“No, leave me.” Sophie snapped.
The middle-aged woman bobbed her head and darted out. Sophie let out a small scream of exasperation; she could already feel the adrenaline for the forthcoming battle flooding her system. She would kill Hunter; reclaim her son; and then she wouldn’t stop until she had beaten down the opposition in the witches’ council. It was time they acknowledged who she was – not just some figurehead – but a leader who answered to no man.
*****
Darkness fell over the British countryside; and with it came the witches.
They came out of the shadows like an endless sea, until they filled the valley. On the opposing slope, a mundane army was awaiting them.
The Shadow Witch looked up, her enemy had gone for the higher ground, traditionally an advantage. Her frown deepened; let them cling onto any hope they liked, they would be dead by morning.
“Let Hunter Astley come forward.” She called out, her hazel eyes scanning the faces of the mob before her.
Nobody moved. The Shadow Witch hissed her disapproval and turned back to her fellow witches. It didn’t matter, Hunter might be hiding amongst the ranks – probably with his new little girlfriend – but she knew him; Hunter wouldn’t let people die on his behalf. No, he was the hero, he would come to meet her. As she passed the senior witches of the council, she gave the signal.
The witches around her began casting, the air suddenly thick with magic. Sophie took a deep breath, taking pride in the strength of her allies; allowing their magic to flow softly over her skin, building her confidence. Then she turned to face her enemies and all hell broke loose.
Her army surged forward, racing to meet the witch-hunters that stood frozen on the slope. The distance closed and the magic flooded out before them.
Sophie faltered in her stride as she saw the spells dissipate against a solid barrier. Hunter. The ghost of a smile passed her face as she brought out her own destructive power, aiming it into the masses. Sophie watched as her magic buckled the shield – poor Hunter must be distracted; it was hardly up to his usual strength. Without any further concern, Sophie pushed anew. Shouts and cries rose up around her, the metallic tang of blood filtered into the air.
There was an explosion to her left, close enough for Sophie to feel the heat of it against her bare face. She squinted against the brief brightness and focused on finding Hunter. The person projecting the shield was close and Sophie pushed forward, only delayed by one brave soldier that barrelled into her from the side. Sophie ducked under his clumsy attack and in one smooth motion, spun the man off balance and brought up her knife, letting the unlucky man crumpled to the ground.
Leaving the other witches to do the damage, Sophie pressed on with single-minded determination. She brought her magic close about her, a moment more and she could throw everything she had at Hunter to try and catch him off guard…
But Hunter was not there.
The source of the shield was a grey-haired man, no taller than Sophie. He was dressed in a simple black linen outfit and moved like a man half his age. Sophie stood frozen, lost as to who this man was.
‘The Benandanti; he has found the Benandanti.’ No sooner had the revelation crossed her mind, the mysterious man turned to face her. His shockingly blue eyes observing her.
“Buonasera Sophie.”
“You know me?” She asked. Nobody called her that anymore; enemies and allies alike only saw the Shadow Witch.
The Benandanti hesitated, and Sophie could sense him trying to strengthen his shield as her witches renewed their attack. His focus was then only for her. He bowed his head in acquiescence.
“Signor Astley has told me much about you.”
Sophie’s frown hardened, but she kept control of the thrashing emotions within. How dare Hunter discuss her with anyone, he had given up that right.
Sophie took a deep breath, ignoring the chaos around her. “Where is Astley? Tell me and I will let you live; I will let you return to Italy and carry on your peaceful existence.”
Before the old man could reply, a noise rose up above the din of battle, a horn. The very simple note was taken up across the stretch of the battlefield and even though it was mundane, Sophie couldn’t help but be unsettled.
“What mischief is this?” She demanded.
The Benandanti smiled gently. “It is the new world. Embrace it, Sophie, for all our sakes’.”
