Hunter opened his eyes to a wooded area.
“Woah, shit.” Kristen exclaimed, staggering back as her knees buckled.
“Steady.” Hunter murmured, “Maybe you should sit down.”
He frowned at how pale she was looking. Kristen obediently lowered herself to the ground shakily and stuck her head between her knees with a groan.
“Ugh, god, is it always like that?” She moaned.
“Only the first few times. You get used to it pretty fast.” Hunter answered, remembering how his previous team had adapted. He crouched in front of her, waiting patiently for her to recover.
Kristen groaned again, obviously dismayed at the idea of doing it again. But she finally lifted her head and flicked her blonde hair back over her shoulder.
“Where are we? Why is it so bright?” She moaned, squinting against the unexpected light.
“We’re a few hours north of Berlin, in the Bioshärenreservat Schorfheide Chorin, I used to holiday near here. And it’s light because we’re an hour ahead of where we just set off from. Hence why we set off so early.” Hunter replied patiently, relieved that she was recovering quickly. His method of transport affected people differently. Hunter remembered the first person he’d blinked away, a young and still-optimistic Colin Dawkins - the then sergeant had been pale and winded, but not as dizzy as poor Kristen. Now that Hunter knew that she was ok, he couldn’t help but find her reaction amusing.
“We’ll, ah, start trekking to civilisation once you’re feeling up to it.” Hunter added, smiling bitterly that he should be hampered by this witch-hunter the Council promised wouldn’t slow him down.
“Nah, I’m good, I’m ok.” Kristen argued, and got back to her feet, looking a little pale, but very determined.
Hunter watched her carefully, but just shrugged his backpack straight and began to walk due south. Kristen kept up with him without complaint, occasionally having to jog every few steps to keep up with Hunter’s longer stride. They kept marching until the trees dropped away and the morning sun beat down on them, and then continued still over the varying terrain. They kept away from roads and settlements as much as possible. After an unrelenting pace for two hours, Hunter had to admit that he was impressed with Kristen’s fitness, the girl wasn’t flagging. Of course, maybe that had something to do with her 6th gen status. By the 6th generation, a witch-hunter had earned a little extra strength and stamina beyond the average man. Hunter glanced at the blonde girl again, curious at how a 6th gen could have survived the witches’ purge of any and (almost) all witch-hunters above a 2nd gen status. Hunter moved to ask her, but Kristen opened her mouth instead.
“What? Do I look funny to you?” She asked toughly, as she caught the older guy staring at her again. “Or maybe you’re thinking something else. Bet it’s been a while since you saw a woman, cooped up in that monastery?”
Hunter raised a brow at the girl’s attitude and laughed when she actually had the cheek to wink at him. “No, I promise I wasn’t thinking that, not that I wouldn’t be flattered, you’re a very pretty young… I mean.”
Hunter broke off and kept his head down, marching along. What the hell was wrong with him, once upon a time he had been the most charming young man, he’d been able to banter and tease with any number of women. Kristen had just caught him off guard.
Hunter coughed and brought his thoughts back to where they’d jumped from. “For your information, the Abbazia de Donili was home to men and women. No, I was wondering how you are, well, alive? How did you survive, being a 6th gen?”
Kristen walked along quietly for a couple of minutes, trying to coordinate an answer that made sense. “Just luck, I guess. I was never registered with the American Malleus Maleficarum Council, so I slipped under the net.”
Hunter continued to stare at her, trying to work her out, until he nearly tripped. “But how? Forgive me, but surely your MMC would pounce at the chance of having a 6th gen working for them. And if they’re anything like the UK Council, they keep stringent records of all witch-hunter bloodlines, whether they join or not.”
“Yeah, you’re right, except they didn’t know about me.” Kristen replied, a little smugly. “My mom fell in love with this English witch-hunter that saved her, and she stayed with him for a while. But it didn’t work out, so she moved back to America and didn’t know she was pregnant with me. I didn’t even know what I was until I was a teenager, and I started getting these headaches and it was obvious I was different from everyone else. Mom finally had to tell me about my father and all about witches. I mean it freaked me out, seriously. But I was even more scared of the idea of this Malleus Maleficarum Council coming along and taking control of me.”
