“Room for one more?”
Hunter looked up to see Gareth Halbrook, of all people, hovering at the end of the table. Hunter nearly choked on his potatoes.
“Not for you, no.” He said, the words leaving his lips before he could stop them.
“George, cover your mouth.” Mrs Astley ordered. “And don’t be rude to Mr…?”
She gazed up questioningly with her cool, grey eyes.
“Halbrook. Gareth Halbrook.” He answered.
“Halbrook…” Mrs Astley pursed her lips. “Any relation to Derrick Halbrook, from the London Tennis Club?”
Halbrook paused, not expecting that. “No.”
Mrs Astley exhaled and relaxed her shoulders a little. “Oh, then I suppose you are the Halbrook that has been a thorn in the side of both my son, and my late husband.”
Hunter bit his cheek to stop himself from laughing, as Halbrook looked well and truly on the back foot.
“Now look ‘ere, just ‘cos I don’t worship the famous Astley family, don’t mean-”
“You truly have the most atrocious way of speaking.” Mrs Astley interrupted, her eyes narrowing in Halbrook’s direction, before flicking to Hunter. “I thought your friend James was bad, he’s positively eloquent next to this, this…”
“Hey, now!” Halbrook cut in. “I didn’t ask for your opinion. I thought I was being proper polite asking to join you lot – it’s not as though we’re at Astley Manor where you’re queen of bloody court.”
Mrs Astley considered him for a moment longer. “Hm, I like him. Sit down and help yourself, Mr Halbrook. Shall I ask Charles to send for a bib, or are you quite educated with a fork?”
Halbrook looked dazed and a little speechless, but gathering that the result of this interaction was that he was allowed to sit and eat, he parked himself in a spare chair.
He leant across to grab an empty plate from the stack and muttered to Hunter. “Why don’t you send her off against the witches? We’d have won by New Year.”
Mrs Astley accepted another glass of wine from the very nervous-looking young woman sat next to her.
“Speaking of the New Year, George, I intend to go home. You can do your little magic trick and take me.”
“Mother.” Hunter started carefully. “The Manor is deemed unsafe. I cannot let you go there.”
Mrs Astley looked at her son, her sharp grey eyes not understanding. “While I respect your concern for my safety, it is not for you to allow me anything. Astley Manor must have an Astley in it, it is not up for discussion. Besides, Mrs Harsmith wrote to me lately, to inform me that more of the villagers have returned to Little Hanting. She tells me that no witch nor human has been near the Manor for a month.”
“Mother-”
Mrs Astley held up a hand to silence him. “That is quite enough of that, George. I have made up my mind. Now go, help Charles bring in the next course.”
Hunter cursed beneath his breath, getting to his feet to help the long-suffering Charles.
Halbrook smirked at the mother and son interaction, but was quick to hide it before the formidable Mrs Astley noticed.
Chapter Twenty-two
The next few months passed by in a haze of peace. A year since the witch rebellion ruined so many lives, people were beginning to make the most of their new world. The communities were well on their way to rebuilding what was destroyed, and despite the lack of technology and slow communication, the people fell into a new routine. A new normal.
Which included maintaining the great British tradition of going to the pub. On evenings when his whole team were free from duty, Hunter and the others frequented a nice place that was quite close to the MMC base.
The building was old-fashioned, with stone walls, and dark timbers that were well-suited to the atmosphere created by lamps and candles. It was quite a large establishment, but still managed to always feel cosy. It was popular with the locals and the witch-hunters alike, with good ale. Occasionally it was extra-popular, when a band would come in to play live, and the tables would be pushed to the sides to make room for a dance floor.
Hunter enjoyed the live music; it always made an evening that little bit more special. The band that was on tonight was good, although it made Hunter smile to watch the singer trying to fight to be heard without a microphone.
“What are you smirking at?” Alannah shouted over the noise.
