Three
Despite his promise to keep his distance, to let the girl get on with her training, business carried Hunter to Brian Lloyd’s door. James was visiting family up north, and Hunter decided to use the time to go see Brian. The fact that he could discretely check on Sophie’s progress had of course never occurred to him.
As he strolled up the driveway, he looked up at the familiar house. It was detached and roomy, though nothing compared to Astley Manor. Still, Hunter had spent a lot of time here. After his father had died – or more correctly, been killed – Brian had stepped in. The MMC were desperate for the 7th gen Hunter to reach his full potential, preferably while keeping him tethered to the Council. So they had sent 5th gen Brian Lloyd, to continue his training.
There weren’t many people that Hunter was scared of, but Brian was one of them. Tall, stocky, with close-shorn hair, he looked tough and was an unforgiving bastard. But he was good at what he did and in Hunter’s opinion, he was always right. So it was with some nerves that he knocked on Brian’s front door.
“Don’t stand there gawping, boy. You coming in or not?” Without waiting for an answer, Brian went back into the house.
Hunter sighed, things obviously hadn’t changed. He stepped through into a large study where Sophie sat, deep in reading a musty old volume.
“Oi, be useful, put the kettle on.” Brian barked at her.
Sophie shot Hunter a cold look and took herself out of the room.
“So, how are things going?” Hunter asked with a smile. He’d had some equally pleasant experiences of training with Brian. It was almost satisfying to see that the old man was treating his next trainee with the same curtesy.
“I don’t like you throwing your weight with the Council, boy. Sending me a bloody girl. What use are girls?”
Hunter gave his old mentor a sideways glance. Ah yes, Brian was set in the old ways, and at 62 years old, he wasn’t about to change.
“Brian-”
“Oh aye, I know all about your modern, pc equality crap. But if she wants to help the MMC, why didn’t you stick her in an office - registering bound witches, or filing cases.”
“Because no one wants to do that boring shit.” Hunter replied, then grinned, “So I take it it’s not going well?”
“Ah well, I wouldn’t say that. She seems to be coping, picking it up well enough. Took her along to a raid, she kept her head, didn’t even throw up at all the blood.”
Hunter found himself gazing in the direction of the kitchen where there was the clatter of mugs. What do you know, maybe Sophie would make a witch-hunter after all, and he wouldn’t have to feel guilty.
“Ugh, you do like to try me, George.” Brian grumbled.
“Who’s George?” Sophie appeared in the doorway, three mugs in hand.
“Ahm.” Hunter shifted uncomfortably, trying to work out if he could get a cup of tea without giving an answer.
“You didn’t think Hunter was his actual name, girl?” Brian guffawed, blowing everything. “George Astley the Seventh, that’s him. Only he insists on adopting that daft moniker and have everyone call him it. Just egotistical, if you ask me.”
Sophie turned to Hunter, her eyes glittering.
“Look, I’ll have you know my friends started that nickname - and it had nothing to do with witches. Besides, do I look like a ‘George’? Only my mother insists on calling me it - well, and you, Mr Lloyd.”
They sat drinking tea and chatting about insignificant things for another half hour. With a meaningful look from Brian, Sophie picked up some books and excused herself.
“You didn’t just come for a chit-chat?” Brian asked suspiciously.
“No.” Hunter replied, then fell silent. There was something else that had been making him increasingly uneasy, especially after a recent event.
“A police contact got in touch recently. He had something he thought I might be interested in. A couple of months ago six teenage girls died in a suspected arson attack.”
“And why should that concern us?” Brian asked, not sure where this was going.
“Well, it turns out they were all wiccans.”
The two men sat in silence. Wiccans. Whereas witches were a whole different breed, wiccans were normal humans (normal in perspective) that treated ‘magick’ as a religion. They were generally harmless individuals, bored housewives and teens that wore too much black. They played with their candles and foretold wobbly futures through cards and the like and were a bit of a running joke amongst the witch-hunters. After all, who’d be scared of a cat after facing lions!
Eventually Brian shrugged. “Sometimes wiccans die. It could have been an accident; it could have been arson, but mundane normal people arson. If witches were involved, the MMC would have found the traces.”
“There’s more.” Hunter sighed. “And I don’t know what to make of it. Last week, we took on a small coven, four witches. Three were killed, one bound. But as soon as the binding was complete, she burst into tears, saying crazy things: that she didn’t know what she was agreeing to. Then she committed suicide a day later. Something didn’t feel right so I had James do a background check. Turns out she was a wiccan.”
Ok. That was enough to get Brian’s attention.
“But… wiccans cannot gain anything from witchcraft.”
“I know.” Hunter muttered.
“What proud witch would allow one to join them. They think wiccans are scum.”
“I know.”
“And the binding, a wiccan would have no powers to be bound from, so why would she agree to be bound?”
“I know.”
“So… are they taking on wiccans as servants? Or using them to swell their ranks? It’s unheard of.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Hunter agreed. It didn’t seem to fit, but he was scrabbling to make sense of it.
Brian sat, idly scratching his chin as he stared into space. He was a living legend, one of the oldest, longest-running witch-hunters. He’d faced every threat out there and never backed down. If he couldn’t find an answer, who could?
“Aye, leave this to me, boy. I’ll look into it. Now, why don’t you bugger off so I can get some work done.”
Hunter smiled again and shook hands with his old mentor. Yes, time to leave, there were other sources he could get working too.
As he left he passed Sophie who was sitting in the front garden, a book on her lap. She looked up as he said goodbye and there was the briefest smile on her lips, “See you, George.”
*****
His next stop was Oxford.
