Page 19 of Sinistram
The Keeper followed him out of the stacks and the restricted area, a silent shadow. At the doorway, he paused.
“Don’t return until the period of cleansing is completed,” he warned. “For the good of your soul.”
“I’ll remember that.” Travis brushed off the priest’s concern.
“Mind your manners,” the Keeper snapped. “You’re merely a guest here.”
So many things ran through Travis’s mind to say in reply, but he swallowed them down. Picking a fight with someone who could turn a person into a frog—even temporarily—wasn’t worth the hassle.
“Then I thank you for your warm welcome.” Travis met the Keeper’s gaze without flinching. “And I’m sure I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
The heavy iron door clanged shut behind Travis, and he paused to take a deep breath, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his chest.
He didn’t take the library’s magic lightly. As a medium, he knew the archive had layers of protection, both from spells and from the cadre of ghostly priests who never left their posts even after their lives were over. They flitted just at the edge of hissight, usually ignoring him, but on occasion dropping or pulling out a book that was exactly what Travis needed.
No matter how much he hated returning to the Sinistram stronghold or how it would spark nightmares for days afterwards, he would not compromise a hunt for his personal comfort. He accepted the library’s effect on him as a form of penance for the gray areas fighting monsters often required.
The Crown Vic was where he left it, untouched despite the dodgy area, protected by subtle distraction spells.
Danger. Run.The warning came from the ghost of a boy with a world-weary look in his eyes.
A bullet zinged by Travis, barely missing his shoulder. Clearly the spell didn’t extend to distracting attackers from Travis as well as the car. Three men stepped out of the shadows, clearly lying in wait for him to return.
Travis dropped and crouched behind the Crown Vic, pulling his gun. He popped up, returning fire. That kept the men at bay for now, but he was likely to run out of ammo before they did, and a shootout in this area was bound to attract cops asking questions Travis didn’t want to answer. He tried to rise enough to see his attackers, but more shots forced him back to a crouch. The boy’s ghost remained, standing to one side and watching.
“Hey, kid.” Travis looked right at the ghost, who seemed surprised to be seen.
Me?
Travis nodded. “Yeah. You got friends nearby?”
The ghost nodded.Why?
“Cause trouble for those guys to make them leave, and I’ll send you on so you don’t have to hang around here anymore.” Travis couldn’t promise heaven or that they would reunite with loved ones. That knowledge, he always joked, was above his pay grade. But he could give them rest. He had no way to know forcertain, but he had the feeling that the ghost had been stuck here for a while.
You can do that?The boy looked wary.
“Yes. You can finally rest.”
Will I see my grandma?the ghost asked.
Travis shook his head. “I don’t know for sure. Maybe. You won’t be here anymore.”
Good enough,the ghost said and vanished. Travis slowed his pace to buy time, hoping the boy would keep his word.
He didn’t have to wait long. Invisible feet kicked over the bottles and cans that lined nearby concrete steps, sending them flying with enough force to break glass.
“What the hell—” One of the men flinched at the sudden noise, looking around for reinforcements.
Empty beer cans levitated, then pelted Travis’s attackers, hitting them in the head or smashing on the ground at their feet. Theatrical wailing added to the spooky effect.
“Fuck this shit, I’m gone.” Two of the men ran down a side street.
The third man hesitated until a glass bottle crashed into a light pole right above his head, raining down shards. He fled without looking back.
Travis locked himself inside the Crown Vic. Within its wards, Travis felt himself relax knowing he was safe.
A small gang of ghosts appeared next to the driver’s side window, laughing and joking with each other, proud of their success.
