Four
Back to work again, no matter what else was happening, the fight against witchcraft was ongoing. During James’ trip to Yorkshire, he had heard of incidents that the MMC were yet unaware of. People in a small village were living in fear for their sanity. So they had done their research and headed up. For the past few weeks, several prominent figures of the small community had been suffering from hallucinations. Constant terrifying visions of those they loved dying in gruesome manners. It all started when the village united to drive away a disturbing new resident, a middle-aged woman they suspected of carrying out sick, occult practices. And it all reached a peak when the post-office owner was found dead - verdict suicide.
It seemed like an obvious case of a witch taking revenge.
Hunter and James arrived at the village in the evening, the last of the summer sun giving it a warm, pleasant look. But the serene picture was ruined by the fact that from the moment they arrived, Hunter could taste the layers of magic and the violent, bitter tone of the spells.
James hefted their bags out of the car and slammed the boot. “So where is she?”
They had managed to work out that the witch must be staying close to the village, but nothing more specific. That’s where a trained witch-hunter came in - they could sense the use, and source of magic; and Hunter just happened to be a finely-tuned 7th gen.
He closed his eyes, seeing and feeling the rhythm of the last cast spell. His eyes flew open. “Hope you brought your hiking boots.” He said, turning to James with a rueful smile.
Unfortunately magic didn’t follow roads, or dry paths, and the two men pushed their way through a field of corn, then a field of wet grass, avoiding cowpats in the darkening evening. The land became more untamed and a small cottage appeared in a hidden dip of the countryside.
“There. Definitely there.” Hunter said, finally stopping.
James caught up, slightly out of breath. He dumped his bag and pulled out his kit: Kevlar jacket; long knife; short knife; gun; in the bag there was everything he could possibly need. He checked them over, repeatedly checking the gold ring on his right hand, even though he never removed the protective amulet.
Hunter was kitted out in similar fashion. He turned and nodded to James and they set off the short distance to the cottage in silence. Over the years they worked together perfectly and it seemed unnecessary for extraneous words.
Hunter went to the front door, then waited to give James chance to get round the back. He knew when James was in place - Hunter never challenged his senses, even he didn’t know how being a 7th gen allowed him to do this. Then, gun in hand he opened the old, rusty latch on the door. It made a slight creak as it opened and Hunter held his breath, but there was no response. He opened it further and slipped in, creeping towards a flickering light, carefully, carefully over the rough wooden floor.
Hunter stopped at a doorway, gently inching round so that he could see part of the room. There was movement and he snapped back, then looked again. A figure was moving about, preparing for her night’s work. Candles were lit, random objects arranged on the floor - personal items such as brushes, photos, even clothing - all to help focus the magic upon her victims. Hunter knew from his research that the woman was nearly fifty, but she had the appearance of a thirty-year old. It wasn’t uncommon for witches to keep a youthful appearance, they were vain and arrogant creatures.
Hunter dragged his eyes across the room, searching for further danger. Then to the only other door, where a slight shift of shadow showed James was ready. Hunter nodded and stepped into the room, gun raised. “Stop!”
The witch jumped with surprise, she span round to see that there were two of them. But then she smiled and shook her head. She raised her arms and the shadow and firelight leapt up and formed two massive snarling beasts which rushed at the men.
Hunter didn’t flinch, didn’t move, as the very solid four-legged beast leapt up with teeth bared… and continued to pass straight through him.
The witch hesitated, disconcerted that her powerful illusions failed to distract these men.
“By the Malleus Maleficarum, you will surrender your-”
“Witch-hunters.” The witch snarled, stepping back, her eyes sparking dangerously. “In that case…”
She kicked over the candles and before Hunter could react the fire sped with unnatural speed and threw up a wall of flame. Hunter fired once into the flames, but heard the bullet hit the wall. The fire twisted into a huge serpent and darted at James. He didn’t move fast enough and his sleeve singed and ignited and he allowed himself to be distracted. The witch sent a wave of power that knocked him off his feet.
“No!” Hunter leapt to his friend’s side so that he could protect them both, firing off another round as he did so.
The whole room was on fire now, the air thickening with smoke. The witch stood in the very centre, a smile on her face. But then Hunter heard the smashing of a window and the image faded - the illusion buying its master time to escape.
Coughing, Hunter dragged James to his feet and the two of them stumbled through the heat and smoke to the door. Once outside they gulped down the clean air, James dropped to the ground again, but Hunter turned and ran.
Across the dark fields, Hunter’s sharp eyes could see a fleeing figure. He stopped as he reached higher ground and raised his gun, took aim and fired. In the distance the figure jerked and fell.
