Witch Hunter Trilogy Box Set

by K. S. Marsden

  Halbrook looked at the soldier; she had confirmed that she was an idiot. Wasn’t the answer obvious? “Witch-hunter houses are kitted out with protective amulets, as MMC standard. No witch can hurt me here. You’d know that if you had done any research into this organisation you’ve joined.”

  Maria’s pale skin flushed red, but she did her best to remain calm to his taunts. “Actually, I have done the required reading. Less than a year ago, a better witch-hunter than you was killed, his home destroyed. The initial verdict was an attack from a large coven, though it was later confirmed as the work of the Shadow Witch. But perhaps you didn’t find the report on Brian Lloyd important.”

  “Ho! This one’s got teeth! And maybe a brain in that pretty little head of yours.” Halbrook spat, his lip curling back. “You’re still damn useless, as far as I’m concerned. Won’t have no 1st gens next to me in a fight.”

  “Ok, enough!” Hunter snapped, defending his team. “I thought the Shadow Witch was injured in the last battle; her lack of involvement in getting rid of you, Mr Halbrook, may well be evidence to support that theory. We must assume that she will recover, though.”

  “Yeah, which is why we need you to come with us.” James added.

  Hunter turned to face James, aghast. “I’m not taking him to the Manor.”

  “We have our orders, Hunter. Lone witch-hunters are to be taken back to base.”

  Halbrook snorted. “Orders? Astley is flamin’ infamous for ignoring orders. Why should he listen to them now?”

  “Actually, I agree with Halbrook, for once.” Hunter replied, feeling slightly queasy at the very idea of agreeing with an arse like Halbrook.

  Ian stepped forward, and clapped Hunter on the shoulder. “Get over yourself Hunter. Let’s get back, out of this shit-tip. No offence.” He shot the last couple of words to Halbrook.

  The older man just grunted.

  “Please hold onto Hunter.” James directed, as he grabbed his friend’s arm. The two women took their cue and held on.

  Halbrook stared at them all. “I don’t know what sort of namby-pamby New Age crap you’re into, but I am not doing a group hug.”

  Everyone looked at him, and Alannah ducked into James’ shoulder to stifle a giggle.

  “Just… hold on.” Hunter said, holding out his hand.

  Gingerly, Halbrook reached out and held Hunter’s wrist as loosely as possible.

  Before Halbrook had a chance to back away, Hunter blinked them all into the entrance hall of Astley Manor. His team, now fully habituated to the process, remained standing and unfazed.

  Halbrook dropped to his knees, his head on the rug as he groaned.

  “What… what the hell…” He broke off as he started to retch.

  “Oh, not on the rug.” Hunter moaned, gritting his teeth as he watched the bastard defile his house. “Ugh, you are cleaning that up.”

  Maria tilted her head sweetly as she looked at him. “Don’t worry, Mr Halbrook. You’re only a measly 4th gen. It’s not like you can handle this.”

  Halbrook wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “You-”

  “You are in my house now.” Hunter broke in. “Which means you will watch your tongue.”

  At that moment, Sergeant Dawkins emerged from the dining room, drawn by the sound of voices. “Ah, back already?”

  “Colin – this is Halbrook, you can deal with him now.” James replied, keen to get rid of the responsibility.

  The sergeant looked down at the mess of a man at his feet. “Of course, come through to our control room, and we’ll get you some water.”

  Halbrook pushed himself up so that he was standing, albeit unsteadily. “I might need summat stronger than that.”

  Sergeant Dawkins glanced over at James, but gathered from the Yorkshireman’s calm expression that this was ordinary behaviour from their newest recruit.

  They made their way into the dining room and Hunter followed – not out of any desire to support Halbrook, but rather to know first-hand what Halbrook had to say. It seemed that he was not the only one that was worried, Hunter noticed the concerned looks that passed between Anthony Marks and General Hayworth.

  “Dawkins, can you lead the debriefing of Hunter’s team, please. Anthony and I will handle this one.” The General stated.

  If Dawkins had any objection to this, he remained quiet, and dutifully left.

