Eleven
Hunter sat alone with Sophie in the library, books spread out down the long table. He was aware of the furtive looks she kept shooting him. Despite the dark matter of the books around him, and the oppressive environment since his discovery, Hunter found this amusing.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her look again. This time he smiled. “Is there something I can help you with, Sophie?”
A blush crept over her cheeks. “What’s it like?” She blurted out.
“What is what like?” Hunter asked, smiling at the vague question.
Sophie closed the heavy volume in front of her, Hunter saw the faded title: ‘Witches and their hunters of the Romanic region: 16th century study’. Hmm, poor girl, no wonder her mind was wandering.
“What’s it like, being a further generation witch-hunter? Do you feel differently from other people?” Sophie asked, using more detail this time.
Hunter thought about this, not for the first time. “Honestly, I don’t know, I’ve never been normal so how can I compare? Perhaps I should ask if you feel different from a 7th gen.”
Hunter smiled teasingly, but closed his book, willing to be more serious. “Everything I do feels normal and natural, but sometimes I see other people’s reactions when I move too quickly, or show too much strength and so on. So surely there’s something abnormal enough to catch their attention. Does that answer your question well enough?”
Sophie said nothing for a minute or two, staring into space with her own thoughts. “And… what is it like when you perceive magic?”
Hunter looked at her with askance.
“What, I’m not allowed to be curious because I’ll never experience it?” Sophie demanded.
“Fine.” Hunter said, leaning back in his chair, his gaze fixed on his new charge. “It’s… it’s like a headache, or at least it used to be when I was younger. A niggling, burgeoning activity that can be mistaken for pain. But you can train yourself to concentrate on it, read it, taste it. Every strain of magic has a different taste, or rhythm. As soon as a witch casts, I can tell what the magic is for, even who cast it.”
Hunter stopped, grimacing at his own description, as though he were a connoisseur of art or fine wine. Had he really gotten so expert in his dark career?
“And it improves with each generation?” Sophie encouraged. “What’s the furthest you’ve perceived magic?”
Hunter nodded, oh yes, as the famous 7th gen he was born with unfair advantages against the witches.
“The furthest?”
Hunter broke off as James made his entrance kicking the old door open so he could carry in the coffee tray. “Couldn’t find Charles, so made it meself. Hope you like strong coffee.”
“James, what would you say is the furthest I’ve felt a casting?” Hunter asked mildly. “Ten miles?”
James slid the coffee tray onto the busy table. “Ten easy. Remember the one in Hereford last month, must’ve been fifteen.”
Sophie just nodded, silently taking in the information.
“You know this is summat you’ll never experience.” James said, casually cruel. “Not jealous of our Hunter, are you?”
Sophie gave him a haughty stare in reply, flicking her brown hair back over her shoulder.
“I’m curious, surely that’s allowed.” She said coldly. “Besides, this all sounds a touch too close to magic.”
The effect was instantaneous. James stopped laughing at her and Hunter’s smile froze.
Sophie seemed to realize the severity of what she’d said, and started stuttering. “Look… it’s not… I didn’t mean-“
“Never say that.” Hunter warned in a chilling tone, his eyes furious. “How dare you even make such a heinous association?”
Hunter stood up so quickly, Sophie flinched as though expecting him to hit her. But Hunter kept his fists by his side and turned towards the door, needing space.
“You don’t seem to realize how offensive your ignorant comments are, Sophie. And showing me up in front of Gareth Halbrook and his cronies last week – no, I haven’t forgotten that. I’ve been pretty damn lenient with your whole attitude, but one day you’ll have to deal directly with the MMC, and they won’t be as understanding.” Hunter took a deep breath, the worst of his rant over, but his eyes still blazed. “You said you wanted to be a witch-hunter. Well, you’ve got to be in this a hundred percent, you’ve got to sort your attitude out and stop this… this sympathy for magic. Or you need to walk out that door right now.”
Hunter motioned towards the open library door. The room was silent and motionless again.
Sophie was tense, her hazel eyes cast down. But the fact that she wasn’t biting back showed that there was at least some truth in Hunter’s outburst.
“I’m here. I’m in.” She eventually muttered. She looked uncertain for a minute, then quietly turned back to her book.
Hunter felt no joy in setting Sophie straight, he felt strangely empty after letting loose, and now stood by his chair, not sure what to do.
James on the other hand felt perfectly comfortable in giving Sophie a disgusted look before turning to Hunter. “You know, this coffee isn’t working. How ‘bout we knock off and head down t’local instead?”
Hunter looked at his watch and sighed. “Yeah, sure. I’ve time for a drink before I take Rachel to dinner.”
The two boys promptly left the library to get their coats, and Sophie (who was unsure whether or not the invitation extended to her) sat alone, quietly reading the dusty volume before her.