Still coughing, Hunter jogged along to his quarry. The witch was gasping for breath and fighting the shock of having a bullet in her shoulder.
Hunter aimed the gun at her head, just in case she had the energy for another round.
“As I was saying, surrender yourself to my authority, to be bound and charged.”
The witch spat at him, then screamed. “She will be my saviour.”
Hunter heard James stagger up to them as he cocked the gun. It was his experience that this attitude led to immediate execution.
But the witch seemed to claw back her wild anger and gave a grimace. “Bind me, you cowardly bastards.” She dropped her head back to the ground, submitting to her disgraceful fate.
“If you will, Mr Bennett.” Hunter said, without moving the gun.
James knelt down and pulled out an amulet and piece of black ribbon. He took out his small knife and cut the witch’s thumb, then pressed it to the amulet and wrapped the black ribbon about her wrist.
The witch grew tense and screeched as her powers drained out of her and into the amulet.
Hunter watched dispassionately. He preferred not to kill, and now she was harmless - well, she was no more dangerous than a human now. Her power would be filed at the MMC, then disposed of; and she would be carted off to prison. A job well done, with only a few minor burns to deal with.
Only… Hunter felt uneasy. This witch had proved to be powerful, yet instead of fighting to the death, she had quickly given up on pride and been bound. It was unusual enough to make him worry. He sighed, telling himself to stop being daft, they had won.
*****
The offices of the Oxford Branch of the MMC hardly stood out. There was very little to differentiate between them and the other boring buildings that neighboured it. James had offered to take the recent deposits of files and amulets, but Hunter had insisted on doing it. After that last witch, James was still burnt and concussed. It was rather funny really, Hunter noticed that whenever good old James got concussed his Yorkshire accent got so bad that you could hardly understand the poor bloke. Besides, Hunter wanted to drop in and see Charlotte.
He knocked on the door and went in. “Hey, I brought flowers.”
He handed over the bunch of yellow roses and looked at Charlotte with concern. She was always beautiful, but there was a strain in her face and she emanated tiredness.
“I - I came to see if you’d found anything?” Hunter asked, jumping straight to the point.
“Oh Hunter, they’re lovely.” Charlotte replied, taking them and breathing in the fresh scent. But then she shook her head. “I haven’t found anything. I’m sorry, but I haven’t had the time. We’ve had more bound witches to process this month than… well, than ever. Executions are down and bindings have shot up.” She frowned and gently stroked the petals of a flower. “And we’re short staffed. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Diane was killed, along with her family. She didn’t turn up for work on Monday. They found her in the family home. Rick and little Josie, too.”
Her eyes teared up, but she blinked them away. Everyone died, it was just a question of when.
“Oh, I didn’t mean that the short-staffing was the worst thing. I meant… You know what I meant.” Charlotte added, feeling worse the whole time.
“I’m sorry.” Hunter murmured, feeling useless.
Charlotte closed her eyes and took a deep breath, settling her nerves. “We all know the dangers of working for the MMC, we know what we’ve signed up for. But sometimes you forget, just for a moment you forget and become attached to someone…”
Hunter watched Charlotte as she purposefully kept her eyes focused on the flowers, the timid nature of her voice only confirming how close to tears she was. Noting the redness around her eyes, Hunter wondered how many times she had cried for her colleague today.
Hunter felt a stab of guilt at how easily Charlotte acknowledged the danger they were all in. It wasn’t a lie that, if she had never met him, she would be a valued lawyer somewhere. She never would have heard of witches and the Malleus Maleficarum Council.
Instead, she had joined the Oxford offices, and over the last few years Hunter had to watch her ascend to an important position. Hunter had wondered whether the quick ascension was only due to the Council realising what a bright star they had with Charlotte; or were they trying to mollify him.
“The funeral is on Friday, will you be there?” Charlotte asked, breaking his train of thought.
Hunter inwardly winced. He hated going to funerals, especially as there were so many in their line of work. They didn’t help anyone, it was only one more occasion to feel awkward on.
Hunter could probably get away with not going, no one would dare openly say anything about his absence. But his absence would be noted, the famous Hunter Astley, unable to respect the passing of one of their own.
“I’ll try.” He finally answered, less than convincingly.
Charlotte’s normally soft brown eyes were a little colder as she regarded him, a slight pout to her lips. “I’ll text you and James the address.”
Getting James involved was a threat. It was only one level lower than threatening to involve his mother.
Hunter grimaced, trying again. “We’ll be there.”
He stayed for a short while, then made his excuses and left. He could fight, kill if need be, but he couldn’t face sorrow. Not even when one of his best friends needed his comfort.