Sophie felt a fracture in the magic around her and spun round. It took her a moment to work out what was happening – it could not be happening! But suddenly, witches were fighting witches. There were patches of rebellion spread across the valley; a third of her forces were suddenly turning on the others, pinning them in against the witch-hunters on the opposing slope. Sophie’s eyes tore wildly across the scene – how could they betray her? How could they betray everything they had sacrificed so much for?
This was Hunter’s doing – she did not know how, but Sophie was adamant he was behind it. That no-good, deceitful bastard had somehow decided that he would work with witches now. Why not years ago, when she had offered him everything? How could he refuse her then, force the world to make war; then think that this was the right course?
Suddenly overwhelmed with the new targets she wished to punish, Sophie turned back to the Benandanti, who stood calmly observing her.
“Where is Hunter?” She snapped, her calm façade breaking.
When the old man did not answer, Sophie raised her hand, her magic seeping out and curling around the man’s throat. She could feel his attempts at blocking it, his pitiful shield designed for lesser witches. Sophie gazed on dispassionately as the man became to gasp as she slowly constricted his airways.
“He’s… he’s not…”
Sophie sighed and released him just enough for the old man to speak properly.
“He’s not here. He never was. Even without him, your side has been beaten, Sophie.” The Benandanti’s blue eyes glinted. “You have a choice. You must choose to stay and fight, or to go to him. He is in the church hall in the next village – but only for the duration of the battle – after that, he will disappear again.”
Sophie released the man, letting him slump to his knees. So, Hunter was playing the coward. She let out a scream of frustration, her magic exploding out with force, knocking over every witch-hunter, witch and monk in her path. Leaving them motionless on the grass, Sophie wrapped her shadows around her and vanished.
Chapter Thirty-six
Hunter paced the room, the little ball of light that hovered above his head moved with him, back and forth across the ceiling.
“Will you please stand still?” Kristen begged, from where she perched on an old desk. “Or at least make your light thing stay still – it’s giving me a headache, bobbing all over the place!”
Hunter looked across at the girl. “Sorry.” He muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and forcing himself to be still. “I’m just… not used to not doing anything.”
Hunter thought of the men and women out there. They were protected more effectively by the Donili than Hunter could have ever managed. The ‘good’ witches had switched to their side, giving them overwhelming odds. Hunter could already see how it would play out – their enemies would realise the futile situation and flee, or they would make a heroic last stand and be cut down.
Hunter didn’t want to be cocky, but the truth was that as long as the Shadow Witch was subdued, his side could not lose.
“George Astley, the famous witch-hunter. Are you nervous?” Kristen asked in wonder. “Proof that you’re only as flawed and human as the rest of us?”
Hunter tried to raise a weak smile at her ribbing. “I’ve never been bait before.”
“Don’t worry, everything will go to plan. Your witchy lover will be here as soon as she realises, you’re not with the others.”
Hunter felt his palms sweat at the very thought. “You don’t have to stay for this, Kristen. It’ll be safer if you leave.”
“And you
don’t have to do this alone.” Kristen said, re-stating an earlier argument. “But I want a reward when all this is finished. Two weeks in the South of France – just you, me and Adam.”
The shadows in the room started to thicken and congeal. She was coming.
Hunter rested his hand close to his gun, and Kristen got to her feet, moving closer to his side.
The Shadow Witch appeared, the shadows hugging her elegant frame. Her sharp features were framed by her dark brown hair, which continued in waves down her back. For a moment she looked beautiful.
And then a moment later her hazel eyes snapped onto Hunter and every fibre of her being echoed her anger.
“You bastard. How could you do this Hunter?!” Sophie fought to find words, her hands clenching by her sides.
“The battle is over. You’ve lost.” Hunter replied, sounding official to feign calm.
The Shadow Witch looked nonplussed at his statement. “What…? Where is my SON?” She screamed. A wave of magic rolled off her, so powerful it blasted Hunter and Kristen from their feet.
Hunter grunted in pain and caught his breath while he sat in an ungainly heap.