  “Mr Halbrook, it’s good to see you again.” Anthony Marks said coldly. He was well aware of Gareth Halbrook – not only his absolute lack of manners, but his reputation for leading ‘shoot first, ask later’ operations. He hadn’t wanted the difficult witch-hunter in their ranks, but when General Hayworth insisted they enlist the 4th gen, he had to concede that it was probably best they kept Halbrook in line. He could only imagine what trouble he might cause if he were left alone.

  “Marks, heard you’re the man in charge now.” Halbrook replied, dragging out a chair and making himself comfortable.

  “I am. Along with General Hayworth.” Marks confirmed, giving a small nod in the General’s direction.

  Halbrook took a brazen look around the grand dining room, his piggy little eyes taking in everything. “Well, I can guess where we are. Not that I was ever invited to the great Astley Manor. Me and ye dad weren’t what you’d call friendly.” Halbrook looked towards Hunter, explaining the obvious to the stuck-up, entitled little shit. “But is someone gonna explain how I got here?”

  Anthony glanced over at Hunter before replying. “It turns out that Hunter has developed certain powers like the Benandanti.”

  “What’s that?” Halbrook huffed.

  “Who’s that.” Marks corrected. “They were a pagan anti-witch cult from Friuli, Italy. In the 16th century they devoted their lives to repelling witches, and became stronger, faster; they could shield from magic and travel in a blink. Who knows what else they could do?”

  “And what happened to them?”

  Marks looked at little uncomfortable at this question. “They were, ah, discovered by the MMC and punished as witches.”

  “So, we’re going to follow their example?” Halbrook pressed. Hunter couldn’t help but wonder if the older guy sounded too cheerful at the prospect.

  “No.” Marks replied calmly. “Can’t you see what an advantage Hunter gives us? Besides, I’d like to think we are a little more educated than the 16th century MMC.”

  “Perhaps. Or maybe just a little more desperate.”

  Hunter narrowed his eyes at the odious bastard. “You know, there is a chance I’m a good guy.”

  Halbrook shrugged, not won over by Hunter’s argument, the witch-hunter revelling in the news that the famed and respected Hunter Astley had received a more perfect punishment than Halbrook could have dreamt up.

  Then the General finally spoke up. “I don’t give a crap about your antiquated MMC prejudices or politics. Hunter has proven himself time and again. In fact, he’s the reason we’re all here and all still alive and fighting. If you insist on being difficult, I will ask Mr Astley to drop you off to the witches – let them deal with you.”

  Halbrook tried to maintain his disinterested air, but the General’s threat had at least silenced him.

  “Mr Halbrook, is there anything you can tell us about the Shadow Witch?” Marks asked, trying to get this interrogation back on track.

  “Nowt that you don’t already know. Deadly, unstoppable, magic without limits. If you want other details, ask your boy over there.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” Hunter asked coldly.

  “Oh, come on, the Shadow Witch – Sophie Murphy.” Halbrook guffawed. “The signs were all there, it was bloody obvious. Maybe you were too busy to notice, Astley. Had she blinded you with her charms?”

  Hunter stood suddenly, his chair scraping back across the wooden floor.

  “Hunter, sit back down.” The General ordered. “And Halbrook, we have decided to keep Hunter’s past friendship with Sophie Murphy classified. There is nothing to benefit from it g
oing public, but a lot of damage to morale could occur.”

  “Friendship – my arse!” Halbrook muttered. “And by damage to morale, you mean damage to your golden boy’s image.”

  The General just smiled in response to Halbrook’s taunting. “Well, if you can’t follow these rules, we’re straight back to the ‘hand-you-over-to-the-witches’ option.”

  Halbrook crossed his arms and hunched down into his seat, looking a lot more petulant than a man of his age and reputation had a right to. “Fine. Where am I staying?”

  “Ah, not here.” Hunter was quick to clarify.

  “We’ll speak to Wardell – she’s in charge of accommodating allies. She’ll find space for you.” Marks replied. Finding space might be easy – finding other lodgers that could put up with Halbrook might prove tricky.