Hunter nodded, in silent agreement with her comment. He’d never been keen on the politics and double nature associated with any council.
“I couldn’t ignore it though, when I realised the headaches was my mind detecting magic, so I worked rogue, just small stuff, not alerting the MMC. Then that night came, when everything just crashed, and the world was turned upside down. I knew it was witches, and I felt guilty as I watched the MMC destroyed and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. The witches set themselves up as authority figures and began to hunt down all the witch-hunters listed with the MMC. I wasn’t on the list, but I wasn’t about to hang around doing nothing. I joined in a few rebellions, but with only 1st gen hunters it was pretty desperate, especially fighting those average witches. I realised that I would be more useful fighting the epicentre, so decided to follow the rumours of the Shadow Witch to the UK. Jumped on a boat to Spain, then travelled up Europe, keeping out of trouble best I could. I finally met your MMC last year and have been working with them since. They were pretty happy to get a 6th gen. Took them no convincing after I mentioned my father’s name, either.”
Hunter listened quietly and stopped to grab his water canteen. He offered it to Kristen first, before taking a drink himself. “And who is your father?”
“Brian Lloyd.” Kristen replied, with a tilt of her head.
Hunter choked on his drink, spluttering so water dribbled down his chin. He gasped and wiped his sleeve inelegantly across his mouth. “What?” He rasped, his eyes red and watery.
“Mm, guess you’ve heard of him then.” Kristen replied innocently, although a mischievous smile touched her lips. “Turns out he was something of a hero.”
“You’re Brian’s daughter?” He stressed, trying to take in this bizarre turn.
Kristen nodded slowly; eyeing Hunter like he was an imbecile.
“But…” Hunter frowned, he thought he’d known Brian. How could he not know that he had a daughter? “Brian was my mentor, after my dad died, he taught me almost everything I know. And I thought I knew him - he never mentioned you.”
“He didn’t know about me.” Kristen said with a shrug. “You really knew him?”
“Yeah, as well as anyone.” Hunter replied. “He was this big, stubborn, fierce man with impossible standards, but he was loyal and one of the best damn witch-hunters we had. He was world-famous amongst witch-hunters, you should have seen how many people honoured him after his death. He, ah, was killed by the Shadow Witch.”
“I know, your MMC told me, when I first came, half hoping to meet the father I never knew. But they also told me that he was the one that uncovered the Shadow Witch and made sure the world was ready for her.” Kristen said, quieter now, as she thought about the greatness of this mystery father figure that had lumbered her with these gifts and the duty that was bound to them.
“He did.” Hunter confirmed. It had indeed been Brian that had put together the clues and worked out that the Shadow Witch was returning. Or so Hunter had thought; that conversation with Bev made Hunter look at things in a different light.
And now here was his daughter. Hunter gazed at her again, with new eyes. Kristen looked nothing like Brian Lloyd, but Hunter thought he saw some of his stubbornness and hopefully his courage.
He smiled and tucked away the cantee
n, picking up the pace again, as they headed for Berlin. Kristen walked alongside him, quite pleased with herself.
“So, you know you’re a 7th gen and have all these extra gifts… does that mean if I have a kid, they’ll be the same?” Kristen asked.
Hunter thought for a moment. “I don’t know, I guess so. But there have been so few 6th gens and I’m the first known 7th gen that I can’t promise they would.” Hunter looked resolutely ahead. The Abate had thought 7th gens special, but only on the first step to being truly evolved anti-witches. Was it truly only Sophie that made Hunter more than that?
“Well… I know how to make it much more possible.” Kristen replied, nudging Hunter with her shoulder as they walked together. “You know, if you ever fancy it.”
