The two men drove non-stop to the Lake District in silence. Once or twice James attempted to engage Hunter in conversation, having the opinion that Hunter knew more than he’d let on. But Hunter remained in stony silence, paying full attention to the roads as they hurtled down them.
It was an early winter’s evening and they were driving in near darkness now, the headlights cutting through the black countryside. Eventually they were driving down the familiar winding roads that led to the edge of Keswick. They were almost holding their breath as they turned the final bend to look on Bev Murphy’s cottage.
Everything looked quiet and untouched. They kitted up and made their way down the path to the front door. It was unlocked, and when Hunter opened it, inside it was dark and silent. Hunter paused, but he couldn’t feel any magic in the area.
He clicked the hall light on and the two men went into the familiar, modern interior of Bev’s cottage. They did a quick sweep of the rooms. They were all empty, with no indication of where Mrs Murphy and her daughter were. The last witch-hunters to stop by had been right, there was no sign of anything happening.
Perhaps, perhaps Sophie and her mum had been out, and had either been taken or caught up in the fights. But Hunter fought back the fear of these mental images, he needed to stay focussed.
James was on the house phone to Astley Manor, clocking in and picking up any new reports. Hunter busied himself by going over the house again. By the front and back door he saw the amulets that he had given Sophie only a few days ago.
Hunter hesitated. Something pricked his senses. It was so faint that he could hardly feel it. He turned on the spot, then began to move slowly in different directions, even pressing up against the walls to try and find the source of the magic. But wherever he went, the magic got neither stronger nor weaker.
“James,” Hunter called out uncertainly.
Suddenly he staggered, unbalanced, and the lights flickered and then snapped off.
Hunter waited, but couldn’t sense anything else. He stumbled about the hallway, trying to find the light switch. Finally he felt it, he flicked the switch several times, but nothing happened.
“Hunter!” There was a crash and some strong swearing from James as he tripped over lord knows what in the dark. “Hunter, the phone’s dead.”
Hunter frowned, felt in his pocket for his mobile and pulled it out. The screen still glowed, but there was no signal.
By this time James had pulled out his torch and made his way to Hunter. “What do you think it is? Ambush? I knew we were walking into a trap.”
“Shut up a minute,” Hunter replied. In the silence, nothing disturbed his senses. “I can’t sense anything.”
“You mean there’s no witches in waiting?” Asked James hopefully.
“No, I mean I can’t sense anything. At all. There’s no trace or residue. That wasn’t magic.” Hunter replied, knowing it sounded ridiculous. He didn’t know how to explain it. He somehow knew that the earlier hint of magic was responsible, but the spell hadn’t been performed here.
“The street lights are out.” James mentioned, looking out the window onto an unlit world. “Why would witches knock out the power grid for the Lake District?”
“My honest opinion?” Hunter asked as James turned back to him. “I think it is part of something bigger. We need to get back to the Manor.” He paused, pulling out his own torch, adding a little more light to the dark house. “Sweep the house for any clues Sophie might have left, then we go.”
They kept together this time, twin beams of light flickering over every surface in a quick assessment of the cottage. It helped fight the fear of the incomprehensible happenings, to think, to move, to concentrate.
They’d just come out of Sophie’s room after a thorough search, but finding nothing. Hunter stopped in the hall, he thought he heard, or sensed, a third person breathing. It was such a small sound, only half-heard that he wondered if it were his desperate imagination.
He flashed his torch down the corridor, but it was empty. About to confirm it as a trick of his nerves, Hunter felt his heart contract as the torchlight that touched the walls dimmed and became indistinct. It was as though a black fog was inside the house. As though the shadows were growing.
“James.” His voice was strangled.
“What is it?” James asked in a returning whisper, coming back to him. But stared at the darkness with a sudden understanding.
“This is Hunter Astley of the Malleus Maleficarum Council,” Hunter called out steadily. “We are here to demand the safe return of Sophie and Beverley Murphy.”
Hunter drew his gun, holding it low. James kept close behind and silently followed suit.
There was an echo of humourless laughter within the confines of his own mind. Hunter frowned, not overly disconcerted, witches seemed to enjoy whispering directly into the mind as a means of terrorising victims and witch-hunters alike.
“You have no authority over me, Astley.” The words cut into his mind, eerily with the effect of his own voice. “But I am glad to have found a way to gain your undivided attention.”
Hunter glanced over to James, wondering if he too heard voices. But it was impossible to read his expression in the dimmed torchlight.
“If you want to see them again, come.”
Hunter wondered at the command. He stared into the shadows that suddenly expanded, then stopped just in front of them. It was so persuasively solid, that Hunter had to stop himself from reaching out to touch the darkness.
“The Shadow Witch wants me,” he said simply to James, and stepped.
If he’d been asked how he knew what to do, he couldn’t have answered, in fact, the little voice of sense in Hunter’s head was screaming at him as he stepped into the all-consuming darkness. It was warmer than he’d expected, and the shadows clamped onto him with a certain softness, muffling sound and blocking light, with all the effect of being wrapped in a huge black duvet.
