Mrs Astley sat down and looked at her son carefully. “Charlotte? That black girl you were infatuated with at university? Well there’s no point blaming yourself, everyone dies and you know that.”
“I do blame myself, it’s my fault mother. All because I loved her.” Hunter felt a pang of regret, he’d never openly told Charlotte he loved her. He had stood back and watched her marry someone else and never said a thing. There was no point lying about it anymore.
“Don’t start fretting over it, George. Anyway, she would never have been a suitable wife. Good heavens, could you imagine a coloured mistress of Astley Manor?”
Normally Hunter would ignore any and all comments from his ignorantly racist mother, no matter how foul, but anger still throbbed in his veins.
“Shut UP, you miserable old bag. Charlotte deserves respect, and as master of this house I will throw you out if you do not hold your tongue!”
Mrs Astley looked affronted, unused to her son being so reactive. She stood up suddenly. “I will not be spoken to in such a manner. Have Charles send tea up to my rooms. And we shall speak when you have calmed down and remembered your manners.”
Hunter watched his mother leave the room. She was an irritating, narrow-minded…
He took a deep breath, his mother had never liked Charlotte, so her reaction hadn’t surprised him. What was surprising was the raw energy of anger that refused to leave his otherwise numb body. Even though he’d not slept that night, he did not feel tired. He wanted to run, to fight, to do something other than give in to grief - and this anger whispered to him that he could. Yet his legs seemed not to respond.
He didn’t know how long he stood there alone, leaning against the fireplace, his knuckles turned white in their fierce grip of the mantelpiece. But he couldn’t feel it. He could not feel the heat from the fire burning his legs. It seemed that nothing now registered beyond the forlorn pounding of bitterness and repetitive thoughts that filled his mind.
“Hunter?” Sophie’s voice broke through as she hovered by the door. But the figure by the fire made no comment, nor even recognised her presence. “George, please.”
Sophie moved quietly towards him.
“She’s dead.” Hunter said in a harsh burst, finally turning to face Sophie. “Charlotte’s dead. I couldn’t save her. Never, never has my job - if I can’t protect those I love… And I’m up against a Shadow.”
“You should have killed her when she was in me. You could have ended it right there.”
When Hunter looked at her he was surprised to see guilt and sadness in that normally cold face and icy hazel eyes. “I could never have killed you, though.”
He stepped forward and took her in his arms, his lips pressing against hers, driven not by lust but utter despair.
Sophie pushed him away immediately, and when she spoke there was a warning plea in her voice. “Hunter, don’t.”
Hunter paused, his thoughts catching up with his actions. But his heart was beating and his breath coursed his lungs. This he could feel. He stepped towards her again.
“Then tell me you don’t want me.” He said softly, wrapping his arms about her elegant frame. His lips found hers again, and this time he felt Sophie yield to his embrace.
*****
It was the morning after the night before. That’s how they described it, wasn’t it? That period of time when rash, passionate actions were shown by the harsh light of day, provoking regret, guilt, and possibly embarrassment.
Hunter awoke early to a still-darkened room. He felt oddly calm, as though the stress, grief and rage of the last two days had, if not dulled, been pushed back to a more manageable perspective.
Hunter shifted his body slowly to sit up. In bed next to him Sophie was still sleeping soundly. He watched her for several long minutes, even in the half-light before dawn she was beautiful, and there was something softer, more serene about her face while she slept. He supposed it had to do with her chill and sharp intellect being reserved for dreams and out of his reach.
He moved slowly so as not to wake her, slipping out of bed and pulling on any old clothes before going downstairs. The rest of the house was still sleeping and as Charles hadn’t lit the morning fires yet, the Manor was cold.
Hunter made his way to the kitchen for his first cup of coffee. He sat at the counter, nursing the steaming mug. He waited for the regret to kick in. In general Hunter enjoyed women and never worried about hurt feelings, he never hung around long enough. But Sophie was, well, a friend - and in a moment when he’d been mad with loss he had used her.