  Chapter Eight

  “You used to work with Halbrook?”

  Hunter was snapped out of his private reverie, and back to the dull, unused warehouse situated in one of Manchester’s boroughs. The rain thrummed down on the distant roof. James and Alannah stood staring out of a grey window, and Hunter stood with Maria and Ian beside some silent machinery.

  Hunter saw the incredulous look on Maria’s face as she voiced her question.

  “Not if I could help it.” Hunter said with a shrug.

  Beside him, Ian grunted, although Hunter could not tell if it was from amusement or disbelief.

  “Regardless of the fact that he is a prick, with no social graces; Gareth Halbrook was always too rash, too gun happy.” Hunter explained. “He always believed that all witches were evil and must be killed. There were others that thought similarly – but he was the most vocal about it. The MMC is – sorry, was – moving away from considering it all so black and white. Personally, I always strived to capture witches alive.”

  “Perhaps Halbrook was right.” Ian muttered.

  Maria shushed him. “You don’t mean that!”

  “Maybe not.” Ian replied. “Look Hunter, I don’t blame you for hoping witches can be redeemed, or whatever. I mean, you’re one of them now.”

  There was the thud of Maria’s punch to Ian’s side, although it came too late to stop her comrade’s heresy.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Hunter, it’s just that up until a few months ago, witches didn’t exist outside storybooks for us. Even with what we’ve scrabbled to learn about the MMC… it’s hard to tell the difference between what you do and magic.” Maria kept a steady eye contact with Hunter, she wasn’t embarrassed about her ignorance, she was just stating the facts. It was a relief for Hunter to have someone so matter-of-fact.

  “It’s not magic. It’s sort of the opposite. Having seven generations of fighting against magic and witches, I guess I’ve evolved to oppose them.”

  “You know that’s a weak-arsed argument.” Ian replied, looking very unimpressed.

  “So, you’re basically an anti-witch?” Maria asked, trying to keep a straight face after Ian’s interjection.

  “Something like that.” Hunter replied. “But that’s no reason not to trust me.”

  “Who doesn’t trust Hunter?” Alannah piped up defensively. She and James had wandered back to hear the tail end of the conversation.

  Maria rolled her eyes, proving that you never outgrew that little expression.

  “No one.”

  “If you want the proof – look at that blinking thing of yours.” Ian argued. “We basically put our lives in your hands every time we travel.”

  Hunter stood silently, suddenly touched by the mutual respect in his team after such a short time. He didn’t know why these good people trusted him; but he was grateful.

  “Sorry to break up this love-in. But they’re here.” James announced, nodding towards movement in the west side of the open warehouse.

  Hunter and the rest of his team turned to face the newcomers, automatically defensive. A small party made their way towards them, six figures in all, each looking alert and wary.

  “Astley?” A woman’s voice called out.

  Hunter moved forward; his hand reflexively touched the dog tags at his throat, but managing to stay away from his gun.

  “It’s good to finally meet you.” A woman stepped forward, holding out her hand. She looked very young, but the creases around her eyes, and the threads of grey in her otherwise black hair made Hunter guess that she was in her forties.

  “Nadira Shah, 4th gen.”

  Hunter shook her hand, feeling slightly embarrassed that he should finally meet Nadira Shah properly. Oh, he’d seen her years ago, when she’d had occasion to visit his father, but this was different.

  “Nadira, a pleasure. How are things going in Manchester?”

  Nadira paused, considering how to phrase her answer. “We are winning, for now. The interim mayor has accepted our help. The people are starting to build their lives again. We have neighbourhood watches that sweep designated areas and report anything suspicious. Some sort of communication has been established.”

  Hunter listened, impressed with their progress. “And the witches?”

  “We’ve had a few individual confrontations. Nothing that felt orchestrated. But it’s only a matter of time before the Shadow looks this way.”

  Something about the way Nadira said it made her statement very foreboding.

  “You know this?” Hunter asked.