Hunter shook his head, not about to explain himself. Instead he offered to get in another round. He made his way to the bar and looked over his shoulder. Alannah and Ian sat on the table he’d recently vacated. James and Maria were on the dance floor – Hunter grimaced at James’ lack of co-ordination. Poor Maria.
He quickly got served and carried the three pints and a bottle of white wine on a tray back to their table.
“You know, on a night like this, I can almost forget that the war is happening.” Alannah’s sentiment lost a little by her need to shout over the music.
Hunter passed her the bottle of wine. “Make sure Maria gets at least some of that.”
Alannah grinned. “I don’t think she’d notice.”
Her green eyes turned in the direction of the dance floor, where despite the upbeat song, Maria and James danced in each other’s arms, circling slowly amidst the more energetic dancers. Hunter watched them for a minute, they always acted so professionally around the others, this sort of down-time was the only time he ever witnessed them act as a couple.
Hunter looked away, surprised to feel a little jealous that his best friend was so happy. He picked up his pint and engaged Ian in a conversation about the vehicles the MMC had managed to collect; which moved on to the different techniques of hot-wiring, in which Ian was almost as proficient as James.
Alannah sat quietly at the table, a third-wheel to the conversation. When she finished her wine, she set the glass purposefully down on the table. “I’m bored. You guys want to dance?”
Both Hunter and Ian looked at her, their matching expressions telling how very little they wanted to dance. Ian was the first to crack, seeing how determined Alannah was. The sergeant stood up and took one of her hands.
“Come on, Hunter. If I’m dancing, you are too.” Ian ordered.
Hunter sighed, but dutifully pushed himself to his feet. He took Alannah’s other hand, the little Welsh girl almost bouncing over the fact that she’d bullied them both.
The band had just moved into another fast track, the song a popular one with the crowd, who filed to the floor. Luckily, Hunter could get away with the minimum amount of movement from side to side. He kept his eyes fixed towards the stage, rather than allow himself to notice that people were watching him in his embarrassment.
James and Maria had broken from their close contact dance, and came to join the rest of them. Maria was shaking her hips next to Alannah, and James was… well, James was jumping around and making a fool out of himself. Hunter saw that even Ian was chuckling at him.
They stayed together for another song, then Ian put his hands up in defeat, and left the youngsters on the dance floor, in favour of his beer.
The band played the final chord of one song and moved seamlessly into the next. The tempo had suddenly slowed. Hunter noticed the active dancing being replaced by couples gently dancing together, including James and Maria, who drifted away from him.
Alannah stood awkwardly beside Hunter, and when he looked in her direction, she gave a hopeful little shrug.
Sighing, and feeling that he might regret this, Hunter slipped his right arm about Alannah’s slim waist, and took her right hand in his left, holding it close to his chest. He led in an informal pattern, Alannah was stiff at first, but soon relaxed, and softened to lean against him, her cheek against his chest.
“I thought you couldn’t dance.” Alannah remarked.
“I can dance, I just choose not to.” Hunter corrected.
He twirled her out elegantly, then pulled her back a little less so. They both laughed as they collided.
“I need a drink.” Hunter admitted. “Dancing is dangerous.”
He dropped his contact with Alannah and without waiting for her, made his way back to the table. Ian gave him an odd look as he re-joined him but didn’t say anything.
Alannah pushed her hair away from her sweaty forehead, as she looked down at the table with greatly reduced drinks. “My round?” She said breathlessly, then turned and practically skipped in the direction of the bar.
With Alannah gone, Ian leant forward. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Hunter sat in confusion at his statement, but before he had chance to answer, they gained extra company at their table.
“Hey, do you mind if we sit here? Everywhere else is full.”
Hunter looked up, to see who the voice belonged to. The first thing he noticed was the legs in skin-tight jeans, and the long black hair, followed by the pretty face.
“Sure.” He said, waving to the spare seats. “I’m Hunter, this is Ian.”
The black-haired girl flashed him a smile and sat next to him. “I’m Kayleigh, this is Tegan.” She responded, motioning to her blonde friend that sat shyly on the other side of her.
