Ten
“You really think she’s up to it?” James asked.
Sophie gave an uncharacteristically inelegant snort of derision at his question.
The three of them were in the Land Rover, Hunter driving, James in the passenger seat, and lowly Sophie sitting in the back. Hunter’s hands tightened on the wheel as he concentrated on the road rather than answering James’ question.
“Hunter? You think she’s ready?” James persisted. They were on their way to a raid, it would be Sophie’s first time coming up against witches as a witch-hunter, and typically James wasn’t happy about the idea.
Hunter shrugged, not the most positive gesture, he realised. “She’s done her training well. Besides, would you rather she have her first time out at Hallowe’en? She needs to operate in the real world.”
“Hallowe’en is nearly a month away, she has time for more preparation if you’re not sure.” James cautioned.
“She, she, she!” Sophie suddenly spat. “I’m sitting right here. Why don’t you ask me if I think I’m ready?”
Hunter shot her a look in the rear-view mirror. “Because, my dear, we know exactly what you think. You’ve been champing on the bit these last few weeks, dropping increasingly obvious hints every time a job comes through from the MMC. If you had your way, this would be your fifth raid, not your first.”
Sophie sat back, a rather superior smile on her lips. For once she didn’t rise to the ribbing, she was getting what she wanted right now.
“This isn’t my first time, anyway.” Sophie suddenly said, breaking the silence. “Brian took me to a raid. Although I wasn’t allowed to actually do anything, just watch him and the other witch-hunters outnumber and overpower a small coven.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure Brian knew what he was doing.” Hunter replied distractedly. “And I doubt you’ll be doing anything this time, there are more than enough higher gen witch-hunters to deal with the threat. But you need to learn, so you are going to stand there and do exactly as instructed, even if that is to stand and watch; even if that is to return to the car and wait. Understood?”
When Sophie didn’t respond, Hunter met her gaze in the rear-view mirror. “Understood?” He repeated, harder.
Sophie looked away. “Yes.” She said quietly, gazing out the car window.
Hunter suddenly turned off the road onto a dirt track. The Land Rover lurched over the rubble and potholes for a few hundred metres until a big black Jeep and a blue Volvo came into view. Hunter pulled up next to the other parked cars, and as if on cue, every car door opened and seven people were clambering out.
“Hey Hunter!”
Hunter squinted in the low afternoon sun. He smiled, matching the voice to the driver of the Volvo. “Toby! It’s been a while. How’s the wife?”
“Bloody chitchat. You’re late, Astley.” The driver of the black Jeep grumbled, interrupting the polite exchange.
Hunter grit his teeth against the insulting tone, his eyes suddenly cold. “I would say that we are right on time, Mr Halbrook. We were told to meet at 4 o’clock.”
“Yeah, so good of you not to arrive a minute earlier than necessary, Mr Astley.” He responded, deeply bitter.
Hunter sighed, it hadn’t been his choice to have Gareth Halbrook on the team, but the MMC had assigned him, and there was no getting rid. Oh dear, best to just get the job over and done with quickly.
“Who have you brought?” Hunter asked, nodding casually to the two young men that had climbed out of the black Jeep.
“Matt and Dave Marshall, 3rd gens. I took over their training after their old da got killed a few months ago.” Gareth responded unenthusiastically. “What about your guys?”
“James Bennett and Sophie Murphy, both first gens.”
The Marshall brothers looked at them all silently, their faces betraying an unprofessional interest as they glanced at Sophie. Sophie grimaced in disgust and shifted closer to James.
“Firsts? You brought a couple of firsts?” Gareth demanded, spitting slightly in his anger. “What the hell use is that?”
“They are fully-trained, Mr Halbrook. I don’t have time to argue with you.” Hunter said, fighting to keep his calm. “Can we please get on with the planning?”
Gareth folded his arms and glared at Hunter challengingly. “Whatever you say, sir.”
Toby, the Volvo driver that had greeted Hunter, now stepped forward, shaking his head at the conflict. He laid a large sheet of paper on the bonnet of Hunter’s Land Rover.
