Twenty
“Are you sure I can’t get you anything else?” Alannah crooned, leaning over the hospital bed.
Ian grinned, it was only natural that she’d want to make it up to him – he had taken a knife in the back for her, after all. “No, I’m fine Alannah. Now settle down – I’m getting tired just watching you.”
“I can bring you a book, or a change of clothes from camp.” Alannah persisted.
“I’m not much of a reader.” Ian sighed, relenting a little. “Clothes would be good though. These are a bit…”
“Blood-stained?” Hunter offered, as he leant back in an uncomfortable plastic chair he’d dragged over.
“Tatty.” Ian corrected.
It was nearly midday, and it was hard to believe that the battle had only been over for ten hours or so. They had had an obvious victory, decimating the witch army, and driving back the survivors. The mood was incredibly up-beat, the winter suddenly holding the promise of a hard-won peace, there was no way the witches could mount a retaliation any time soon. Now there was only the slow recovery of their own forces to concern themselves with.
Ian was recovering well. He was already bored of staying in his hospital bed, and wasn’t about to let a knife wound turn him into an invalid.
Further down the ward, James leant over the bed where Maria lay. The lieutenant had awoken a few hours before, still feeling weak from whatever had hit her. Of course, James had never left her bedside.
Hunter glanced towards them every now and then, but stayed with Ian to give them a bit of privacy. It occurred to him that even the invulnerable Sergeant Ian Grimshaw might need the comfort of a loved one.
“I could bring your partner, if you want company.” Hunter offered.
Ian thought about it for a moment, then grinned. “Nah, not just yet. It’d scare him to see me in this state. Wait until I’m looking a little less…”
“Tatty?” Hunter ventured.
Ian chuckled, then winced in pain. He glanced over at James and Maria for the umpteenth time.
“So… how long has that been going on?”
Hunter shrugged. “Four months.” He guessed.
“Six.” Alannah corrected.
The two guys looked at her, making her blush.
“What?” She challenged. “We may be in the middle of a war with witches, but me and Maria are still allowed girl talk.”
“Girl talk?” Hunter echoed. “Why does that phrase fill me with fear?”
Ian chuckled. “I think you’re referring to the ability of women to intimately discuss everything and everyone. I’m exempt, right? Too old for that nonsense.”
Alannah just grinned in response, and winked. “Forty is not old. Well, I think they’re good together.”
Ian coughed. “They’re coming over.”
Hunter looked up to see James pushing a wheelchair, with a tired-looking Maria in it.
James glanced around the guilty faces. “What?” He demanded.
“Nothing.” Alannah squeaked.
Hunter shrugged. “We were just talking about you, that’s all. Maria, how are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been hit by a bus.” Maria croaked. “S’fine. I don’t need the chair, but Mr Protective here…”
“The doctors said rest.” James interrupted. “You shouldn’t really be out of bed.”
“I wanted to hear what happened first hand.” Maria replied with a sigh, then turned expectantly to Hunter.
Hunter looked at the waiting faces of his team, then began to recount what happened last night, starting with Alannah and Ian’s part in it. He finished with a less than faithful account, leaving out the fact that he had let Sophie go, making it sound more like she had escaped.
When he finished, there was silence.
“Guns didn’t work, knives didn’t work, our miracle 7th gen didn’t work.” Alannah huffed. “I’d like to know what can kill her.”
“She’s just another witch.” James offered, unconvincingly. “She got lucky this time, that’s all. Right, Hunter?”
Hunter looked up at the sound of his name, but didn’t reply. She’d gotten very lucky. But what if they met again, could Hunter kill her?
“What’s she like?” Maria croaked. “The Shadow Witch?”
“Suitably scary.” Ian answered.
“Beautiful. No one mentioned she was beautiful.” Alannah added, gazing at the boys accusingly. “Well Hunter, I can see why you’d not be interested in… anyone, after her.”
