Luckily, it caught Maria’s too. Without hesitation, she raised her gun and shot two rounds.
There was a human cry of pain, and the figure slumped.
Hunter nodded to the lieutenant, and they both set off, running in the direction of the attack. The gangway was twenty feet in the air, but Hunter found the metal ladder, going up first. As he drew up to the level, Hunter could hear laboured breathing. He took slow, measured paces, with his gun steady before him. Hunter noticed a spatter of blood by his feet and followed the red trail.
Hunter spotted the gunman, collapsed in a corner, his breathing shallow, and his face already pale and sweating profusely. The man’s black jacket and trousers were wet with blood at the shoulder, and thigh. The man’s eyes widened with fear as he spotted Hunter, and he made a weak attempt to raise his gun. Hunter knocked his slow movement aside with his usual speed and dexterity. The gun clattered across the metal gangway.
Hunter heard Maria’s light tread behind him. “Let’s get him down to the others.”
“Yes sir.” Maria replied automatically. Then frowned. “How are we going to get him down? I mean, I’m not averse to throwing him over the edge…”
Hunter snorted without humour. Not wasting words, he knelt down and touched the man’s shoulder.
A moment later they were back in the midst of the group. The gunman was ash white, but Hunter could only guess whether it was the travelling, or the blood loss that was the cause.
Across the warehouse, Hunter could faintly hear Maria swearing, and clanging back down the metal staircase as she was left to take the slow route.
“I thought you guys could detect witches.” Jonathan muttered as soon as he got over his shock at seeing two people materialise in front of him. The wiccan sat on the floor, his shoulder being strapped with a makeshift bandage, by the ever-practical Ian.
“We detect magic, not witches.” Hunter clarified. “We can’t feel anything out of the ordinary, unless they start casting.”
“Oh fantastic!” Jonathan groaned. “I’ll remember that excuse later.”
Hunter frowned but looked down at the bleeding gunman at his feet. “Anyone you recognise, Nadira? Jonathan?”
“No.” Jonathan replied with a sharp hiss as Ian tied off the bandage.
“Well someone has given our position away.” Hunter said, looking down at the gunman.
“What do we do with him, boss?” Ian stood, having finished his first aid, and nodded to the now-unconscious man on the floor. “Cos if we continue this chit-chat, he’s gonna be dead anyway.”
“Kill him.” James said, uncharacteristically cold.
“James!” Alannah snapped, grasping his arm.
“Think about it: a single witch gunman was sent to take out a wiccan. If they had known Hunter was involved, it would have been a dozen at least. But all we’ve gotta do is let him live and get word back to his boss that a witch-hunter could stop his bullets and travel in a blink – how long do you think it will take them to work out Hunter was here? Then what – they come in force to Manchester, and Nadira and her followers suffer.”
“Ok, you’ve been spending too much time with Halbrook.” Alannah accused, her green eyes narrowing at James. “What you need to do is take him back to base for questioning.”
Ian coughed to get their attention. “Too late. He’s gone.”
They all stopped, and looked at the gunman, pale and lifeless at their feet.
Chapter Nine
Nadira escorted Hunter and his team back to their base. Two of her men helped Jonathan, who was pale, but insisted on walking back.
Soon they were all settled in a grey and dull office.
“Jonathan will be back after the doctors have seen him.” Nadira stood by the door, her arms folded. “Today did not go how I expected.”
Hunter pulled out a chair and got comfortable for a possibly long wait. “I doubt it’s your fault, Nadira. But we should look into who might have betrayed you.”
Nadira stared straight into one of the grey walls, her lips down-turned. She took a minute to process the particulars, then shook her head. “It would have been someone with only partial information. As your man pointed out, they did not know it was you we were meeting.”
Nadira sighed. “I almost wish it were someone in my immediate circle of advisors, they are limited in number. But to search for a possible mole in the hundreds of allies here… this war may be over before they are discovered.”
“With any luck, this will be over quickly.” Hunter replied.