Although ashamed about the circumstances, he didn’t regret it, nor did he want to scarper. He hated to admit it, but everyone had been right: he wanted her, cold, unyielding, frustrating Sophie.
Strangely he did feel guilt. That after professing to love Charlotte for so long, he suddenly dared to have a new focus in his life when he should be concerned with mourning.
It was over an hour later when Hunter gained company. Sophie hovered in the doorway.
“Morning.” She said quietly, for once looking completely uncertain.
“Morning.” Hunter echoed.
Sophie made herself a drink then sat opposite Hunter, her gaze averted. They sat in an increasingly uncomfortable silence.
“Look.” Hunter finally started. “I wanted to apologise. My behaviour yesterday was unforgivable; I should never have taken advantage of you like that. I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” The single sound was the only reply Sophie could muster. She stared down at her hands, frowning as per usual.
‘Oh’? Hunter was used to much wittier and informative responses from Sophie. He didn’t like not knowing where he stood with her, he’d rather face her anger than try to be sufficed with a little ‘Oh’.
The silence grew and Sophie offered nothing more, her face dark with her private thoughts. Oh dear, this was uncomfortable, bordering on embarrassing. Hunter didn’t deal with that sort of thing, especially when work was likely to be involved. If Sophie didn’t want him, Hunter would have to rethink this living and working arrangement.
Sophie stared into her the steaming coffee, her fingers gripping the mug so tightly that they were turning white.
"That's fine. I understand that you just needed a distraction. So glad to prove useful." She finally answered bitterly, her eyes snapped up to him, cold and furious.
Hunter was a little shocked by her response and sat quietly, his early morning brain trying to catch up. And poor Sophie took his silence as agreement. She sighed, muttering something beneath her breath and sliding off the stool, only thinking of taking her coffee to the privacy of her own room.
"Is that really what you think?" Hunter asked, standing up to block her way out of the kitchen. "That you were just convenient and distracting?"
Sophie reluctantly met his gaze, her anger fading and replaced by what had caused it - fear of the unknown.
Hunter reached out, gently catching her by the arm to stop her from bolting. "I'd never dare think so low of you, Sophie. In fact, the truth is that I think about you more than I should, and I am only sorry that it took the shock of hallowe'en to make me act."
Sophie just continued to stare up at him, her breath increasing in rate, as her eyes dilated as her agitation grew. Obviously Hunter's new answer was no more welcome that his previous one. But then it was suddenly as if she made a decision, to take the risk and the consequences. Sophie leant in closer towards Hunter and kissed him hesitantly.
Sensing that she was no longer about to hit him or storm out, Hunter kissed her back, pulling her in til he could feel the warmth of her body and -
And then he pulled back sharply, swearing and shaking his hand where he'd spilt the hot coffee she'd been nursing so protectively. Hunter shook his head at how smoothly that had gone, then chuckled at an afterthought.
"James is not going to like this." He said guiltily, not wanting to think how uncomfortable his best friend would be feeling. Hunter smiled at Sophie, taki
ng her hot drink from her and setting it firmly on the side before trying that kiss again.
Fifteen
The next few days were a blur. There were the inevitable visits by the MMC. They questioned Hunter and James over and over about Hallowe’en. Poor Sophie had been grilled by several ‘experts’, trying to understand the Shadow Witch; whether Sophie was in danger; even whether Sophie was dangerous.
The Council had finally been scared into action, pulling people off mundane tasks and setting them to research and defence. When they came to Astley Manor with a long list of work for the resident witch-hunters, Hunter set his mother on them; they got the hint and didn’t come back.
Hunter wasn’t ready to face the world and didn’t have the energy to survive it. He would happily have disappeared into nothingness. Only his new closeness to Sophie made him want to live.
Then one morning Hunter, Sophie and James finally left the Manor, all three dressed in black. It was a cold November day, with the first proper frosts of the year. Hunter felt Sophie shiver and he held her closer as they all stood in the graveyard, a silent crowd gathered, their breath fogging over the prayers.
