by K.S. Marsden
*****
“Astley!” A 5th gen witch-hunter called out. Hunter struggled to remember the man’s name as he walked over.
Short bloke, looked about fifty, had the same stubborn air about him as old Brian had. Anthony Marks, that was it.
“I’ve just had the Americans on the phone. They’re blaming us for the worldwide uprising of bound witches.”
“What?”
Marks grimaced. “They claim that we failed in our duty to protect the Key.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Hunter replied, angry now at their American cousins. “The key could have been anywhere in the world, in the deepest jungle, or buried in Antarctica for all we know. How can they blame us?”
“Because somehow their Council knew where it was. It was placed under heavy protection with an English member of the MMC - Mrs Charlotte King.”
“What?” Hunter’s voice came out louder than he’d meant, several people looked up at the shout. But Charlotte, his Charlotte? He couldn’t believe that she had never told him. But then, if she’d confided in him, Hunter would never have allowed her to take on the role of Key Keeper, it would make her a target for every witch - it had made her a target. The Shadow Witch, had she known and planned all this.
“Hunter.”
Hunter looked up at the witch-hunter, but it wasn’t he that had spoken. James came up behind him.
“Hunter, Sophie’s missing. I’ve just had a call from a couple of our guys. They went to her mum’s house in the Lake District, neither Sophie or Bev were there. They said there was no sign of a struggle or foul play.”
Hunter had feared that this would happen, he’d been expecting it, he realised. He was tied to the Shadow Witch, and on top of all the violence and chaos, she was systematically attacking him where it hurt most.
“Where are you going?” James demanded as Hunter marched off.
“Where do you think? I’m going up there.” Hunter replied, pulling on a coat and checking for car keys.
“Hunter, you can’t. They might be waiting for you.” James reasoned, then stopped, realising that particular argument wouldn’t stop him. “Let some other witch-hunters go up and trace them.”
Hunter looked at James ruefully. “I’m not sending anyone anywhere that I wouldn’t go first. Besides, no one can feel the traces of magic better than me.”
James grabbed his arm to stop him leaving, Hunter tried to shrug him off and got the surprise of mild James throwing him with some force back down the hall.
“Look, I know you’re a bloody hero, we all do.” James said angrily. “But it’s tough shit, because right now you’re the only man that can lead us. Sending people into difficult situations and trusting them is part of leadership. Get used to it.”
The two best friends stood facing one another in silence.
“Don’t try to compare this James.” Hunter eventually spoke. “Because I’m not going to let the Shadow take Sophie, and I’m the only one that can bring her back.”
As he said it Hunter knew that it was the truth, it wasn’t just his ego, he actually believed that he could bring her back alive.
“Nothing you can do or say will stop me, James. I’m going, and I’d prefer not to have to break your nose to get there.”
At first it seemed as though James wasn’t going to move, but then he stepped aside, grabbing his own coat.
“No, you’re not coming. It’s too dangerous, and I need someone in charge of this place.” Hunter argued immediately.
“Shut up, or we will fight. Someone’s gotta keep you out of trouble. Besides, next to the rest of the witch-hunters here, I’m a useless 1st gen. Let’s go.”
Nineteen
It took them less than ten minutes to hand over control to the trustworthy 5th gen Marks; and to be in the Land Rover for a long drive north.
The roads were almost empty. The world had been shook by fear, a state of emergency had been announced and everyone stayed at home while official-types tried to recreate normality.
The two men drove non-stop to the Lake District in silence. Once or twice James attempted to engage Hunter in conversation, having the opinion that Hunter knew more than he’d let on. But Hunter remained in stony silence, paying full attention to the roads as they hurtled down them.
It was an early winter’s evening and they were driving in near darkness now, the headlights cutting through the black countryside. Eventually they were driving down the familiar winding roads that led to the edge of Keswick. They were almost holding their breath as they turned the final bend to look on Bev Murphy’s cottage.
Everything looked quiet and untouched. They kitted up and made their way down the path to the front door. It was unlocked, and when Hunter opened it, inside it was dark and silent. Hunter paused, but he couldn’t feel any magic in the area.
He clicked the hall light on and the two men went into the familiar, modern interior of Bev’s cottage. They did a quick sweep of the rooms. They were all empty, with no indication of where Mrs Murphy and her daughter were. The last witch-hunters to stop by had been right, there was no sign of anything happening.
Perhaps, perhaps Sophie and her mum had been out, and had either been taken or caught up in the fights. But Hunter fought back the fear of these mental images, he needed to stay focussed.
