The Shadow Rises

by K. S. Marsden

  But, as the boss of this operation, he could at least put the weakest in the safest place. New girl Sophie was behind the first line, Hunter voicing that they needed someone to stop the witches breaking through their circle. The excuse fooled no one, but Sophie, excited to be on her first real raid, didn’t argue and docilely fell into place behind Toby and Matt Marshall.

  In formation they moved forward on silent feet, led on by the promise of firelight ahead.

  It was as Toby described, a clearing only 20 metres in diameter, a fire cracking, in its light four figures moved. Physically, the witches were unremarkable and unrecognisable as something other than human. But there was the aura of something more.

  There were two female and two male witches, looking, in an ordinary light, as two couples having a bonfire night.

  Hunter took a deep breath and stepped into the circle of light.

  “I am Hunter Astley, by the Malleus Constitution you will surrender now to my authority to be bound and registered.” He called out, confidently. “If you refuse to come quietly, we are empowered to take any means necessary.”

  Out of the shadows, he rest of the witch-hunters stepped forward, guns raised.

  The witches, who had gazed at Hunter curiously as he approached, now reacted as they were surrounded. The men instinctively moved to protect their partners. Their breath quickened and anger and fear tainted their expressions.

  “We have done nothing wrong.” The nearest male witch spat.

  “Nevertheless, by the Malleus Constitution, all magic must be bound.” Hunter replied formally. His eyes flicked up to Gareth, who looked bored and impatient. “Please, you are outnumbered, just surrender.”

  The male witch exhaled, his shoulders dropping with resignation. “There are worse things than death.” He muttered, then raised his hands. Everything went black.

  In a blind panic, Dave Marshall fired his gun into the darkness. There was a scream as the bullet ripped through flesh and bone.

  “Stop!” Hunter shouted, furious at the witch-hunter. His 7th gen eyes piercing through the magic, he could see the blurred shape of the male witch still in front of him. Hunter gritted his teeth and launched himself at the witch, moving with unnatural speed, he knocked aside the witch’s sluggish reaction and dealt a blow of such strength the man fell to the floor.

  Around him the darkness faltered and faded, the light of the fire and stars perceivable again. Hunter looked around quickly, the male witch lay incapacitated at his feet. Off to his right, there was the result of Dave Marshall’s nerves - Toby lay on the floor, trying to stem the blood flow from his arm.

  One of the female witches jumped at the opportunity and ran at this weak spot in their circle.

  “Stop!” Matt Marshall stepped into her path, but a wave of magic sent him flying unceremoniously head over heels, hitting a tree with a sickening thud.

  “No.” Gasped Hunter, as the witch faced the last witch-hunter blocking her escape.

  Deadly pale, Sophie raised her gun and fired.

  The female witch gave a strangled cry and stumbled, falling to the forest floor. Blood blossomed a startling red from her chest and she could be seen to be gasping erratically from pain and shock.

  Hunter ignored the unconscious male witch at his feet, he ignored the two remaining witches that now surrendered to James and Dave Marshall; Hunter stepped past the bleeding female witch and straight up to Sophie.

  “Are you ok? Did she hurt you?” He asked, his voice low and desperate. He quickly glanced over her, there wasn’t a mark on her, but Sophie was white and shivering. Hunter slowly moved closer, reaching out and gently prying the gun from her hand. “Sophie, it’s ok, it’s over. You did good.”

  Sophie’s eyes snapped onto his, wide with panic and adrenaline. She was drowning in the shock of the moment and Hunter felt a sudden urge to reach out and save her, hold her close and protect her. An urge that he fought.

  Hunter stepped away from Sophie, unsettled by this sudden intimacy. He forced himself to look around and assess the situation.

  Toby was sitting on the mossy ground, staunching a wound in his arm. He looked bloody and pale, but otherwise ok, with Dave Marshall kneeling next to him, babbling out incoherent apologies and excuses.

  The scene re-lit the anger Hunter felt towards that arse, Gareth Halbrook, who with his trigger-happy team had ruined a smooth operation. Hunter turned to look for the offending git and was surprised to see Gareth walking calmly in his direction.

