“The Shadow Witch. She’s trapped us, I can’t find a way out.” Hunter said, dropping Kristen’s hand, guilty at the fate he had sealed for her. “She’s coming.”
The two witch-hunters stood in a shocked and fearful silence. Hunter became gradually aware of a quiet voice singing, akin to a radio far away.
“…Alle Leut', alle Leut' geh'n jetzt nach Haus'
Grosse Leut', kleine Leut',
Dicke Leut', dünne Leut'”
“Mel.” Hunter suddenly blurted out, remembering where he had heard it before. As soon as he spoke, the singing stopped.
“Hi George.” That familiar chirpy voice came out.
Hunter turned and, beyond all comprehension, Mel walked over to him. She still looked like an innocent angel, wearing a modest pale blue dress and a white cardigan. Her pale blonde hair was held back with a white headband.
Hunter stood gaping, wondering if this was madness, or his desperate imagination. But Kristen moved closer to him, her eyes locked on the strange girl.
“Mel, what are you doing here?” Hunter asked, remaining tense and defensive.
“You’re not glad to see me.” Mel replied, faltering at her friend’s less than friendly welcome. “Adam was worried about his daddy, he wanted me to make sure you are ok.”
Hunter noticed that Kristen looked at him oddly, and he realised that he hadn’t told her about his son.
“Yes, I am glad to see you, of course I am Mel.” Hunter replied, remembering how easily hurt this immature girl was. “But Mel, how… did you get in here?”
Mel paused, her brow furrowing in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
Hunter took a deep breath to calm himself. Getting frustrated at Mel wasn’t going to help.
“That’s ok Mel. But are you able to come and go as you like? Just like in the warren?”
Mel bit her lip but nodded slowly.
Hunter took another breath to calm the nerves that threatened to overwhelm him. The Shadow Witch was close, she was so very close, and Hunter didn’t want to meet her just yet.
“And can you take Kristen and me with you?” Hunter asked quietly.
“Of course, George, if that’s what you want.” Mel replied, taking a moment to work out who Kristen was. Oh, she must be the other girl, the one with the blonde hair that was so much yellower than Mel’s. Mel fiddled with a lock of her own hair, contemplating which was prettier…
Hunter noticed the imperceptible changes in the room around him, the background noises seemed muffled and the shadows thickened.
“Excellent.” Hunter stated, desperate to hurry this up, they were definitely out of time. “Then let’s go, altogether, right now.”
Hunter held out his hand to Mel, who looked completely confused by his haste, but obediently slid her delicate little hand into his, her cool fingers curling firmly around his. In his other hand, Hunter grasped the papers Fraulein Kuhn had given him, and held out his arm so Kristen could grip his wrist. Hunter nodded to Mel, who looked at him strangely for a moment, her blue eyes hypnotic.
Then she let go of his hand and Hunter blinked, the atmosphere had changed, the air was cooler and fresher. He finally dragged his eyes from Mel’s and looked around, noticing the change of scene, the shelves of books that covered the walls, the old cushioned chairs arranged informally in the middle.
From one of these chairs, a man rose. A man with silver-grey hair and loose robes. A man that Hunter recognised in a way that suddenly calmed him.
“Padre!” Hunter strode over to him, taking his hand as an old friend.
“Signor Astley? But how?” The Abate looked thoroughly puzzled by the sudden appearance of his old pupil, especially in the heart of the Abbazia which was protected from such magical entrances. But his sharp grey eyes moved over Hunter’s companions, and when they settled on Mel, he took a sharp intake of breath. “Begone demon, you are not welcome here.”
Hunter frowned at the fierceness of this good Abate and glanced between the old man and Mel.
“Padre?” Hunter squeezed the Abate’s hand, hoping to stimulate a response, but when none was gained, he dropped his grip and stood there helplessly. In the silence, the need to be an English gentleman reasserted itself. “Padre, may I introduce Miss Kristen Davies, a 6th gen witch-hunter. And Miss Mythanwy Elspeth Lughnasa, who, well, rescued me not a minute ago.”
