Witch Hunter Trilogy Box Set

by K. S. Marsden

  Hunter nodded, glad that someone had suggested something sensible. He coughed, wondering where to start for Toby. “So… what do you know?”

  An hour later, Alannah was still quizzing the other witch-hunters over what they knew of their colleagues and witches; and the other three members of Hunter’s team sifted through the stacked data.

  Hunter was sat with Toby, who looked a little dazed at all he had just been told. He’d been sitting like that for nearly ten minutes, and Hunter wondered whether he should speak, or wait patiently for his friend to snap out of it.

  Hunter coughed, and less-than-subtly drummed his fingers on the table-top.

  Finally, Toby looked up at him. “Sophie, you’re sure?”

  Hunter nodded. “I hoped it was some spell, a charm or possession of some sort. But no, it was her all along. She took great pleasure in ridiculing the trust I put in her.”

  “But… weren’t you-”

  “Can we change the topic?” Hunter cut through, before Toby could go any more in-depth. “So, tell me, how did you end up here?”

  Toby shrugged, not finding his own story half as interesting. “We took the baby up to see the in-laws. Little Molly is a few months old now; it was her first trip to Scotland to see Claire’s side of the family. We were still up there when the mass-breakout occurred. I made sure Claire and Molly were safe, then went to fight at the Glasgow prison.

  “It took a few days to help with the casualties and a few sporadic witch attacks. After that, I was determined to get back and report to our MMC, but only got as far as Newcastle when everything blacked out. I came straight here to get answers, but everything was chaos. They’d lost all contact with the head office, and of the witch-hunters that hadn’t been killed, many were missing. I stayed to help – I’ve been here a month now.”

  “Are you in charge?” Hunter asked. “What have the primary aims been?”

  Toby nodded in answer to his first question. “Yes, I’m the highest gen here, and even though I’m not a Geordie, they seem to trust me; and need me. As for what we’ve been up to – re-establishing links; trying to find lost hunters; trying to get in touch with other survivors and sounding out what the witches are up to.”

  “Sounds much the same as us.” Hunter murmured.

  “Do you need me to come back with you?” Toby asked.

  Hunter shook his head. “I think you’re more useful to the MMC here, doing what you are already doing. As long as you don’t mind?”

  Toby sighed and leant back in his chair. “I want to go home, but at the same time it’s a relief not to. I don’t know how I’d cope to see everything in ruins.”

  Hunter could understand Toby’s logic. Didn’t they all want to hide from seeing the worst.

  *****

  Hunter and his team returned to Astley Manor in the early afternoon. They held gingerly onto their leader and allowed him to rip them from one place to another.

  They suddenly appeared in the kitchen, startling Sergeant Dawkins so that he dropped his tea. Not that he seemed to care; he smiled openly when he realised who it was, and what it meant.

  “Back already? Amazing!” Dawkins glanced over the team, noting their pale faces with a knowing smile. He wouldn’t voluntarily travel with Hunter again. “What did you find?”

  “The Newcastle branch is still going strong. We managed to check off eighteen names that reported to their commanding officer, Toby Robson. And, ah, twenty-six confirmed dead.” Hunter reeled off.

  “Very well. Deliver your notes to my team, and I think a successful first mission deserves the rest of the day off. I’ll have your next packet ready in the morning.” Dawkins replied. “Ah, James. While you’re here, could I steal you? I want your opinion on your replacement.”

  Chapter Six

  After their debrief, Hunter left his team and wandered down to the library. The Astley library was famous in witch-hunter circles. It was the most extensive known collection of books, grimoires, and witch-hunter chronicles. All collected over the last two-hundred years by the Astley family.

  He picked up the book that he’d left on the desk yesterday: ‘Witches and their Hunters of the Romanic Region: 16th Century study’. The cover was old, brown leather; the lettering dull and cracked. It was just one more book amidst a room full of older, and much more interesting books. But this was the one that contained the reference to the mysterious Benandanti.

