Five
The call came just past midnight. Hunter set off immediately, picking up James on the way. They roared along the empty roads at 90mph, screw speed cameras and police, they had to get there.
Less than an hour later they screeched to a halt, both breathless with fear.
Hunter had been here only a month ago, but Brian’s house was unrecognisable. The garden was all torn up and half of the house had fallen down, the rest was charred and still steaming.
Someone ran up as they saw them approach. The man was white-faced. “Hunter Astley? I’m Mathew Jones, 3rd gen.” His voice cracked and he held out a shaky hand.
Hunter dragged his gaze away from the ruins. He shook hands, his actions robotic. “Brian?” He barely managed to ask.
The other man shook his head.
Hunter felt as though he had suffered a physical blow to his chest. Yes, it was a dangerous life and they were all living on borrowed time, but how could Brian be gone? He was the strong one, the survivor.
“Th-there was a girl.” James finally spoke up, forcing his voice to steady. “An apprentice, Sophie.”
Mr Jones got a hold of his emotions again. “Yes, she’s alive. The ambulance took her away an hour ago. A few minor injuries, she was very lucky.”
“What happened?” Hunter asked.
“We don’t know for sure. Must’ve been a big coven, to do this much damage. Hopefully the apprentice can tell us more. I‘ll take you both to the hospital with me, if you want.”
Hunter nodded. Yes, they should go to the hospital, see Sophie. But first, Hunter went up to the house. A couple of MMC staff came to warn him it wasn’t safe (as if he needed telling), but let him go in, lending him a torch.
The blast must have been something fierce. Its source in the study, there was nothing left of this part of the house - walls, furniture, books - they were ash alike. Hunter stood amongst the rubble, the place throbbed with magic. Who the hell had this much power?
*****
The drive to the hospital was a blur. Soon they were marching down the half-lit corridors. Sophie was in a private room, propped up with pillows, waiting for them. Her arms were a mess of shallow cuts; a thick white pad covered her right shoulder where she’d needed stitches; the right side of her face was already bruising; and dust lightened her dark hair.
Even through the effect of pain-killers, and despite it being the early hours of the morning, she gazed clearly and calmly at her visitors. “I was wondering when you were going to turn up.”
“Miss Murphy, we need you to tell us what happened tonight.” Mr Jones asked, taking out a pad and pen.
“You should ask Brian, I won’t be much help.”
“Please Sophie,” Hunter interrupted in a pained voice. “Just tell us what you can.”
Sophie shrugged, then winced, her fingers tenderly feeling her injured shoulder. “Fine. It was late, near midnight. I was asleep up in my room when Brian came in, woke me up and told me to follow him quietly.”
“Did he say why?” Mr Jones asked, scribbling away.
Sophie gave him a scathing look. “When you learn at the feet of Brian Lloyd, you do exactly what he says, you never question.”
The witch-hunter looked slightly embarrassed, but Hunter, who knew this to be the blunt truth, quietly asked Sophie to continue.
“We went downstairs, to his weapons lock. He was in a hurry for us both to be kitted up. Then he just froze and said ‘No time.’ Then he said, ‘I’m sorry.’ And… and I saw pity in his eyes - he never… But anyway, next thing he locks me in that cupboard. There was no way out. A few minutes later, the place started to shake, then there was a massive blast. The world was turned upside down and I was knocked out. That’s all I remember.”
“Mhmn.” Mr Jones continued to write. “Do you have any idea who was attacking?”
“No, I’m only a 1st gen. It was Brian that sensed the danger.”
“And can you think of any recent cases, any events that might explain this huge attack?”
“Yes, no, I don’t know.” Sophie answered, getting riled up now. She grunted and put her hand to her aching head. “There were so many cases. We are witch-hunters, after all.”
She looked up at Hunter, a clear demand in her eyes. “Where’s Brian? No one will tell me how he’s doing.”