James was on the house phone to Astley Manor, clocking in and picking up any new reports. Hunter busied himself by going over the house again. By the front and back door he saw the amulets that he had given Sophie only a few days ago.
Hunter hesitated. Something pricked his senses. It was so faint that he could hardly feel it. He turned on the spot, then began to move slowly in different directions, even pressing up against the walls to try and find the source of the magic. But wherever he went, the magic got neither stronger nor weaker.
“James.” Hunter called out uncertainly.
Suddenly he staggered, unbalanced, and the lights flickered and then snapped off.
Hunter waited, but couldn’t sense anything else. He stumbled about the hallway, trying to find the light switch. Finally he felt it, he flicked the switch several times, but nothing happened.
“Hunter!” There was a crash and some strong swearing from James as he tripped over lord knows what in the dark. “Hunter, the phone’s dead.”
Hunter frowned, felt in his pocket for his mobile and pulled it out. The screen still glowed, but there was no signal.
By this time James had pulled out his torch and made his way to Hunter. “What do you think it is? Ambush? I knew we were walking into a trap.”
“Shut up a minute.” Hunter replied. In the silence, nothing disturbed his senses. “I can’t sense anything.”
“You mean there’s no witches in waiting?” Asked James hopefully.
“No, I mean I can’t sense anything. At all. There’s no trace or residue. That wasn’t magic.” Hunter replied, knowing it sounded ridiculous. He didn’t know how to explain it. He somehow knew that the earlier hint of magic was responsible, but the spell hadn’t been performed here.
“The street lights are out.” James mentioned, looking out the window onto an unlit world. “Why would witches knock out the power grid for the Lake District?”
“My honest opinion?” Hunter asked as James turned back to him. “I think it is part of something bigger. We need to get back to the Manor.” He paused, pulling out his own torch, adding a little more light to the dark house. “Sweep the house for any clues Sophie might have left, then we go.”
They kept together this time, twin beams of light flickering over every surface in a quick assessment of the cottage. It helped fight the fear of the incomprehensible happenings, to think, to move, to concentrate.
They’d just come out of Sophie’s room after a thorough search, but finding nothing. Hunter stopped in the hall, he thought he heard, or sensed, a third person breathing. It was such a small sound, only half-heard
that he wondered if it were his desperate imagination.
He flashed his torch down the corridor, but it was empty. About to confirm it as a trick of his nerves, Hunter felt his heart contract as the torchlight that touched the walls dimmed and became indistinct. It was as though a black fog was inside the house. As though the shadows were growing.
“James.” His voice was strangled.
“What is it?” James asked in a returning whisper, coming back to him. But stared at the darkness with a sudden understanding.
“This is Hunter Astley of the Malleus Maleficarum Council.” Hunter called out steadily. “We are here to demand the safe return of Sophie and Beverley Murphy.”
Hunter drew his gun, holding it low. James kept close behind and silently followed suit.
There was an echo of humourless laughter within the confines of his own mind. Hunter frowned, not overly disconcerted, witches seemed to enjoy whispering directly into the mind as a means of terrorising victims and witch-hunters alike.
“You have no authority over me, Astley.” The words cut into his mind, eerily with the effect of his own voice. “But I am glad to have found a way to gain your undivided attention.”
Hunter glanced over to James, wondering if he too heard voices. But it was impossible to read his expression in the dimmed torchlight.
“If you want to see them again, come.”
Hunter wondered at the command. He stared into the shadows that suddenly expanded, then stopped just in front of them. It was so persuasively solid, that Hunter had to stop himself from reaching out to touch the darkness.
“The Shadow Witch wants me.” He said simply to James, and stepped.
If he’d been asked how he knew what to do, he couldn’t have answered, in fact, the little voice of sense in Hunter’s head was screaming at him as he stepped into the all-consuming darkness. It was warmer than he’d expected, and the shadows clamped onto him with a certain softness, muffling sound and blocking light, with all the effect of being wrapped in a huge black duvet.
The darkness faded to grey, and Hunter felt solid ground beneath his feet and cold air in his lungs again. He looked about, he quickly figured he was in an empty room. There was a dark window, a wooden door and a bare wooden floor, all lit by a single yellow bulb.
“Well, that was an experience.”
Hunter span round, in utter shock to find James standing behind him. “No James, you shouldn’t be here. Go back now.”
“I go where you go, remember.” James answered with a sorry shake of his head. “Besides, I think it was a one-way trip.”
Hunter paused, suddenly paying more attention to their predicament. Hunter no longer had his torch in his hand - wait, hell, he no longer had his gun, knives, kit bag. His hands patted down his body, feeling the unnatural absence of weapons. Then his hand flew to his throat. Yes, there was still the metal chain and the old dog tags. Not that that was much comfort at the moment.