“The MMC have received reports of frequent gatherings of witches at a nearby wood. They meet and cast at sunset, I know, predictably dramatic. We estimate four to six witches, none showing extraordinary magic.” Toby reeled off the information he had collected while at the MMC headquarters earlier that day. He leaned over Hunter’s car, indicating the paper. “This is a map of the surrounding area. The clearing is here, about a mile into the wood. Unfortunately there’s no natural barriers, so we’ll just have to surround them and hope they don’t break through.”
Gareth leaned over the map. “We don’t know which way they’ll be arriving, so we should wait until they start casting before we move into position. It is more dangerous, I know, but it’s our best chance of surrounding them. We could probably park up here to wait.”
He jabbed at a spot on the map, then looked up, and shrugged. “But what do I know, I’m just a 4th gen with twenty years’ experience, obviously not enough to be in charge. What do you think, Astley?”
Hunter frowned. He really didn’t like the fact that his 7th gen status gave him superiority over more experienced witch-hunters. And he liked it even less when odious individuals like Gareth Halbrook held it over him.
Hunter gazed at the map, uncomfortably aware of the silence and the eyes all focussed on him. Damn Gareth. “No, I agree. Let’s move out.” He finally admitted through gritted teeth.
Gareth turned back to his jeep, a smug smile on his face, with the two Marshall brothers in tow.
“Want a lift, Toby?” Hunter offered. “I don’t think your little car is up to a cross-country jaunt.”
Toby folded the map and smiled. “Sure, why not. If it isn’t the witches that kill me, it’ll be your driving.”
The four of them piled into the Land Rover, James now demoted to the back seat with Sophie.
“Behave yourselves back there, children.” Hunter teased as he started the engine.
He smiled as Sophie swore under her breath, then put the car into gear and leapt across the field, following the tracks made by Gareth, racing after the black jeep towards the dark shadow on the horizon.
“Who the hell invited Gareth Halbrook?” James demanded, holding on tight against the bumping, speeding car. “Of all the witch-hunters they could’ve assigned, why that git?”
Toby smiled sadly. “It’s Hunter’s fault.”
“What?” Hunter asked sharply.
Toby spared a quick glance around the other passengers and propped himself against the door, grimacing as the car lurched over uneven ground. “The buzz at the headquarters is that Hunter is too big for the Council.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hunter asked, not liking the sound of it.
“Ah, you know the influence you have. Enlisting Sophie here, determining where she carries out her training. Your preferential treatment of James, that he gets to see more than some higher gens, that you refused to let the Council reassign him last year. The fact that you refuse to take on 1st gens for training, and your lack of attendance at the headquarters. Christ, even Charlotte was promoted quickly beyond her years on your advice.”
“That isn’t fair.” Hunter said, when he’d heard enough. “My influence? I will act how I see fit, but I am loyal to the MMC and they will always have the final decision in everything. This ‘influence’ isn’t of my making - it is the Council’s way of treating me.”
“I know Hunter.” Toby said in a pacifying tone. “But you are the miraculous 7th gen, no one knows what you could be capable of. The Council wants to keep you sweet, but at the same time they doubt their ability to control you. Hence, Gareth Halbrook. They’re giving you your birthright to lead, yet proving that they are in charge by making you work with that arse.”
Hunter sat in silent thought, staring straight ahead to the looming woods where the black jeep had already pulled up.
“You’d think,” Hunter said quietly. “That the Council would have more pressing issues to deal with than these ridiculous games.”
Nobody replied, it was obvious where Hunter’s thoughts lay - the MMC were spending time and energy worrying about non-existent problems, when there was one very real, glaring threat of the re-emergence of the Shadow Witch about which they did nothing.
The uncomfortable silence was ended by their arrival at the edge of the woods. Everyone clambered out again, the day still too hot to stay inside the stationary vehicle. There was nothing left to do but wait for the sun to set and the witches to make their move.
Sophie was sitting against the trunk of a shady oak, wondering how best to phrase her thoughts.
“So… what have these witches done? To upset the MMC?”
Hunter stopped his pacing and looked at her. “What do you mean?”
Sophie kicked the dirt in front of her. “I was just curious as to what their crime was. The usual murder and mayhem?”
“Their crime is that they’re witches, love.”