“You think that you were dangerous when my witches killed Charlotte? When they killed James?” Sophie purred, looking down at Hunter. “That is nothing, nothing, compared to what you have unlocked in me by taking my son. Not even your anti-magic can stand against it.”
Sophie raised her hand and Hunter felt the air leave his lungs and he gasped frantically at nothingness.
“Give Adam back to me and I shall show mercy. If not, I will tear this world apart looking for him. Not even your Benandanti monks will be able to stop me.”
“D-Donili.” Hunter gasped, then realised that Sophie had allowed him to breath to respond. “Donili monks. If you are going to defy and kill them, at least call them by their true names.”
“Where is Adam?” Sophie hissed, the threat of her magic welling up for another attack.
“I will take you to him.” Hunter said rapidly, still on his knees before her. “On the condition that you are bound. We can be human; we can live together in the cottage in Keswick – I know you’ve seen it too.”
Sophie paused, her eyes glazing over. “That’s nothing but a dream, however you engineered it.”
Hunter shook his head. “It was not my doing.” He thought back to the dreams that had invaded his sleep for the past two years. He had always believed they were real, that he shared them with Sophie, that she was behind them. If not Sophie, then who?
“I seem to remember giving you the same option, more than once. You always refused, insisting that you were on the ‘right’ side.” Sophie replied, her cracking voice betraying how close she was to losing this calm façade. “But look at you now Hunter, uniting with witches, despite all your protestations and morals. What were all those deaths and battles for? You disgust me.”
“I’m making a better world.” Hunter said humbly, then raised his voice. “For our son; for the people that deserve to be treated as more than cattle and sacrifices; and yes, for the witchkind that are peaceful and want to join that future.”
Sophie laughed, but Hunter could sense the hum of power focussing in on a single. “In this you describe one person perfectly. Let me ask you this Hunter: where is my mother?”
Hunter’s gut twisted at the question. Sophie read the answer in his expression and her calm broke. Her scream was a wall of sound that made Hunter cower on the ground.
Then suddenly the scream stopped with a grunt of pain.
Kristen, forgotten in the background, slowly moved away from Sophie, her bloody hand leaving the dagger hilt-deep in her torso.
Sophie looked down disbelievingly. She weakly smiled and closed her eyes, wavering a little in her stance. The woman took three measured breaths, then yank the knife from her stomach with a scream. The pain dropped her to her knees, but then she gave a bitter laugh, and slowly stood up.
“So, this is the American girl. She is pretty, you’re right. Consider me jealous.” Sophie flipped the knife in her hand and, spinning quickly to face Kristen, drove the blade deep into her belly.
Kristen’s eyes widened and she staggered back until she hit the wall.
“Kristen!” Hunter cried, jumping to his feet.
Sophie held up a hand to stop him. “You will say your goodbyes, and then you will join me.” She said coldly.
The shadows in the room thickened and began to curl around her once more.
Hunter stood paralyzed, watching as Sophie left. A whimper from Kristen snapped him out of his daze, and he rushed to where the girl half-lay, slumped against the wall.
“What the hell did you do that for?” Hunter snapped, gingerly moving her blood-stained top away from the wound.
“Well you clearly weren’t gonna do it.” Kristen said, hissing sharply at the pain of each movement. “And I confess, I got a little jealous, all that talk of happy families.”
“And look where it got you. ‘By Her Hand Only’ Kristen.” Hunter said, exasperated. “You could never have killed her. And now…”
“And now I’m the one dying.” Kristen finished, very matter-of-fact.
Hunter wanted to deny it, to tell her it would all be fine. “It must always claim it’s victim, just like Mel warned: the gift of death.”
“T-that’s all very well, Hunter. Now do you think you can take this thing out of me?” Kristen grimaced. “It really hurts.”
“If I do that you will bleed to death quickly.”
Kristen rolled her eyes at his statement. “Die quickly; die slowly; I’m still dead Hunter.”
