Witch Hunter Trilogy Box Set

by K. S. Marsden

  “Then you’re here to work for us?” The woman asked doubtfully. “From what we hear of the stories, you don’t follow orders very well.”

  “Theresa…” Toby warned in a low voice.

  “No, it’s ok.” Hunter said, knowing that his past unease with authority was bound to arise. “But that was then, and this is now. I’ll be here to help, I’ll do what I can, and I will be here to advise, but sometimes I’ll have to go my own way.”

  “You sound like you already have something planned.” One man voiced.

  Hunter looked round the table, eyeing each member of this Council. He wondered how much to share, how much to keep back.

  “The Shadow Witch has a young son.” Hunter said, then stopped.

  “Devil’s spawn.” One voice spat.

  Hunter looked round with surprise.

  “Enough, Mr Andrews, we don’t need those common rumours.” Toby said, stepping in to mediate again. He then turned to Hunter to explain. “The child was probably conceived during a ritual, but most whisper that his father is the devil himself.”

  Hunter felt frozen inside, as he wondered how much his old friend knew, or had guessed. More worrying was how everyone would react when the truth inevitably came out. But he would put off that unsavoury moment for as long as possible.

  “You have a plan concerning this witch-child?” The woman, Theresa asked.

  “I’m going to kidnap him.” Hunter said calmly.

  The room was deadly silent as the shock statement set in, then suddenly it erupted. Several chairs scraped back, and six voices all clamoured and argued. Hunter sat quietly, patiently waiting for them all to finish their indistinguishable rants, many expletives filling the air.

  “Are you finished?” Hunter asked mildly.

  “Hunter, you can’t be serious.” Dawkins said, still standing and leaning across the table to make his point. “Even if such a thing were possible, why would you do it?”

  “Surely you can see that we could use him as leverage.” Hunter lied. “And if the boy has even half the Shadow Witch’s power, he could be very useful. He’s still young enough to influence.”

  Hunter felt a stab of guilt, for lying to these people, and for even daring to say such cruel plans. But all he wanted was his son, safely with him before any real offensives began. If he had to tell a few falsehoods and bend a few rules, so be it.

  “It can’t be done. Such a mission would be suicide.” One witch-hunter argued, struggling to keep his cool.

  “I hate to disagree, but I know that I could do it. All I need to know is where the boy is.” Hunter spoke with such certainty and authority that the others were momentarily cowed.

  “We shall consider giving our permission, Mr Astley.” Theresa said coldly, motioning towards the door.

  “You’re crazy, you know that?”

  Hunter was sitting on the floor in the corridor outside the council rooms, he didn’t care about the cold or discomfort, he actually liked the distraction. He raised his head out of his hands as he was spoken to. The Council were behind a closed door deliberating his fate. All except Toby, who stood staring at Hunter with sheer amazement. Good old Toby, just like he always had been, he never got mad, even when Hunter contemplated insanity. Would the rest of the Council think he was crazy? Most likely, but they still might let him go ahead with this mission. Not that it mattered how they voted; Hunter had already made his mind up.

  “You’re crazy.” Toby reiterated.

  “I’m just doing what I have to do.” Hunter replied calmly. “Shouldn’t you be with the Council fighting my corner?”

  Toby sighed and dropped in down onto the floor next to him, inelegant and awkward. “Dawkins will deliver my vote. As if the others don’t know already. I’m a witch-hunter through and through. The legendary Hunter Astley turns up and wants to lead a suicidal mission, I’m in.”

  “I don’t know about legendary.” Hunter said with a crooked smile. “And I’m not leading anyone, I’m going alone.”

  “You can’t! I-”

  “You are not coming.” Hunter said firmly. “I know what you’re capable of Toby, you know I respect you, but I can’t risk you slowing me down.”

  At this the amiable Toby swore beneath his breath and cast a dark look down at his bad leg, cursing it. “Fine. Fine, we have others that can go.”

  “A group of 1st gens?” Hunter asked bitterly. “No thanks.”

  “They’re the best we have.” Toby replied in a half-hearted argument.