Sophie looked up at the sound of the rough voice; Dave, or Matt, she couldn’t remember which, was looking back with a laughing sneer.
Hunter ignored the Marshall boy. “They’ve done nothing that we know of, yet. This is a pre-emptive strike.”
“So… they’re going to be punished, possibly killed, in case one day they are guilty.” Sophie frowned, trying to get her head around the concept.
Her statement stunned everyone. One of the lads guffawed; and Gareth gave a sharp ‘ha’, throwing Hunter a dirty look. Even Toby and James looked mildly disgusted at the insinuation.
Poor Hunter felt a flush of embarrassment at his trainee’s ignorance. “You’re doing it again, Sophie, you’re thinking they are like humans. They are witches, it is inevitable that they’ll do evil - should we wait for innocent people to get hurt before we act? And we can’t punish them for things they haven’t done - we’ll just bind them and process them, and set them free. I doubt it will be necessary to kill them.”
“More’s the pity.” Gareth grumbled.
Hunter’s head snapped round at this. He knew that some of his colleagues harboured this opinion privately, but no one ever voiced it. Apart from this bastard.
“Oh, I know you champion the non-violent outcomes, but be serious, binding witches wastes time and resources. Honestly, the only good witch is a dead witch, and if I had my way…”
“I know what would happen if you had your way.” Hunter warned. Oh, he knew. He was very much aware of Halbrook’s trigger-happy reputation. “But I’m in charge here and we’re doing it my way.”
“Sorry, sir.” Gareth responded sarcastically. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll take care of myself. You just watch your witch-loving first.”
Hunter took a stride towards him, not sure if he was going to shout, scream, plead or punch. Maybe all four. But he stopped in his tracks. There was a faint hum of a whisper in that part of his mind that was always alert and dominant.
“It’s time.” Hunter said, suddenly realizing the sun had dropped below the horizon.
Nearly a minute later, Toby, the Marshalls, and Gareth cocked their heads as though hearing something faint.
On a sudden impulse, they all rose, quickly inventoried their defences and weapons, then looked to Hunter.
“Let’s go.” He simply said, striding into the shadow of the trees.
Sophie and James came close behind, followed by Toby. Gareth and the Marshalls left a long, defiant gap, yet followed Hunter’s lead.
Hunter walked into the deepening gloom of the evening woods, his senses sharpening with every step. He was aware of the six bodies behind him, their warmth, their separate breaths and footsteps. He was aware of the building throb of magic ahead of them, drawing closer he could sense the individual rhythm of the spells that bubbled up and called to him. He couldn’t read any violence from it, and repeated this observation aloud for the others.
“There are four witches actively casting, but keep alert.” Hunter added in a low voice. “This should be an easy one, so let’s try to keep it civil.”
This last part was directed obviously at Gareth, who pretended not to hear.
“Please don’t say it’ll be easy.” James muttered, sharply knocking the nearest tree.
The others smiled nervously at his remark, then turned in the direction of the threat. Hunter signalled them to move into position, muttering last minute instructions and warnings, before allowing them to leave.
This was the part he hated most, he reflected as the other witch-hunters disappeared into the forest, he was personally brave and would risk his life as and when required. But to send others out to risk theirs always made him nervous, and yes, a little bit guilty.
But, as the boss of this operation, he could at least put the weakest in the safest place. New girl Sophie was behind the first line, Hunter voicing that they needed someone to stop the witches breaking through their circle. The excuse fooled no one, but Sophie, excited to be on her first real raid, didn’t argue and docilely fell into place behind Toby and Matt Marshall.
In formation they moved forward on silent feet, led on by the promise of firelight ahead.
It was as Toby described, a clearing only 20 metres in diameter, a fire cracking, in its light four figures moved. Physically, the witches were unremarkable and unrecognisable as something other than human. But there was the aura of something more.
There were two female and two male witches, looking, in an ordinary light, as two couples having a bonfire night.
Hunter took a deep breath and stepped into the circle of light.
“I am Hunter Astley, by the Malleus Constitution you will surrender now to my authority to be bound and registered.” He called out, confidently. “If you refuse to come quietly, we are empowered to take any means necessary.”