It wasn’t that long ago that they’d all been standing over another funeral, when Brian’s death had seemed the worst thing to ever happen.
The crowd slowly departed, people stopping to say their own goodbyes, and to console the inconsolable widower. Hunter looked up. Steve stood by the graveside, his tall, thin figure swamped by the heavy black coat, his eyes so red from crying.
“Steve, I’m so sorry.” Hunter said, finding himself walking up to Charlotte’s husband.
Whack! Hunter recoiled in shock as timid Steve punched him squarely in the face. Through watering eyes, Hunter saw Steve rub his sore knuckles.
“You have no right to be here Hunter!” Steve shouted, ignorant of the other mourners that turned and stared. “It’s all your fault - you got her into witch-hunting, you were supposed to protect her. Leave. If I ever see you again, I swear I’ll kill you.”
Hunter was dragged away by both Sophie and James. He shouldn’t have expected anything else from Steve. But now that Charlotte was laid to rest, Hunter was ready to get back in the action. Everything would work out, it had to, especially when he had James and Sophie still with him.
*****
That night, Hunter found the concept of sleep impossible, even with the comforting warmth of Sophie beside him. He watched her sleep with a quiet fascination. She seemed so peaceful, until the early hours of the morning, when the rhythm if sleep became disturbed. A pained expression crumpled her face and she struggled against the bedclothes.
Suddenly, Sophie jolted awake with a strangled cry, sitting up in bed now, her body tense and trembling.
“Sophie, Sophie, it’s alright.” Hunter murmured gently to her, his hand placed against her flushed cheek. “Did you have a nightmare?”
Sophie, eyes wide with panic, her gaze roving over him in slow understanding as she tried to shake off the images. “Just a dream.” She muttered, forcing herself to be calm. “Just a dream.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Hunter asked.
“No.” Sophie replied shortly, lying back down.
Hunter sighed. “It might help.” He insisted. Yes, it might help him pass the hours until dawn, when he no longer had to pretend to need rest and bed.
Sophie looked at him in assessment. “It was nothing, it…” She broke off, unable to shake the possessing dream. “Fine, the truth. We were at the graveyard, like today, and the Shadow Witch was waiting at the gate. She was wearing Death’s garb and called to you. I begged you not to go, but you walked through the gate with your head high and your stupid pride. Then, knowing that you were dead, and I alive - in the dream I was distraught, I… I…”
Sophie stopped, struggling to find words to express her feelings. “It was a physical, inescapable pain. And I hated you for making me grieve your death.”
Hunter remained quiet for a while, taking in this open answer. “It was just a dream. Probably set off by the funeral today.”
Sophie frowned, forever fighting with herself, and building up the courage to say what was on her mind. “I don’t want you to fight the Shadow Witch.”
“What?” Hunter laughed, surprised by this sudden, ludicrous request.
“You don’t have to go up against her. There are a hundred other witch-hunters that can face her.” Sophie argued, in a quiet voice that was already defeated.
“Sophie, don’t be ridiculous. How can I turn my back on the biggest threat of our time? I’m one of the best witch-hunters out there, if I don’t stop her, who will?” Hunter argued back, logically.
“But if you face her you will be killed.”
Hunter hesitated in his response, feeling a faint wave of foreboding. He shrugged it off. “That was nothing but your dream, Sophie. I may actually survive this thing, trust me.”
Sophie propped herself up on her elbow in a sharp movement, her whole body emanating anger. “No, it’s not just my dream, Hunter. Why don’t you listen to me? I’ve seen inside the mind of the Shadow Witch, I’ve seen how she wants your death above all others, how she’s imagined it a hundred different ways. She is your Death and you march proudly and stubbornly towards it.”
Hunter was temporarily silenced by this revelation. “You never said -”
“It never seemed important.” Sophie bit back. “But does it make you reconsider?”
“No.” Hunter replied quickly.
Sophie hissed in disgust and rolled away from him. She lay still for so long that Hunter began to think that she’d fallen back to sleep.