  Hunter opened his mouth to shout and course his anger, when Gareth raised his gun and shot a single round at the injured female witch at his feet.

  Hunter felt a shock of fury as her heartbeat and irregular breathing left the web of sounds.

  “You murderous bastard. What the hell did you do that for?” He shouted.

  “Put her out of her misery.” Halbrook replied roughly, staring challengingly at Hunter.

  “She could have survived - there was no need.”

  “Survived for what? The taxpayers to pay for us to keep her. No thanks. As I said, the only good witch is a dead witch.” Halbrook glanced over his shoulder at the living witches, obviously picturing the same fate for them.

  Hunter shook with rage, completely unable to speak after such a statement. He felt a restraining hand on his arm and turned to face a pale and worried James.

  But James was looking at Gareth Halbrook. “Mr Halbrook, take the prisoners to HQ.”

  Gareth frowned at James’ assumed authority. Damned first gen, suddenly getting bossy, just because he was the famous Hunter Astley’s friend. “Look ‘ere-”

  “No, you look,” James interrupted. “You and your boys take care of the witches, ‘cos I don’t want t’leave Toby in your hands. And if you know what’s good for you, those witches’ll arrive at HQ without a single mark on them - got it?”

  Gareth ground his teeth, obviously weighing up the cost of saying what was on his mind at this point. But in the end he grumbled something inaudible and stomped off, jerking his head at the Marshall brothers. The three trouble-makers left, herding the two witches before them, Halbrook picking up and carrying the still-unconscious male witch.

  James finally looked to Hunter. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll help Toby, if you help Sophie.”

  Hunter nodded, and finally dragged his attention back to his other colleagues. He watched James help Toby to his feet and support him, they set off in the direction of the Land Rover at a slow, stumbling pace.

  Hunter turned to Sophie, who looked still pale, but more composed now. “Can you walk?” He asked, uncertainly.

  “I’m not an invalid.” Sophie snapped in a reassuringly offended manner. Her cold, sharp self returning now the immediate shock was passing. “Don’t treat me like a damsel in distress.”

  Hunter shrugged, his mind too full of other concerns to be too relieved that Sophie was okay. They walked together, slowly following James and Toby back to the car. The four travelled in near silence. When they got back to the Land Rover, they found Gareth’s Jeep already gone. The four witch-hunters climbed back into Hunter’s vehicle and made their way back to the road, slower this time, Hunter diving more carefully so as not to jostle Toby. Again there was silence.

  They finally turned onto a dirt track and the headlights lit up Toby’s blue Volvo. Hunter pulled up next to it. Again, James took charge.

  “Right, I’ll drive Toby up t’hospital, then I’ll head to the MMC - it’s late, but I want to follow up Halbrook. Go home Hunter.” After helping Toby into the back seat of the Volvo, James spoke quietly to Hunter. “Just keep an eye on Sophie, I think she’s hiding her shock.”

  Hunter nodded, clapping his friend on the back and climbing back into the driver’s seat of his Land Rover.

  James said something privately to Sophie, wearing a serious expression, then got into the Volvo.

  “Are you sure you’re ok?” Hunter asked again, as Sophie climbed into passenger’s seat beside him.

  �
��Yes.” She replied exasperatedly. She then stared resolutely out the dark window.

  Hunter nodded again. Good, silence, that was fine.

  They were roaring down the motorways, Hunter showing a certain disregard for speed limits, when he decided to speak.

  “What did James have to say?” He asked, his voice suddenly seeming loud after the silence.

  Sophie finally looked at him, but only briefly. “Nothing.” She muttered.

  Hunter was unconvinced. He had an odd feeling that just as James had asked him to watch Sophie in case she went into shock, the annoying Yorkshireman had asked Sophie to keep an eye on Hunter’s mood after the run-in with Halbrook.

  They lapsed into silence again. Then Sophie shifted uncomfortably. “Does it get any easier?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Killing witches, does it get easier with time?” She asked, turning to face him.

  Her hazel eyes burnt with the pain of the question, she seemed shaken, yet strong. Again Hunter felt that dragging sensation that he should hold her, that he could keep her whole.