Hunter laughed, “You don’t give up do you?” He shook his head, he had to admit that Kristen was pretty, but this was hardly an appropriate time for flirting. Plus, now all he could think was this was Brian’s daughter…
Chapter Eighteen
It was nearing evening by the time the city of Berlin was finally in sight. They had trekked for near twelve hours. Kristen had been energetic and chatty for the first six hours, but after they took a brief midday stop, she became quieter, her fewer comments taking on a sarcastic and annoyed edge. Hunter didn’t rise to her jibes, but just kept walking. Yet even his legs were beginning to burn, and he cursed the fact that he’d decided to be overly cautious in where they transported to. He told himself that it was still a shorter journey than if they’d had to travel by normal means from England, but that was little comfort. Hunter looked up at the quiet streets as they walked into Berlin, he took a deep breath, but said nothing and the two witch-hunters continued to march in silence up the tarmac roads of the outer boroughs. It was eerily quiet, in this once heavily populated area, that there was so little noise. Once there would have been television and music rolling out of the houses and flats and clashing in the background noise of the estates of people talking, children laughing and playing and the constant drone of cars rumbling through. But the cars stood as unused relics at the curb, no more technology threw out noise, and the children and families alike stayed quiet behind their doors. Hunter and Kristen passed a few pedestrians, people that kept their heads down and hurried home before dark.
The atmosphere was enough to make Hunter and Kristen only whisper sparse words as they kept walking. Hunter kept a sharp eye out for the street signs, following the directions from the file he had memorised last night. Glauben Strasse was the address he had been given. Glauben Strasse, Glauben Strasse, the name of the street pounded in his head in time with his footsteps.
Eventually they came to the road. It was unremarkable, the same as every other in the estates that clustered about Berlin. Hunter glanced over his shoulder to visually check that they were not being followed, while his other senses stretched out to confirm it. Satisfied that they were alone, he led the way to the house number he had been given and rapped sharply.
There was a noise of movement inside as someone shuffled towards the door. There was a pause as the occupier probably looked through their peephole, for who could possibly be visiting at this time, so close to night.
“Wer sind sie?” Who are you? A voice came out bluntly, muffled by the door.
“Herr Holtzmann?” Hunter said, leaning in towards the door so he did not have to raise his voice, he then continued to give the barest of their background.
At the mention of the MMC, the man gasped and unlocked the several bolts on the door and pulled it open. He stood before them as an older gentleman in his sixties, but with sharp eyes that took in their faces, then checked the street was empty before ushering them into the narrow hallway.
“Danke, Herr Holtzmann.” Hunter murmured as he stepped through, the dim hallway was losing the daylight and was relying on the old oil lamp that was set on a side table. “Ich bin Herr Hunter Astley, und das ist Fräulein Kris Davies.”
“Kris-ten.” Kristen hissed.
“You came! And much quicker than I had anticipated, I only sent the message to your Council a month ago.” Herr Holtzmann said, still gazing at their faces with an unsettling light.
“We knew the importance of this assignment and came as quickly as possible, Herr Holtzmann.” Hunter replied, quickly skating over just how they had travelled so quickly. “The last British witch-hunters stayed with you, ja? Do you have any of their documents or information?”
“Please, call me Max.” Holtzmann insisted, then paused, putting his thoughts into words. “Unfortunately, no, your witch-hunters were very careful not to share any details with me, for their safety and mine. Over the six months they were here, they never brought papers home, never spoke of their work. I knew that they were researching the background of the Shadow Witch and looking for her weaknesses, but nothing more.”
Hunter inwardly sagged, that they had travelled so far for this. “Is there no one else that helped them; that could help us? The German Council?”
Max shrugged. “Our Council is not as strong as yours, and they have moved their base away from Berlin in an attempt to survive the persecution of witch-hunters. Berlin is reigned over by the witches and we are left to cope as best we can. But I know that your men had a contact, an important one, at the Reichstag.”
“Ok, well that’s a start.” Kristen said, the first words she’d spoken. “Let’s go there.”
Hunter looked at her with askance, worrying that this was just the first of many silly blonde comments he might have to deal with. “Kristen, do you know what the Reichstag is?”