Nadira bit back a smile. “You are too optimistic, Hunter. You remind me of Young, he was the same. Now, I shall see about getting tea.”
The woman left Hunter and his team, but was back before they could cause much mischief. This time Nadira brought company into the office.
Jonathan came in, his bloody clothes changed and a fresh white bandage acting as a sling for his left arm. Another witch-hunter followed behind him, carrying a box, which he set on the table.
“How is your arm, Jonathan?” Ian asked.
“It’s fine, thank you, Sergeant. No major damage.” The wiccan replied. He looked very pale still, but determined to finish this meeting. He nodded to the box. “If one of you could do the honours, please.”
Alannah, who was closest to the box, opened the lid. Inside there were at least a dozen smaller boxes about four inches wide. Glancing up to Jonathan, to make sure she had permission, she picked up one of the small boxes and opened it. Inside, on a bed of paper, were two rose coloured stones.
Hunter leant across the table, trying to see what it was. “Is that-?”
“Quartz.” Jonathan answered. “Those ones are rose quartz, to be precise.”
“What are they for?” Maria asked, looking down at the unimpressive stones.
“We use them for basic communication.” Jonathan explained. “These two stones have been cut from the same piece, and have been charmed to interact with each other. If you would pass me one, please, Miss…?”
“Alannah Winton.” The Welsh girl offered her name readily, and passed one of the small pinkish stones to Jonathan.
“Thank you, Alannah.” Jonathan smiled. “If you would hold the other one.”
Alannah grinned as she took up the second stone, it was cool and smooth in her palm.
Jonathan smiled at her cooperation. “So far we have been using these to warn of emergencies. The stones stay connected, no matter the distance. And if I run into trouble and need back-up, I simply focus on the stone…”
Jonathan shut his eyes, and closed his fist over the small stone. After a minute of concentration, Alannah yelped, dropping her stone on the table with a clatter. “It got hot!” She exclaimed, looking at the wiccan for an explanation.
“Not enough to burn, or do damage, but enough to get attention.” Jonathan turned the cool rose quartz over in his hand.
Hunter looked on, wondering if he was supposed to be impressed.
“When you mentioned basic communication, I did not realise you meant this basic.”
Jonathan did not look fazed by the witch-hunter’s apathy. “You are letting yourself be blinded to its usefulness, Mr Astley. If I sent a distress signal, how quickly could you get to me? Opposed to how long it would take for a message of trouble to come via mundane means – providing there’s someone able to get that message out, of course.”
Jonathan handed his stone back to Alannah, and indicated that she should put them back in the box. The Wiccan waved his good hand at the collection. “Quartz is a powerful magical amplifier, long used for communication. We’ve just adapted it to suit our needs. There’s rose quartz, citrine and amethyst in there, they won’t fail you. The stones are reservoirs for magic, once charged they won’t run out.”
“Isn’t quartz the stuff they use in crystal balls?” James asked, reserving some scepticism still.
Jonathan sighed. “That’s a different type of magic. But yes. Not that I hold with that type of thing.”<
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“You mean, there are prejudices within Wicca to different types of magic?” James was positively intrigued by the idea.
Jonathan shrugged. “It tends to change with each generation. Whereas clairvoyance was all the rage ten years ago, a lot of us now are taking a more traditional route. Although I hear there’s a Boston movement-“
“As interesting as this is, can we please focus?” Hunter interrupted. He got the feeling that Jonathan would prattle on about his religion for as long as James wanted to listen. And Hunter recognised that light of interest in his friend’s eyes. They could be there all day. “Let us say that the stones work, and prove useful, there are only a dozen or so here. We would need a lot more if we intended to make it part of every team’s essential kit.”
Jonathan nodded. “They will work. These are all we can spare, at the moment. My coven needs to wait until the next full moon before we can charm any more. You can pick up the next batch in a few weeks’ time.”