  “Manchester is the capital of the North. Logic tells me that – after London – Manchester will be her next target.” Nadira stated, then glanced uneasily over her shoulder. “But there’s also whispers, ones that we would be foolish to ignore.”

  “What do you mean?” Hunter frowned, worried that they were missing something.

  Nadira motioned one of her men forward. “This is Jonathan. He is here to represent his kin.”

  “His kin?” Hunter felt foolish for echoing Nadira and looked to the man instead. He looked like an ordinary person, but then so did witches and witch-hunters on the surface. Hunter looked a little more closely, then understood.

  Over the years, Hunter had noticed that there was a faint residue of magic everywhere. Witch-hunters naturally repelled it; and witches acted as both a source and magnet of it – which they could increase, or hide completely with practise.

  Normal people were not aware of these residues, and the magic ignored them. But this man, Jonathan, fell into a different category. The flecks of magic moulded playful to his fingertips and followed each breath in and out. It did not belong to him, but was there to be borrowed.

  “You’re a wiccan!” Hunter stated, trying to keep the note of accusation out of his voice.

  “Very astute, Mr Astley.” Jonathan returned, mildly amused at the witch-hunter’s reaction. “They told me you would be.”

  “A wiccan?” Ian’s deep voice rang out. Hunter did not have to look to know that his friend was tense with the idea of the unknown.

  “Relax.” James answered. “It’s like a witch without powers… or a human with magic. Something like that.”

  Jonathan looked as confused by James’ description as the rest of those present.

  “I am just a normal man. Wicca has been my religion and education, which allows me to access the world around me.”

  “What I want to know is why you’re here?” Hunter asked, surprised that Nadira would bother with a wiccan. Historically, witch-hunters didn’t bother about them – they were relatively powerless, not worth seeking as an ally. And if they turned bad, that was a job for the good old police force, not enough of a threat for the MMC to bother stepping in.

  Jonathan smiled bitterly, as though reading Hunter’s mind. “Let’s forego the traditional prejudice, and you and I might just get on.”

  “I’ll reserve judgement for now.” Hunter replied, crossing his arms. “It’s the best you’re going to get.”

  Nadira tutted in the background. “You are as arrogant as your father, Hunter. Men are such bothersome creatures. Jonathan is here because his coven, and other cou
sin covens wish to form an alliance with the witch-hunters against the witches.”

  “Wait.” Maria spoke up. “I would have thought that wiccans would be on the witches’ side. What with it all being magic.”

  Jonathan shrugged, and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, looking very normal and non-magical indeed. “It’s true that some wiccans have been seduced by the promise of power, they have broken their Rede with us and joined the witches.”

  “Rede?” Maria interrupted.

  Jonathan took a deep breath, and began to recite. “’ An Ye Harm None, Do What Ye Will.’ It’s basically the codes and rules that bind us. Including binding us from doing harm. We are the servants of nature – and nature is very much out of balance. It is our duty to rectify that.”

  Hunter sighed. “I appreciate your good intentions, but what good does that do us? We’re in the middle of a war, and you’ve already explained that your code binds you from helping.”

  “There are more ways to help than fighting and killing!” Jonathan returned sharply. “We have methods of communication for simple messages, and spies that have infiltrated witch ranks as wiccan absconders. Both of which you need, I would imagine.”

  “Oh.” Hunter couldn’t think how to reply to that.

  There was a snicker from James, the Yorkshireman amused and impressed that the wiccan could silence his friend.

  Nadira looked similarly amused. “You honestly thought I would waste your time with someone of no use, Hunter?”

  “Fine, what do-”

  Hunter was interrupted by a sudden and familiar sound. A single gunshot echoed through the warehouse. Jonathan grunted as the bullet hit and knocked his to the ground.

  Hunter shifted closer to the others, throwing up his shield – it was designed to defend against magic, but he had been known to stop a bullet. Once.

  There was another resounding shot… this time the bullet hit Hunter’s defences in front of his chest. Hunter glanced down at the small lump of metal, but after learning his lesson last time, didn’t touch it. He let it fall to the ground.

  Movement on the gangway on the far side of the warehouse caught Hunter’s eye.