“Sure, it’s the old parliamentary seat of Berlin, now used as the witches’ headquarters, locally known as the Witches Rat, home of the most powerful witches in Germany, currently headed by a female witch called Laura Kuhn.” She replied with a haughty flick of her blonde hair, and a challenging look in her flashing eyes. “I’m not as dumb as I look.”
Hunter sighed, looking back to Max. “Are you sure there are no other contacts or leads we could take?” He asked. Hunter was not a coward, but if he could avoid walking into the epicentre of witches in Germany, then he would.
“No.” Max replied immediately and confidently. He had had a month to think about what the British witch-hunters could do, after his friends had been killed.
Hunter shrugged. “Fine, then yes Kristen, we’re going to the Reichstag.”
Max smiled sadly at the young people before him, that were so ready to go into danger, just like the last poor souls. “You are both welcome to stay tonight, Herr Hunter, Fräulein Kristen; and seek the contact tomorrow in the safety of daylight.”
“Danke.” Hunter replied, accepting the offer. He was tired after the trek and if he needed to rest, he was positive that Kristen would be feeling twice as bad.
Max showed them to the spare room, where several mattresses covered most of the floor, the blankets and pillows all clean and set aside since their last users needed them no longer. Max hesitated at the door; he never came in this room; not since he lost the British witch-hunters that had been his friends. And then the old man brought up what he could muster for a supper and left the two witch-hunters to rest.
Hunter sat down on the furthest mattress and helped himself to the bread and cold meat that Max had brought them. Expecting that Kristen would settle likewise, he raised a brow when she came over and sat beside him, picking off his plate. He had to admit that he did enjoy the warmth and comfort as she leant against his arm, and the very scent of her, and she was right that it had been a long time…
“Kristen.” Hunter warned coldly.
The girl sighed, sitting up straight, and eyeing him undecidedly. “What? I’m not hurting anyone.”
“We’re working.” Hunter replied, getting to his feet to get a little more distance between them.
Kristen gave a crooked smile, and her eyes gleamed with a mischief that Hunter recognised from his own youth. “Technically, we’re not working until tomorrow.”
Kri
sten’s smile faltered as she saw that she wasn’t winning, she wrapped her arms about her knees and looked innocently up at Hunter. “You know, if you don’t find me attractive, you could just say, I wouldn’t be offended, promise.”
“It’s not that, it’s…” Hunter paused, wondering how to phrase it. “I’ve got a bit of a psycho ex, and I don’t want to get you in any more trouble.”
“Come on, how can any ex of yours cause trouble to 6th and 7th gen witch-hunters?” Kristen said with a yawn, and without waiting for a reply she lay down and tried to sleep, with the happy knowledge that Hunter at least found her attractive, by his own omission.
Hunter stood staring at Kristen as she settled, then realised that the American had been away during the whole realisation that Hunter and the Shadow Witch had been a couple and had a child; and he and Kristen had probably left before she had chance to hear the gossip. Poor girl. Hunter sighed and dropped down onto the mattress furthest from Kristen, and as he closed his eyes, he realised that he was far too tired to hold back the inevitable dream.
Hunter was lumbered with a heavy satchel and he was glad to dump it in the hallway when he reached home. It had been a long day and he was weary. He kicked off his shoes without unlacing them and shrugged off his coat, hanging it on the coat stand before trudging through to the living room. Sophie was curled up on one half of the settee, quietly reading, but she looked up as he entered.
Without a word, Hunter collapsed on the settee next to her, giving a small sigh of contentment at the soft seat. Sophie rested her book and continued to gaze curiously at him, wondering what on earth could be troubling him.
When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to say anything, she finally spoke. “Hard day at work?”
“Hmm, about average these days.” Hunter replied in a monotone voice.
“Anything interesting happen?” Sophie enquired with a too-perfect innocence.
Hunter turned his head against the back cushion, to gaze at his dear Sophie, who did not fool him one bit. There was not a chance that he was going to let her hear anything of value, whether this was magic, a dream, a delusion or any other kind of madness. “No. Same old, same old. Though we’ve had a new girl start. Very annoying. Very American.”
Witch Hunter Trilogy Box Set Page 39