Hunter finished speaking and continued to watch the Abate. He had never seen such disgust on the old man’s face.
“Better to die than be in debt to a thing like that. Make her leave, she is not welcome in these walls.” The Abate seethed.
And Mel, who was being spoken of so ill, paid the old man no attention, she was far too preoccupied playing with Kristen’s ponytail, seeing how her golden hair played in the light in comparison to Mel’s. Poor Kristen, who had never had the pleasure of meeting Mel and had only heard about her, merely shrugged at one more bizarre chapter today, and stood patiently.
“Padre, please.” Hunter began but trailed off. He could see the stubbornness of the Abate’s stance and knew they would have to do as directed. “Ok, we’re going.”
Hunter gestured to the girls to follow and made his way to the study door.
“You may return, once she is gone.” The Abate added in a choked voice.
Hunter barely acknowledged his words and walked out with Kristen and Mel trailing after him.
“What was that about?” Kristen hissed as they walked out into the courtyard towards the main gate.
Hunter shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ll try and find out.” He said, truly worried over his old mentor’s reaction.
Hunter stopped as they stepped out of the Abbazia. The rest of the Donili village lay out before them, beautiful and peaceful in the early afternoon sun. Hunter quickly decided on a plan of action and led the two girls down to the village until they came to a small and newly-built cottage, the light wood barely touched by weather. Hunter rapped on the door and waited for an answer.
After only a minute the front door opened and a young man with a head of thick black hair looked out. His eyes lit up the moment they landed on Hunter, and with a loud laugh he flung the door open and hugged his friend without reserve.
“Hi Marcus, how’s married life?” Hunter gasped at the strength of the hug and forced his friend back to arm’s length to get a proper look at him.
“It is good, good, Hunter.” Marcus blushed at his polite enquiry, then looked to the two blonde girls. “Would you like to come in?”
Hunter accepted and the trio went into the house. It was small, but it was obvious that Marcus was proud of it, and Hunter praised it accordingly.
Marcus’ new wife came through at the sound of visitors to see if anyone cared for a drink.
“Ah Marissa, you are more beautiful than ever.” Hunter greeted, happy at Marcus and Marissa’s blissful little life. And a little envious too.
“Marcus, I have a meeting with the Abate. Would it be ok if my friends stayed here until I return?” Hunter asked.
“Of course.” Marcus replied without question.
Hunter smiled and pulled Kristen aside in the small room. “Can you keep an eye on Mel? And here, look after these, see if you can find anything.”
Hunter held out the folder they had gone through so much for, and Kristen took it with a determined little nod.
“I won’t be long.” He said, then ducked out of the room.
Back at the Abbazia, Hunter knocked on the study and, not waiting for an answer, entered. The Abate was seated in his chair once more, and looked up expectantly as Hunter walked in.
Hunter looked at his old mentor with a certain disbelief. How could this man have reacted so rudely to one that Hunter considered a friend?
“Hunter, it is good to see you. You look well.” The Abate suddenly said, his voice hollow as he knew what would come from his predictable, rebellious student.
“No. No niceties. Why were you so rude to Mel?” Hunter demanded.<
br />
“A creature such as she is not welcome in this Abbazia.” The Abate repeated slowly and quietly. “Do you not know what manner of abomination it is?”
Hunter paused, having no idea where this was going. He barely knew Mel, and he definitely didn’t understand her. But whatever she was, she was here to help. “I realise that she is far from a normal human being, but surely you of all people can accept her, padre. Or were your lectures on leniency and acceptance so narrow-mindedly reserved for witches?”
“And I will not understand how you can vehemently hate witches and defend her!” The Abate snapped, showing his first flare of temper. The old man took a breath and calmed himself. “But you do not know what she is. And I will not be the one to enlighten you. Just be aware Hunter, do not trust her.”
Hunter turned away, bloody frustrated. This was the second time he had been warned not to trust Mel, but what was so bad about her?
“Forgive me padre, but I will trust her and anyone else who helps me against the witches.”