Another look around the bare room and Hunter noticed the lack of shadows. Whatever path had been opened was now well and truly closed.
James seemed oddly calm, accepting whatever nightmare he’d entered with courage. “Well, we’ve confirmed that the Shadow Witch can transport herself and others. Although I think I managed to gatecrash this one.”
“Yeah, well, let’s hope it’s to our advantage.” Hunter replied, pacing the room. He walked up to the window, it was large enough to admit a person if they could just open it. He pressed his hand against the cold pane - he could feel the rhythm of magic expertly woven over the glass and its frame. Even if they could break through the spell and smash the window, several iron bars prevented escape.
Not out the window then.
Hunter went to the door. Here there were no spells to keep them in, instead there was a heavy oak door with lock, and probably bolted from the other side.
“We stuck here?” James asked mildly.
“Looks like.” Hunter replied, equally calmed by the knowledge that they couldn’t actively do anything.
“Jolly good. How long do you think it’ll be before-“
James broke off as there was the sound of a key in the lock. “Ah, perfect timing.” He grumbled.
The thick wooden door opened and a woman stepped in. She took one (rather shocked) look at James and went out again, the door locked behind her.
“Short but sweet. Do you think they’ll send us home now?” Joked James.
They didn’t have long to wait before she returned, this time with company. Half a dozen male and female witches came into the room. They took their cue from the original woman and surrounded the two witch-hunters.
“Which of you is George Astley VII?” The woman asked.
“I am.” James piped up before Hunter had a chance to speak.
“Shut up with your Spartacus routine. I am George Astley, and I shall prove it if you doubt me.” Hunter responded, defiance in his voice and steel in his gaze. “I want to see Sophie Murphy. Now.”
The woman-witch smiled, almost bristling with the joy of having power over these defenceless witch-hunters. “You are in no position to be making demands, Astley. You will do precisely what the Shadow Witch commands, and see only those she allows.”
The witch nodded to her companions who stepped forward and roughly seized the men’s arms, yanking them back. Hunter felt the sold touch of metal against his skin and the soft click as his wrists were handcuffed behind his back. He forced himself not to struggle or fight back, as much as his nerves screamed for action.
“Are the cuffs really necessary?” He asked, for the sake of asking.
“Let’s just say we can’t take too many precautions, where you are concerned.” The witch replied curtly, then turned to lead the way out of the door.
Hunter and James were pushed into step, the witches always holding them, surrounding them.
“Hmm, I remember the last time I wore handcuffs - you remember Dervla?” James started prattling.
“James, I don’t think this is the time for that particular story.”
Twenty
They walked silently along a well-lit corridor. With the thick carpet beneath their feet and passing expensive cabinets and paintings it looked like they’d been brought to a very posh house, maybe even a manor. Hunter didn’t know what to make of it, but he could hardly blame the Shadow Witch for wanting a luxurious set-up.
The lead witch opened a set of double doors, looking back at the prisoners with a poisonous smile.
They were taken into a large room. Black curtains were pulled across the large windows, the room lit with an ostentatious chandelier. There were long tables arranged in a horseshoe. Sitting around the table were at least twenty witches, looking very much like a civilised council - which was probably down to the suits that the majority were wearing, although the burn marks were not common in most boardrooms. All heads turned at the entrance of the witch-hunters.
Hunter could almost see the magical aura that bristled threateningly, at the same time he read the victorious feeling in their shining faces and quickened breath.
“Ladies and gentlemen. George Astley VII, as promised.” A quiet female voice spoke, barely above a whisper.
Hunter looked at the speaker, sitting in a position of authority at the top table. She was the only one to wear a cloak, the dark material oddly mobile about her tall figure, the heavy hood filled with impenetrable shadow. Finally they were face to face with the infamous Shadow Witch.
Hunter gritted his teeth against the whole irritating stereotype of the situation.
“But you are not supposed to be here.” The Shadow Witch said softly, raising a pale hand to indicate James.
“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that.” Replied James daringly.
The whole room scowled at him, but let him be. They waited to follow the lead of the Shadow Witch.
“You wanted me, you got me.” Hunter spoke up, “Now, I will only ask on
ce. Give Sophie back to me.”
The Shadow Witch stood up suddenly, and every eye was on her. “She is already here.”
The Shadow reached up, and slowly slid the hood back, the dark shadow thinning to reveal the haughty beauty of Sophie Murphy.
Hunter felt a physical blow at this revelation and he heard James gasp behind him.
“Release her.” Hunter breathed, his voice barely audible.