Chapter Ten
Summer was starting to break out over the English countryside in its usual sporadic fashion. The rain grew warmer, and the grass would grow. The sun would shine promisingly for a day or too, before the grey clouds would roll in again.
The situation was relatively stable, with steady reports finding their way to Astley Manor. Jonathan’s communication stones had been implemented with reasonable success, although they hadn’t yet been put into practise in an emergency.
Because of the quietness, Hunter had secured home-leave for his team for a week. Using his talents actually felt good when he was blinking to Brecon to reunite Alannah with the rest of her family and taking Ian back to his home in Bristol. When Hunter and James blinked to Doncaster, Hunter had to stay for dinner with his aunt and uncle, and had to suffer the incessant chatter of James’ younger cousins.
Back at Astley Manor, there was only one team member left.
Maria was just finishing washing the pots from her lonely dinner, when Hunter walked into the kitchen.
“How were James and the family?” She asked, grabbing a tea towel from the rail.
“Loud.” Hunter replied, grabbing a warm beer from the pantry. “Were you alright, eating alone?”
Maria paused with her drying, then shrugged. “It was kinda nice to have some time to myself. I half expected one of Dawkin’s team to come in and cadge a meal – it’s what usually happens.”
Hunter nodded, he understood that the Manor had turned into a hive of activity. He enjoyed it for the most part, filling this big old house with noise and movement. But occasionally it was necessary to find a quiet corner to oneself.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go home this week?” Hunter asked.
“Home. It doesn’t mean much to me.” Maria replied with a sigh. “No mum. Dad died when I was nineteen – just after I joined the army. I married young, then the git left me when I was promoted before him.”
Hunter inwardly winced at her casualness. “I’m sorry.” He murmured, knowing that it was a largely ineffective comment.
Maria shook her head. “It’s fine, it’s life.”
“Well, I could take you to visit friends instead.” Hunter offered.
Maria chuckled at his obvious attempt at cheering her up. She didn’t need it; she was content with her life now. “The only friends I have are in the unit stationed here. Thanks for the concern, but I’ll spend my free time catching up with them in Little Hanting.”
Maria tossed down the tea towel and copied her boss, by grabbing a bottle of beer.
“So, I’ve shared, now it’s your turn.” Maria locked her blue eyes on Hunter.
Hunter returned her gaze, feeling a little uneasy. “Ok…”
“Why is the Shadow Witch obsessed with you?”
Hunter frowned and shook his head. “We’ve been over that already. I’m-”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re a major threat and your families have history.” Maria interrupted. “I don’t buy it, and neither do the others.”
Hunter leant back against the hard kitchen work top and took his time to drink his beer.
“Oh, come on, Hunter!” Maria snapped. “We have a right to know – haven’t we proven that you can trust us?”
Hunter sighed and idly picked at the label on his bottle. “I do trust you, it’s just that Sophie… When I met the Shadow Witch, she was pretending to be human. I saved her from a fake sacrifice, then I helped her join the Malleus Maleficarum Council. So, it’s my fault she learned so much inside information.”
Maria listened quietly, a little frown forming between her brows as she took in what Hunter shared. “But that doesn’t explain why she’s focused on you.”
Hunter shrugged, thinking back to last summer. “Sophie came to train with me, she came to live here. I thought she was someone I could trust. She was smart, beautiful… a little cold, I’ll admit.”
Maria’s eyes widened as she realised where Hunter was going. “You and the witch?” She asked breathlessly.
Hunter twisted the bottle in his hands, unable to say anything. He knew if he confessed this to another witch-hunter he would be met with disgust. But Maria was new to this fight, she didn’t have years of prejudice behind her – or so he hoped.
“Does anyone else know?” Maria asked.
“James – he knew Sophie too. But General Hayworth and Anthony Marks know some details, and I think they have filled in the rest.”
Maria chewed over this, then finally looked at Hunter. “Thanks for confiding in me. But Hunter, you should really think about telling Ian and Alannah.”
