by K.S. Marsden
Malleus Maleficarum, maleficas ut earum hæresim, ut phramea potentissima conterens
The Shadow Rises
K.S. Marsden
Copyright © K.S. Marsden 2013
Cover art: Sylermedia
One
Hunter knocked back his cold, expensive beer. He was sitting alone at an open-air bar in the middle of Venice. It was late in the night, or at least it felt late - the days and nights seemed to take forever to tick past. The dark canal flickered with yellow lamp-light, along with new fragments of colour.
Hunter eyed the fairy lights that the new owner had strewn across the trellis beams, a cheap way to create a “youthful” environment. He didn’t approve.
He looked around again, his gaze deadened as though he saw through the thin veil of these mortal amusements, and was not impressed.
Hunter Astley appeared to be a very normal guy, though one could never call him average. He ticked every box for the traditional English gent; in his mid-twenties, tall with black hair and classic good looks; he held an aura of charm and intelligence that was woven so appealingly about him; he had a confidence that was only partly to do with a large family fortune to his name.
Yet all this helped to distract people from looking too closely, to stop them noticing that scrutinising gaze and apathy to the mundane facts of life. Because under the veil, there were darker things to fear.
Hunter Astley was a witch-hunter.
Under the guidance of the Malleus Maleficarum Council, alongside other witch-hunters, Hunter worked tirelessly to eradicate witches and witchcraft, to prevent curses and black magic and to stop the witchkind gaining the hold and power over the unaware, ignorant world. The witches never stopped in their pursuit of power, so neither did Hunter and his fellow witch-hunters.
Except from now. Hunter was on holiday - against his own will, one might add. But the question was, when you know that evil magic is threatening everywhere beneath the surface, what does a witch-hunter do for a holiday?
Oh, he was bored. And in his bad mood, Hunter knew who to blame: James. Good old, annoying, interfering James Bennett. His colleague, who considered himself the brains of the operation, and was as loyal as he was irritating. The two of them had been working overtime since a big coop last hallowe’en, and last winter had been the busiest they had ever known the witchkind. The increased activity had taken more of a toll on Hunter of course. When considering the two of them, it was Hunter that was the man of action and James was his back-up, his background researcher.
James had taken it upon himself to insist that Hunter needed a break now that it was spring. Ok, things were calmer now, and ok, the last job had nearly killed him. But only nearly, he was still alive. But his arguments had been ignored and Hunter had finally agreed to take a week’s holiday, especially as James threatened to lock up all the open cases and divert current issues to the others.
Although, when Hunter agreed to stop work for a whole week, that didn’t stop him sneaking into his own office to slip all the Venetian files into his suitcase before he left. Not that it had been much use. The damn files hadn’t been kept up-to-date and he was chasing ghosts. And no, ghosts didn’t exist.
A trio of young women sauntering past dragged his attention back to the present. They were all beautiful, but the tallest of the three was particularly striking.
Hunter noticed that his weren’t the only eyes that watched them cross the room, so he was an average guy after all. He smiled at the idea, maybe James was right, maybe he could enjoy a holiday.
When he raised his gaze again, the girls had gone. Hunter drained the last of his beer and made his way over to the bar. He leant against it and waited for the barman. He noticed her perfume first, a fresh scent that contrasted sharply against the alcohol.
Hunter looked up to see one of the girls standing a few feet away. With her heels on, she was almost as tall as Hunter. Her dark brown hair was tied back, and there was a proud tilt to her jaw. Hunter appreciatively inventoried the slim waist and long legs.
As though sensing his inspection, the girl turned on her heels to face him. Her hazel eyes locked onto him, coolly assessing him in return. Apparently dissatisfied, the girl turned away again.
Hunter inwardly laughed, not even a word passed between them and he had been shunned. His poor ego. He ordered a drink, and as he waited for his beer to come, he caught a male voice – one whose accent didn’t hide the waver of uncertainty.
“… let me buy you a drink.”