The Shadow Witch gently shook her head, “Not this time, Astley.”
Hunter dared to look her directly in the eye. Her eyes… they were not clouded like the last time, instead they shone with familiar gold-flecked hazel depths.
The Shadow Witch smiled, “It’s all over. The witchkind have won, the hunters are destroyed. There is no longer a need for disguise. So look, Astley, on the face that brought your downfall and curse your every mistake.”
“No, you’re lying.” Hunter stood, heart pounding. It was all a trick, the Shadow Witch must have something yet to gain by possessing Sophie again.
There was a titter of laughter and scornful muttering broke out amongst the present witches. They were silenced with a single motion from the Shadow Witch.
“Why do I need to lie, Astley?” She asked innocently, “I have achieved my every desire. I have returned my fellow witches to their former glory. In fact, you join us on the night of our greatest achievement yet, perhaps you noticed a little power loss.”
Neither witch-hunter responded, but the Shadow Witch didn’t seem to expect an answer and continued.
“Yes, you can thank the Americans. Their MMC has been experimenting - unwisely, I might add - with magic stolen from witches. They managed to create a weapon that we would never have dreamt of. Used in a specific way, it could be directed to permanently disrupt every piece of technology, and with a little magical aid from me, it worked on a global scale.”
Hunter thought back to the blackout, how he’d perceived something magical, yet distant and untouchable.
“Er, you expect us to believe that? ‘Cos unless I’m mistaken this place is blazing with electric lights.” James said suddenly, looking up at the gaudy chandelier.
The surrounding witches bristled at this, but the Shadow Witch just looked at him curiously.
A wave of power swept the room, blasting James off his feet and dashing him against the wall. He hit it with a sickening thud and slid to the floor. Hunter went to move, but strong hands held him in place.
“He doesn’t learn, does he?” The Shadow Witch said coldly. “Tell him when he regains consciousness that there are more than enough witches here to light a few bulbs.”
“Why - why destroy technology?” Hunter asked, struggling not to react.
“Because the Witches Council wished it so.” The Shadow Witch replied willingly, looking at the faces of her associates. “The witches of today possess as much magic as they ever did. So why do we no longer inspire fear and worship, why are we ridiculed and cast aside as myth and fantasy? Because of the ‘general ignorant public’ as you so perfectly put it once. They are all so clever, so all-knowing, swallowing every story the MMC gives them.
“We have tried for generations to gain power politically, by mortal means. Yet witch-hunters persecuted all witchkind. So our new aim was to take the world all in one go.
“Imagine the fear and chaos when suddenly the world was plunged into darkness. There was no communication, suddenly no answers. It is in this chasm of disorder that those blessed with magic can step into their rightful roles above the ignorant and powerless masses.”
There was a general cheer and a spatter of applause as the Shadow Witch finished speaking, the group of witches high on their recent victory.
“You’re mad.” Hunter muttered.
The Shadow Witch looked at him with an achingly familiar coldness. “Mad or not, we have won Astley.”
“So what, you brought me here to do the clichéd gloat before killing me? Or do I get the option of watching you destroy everything first.”
“I destroy only to create the world how it was meant to be. God Himself would do the same, if he existed.” The Shadow Witch replied with cool logic, then half-smiled. “You have no idea how good it is to say all this openly after months of pretence and hiding around you.”
She broke off, suddenly seeming to notice the rest of the room, hanging on her every word. “Take them away, I shall see them tomorrow.”
She sat down and the two witch-hunters’ audience was over. Hunter was shoved out of the room, while the unconscious James was carried by two male witches.
And it was back to the dull, empty room.
Hunter had been pacing the room for a while, when James finally groaned and opened his eyes.
“Wha’ ‘appened?” He asked groggily.
“The Shadow Witch threw you against a wall. How many fingers do you see?” Hunter peered at him carefully.
“Three.”
“Close enough.” Hunter helped him sit up, he back against the wall.
“Next time, remind me to stay quiet around her.” James said, gingerly rubbing the back of his head. “Oh, they took off the handcuffs, that’s nice.”
Hunter sighed and sat down next to him.
“How bad is it?” James asked.
“Bad.” Hunter admitted, thinking it an understatement.
“What are the witches planning to do?”
“Take over the world.”
“Oh, that is bad. Did the Shadow Witch give a bad guy speech?”
“Oh yes, very impressive and clichéd - shame you missed it.”
The two friends fell silent. It was James that spoke first, and this time he was much more serious.
“What about Sophie? You don’t really think that she is the Shadow Witch - surely she’s just possessing her again.”
