Pulling on his trainers, he headed out running alone – no one else was mad enough to be up and running before six in the morning. He ran harder and faster than normal, pushing his muscles to the limit, and feeling the sweet distraction of his breathing becoming more rugged and his heart pounding in his chest. Hunter lapped the estate twice, then put in a third at a more leisurely pace to bring his vitals back to normal. But he was still filled with an electric energy. He wasted some more time with a cold bath, then made his way to the kitchen, hoping to catch his boss.
Eventually General Hayworth padded in, looking half-asleep and in the search for caffeine.
“Sir, could I have a word, please.”
Taking the General’s silence as permission, Hunter took a deep breath and began to explain his theory that the Shadow Witch had only been delayed by pregnancy, and that her return was imminent.
Hayworth stood silently listening to him, giving the odd grunt when he thought Hunter was being less than honest in his account.
“And who told you this?” He barked. “The Shadow’s flying monkey?”
“No, her mother.” Hunter replied quickly.
“Why would…” Hayworth trailed off as he quickly put the pieces together. “You know what, I don’t want to know. So, have you got any theories on where and how, she will strike?”
Hunter sighed, glad that he had gotten the General on side. Or at least as much as Hayworth could be. “Nadira Shah’s intelligence points to an attack on the capital. This is backed up with the suspicions of other allies.”
The General took this in, then finally nodded. “Right, we’ll deploy extra men to London. Dawkins can lead this op.”
“Sir, I really think that I-” Hunter started to protest.
“You are too valuable to be stuck in one place, organising troops.” Hayworth countered, guessing where Hunter was heading. “You will continue your duties here. Then, if Dawkins sends a distress signal, you will join the fight. Understood?”
Hunter’s shoulders dropped, feeling very much like a castigated child. “Yes sir.”
Chapter Fourteen
Little Hanting seemed very quiet indeed after the upheaval of its military residents. They left one gloomy autumn morning, packed into the vehicles they had spent the last few months salvaging, and coaxing into life.
Hunter saw them off, then returned to the Manor.
The next few days felt strange, as Hunter went about his daily routine. When he went running in the morning, only his own team accompanied him; and when he trained after breakfast, less than a dozen joined him in the courtyard. Any less, and they could move the training sessions back inside, like they had at the beginning of the year.
Another week went past, and no news came from London or Manchester. Hunter knew that he was not alone in wishing that the witches would get their attack over with. Wherever they hit, he would take the remaining forces to bolster numbers. Staying at home waiting was getting tedious.
Then one evening, dusk was settling over Astley Manor, the beauty of the sunset lost behind thick clouds. When there was a crescendo of magic that nearly deafened Hunter. Before stopping to think, he jumped out of his seat and sprinted to the control room.
“Attack!” He shouted, barging into his former dining room.
The control room was already a hive of activity, as people boxed files, and hurried about.
“Yes, Marks felt it too.” Hayworth snapped. “Get outside, scout numbers and location. You are not permitted to engage the enemy.”
Hunter nodded, and pausing only to arm himself, he left through the front door.
Rain was just beginning to fall, and the heavy cloud and low light would help him to remain invisible. Hunter only hoped his eyes were sharp enough to spot any stray witches, before they noticed him.
He kept off the crunchy gravel of the drive, and padded silently along the lawn, moving as quickly as he could. Up ahead, he could feel more than hear the presence of many. Magic hummed in the air.
Hunter was surprised that Sophie and her minions hadn’t just tried blasting down the front door of the Manor. Instead, they were hovering on the border of the estate, as though they were still wary of the protection the Manor offered its occupants – and still wary of Hunter.
They were near the location of the last battle of Little Hanting. In fact… they were exactly at that location.
Hunter felt uneasy as he moved close enough to see the milling crowd. He tried to count them and estimated two hundred or more.
