The Shadow's Son (The Witch Hunter Saga)

by Nicole R. Taylor

  No sound came from within, so he continued down the hall, checking out the adjoining kitchen. The sink was full of dirty glasses and empty beer cans, but was otherwise empty. Upstairs was a bathroom and two bedrooms severely lacking in personal items.

  Clothes were flung haphazardly over the bed and the closet was ajar, the arm of a coat preventing it from closing properly. There was a laptop on the floor and he picked it up, turning it on. Zac looked through the hard drive, but found nothing of interest. At least this guy was smart enough not to keep anything of use in plain sight. Unfortunate for him, though.

  Looked like it was time to wake Garrett up and see what he had to say.

  The vampire still hadn't realized he had a visitor, so Zac decided to make sure he was wide awake. Walking across to the windows, he swept the curtains open, letting the daylight illuminate the room. Without a second thought, he flung the coffin open and let a smirk cross his face as the vampire within screamed as his skin began to burn. He flung his smoking body into the shadow of the adjoining kitchen, cursing.

  His eyes fell on Zac, who stood in the center of the room, sneering.

  "What the fuck," the vampire hissed.

  "Sleeping in a coffin?" Zac raised an eyebrow.

  "Not all of us have fancy daylight spells, arsehole." The smoke began to dissipate as his body healed itself in the shadows. "Who the hell are you?"

  "It doesn't matter who I am."

  "The hell it does. You're in my house."

  "You've been telling tales, Gerald."

  "My name's Garrett," He was looking at him, warily. He knew exactly why he was being paid a visit. He just didn't know which Roman had sent him yet.

  Zac snorted. "Which one got the right information?"

  "Which who?"

  "Don't push it, Garry."

  "It's Garrett," he hissed.

  "Why don't you come out here where we can talk like civilized people?" Zac said, knowing full well he couldn't.

  "You could at least close the bloody curtains," Garrett gestured towards the sunlight streaming into the room. "Can't put together a coherent thought if I'm burning alive, yaknow."

  Sweeping the heavy material over the window he sneered, "What makes you think that you'll be leaving here alive, Gerry?"

  "It's Garrett," he yelled.

  Zac was across the room in a second. Grasping the front of Garett's shirt, he dragged him towards the window. Before he could pull the curtains open, the vampire screeched at him.

  "Wait!" he yelled, hands in front of his face. "I have information."

  Zac paused. "Spit it out before I change my mind."

  "The Hunter, she's here."

  "What?" He suddenly realized why Regulus had sent him here of all places. It was personal and that would mean he'd get everything he needed out of this guy using any means necessary. The real test was who he would bring the information to.

  "She's here with the Irish one. Tristan. He's double crossed Regulus."

  "Tristan was working with Regulus? For how long?"

  Garrett looked up at him with confusion. "You didn't know?"

  "How long?" he roared, hauling the vampire up by the front of his t-shirt.

  "Whoa, no need to get angry, mate. Tristan's been one of them for a hundred years at least. Maybe more. If he's with the Hunter then he's gone for good. He's got a hard on for her, if you know what I mean."

  For his own good, Zac chose to ignore that comment. "What are they doing here?"

  "They're lookin' for information on Victoria. Snoopin' around. They were seen at the British Library."

  "Why?" he asked, knowing it had something to do with his blood.

  "She was a witch," he tried to twist out of Zac's grasp. "At least, that's what everyone thought."

  "If she wasn't a witch, then what was she?"

  "Oh, she was a witch. But she was somethin' more."

  "Keep talking." He let Garrett go, pushing him back.

  "That's all I know, I swear."

  "Oh, Garry," he rolled his eyes with a laugh. "You and your lies."

  "Alright, alright," he held his hands up, palms out. "She was descended from a powerful line of witches that claimed to go back to the beginnin'. Untainted blood, they said. Her coven was hidin' somethin'. Probably still are. Somethin' old and powerful. They said if the Hunter found it, it would be the end. Shit'd hit the fan 'n all."

  "The end of what?"

  "I don't know."

  "What are they hiding?"

  "I don't know!"

  "You better not be telling anymore lies, Gerald."

  "It's Garrett!"

  "Where is the coven?"

  "Somewhere in London."

  "Where?"

  "I don't know! I don't know if they're still even here. No one has heard from them in decades."

  "Well something has stirred them up if you of all people know about them. Where did you get this information?"

  Garrett looked at him warily and glanced towards the door.

  "Don't think about it," Zac warned him. "I'll beat you every single time."

  The vampire sighed, resigning to himself that he wouldn't get away. "I know this guy who's on the in with some witches in Hoxton. He got the info from them."

  Zac turned and walked around the room, running his finger along a stack of DVD's, reading the titles of a few books that were stacked on the mantle over the fireplace. Catching Garett's eye in the mirror he said, "So, who makes the biggest cut?"

  "What?"

  Turning, Zac laughed. "C'mon, Gerry. Selling second hand information to two founding vampires who would pay shitloads for it? Fifty fifty. Seventy thirty. Or we're you telling your mate that you were only selling it to one of them? Making a little bit more on the side." Garrett was looking at him with wide eyes, giving away that Zac was right on the money. "Which one are you more afraid of?"