Out of the shadows, he rest of the witch-hunters stepped forward, guns raised.
The witches, who had gazed at Hunter curiously as he approached, now reacted as they were surrounded. The men instinctively moved to protect their partners. Their breath quickened and anger and fear tainted their expressions.
“We have done nothing wrong.” The nearest male witch spat.
“Nevertheless, by the Malleus Constitution, all magic must be bound.” Hunter replied formally. His eyes flicked up to Gareth, who looked bored and impatient. “Please, you are outnumbered, just surrender.”
The male witch exhaled, his shoulders dropping with resignation. “There are worse things than death.” He muttered, then raised his hands. Everything went black.
In a blind panic, Dave Marshall fired his gun into the darkness. There was a scream as the bullet ripped through flesh and bone.
“Stop!” Hunter shouted, furious at the witch-hunter. His 7th gen eyes piercing through the magic, he could see the blurred shape of the male witch still in front of him. Hunter gritted his teeth and launched himself at the witch, moving with unnatural speed, he knocked aside the witch’s sluggish reaction and dealt a blow of such strength the man fell to the floor.
Around him the darkness faltered and faded, the light of the fire and stars perceivable again. Hunter looked around quickly, the male witch lay incapacitated at his feet. Off to his right, there was the result of Dave Marshall’s nerves - Toby lay on the floor, trying to stem the blood flow from his arm.
One of the female witches jumped at the opportunity and ran at this weak spot in their circle.
“Stop!” Matt Marshall stepped into her path, but a wave of magic sent him flying unceremoniously head over heels, hitting a tree with a sickening thud.
“No.” Gasped Hunter, as the witch faced the last witch-hunter blocking her escape.
Deadly pale, Sophie raised her gun and fired.
The female witch gave a strangled cry and stumbled, falling to the forest floor. Blood blossomed a startling red from her chest and she could be seen to be gasping erratically from pain and shock.
Hunter ignored the unconscious male witch at his feet, he ignored the two remaining witches that now surrendered to James and Dave Marshall; Hunter stepped past the bleeding female witch and straight up to Sophie.
“Are you ok? Did she hurt you?” He asked, his voice low and desperate. He quickly glanced over her, there wasn’t a mark on her, but Sophie was white and shivering. Hunter slowly moved closer, reaching out and gently prying the gun from her hand. “Sophie, it’s ok, it’s over. You did good.”
Sophie’s eyes snapped onto his, wide with panic and adrenaline. She was drowning in the shock of the moment and Hunter felt a sudden urge to reach out and save her, hold her close and protect her. An urge that he fought.
Hunter stepped away from Sophie, unsettled by this sudden intimacy. He forced himself to look around and assess the situation.
Toby was sitting on the mossy ground, staunching a wound in his arm. He looked bloody and pale, but otherwise ok, with Dave Marshall kneeling next to him, babbling out incoherent apologies and excuses.
The scene re-lit the anger Hunter felt towards that arse, Gareth Halbrook, who with his trigger-happy team had ruined a smooth operation. Hunter turned to look for the offending git and was surprised to see Gareth walking calmly in his direction.
Hunter opened his mouth to shout and course his anger, when Gareth raised his gun and shot a single round at the injured female witch at his feet.
Hunter felt a shock of fury as her heartbeat and irregular breathing left the web of sounds.
“You murderous bastard. What the hell did you do that for?” He shouted.
“Put her out of her misery.” Halbrook replied roughly, staring challengingly at Hunter.
“She could have survived - there was no need.”
“Survived for what? The taxpayers to pay for us to keep her. No thanks. As I said, the only good witch is a dead witch.” Halbrook glanced over his shoulder at the living witches, obviously picturing the same fate for them.
Hunter shook with rage, completely unable to speak after such a statement. He felt a restraining hand on his arm and turned to face a pale and worried James.
But James was looking at Gareth Halbrook. “Mr Halbrook, take the prisoners to HQ.”
Gareth frowned at James’ assumed authority. Damned first gen, suddenly getting bossy, just because he was the famous Hunter Astley’s friend. “Look ‘ere-”
“No, you look,” James interrupted. “You and your boys take care of the witches, ‘cos I don’t want t’leave Toby in your hands. And if you know what’s good for you, those witches’ll arrive at HQ without a single mark on them - got it?”