Suddenly in the centre of the masses, Hunter saw her. Sophie. Her dark brown hair tumbled down her shoulders, her face tanned from the summer sun. Hunter had forgotten how beautiful she was. Obviously motherhood suited her.
Sophie stood with her arms open, her lips moving. Hunter was too far away to hear her chant, but a chill crept up his spine.
Hunter silently swore. He had heard rumours of this ritual, but had never witnessed it. Less than a year ago, more than fifty witches had died violently on this spot. Today Sophie was channelling it.
Having seen enough, Hunter wasted no time and blinked straight back to the Manor.
“Hunter, what news?” Marks asked.
Hunter turned to see Anthony Marks and General Hayworth standing by the window, both armed.
“Not good, sirs.” Hunter reported. “At least two hundred individuals, plus the Shadow Witch is tapping into the power left by the last battle.”
Marks swore violently enough to make even General Hayworth look surprised.
“We’re heavily outnumbered. I doubt we’ll be able to call back the troops in time.” Hayworth assessed aptly. “We have to retreat.”
Hunter blanched at the idea of abandoning his family home, the famous Astley Manor. But there were more important things to protect than a pile of bricks, surely?
Without warning, Hunter’s chest constricted, and a voice rang through his head.
“Astley, give yourself to me, or I shall destroy everything in my path to find you. You have two minutes.”
“Sophie.” Hunter gasped as air flooded his lungs again. He looked up at Hayworth and Marks, and in that moment he could tell that both men had heard the voice too.
“Don’t you bloody dare.” Hayworth growled.
Hunter scowled at them curtailing his sudden urge to be a martyr.
“Right, that’s sorted then.” Marks announced. “Hayworth, get everyone to the back of the house, have Hunter take them to join Nadira Shah. Hunter, go fetch your mother.”
Hunter was about to leave, when Marks grabbed his arm. The older man watched the retreating back of General Hayworth, then turned to Hunter.
“Make sure Hayworth escorts your mother first. He must secure the other side. Then send the others, and go. Promise me you’ll go.”
“What?” Hunter looked at Marks with a heavy suspicion. “And what do you plan on doing while all this takes place?”
“Stall them.” Marks replied. “The Shadow is already building up to end this – you can feel it too, don’t deny it.”
“But-”
“No time, Hunter. Get everyone out, including yourself – that’s an order. Then promise me you’ll do everything you can to get a handle on this power of yours. It may prove to be the decisive weapon.”
Lost for words, Hunter nodded numbly.
Before any further argument came up, Marks stepped back. He looked on the verge of saying something more, but just shook his head and walked away.
Hunter caught his breath. Now was not the time for emotion! He turned and ran up the main staircase, rounding the corner to his mother’s wing of the house.
“Mother!” He yelled as he flung the door open.
“What now, George?” Mrs Astley’s voice came from the dining area she’d had Charles set up for her.
“We need to go. Now.” Hunter replied. “The witches have us surrounded.”
Mrs Astley blinked, taking this in. “How very inconvenient, I’ve just made a pot of tea.�
��
Mrs Astley sat there, looking at her pale blue teapot for a regretful moment. Then with a sigh she got to her feet. “Is there time to pack?”
“No mother.” Hunter answered firmly.
“Well, let us go then.” Mrs Astley commanded. “If things are so dire, I cannot understand why you are dallying, George!”
Hunter looked at his mother with surprise, but Mrs Astley just huffed and grabbed a coat on the way out. Hunter followed his mother downstairs, the amount of magic in the air was suffocating, his overwhelmed senses made him jumpy. But Mrs Astley led the way calmly.
The dozen people that had remained at Astley Manor were huddled near the library in the recesses of the house. Hunter was relieved to see his team amongst them and took a moment to do a head count.
“Everyone’s here, Hunter.” Halbrook snapped. “Except Marks.”
“He’s rear guard.” Hunter replied shortly, pushing his way through. He noticed that a section of the wall had been cleared of all pictures and clutter in anticipation of use.
