they’d throw their lives away on uncertain victory with high prices.”

  Hayworth nodded, as he listened to his sergeant’s opinion. “I will take this into consideration, Dawkins. But until we have firm proof, let us proceed as though London will be their target.”

  Seventeen

  “Hunter!”

  The cry rang through the makeshift barracks. It was nearly 10pm, and Hunter was trying to get some sleep before his turn on watch duty in the early hours. It was Hallowe’en, and they were taking their watch duties seriously.

  “Hunter!” General Hayworth’s familiar voice blasted through the silence.

  Hunter cracked open an eye and groaned. “Yes sir.”

  “Emergency signal from Dawkins. Get your team and get to London. Now.”

  “What?” Hunter asked, now fully awake. He threw back the bed sheets and grabbed his trousers from the pile of clothes on the floor.

  “Dawkins sent an emergency signal through the wiccan stones. I need you to go assess the situation. We’ll be mobilizing here if he needs back-up.”

  Hunter nodded, as he pulled on his shirt and hunted for his stab vest. He was still checking his gun when the door opened again. This time James walked in, followed by Ian, Maria and Alannah. They were all kitted up and looked ready to go.

  “We got the message, let’s go.” James announced.

  Hunter felt a wave of respect at how quickly his team responded, followed by a wavering doubt on his ability to get them from Manchester to London safely. He’d done a few practise runs with James, but that didn’t completely eradicate his worries.

  But he didn’t say a word and waited for his team to take their positions. Hunter counted to three, then closed his eyes and let his focus shift.

  There was the familiar, suffocating darkness, followed by the cool air of their destination. Hunter opened his eyes to the sight of the MMC’s London Bridge base.

  “You took long enough.”

  Hunter spun round to see Dawkins standing by a black window. He ignored the sergeant’s snarky comment. “What’s happened?”

  Dawkins didn’t reply immediately, something outside at ground level was occupying his attention.

  “The witches have gathered to burn us alive. You’ve got to appreciate the irony.”

  Hunter frowned and moved to join him. They must have been ten floors up, which made the angle incredibly awkward, but Hunter could make out the orange glow at the base of the building.

  “We’re about to burn to death? Great.” Ian stated in his usual dry manner.

  “Care to explain, Colin?” James asked.

  Dawkins looked over at him. “I was wrong over how secure we were. The new mayor and his team switched sides. They must have been planning it for a while, maybe they never really believed that we could permanently take London back from the witches. The wiccans split, the majority staying with us, but still a sizeable group joined the witches.”

  “Casualties?” Hunter asked.

  “We’re not sure yet, sir.” Dawkins reported formally. “Tyler went down in the first attack, along with a dozen others. After I sent the alert, I saw we were outnumbered and ordered a retreat. The rest of our forces have scattered, with orders to meet at the MMC branch in Oxford asap.”

  “And you stayed behind, Colin?” James frowned at his friend’s bravado. He only hoped the sergeant didn’t have ideas of martyrdom. They were still reeling from the loss of Anthony Marks.

  “I’d already sent the emergency call to you, I had to await your arrival and fill you in. I didn’t trust leaving a note to be adequate.”

  “Um, sorry to break this up guys.” Ian interrupted, the tall sergeant standing by the next window. “But I think they’ve set the building on fire.”

  The rest of the group pushed closer to the window and it seemed true, the orange glow had grown fiercer, and smoke began to cloud visibility of the stars.

  “Do we engage them?” Maria asked, as she checked her gun.

  “We’ll get revenge for Anthony Marks.” Alannah concurred, her green eyes sparking.

  “No.” Hunter commanded. “We’ll leave and reconvene with the others at Oxford.”

  There was a moment of silence when everyone looked to Hunter, their disappointment evident.

  “Y’know, I thought being part of this team would include a little action. Not acting as glorified messengers.” Ian growled, perfectly expressing the thoughts of the group.

  Hunter stood, not sure what to say. To be truthful, he wanted nothing more than to lead them down to the witches baying for their blood, and solve a few problems with violence. But someone here had to be logical and sensible. Bloody hell, why did it have to be him.

  “Look, we can go down there and repel a few witches before we die. Or let’s not be cocky, we might toast in the inferno on the way.” Hunter snapped, feeling his own frustration at the prolonged passive nature he’d adopted. “There is no guarantee that the Shadow is with them, and I won’t waste your lives despatching
a few of her servants. I promise, the time will come when we face her – soon.”

  Hunter looked from face to determined face, when eventually his team conceded.

  There was a cough from the side of the room. “Well, if you’re all done team motivating, do you think we could get out of here?” Dawkins asked, hardly able to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

  Hunter shot the sergeant a suitably dirty look, but held out his arms in what was becoming the usual manner. Without a word, his team stepped in and held onto him. Only Dawkins hung back, the nerves finally beginning to show as he looked down at Hunter’s outstretched arm.

  “Any time, Colin.” James snapped, ready to get this over with.

  Dawkins swallowed nervously, then gingerly held onto Hunter’s forearm.

  Hunter didn’t give him the chance to change his mind, and immediately blinked from the burning building at London Bridge, to the grounds of the old MMC headquarters in Oxford.

  As he felt the cold, fresh breeze on his face, and the light spattering of rain, Hunter looked about him. This had been his MMC office, where he had been registered when young, and where he had made constant trips for reports and meetings since he had become a fully-fledged witch-hunter six years ago.

  It was as familiar and frustrating a building as any workplace.

  Or it had been.

  Hunter looked at it now and saw only rubble. A couple of walls still stood, useless monuments to what had once been. Oxford was the oldest MMC headquarters, and as such was the historical seat of the Council, as well as storing most processed amulets from the binding process.

  The Shadow Witch had hit this place first, after she had procured the Key from Hunter’s dear friend, Charlotte King. The Key had released all the bound power the MMC had been storing away for generations – not a good system, in hindsight.

  It was painful for Hunter to look on to his old, ruined offices. A reminder that, despite the wheels set irreversibly in motion in Venice, here the war really started.