  “I’m not taking 1st gens into the Shadow Witch’s lair.” Hunter said adamantly. The last thing he wanted was a bunch of ill-trained, noisy and slow wannabe witch-hunters botching his one and only chance to get his son.

  “You used to trust 1st gens.” Toby said quietly, then glanced anxiously at Hunter. “I’m sorry about your team. And about James, he was a good man.”

  Hunter tensed, waiting for the familiar lurch of grief and guilt that came whenever he thought of the people that he had lived and worked with for so long. It had been General Hayworth and Anthony Marks that had put them together; Maria, the unflappable Ian, sweet little Alannah, and of course James. They were all ghosts now.

  James had been there when Sophie Murphy had appeared on the scene. James and Sophie had never gotten along, and that combined with his friendship with Hunter and his unique authority with the MMC had made James an obvious target. Hunter would always regret not being able to save him in the end.

  The Council door flew open, interrupting the uncomfortable silence. General Colin Dawkins walked out unsmiling and went straight over to Hunter.

  “You’ve still got a strong influence, Hunter. You have permission to go.” Dawkins said, strangely cold.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hunter didn’t waste any time. He insisted on going that night, before the Council changed their mind. Dressed in black, with a balaclava to hand, he felt himself slip into the mode where his actions were reflexive. It felt good that it came so easily after so long.

  Even though he was going into the witches’ den alone, Hunter left the Warren with ten witch-hunters. They broke the surface and travelled in the cloudy darkness for a couple of miles. It was part of the agreement that Hunter would not blink directly in and out of the safe headquarters in case he could be followed. They made their way across the silent countryside, scrambling over fences and brushing through fields of high grass, Hunter’s trousers becoming cold and damp as he strode through. Eventually one of the witch-hunters called out, marking this spot as a safe distance from the warren.

  While the others checked the safety of the designated area, Hunter did a self-inventory, then pulled up his hood. He touched the metal dog-tags around his neck for luck, tucking them inside his shirt. Then he was gone.

  One second, he was standing in the middle of a dark field, the next he was stood in the middle of a dark field, only a change in direction of the wind to confirm his change of location. Hunter looked up to see an excessive scattering of stars in what was a very clear sky. He looked about to get his bearings, and saw a building hunched in the darkness to the west.

  Hunter moved quickly, every nerve tingling, ready to sense guards or traps in the darkness. The house began to loom as he drew nearer, a great black block against the inky, starred sky. Several windows were filled with warm yellow light that flooded out weakly into the grounds.

  Hunter sat in the shadows, listening intently, looking, feeling. He was pretty sure most of the house was sleeping, with only those on guard duty awake. He heard the quiet buzz of conversation of two people in the entrance hall. He thought he heard the shuffle of feet that might mean more security pacing corridors.

  Hunter moved closer, then crouched by the door. He closed his eyes and opened his mind, reaching out to the two witches in the hall. It was too easy, to break into their minds and distract them. Witches were unprepared to defend against magic, for who would use such skills against them?

  Hunter carefully opened
the door and slipped inside soundlessly. The two witches stood there, strangely vacant in their expressions as Hunter drifted by. Once he was out of sight Hunter released them, and they took up their conversation, none the wiser that any time had passed.

  Hunter headed upstairs, crouching silently in the shadows whenever a guard passed close. He held his breath when one walked particularly close by, he then darted across the corridor as soon as they had gone. Following his gut, his instincts, his heart; whatever it was that drew him along, Hunter slipped into the nursery.

  Even in the darkness, Hunter could see the mess of toys strewn across the room. He heard a half-noise and turned to see a female witch rising from a chair. Hunter barely had time to feel panic, before he met her gaze. The witch’s eyes fluttered closed and her body slumped. Hunter dashed forward to catch her before she hit the ground with a thud and laid her sleeping self down softly.

  He should kill her now, while she was defenceless. After all she’d seen him (balaclava or not), and all his witch-hunter training demanded it. The knife in his belt felt heavy and demanding, but Hunter reluctantly turned away. He wasn’t here to fight and kill, he only wanted his son.