Hunter sat, looking quietly into space. The Shadow Witch was an evil entity. He wanted so much to believe that she was tricking them, that perhaps she needed to possess someone as the only way of taking physical form. That would mean that Sophie, his Sophie, was innocent and had loved him.
But there had been something about the witch, the clarity of her eyes and something else that made cold dread stab deep into his soul.
“I don’t know, I honestly don’t know.” Hunter finally replied.
Twenty-one
The black window lightened to the cold grey of predawn. Hunter shifted, feeling stiff from his uncomfortable sitting position on the wooden floor. His eyes were gritty and he was tired - he and James had taken turns to keep watch while the other slept.
Hunter got up with a groan and looked out the window. It was still too dark to see anything. He traced the window again, reading the magic - it had a skill and a sense of logic that he’d not seen before. He knew that it was the Shadow Witch’s handiwork. And that only she could break it.
“Is it tomorrow?” James asked with a yawn.
“I guess so.” Hunter replied, looking at his watch out of habit. He frowned, the bloody expensive thing had stopped. It was stuck on a minute after 8pm.
They heard the bolt being drawn on the door and James jumped to his feet. The door opened and the same witch from last night came in with two male witches, standing with her like a pair of heavies.
“The Shadow Witch wants to see you.” She said.
They both stepped forward, sharing the opinion that they might as well get it over with.
“No. Just you.” She said, pointing at Hunter.
Her companions walked up to Hunter and, in a repeat of last night, he was abruptly handcuffed behind his back.
“Handcuffs again? You never told me Sophie was the kinky sort.”
“James, I’ve already told you, not now.” Hunter said, before being roughly pushed out of the room.
As the door was closed and locked behind him, he heard James call out, “What, no brekkie?”
As inappropriate as the situation was, Hu
nter couldn’t help but smile. He’d never appreciated more, James’ determination to have one last joke before death claimed them. He shouldn’t be here, Hunter shouldn’t have let him, he should have stayed in the relative safety of Astley Manor.
But Hunter never did have any control over James. It was maddening, how Hunter could walk into a room of the best witch-hunters and wave his 7th gen status, and they would usually respect, follow, obey etc.
But James? From the day he’d met him, James seemed to purposefully ignore and wind Hunter up, yet he always did the right thing.
Down the fancy corridor again, he was taken further this time. The lead witch finally stopped and knocked on a door.
A few moments passed, and then the door was opened from the inside, Hunter recoiled in shock at the sight of the woman who held it open for them. Tall, graceful with dark brown hair and an ageless beauty. Beverley Murphy.
“Bev?” He gasped.
Bev turned her eyes to the floor, looking so meek compared to the fierce, but friendly mum they’d visited. The older woman muttered her excuses and left, sparing Hunter a single glance. Hunter was left with the idea that she was somehow angry, or perhaps just disappointed with him.
The door closed, shutting Bev from sight as she hurried down the corridor. Back in the room, Hunter noticed the soft-looking chairs, a roaring fire and a table with breakfast on. Three things that hypnotised him after a cold, uncomfortable night.
“I have brought Astley, ma’am.” The lead witch said with a note of pride, and Hunter had the impression that it was all she could do not to bow or curtsy to the Shadow Witch.
Sophie was sitting close to the fire and turned her head to look at the group. “Bring him here.”
Hunter was (unnecessarily) shoved towards Sophie. Sophie looked him over with those cold, analytical eyes of hers.
“You may go.” She said, dismissing the others.
The witches hesitated, and again it was the female witch that spoke, but hesitantly, as though she feared offending Sophie, or revealing some ignorance.
“Please, ma’am - he - surely it is safer for us to stay.”
Sophie glared at the witch, an aura of power rising threateningly. “I can manage Astley. Now go.”
The witch frowned, unconvinced, but obediently left the room, with her heavies in tow.
The Shadow Witch, or Sophie, which should she now be known by? She waited for the other witches to leave then set her eyes solidly on Hunter, her expression lightening with a familiarity that seemed sinful now.
“You look terrible.” She said with a frown, looking at the bruises and half-healed cuts that decorated any skin on show.
“I ran into a few of your new friends at the prison.” Hunter answered irritably.
“I’d hardly call them friends. As for new - I have known them a lot longer than I’ve known you.”
“Saw you’re mother outside. Is she part of your little army too?” Hunter spat bitterly.
“My mother is here of her own free will. She had every right to be a part of this. And before you ask, yes, she is a witch, although her powers were bound before she was born. Now, will you join me for breakfast - a cup of coffee at least?” Sophie asked, as though everything were normal.
“It’s kind of difficult to hold a cup behind my back.” Hunter replied pointedly.