  A horn blared as he nearly collided with another car. Hunter snapped his attention back to the road, his hands tightening on the wheel. He could feel the pressure of the seat belt against his shoulder, and was bizarrely glad for such a restraint.

  “No, it doesn’t get easier.” He replied honestly, staring resolutely ahead. “And I don’t want it to, I don’t want to be like him, like Gareth.”

  No, Hunter couldn’t imagine that killing witches would ever mean nothing to him, or worse, that he’d take some sick pleasure from it.

  It seemed to take forever to get back to Astley Manor. It was midnight by the time they pulled up the gravely drive to the big old house. The lights were still on, the fires lit ready for their return, and they gladly went into the warmth.

  “Are you sure you’re ok?” Hunter asked again, as they stood together in the hallway.

  Sophie gave him a withering look. “Goodnight Hunter.”

  Hunter watched Sophie walk away from him and move up the main staircase, heading straight for her room. He didn’t want her to be alone; he told himself that she shouldn’t be alone after such a day. But a part of him knew better. Oh god, he was in trouble.

  “Sophie…” He called out, then thought better of it as she paused on the stairs. “Sophie, tell James that I don’t need babysitting.”

  Eleven

  Hunter sat alone with Sophie in the library, books spread out down the long table. He was aware of the furtive looks she kept shooting him. Despite the dark matter of the books around him, and the oppressive environment since his discovery, Hunter found this amusing.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her look again. This time he smiled. “Is there something I can help you with, Sophie?”

  A blush crept over her cheeks. “What’s it like?” She blurted out.

  “What is what like?” Hunter asked, smiling at the vague question.

  Sophie closed the heavy volume in front of her, Hunter saw the faded title: ‘Witches and their hunters of the Romanic region: 16th century study’. Hmm, poor girl, no wonder her mind was wandering.

  “What’s it like, being a further generation witch-hunter? Do you feel differently from other people?” Sophie asked, using more detail this time.

  Hunter thought about this, not for the first time. “Honestly, I don’t know, I’ve never been normal so how can I compare? Perhaps I should ask if you feel different from a 7th gen.”

  Hunter smiled teasingly, but closed his book, willing to be more serious. “Everything I do feels normal and natural, but sometimes I see other people’s reactions when I move too quickly, or show too much strength and so on. So surely there’s something abnormal enough to catch their attention. Does that answer your question well enough?”

  Sophie said nothing for a minute or two, staring into space with her own thoughts. “And… what is it like when you perceive magic?”

  Hunter looked at her with askance.

  “What, I’m not allowed to be curious because I’ll never experience it?” Sophie demanded.

  “Fine.” Hunter said, leaning back in his chair, his gaze fixed on his new charge. “It’s… it’s like a headache, or at least it used to be when I was younger. A niggling, burgeoning activity that can be mistaken for pain. But you can train yourself to concentrate on it, read it, taste it. Every strain of magic has a different taste, or rhythm. As soon as a witch casts, I can tell what the magic is for, even who cast it.”

  Hunter stopped, grimacing at his own description, as though he were a connoisseur of art or fine wine. Had he really gotten so expert in his dark career?

  “And it improves with each generation?” Sophie encouraged. “What’s the furthest you’ve perceived magic?”

  Hunter nodded, oh yes, as the famous 7th gen he was born with unfair advantages against the witches.

  “The furthest?”

  Hunter broke off as James made his entrance kicking the old door open so he could carry in the coffee tray. “Couldn’t find Charles, so made it meself. Hope you like strong coffee.”

  “James, what would you say is the furthest I’ve felt a casting?” Hunter asked mildly. “Ten miles?”

  James slid the coffee tray onto the busy table. “Ten easy. Remember the one in Hereford last month, must’ve been fifteen.”

  Sophie just nodded, silently taking in the information.

  “You know this is summat you’ll never experience.” James said, casually cruel. “Not jealous of our Hunter, are you?”

  Sophie gave him a haughty stare in reply, flicking her brown hair back over her shoulder.

