Twelve
There’s something about Hallowe’en that seemed to excite the witchkind. Perhaps it was to do with the pagan fire ritual of Samhain, their magic amped up by something earthly. Or maybe it was just the thrill of moving openly, while a world of naïve victims actually celebrated their existence.
If it was anything like last year, it would be uncontrolled chaos. Even the newspapers and the general ignorant public had suspected something after the wave of identical murders that the MMC hadn’t been able to completely cover up.
So all the witch-hunters were on high alert. Even if they looked foolish…
It was early evening, but it was already dark outside. Hunter stood close to the warm fireplace, the old house did get cold once autumn came round, and Charles worked overtime keeping it pleasant for the Astley family and their guests.
Making the effort for Hallowe’en without sacrificing style, Hunter was wearing a tasteful black suit with a long black cloak and a white mask covering half his face.
“Let me guess, ‘Phantom of the Opera’ meets Armani?”
Sophie stood in the doorway, looking so fantastic that Hunter was left momentarily speechless. She smiled in her own grimacing way and turned so that he could see her outfit, sultry dark red tones on black, close fitting to her slim curves, the long skirt slit to the thigh. She’d done something clever with her make-up to make her face pale, but still stunning. Oh yes, and rubber fangs sticking out over her lower lip.
“Sexy vampire?” Hunter asked needlessly.
“Well, I was going to be a witch, but I thought that would be too ironic.” Sophie replied, lisping slightly over the false teeth. She shook her head and pulled them out, “Hm, I don’t think I’ll be wearing these all night though. I don’t see why the MMC want us to dress up and go out like a group of normals, when there’s going to be so much activity.”
“Ah well,” How embarrassing. Hunter had previously told Sophie what she needed to hear. “We have no intel on what will happen where, so the MMC likes its witch-hunters to be on the move, in the thick of it, so they can act immediately.” This was repeating his earlier statement. The next bit she may not like. “But the dressing up like a prat is my idea. You know, to fit in. Come on, we’ve got to pick James up. Are you kitted up?”
Sophie’s frown deepened, but she nodded. Hunter had provided her with a personal handgun and small dagger - where she’d managed to hide them in that figure-hugging ensemble though… Hunter snapped back to attention.
“Yes, James, let’s go.”
They took the Land Rover, the 4x4 equipped with protective charms and the boot stocked with the tools of their trade. Sophie jumped into the passenger seat, and they drove in familiar silence to James’ modest house.
And out came a pirate. And hadn’t he put the effort in: hat; dreadlocked wig; bandanna; skull shirt with homemade tearing; long shorts (again with the tears); and lord knows where he got the long boots, probably the same place he got the courage to wear them.
“Nice outfit.” Sophie said carefully as James clambered into the back seat.
“Thanks.” James replied, shooting a victorious look at Hunter.
Friend or not, what an idiot. “James has worn the same outfit for the past three years. He got a bit of a Johnny Depp fixation when we were at university.” Hunter told Sophie, with a commendably deadpan expression.
“Hey.” James shouted from the back. “I didn’t have a ‘fixation’. I just really enjoyed Pirates of the Caribbean, and I dare you to say Captain Jack wasn’t cool.”
“I agree.” Hunter conceded. “He was cool. Five years ago. Now it’s only obsessives with no personal, original imagination of their own-”
And Sophie sat quietly, staring out the car window at the moonlit fields and cottages. Over the past couple of months she’d gotten used to the two boys bickering like an old married couple.
Soon, the view out her window was the stream of slow-moving cars and the bright lights of bars. The sound of music and the laughter of the revellers hit the car. Hunter parked up and they all got out and made their way into the nearest bar.
“I know the MMC like us to be out and ready for action, but this?” Sophie asked, looking around with distaste.
“Look, most activity isn’t until midnight. Sure, most witch-hunters will be sitting in their cars, drinking coffee and trawling the streets. But the MMC doesn’t care if we have one last party before getting on the job, as long as we stick to soft drinks.” Hunter replied seriously, after just handing out the first round of beer and wine. “You never know when it’s your last call. Besides, look around, we’re surrounded by victims. So relax, enjoy yourself for once.”
Hmm, although she didn’t go wild, Sophie gave in to the party spirit and, after another glass of wine, she even deigned to smile every now and then.
James, with the odd confidence bestowed by wearing a pirate costume was enjoying the dancefloor a bit too much for his sober state. Hunter had the fun of watching his friend make an arse of himself - he’d remind James of these embarrassing intervals at later times.
Every now and then, bonny girls walked over to try and get Hunter to join in the dancing, but he declined and the girls were often chased away by a cold glare by Sophie.
“Not getting jealous, are you?” Hunter laughed, leaning in towards her. “And I thought you didn’t like me!”
Sophie, stiff and frozen as ever, turned away from him. “I just don’t think it is right. We’re working.”
Hunter smiled, she didn’t change. He reached out and placed his hand on her lower back, he felt a thrill when she didn’t pull away. He got the sudden image of trying to gentle a wild horse that could turn and kick you in the head at any moment.
“Come on, it’s twenty to twelve. Let’s get the dancing pirate and go.” Hunter said to her quietly.
The trio emerged from the warm pub into the brittle, clear night. The first stop was the car, where they threw in their extraneous costume and pulled out a kit bag each. Then they meandered without any particular aim to the edge of the night scene. It was here, where drunken revellers stumbled away from their pubs and clubs, making their way home, it was here the witches were likely to hunt their prey.
All they could do was wander the streets, waiting for something to prick Hunter’s senses. Hunter glanced at his watch, nearly midnight. A sigh escaped him, this time last year he was being torn apart by all the magic being used. He was pretty confident that he could sense magic within a fifteen mile radius. But still nothing. What the hell was going on?
“Hunter.”