  The witch had been sitting next to a door, and Hunter opened it, letting himself into the night nursery. There was a small bed in the middle of the room, and there, oh there in the pale sheets was a small, dark-haired boy.

  Hunter drifted closer to him; his eyes locked on his son. He looked so peaceful and so beautiful as he slept.

  Hunter paused as he sensed something else, a gentle breath and steady pulse, a rhythm of life that was so painfully familiar to him. Not here, but in the next room, just beyond that wall, he was certain Sophie slept.

  He’d not been this close to her since the battle of Salisbury Plain, when he had tried to bind her powers; and she had killed his friends before vanishing. Hunter felt a physical blow at this revelation, that the Shadow Witch was mere feet away.

  Hunter’s pulse stuttered as he heard a distinct change in Sophie’s sleep, as if she too, were disturbed by their closeness. Fearing his time was running out, Hunter scooped up his son from his bed. He felt the little boy stir in his arms, and an alarm went off in his head.

  Hunter held his son close and thought of the meeting point. It only took a moment and he felt the cold breeze cut through his clothes, and in the cloudy darkness he could see men carrying lamps as they moved in towards him.

  The boy cried in his arms, squirming to get out of his hold, and punctuating with high-pitched screams. Hunter put him down before he dropped the struggling boy, setting him on his feet. The boy staggered away from him; his face frozen with fear having been dragged from sleep to be surrounded by strange men. His cries were continuous, and the other men shouted to one another over the noise, hardly helping to calm the poor witch-child.

  Hunter pulled off his balaclava and bobbed down, holding out his arms. “Adam, Adam, it’s me.”

  The boy suddenly stopped crying at the sound of his voice and turned.

  “Daddy!” He shrieked, then threw himself into Hunter’s arms.

  “It’s ok.” Hunter mumbled into Adam’s hair, holding him tightly. “It’s ok, no one’s going to hurt you.”

  After a minute or two, it dawned on Hunter that the rest of the world was silent. He looked up to see a ring of horrified eyes gazing down at him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The reaction of the Council to the news that Adam was Hunter’s son was everything Hunter had predicted. They were initially silenced by shock and disbelief, and more than a little disgusted. This was swiftly followed by anger.

  Hunter didn’t know what they were angrier about - the fact that their shining hero had taken the enemy to bed and fathered a son; or the fact that Hunter had lied about his motives in reclaiming Adam. But it all faded into the background as Hunter revelled in knowing his son for the first time. Adam was exactly how Hunter imagined he would be; exactly how he appeared in his dreams. A dark-haired, bright-eyed little boy with a ready smile. Hunter wondered how anyone could think Adam was evil or the son of the devil.

  What was amazing was that from the very first moment Adam had seen him in the middle of that field, the boy had recognised Hunter as his daddy and had clung possessively to him. Hunter tried to discover the reason for this and had tentatively asked Adam how he knew. But the little boy had shook his head, not understanding the question. Hunter didn’t push the point, but just enjoyed spending the next few days playing games and telling stories in the privacy of the quarters the Malleus Maleficarum Council gave him. Well, it wasn’t exactly a generously given homely quarters, it was more similar to a minimal-comfort house arrest while the Council debated Hunter’s punishment and future with the MMC.

  Hunter knew that he could take Adam and blink them both far away at any time, but for now he was content to stay as the MMC’s ‘prisoner’ in an attempt to mend those hastily burnt bridges.

  Adam didn’t mind being cooped up, there was so much to preoccupy a four-year-old mind. He had a very definite sense of games one should play with a father, and it seemed as though the little boy had saved them all up in anticipation of this meeting.

  It was on the third day of their exclusion that they finally had visitors. The door opened and Mel ran in, heading straight for Adam and descending upon him with a great bear hug. Hunter raised a brow but didn’t say anything as he heard his son giggling at the sudden attack.

  “She’s been waiting to do that for days.”

  Hunter looked up to see Toby enter in a more dignified fashion and close the door behind him.

  “So, I offered to bring her after you’d settled in.” Toby added, sitting on the sofa next to Hunter with a sigh.

  “You look tired.”