“Beautiful, huh?” Maria repeated, twisting to look up at James.
“I never noticed.” James added, flashing a warning look at Hunter. “She wasn’t my type.”
Hunter turned to Alannah again. “We’ve just fought our biggest battle to date, and you want to go over my dating history?”
Alannah grinned, pleased that he’d caught up. “Yup.”
Hunter chuckled. “Uh-huh. Well I wasn’t interested in her because she was beautiful.”
The silence was immediate, and the look of disbelief was shared by all.
“Ok, it might have had a little to do with it.” Hunter conceded. “But it wasn’t everything.”
“Oh aye, there was her sparkling personality.” James added, rolling his eyes. “Frigid bitch was the term we used most often, weren’t it?”
As the rest of the team laughed, Hunter crossed his arms.
“If you lot are going to take the piss, I’m going.”
“Getting back to the main point.” Ian said sombrely, as he re-adjusted the pillow behind him. “I refuse to believe that she’s impossible to take down.”
“You said there were other Shadows.” Maria asked, her voice rough. “How did they die?”
“There were two.” James confirmed. “One was a thousand years ago. The second was in the forties – the one that Hunter’s grandfather killed.”
“And how did he do that?” Alannah asked, her big eyes turning to Hunter.
“No one knows. Old George never made an official report of it.”
“Did you never ask him?” Ian asked.
“He died when I was very young.” Hunter replied quietly. People in his profession didn’t have the longest lifespans. The fact that his grandfather had survived into his sixties was impressive. “I don’t remember much about him, only that he was a very private and miserable old man. From my father’s stories of Old George, that impression was only intensified.”
“So he never shared?” Alannah sounded very disappointed.
“No.” James answered. “And we’ve exhausted every line of research into that area.”
“Well, we’ll find something.” Alannah said, getting to her feet and stretching. “I’m off to get some sleep.”
She leant over the bedside and kissed Ian’s cheek, then kissed Maria. “I’m glad you two are ok.”
Hunter pushed himself out of the uncomfortable chair. “I’ll walk you back to your quarters.”
He pulled on his coat and scarf, ready to brave the winter weather.
Twenty-one
Christmas was a suitably joyful time. Despite the fact that the world had not recovered, people were making the most of it and gathered with friends and family. Hard-earned meals were cooked, presents had been rustled together, everything was feeling festive.
It was only five in the afternoon, but already it was dark, as Hunter wandered the streets of Manchester, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, and his shoulders hunched against the cold rain. He saw the firelight, bright in the windows of each home, people casting shadows against the curtains. They were all safe and warm, there had been no witch attack since the post-hallowe’en battle. Hunter felt a little pride at that. But mostly he felt lonely.
Alannah had gone to her parents; Ian had gone to stay with his partner’s family; and James had taken Maria, to introduce her to his aunt and uncle.
James had of course invited Hunter to his family’s Christmas, like he did every year. But this year Hunter felt like he wou
ld be imposing.
Hunter sighed, his breath fogging before him on this wonderfully miserable, grey Christmas. He reluctantly turned on his heel and headed back towards the MMC camp.
It was quiet. Most of the witch-hunters and soldiers had gone home for the festive occasion, just like Hunter’s team. But there were a few that were still milling around like lost souls.
Hunter drifted about until he found who he was looking for – he admitted that only severe loneliness would force him to look for her.
“George, you missed the first course.” His mother snapped.
Her beady grey eyes followed the tray of sliced turkey that the ever-faithful Charles was carrying. “I hope this is not more of that regurgitated swill – the processed food.”
Hunter made an apologetic face in the direction of the people that had joined his mother’s table.
“It is fresh, mother. Charles and I went to the Whitaker farm yesterday to pick up our order.” Hunter explained, watching as Charles placed the turkey down and came back with equally farm-fresh, steaming vegetables.
“Hm, very well.” Mrs Astley conceded. “Although you know I prefer goose.”
