Page 23 of Sinistram
Or how to step in and be the town’s mine witch. They left that out at school, too.
He gestured for Jon to step outside the room with him. “Your family’s been in Pittsburgh for a while, right? Any of them work in the mines?”
Jon nodded. “Back in the day. Like around World War Two.”
“Anyone ever mention mine witches?”
Jon raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. You and Brent are cleaning up old messes again?”
“When aren’t we?”
“Fair enough.” Jon thought for a moment. “The people who worked the mines were very old when I was a kid. By then, theunderground mines were closed, and there were just a couple of strip mines left. But sometimes at the holidays, the old men would sit around and drink and tell stories. If I stayed real quiet under the table, they forgot I was there, and they’d tell some doozies.”
“I bet.”
“They were all good Catholics, but they also believed in ghosts, monsters, and witches,” Jon replied. “Just like the women would go to church to pray in the morning and stop at the tea shop to consult the neighborhood seer on their way home.”
The official term Travis had learned in seminary was “syncretism,” the blending of different belief systems. People saw nothing wrong with hedging their bets, since good luck often seemed elusive.
“What did they say about the witches?”
Jon took a moment to answer. “Geez, I haven’t thought about that stuff for a long while. But they’d tell stories about close calls: cave-ins, rock falls, bad air, fires. Sometimes there was a ghost warning them to get out. Other times, they swore a monster caused the problem. They all wore saints’ medallions and took omens seriously. And they thought they were safer because witches from the old country put spells on the mines.”
“Did they ever say what the witch actually did?” Travis told him briefly about what he had found at the library.
Jon nodded. “That sounds right. They mentioned how the witch would bless the mine and cast out demons and unholy creatures. Never heard them repeat what the witch said, but I got the feeling it was more of an incantation and less of a prayer. Interesting that from what you found, sometimes they got both a witch and a priest in one package.”
That hadn’t surprised Travis, since he felt sure he wasn’t the only one who had ever combined his religion with the natural power of inherent magic.
“Does that help?” Jon asked.
“Yeah, it does. Validating a theory,” Travis replied. “Thanks.”
“Oh, Aricella said she was coming by tomorrow morning with the bakery order, and she made a point of saying that she wanted to talk to you,” Jon added.
Aricella was a talented bruja in addition to being a mighty fine baker. She was one of the folks Travis had dubbed his “Night Vigil”—people with magic or supernatural gifts who served as an intelligence network, reporting anything unusual their talents revealed.
The unlikely band of informants had provided valuable tips more than once that had helped Travis avert trouble or find the missing piece for a hunt.
“Let me know when she gets here,” Travis replied. “I haven’t seen her in a while.”
When the movie ended, everyone helped clean the snack table and stack the folding chairs. St. Dismas kept a nightly curfew, another way to add structure to their guests’ lives and make it easier for them to avoid bad influences on their own outside the facility.
Afterward, Travis got ready for bed, which normally included time spent clearing his mind with meditation and prayer. While he had been iffy about praying since he left the priesthood, he found the familiar words and cadences soothing, and figured that any worthwhile cosmic entity would understand his struggle.
Most of the time, the combination of a dark, quiet room, soft music, and contemplation helped to still his racing thoughts and relax tight shoulders. Some nights, it wasn’t enough. He gave up after half an hour and went to make himself a cup of tea.
Resigned, Travis checked the police reports of missing persons, and then shifted to the social media sites where loved ones posted looking for information. He had learned long ago that the unofficial bulletin boards were more accurate than the police information.
Pittsburgh’s missing persons count didn’t compare to larger cities like Los Angeles, for which Travis remained thankful. Many people were found fairly quickly, although a few well-known cases remained unsolved. Travis started counting the recent postings, separating them by the date reported. Sure enough, the numbers had increased over the last year. The numbers weren’t large enough to attract media attention, but Travis saw a definite upward trend.
More worrisome were the number of disappearances that appeared completely random, people who just vanished without any history of financial or personal trouble.
Like they’ve been snatched. But why? And who took them?
Aside from their lack of predictable reasons to run away, Travis couldn’t find any other common elements. They were male and female, representing a range of ages and ethnicities. The only thing he noted was an absence of both children and elderly people, two groups that usually figured prominently in missing persons lists.
Travis yawned and figured the tea had finally done its job. He made some final notes on his findings and closed down his computer. He fell asleep quickly, but his dreams were dark.