“You’re front guard.” Hunter added, placing his hand on the wall. “Escort Mrs Astley though, and secure the other side.”
General Hayworth looked affronted at being ordered around by the younger man, and there was the gut-wrenching realisation dawning on his face at what Marks was really up to.
But before he could collect his thoughts and argue, a very determined blonde battle-ax linked her arm through his. Despite the fact of the difference in height and build, the petite Mrs Astley led the General to the wall.
Whether it was in compliance through shock, or the sense of duty awakening, Hayworth stepped forward.
Hunter concentrated on opening a link and watched as Hayworth and his mother vanished through the solid wall. With a curt nod, the rest of the men and women filed through, until only his team was left. Sweat was breaking out at the strain of holding it open, but the four remained, in a protective circle around him.
“Go.” Hunter ordered.
“Hunter…” James started.
“Go.” He repeated. “I’ll follow. I promise.”
James sighed at his friend’s stubbornness but signalled to the others. Without another word, they left.
Hunter dropped his hand from the wall and let the link go. He stood panting for a moment, then turned in the direction of the front hallway. He had spent less than five minutes here. Was he too late to stop Marks? Probably.
Was he too late to save him? Possibly, but he was going to take that chance anyway.
Not wasting a moment, Hunter focused on the location of the witches, then closed his eyes. Hunter felt the familiar pressure close around him, increasing as he attempted to move closer to the source of his distress, until it was suffocating.
Hunter tried to push through again but found a blockade of magic. Even though he wasn’t convinced he was physically anywhere, Hunter could feel the burning in his lungs from the prolonged lack of oxygen. He had never felt anything like this and started to panic over his inability to set down. A debilitating pain began sharp spikes in his mind, as he found his struggle for control slipping. And fading.
“Hunter!” The female shriek pierced faintly through his conscious.
Then Hunter felt a wedge of energy knock the last of the breath out of him.
Hunter landed with a heavy thud and coughed, gasping at the cool air that was a relief to his lungs. He opened his eyes and spots danced before them, but he could see, of a sort. It was night, but he could make out the long grass that surrounded him.
The next sense to reawaken was his hearing, he could just hear the hurrying of feet, and several people calling his name.
“Here.” He choked, then cleared his voice. He raised his arm sluggishly to make his point. “Here!”
The feet came closer, and Hunter felt a pair of hands run over him in assessment.
“He’s ok.” James’ familiar voice came through. “What happened?”
Hunter sat up, which seemed a good idea at first, but quickly made his head throb again.
“Hunter, where’s Marks?” General Hayworth insisted.
Hunter sighed and hung his head. “I tried. I tried to save him.” His voice came out as weak as his argument.
There was an abrupt roar, which took Hunter by surprise, as Hayworth turned and swore at the night sky. Anthony Marks had been an ally, and had become a close friend.
Ian moved into Hunter’s eye line and pulled a small stone out of his pocket. “A distress signal was sent to Nadira. Hopefully her witch-hunters will be on the look-out.” Ian turned the stone in his palm, before re-pocketing it.
Chapter Fifteen
Nadira’s patrols found them within a couple of hours and that same night, Hunter and the other survivors were housed in cramped, but welcome accommodation.
It was nearly midday by the time Hunter dragged himself out of bed by the following day. His limbs felt like lead after the previous night, and his head pounded as though he’d downed a bottle of whisky.
As soon as he left his sleeping quarters, he bumped into Alannah, who recognised his need for coffee and steered him to the nearest source. Once he had his second cup, Ian arrived and let Hunter know that he had been requested for a meeting.
Hunter allowed himself to feel relief that his team was alive and well, before he succumbed to the dread of the meeting ahead. He hated meetings; he had often made James go as his representative when the old Council at Oxford expected his presence. But Hunter guessed that he couldn’t get out of this one. If anything, he respected Anthony Marks too much to miss it.