The darkness faded to grey, and Hunter felt solid ground beneath his feet and cold air in his lungs again. He looked about, he quickly figured he was in an empty room. There was a dark window, a wooden door and a bare wooden floor, all lit by a single yellow bulb.
“Well, that was an experience.”
Hunter span round, in utter shock to find James standing behind him. “No James, you shouldn’t be here. Go back now.”
“I go where you go, remember.” James answered with a sorry shake of his head. “Besides, I think it was a one-way trip.”
Hunter paused, suddenly paying more attention to their predicament. Hunter no longer had his torch in his hand - wait, hell, he no longer had his gun, knives, kit bag. His hands patted down his body, feeling the unnatural absence of weapons. Then his hand flew to his throat. Yes, there was still the metal chain and the old dog tags. Not that that was much comfort at the moment.
Another look around the bare room and Hunter noticed the lack of shadows. Whatever path had been opened was now well and truly closed.
James seemed oddly calm, accepting whatever nightmare he’d entered with courage. “Well, we’ve confirmed that the Shadow Witch can transport herself and others. Although I think I managed to gatecrash this one.”
“Yeah, well, let’s hope it’s to our advantage,” Hunter replied, pacing the room. He walked up to the window, it was large enough to admit a person if they could just open it. He pressed his hand against the cold pane - he could feel the rhythm of magic expertly woven over the glass and its frame. Even if they could break through the spell and smash the window, several iron bars prevented escape.
Not out the window then.
Hunter went to the door. Here there were no spells to keep them in, instead there was a heavy oak door with lock, and probably bolted from the other side.
“We stuck here?” James asked mildly.
“Looks like,” Hunter replied, equally calmed by the knowledge that they couldn’t actively do anything.
“Jolly good. How long do you think it’l
l be before-”
James broke off as there was the sound of a key in the lock. “Ah, perfect timing,” he grumbled.
The thick wooden door opened and a woman stepped in. She took one (rather shocked) look at James and went out again, the door locked behind her.
“Short but sweet. Do you think they’ll send us home now?” joked James.
They didn’t have long to wait before she returned, this time with company. Half a dozen male and female witches came into the room. They took their cue from the original woman and surrounded the two witch-hunters.
“Which of you is George Astley VII?” The woman asked.
“I am.” James piped up before Hunter had a chance to speak.
“Shut up with your Spartacus routine. I am George Astley, and I shall prove it if you doubt me,” Hunter responded, defiance in his voice and steel in his gaze. “I want to see Sophie Murphy. Now.”
The woman-witch smiled, almost bristling with the joy of having power over these defenceless witch-hunters. “You are in no position to be making demands, Astley. You will do precisely what the Shadow Witch commands, and see only those she allows.”
The witch nodded to her companions who stepped forward and roughly seized the men’s arms, yanking them back. Hunter felt the sold touch of metal against his skin and the soft click as his wrists were handcuffed behind his back. He forced himself not to struggle or fight back, as much as his nerves screamed for action.
“Are the cuffs really necessary?” he asked, for the sake of asking.
“Let’s just say we can’t take too many precautions, where you are concerned,” the witch replied curtly, then turned to lead the way out of the door.
Hunter and James were pushed into step, the witches always holding them, surrounding them.
“Hmm, I remember the last time I wore handcuffs - you remember Dervla?” James started prattling.
“James, I don’t think this is the time for that particular story.”
Chapter Twenty
They walked silently along a well-lit corridor. With the thick carpet beneath their feet and passing expensive cabinets and paintings it looked like they’d been brought to a very posh house, maybe even a manor. Hunter didn’t know what to make of it, but he could hardly blame the Shadow Witch for wanting a luxurious set-up.
The lead witch opened a set of double doors, looking back at the prisoners with a poisonous smile.
They were taken into a large room. Black curtains were pulled across the large windows, the room lit with an ostentatious chandelier. There were long tables arranged in a horseshoe. Sitting around the table were at least twenty witches, looking very much like a civilised council - which was probably down to the suits that the majority were wearing, although the burn marks were not common in most boardrooms. All heads turned at the entrance of the witch-hunters.
Hunter could almost see the magical aura that bristled threateningly, at the same time he read the victorious feeling in their shining faces and quickened breath.
“Ladies and gentlemen. George Astley VII, as promised.” A quiet female voice spoke, barely above a whisper.
Hunter looked at the speaker, sitting in a position of authority at the top table. She was the only one to wear a cloak, the dark material oddly mobile about her tall figure, the heavy hood filled with impenetrable shadow. Finally, they were face to face with the infamous Shadow Witch.
Hunter gritted his teeth against the whole irritating stereotype of the situation.
“But you are not supposed to be here.” The Shadow Witch said softly, raising a pale hand to indicate James.
“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that,” replied James daringly.
The whole room scowled at him, but let him be. They waited to follow the lead of the Shadow Witch.
“You wanted me, you got me,” Hunter spoke up, “Now, I will only ask once. Give Sophie back to me.”
The Shadow Witch stood up suddenly, and every eye was on her. “She is already here.”