  There was only a little information, barely a page’s worth; giving a brief account of their history as defenders of the Friuli region of Italy and their abilities. Oh, and of course, their ultimate prosecution as witches by the MMC.

  Hunter had read it enough times to know the words by heart, and now he stared at the cover, as though willing it to divulge more. Hunter sighed and put the book back down. He wondered how Sophie had made such a questionable connection between himself and these Benandanti, from such a small piece of information. Had she found more details somewhere in this library? Or had she been so desperate to find a way to keep Hunter with her, she’d made the mental leap?

  Hunter couldn’t say which answer made him more hopeful. To know that the information was somewhere within reach was what brought him here so often. But it would also be a relief to know that Sophie had loved him… Oh, logically he could say that the strength of her affections could make her less likely to be able to kill him; but if he was being honest, he just wanted some evidence that she had loved him back.

  Hunter shook his head. He had to stop thinking about her. Sophie Murphy was just the human façade of the Shadow Witch, designed to mislead him. That woman was gone, and she was not coming back.

  He stalked over to the bookshelves, where James had left a marker for the next in the ‘to-read’ pile. Researching both his new-found abilities, and an answer to defeating the Shadow Witch would be distraction enough.

  Hunter picked up a book by an American scholar, Eliade. Being from only the 1970’s it was positively new compared to some of the others in this room. But Hunter was tired of reading and translating the varying spellings of Olde English, at least this would give his brain a break.

  Half an hour later he was engrossed in an account of the history of the interaction between the Inquisition and the Benandanti when a shadow crossed into the room.

  “Still reading?”

  Hunter glanced up to see General Hayworth with his arms crossed in the doorway.

  Hunter shrugged, putting a bookmark in place. “I… I need to find out more about what I am.”

  Hayworth looked down steadily at the younger man. “Hunter… may I make a suggestion? The books will still be here tomorrow. Spend some time with your team, that’s just as important.”

  The General sighed at the stubbornness of this younger generation, then turned and duly left Hunter to his own devices.

  Hunter ran his fingers across the spine of the book, not completely convinced. He knew he couldn’t settle to read that stodgy material once more – damn Hayworth for breaking his concentration!

  Muttering to himself, Hunter extinguished the lights in the library and sloped towards the living room, drawn by the sound of voices and laughter. He opened the door to see his team sitting around the coffee table, fully entertained by a simple pack of cards. And a few bottles of wine.

  “What’s the celebration?”

  Four heads turned in his direction.

  “Well, you know, surviving our first mission seemed a good enough excuse.” Maria replied with an innocent air.

  “Yeah, just to let you know Hunter, you kindly donated the booze.” James informed him.

  Hunter shrugged. “Fine. I just hope you guys are fit for duty in the morning.”

  Three of them looked suitably abashed, but James just snorted. “Ignore him – he’ll be as rat-arsed as the rest of us by the end of the evening. Ian, deal him in!”

  Hunter’s smile finally broke through the stern façade. He stopped to grab a spare glass from the sideboard, then joined his team at th
e table.

  “What are we playing?”

  “Blackjack.” Ian replied, dealing seven cards in Hunter’s direction.

  Hunter sighed. “Really? Was this James’ idea? You won’t beat him.”

  “I might have suggested it.” James replied, smirking as he reordered his cards.

  Hunter shook his head, but joined the game. He hadn’t played this particular card game since university – where James Bennett had taught him all of the rules, and none of the cheats.

  The group continued to play, each of them occasionally winning, but James coming out on top most rounds. They steadily drank through the wine that he had raided from the Astley cellar, and chatted away.

  Hayworth had been right, in Hunter’s opinion, he was learning more about the people he was expected to work with and trust in this one tipsy evening, than he had with weeks of training.

  But occasionally a serious question popped up that made Hunter shrink back.

  “Why does the Shadow Witch hate you so much?” Alannah asked Hunter, her cheeks flaring red as she dared ask.

  Hunter felt a cold soberness stab through the haze. “It’s complicated. My grandfather killed her great-grandmother. She blames my family for setting a witchkind revolution back seventy years.”