The meeting came and went; it was exactly how Hunter imagined it would be. With frayed tempers and ‘what ifs’. It didn’t matter, a great man was still dead. After they had lost George “Young” Astley and Brian Lloyd; Anthony Marks was one of the last of that generation.
Oh no, wait, there was Gareth Halbrook too. Hunter thought that fate had a cruel sense of humour that he was still alive, when they had lost so many good guys. At least Halbrook was posted down in London with Sergeant Dawkins and was well out of the way.
During the meeting they had quickly discussed Mark’s successor, all eyes turning expectantly towards Hunter.
“I nominate Nadira Shah.” He had immediately voiced, surprising them all – none more than Nadira herself.
There were no objections to the promotion, and Nadira was named the first female leader of the Malleus Maleficarum Council. The congratulations on such a momentous occasion were diluted by the mourning for a good man.
*****
Hunter took a couple of days to recover from his suspended time in nothingness. Outwardly he was very subdued. Inward, he was scared. It was a wake-up call that he knew next to nothing about his powers. Had he been foolish in using them so frequently when he was unaware of his limits? The threat of the witches’ rebellion had made him desperate enough to rush in, head on.
And he’d almost died. Oh, Hunter had come close to death on countless occasions, but it was different when an enemy was going to kill you, rather than his own ignorance.
If it hadn’t been for that final push… Hunter thought back to the moment when he’d been catapulted away. He didn’t recall doing something, at that point he was close to incapable of planning anything. But he had instances in his past when he’d acted subconsciously. The image of a church brought to rubble flashed into his thoughts.
Yes, it had to be that. Because the only other explanation… that was too hard to take in, and Hunter purposefully refused to think of her.
James drifted in and out while Hunter recovered, much like he had done at the beginning of the year. He was concerned for his friend again, not wanting Hunter to lapse into depression once more.
General Hayworth had drilled Hunter over every detail of what had occurred at the Manor, and Hunter had replied honestly, but perfunctorily. It was only when he repeated it to James one afternoon that Hunter felt the reality of it stab him afresh.
Ja
mes chewed his lip, worried. “Truth is, we don’t know shit about what you can do. With the most extensive library in the UK, we’ve found nowt substantial for months.”
Hunter shifted, trying to get comfortable on the awful camp bed he’d been given. “A library we no longer have.” He muttered, feeling a spark of anger, knowing that Sophie and her minions might have destroyed it all by now. Or at the very least, would have pawed through all the contents.
James shrugged, he loved Astley Manor, but that wasn’t the point he was trying to make. “We was getting nowhere, mate. Maybe you need another trip to Italy.”
Hunter narrowed his eyes, remembering his last holiday to Italy, when he had first met Sophie.
James could tell where his friend’s thoughts were going, and he was quick to clarify. “Look, it’s the home of the Benandanti. If you’re gonna find anything, it’ll be there.”
Hunter groaned and rested his head back against the wall. “The Benandanti were killed hundreds of years ago, I think that’s the definition of a cold trail. Besides, I’m needed here. I am not going to leave you guys facing the witches alone, while I’m off on a wild goose chase.”
“But it could answer everything!” James argued. “It’d be worth the risk.”
“James, things are only going to get worse here, I can’t leave.” Hunter replied calmly. “Be honest, if you were in my position, you would do the same.”
James sighed and muttered something beneath his breath, then stood up to leave.
“Just… don’t leave it too late.”
Chapter Sixteen
A few weeks after they had relocated to Manchester, they had company.
Sergeant Dawkins arrived in an old jeep, accompanied by three other soldiers. He was ushered straight into a room with the General and was introduced to Nadira.
“Must have been a long journey. Why did you drive? Hunter could have brought you.” The General mused while he put the kettle over a portable stove and dug out the rations of coffee.
Dawkins looked over at Hunter. “No offence, General, but nothing short of a life or death emergency will entice me to travel with Mr Astley again.”
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