Hunter turned to see a very smart, suited type, leaning in to the girl. His smile did nothing to disguise the fact his suggestion had been half a question. It almost reminded Hunter of how James was when he had to talk to beautiful girls. Honestly, Hunter felt a little sorry for men that floundered so easily.
He paid for his beer and found himself watching as the girl looked uncomfortable as the suit got closer. Her painted lips somehow managed to convey a pout and a sneer that spoke volumes against her silence.
The guy grew increasingly unsure at her stony silence and eventually slunk off.
Hunter smiled to himself, keen for the challenge. He moved towards her and finally spoke. “Scusi, signorina..”
Her eyes suddenly snapped onto him again, her frown increasing. “Scusa, non parlo l'italiano.” She replied in perfect Italian.
Hunter smirked at her avoidance. “Great, neither do I! But it’s good to know that you talk at all.” He couldn’t help but notice that she was even more beautiful close up. If one got past the fixed haughty glare, of course.
There was a twitch in her lips as though she fought down a smile. The woman turned to her friends. “Let’s go.” They obediently shifted away from the bar. “Good night.” She said to Hunter and, making no excuses, left.
Hunter watched her retreating figure. What a strange, beautiful girl.
Hunter stood nursing his beer for a quarter an hour, before giving in to his dull mood and heading home. He weighed up the desire for company tonight, there had been enough female eyes turned in his direction this evening, including the waitress at the restaurant earlier. But it felt like too much effort. No, he’d much rather go back to his apartment, have a night cap, and see when the next flight back to London was.
Although it was spring, it wasn’t cold. The late night walk was actually pleasant as he moved away from the youthful hub and into the quieter streets. It was then that he heard a scuffle in the distance, followed by silence.
Hunter stopped, looking in the direction of the brief disturbance. It was most probably a cat, or something equally innocent. But that niggling feeling in his gut grew, calling to him. Damn it, was he getting withdrawal symptoms from work? Looking for trouble where there was none to be found? The utter silence made his senses tingle and his instincts kicked in and took over. He made his way quietly in the direction of the noise. Down a shadowed path to where a heavy door was ajar. Hunter stood against the gap and heard people moving inside, he began to see the weak light of candles as they were lit by two flitting figures.
Hunter reflexively lifted his hand to his throat, closing his fingers around the comfortable weight of the protective amulet. Next he knelt down and retrieved the small gun strapped to his calf, thankful that he had gone against his colleague’s advice, that he had decided to remain armed.
Standing tall again, he slipped inside, pressing the door shut behind him. The large room was lit by a hundred candles - some witches were overly keen on the traditional touches. There was a makeshift altar, a long table covered with black silk, and a young woman strapped to it. She struggled sluggishly against her bonds, her breath fast and frightened. She was probably drugged, but at least she was alive. For now.
Her identity was confirmed when her two friends entered the circle of candlelight, bristling with excitement.
“P-please… please, you can’t…”
Hunter could hear the girl’s slurred pleas, her focus strengthening as those she considered friends came closer.
Hunter kept his own breathing low and steady, his gaze moving to a tall man with greying hair, although his face was unlined. He carried the knife, holding it up with reference.
As he drew up to the altar, Hunter knew he had to act. There was no time to assess hidden dangers. He stepped into the light, trying to look as confident as possible. “Stop! Fermo!”
They all turned, shocked at the unwelcome man that had interrupted their ritual. Hunter rushed to speak before they caught up with the situation. “I charge you to stop. I am Hunter Astley, by the Malleus Constitution you will surrender now to my authority to be bound and registered. If you refuse to come quietly, I am empowered to take any means necessary.”
Oh, it all sounded quite grand and official, and if he had had back up they might have turned themselves in harmlessly; but one Hunter against three put the odds in their favour.
“Assalire.” Get him. The man ordered. “Subito!” Now! He barked as the two girls hesitated.
Ah, perhaps they were new to this game, Hunter thought, briefly giving him hope. But hope and desperation were put out of his mind as his body moved almost instinctively into action. He felt the charm about his neck heat up as it absorbed attacks from all three. He took aim with his gun and fired a single shot...