  “That the truth?” Ian grunted, as he leant forward to refill his glass.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” James snapped, suddenly defensive on his friend’s behalf.

  Ian shrugged. “Seems a weak reason for that attack the other month.”

  James grew redder, and Hunter could see the warning signs. He turned to Ian before James could embarrass them. “Yes, it’s the truth. The Shadow used my family name as a focus for her anger and revenge. I imagine that has intensified. Not to boast, but being the only 7th gen witch-hunter, she sees me as a major adversary.”

  Talking about why the Shadow Witch hated him was easy. Hunter was glad that his team was ignorant enough of certain facts, that they did not quiz him over why the same woman loved him. That was a twisted story.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause upset.” Alannah gushed, her cheeks burning red with embarrassment.

  Maria chuckled at her side and put down a card on the pile. “Last card.”

  “Don’t worry Ian.” James said, throwing three cards down. “We’ve all joined Hunter on the top of the witches’ hitlist, just by associating with him. Pick up five, Hunter.”

  Hunter groaned at how the game was going. “You are taking the proverbial piss, Mr Bennett. Why can’t we play poker instead?”

  Alannah put down a single card, pouting at the collection she had amassed. “Only if it’s strip poker.”

  Maria laughed, while Ian groaned. “Nah, if you guys are starting that game, that is my cue to leave.”

  Maria looked over at her superior, a spark of challenge in her eyes. “Afraid you’ll lose, sir?”

  “Never! But someone has to maintain decorum and control.” Ian replied, in equal jest. “Plus, I don’t think my partner would approve of me playing strip anything with you youngsters.”

  James threw his cards on the table. “I’ll start with a handicap, as I’m not gonna lose a round.” He said, and before anyone could stop him, he dragged his jumper over his head.

  Alannah watched his bare torso with a certain admiration, but Maria only snorted at his actions. “Hey, I was going to win that last game! You did that on purpose.”

  James very maturely, retaliated by throwing his jumper at her.

  Chapter Seven

  Over the following week, Hunter and his team fell into a steady pattern. They would run before dawn, then have breakfast together. Then James would bring the latest assignment from Sergeant Dawkins, and off they would go.

  One morning, James audibly groaned as he opened the manila containing their assignment.

  “Shit, I thought I’d pushed this off onto another team.” James muttered, looking warily towards Hunter.

  “Who is it?” Maria asked, grinning at his discomfort. James remained silent, passing the document to his team leader.

  Hunter took one look at the sheet and swore. “They want us to enlist this git? We are better off without him.”

  “Ok, you’re just teasing now.” Alannah chided, trying her best to look disinterested. “Who is it?”

  Already bored with the morning banter, Ian moved across the room and snatched the sheets from Hunter. “Gareth Halbrook. Never heard of him.”

  Maria shrugged, none the wiser. But Alannah sat trying to remember what she knew on the man.

  “He’s supposed to be good, isn’t he? Like, really good. He’s a high gen too; 3rd or 4th?”

  “4th.” Hunter confirmed. “But he’s an arse.”

  “Why?” Maria asked, her blue eyes narrowing in James’ direction.

  “You’ll see.” He sighed. “Come on, the sooner we go, the sooner we get this over with.”

  Maria and Alannah shared a look, curious who could get their witch-hunters so riled up. In contrast, Ian got quietly to his feet, ready for whatever came his way.

  Once they all had a firm hold on Hunter’s arms, they were pulled into the temporary darkness, before opening their eyes to an empty car park.

  Hunter noted how his team looked a little pale, but steady. That was good news, to know that people could get used to his method of transport. He felt the need again, to explore what he was capable of. But this was not the time, nor place.

  The place, according to James, was the South side of Leicester. They had blinked into a small car park that was a few streets from Halbrook’s house.

  Finding no reason to put this off, Hunter sighed. “Let’s go.”