Gareth ground his teeth, obviously weighing up the cost of saying what was on his mind at this point. But in the end he grumbled something inaudible and stomped off, jerking his head at the Marshall brothers. The three trouble-makers left, herding the two witches before them, Halbrook picking up and carrying the still-unconscious male witch.
James finally looked to Hunter. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll help Toby, if you help Sophie.”
Hunter nodded, and finally dragged his attention back to his other colleagues. He watched James help Toby to his feet and support him, they set off in the direction of the Land Rover at a slow, stumbling pace.
Hunter turned to Sophie, who looked still pale, but more composed now. “Can you walk?” He asked, uncertainly.
“I’m not an invalid.” Sophie snapped in a reassuringly offended manner. Her cold, sharp self returning now the immediate shock was passing. “Don’t treat me like a damsel in distress.”
Hunter shrugged, his mind too full of other concerns to be too relieved that Sophie was okay. They walked together, slowly following James and Toby back to the car. The four travelled in near silence. When they got back to the Land Rover, they found Gareth’s Jeep already gone. The four witch-hunters climbed back into Hunter’s vehicle and made their way back to the road, slower this time, Hunter diving more carefully so as not to jostle Toby. Again there was silence.
They finally turned onto a dirt track and the headlights lit up Toby’s blue Volvo. Hunter pulled up next to it. Again, James took charge.
“Right, I’ll drive Toby up t’hospital, then I’ll head to the MMC - it’s late, but I want to follow up Halbrook. Go home Hunter.” After helping Toby into the back seat of the Volvo, James spoke quietly to Hunter. “Just keep an eye on Sophie, I think she’s hiding her shock.”
Hunter nodded, clapping his friend on the back and climbing back into the driver’s seat of his Land Rover.
James said something privately to Sophie, wearing a serious expression, then got into the Volvo.
“Are you sure you’re ok?” Hunter asked again, as Sophie climbed into passenger’s seat beside him.
“Yes.” She replied exasperatedly. She then stared resolutely out the dark window.
Hunter nodded again. Good, silence, that was fine.
They were roaring down the motorways, Hunter showing a certain disregard for speed limits, when he decided to speak.
“What did James have to say?” He asked, his voice suddenly seeming loud after the silence.
Sophie finally looked at him, but only briefly. “Nothing.” She muttered.
Hunter was unconvinced. He had an odd feeling that just as James had asked him to watch Sophie in case she went into shock, the annoying Yorkshireman had asked Sophie to keep an eye on Hunter’s mood after the run-in with Halbrook.
They lapsed into silence again. Then Sophie shifted uncomfortably. “Does it get any easier?”
“What do you mean?”
“Killing witches, does it get easier with time?” She asked, turning to face him.
Her hazel eyes burnt with the pain of the question, she seemed shaken, yet strong. Again Hunter felt that dragging sensation that he should hold her, that he could keep her whole.
A horn blared as he nearly collided with another car. Hunter snapped his attention back to the road, his hands tightening on the wheel. He could feel the pressure of the seat belt against his shoulder, and was bizarrely glad for such a restraint.
“No, it doesn’t get easier.” He replied honestly, staring resolutely ahead. “And I don’t want it to, I don’t want to be like him, like Gareth.”
No, Hunter couldn’t imagine that killing witches would ever mean nothing to him, or worse, that he’d take some sick pleasure from it.
It seemed to take forever to get back to Astley Manor. It was midnight by the time they pulled up the gravely drive to the big old house. The lights were still on, the fires lit ready for their return, and they gladly went into the warmth.
“Are you sure you’re ok?” Hunter asked again, as they stood together in the hallway.
Sophie gave him a withering look. “Goodnight Hunter.”
Hunter watched Sophie walk away from him and move up the main staircase, heading straight for her room. He didn’t want her to be alone; he told himself that she shouldn’t be alone after such a day. But a part of him knew better. Oh god, he was in trouble.
“Sophie…” He called out, then thought better of it as she paused on the stairs. “Sophie, tell James that I don’t need babysitting.”