Hunter sighed and helped Charles bring in the rest of the food, before he could say anything he could regret. Then he sat down, and began what truly resembled a Christmas dinner. Roughly a dozen people sat around the table with them, and after a few awkward introductions and clumsy passes of the sprouts, everyone was cheery and content.
“Room for one more?”
Hunter looked up to see Gareth Halbrook, of all people, hovering at the end of the table. Hunter nearly choked on his potatoes.
“Not for you, no.” He said, the words leaving his lips before he could stop them.
“George, cover your mouth.” Mrs Astley ordered. “And don’t be rude to Mr…?”
She gazed up questioningly with her cool, grey eyes.
“Halbrook. Gareth Halbrook.” He answered.
“Halbrook…” Mrs Astley pursed her lips. “Any relation to Derrick Halbrook, from the London Tennis Club?”
Halbrook paused, not expecting that. “No.”
Mrs Astley exhaled and relaxed her shoulders a little. “Oh, then I suppose you are the Halbrook that has been a thorn in the side of both my son, and my late husband.”
Hunter bit his cheek to stop himself from laughing, as Halbrook looked well and truly on the back foot.
“Now look ‘ere, just ‘cos I don’t worship the famous Astley family, don’t mean-“
“You truly have the most atrocious way of speaking.” Mrs Astley interrupted, her eyes narrowing in Halbrook’s direction, before flicking to Hunter. “I thought your friend James was bad, he’s positively eloquent next to this, this…”
“Hey, now!” Halbrook cut in. “I didn’t ask for your opinion. I thought I was being proper polite asking to join you lot – it’s not as though we’re at Astley Manor where you’re queen of bloody court.”
Mrs Astley considered him for a moment longer. “Hm, I like him. Sit down and help yourself, Mr Halbrook. Shall I ask Charles to send for a bib, or are you quite educated with a fork?”
Halbrook looked dazed and a little speechless, but gathering that the result of this interaction was that he was allowed to sit and eat, he parked himself in a spare chair.
He leant across to grab an empty plate from the stack, and muttered to Hunter. “Why don’t you send her off against the witches? We’d have won by New Year.”
Mrs Astley accepted another glass of wine from the very nervous-looking young woman sat next to her.
“Speaking of the New Year, George, I intend to go home. You can do your little magic trick and take me.”
“Mother.” Hunter started carefully. “The Manor is deemed unsafe. I cannot let you go there.”
Mrs Astley looked at her son, her sharp grey eyes not understanding. “While I respect your concern for my safety, it is not for you to allow me anything. Astley Manor must have an Astley in it, it is not up for discussion. Besides, Mrs Harsmith wrote to me lately, to inform me that more of the villagers have returned to Little Hanting. She tells me that no witch nor human has been near the Manor for a month.”
“Mother-“
Mrs Astley held up a hand to silence him. “That is quite enough of that, George. I have made up my mind. Now go, help Charles bring in the next course.”
Hunter cursed beneath his breath, getting to his feet to help the long-suffering Charles.
Halbrook smirked at the mother and son interaction, but was quick to hide it before the formidable Mrs Astley noticed.
Twenty-two
The next few months passed by in a haze of peace. A year since the witch rebellion ruined so many lives, people were beginning to make the most of their new world. The communities were well on their way to rebuilding what was destroyed, and despite the lack of technology and slow communication, the people fell into a new routine. A new normal.
Which included maintaining the great British tradition of going to the pub. On evenings when his whole team were free from duty, Hunter and the others frequented a nice place that was quite close to the MMC base.
The building was old-fashioned, with stone walls, and dark timbers that were well-suited to the atmosphere created by lamps and candles. It was quite a large establishment, but still managed to always feel cosy. It was popular with the locals and the witch-hunters alike, with good ale. Occasionally it was extra-popular, when a band would come in to play live, and the tables would be pushed to the sides to make room for a dance floor.