“Oh, of course.” She rose from her seat in a graceful movement, stepping next to him at once.
Tired as he was, Hunter forced himself to remember that this was the Shadow Witch as he breathed in that familiar, enticing scent. There was a faint click and the cuffs fell away from his wrists.
“I’m sorry, but I’m sure you understand, it’s for my colleagues’ safety.” Sophie said gently, then returned to her seat with a smile.
“One question.” Hunter said, his voice rough.
“Just one?”
“For now.”
Sophie watched him carefully. “Ok then. Why don‘t you sit down?”
Hunter sat slowly, hating the soft, comfy seat and having an odd déjà vu of when Sophie had first come to Astley Manor seeking his help. “Answer me truthfully, is Sophie, my Sophie, the Shadow Witch?”
She sighed. “Your Sophie is, and always has been the Shadow Witch.”
Hunter took a deep breath, and sat silently.
Sophie watched him with cool curiosity. “Help yourself to coffee and toast - if you’re in the mood for something else, I’m sure I can magic it up.”
Hunter ignored her dry humour. He looked suspiciously at the pot of coffee, but didn’t take any, wary of poison and potions. He turned his gaze back to Sophie, she was still cold, beautiful, intelligent - but everything had changed. She was now the enemy. The Shadow Witch, against whom they all fought. The woman responsible for plunging the world into chaos and darkness.
“Come now, Hunter.” Sophie said bitterly. “You’re not going to sulk, are you?”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
Hunter gazed unflinchingly at the young woman. “Everything. Why did you pretend to be a hunter? Why am I here? Why haven’t you killed me yet?”
And more, unspoken questions hung tangibly in the air, why did you get so close, was it all a pretence?
“Everything is a lot to tell, Hunter, you’ve already accused me of gloating, why should I indulge you?” Sophie sat, quite unperturbed, casually continuing with her breakfast.
“Back in Italy, I saved you from witches. Was that planned?” Hunter persevered.
Sophie seemed to be measuring him up, then suddenly smiled more openly than Hunter had ever seen. “You really want to know, to hear every devious detail?”
“Tell me.”
“Ok. I wanted to learn from my natural enemies, the best way I possibly could. So I planned a little sacrifice with me as the innocent victim, then I would use my ample negotiating skills to become a witch-hunter - what better way to learn about the MMC than to be part of it.
“I chose to stage it in Venice, back in the ‘old country’ one could say, it would all be safer and easier to pull in an Italian witch-hunter, away from my roots. Which is where you messed things up.” He eyes flicked up on him, she looked half-amused, half-angry. “You, of all witch-hunters, Astley, so closely tied to my family. You turned up and were my hero, slaying the evil witches and rescuing me from certain death. I was so angry that I could have killed you there and then, and blown everything we’d worked towards.”
“So what, you allowed other witches to get killed to make the scene more believable?” Hunter asked, disgusted.
“You really think me that cruel, that ambitious as to sacrifice my own kin?” Sophie asked with a soft shake of her head. “No. Although we were not short of volunteers. The male you killed was a bewitched wiccan, there for you to get your blood quota. The two females were witches, under orders to make sure it all ran smoothly and then to surrender. After all, they knew they’d be free to fight again.”
Hunter was suddenly hit with an array of memory - his own research into a wiccan found with witches, the arson attack, Charlotte commenting on the increase in bound witches… they all knew they would get released and restored.
“What, should I applaud you for your ingenuity?” Hunter asked bitterly, feeling a wave of nausea and shame. He’d fallen for it, every part. He’d killed a human - a wiccan albeit, but human all the same. He felt sick.
“No.” Sophie mused. “But I would like to thank you, for pulling strings with the Council and getting me a place as a 1st gen.”
“Brian. You killed him.” It wasn’t a question, the truth was hovering there in front of Hunter.
Sophie shrugged, “It was very frustrating. For one exciting moment I thought you’d take me on - I would have the chance to fool the best there was, it was thrilling. But perhaps it was best that I went to Brian first, his senses were so unevolved compared to yours, I didn’t have to worry about sl
ipping up as much.
“He taught me a lot, even though he was a condescending sexist bastard. I often struggled to stay calm when he treated me as less than nothing - I, the greatest witch for almost a century. But I was willing to put up with it.
“Then I found out that Brian was doing work and research on the side, he’d made links with the unusual events that we had not completely covered. He was getting too close and needed removing, along with all his work. I have a certain skill for pure destruction, as you saw at his house. I had to make sure that everything was eradicated, I didn’t want the MMC knowing that a Shadow had risen. Not until I was ready.”