  Ten minutes later, James stuffed the AA roadmap back into his bag, as they traipsed down the street where Halbrook lived. It was deserted, like everywhere else. They had caught a sight of a couple of youths, but they had run away, out of fear no doubt.

  Hunter wondered how long it would take for everyone to go back to normal. Or what form would the new normal take?

  Hunter was spared having to think about it by their arrival at Halbrook’s house. Hunter hammered on the door and waited.

  “Sod off!” A yell came from inside.

  Hunter threw James a weary look, then knocked again. “Halbrook, open the bloody door!”

  There was silence on the other side of the door, followed by the shuffle of feet and the click of a key in the lock. The door opened, and Halbrook showed his face. He didn’t look like Hunter remembered; neat enough in appearance, with an over-whelming arrogance. No, now his face was sunken and ashen behind the patchy growth of beard. Even more over-whelming was the stench of stale alcohol, and stale unwashed bodies.

  But Halbrook looked at Hunter with and almost reassuring expression of contempt.

  “What the hell do you want, Astley?”

  “We’re here to discuss the Council. Can we come in?” Hunter asked, not keen on entering the house, but aware of the protection it would have.

  Halbrook looked over the group that crowded onto his porch, then shrugged. Leaving the door open as a reluctant invitation, he walked back along the hall and into the sitting room. Halbrook opened the curtains to allow a little light into the room; which was helpful because there was all manner of clutter obstructing the path of his visitors.

  “Thought the MMC had fallen.” Halbrook muttered.

  “Yes, and no.” Hunter replied. “The headquarters were destroyed, and our forces scattered. But we are re-grouping.”

  “So, who’s in charge, you? You grasping, little-”

  “Marks!” Hunter barked, cutting him off. “Anthony Marks is in charge now.”

  Halbrook guffawed at that. “Should’a guessed. You’d never step up and take responsibility boy, you’re too busy acting the hero.”

  Hunter took a deep breath and tried not to rise to Halbrook’s tormenting.

  Seeing his friend about to lose it, James stepped in. “Mr Halbrook, we need to make a re
cord of-”

  “You’re still keepin’ this pen-pushing 1st gen around?” Halbrook barely spared James a glance. “And what other useless groupies have you brought with you?”

  “Sergeant Grimshaw; Lieutenant Coulson; and Alannah Winton, 3rd gen.” Hunter reeled off, going down the line.

  Halbrook snorted, not impressed. “A measly 3rd gen that looks like she should still be in school, and a couple of grunts from the army – their ranks only distract from the fact they’re as incompetent and unprepared as your pet 1st gen.”

  Hunter felt his anger boiling over, when a quiet voice spoke at his shoulder.

  “With your permission, sir?”

  Hunter turned to see Ian looking challengingly in Halbrook’s direction. He had the sudden flashback of when Ian had fairly bettered him on the training grounds, and he had only gotten away by cheating. The idea of Halbrook getting floored was enough to make Hunter smile, and fight back his mood.

  “Maybe another time.” Hunter replied calmly.

  James coughed, trying to break the atmosphere. “Mr Halbrook, can you tell us about any other witch-hunters? Colleagues? Apprentices?”

  “Dead. All dead.” Halbrook nearly shouted, then continued in a much quieter and more bitter voice. “I watched my apprentices killed by witches after the black-out. They had us marked, see. Hunted, by orders of the Shadow Witch.”

  “What?” Alannah gasped.

  “Yeah, anyone who met her while she was pretending to be human has been marked. Guess I’m top of her list.” Halbrook looked across to Hunter. “Well, maybe second.”

  “How did you survive?” Hunter asked, trying to bring the conversation back to point. He didn’t know how much Halbrook knew or suspected, and he didn’t want to find out.

  Halbrook shrugged. “The bastards underestimated me. I got away, and stayed holed up here since. Couldn’t leave – there was always a witch or two around on watch. But they disappeared a week ago and I haven’t seen them since. Makes me wonder what else is important enough to call them away.”

  “I don’t understand, they just let you stay here?” Maria asked. “Why not break in?”