The Abate froze at this. He opened his mouth to speak, but it was long moments before the words managed to come out. “She… is helping against the witches?”
Hunter looked at the Abate, wondering what caused him such surprise. “Of course.”
The Abate stood up and walked over to a bookshelf and raised his hand to take a book, before hesitating and pulling back.
“No, no, I should consult the others.” He muttered in the Donili dialect, then looked up, remembering Hunter’s presence. “Well? Go, back to your friends, back to England or wherever you’re needed.”
Hunter frowned at the bluntness of the Abate, but as the older man remained flustered and worried, Hunter backed away, having no answers and more confused than ever.
Hunter walked slowly down the hill, back towards Marcus’ house. His thoughts were heavy. How could an innocent little thing like Mel possibly worry the trained and skilled Donili monks?
Hunter reached the house and let himself in. The young couple, Marcus and Marissa, sat in the main room, awkwardly shy hosts. Kristen sat silently; the papers still clasped firmly in both hands. And Mel? Mel sat with a vague smile, softly humming.
“Hunter!” Marcus jumped up at the return of his friend. “How was the Abate? Your friend Kristen explained his unusual behaviour.”
Hunter shrugged, not quite sure how to start explaining what was going on.
Marcus saw his hesitation and confusion and quickly spoke again to cover it. “You will stay for dinner, yes? And you can tell me everything then.”
Hunter smiled and accepted, although a part of him was ready to leave this peaceful place and return to the stress of the warren. And return to his son. But there was a pressing matter that had to be dealt with now, his brown eyes returned to Mel, and he inwardly sighed.
“Mel, may I have a word please? In private?”
“Of course, George!” Mel replied gaily, immediately springing to her feet. The blonde girl followed Hunter outside with the eagerness and affection of a puppy.
In the quiet sprawling village of Donili, Hunter took Mel’s hand and they strolled in the pleasant afternoon sun.
“Mel… who sent you?” Hunter asked.
“Adam did.” Mel replied, frowning that she had to repeat herself. “He was worried about you.”
“No, I don’t mean today. I mean, who sent you to the witch-hunters?” Hunter persisted.
“You… you don’t want me? Will you send me away?” Mel asked, her voice cracking with pain.
“No, of course I won’t send you away Mel. But I need to know who sent you.” Hunter pressed.
But Mel was shaking her head and biting her lip. “We wanted to help. I want to help. Everyone is so nice, and I have so many friends.”
“Who is ‘we’?” Hunter asked gently.
Mel’s wide blue eyes caught him again. “The one who sends me and waits for you to ask for help.”
“And who might that be?”
Mel let go of Hunter’s hand and started humming and swaying to her own tune.
“Mel, please tell me.” Hunter continued softly, knowing that one firm word could have her crying again.
And little Mel turned back to him with a dazzling smile, and started to recite:
“Lucy, satan sataniel,
Fall to earth my fallen angel;
Little fire and little light,
Morning star no longer bright.”
The world stilled as she spoke, a cloud passing over the sun, causing everything to be a little duller. No birds could be heard and even the wind dropped. Hunter shivered with a sudden chill.
Then the moment passed, and Hunter’s senses returned to the world that still went on regardless. And dear Mel was still smiling so openly at him.
“Right.” Hunter said, needing to break the silence with something. “And he wants to help me?”
Mel nodded. “Yes, but you need to ask him for help, otherwise he cannot interfere.”
Hunter frowned, hoping that this was one of the times Mel was being cryptic. She couldn’t mean what he thought she meant. “Cannot interfere? Except from sending you, of course.”
“No silly, I wasn’t meant to help.” Mel chided him. “But everyone was so nice, I wanted to.”
Hunter took a deep breath, completely lost at this point. Were they really having a nice chat about the Devil? Satan, Lucifer, whatever you wanted to call him.