  “I’m curious, surely that’s allowed.” She said coldly. “Besides, this all sounds a touch too close to magic.”

  The effect was instantaneous. James stopped laughing at her and Hunter’s smile froze.

  Sophie seemed to realize the severity of what she’d said, and started stuttering. “Look… it’s not… I didn’t mean-“

  “Never say that.” Hunter warned in a chilling tone, his eyes furious. “How dare you even make such a heinous association?”

  Hunter stood up so quickly, Sophie flinched as though expecting him to hit her. But Hunter kept his fists by his side and turned towards the door, needing space.

  “You don’t seem to realize how offensive your ignorant comments are, Sophie. And showing me up in front of Gareth Halbrook and his cronies last week – no, I haven’t forgotten that. I’ve been pretty damn lenient with your whole attitude, but one day you’ll have to deal directly with the MMC, and they won’t be as understanding.” Hunter took a deep breath, the worst of his rant over, but his eyes still blazed. “You said you wanted to be a witch-hunter. Well, you’ve got to be in this a hundred percent, you’ve got to sort your attitude out and stop this… this sympathy for magic. Or you need to walk out that door right now.”

  Hunter motioned towards the open library door. The room was silent and motionless again.

  Sophie was tense, her hazel eyes cast down. But the fact that she wasn’t biting back showed that there was at least some truth in Hunter’s outburst.

  “I’m here. I’m in.” She eventually muttered. She looked uncertain for a minute, then quietly turned back to her book.

  Hunter felt no joy in setting Sophie straight, he felt strangely empty after letting loose, and now stood by his chair, not sure what to do.

  James on the other hand felt perfectly comfortable in giving Sophie a disgusted look before turning to Hunter. “You know, this coffee isn’t working. How ‘bout we knock off and head down t’local instead?”

  Hunter looked at his watch and sighed. “Yeah, sure. I’ve time for a drink before I take Rachel to dinner.”

  The two boys promptly left the library to get their coats, and Sophie (who was unsure whether or not the invitation extended to her) sat alone, quietly reading the dusty volume before her.

  Twelve

  There’s something about Hal
lowe’en that seemed to excite the witchkind. Perhaps it was to do with the pagan fire ritual of Samhain, their magic amped up by something earthly. Or maybe it was just the thrill of moving openly, while a world of naïve victims actually celebrated their existence.

  If it was anything like last year, it would be uncontrolled chaos. Even the newspapers and the general ignorant public had suspected something after the wave of identical murders that the MMC hadn’t been able to completely cover up.

  So all the witch-hunters were on high alert. Even if they looked foolish…

  It was early evening, but it was already dark outside. Hunter stood close to the warm fireplace, the old house did get cold once autumn came round, and Charles worked overtime keeping it pleasant for the Astley family and their guests.

  Making the effort for Hallowe’en without sacrificing style, Hunter was wearing a tasteful black suit with a long black cloak and a white mask covering half his face.

  “Let me guess, ‘Phantom of the Opera’ meets Armani?”

  Sophie stood in the doorway, looking so fantastic that Hunter was left momentarily speechless. She smiled in her own grimacing way and turned so that he could see her outfit, sultry dark red tones on black, close fitting to her slim curves, the long skirt slit to the thigh. She’d done something clever with her make-up to make her face pale, but still stunning. Oh yes, and rubber fangs sticking out over her lower lip.

  “Sexy vampire?” Hunter asked needlessly.

  “Well, I was going to be a witch, but I thought that would be too ironic.” Sophie replied, lisping slightly over the false teeth. She shook her head and pulled them out, “Hm, I don’t think I’ll be wearing these all night though. I don’t see why the MMC want us to dress up and go out like a group of normals, when there’s going to be so much activity.”

  “Ah well,” How embarrassing. Hunter had previously told Sophie what she needed to hear. “We have no intel on what will happen where, so the MMC likes its witch-hunters to be on the move, in the thick of it, so they can act immediately.” This was repeating his earlier statement. The next bit she may not like. “But the dressing up like a prat is my idea. You know, to fit in. Come on, we’ve got to pick James up. Are you kitted up?”