“You awake, Sophie?” He eventually whispered.
“Yes.” She snapped, remaining stubbornly turned away from him.
“Sophie, this is who I am. I cannot turn away from this fight, it’s against my nature.” Hunter said seriously. He reached out and stroked her back gently, frowning as she flinched away from him. “You wouldn’t love me if I were any different.”
The scene seemed to freeze. Neither of them had mentioned the ‘L’ word, nor even allowed themselves to think it in their most private thoughts.
“You’re right.” Sophie replied, finally turning to face him. “How I wish you were any other man right now, one not cursed by the Shadow Witch. If you should die, it would cut me down also.”
Sophie reached out, her hand tracing his face, committing his features to memory. “Promise me you won’t die.”
Hunter smiled, then pulled her close to him, lips brushing her hair. “How I wish I could promise that.”
Held close in Hunter’s arms, Sophie slowly fell back to sleep, gentle and dreamless. Hunter sighed, the same foreboding reawakening in him, that all this was a temporary happiness.
“I am afeard. Being in night, all this is but a dream, too flattering-sweet to be substantial.” He muttered to himself, unable to smile at the fitting words. Ah, was all this a premonition of the end, rushing up to greet them.
*****
Sophie dragged her bag down the wide main staircase, she hated getting Charles to carry her stuff when she could do it herself.
Hunter glanced out the window, checking for her taxi. “You’re sure about this? The MMC can send someone.”
Sophie dropped her bag by the front door. They’d already been over this. “I know, but I need to do this. If the Shadow Witch goes after our families, I want to be the one to protect my mum.”
They had no idea where the witches would hit next, and it was logical that anyone connected to Hunter and Sophie were in danger and should be protected.
“I could come up with you.” Hunter said, pulling her close.
“You have enough to do here.” Sophie argued, pushing him away.
Hunter turned to pick up a small wooden case, about the size of a shoebox. He pressed it into Sophie’s hands. “Now, the protective amulets will work best in the furthest four-”
“Corners of the house, and as many doorways
and windows as they’ll cover.” Sophie finished impatiently, taking the heavy box. “James has already drilled me on this.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” Hunter apologised. Suddenly interrupted by the sharp blast of a car horn outside. Well, here as her taxi, come to take her to the station. “I’ll miss you.” He said seriously.
“Good.” Sophie replied, finally deigning to smile and kiss him lightly before lugging her stuff to the waiting car. She opened the door then stopped, turning to look at Hunter with those fierce eyes. She hesitated, as though she wanted to say something, but in the end just frowned and got into the car.
Hunter watched as the taxi pulled away down the gravelled courtyard and then off down the long drive. Sophie was right, there was work to do, and she had been trained well over the past six months, she’d be ok.
James was waiting in the library, and it was easy to see he was annoyed. Hunter couldn’t blame him, it must have been awkward working around Hunter and Sophie lately.
“She gone?” James asked gruffly.
“Yes. Anything to report?”
“Nothing new.” James sighed, “All authoritative figures in Britain are under MMC security, America and Europe are following suit. Russia’s still not on board.”
James handed Hunter some papers. “As for our own work, a name popped up. Sara Murray, she was the 1940s Shadow Witch. Born 1916 in North England, died 1945. No known descendants. Sorry it’s nothing useful.”
Hunter flicked through the papers, taking in only a few words. What was the point? So far, being better informed had not helped them against the witches. What was the Shadow Witch waiting for?
“Never mind.” Hunter muttered. “When are we next on duty?”
“Thursday. We’re on rota along with John Ward for seven days on Downing Street.” James replied.
“Right.” That was better, being out there, even if they weren’t prepared. “But James, this time no swearing at every politician you meet.”
Sixteen
It was nine o’clock in the evening, outside it was dark and miserable. Inside the building, the empty corridors were dimly lit by the glowing exit signs. The Council staff that were on night-shift were tucked away in little rooms, with no idea anything out of the ordinary would occur.
The Shadow Rises Page 10