  "Why the hell do you care?"

  "It doesn't matter either way to me," he shrugged. "But, you should care."

  "Which one sent you?" His eyes darted to the door again, like he could escape outside. Could he be that desperate to take his chances out in the sunlight?

  "Guess." Zac deliberately let his lips curve into a smirk.

  "Shit."

  Zac knew that if he was going cross one of the founders, he would cross Arturius. Despite the fact that he was now dead, he was a lot less scary than Regulus. He had been arrogant and that had made him stupid. No, Garrett knew that Regulus was behind this little visit.

  Zac snorted, not taking his eyes off the vampire. This one was a runner. "You know you've been double dealing, Gerrard. And you know I can't let it continue."

  "I'll do anythin'. Anythin'."

  Zac turned his head, looking the vampire up and down. "Anything, you say?"

  "Yeah," he nodded his head furiously. "Just name it."

  He contemplated this for a moment, dragging it out, watching the desperation on Garett's face. Running a hand over the mantle, he picked up a wooden stake, turning it over in his hands before putting it back. "Well," he said, turning his gaze back onto the vampire. "There's this one thing."

  "Name it."

  "How about dying?"

  Before Garett could bolt, Zac grasped the stake and lunged for him, his eyes consumed with darkness, fangs bared. His hand was grasping the vampire's head in seconds, smashing it down onto the floor, blood pouring from a gash rent into his forehead and Zac's other hand came down, ramming the stake into his back and clear through his stomach.

  "Fuck!" Garett screamed, trying to wrestle himself free, but Zac was too strong, pressing a knee hard into his back.

  "What's the matter, Garry?" he sneered, reaching into his mouth and grasping his tongue, tearing it from his mouth. "Cat got your tongue?"

  Garrett writhed on the floor, blood pooling beneath them on the polished floorboards. He was trying to scream, but only strangled gurgling sounds came from his throat. Tearing the stake from his back, Zac flipped him over and stared down
at the vampire with black eyes, knowing that he couldn't leave him alive. Garrett had to go.

  Without a second thought, he positioned his fingers directly over Garrett's heart and began to dig his fingers into the vampire's flesh, blood pooling from the entry wounds and soaking into his shirt. He was so intent on burying his hand into the chest cavity, he couldn't hear the muffled screams that filled the air around them. Zac's head may as well have been stuffed with cotton wool for all the attention he paid.

  Pressing his palm heavily into the annoying rib bones, they splintered with an audible crack and suddenly his hand was grasping Garrett's still beating heart. As he squeezed the warm, slippery organ, blood and flesh oozed between his fingers with a satisfying squelch. The vampire's body jerked beneath him and began to desiccate until there was a strangled gasp and the room fell silent.

  Zac knew he was blocking off his emotions. It was the only way he could deal with this. Already, he felt his sensitivity dulling and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. His humanity was starting to slip away and it hadn't taken much at all. The ease of letting go should have alarmed him after all the time he'd spent working towards the opposite, but he found his care factor at absolute zero.

  Killing Garrett in such a theatrical way had been a little fun, hadn't it?

  Leaving the body where it was, Zac climbed the stairs and went into the bedroom. Wrenching open the closet, he pulled out a new shirt, a long sleeve black button up number. Garrett was stupid, he ran with rouge witches and didn't even have a sunlight spell, but at least he had good taste in clothing. Like that was a redeeming quality.

  Rifling through the rest of the clothes, he pulled out a heavy woolen black coat that looked like it was from one of those upper class boutiques. That would do nicely since his was stained with the blood of two vampires. Garrett wasn't going to miss them now, was he? May as well take advantage.

  Stealing off a dead guy? This was a new low, but he'd been lower. This time, he'd just gotten there a lot faster than usual.

  Sighing, Zac wandered through to the bathroom and turned the faucet on. If he was going to go around killing vampires all day and night, he was going to get tired of washing blood off himself. Sooner rather than later, he had to go and report back to Regulus. Had to be presentable for the boss, right? And he hoped the information he'd gotten from Garrett was up to scratch.

  He'd find out soon enough.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Aya looked up at the old stone building with it's fancy columns and hordes of tourists and sighed. To her annoyance, Tristan took her arm and lead her up the stairs and through the doors. The foyer was dimly lit, but light spilled in through the archways from the modern interior, drawing her eye. There was a gift shop to one side and a cloakroom and a huge perspex box filled with all kinds of money. Donations left by the hordes of humans that milled about with cameras in hand.

  To the left was a grand staircase that looked just as old as the buildings facade. A few hundred years, perhaps. At the foot was a stand filled with maps. Wresting free her arm from Tristan's she walked over and picked up one, disregarding the suggested donation, immediately looking for the Middle Ages rooms.

  "Here," Tristan pointed over her shoulder. "Europe AD 300 to 1100. Closed until late December."

  Without looking at him, she slapped the map into his chest and walked off up the staircase to the left, weaving her way through the slow walkers and children.