The Shadow reached up, and slowly slid the hood back, the dark shadow thinning to reveal the haughty beauty of Sophie Murphy.
Hunter felt a physical blow at this revelation and he heard James gasp behind him.
“Release her,” Hunter breathed, his voice barely audible.
The Shadow Witch gently shook her head, “Not this time, Astley.”
Hunter dared to look her directly in the eye. Her eyes… they were not clouded like the last time, instead they shone with familiar gold-flecked hazel depths.
The Shadow Witch smiled. “It’s all over. The witchkind have won, the hunters are destroyed. There is no longer a need for disguise. So look, Astley, on the face that brought your downfall and curse your every mistake.”
“No, you’re lying.” Hunter stood, heart pounding. It was all a trick, the Shadow Witch must have something yet to gain by possessing Sophie again.
There was a titter of laughter and scornful muttering broke out amongst the present witches. They were silenced with a single motion from the Shadow Witch.
“Why do I need to lie, Astley?” she asked innocently, “I have achieved my every desire. I have returned my fellow witches to their former glory. In fact, you join us on the night of our greatest achievement yet, perhaps you noticed a little power loss.”
Neither witch-hunter responded, but the Shadow Witch didn’t seem to expect an answer and continued.
“Yes, you can thank the Americans. Their MMC has been experimenting - unwisely, I might add - with magic stolen from witches. They managed to create a weapon that we would never have dreamt of. Used in a specific way, it could be directed to permanently disrupt every piece of technology, and with a little magical aid from me, it worked on a global scale.”
Hunter thought back to the blackout, how he’d perceived something magical, yet distant and untouchable.
“Er, you expect us to believe that? ‘Cos unless I’m mistaken this place is blazing with electric lights.” James said suddenly, looking up at the gaudy chandelier.
The surrounding witches bristled at this, but the Shadow Witch just looked at him curiously.
A wave of power swept the room, blasting James off his feet and dashing him against the wall. He hit it with a sickening thud and slid to the floor. Hunter went to move, but strong hands held him in place.
“He doesn’t learn, does he?” The Shadow Witch said coldly. “Tell him when he regains consciousness that there are more than enough witches here to light a few bulbs.”
“Why - why destroy technology?” Hunter asked, struggling not to react.
“Because the Witches Council wished it so.” The Shadow Witch replied willingly, looking at the faces of her associates. “The witches of today possess as much magic as they ever did. So why do we no longer inspire fear and worship, why are we ridiculed and cast aside as myth and fantasy? Because of the ‘general ignorant public’ as you so perfectly put it once. They are all so clever, so all-knowing, swallowing every story the MMC gives them.
“We have tried for generations to gain power politically, by mortal means. Yet witch-hunters persecuted all witchkind. So our new aim was to take the world all in one go.
“Imagine the fear and chaos when suddenly the world was plunged into darkness. There was no communication, suddenly no answers. It is in this chasm of disorder that those blessed with magic can step into their rightful roles above the ignorant and powerless masses.”
There was a general cheer and a spatter of applause as the Shadow Witch finished speaking, the group of witches high on their recent victory.
“You’re mad,” Hunter muttered.
The Shadow Witch looked at him with an achingly familiar coldness. “Mad or not, we have won Astley.”
“So what, you brought me here to do the clichéd gloat before killing me? Or do I get the option of watching you destroy everything first.”
“I destroy only to create the world how it was meant to be. God Himself would do the same, if he existed.” The Shadow Witch repl
ied with cool logic, then half-smiled. “You have no idea how good it is to say all this openly after months of pretence and hiding around you.”
She broke off, suddenly seeming to notice the rest of the room, hanging on her every word. “Take them away, I shall see them tomorrow.”
She sat down and the two witch-hunters’ audience was over. Hunter was shoved out of the room, while the unconscious James was carried by two male witches.
And it was back to the dull, empty room.
Hunter had been pacing the room for a while, when James finally groaned and opened his eyes.
“Wha’ ‘appened?” he asked groggily.
“The Shadow Witch threw you against a wall. How many fingers do you see?” Hunter peered at him carefully.
“Three.”
“Close enough.” Hunter helped him sit up, he back against the wall.
“Next time, remind me to stay quiet around her,” James said, gingerly rubbing the back of his head. “Oh, they took off the handcuffs, that’s nice.”
Hunter sighed and sat down next to him.
“How bad is it?” James asked.
“Bad,” Hunter admitted, thinking it an understatement.
“What are the witches planning to do?”
“Take over the world.”
“Oh, that is bad. Did the Shadow Witch give a bad guy speech?”
“Oh yes, very impressive and clichéd - shame you missed it.”
The two friends fell silent. It was James that spoke first, and this time he was much more serious.
“What about Sophie? You don’t really think that she is the Shadow Witch - surely she’s just possessing her again.”
Hunter sat, looking quietly into space. The Shadow Witch was an evil entity. He wanted so much to believe that she was tricking them, that perhaps she needed to possess someone as the only way of taking physical form. That would mean that Sophie, his Sophie, was innocent and had loved him.
But there had been something about the witch, the clarity of her eyes and something else that made cold dread stab deep into his soul.
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