With a sorry smile, Maria ducked into the pantry to grab another beer, then took the bottle and headed to the room she had been allocated.
Chapter Eleven
One pleasant summer’s evening, Hunter walked in the gardens of the estate. The flowerbeds of Astley Manor had once been strictly cultivated to Mrs Astley’s design. But the two ground-staff and full-time gardener that the family employed had been evacuated with the rest of the village six months ago and had not yet returned.
In those six months, nature had taken control of the garden, and personally, Hunter thought it looked better for it. There was one small corner where his mother actually got her hands dirty and tried to maintain a few flower beds. It was amusing to watch her narrow and focused attempt.
Spoiling the peace, Hunter felt suddenly alert, a flash of pain as he recognised magic in use. It was close, a few miles at the most. Hunter closed his eyes and focused on it – there were two different rhythms - two witches casting, and from his experience, the magic seemed weak.
Hunter sighed, why would such weak witches cast anywhere near the famous Astley Manor – they were asking to be destroyed. Unless it was a trap; and they the bait to the bloody thirsty witch-hunters.
Hunter cursed to himself that his quiet evening was ruined. He glanced about the beautiful grounds, taking a last deep breath of the scented breeze, he turned back to the house.
Hunter had only just opened the front door and stepped into the entrance hall, when he looked up to see his team already mobilising, thanks to Alannah. Her senses might not be as developed as his, but it was useful having another higher gen witch-hunter around.
“Ian, can you get us some back-up?” Hunter requested.
The sergeant nodded and left.
“Big threat?” James asked.
Hunter shrugged as he pulled on his stab vest. “Minor. Too minor, it might be an ambush.”
Hunter gave directions to the soldier that would follow on foot, and when Ian returned, they took the quicker route.
The five of them appeared near the lake on the south side of the Manor. The setting sun cast the beauty spot in reds and purples, glinting off the rippling surface of the lake; the manmade dock and benches softened by shadows.
Hunter felt the unsteady throb of magic, and silently motioned for the other four to follow him. Guns ready, they made their way along the shoreline until they reached a copse of trees. V
oices came out, too quick and quiet to decipher.
Hunter stepped forward with care and precision, not making a sound in his advance. When he pushed through the last barrier of foliage, what he saw made him halt.
There were six young people – the oldest could not have been older than seventeen, and the youngest looked barely fourteen.
“What the-?” Ian said, stepping up beside him.
The teenagers turned at his voice, and those that had been casting threw spells in their direction.
Hunter drew his shield up, the magic breaking uselessly against it – it was hardly worth the effort, Hunter was convinced their magic was so weak, the talismans his people wore would protect them fully. The shield dropped, but Hunter remained alert for any witches waiting in the shadows to ambush them. But he found it hard to believe that any person could use children as bait – even the witchkind.
“What are you guys doing here?” Hunter demanded.
One rather cocky-looking lad stepped forward as self-appointed spokesperson. “Aren’t you meant to give that Malleus speech when addressing witches?”
Hunter paused. This was a new situation. “I save it for the adult witches. Why, do you want me to say it?”
“No.” The youth replied immediately, a blush creeping up his neck that he was speaking with the Astley; and because he would never admit that he wanted to hear it.
Hunter sighed. “Fine. By the Malleus Constitution you will surrender now to my authority to be bound and registered. If you refuse to come quietly, I am empowered to take any means necessary.”
The youths’ reaction was easy to see, they all stood straighter, defiance in their eyes.
“So, go home.” Hunter ordered.
The leader looked dismayed. “But-”
“No.” Hunter interrupted. “This isn’t your fight, so go home to your families.”
A girl pushed forward, raising her rather spotty face to look up at the big bad hunter. “We don’t have no family. You killed them.”
“What?”
The boy put his hand out protectively towards the girl. “Yeah, last winter – you killed Jodie, Missy and Mark’s parents at the Midlands prison. Then me, Lucretia and Tommy – you killed ours in that little village place.”
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