The Shadow Reigns (Witch-Hunter #2)

by K. S. Marsden

  “Hey, do you mind if we sit here? Everywhere else is full.”

  Hunter looked up, to see who the voice belonged to. The first thing he noticed was the legs in skin-tight jeans, and the long black hair, followed by the pretty face.

  “Sure.” He said, waving to the spare seats. “I’m Hunter, this is Ian.”

  The black-haired girl flashed him a smile and sat next to him. “I’m Kayleigh, this is Tegan.” She responded, motioning to her blonde friend that sat shyly on the other side of her.

  “Nice to meet you both.”

  “You don’t sound like you’re from round here, Hunter.” Kayleigh remarked.

  “Guilty, I’m from a village near Oxford.” Hunter answered, leaning closer to be heard over the music.

  “Really, what brings you to Manc, then?”

  Hunter grinned, how many times had he gotten into conversation with a normal person, and had to come up with some fake job that dictated where he went. He could never tell the truth, because no one had known about his organisation. Now, though… “I’m with the witch-hunters.”

  Across the table, Ian gave him a disappointed look. Disappointed, but as he glanced at Kayleigh, unsurprised.

  The black-haired girl grinned. “You’re kidding me! Really?”

  “Not interrupting, am I?” Alannah called out, as she slid a tray of drinks onto the table, her green eyes narrowing in the direction of the newcomers.

  “No, hi! Girls, this is Alannah, she’s a witch-hunter too. And Alannah, this is…” Hunter broke off, struggling to remember their names.

  “Kayleigh and Tegan.” Kayleigh repeated, looking amused, rather than offended at his memory loss.

  “Nice to meet you.” Alannah said stonily. “You know, I think I might head home, I didn’t realise how late it was.”

  Hunter looked up, realising that she did look a little pale. Probably too much wine and dancing.

  Noticing that Hunter wasn’t playing the part Alannah had hoped, Ian stood up. “I’ll walk you home.”

  Alannah snatched up her coat and left without another word.

  “What was that about?” Kayleigh asked.

  “Dunno.” Hunter muttered.

  *****

  The following morning Jonathan moved through the witch-hunter’s compound towards the sleeping quarters, but stopped when he saw Hunter.

  “Hey, I was just coming to find you. Were you on duty?” Jonathan asked, frowning. He wasn’t sure Hunter’s attire was suitable for night duty.

  “What? No, it was my evening off.” Hunter replied distractedly.

  Jonathan paused, then filled in the blanks. His confusion changed to amusement. “You’ve only just got back in? You’ll get a reputation.”

  “Already got one.” Hunter huffed, as he shoved his cold hands into his pockets. “Was there something you wanted? Other than discussing my promiscuity.”

  “Promiscuity? Is that your snobbish way of admitting you’re a manwhore?”

  Hunter narrowed his eyes in the direction of the wiccan. “Have you been talking to James?”

  Jonathan finally broke into a grin. “That obvious, huh? On top of other things discussed, James wanted me to chat with you – about magic.”

  Hunter cringed at the very thought. He might be a little more open-minded than the old him that saw witches and magic in black and white, and sneered at wiccans as a pesky shade of grey – but he wasn’t ready to fully embrace magic.

  “Fine.” He relented. “But let’s go inside, it’s freezing.”

  “You’re just nesh.” Jonathan chuckled at the soft southerner, but obediently followed Hunter indoors.

  It didn’t take long for the two men to acquire vital coffee, and headed for an unused office.

  “Ok, what did you have to say?” Hunter asked as they sat down.

  Jonathan wrapped his hands about his steaming mug, looking up at the witch-hunter. “James came to me for advice. He filled me in on the whole Benandanti thing, including the fact that your research has dried up. As you’re not willing to seek them out in Italy –“

  “I did not say never.” Hunter stressed. “It’s just a very inappropriate time to leave.”

  Jonathan held his hands up defensively, and pressed on. “So… short of finding an amiable witch to chat magic with, James and I thought that I might prove helpful.”