  “Molly’s ill.” Toby shrugged, then realised that Hunter probably didn’t remember who Molly was. “My daughter. She’s got a bit of a fever and kept us up all night.”

  Toby smiled bitterly and nodded to Adam. “You’ve got all that to look forward to, you know.”

  “Did you know?” Hunter asked.

  Toby sat silently for a while. He understood exactly what Hunter was asking. “I had my suspicions. It seemed like too much of a coincidence for Adam not to be your son. But I didn’t want to say anything, and then it seemed that everyone who knew the Shadow Witch as Sophie Murphy had gone, and there was no point in saying anything.”

  Hunter sat there, digesting this. Toby was one of the few people that knew Hunter and Sophie had been a couple. But at Toby’s words, Hunter realised that Sophie Murphy was no longer recognised as a beautiful, intelligent woman that he had fallen in love with; people only knew the terrifying and unlimited power of the Shadow Witch.

  “And the Council?”

  “Are pretty pissed off right now.” Toby said, smiling as he watched the childlike Mel bob down to talk to Adam. “You have a talent for frustrating authority, Hunter. You provide a unique advantage against the witches, but the Council wonder whether you’re worth the trouble.”

  Hunter smiled bitterly. “Déjà vu.” He muttered.

  Toby laughed at this, obviously thinking the same thing. Once, before all chaos had broken loose, Toby had brought the news to Hunter that the Malleus Maleficarum Council were turning against him in what amounted to a political struggle.

  “Speaking of which, what happened to Halbrook?” Hunter asked. Gareth Halbrook had long been a thorn in Hunter’s side.

  “That cockroach is still alive, as far as I know.” Toby said, not meeting Hunter’s gaze. “He survived Salisbury, but hasn’t been seen since.”

  They were distracted from their conjecture by Adam running up to them with his hand outstretched.

  “Look, daddy, Mel gave me a pet!” The boy said excitedly. “He’s called Incy.”

  Hunter looked down and inhaled sharply at the sight of a large spider in Adam’s little hand. His eyes snapped up to Mel, who was sitting silent and serene in the middle of the floor, obviously pleased wi
th her present.

  “A spider?” Hunter asked with exasperation. “Fine. Why don’t you get Mel to teach it tricks?”

  Adam grinned, and held Incy carefully close to his chest as he took it back to the ever-smiling Mel. There was a knock at the door and Hunter looked up to see a very sober face pop round the door.

  “Excuse me, Mr Astley, the Council want to see you.”

  Hunter glanced at Toby and sighed. Here they went again. “Can you watch Adam for me?” Hunter asked, not wanting to take his little lad before the Council, and not trusting him in the care of anyone else.

  “Sure thing, mate.” Toby said, looking across at Adam and Mel, content in their games with Incy.

  Hunter got to his feet, already weary at the thought of what the Council might throw at him next. But he obediently followed the messenger out of the room and through the warren. The man was silent and was either unable or unwilling to answer Hunter’s questions.

  They carried on walking until they reached the stairs that led to the exit. Hunter went up them, frowning at what might cause the Council to hold an outdoor meeting.

  It was only mid-afternoon, and it was a reasonably fine day, with pale grey clouds covering the sky with a few brief breaks of sun.

  Hunter marched across the fields to the same location they had used the night he had abducted Adam. His sharp eyes focussed on the group of people in the centre of the field. A few Council members stood off to one side, deep in discussion. The rest of the witch-hunters formed a wide circle, all standing to attention, their guns aimed at a single female figure within. The woman stood with her back to Hunter, but there was something familiar about the dark brown hair that was lifted by a passing breeze, and the tall, elegant figure.

  “Ladies, gentlemen, what’s going on?” Hunter asked as he drew close to the Council members.

  He was fixed with several pairs of cold eyes.

  “We have taken a prisoner. And she demands to speak with you.” Theresa explained, her voice miraculously calm and even.

  Hunter glanced again at the woman that required such a heavy guard. He automatically began to walk in a slow, wide circle outside of the witch-hunters, slowly bringing himself into the eye line of the prisoner. Hunter was aware of the Council falling into step behind him, but they were the least of his worries when he finally faced the woman.