  As soon as they reached the upper floor, they saw the first room. Just as the man had said, it was one of the ones that were closed for renovation. All the entrances were blocked off with panels of chip wood that had been painted white and posters had been stuck here and there declaring as much. A walkway had been set to one side to allow access to the rooms beyond, so they continued along to find a less travelled area.

  Around the corner was an adjoining room that split off into another gallery ahead. A museum worker stood to one side, a walkie talkie clipped to his belt, watching people walk by. To his right was a makeshift doorway into the closed medieval gallery. That was where they'd get inside.

  "Excuse me," Aya called out, walking up to the man.

  He looked up at her and did a double take. He thought she was pretty, so that would make this a little easier and perhaps a little more fun.

  Leaning against the wall, she looked him up and down with a smile. "Go away," she hissed under her breath.

  The man's expression fell as the compulsion took hold and he wandered away looking sheepish.

  Tristan came up from behind and gave her a look. Shrugging, she pushed through the door before anyone else walked through from the adjoining galleries.

  The room was empty; only signs of the advertised renovation were present. Glass cases lined the walls and there were a number of free standing cases around the room covered in white sheets. Artifacts had been removed and put into storage for the duration of the works. A new paint smell hung in the air giving away the fact the room had been painted a few day earlier. Flat cardboard boxes leant up against the wall and she guessed they probably held plaques that were yet to be placed next to their chosen item. They weren't far off finishing this particular gallery.

  Sensing movement in the next room, she held Tristan back and moved forward silently. The air hung heavy with something else. Something that was very familiar. The stench of witches.

  Coming into the next gallery she knew a man stood at the opposite end amongst the empty cases, his dark form standing out starkly against the white backdrop. There was no mistaking what this man was. Aya was across the room before he could take another breath, slamming his face up against the wall, her hand wound into the hair at the back of his head.

  "This better not be a trap, witch."

  "It's the middle of the day and there are thousands of people in the museum," the man said. "I'm not that stupid."

  "Like that's mattered before," she narrowed her eyes and smirked when his own widened.

  "I can see you've had a very interesting life."

  "Understatement of the millennia," she said, letting him go.

  "I prefer the term, warlock, actually," the man said, rubbing his face. "People think you're a girl if you say witch."

  Male witches were rare, but Aya still saw them all the same. She'd call him what she wanted.

  "Why have you brought us here?" Tristan interrupted before she could retort.

  "This has been a long time coming," the witch said. "We have access to information you want and are willing to help you get it in exchange for some assistance."

  Aya thought as much. Nothing came for free and where she was concerned, they always wanted the infamous Witch Hunter to hunt someone down. "We will see," she said, suspiciously. "It depends on your terms."

  "Of course."

  As an after thought, she asked, "Who was that man? The one who sent us here."

  "Ahh," the witch said. "You must mean Julian. He's human and sympathetic to our cause. He's our book man."

  "He's very…" Aya tried to think of an appropriate word, "rumpled. And what are you called?"

  "Joseph."

  "Now, start talking, Joseph. I haven't got all day."

  Joseph shuffled from foot to foot, giving away that he was uncomfortable. Had he come here confident that he wouldn't end up on the receiving end of her malice? Had she blown all his carefully laid words out of the water? She hoped so.

  "There's a Coven of witches that is residing in London that has been making some outrageous claims," he said, looking warily at Tristan, who was watching the door. "They claim they are the custodians of something powerful. They also claim their line is unbroken from before the beginning."

  "From before the Five?" Aya raised an eyebrow.

  "Yes. They claim to be something more than just witches," he said looking pointedly at Aya. "Their coven is known to many and is thought to have been disbanded over two hundred years ago. Many thought they were just a myth until now."

  "And what d
oes that mean?" she asked, her patience beginning to wear thin.

  "They have a reputation for extremism. What they are is not for me to explain," Joseph said. "I'm not one of them."

  "Then how do you know any of this?"

  "We have an insider. Someone who is a part of them, but disagrees with many of their views. Someone who wants to be free of them."

  She regarded this for a moment, thinking about the priest and the man that had followed them from London to Salisbury. They really had a little network going, didn't they? The Anti-Witch Network. "Who are they?"

  "I won't say just yet, but she is one of the blood. A half-breed."

  And there it was. Blood. Half-breed. Did this woman have the same blood as Victoria? If she were to feed from her, would it have the same effect? Her gut was telling her yes. She wanted to ask, but instead she said, "What is this Coven hiding?"

  "That, I don't know. It's something that only the most trusted in their circle know anything about. We are not even sure that they have located it."

  "And why are you and your little friends so eager to form a resistance against them?"

  "We may not know what it is they're working towards, but there has been a lot of talk about waking something. Don't misunderstand me, Hunter. The Coven has no good intentions. We fear the worst if they succeed."

  "And this has something to do with me," she mused out loud. "More than the mere fact that I am a witch hunter and you want my assistance."

  Joseph shook his head, surprised. "People say you carry the abilities of a witch."

  "I'm a vampire, Joseph."

  "And we both know that's only part of it."

  "Clever little boy." Her lip curled up into a sneer.

  "Victoria's epitaph is a message to you, the hunter and the star. We knew that one day you would come looking and we hoped that it was sooner rather than later."

  "You knew that Victoria was after me."