“Nice to meet you both.”
“You don’t sound like you’re from round here, Hunter.” Kayleigh remarked.
“Guilty, I’m from a village near Oxford.” Hunter answered, leaning closer to be heard over the music.
“Really, what brings you to Manc, then?”
Hunter grinned; how many times had he gotten into conversation with a normal person, and had to come up with some fake job that dictated where he went. He could never tell the truth, because no one had known about his organisation. Now, though… “I’m with the witch-hunters.”
Across the table, Ian gave him a disappointed look. Disappointed, but as he glanced at Kayleigh, unsurprised.
The black-haired girl grinned. “You’re kidding me! Really?”
“Not interrupting, am I?” Alannah called out, as she slid a tray of drinks onto the table, her green eyes narrowing in the direction of the newcomers.
“No, hi! Girls, this is Alannah, she’s a witch-hunter too. And Alannah, this is…” Hunter broke off, struggling to remember their names.
“Kayleigh and Tegan.” Kayleigh repeated, looking amused, rather than offended at his memory loss.
“Nice to meet you.” Alannah said stonily. “You know, I think I might head home, I didn’t realise how late it was.”
Hunter looked up, realising that she did look a little pale. Probably too much wine and dancing.
Noticing that Hunter wasn’t playing the part Alannah had hoped, Ian stood up. “I’ll walk you home.”
Alannah snatched up her coat and left without another word.
“What was that about?” Kayleigh asked.
“Dunno.” Hunter muttered.
*****
The following morning Jonathan moved through the witch-hunter’s compound towards the sleeping quarters but stopped when he saw Hunter.
“Hey, I was just coming to find you. Were you on duty?” Jonathan asked, frowning. He wasn’t sure Hunter’s attire was suitable for night duty.
“What? No, it was my evening off.” Hunter replied distractedly.
Jonathan paused, then filled in the blanks. His confusion changed to amusement. “You’ve only just got back in? You’ll get a reputation.”
“Already got one.” Hunter huffed, as he shoved his cold hands into his pockets. “Was there something you wanted? Other than discussing my promiscuity.”
“Promiscuity? Is that your snobbish way of admitting you’re a manwhore?”
Hunter narrowed his eyes in the direction of the wiccan. “Have you been talking to James?”
Jonathan finally broke into a grin. “That obvious, huh? On top of other things discussed, James wanted me to chat with you – about magic.”
Hunter cringed at the very thought. He might be a little more open-minded than the old him that saw witches and magic in black and white, and sneered at wiccans as a pesky shade of grey – but he wasn’t ready to fully embrace magic.
“Fine.” He relented. “But let’s go inside, it’s freezing.”
“You’re just nesh.” Jonathan chuckled at the soft southerner, but obediently followed Hunter indoors.
It didn’t take long for the two men to acquire vital coffee and headed for an unused office.
“Ok, what did you have to say?” Hunter asked as they sat down.
Jonathan wrapped his hands about his steaming mug, looking up at the witch-hunter. “James came to me for advice. He filled me in on the whole Benandanti thing, including the fact that your research has dried up. As you’re not willing to seek them out in Italy-”
“I did not say never.” Hunter stressed. “It’s just a very inappropriate time to leave.”
Jonathan held his hands up defensively, and pressed on. “So… short of finding an amiable witch to chat magic with, James and I thought that I might prove helpful.”
Hunter frowned, he had not thought of asking magic-users about his own skills, mainly because he was too proud to share his private problems. Which he was equally unlikely to admit.
“Technically it’s not magic.” Hunter argued.
“No, it’s the opposite.” Jonathan agreed. “But from what I’ve heard, and what I’ve seen for myself, it acts a lot like it.”
A sleep-deprived Hunter failed to come up with any logical counter of this point, so instead he leant back in his chair and crossed his arms.
Jonathan tried to hide his smile as he noted the small win. “So first, what can you do?” He asked, blowing on his hot coffee.