Hunter took a deep breath and obediently pulled the knife out of her with a swift movement. The blade clattered to the floor beside them.
“I’m sorry.” Hunter took her hand as he knelt next to her. “I am so sorry for all of this.”
Kristen smiled weakly, her skin looking greyer by the second. “I have no regrets. I got to meet you. And I get to die a hero, like my father.”
Hunter felt his eyes burn. This was unfair, she was too young, and she shouldn’t die for his mistakes. “I wish things had been different – this war, the Shadow Witch rising up. You would always be the one I was meant to meet. You still would have come to England to find your father. Brian would have tried to keep you as far away from me as possible, as any sensible father would…”
Hunter’s thoughts followed the alternative life they could have led. He was struck again by how cruel fate was – it should be him dying instead.
Hunter’s heart skipped a beat as the realisation hit him. Hunter reached out and put a hand over her wound. Kristen gave a small whimper, barely audible.
“Kristen, I want you to watch over Adam. Let him know I loved him.” Hunter stated, confident that he was making a better world for his son.
Through her waning consciousness, Kristen stirred, understanding something serious was happening, something she would not like.
Hunter closed his eyes and focussed on the wound. His power was repelled as it stayed greedily open.
Hunter took a deep breath and opened himself to the curse, the remnants of ancient magic felt the presence of a willing victim and slid happily along into this new vessel. Hunter shuddered in pain, the focussed again on Kristen. This time her wound closed as easily as the practice sessions with the Donili; her flesh knitting together to leave a very sore red scar across her stomach.
Hunter had to steady himself as he felt a wave of dizziness. It was hitting hard and fast, he had to get out of here.
Kristen stirred and weakly grabbed his sleeve. “No.” She mumbled.
Hunter grabbed the chain at his neck and pulled it away. He stared at the dog tags in his hand, they had protected him for so many years. He pressed them into Kristen’s hand.
“See that Adam gets these. And… ask Toby and Claire to raise him. Don’t let my mother get her claws into him.”
Hunter leant down and kissed Kristen’s forehead, then blinked
away.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Hunter instinctively followed Sophie. The witch purposefully kept her shields down, and he slipped easily into the space next to her.
Long grass swayed in a sweet-smelling breeze, and the rising sun highlighted the hilly landscape.
Hunter took shallow breaths, careful not to aggravate his new wound. He glanced down; glad he was wearing black. His stomach was already queasy, and he didn’t want to see the red stain spread.
“I used to come out here when I was a girl.” Sophie said, her voice reflective. “This was always my escape, no one bothered me here.”
The witch sighed and turned back to Hunter. She was wearing a mask of calm again, but Hunter could see the unsettled light in her eyes. “Where is my son Hunter? Last chance, or I will kill you.”
“You won’t kill me.” Hunter said calmly.
Sophie looked at him with more than a hint of disdain. “I have killed hundreds of witch-hunters.”
“But you won’t kill me.” Hunter repeated. “You have had every chance these past few years. But you always held back – for God’s sake, Sophie, you even rescued me on one occasion.”
Sophie grew paler as he spoke. “So, you think I will hold back again, simply because I love you?” She argued, then realised what she had said. “Loved you. You’re still living in a dream, Hunter.”
“Love, self-preservation; whatever works.” Hunter replied with a shrug. “You and I are connected Sophie; in a way I don’t think either of us can truly explain. We are linked. You suspected it when you tried to kill me four years ago, when all that pain rebounded onto you. And every time since then, when I have nearly died, you were there. The time nearly suffocated from trying to blink to close to your army – I bet you felt that too. I don’t think you will directly kill me.”
Hunter felt the energy drain out of him as he spoke, so he slowly sat down, not caring about the dew soaking into his trousers. “And I bet you feel exhausted now, but can’t explain why”
Sophie looked down at Hunter like he was a child, her lips pressed in a firm line of disapproval. “Of course, I’m exhausted – I have been fighting this battle whilst you’ve been hiding away with your tart!”
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