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carved to look like a woman sleeping on plush
cushions, her beautiful face peaceful. Age had worn the edges soft,
making her look almost real.
    “They had a sort of arranged marriage.
Unusual for an Englishman, I know, but I guess they hoped that a
Jones and a Gupta would create a super Hunter of sorts so the two
families agreed.”
    I must have looked surprised because she
laughed. “I know. It’s ridiculous, but that’s what they were
hoping.”
    “Well, you’re damn good at hunting, but I
wouldn’t have pegged you as a super Hunter. What about your
brothers?”
    She shook her head. “No. None of us are super
anything. My brothers hunt, but none of them are natural born. And
me ... ” her voice trailed off.
    I frowned. “What about you?” I knew she
wasn’t a Hunter the same way I was. Though she was damn good at
hunting down demons.
    “It backfired. I was born a natural, but not
a natural Hunter. I was born a natural Witch.”
    I already knew she was a natural Witch so
that didn’t come as a surprise, but her comment about the backfire
sure did. “What do you mean? Don’t Witches run in your family?”
That was the usual way. It was rare for a natural Witch to be born
to a non-Witch family.
    Her face hardened and she continued down the
path, pulling me along with her. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. What I
do know is that the Jones’s were instrumental during the Witch
Trials and pushed for so many of the Witches to be hanged or
burned. They were the ones who set up the charter preventing
witches, whether natural born or religious, from joining MI8. And
they’re still trying to persecute Witches today. My father is their
driving force.”
    Holy crap. “But there are loads of witches in
the UK,” I pointed out.
    “Wiccans, not true Witches. They follow a
religion, a spiritual path. They are not born with the power of a
natural Witch. True Witches are very rare. I only started showing
the signs after I turned thirteen. Everything changed with my
father after that.”
    Interesting. I hadn’t known that. “So, your
father hates what you are.” It was harsh, but it was what it
was.
    “Yes.”
    “Shit. That sucks.” I’d seen how cold Alister
had been toward her, so I wasn’t entirely surprised.
    Her smile was wry. “Oh, yes. Big time.”
    I squeezed her arm and drew her further down
the path. “Well, I love you and I think you’re amazing.”
    She grinned. “I love you, too, but let’s not
get too mushy, all right?”
    I laughed at that.
    The sun shining through the branches of the
trees dappled our skin and warmed our heads. It was so warm, I
almost wished I’d worn sandals instead of boots.
    “Anyway, Mom wasn’t about to let Dad haul me
off and lock me up or have me exorcised or something, so she sent
me to live with my aunt in London. She is a very powerful member of
the board of directors of MI8 and she doesn’t have the Jones
prejudice against Witches. She hasn’t been active in years, but she
trained me, taught me everything she knows. She couldn’t get me
into MI8, but she made sure I had everything I needed to do my job
and become respected in my own right.”
    “I take it she was the one who helped you get
me out of MI8 custody?”
    “Yes.” Kabita nodded. “She’s an amazing
woman.”
    “What’s your aunt’s name? I’d like to thank
her.”
    She smiled a little at that. “I’m sure she’d
love to meet you. She’ll be there today. Her name is Angeline
Reynolds. She’s Alison’s mother.”
     
    ***
     
    After a leisurely walk, we finally arrived at
the Jones family vault where Alison would be buried. Or interred or
whatever the proper term was.
    I guess I’d always had a hard time respecting
death. Maybe because I lived with it every day. Maybe because I’d
been dead. Or maybe because to me death wasn’t the end, but a
transition. At least, that’s what it had always felt like.
    Even before my attack when everything
changed, I viewed death more as a temporary