Hunter couldn’t help but smile ruefully, good old Brian, the grumpy old sod would’ve been pleased to be so inconvenient. “You slipped up, we got the info and discovered the return of the Shadow Witch.”
She nodded in fair agreement, but her smile didn’t fade. “Yes, and thank you again, this time for taking me in. I admit that at first I wanted to destroy all the information, but that would draw unnecessary attention. So instead I spent the next week, on your orders, searching for anything important in the notes and reports, then secretly removing anything that was too obvious. It was rather interesting to learn about what I was from a witch-hunter’s perspective.”
“We still found out though.” Hunter argued, remembering vividly the night after Brian’s memorial service.
“I underestimated you.” Sophie admitted. “But it didn’t matter in the end, you learnt nothing that would endanger me and your MMC refused to act. In fact it worked out better than I could have ever dreamt - I got to see what protection and weapons you had to use against me. It was pitiful.”
“Then let me guess, you left as soon as possible and struck and now you’ve won.” Hunter said bitterly, not wanting to hear more of her gloating confessions, yet desperate for answers.
“As soon as possible.” Sophie repeated under her breath with a hint of regret that surprised Hunter.
“So, now you’ve revealed all your evil doings, are you going to cackle madly and kill me?”
“Evil?” Sophie asked, almost sadly. “Do you really think me evil? You think I’ve done this to hurt you? I have done what is right for my kind - freeing them from persecution by you and your bloodthirsty Council. You - you demand that we witches do not live by our nature, that we should be vilified because we are something more than you. What gives you and the MMC the right to impose morals and judgement on what you don’t understand?”
Hunter didn’t meet her eye, he didn’t want to get into a moral debate, especially with someone that presented their facts so civilly.
“You didn’t answer my question.” He reminded her.
Sophie hesitated. “They want you dead. The others, the witches’ council. They fear that I grew too close to you and they want proof that I can kill the best the witch-hunters have. They argue that your death will be the ultimate blow for the remnants of the MMC and will further boost our morale and power.”
She paused, and when she spoke again it was with carefully restrained anger, her hazel eyes blazing. “And how I long to kill you Astley. How I have cursed you every day of my life for what your family took from the witchkind, from me.”
Again, hesitation. Sophie shrugged, the anger fading quickly as she fell back into her cushioned chair. “But I’m not going to kill you. Instead I’m going to offer you something. To join the witches, instead of fighting them. Together we can create a greatness that will eclipse everything that has gone before. We will build the world to our standard. You would be a ruler, answering to no one - except me of course.”
Hunter sat in a state of shock. He definitely hadn’t been expecting that. To never have to await MMC approval again, to switch to the winning side, to have Sophie with him. It was incredibly tempting. His mouth was dry as he responded.
“Ah, no, I’m going to turn you down because I don’t want to sell my soul. Besides, I don’t think your witchy pals would agree to a witch-hunter in their ranks, especially when you say they’re all so keen to see me dead.”
Sophie smiled at his goading reply, which was a rather disconcerting reaction.
“Have you ever heard of the Benandanti?” She suddenly asked.
Hunter scowled, but finally agreed to reply. “No.”
“Let me tell you a little story.”
“Another one?” Hunter snorted.
Sophie ignored him and started to speak again. “In Friuli, Italy, there was a small peasant group called the Benandanti. They lived simply enough, with one special feature, they protected themselves and those around them from witches, and had been doing so for centuries. This was a very elite group, one couldn’t just join the Benandanti, one had to be born into the clan. They were special, bred to repel witches; they were stronger, faster, could even detect magic being used. They could travel far distances in a blink, they could change the world around them to chase off, or even destroy witches.
“They lived peaceful little lives with surrounding villages. But they were discovered by witch-hunters and, in self-reflection saw that they had become what they most feared. Witches.”
Hunter frowned, an uneasy feeling about where this was heading.
“Don’t you see? Did you never wonder what the witch-hunter generations were leading to? What you are, a 7th gen.” Sophie asked, excited now, leaning forward with her eyes glittering. “Just think of the possibilities.”
Hunter let the flickering fire in the grate distract him, watching the sparks from the logs. Stronger, faster. He knew that he was gifted - an unheard of 7th gen. No one knew what he was capable of. But having magic?
“Nice theory. But I think you’re a couple of generations early. I’m no witch.”
“Have you ever tried?” Sophie questioned. “It didn’t come easily to me when my powers were first awoken. It took months to gain control. And I know it is you, I have seen you use magic with my own eyes.”