  Hunter frowned, he had not thought of asking magic-users about his own skills, mainly because he was too proud to share his private problems. Which he was equally unlikely to admit.

  “Technically it’s not magic.” Hunter argued.

  “No, it’s the opposite.” Jonathan agreed. “But from what I’ve heard, and what I’ve seen for myself, it acts a lot like it.”

  A sleep-deprived Hunter failed to come up with any logical counter of this point, so instead he leant back in his chair and crossed his arms.

  Jonathan tried to hide his smile as he noted the small win. “So first, what can you do?” He asked, blowing on his hot coffee.

  Hunter sighed. “Not much. I can travel in a blink, taking others with me. There’s a shield I can project, temporarily blocking magic, and bullets on the rare occasion. Oh, and I destroyed a church, once.”

  “You destroyed a church…” Jonathan echoed, not sure whether to be amused or appalled.

  “Mmm, it was quite the scene.” Hunter confirmed, thinking back to the night Charlotte had died. “Although I did not know it was my doing until later.”

  Jonathan took in the mental image, but then shook his head. “Ok, let’s focus on the shield. How do you do it?”

  Hunter paused, he had never really taken time to dissect and explain it. “I honestly don’t know. It seems to happen almost reflexively when spells are being cast. But once it’s up, I can move it, expand or contract it…”

  Jonathan nodded, looking very serious. “What does it feel like?”

  “Like… a weight, barely noticeable at first, but tiring the longer I hold it. It’s like an extension of me, I can feel everything that hits it.” Hunter answered. It felt weird discussing his skills so logically with someone that wasn’t James.

  “And have you tried to do anything else with your magic?”

  “A few things, nothing successful.” Hunter replied, the warmth of a blush tickled his neck as he thought back on his foolish attempts. “Lighting candles and light bulbs, picking locks, healing grazes… from what I’ve read, these are the simplest spells even weak witches can manage.”

  “From what you’ve told me, what you possess is not magic, you cannot expect to do the same things.” Jonathan reasoned. “Can I suggest something, Hunter? Allow me to train you in the basics of wiccan practices.”

  Hunter scowled, but Jonathan pressed on. “No, listen to me, I may be able to help you. A wiccan’s manipulation of magic might have similarities to how you use your anti-magic – we might unlock something new. It can’t hurt, can it?”

  Although he was far from happy at the prospect, Hunter had to admit that Jonathan’s reasoning was sound. Shit. Which meant he had no valid excuse.

  “Fine. We’ll give it a go.”

  Twenty-three

  The Malleus Maleficarum Council in Manchester had become the biggest gathering of witch-hunters in the North. New protocols and duties were devised as they went. For the most part, daily life went on in an almost mundane routine; but that was not to say that everything went smoothly. There were still constant threats from smaller covens that tried to stake their ground too near the towns and cities. The MMC were regularly called upon to deal with such threats. It was almost like the old days.

  One day in the middle of May, a similar message was brought through to the Council that almost had James bouncing. The Mayor of Doncaster had sent out a request for back-up, after the witches had attempted to blackmail her to aid them. General Hayworth delegated the job to Hunter, who quickly called his team, plus another fifty soldiers and witch-hunters. It seemed an excessive number, but Hunter would rather be over
-prepared than caught out-numbered.

  They set out that very evening, Hunter transporting them all in a blink, rather than wasting precious fuel. They arrived in Campsall Woods and set up camp. The information the Mayor had given them was that the witches were stationed in the nearby Brodsworth Hall.

  James moved about the camp, making sure that no one was feeling too faint after blinking over here. He then made his way over to where Hunter and the rest of his team waited. They were poring over a map with a Sergeant O’Hara.

  “I remember camping up here as a kid.” James said, nodding at their map. “The trees will offer plenty of coverage, and we have the advantage of higher ground.”

  Hunter nodded, knowing that here was as good as anywhere. “We’ll stay here tonight. It seems the safest option. O’Hara – send scouts on a five-mile radius. No one should know we’re here, but I want to be sure. My team will take first watch.”

  “Yes sir.” O’Hara moved away from the meeting, to find his second-in-charge.