Hunter sighed. “Not much. I can travel in a blink, taking others with me. There’s a shield I can project, temporarily blocking magic, and bullets on the rare occasion. Oh, and I destroyed a church, once.”
“You destroyed a church…” Jonathan echoed, not sure whether to be amused or appalled.
“Mmm, it was quite the scene.” Hunter confirmed, thinking back to the night Charlotte had died. “Although I did not know it was my doing until later.”
Jonathan took in the mental image, but then shook his head. “Ok, let’s focus on the shield. How do you do it?”
Hunter paused, he had never really taken time to dissect and explain it. “I honestly don’t know. It seems to happen almost reflexively when spells are being cast. But once it’s up, I can move it, expand or contract it…”
Jonathan nodded, looking very serious. “What does it feel like?”
“Like… a weight, barely noticeable at first, but tiring the longer I hold it. It’s like an extension of me, I can feel everything that hits it.” Hunter answered. It felt weird discussing his skills so logically with someone that wasn’t James.
“And have you tried to do anything else with your magic?”
“A few things, nothing successful.” Hunter replied; the warmth of a blush tickled his neck as he thought back on his foolish attempts. “Lighting candles and light bulbs, picking locks, healing grazes… from what I’ve read, these are the simplest spells even weak witches can manage.”
“From what you’ve told me, what you possess is not magic, you cannot expect to do the same things.” Jonathan reasoned. “Can I suggest something, Hunter? Allow me to train you in the basics of wiccan practices.”
Hunter scowled, but Jonathan pressed on. “No, listen to me, I may be able to help you. A wiccan’s manipulation of magic might have similarities to how you use your anti-magic – we might unlock something new. It can’t hurt, can it?”
Although he was far from happy at the prospect, Hunter had to admit that Jonathan’s reasoning was sound. Shit. Which meant he had no valid excuse.
“Fine. We’ll give it a go.”
Chapter Twenty-three
The Malleus Maleficarum Council in Manchester had become the biggest gathering of witch-hunters in the North. New protocols and duties were devised as they went. For the most part, daily life went on in
an almost mundane routine; but that was not to say that everything went smoothly. There were still constant threats from smaller covens that tried to stake their ground too near the towns and cities. The MMC were regularly called upon to deal with such threats. It was almost like the old days.
One day in the middle of May, a similar message was brought through to the Council that almost had James bouncing. The Mayor of Doncaster had sent out a request for back-up, after the witches had attempted to blackmail her to aid them. General Hayworth delegated the job to Hunter, who quickly called his team, plus another fifty soldiers and witch-hunters. It seemed an excessive number, but Hunter would rather be over-prepared than caught out-numbered.
They set out that very evening, Hunter transporting them all in a blink, rather than wasting precious fuel. They arrived in Campsall Woods and set up camp. The information the Mayor had given them was that the witches were stationed in the nearby Brodsworth Hall.
James moved about the camp, making sure that no one was feeling too faint after blinking over here. He then made his way over to where Hunter and the rest of his team waited. They were poring over a map with a Sergeant O’Hara.
“I remember camping up here as a kid.” James said, nodding at their map. “The trees will offer plenty of coverage, and we have the advantage of higher ground.”
Hunter nodded, knowing that here was as good as anywhere. “We’ll stay here tonight. It seems the safest option. O’Hara – send scouts on a five-mile radius. No one should know we’re here, but I want to be sure. My team will take first watch.”
“Yes sir.” O’Hara moved away from the meeting, to find his second-in-charge.
“Trust the witches to get the first-class accommodation, while we’re in tents.” Alannah muttered.
“Well, at least we’re not doing this in winter.” Maria replied. “We’d freeze our arses off.”
Alannah elbowed her in the ribs. “You wouldn’t freeze. You’ve got someone to cuddle into.”
James smirked at the comment. “Come on, Alannah. If you were desperate for a cuddle, I’m sure Hunter or Ian would oblige.”
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