Witch Hunter Trilogy Box Set

by K. S. Marsden

  The Abate nodded. “Then I may speak freely without upsetting him. Biagio has been trawling through the libraries, day and night, in the hope to find some obscure information that may help you. There was a child mentioned, one from two enemies – and he shall become a leader in a united world.”

  Hunter tightened his grip on Adam’s hand. He had previously voiced that Adam could prove important, but that had been to appease the Council so that he could keep his son safe. Hunter wasn’t sure if he liked his speculations being confirmed. He’d much rather let Adam be normal and lead a safe and happy life.

  “You never made mention of this before.” Hunter said accusingly. He had never kept his son a secret from the monks, and it struck him as odd that they had never brought it up in the year and a half that he had lived here.

  The Abate gave an understanding smile. “It is written in the scriptures of San Fiedro, who was known to see portents and futures with persuasive accuracy. But the Donili do not hold with the questionable prophecies and such. It was only Biagio who thought to look through the dusty, unpopular parchments.”

  Hunter gave a brief smile and felt a little relieved. He was not one to believe in prophecies, but he thought of his young son at his side. Young being the important word. How could a four-year-old boy become a leader? How would the years play out until he was old enough?

  “He’s just a kid. Does it say how?” Hunter asked weakly.

  The Abate made a non-committal gesture. “It is vague. You may read the original source; they have been set aside for you.”

  Hunter looked down at Adam, who appeared bored by these two grown-ups who talked in unknown words. He didn’t want his son in danger – he would make this a safer world for him first.

  “Thank you, padre. We will head to the library now.”

  The Abate held up a hand to stop him. “There is something else.”

  Hunter looked to the old monk, the Abate’s usually serene expression betrayed his concern.

  “Something worse?” Hunter asked warily.

  “Perhaps worse, but definitely more solid.” The Abate glanced over to Adam, before looking to Hunter again. “It is about the demon you brought here…”

  Hunter suddenly bristled at how the leader of the Donili was so prejudiced against Mel. “I told you before, she is here to help, and I am happy to accept it.”

  A rush of breath hissed through the Abate’s clenched teeth. “Be careful how you say that. There are some powers that will twist an oath and hold it against you. But Signor Astley, do you know why she helps you?”

  Hunter shook his head. “Mel is free to do as she pleases. From the sound of it, her boss wants more balance between the witches and the rest of the world, to reassert his control.”

  “And you believe that?” The Abate asked, then ploughed on without waiting for an answer. “I must ask, Signor, does she show interest in your son?”

  “Well she…” Hunter broke off, thinking of the past few weeks. Mel had been spending time with him, Hunter. But he could not deny that the blonde girl was fascinated by Adam. Surely that was natural and innocent, as she seemed half a child herself. “She… why?”

  The Abate sighed, relieved that his former pupil wasn’t defending the demon blindly. When it came to this mysterious Mel, even the Donili were unsure what she was capable of.

  “I have discussed her with the other elders, and our strongest theory is that she is here to claim Adam for her master. You say that Lucifer wants balance and control. What better control than to have the loyalty of an exceptionally powerful being from childhood?”

  Hunter stood, dazed by what the Abate was proposing. “Mel wouldn’t – she couldn’t do that.” He argued feebly.

  “I hope you are right.” The Abate replied gently.

  Hunter turned down the wrong corridor as he went to the library, and had to turn back, a flash of embarrassment at his mistake. His mind was still firmly fixed on what the Abate had said. Demons, and prophecies, and greatness. It all seemed far-reaching. But then again, if someone had told him five years ago that the world would fall to ruin, and witch-hunters would use magic, he would have thought it equally unlikely.

  When they finally made it to the library, Hunter received a warm welcome from Biagio. The young monk seemed as taken with Adam as everyone else, and immediately knelt down to introduce himself to the boy.

  “Biagio, the Abate said you had set aside some articles for me.” Hunter pressed straight to the point.

  A look of concern crossed Biagio’s face, but the monk covered it so quickly with his usual smile that Hunter wondered if he had been mistaken.

  “Of course, I shall show you to my desk.” Biagio replied, then looked back to Adam. “And while your father reads, perhaps you will teach me more English, giovane.”

  Hunter clapped Biagio on the back. “Teach him Italian instead, he has been learning every other language!”

  Hunter was led over to a large table, where there were scrolls and papers as promised. After Adam and Biagio drifted away in the library to give him space, Hunter began to sort through what was before him. He could sense how old some of these scrolls were, and handled them slowly and carefully, despite his desire to pull out what he needed from them.

  His head had started to ache from processing the handwriting and translating the various Italian dialects. Then something finally caught his attention – a scroll dictated by San Fiedro – that was the name of the seer that the Abate had mentioned, was it not?

  Hunter read through the whole, confusing piece. San Fiedro had been a rambler, and most of this did not apply to Hunter. He went back and re-read the section that seemed related to them. And read it again to make sure that he had translated it correctly.

  The information was hard to take in; the Abate had been careful in what he had left out!

  Hunter sat there looking very dazed when Biagio returned to tell him it was time for dinner. Upon seeing his friend, Biagio could tell what he had read, and stood there silently, waiting for Hunter to say something.