  “Trust the witches to get the first-class accommodation, while we’re in tents.” Alannah muttered.

  “Well, at least we’re not doing this in winter.” Maria replied. “We’d freeze our arses off.”

  Alannah elbowed her in the ribs. “You wouldn’t freeze. You’ve got someone to cuddle into.”

  James smirked at the comment. “Come on, Alannah. If you were desperate for a cuddle, I’m sure Hunter or Ian would oblige.”

  Hunter folded up the map and tucked it away. “Of course. If the alternative was hypothermia, I would definitely share body heat.”

  Alannah’s cheeks flushed red as the rest of the team laughed. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me, Hunter.”

  Hunter walked past her towards the tents, pausing to ruffle her hair in a very brotherly way. “I try my best.”

  Alannah squeaked, and ducked away from him, then flattened her hair again. She looked to the other three that were looking very amused. She shook her head. “No comment.”

  *****

  It was nearly the end of the first watch and Hunter sat nursing a hot drink as he stared down the hill. His mind was running over the smooth running of his team. They’d been working together for nearly a year and a half, and Hunter had to confess that he depended on them now. He didn’t want anything complicating their unity. James and Maria were strong, and they seemed stronger together. Hunter marvelled that James had not done anything yet to cock things up. Or perhaps Maria was just very forgiving.

  It had not passed Hunter by, that Alannah was becoming a little more insistent in her hints. Did the little Welsh girl expect him to sweep her up in his arms? Hunter didn’t want to give thought to where Alannah’s fantasies led, he was not going to indulge them. Perhaps he should get Maria to have a quiet word and persuade the girl to look elsewhere.

  Hunter drummed his fingers on the tin cup of now lukewarm tea. When did this happen? A few years ago, he would have enjoyed the attention. She was a pretty girl - they could have flirted, possibly slept together, and entertained some short-lived relationship. Hunter blamed Sophie, it had to be her fault. Or was it because he was a father – did that automatically make you mature and responsible?

  Adam was going to be a year old at the end of summer. A year old, and Hunter still wouldn’t have seen his son. He wondered if he looked like him, or did he take after his mother?

  Hunter thought back to the conversation he’d had with James, the night he had learnt of Adam’s birth, that they would wrap all this up and then claim his son. It had seemed an easy promise to make then, but nearly a year on, and they were no closer to their aim.

  Hunter’s thoughts stopped mid-track. Something didn’t feel right. He checked his shields, finding them all intact, then sent his senses further down the wooded slope. Nothing, there was no- Hunter froze. There was movement in the woods, but camouflaged in such a way that Hunter could barely perceive it. He stood up, barely breathing as he tracked the faint whisper of life that moved up the hill, still hidden to his normal senses.

  Hunter swore and ran back to the tents. It was only ten in the evening, and most were still at least half-awake.

  “Ambush.” He warned in a stony voice, quickly getting the attention of those in the campsite. “I don’t know how many, coming up the hill. Get everyone ready for my signal.”

  The witch-hunters and soldiers moved without question, to follow his orders.

  Hunter moved to the edge of camp, and crouched in the darkness. He felt a pang of unease, that this was going to go terribly wrong. He closed his eyes and tried to sense the magic that was being used to cloak the witches. It was very subtle, by a very adept witch, but it didn’t have the same feel as Sophie’s magic. Hunter guessed that she had no part in this, but for some reason that did little to comfort him.

  The witches were near impossible to perceive, and as Hunter waited to call for the counter-ambush, he heard the sudden cry of one of his men, taken out by an invisible enemy that had moved up the hill faster than Hunter had anticipated.

  Hunter ignored the following outburst of cursing and gunshots, knowing that his men were fighting blind, he concentrated instead on breaking through the magic that disguised the witches. He grimaced at the skill of the caster, their spell seemed infallible. But then Hunter found a crack the breadth of a spider’s web. He pushed the weak link until the spell faltered and broke. Suddenly the enemy was clear before their eyes again.

  There was a rallying shout from the witch-hunters and soldiers as they pressed their new advantage.