This made Hunter pay attention. “What? I’ve never-”
“Hallowe’en.” Sophie interrupted. “At the church. I had the key from Charlotte and every piece of information I needed, so pulled in our best witches to finish off you and James - you had both outlived your uses. Then I felt something I didn’t understand, a huge build-up of magic that I didn’t recognise. And such a release to rival even my own. Then I saw amongst the rubble and bodies you, standing alone and untouched with an aura of magic that outclassed so many.”
Hallowe’en. Hunter had tried not to think about it, it was too painful. But it all came rushing back with amazing clarity. Charlotte lying there as though asleep, then out of the silence James alerting him to the witches. There had been so many, by all logic he should have been killed that night. But Hunter had been so distraught that at the time he had acted without thinking. Afterwards he had not thought about it, the eerie lack of magic as the church blew apart. He and James had assumed that it was the work of the Shadow Witch.
“You’re lying.”
“No Hunter, I’m not.” Sophie replied softly.
“Do the others know this?”
“No.” Sophie admitted. “They think you’re just a normal witch-hunter that I like to toy with. Please, Hunter, this is the only way – it’s either live like a god with me, or be killed by the others.”
Hunter watched her carefully, she wasn’t threatening him, it was more of a warning. But what did she care if he lived or died, after all he was just a plaything.
“And what about James?”
“What about him?” Sophie said impatiently, not wanting to get off topic. “His fate was sealed when he came here, I couldn’t save him if I wanted to. Besides, he’s not important, you are.”
Hunter looked at her with disbelief. How could he ever have thought he could love her. This amoral women that had murdered Brian, Charlotte, and would throw away James’ life so easily.
“Promise you
’ll think on it. Just remember that I can only keep you safe for a day at the most.”
Sophie looked away to the door and Hunter felt a ripple of magic in the air, he tensed, but nothing happened.
“Relax, I’ve just called the others. They’ll take you back to your room unharmed.” Sophie said, standing up.
Hunter heard the click of the door handle and he sprang from his seat. Unarmed and outnumbered, this was still his best chance.
As though reading his desperate thoughts Sophie rushed forward and grabbed him, with a surprising force she turned him towards her and suddenly kissed him.
Along with her familiar lips and warm breath, something passed to Hunter. He staggered away, his limbs suddenly leaden and shaking. He looked up to Sophie, her face swimming.
“For your own good, Astley.” She said quietly.
And then he blacked out.
Twenty-two
When Hunter came to, he was lying on a hard wooden floor. He felt very odd, the aching pain from his last injuries felt distant, like they didn’t belong to him. He groaned slightly from a pounding headache - he could feel that.
“Hunter? You awake?”
Hunter opened his eyes a fraction to see the blurry image of James hovering over him.
“Yeah.” He grunted.
“Thank god. When they brought you in, I thought - but it doesn’t matter now.”
Hunter fully opened his eyes and his gaze returned to its usual sharpness. Daylight poured in through the one sealed window. “How long have I been out?”
“A few hours.” James replied, helping him to sit up.
Hunter recoiled. “Jesus, what happened?”
James winced. His eyes were dark and puffy, promising some stunning bruises, dry blood spotted beneath a newly broken nose, and from the way he held himself it looked like a cracked rib or two.
“The witches. They’ve been forbidden from using any magic on us, so they delighted in practising more mortal forms of violence. Don’t worry, it looks worse than it is.” James tried to take a deep breath, but grunted with pain. “Actually, scratch that.”
He stood, collecting himself for a few minutes. Hunter could only imagine how the witches had taken it all out on poor James while he was away being breakfasted by their boss.
“Come on then, tell us everything. It’ll help distract from the pain.” James said, half hopeful.
Hunter repeated everything Sophie had revealed, interrupted frequently by James’ questions which he did his best to answer.
James gave a low whistle after he’d finished. “You know, if we get out of this alive, we’ll never live this down. The Shadow Witch living under our noses the whole time.”
Hunter could only give a twisted smile in agreement, he was feeling guilty over the whole affair.
“Did Sophie say why we’re here? I mean, they haven’t killed us yet.”
Oh dear. Hunter didn’t want to mention this to anyone, if it was true, the MMC would have to treat him as a witch; or he’d have to do the decent thing and end his own life - neither were appealing. But telling James was different, surely. He could trust years of friendship.
“Have you heard of the Benandanti?”
“Sure, an Italian pagan group of anti-witches that developed powers of their own and were ultimately prosecuted for it. Why?” James reeled off, making Hunter just a little jealous of his infinite knowledge.
“Sophie thinks I might be one. Or something similar.” Hunter confessed.
That silenced James. Hunter didn’t underestimate James’ intelligence he’d probably figured out everything Hunter hadn’t said.