Hunter dropped her gaze. “He didn’t make it.”
“No.” She sat in shock, her eyes darting to each of them as if willing them to deny it.
Mr Jones finally put away his notebook. “We’re sorry for your loss, our loss. Once you’ve recovered, the MMC will make arrangements.”
“I’m fine.” Sophie replied curtly. “And I’m not staying in some hospital bed.”
“She’s coming with me.” Hunter said quietly.
The other witch-hunter looked at him with surprise, knowing that he’d already taken on one 1st gen, and that Hunter Astley was a famously proud man.
“I can take on another apprentice. It’s what Brian would have wanted.”
*****
It took until 11am to get Sophie discharged, and the doctors still weren’t happy about it. Hunter drove back, James sitting in silent sorrow next to him, Sophie asleep on the back seat. Eventually they were pulling up on the gravel driveway at the front of Astley Manor. Hunter saw an unfamiliar car parked up, but was too tired to wonder.
Charles was at the door, waiting for them. “Good morning, sir. Mrs King arrived half an hour ago and insisted on waiting for you.”
“Thank you, Charles.” Hunter replied wearily. “Oh, and Charles, Miss Murphy is going to be staying with us. Will you prepare her a room?”
“Yes, sir.”
Silence enveloped the three of them again, and they moved together into the sitting room.
“Hunter!” Charlotte jumped up from her seat as they entered. “I came as soon as I heard. It’s - I can’t believe it.” Her eyes were red from tears already shed and they as threatened to spill again, Hunter pulled her into a fierce hug. This time he needed her, as much as she needed him.
“The grumpy old sod had a good running.” Hunter muttered, making Charlotte gulp a laugh.
There was a clink of glass as James poured four drinks. He handed them out. “To Brian, loved and hated in equal measure.”
Hunter raised his glass, “To Brian, the scariest bloke ever known.”
Charlotte raised her glass. “To Brian, sexist, but brilliant.”
The three old friends tapped their glasses together and drank, both cheered and saddened by their memories of him.
Sophie sat in quiet exclusion, in the corner. She sipped the warming alcohol, watching the group vaguely, her eyes still glazed with shock.
*****
“Thanks for coming today.” Hunter said to Charlotte, later in the afternoon.
“I was planning to come, anyway. Oh, I almost forgot why.” She said suddenly, turning to her handbag and pulling out a white envelope. “Brian and I were in contact a lot lately. Both of us were trying to solve your wiccan problem. He gave me this yesterday, before -” Charlotte broke off, then regained her composure. “He wanted me to pass it on to you.”
Hunter frowned, taking the thick, unmarked envelope. He tore it open and pulled out the contents. A letter. The handwriting was ever so familiar.
George,
With luck, Charlotte King has given you this. I had to get this message to you without drawing further attention to myself. I’m in danger, and I no longer have the strength to fight it. All the same, I will never forgive myself for passing this onto you. But I don’t know who else to trust.
Things are worse than you thought. I can’t go into detail in this letter. Charlotte has a key for you, it’s for a locker, I’ve enclosed the address. In the locker is my research concerning your wiccan, and my own work I started last year.
Hopefully I’ll still be on hand to help you with this. But I had to write. Just in case.
Yours,
Brian Lloyd
Beware the shadows
Hunter’s hand shook as he passed the letter to the others. In the envelope was a slip of paper, just as he said. Charlotte silently slid him a small key.
“My God, it sounds as though he knew he was going to-” James muttered as he read it.
“Beware the shadows?” Charlotte repeated fearfully. “You don’t think he means…?”
Hunter shook his head, in his hand he gripped the key so tightly it dug into his palm. “We’ll know soon enough.” Yes, he would go, find out what his mentor was being so secretive about. There was a new threat on the horizon, they could be sure of that at least.
But a wave of fatigue from the long day and its sorrows washed over him. There was nothing they could do until tomorrow.
“Tomorrow. Tomorrow.”