Years of studying the occult – both MMC sources, and the woefully misled public information – and in many witches went hand in hand with the Devil. Literally. In the older texts they were said to invoke him, allow him passage into our world. They were said to fornicate with him and suckle his familiars. Of course, such reports died away over time, as the world became less superstitious and more cynical. Even in the MMC reports and lectures, over time the focus had shifted from the religious implications to the purely physical and scientific. Oh, how they had all moved on, and progressed, and yet here Hunter stood, discussing Lucifer.
“Ahm, Mel, isn’t he generally on the witches’ side?” Hunter asked hesitantly, not really wanting to encourage this vein of madness.
Mel shook her head, her blonde ponytail flicking wildly. “He made them, representatives of the Devil on earth, and asked only for their lifelong worship. But the naughty witches neglect him. He is forgotten in the shadows, and his familiars starve and perish. Poor Lucy.”
Hunter shook his head, unable to think at this point.
Mel smiled sympathetically and slipped her small hand back into his. “Shall we go back? I am sure dinner is nearly ready, and we must help set the table.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Returning to Marcus’ house, there was the smell of rich stew and fresh bread. Mel hurried ahead, as eager and carefree as ever. Hunter walked slowly, more than a little dazed by their conversation.
Kristen frowned at his expression and pressed him for an explanation. But Hunter shook his head, he didn’t want to speak of it at all, and would never bring mention of the Devil inside his friend’s house. Instead Hunter turned his attention to the folder that Kristen still clung to defensively.
“Did you find anything?” Hunter asked.
“Nothing new. A lot of it didn’t make sense. And quite a bit is in German.” Kristen replied, readily relinquishing the folder to someone that might make more out of it.
Hunter took it and sat down, flicking through the first few pages. Kristen hovered over his shoulder, leaning in uncomfortably close, hoping to learn something.
“This is just a letter from the 40’s from a scientist, Herr Braun.” Hunter muttered, moving it aside. He’d already seen a copy of the letter years ago – an experiment involving witches, hunters and the Nazi party. To create a Shadow Witch.
But beneath it, there was a report he’d not seen. It followed the initial trials and reported a more successful attempt at cracking the ancient spell that bound the Shadow Witch’s powers. The scientists and gathered witc
hes had followed an old ritual and mass sacrifice, which resulted in the artefact giving off a wave of energy. But unfortunately, they were at a loss where in the world the Shadow Witch had awoken. Ah, Hunter knew the answer to that. He wondered what it must have been like for Sara Murray, in the middle of England, to wake up suddenly imbued with limitless powers and no explanation, and no help.
“Are you staying the night?” Marcus asked after dinner. He was ever the kind host but was uncomfortably aware of how cramped his little house would be with so many guests.
Hunter hesitated. It was so tempting to stay just one evening in this sanctuary and put off the danger and drama that was to come. But he shook his head. “I need to get back.”
One bright-eyed little boy came fiercely to the front of all thoughts. Adam would not forgive him for lingering.
Deciding there was nothing to be gained by waiting any longer, Hunter led his two companions outside (he considered it rude to just disappear from Marcus’ living room), and with a wistful look up the hill at the Abbazia, they vanished.
Back in the warren, Hunter went immediately to Toby’s room. The Council could wait for their report until after Hunter had seen his son.
He knocked on the door and waited. It was wrenched open by a pale looking Toby, who gazed at Hunter with such worried eyes, that Hunter felt his blood freeze.
“What’s happened?” Hunter demanded, pushing his way into the room, desperate to see his son safe and well.
But there was nothing to fear, Adam was sitting on the bed, surrounded by toy ponies, playing with a girl of about five or six, that Hunter immediately took to be Molly, Toby’s daughter.
“Daddy!” Adam squealed, propelling himself into Hunter’s arms.
Returning the hug, Hunter looked enquiringly at Toby, who still hovered by the door, wearing a worried expression.
“It’s – it’s the witch, Beverley.” Toby started. “The Council took her; I don’t know where.”
“What?” Hunter snapped.
“They tried to take Adam too.” Toby now hurried to say before Hunter blew up. “But we refused to hand him over. But Bev – there was nothing I could do to stop them.”
Witch Hunter Trilogy Box Set Page 41