Possibly one of the most beautiful cities in England. The way it clung onto tradition, and the studious air that came from the abundance of intelligent young minds. Oh, the memories Hunter had of this place. The slightly dilapidated rooms at his old college, the great hall that awed all newcomers, the underground bar where he used to drink with James and Charlotte.
It had been in his first year of university that he received the news that his father had been killed. Hunter joined the witch-hunters then and there and he’d dragged his friends into his dangerous world. Now they all had their parts to play. James was a 1st gen witch-hunter and Charlotte, dear sweet Charlotte, was a very important member of the Council: she had easily switched from law student to liaison in the office of bound witches.
So who better to ask about bound witches. Hunter rolled up to her door early the next morning. But the person that answered wasn’t the black-skinned beauty, it was a tall, lanky bloke with glasses.
“Ah, morning Steve. Is Lottie in?”
Steve King, the gormless bugger that had married the most important woman in Hunter’s life. Steve King, who now looked with intense dislike towards Hunter.
“Charlotte, you’ve got a visitor!” Steve called, and then stepped aside so Hunter could squeeze into the hall. “She’s in the kitchen.”
Hunter nodded humbly and went through the familiar house, Steve close behind him. Something about that guy always made Hunter feel like he’d done something wrong. But then, Hunter always did go out of his way to antagonise him.
“Ah, my favourite lady, just how I like to see her!” Hunter greeted with a fierce hug.
Charlotte gave him a sceptical look when he let go. She was sat at the breakfast table with a half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of her. Her unbrushed black hair was tied messily back and she was still in her dressing gown.
“I wanted to catch you before you went to work.”
“I’m not working today Hunter. You could have phoned ahead.” Charlotte glanced at the clock. “Oh, darling, you’re going to be late.” Her big brown eyes fell on her husband. “Go to work, we’ll be fine.”
“Yes, go to work, darling. I’ll look after Lottie.” Hunter added, enjoying the opportunity to wind him up.
Charlotte jumped up to see Steve out the front door, hitting Hunter as she passed him.
Ignoring the loving farewell that echoed up the corridor, Hunter helped himself to the fresh coffee.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that.” Charlotte said as she came back, “Every time you visit, he’s in a mood for a week.”
“Then you shouldn’t have married such a grumpy sod. Why you settled for such a boring-”
“Quiet, kind, caring and RELIABLE.” Charlotte cut in, repeating what she had said a hundred times before. “Why are you here, Hunter? Apart from driving my husband mad.”
Hunter repeated everything he’d told Brian. Told her everything.
“And you want me to look if we have any similar cases, and check out the backgrounds of any unusual cases?”
God she caught on fast.
Charlotte regarded him carefully. “That’s a lot of extra work, Hunter. Do you know how many cases my office has processed?”
Hunter sighed. “I know, and I hate to ask, but I have a weird feeling there’s something bigger here.”
“Ok. I’ll do it, of course.” Charlotte replied with a sorry smile. “I learnt long ago to trust your weird feelings.”
“Thanks Lottie,” Hunter gazed at her with friendly affection. But then frowned. “Where’s your bracelet? You know you shouldn’t take it off.”
He was speaking of Charlotte’s amulet, a delicate gold bracelet with small rubies, a beautiful way to protect oneself.
Charlotte reached into her dressing gown pocket and pulled out the offending piece of jewellery, her fingers gently playing over the links and stones. “Steve doesn’t like me wearing it too often, no matter how I explain it he still sees it purely as an expensive gift from you that he can’t compete with. But don’t worry, I always have it close by.”
Hunter frowned at this news, disliking dear Steve even more. “What if it doesn’t work like that, Charlotte? You shouldn’t take the risk.”
“I’m a full-grown woman, Mr Astley, it’s my choice.”
Ok, so Hunter felt like the petulant little boy whenever Charlotte got like this, but he couldn’t help caring. “Ok, but please tell me Steve hasn’t removed the protection over the house?”
“No, he sees that as a dividend of working at the MMC. If you don’t believe me, you can go inspect it.” Charlotte said, looking carefully at Hunter. “Can we talk about something else? How’s James?”
“Reliably annoying.” Hunter replied swiftly. “He’s gone home for a few days, which means he will come back with that unbearable over-the-top accent again. He might as well wear a bloody badge saying ‘I’m from Yorkshire’.”
Charlotte laughed, she knew that Hunter was as fond of James as she was, but that didn’t stop these two southerners enjoying the peculiarities of their friend from oop north.
“And how’s - what’s her name - Leanne? All going well?” Charlotte asked, unconvincingly ‘forgetting’ the name of Hunter’s girlfriend.
“Leanne?” Hunter asked vaguely. “Oh, her. She got too clingy. It’s Marie now, but it’s not going anywhere. Then there’s Natalie of course, the girl from my mother’s tennis club.”
Charlotte laughed at the ever-changing women in his life. “Lord, I can’t keep track of you, Hunter. What are you trying to do, work your way through the alphabet before New Year? Will it be Olivia next, then Patrice? Aren’t you ever just going to settle down?”
Hunter shrugged. “What can I say? The best girl in the world is already taken, so I’m just enjoying the rest.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, and Hunter wondered if he’d tripped over that invisible line of conduct they kept for their friendship. They both knew that he had been in love with her since their days at University. Charlotte was beautiful and intelligent, she had been so caring and supportive when Hunter’s father had died. She had also been immune to his charms.
Charlotte had never returned his love, and their relationship had been awkwardly platonic. Some days it was more awkward than others.
Hunter was uncomfortably aware that today was going to be one of those days. He glanced at his watch, anxious for an excuse to leave. “Look Lottie, I should be going. I promise I’ll ring before I come round next time!”