  Hunter heard a stuttered moan and heavy breathing beside him. James lay slumped on the ground by his feet, a trickle of blood starting to roll down from his mouth. Hunter swore, and knelt down beside him, throwing up a shield about them.

  “James… what…?”

  “Couldn’t see… I couldn’t see them. B-but had to defend you.” James mumbled, then winced.

  Hunter took in his surroundings and noticed two inert bodies lying nearby. He hadn’t even noticed them approach, he’d been so focused on breaking the spell. He didn’t know whether the two witches were dead yet, but that was the least of his worries right now.

  “Come on, I’ll get you to the first-aid tent.” Hunter muttered, frustrated at his friend’s heroism.

  He moved to pick James up, but James just cried in pain, and pushed him away.

  “Don’t. It hurts, you bastard.” James spat, then closed his eyes. “T-tell my family they should be proud of me. And Maria, tell Maria…”

  Hunter felt the distracting attack along the lines of his shield and mentally shoved it away as though it were a mild irritant.

  “Why are you talking like this? You’re going to be fine. We’ll finish up here, then get you patched up.” Hunter said firmly.

  “Need a bloody big patch.” James laughed, his eyes straining at the effort, and his teeth stained red. He lifted his hand from his torso – his dark jumper looked damp, but deceptive – only on the pale flesh of his hand did the true extent of his blood loss show. “They hit me hard mate. Too hard even… even for you to fix.”

  James spoke calmly enough, only a groan of pain puncturing his control. James reached out and suddenly grabbed Hunter’s arm with a bloodied hand. “I - I need to tell you…”

  Hunter pushed him back down, desperate that he should rest and conserve his energy. “You can tell me after the battle.”

  “No… now.” James growled weakly, as his skin paled, and sweat mingled with the blood on his brow.

  “I don’t blame you for any of this – I don’t regret any of this. Except dying maybe.” James smiled and laughed at his own useless joke. “I trusted Sophie too.”

  Hunter shook his head. He again felt magic attack his shield, and again he repulsed it. He was not listening to his best friend’s final words, because James was not going to die, he could not die.

  Hunter closed his eyes, trying to find something, that spark that made him different, tha
t magic. He had done things people considered miracles, was it so hard to believe that he might be able to heal a simple wound? His powers always showed themselves when Hunter was at his greatest need – this time definitely counted.

  “Please.” Hunter whispered.

  James’ grip loosened on his arm and fell limply to his side. Hunter opened his eyes in time to witness the last breath leave his body. Hunter stared, frozen. He felt that if he even breathed, the world would shatter. But his emotions were beyond his control. He felt the anger and grief roil inside him, making his limbs quiver with excess energy, a demand that needed to be sated.

  Hunter blacked out.

  *****

  When he came to, Sergeant O’Hara had gently placed a hand on his shoulder, making Hunter jump. Hunter was still kneeling over James’ body. Obviously only his mind had blacked out, his body was still working fine. He looked up at the soldier, who in turn looked warily back.

  “What happened?” The man asked.

  Hunter blinked, his mind slow and uncomprehending. “What do you mean?”

  O’Hara pulled back his hand, looking quite scared. “Well sir, one minute we’re being attacked by an enemy we can’t see. Then we see them, but they couldn’t touch us, and then – well just look at it, sir.”

  Hunter frowned, looking past the soldier. Even in the dark, Hunter’s eyes were sharp, he could see the rest of his team moving cautiously across the open towards him – the open! The moon shone down onto a ravaged scene, the trees torn up by their roots, or blasted where they stood.

  “Casualties?” Hunter asked weakly.

  “Five on our side from when the battle began.” The soldier reported. “We’re still checking, but so far we haven’t found any surviving witches.”

  Hunter took a deep breath. No surviving witches. The scene echoed back to the only other time Hunter had felt such a release of rage. But that had been in a church, the night Charlotte was killed.

  “James? James!” Alannah’s voice pierced his thoughts.

  There was the added noise of footsteps now hurrying in his direction. Hunter didn’t even bother looking up, as the rest of his team descended on them.