Hunter enjoyed the live music, it always made an evening that little bit more special. The band that was on tonight was good, although it made Hunter smile to watch the singer trying to fight to be heard without a microphone.
“What are you smirking at?” Alannah shouted over the noise.
Hunter shook his head, not about to explain himself. Instead he offered to get in another round. He made his way to the bar, and looked over his shoulder. Alannah and Ian sat on the table he’d recently vacated. James and Maria were on the dance floor – Hunter grimaced at James’ lack of co-ordination. Poor Maria.
He quickly got served, and carried the three pints and a bottle of white wine on a tray back to their table.
“You know, on a night like this, I can almost forget that the war is happening.” Alannah’s sentiment lost a little by her need to shout over the music.
Hunter passed her the bottle of wine. “Make sure Maria gets at least some of that.”
Alannah grinned. “I don’t think she’d notice.”
Her green eyes turned in the direction of the dance floor, where despite the upbeat song, Maria and James danced in each other’s arms, circling slowly amidst the more energetic dancers. Hunter watched them for a minute, they always acted so professionally around the others, this sort of down-time was the only time he ever witnessed them act as a couple.
Hunter looked away, surprised to feel a little jealous that his best friend was so happy. He picked up his pint and engaged Ian in a conversation about the vehicles the MMC had managed to collect; which moved on to the different techniques of hot-wiring, in which Ian was almost as proficient as James.
Alannah sat quietly at the table, a third-wheel to the conversation. When she finished her wine, she set the glass purposefully down on the table. “I’m bored. You guys want to dance?”
Both Hunter and Ian looked at her, their matching expressions telling how very little they wanted to dance. Ian was the first to crack, seeing how determined Alannah was. The sergeant stood up, and took one of her hands.
“Come on, Hunter. If I’m dancing, you are too.” Ian ordered.
Hunter sighed, but dutifully pushed himself to his feet. He took Alannah’s other hand, the little Welsh girl almost bouncing over the fact that she’d bullied them both.
The band had just moved into another fast track, the song a popular one with the crowd, who filed to the floor. Luckily, Hunter could get away with
the minimum amount of movement from side to side. He kept his eyes fixed towards the stage, rather than allow himself to notice that people were watching him in his embarrassment.
James and Maria had broken from their close-contact dance, and came to join the rest of them. Maria was shaking her hips next to Alannah, and James was… well, James was jumping around and making a fool out of himself. Hunter saw that even Ian was chuckling at him.
They stayed together for another song, then Ian put his hands up in defeat, and left the youngsters on the dance floor, in favour of his beer.
The band played the final chord of one song, and moved seamlessly into the next. The tempo had suddenly slowed. Hunter noticed the active dancing being replaced by couples gently dancing together, including James and Maria, who drifted away from him.
Alannah stood awkwardly beside Hunter, and when he looked in her direction, she gave a hopeful little shrug.
Sighing, and feeling that he might regret this, Hunter slipped his right arm about Alannah’s slim waist, and took her right hand in his left, holding it close to his chest. He led in an informal pattern, Alannah was stiff at first, but soon relaxed, and softened to lean against him, her cheek against his chest.
“I thought you couldn’t dance.” Alannah remarked.
“I can dance, I just choose not to.” Hunter corrected.
He twirled her out elegantly, then pulled her back a little less so. They both laughed as they collided.
“I need a drink.” Hunter admitted. “Dancing is dangerous.”
He dropped his contact with Alannah and without waiting for her, made his way back to the table. Ian gave him an odd look as he re-joined him, but didn’t say anything.
Alannah pushed her hair away from her sweaty forehead, as she looked down at the table with greatly reduced drinks. “My round?” She said breathlessly, then turned and practically skipped in the direction of the bar.
With Alannah gone, Ian leant forward. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Hunter sat in confusion at his statement, but before he had chance to answer, they gained extra company at their table.
The Shadow Reigns (Witch-Hunter #2) Page 10
