warlocks like him to whip their agents into shape.
Despite all these achievements, he still required the support of a new coven and felt positive he’d find one that shared his view on witchcraft and responsibility in using it in due course.
His new position within the Magical Authority would open him to many suitable covens—although he had his heart set on joining the one his mother had once enjoyed membership of, and the same one Anya and Dallas would also be members of.
The Ross Amulet he wore under his clothing warmed his skin. It gave him a sense of comfort and made him feel justified in the way he’d forsaken his former life. He could no longer condone the use of dark magic, and though not all the witch hunter agents at the Triple Hexed Agency used the dark side of the craft, he was better off not being tempted by surrounding himself with those who did. Still, they served a good purpose as some continued to do the same work he did by going after those who used the dark arts and preyed upon the innocent.
He kept in touch with quite a few of the agents there and they would keep him in the loop should anything develop concerning his father’s trial and the fact that he was facing several life sentences behind bars on Vanguard Prime.
Seeing a broken-down car on the road, he pulled over and stepped out into the crisp night air. He inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of the Atlantic Ocean. As he walked closer to the scene, he raised his guard. He could sense the resonating use of dark magic, and it set him on edge. Witch hunters using the dark arts had been in this vicinity not more than ten minutes ago. They were gone now but had left destruction in their wake by the looks of things.
One witch and two warlocks were sprawled out on the pavement close to the automobile. He moved to the injured woman first and felt for a pulse. She was alive but badly hurt by the wounds he could see. It seemed they’d engaged in one hell of a magical battle with what he could only assume were witch hunters, and if his hunch was correct, he was closely acquainted with these in particular.
Hearing the noise of someone grunting and groaning, he moved over to the two men who looked as if they’d fallen in battle together. They were on the ground in front of the woman, which meant they’d been attempting to shield her but had not succeeded. By the way they resembled each other, he assumed the two men were related. All three of them were well over seventy, but even for their advanced age, they’d given one hell of a fight before finally being defeated.
One of the men was still conscious. He was trying to get to his feet and kept slumping back to the ground. “Up, up, have to get up,” he mumbled, his speech a bit slurred from taking such a heavy blow.
“Easy there, my good fellow. It appears you’ve been hit rather hard by a concussive blast spell. I’d reckon your marbles have been rattled. Fortunately, you and your friends have not suffered life-threatening injuries but it will take you a little while to bounce back. You don’t want to make it worse than it already is.”
The man stared up at him with a bleary look. He seemed rather dazed and confused but had control over his faculties enough to seem upset about something and that something wasn’t himself or his friends in arms.
“Do you know who you are?” Oliver asked, seeking to figure out whether or not the witch hunters’ hexes had muddled the man’s brain.
“My name is Master Finley Richards, former Special Agent of the Halifax Magical Authority. Help me up, lad. I must get to her. They can’t take her away from Earth. If they do, a terrible travesty will befall us all. They will have power the likes of which no mortal should ever possess—man or warlock—and certainly not a Bloodbayne Witch Hunter. Those bastards are the bane of us all.”
The man’s gravely serious words hit home. Oliver grimaced in the moonlight, something he didn’t think the older man would see, but he had to have one hell of a set of eyes on him despite being knocked senseless. In his youth he must have been quite the warlock.
“You needn’t fear, my boy. I don’t expect you to help