  Hunter forced the words out. “The child shall be an orphan of war.” Hunter looked up to Biagio, hoping the monk would correct him. “I’m not supposed to survive this?”

  “It could be translated differently. Metaphorically, instead of literally.” Biagio translated. “Seers are notoriously misleading, hence why the Donili do not put stock in their words.”

  Hunter gave a bitter laugh at Biagio’s attempt. “And yet the Abate thought it solid enough information for me to read.”

  Hunter sighed, glancing around the room. “Where is Adam?”

  “Playing football with the younger monks.” Biagio replied. “They shall meet us in the dinner hall.”

  Hunter tried to smile at the amusing image of the monks playing football (some of them were rather good) with his small son, but he found it hard to be even remotely happy right now.

  Death did not scare him. Long ago he came to terms with the fact that he would die relatively young. It was part of being a witch-hunter. And there had been countless times when he had thought that his time had come, only for a last-minute rescue, or lucky distraction, to allow him one more day. He had proven that he was brave, time and again.

  So why was this so hard to take? A random hint from a long-dead stranger?

  Hunter sighed and decided to treat it with the same scepticism that the Donili bore it. He re-rolled the parchment and left it on the pile, then followed Biagio to dine with the others.

  Dinner was a regular, pleasant affair, and was followed by the migration of the senior monks to the meeting room to the left of the great hall.

  After leaving Adam once more in the care of Biagio, Hunter slipped into the back of the room. No one acknowledged his presence as he sat quietly as requested.

  The Abate stood at the head of the long table and glanced briefly to Hunter before he began to speak.

  “My brothers, we have observed over the last few years the increase of witch infringeme
nts, and we have done our duty defending Friuli. But there have been rumblings amongst our ranks that we should take a wider concern.

  “There is evidence that the witches are gearing up for another war on those that refuse them. Signor Astley comes again to request our help. Now we must decide whether to break our oaths and restrictions; or sit idly by while many lives are lost.”

  The Abate looked around the group, meeting each monk’s eyes, before settling his gaze on Hunter, with a ghost of a smile.

  Hunter near held his breath, and the realisation of the Abate’s words sent a shiver through him. The Abate was taking his side! His pulse began to race with the excitement of possibility now. But Hunter forced himself to remain passive on the surface as the rest of the monks had their say.

  It was a blur of discussion with gentle debate. A couple of the oldest monks clung to the tradition and what was known, but the majority followed the Abate’s lead after a few arguments that seemed more perfunctory than anything else.

  The meeting quickly moved onto the practicalities, the Abate laid down the rules of those that could help – only adept students that were of age would be given the option.

  After the main point of discussion, the Abate opened the floor to other topics, but the monks were too distracted and eager to get on with rallying their students to be able to think of anything else. Everyone departed, leaving the Abate and Hunter alone.

  “Padre… how can I thank you?” Hunter asked, a grin splitting across his features.

  The Abate dismissed his thanks with a wave of his hand. “It is necessary, Signor Astley. As much as I have come to care for you, it is not just for you that I do this. There are countless lives at risk – it would lie heavy with me if I stood by and watched and forced the others to stand by me.”

  The Abate walked down the room and sat closer to Hunter. “So, what are your plans?”

  Hunter took a moment to work out the best way to explain. “Five years ago, the witches used a device to knock out technology. I’m going to find it and reverse it, to bring us back out of the dark ages. But it also occurred to me that if this device could cast a global spell, then it might also be used to block magic. If you could spare some Donili, we could experiment with-”

  “No.” The Abate interrupted. The old monk looked towards Hunter with calm curiosity.

  Hunter was surprised how yet again the Abate could so firmly dismiss an idea without consideration. “But padre, just think – we could remove magic forever.”

  The Abate clasped his hands in front of him, and again thought how to get through to his passionate student.

  “You have come to the conclusion that witches can choose to be good, or bad, no? When you win this war, as I believe you will, would you leave all witches defenceless? There will be many desires for revenge that will not end with battle – every man and woman who is called a witch will suffer. You will start a new witch craze. I say, let them keep their magic and allow them to govern themselves. I would also say, do not voice your plan with this device with anyone – others might think it worth the attempt.” The Abate gave a knowing smile. “Not that you have ever heeded my advice before, Signor Astley.”

  Hunter sat quietly, taking this in.

  “Now, you shall return home and turn plans into actions.” The Abate added.

  Hunter stood up to leave but paused. “Padre… I read the San Fiedro papers. Do you think there is any truth in them?”

  The Abate smiled a little sadly. “I believe that if I were to prophesise a female pope it would happen. Not in my lifetime, or for a thousand years perhaps. But it will happen; will people say it is because a Donili monk predicted it so? San Fiedro could mean you, Sophie and Adam; or he could be predicting the reunion between North and South Korea. If you want to live a long and happy life with your son – go do that, prove it is nothing to do with you.”

  Hunter took a deep breath, trying to let the logic of the Abate’s words reassure him.

