Page 6 of Sinistram
When he spoke of the Sinistram, it was always “they.” Never “we.” Travis had left that life behind and wanted as little to do with it as possible, but the small world of supernatural protectors meant crossing paths was inevitable.
“Sorry to run out on you again.” Travis felt a flash of guilt, although he knew his duties were more than adequately covered.
“Goes with the calling, if not the job.” Jon shrugged. “We’ll be fine. And maybe when you get back, before you hare off on the next hunt, you could drop in at the Sinistram library, just to take the temperature.”
As an inducement to return, the Sinistram permitted Travis access to their secret arcane library, a privilege usually reserved for members of the Order. He went when there was no other choice to research a case, but between the thinly-veiled censure for leaving and the open pressure to return, the experience was never enjoyable, even if it proved productive.
His expression must have made his unspoken thoughts clear, because Jon and Matthew chuckled.
“Your face is saying the quiet part out loud, Travis,” Jon laughed. “Tell us how you really feel.”
Travis rolled his eyes. “You’ve heard me whine before. Sinistram gives me access, then piles on the guilt for not coming back.”
“You’re Catholic and they’re an arm of the Vatican,” Matthew said. “Of course they do.”
Travis shot him the bird. “Still. It’s less of a courtesy and more of a recruitment tactic. I’m clearly the prodigal son.”
“More like the one who got away,” Jon remarked. “You’re a damn fine hunter, and you’ve proven by stopping a couple of potentially world-ending problems that you can do just fine without them. That has to sting.”
“Yeah, well,” Travis grumbled. “They’re everything people complain about with the Church. Stuck in their ways, close-minded, judgmental, and hypocritical. They want me for my abilities, but they also want me to feel guilty and damned for having those abilities. Fuck them.”
“And yet…we still serve,” Matthew pointed out with a glance up at the painting of St. Dismas.
“I look at it as family trauma,” Jon said. “Can’t live with it, can’t live without it.”
“They’ve never revised their views on immortal creatures who repent doing harm and change their ways,” Travis grumbled. “Once a monster, always a monster, and we know that isn’t true.”
“It’s not just the Sinistram that has trouble with that idea,” Matthew said. “So do plenty of hunters.”
No one questioned the need to stop feral, unreasoning monsters that attacked out of instinct, hunger, or malice and could not be tamed or made less of a threat. Likewise, the need to deal harshly with people who used magic to kill or cause harm was widely accepted. The gray area fell with those supernatural creatures like vampires, weres, and other reasoning beings who weren’t actually human.
“Back in the old days, they had special cloisters for those who wanted to withdraw to avoid temptation,” Matthew recalled. “It was always a question whether the choice to enter those cloisters was voluntary. At best, they were a refuge. At worst, a prison based solely on having paranormal abilities.”
“Which was better than nothing, I guess,” Travis agreed. “But the uprising in 1659 burned the cloisters and killed everyone assigned there,” he reminded them. “Which just made everything worse.”
“That’s not just the Church, it’s human history in general,” Jon said. “As a species, we fuck up a lot.”
“Amen,” Matthew muttered. The conversation lagged, and they sat in silence for a few moments.
Finally, Travis finished his hot chocolate and stood. “I need to get some sleep. I can’t say I’m looking forward to the wake tomorrow, but maybe Brent and I will find out something that helps explain what the hell is going on.”
“And it slows you down from going right back out to look into that haunting at the Darr Mine, like you intended,” Jon added.
“I guess a day won’t hurt too much,” Travis conceded. “But it’s another case where a long-ago disaster that hadn’t caused problems in a long time suddenly flared up.”
“It’ll still be there the day after tomorrow,” Matthew assured him. “Now get some rest.”
Travis said goodnight to his companions before he took his cup to the kitchen and headed to his room.
He set out his clothing and checked the supplies in his go-bag before he changed for bed. Travis always wore several silver protective saints’ medallions, day and night, and kept a rosary in his jacket pocket, along with a flask of salted holy water.
Travis considered which weapons might make the most sense at the mine. He had some altered flash-bangs that could spread salt, powdered silver, and iron flakes, and make a nice little explosion with a loud noise. He tossed in a couple, mindful of being careful that igniting them wouldn’t cause a bigger fire.
He always carried silver knives in addition to his Glock with silver bullets and a shotgun with rock salt rounds. Matthew kept him provisioned with essential field medicine supplies, and Travis confirmed that he hadn’t depleted his stock. When he felt sufficiently prepared, he set the bag aside and turned out the lights.
Mark Wojcik’s words repeated in Travis’s mind as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep. Brent believed something had stirred up long-dormant haunts and turned themdangerous. Mark was convinced that something was hunting the hunters. The two seemed contradictory.
Could both be true, with different entities behind them?he wondered.
