Page 21 of Sinistram
“That’s a lot for one afternoon,” Jon replied.
“Yeah, but honestly, even the vision isn’t the strangest thing,” Travis said. “Whoever I get for a Keeper is always an asshole. That’s part of the job, and it goes double because they don’t like me. But someone removed all the vampire books, as well as several of the necromancy tomes. I don’t believe that’s coincidental. Whoever took them doesn’t want anyone looking closely at vampire lore or raising the dead and undead.”
“Interesting theory, but why?” Jon toyed with his glass as he spoke.
“I don’t know, but I think we need to find out,” Travis answered. “I’ve been going there for a long time, and an entire section never just vanished before. So…it’s going to take some digging to figure out what’s going on.”
“Watch your back. Vampires don’t like nosy humans interfering with their plans,” Jon warned.
“Yeah, well. The Sinistram has tolerated mediums and psychics and people with magic, but they’ve never changed their position on vampires,” Travis said. “It’s always been canon that a monster is a monster is a monster. So, are we facing a vampire insurrection? Or have the powers that be decided vampires can be useful if properly…supervised.”
“That’s not likely to work out well,” Jon observed.
“Probably not, but the kind of bureaucratic idiots who dream up things like that never have to handle the clean-up.” Travis drained his water and felt a pang of regret at not having anything stronger available. The vision had left him badly shaken, and he knew Jon could probably tell.
“How about taking your mind off things for a while?” Jon suggested. “There’s nothing more to be done tonight, and sometimes giving yourself a little space makes everything clearer. I have it on good authority that there’s a bingo game that needs a caller.”
Calling bingo was the last thing Travis really wanted to do, but he recognized the wisdom in Jon’s suggestion and knew that if he stayed in his apartment, he would end up doing more research or phoning hunting contacts.
“I just happen to know a guy,” Travis joked, and Jon grinned.
“Why don’t you take a shower and wash away the day, then come down when you’re ready,” Jon said. “I left the invoices that I paid on your desk in the office. Dinner is haluski and mashed potatoes.”
Travis liked their cook’s version of the Eastern European dish, and his stomach growled.
“There’s apple cobbler for dessert,” Jon added as an inducement.
“Get thee behind me, Satan,” Travis said with a laugh, although he wasn’t up to fighting that particular temptation too hard.
Jon’s phone alarm chimed. “That’s my signal to go make sure everything is in order for tonight. See you once you get cleaned up.”
A hot shower went a long way toward dispelling the tactile memories of the vision as well as the old book smell that always clung to his clothing when he visited the library. Tired as Travis was after the day’s events, he knew that he needed the social aspect of going to the dining room for dinner, talking to their residents, and helping raise spirits with the bingo night.
He also knew that Jon and Matthew would probably drag him out of his apartment if he tried to renege.
Travis often ate in the dining room with St. Dismas’s current residents. If the staff was shorthanded, he also pitched in to help serve the meal. Tonight, Jon waved him toward the line to get his tray and dinner.
“We’ve got it covered,” Jon told him. “You’ve had a hard day. Go eat.”
“Hey, Father Travis! There’s a seat over here.” Steve, one of the men who had been at the home longer than most, waved him over.
Travis carried his tray to the table and sat. “Just Travis these days,” he reminded Steve. “I gave up the collar a long time ago.”
Steve shrugged. “The stuff you do here with St. Dismas counts like a church. More than most churches,” he said. Travis made a non-committal response, not wanting to debate the matter.
“Do you believe in monsters?”
Steve’s question caught Travis with a mouthful of food. He chewed a little slower, buying himself time to come up with an answer. “You mean really bad people?”
Steve shook his head. He was a burly man in his forties with a shaved head and tattoos that chronicled the highs and lows of his lifetime, from favorite bands to prison tats. He had made real progress leaving all that behind during his stay at St. Dismas. Travis didn’t think that mere humans scared Steve.
“No. Monster-monsters. Maybe not like on TV. From the stories my nana used to tell us about the things that lived in the woods and the caves, back in the old country.”
Travis regarded him seriously, ignoring the desire to brush off the discussion to gain an evening’s peace. “Why?”
Steve looked around. No one else sat near them. He leaned forward and dropped his voice so only Travis could hear.
“There’s word on the street aboutthingsout there in the shadows.” Steve braced himself, ready not to be believed.