  “You are the most stubborn man I know, George.” The Abate added with affection. “Personally, I truly believe that you would ignore the grim reaper himself, if it did not suit you. I believe that whatever happens will be your choice.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Hunter and Kristen appeared in one of Washington’s many parks, startling a young couple from their midnight tryst.

  “I think we ruined someone’s romantic ambitions.” Kristen muttered bitterly.

  Hunter ignored her comment, and watched the couple walk away, the guy casting suspicious glances back over his shoulder. But the guy eventually accepted that Hunter and Kristen must have always been there, and he had just been distracted – because people appearing out of nowhere was impossible.

  Kristen glanced around their surroundings, as she straightened her cuffs and rechecked her weapons. “Welcome to America.”

  “I’ve been before.” Hunter admitted, looking guilty. “When I was on the run a couple of years ago, I went everywhere. Which included breaking into Georgetown University.”

  Kristen looked at him, aghast. “You broke into a uni? Why?”

  Hunter shrugged. “To see their research on witches and the Benandanti. Why would anyone else break in?”

  “Most people would get a library card and go during opening hours.”

  Hunter sighed. “What a boring option.”

  He turned and led in towards the city. Even without lights, the Washington monument held its own, dark against the horizon, allowing Hunter to gain his bearings. He pulled out a DC roadmap, checking their best route from here.

  Washington’s MMC headquarters had been in the countryside when it had been built a couple of hundred years ago; but was surrounded by the inevitable expansion of suburbs. Hunter and Kristen jogged along, two inconspicuous figures in black.

  “Remember the plan?” Hunter asked as they drew closer to their target.

  Kristen looked at him sceptically. “’Keep quiet and don’t get seen’ is not a very professional plan. Did you have anything else to add?”

  “We can’t get any intel on what to expect, so we need to use the time-honoured technique of improvising. We find the device and destroy it.” Hunter replied, thinking aloud.

  Despite the dozen questions she wished to ask, Kristen just nodded. Her hands flitted from the protective charm at her neck, to check the knives and guns for the umpteenth time. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

  Hunter stopped in the shadows, a hundred yards from the front gate of the old headquarters. There was a gatehouse, well-lit, with at least one guard. Beyond that, the drive leading to the house was wide and open, with nowhere to hide from any prying eyes.

  Hunter wouldn’t take that route unless there was no other option. He motioned silently for Kristen to follow him. He kept a safe distance and followed the perimeter round.

  The grounds were extensive, and Hunter noticed the stately house disappearing behind the wall. He stopped, listening carefully. He couldn’t hear anyone near. This would have to do.

  After legging Kristen up, Hunter pulled himself over the wall. He quickly dropped into the darkness on the other side. They kept low as they made their way across the grounds to the big white stone building.

  There was the low murmur of voices of the guards on duty. Hunter knelt in the shadow of the doorway and sent his mind out until he felt two others. They hesitated in their chat as they felt the presence of something, but before they could act upon their suspicions, Hunter pushed the desire to sleep deep into their conscious. Within a minute they had already settled into a deep and stable sleep.

  “Neat trick.” Kristen breathed into his ear.

  “Are you impressed, Miss Davies?” Hunter asked as he unlocked the door, to reveal two slumped guards.

  Kristen shrugged. “Maybe.” She admitted as she pushed past Hunter, stepping over the inert bodies and slowly drew out her knife. The witch-hunter looked about warily.

  “A lot of magic in this place. Can you find the right
source?” She asked Hunter.

  Hunter took a deep breath and concentrated again. He felt the same as Kristen, the oppressive wave of magic from many witches; but as he focussed, he could feel the different patterns, including one that was terribly familiar.

  “This way.” He murmured, nodding where the corridor led off to the right.

  They moved slowly through the house, their senses stretching out as they moved deeper into enemy territory.

  Kristen had moved in front but hesitated as she felt magic ahead. Hunter stopped beside her to feel the steady throb of power.

  “The machine?” Kristen murmured warily, her blue eyes taking in the darkness before them.

  Hunter let his senses range out, then shook his head. “No, a shield.” He replied, his eyes following the shape of it.

  Kristen looked on more blindly. She rummaged in her pocket to pull out a coin. Before Hunter could stop her, she tossed it down the corridor. The penny flashed as it flew unhindered through the air and clattered against the wooden floor.

  “It’s not a solid barrier.” Kristen commented.

  Hunter cast her a warning look. “What if that had set off an alarm?”

  “I kinda wish it had – we could spend more time killing witches and less time sneaking around.” Kristen checked her gun for the hundredth time, then moved hesitantly forward. She had only gone two steps when she stopped again.

  “Hunter, I can’t get through.” She said, her voice rising slightly as the only hint of her stress. Kristen pressed her hand firmly against an invisible wall, frowning as it didn’t shift, then pressed her shoulder against it and shoved with all her weight.

  Hunter stepped up beside her, his hand raised. But he felt nothing and was able to step further down the corridor.

  Kristen let out a disappointed sound.

  “It appears the shield is selective. I’m guessing it blocks anyone without magic – witches can come and go as they please.”

  “That’s great.” Kristen snapped. “Can you get the blasted thing down and let me through?”