Page 7 of Sinistram
More frequent, powerful manifestations endangered the general public, but particularly hunters, who took it upon themselves to stop paranormal threats from harming civilians. Increased confrontations automatically created more opportunities for hunters to get hurt or killed doing their job.
If someone or something was intentionally targeting hunters, the end result was the same.
Hunters didn’t recruit new hunters. Broken people found their way into hunting after something supernatural killed people they loved, and they went looking for vengeance. That was true for everyone Travis knew who was “in the life,” as hunters called it. There was no central hunting organization, no formal education, and no union. Hunters learned from each other, formed friendships and loose alliances, and took care of their own, like with Al’s wake.
Take out too many at a time, and replacing them will take a while. That could leave a gap unless folks come in from other areas. But people tend to stick to the region they’re from, for a lot of reasons,Travis mused.They know the territory, the legends, and sometimes, the cops. They’ve got side gigs or day jobs. Hard to pull up stakes.
If the spike wasn’t a coincidence, then the question was, what entities were powerful enough to make it happen? CHARON was the most likely candidate, since they were aggressively anti-monster, but playing a long game wasn’t their style.Too subtle.
The possibility remained that an unknown coven or powerful witch might be manipulating the situation for their own ends, either to get rid of hunters they viewed as a threat, or to make the surviving ones more hard-line.
Possible, but seems like a stretch.
Which left Sinistram, an option Travis still considered unlikely. Sinistram’s cadre of specially trained “ninja” priests with arcane abilities considered home-grown hunters to be armed rabble, but didn’t object to using them for cannon fodder.
Sinistram complains about hunters, but they’d actually have to work more without them. They like feeling superior, but I can’t see them siding with the monsters against humans. What’s in it for them? They’re a secret organization, so they aren’t going to get famous. They’re funded by the Vatican, so they don’t need money. That leaves power—over whom? To do what?
We’re missing pieces, and I’m afraid this is going to bite us on the ass if we’re not careful.
The day’s activities were finally catching up to him. Travis yawned, trying to get comfortable. He wondered whether he would get another vision, something to make sense of what he had seen.
Let’s see what Brent and I can pick up at the wake and get from Mark. Maybe if we all compare notes, someone will have the pieces the others are missing.
But we’d better figure it out soon. These things always have a short timeline, and the clock is already ticking.
He fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning, and while he did not have any visions, his dreams were restless.
CHAPTER TWO
“Thank you for coming.I know it’s a drive,” Mark Wojcik welcomed them when they arrived for the wake. He shook their hands firmly and clapped them on the back.
Mark was about Brent’s height and build, solid and strong from his day job as a mechanic, with blond hair and green eyes. He was usually quick with a joke, so it seemed strange to see him so subdued when they weren’t on a hunt.
“Thank you for letting us know. I wish we were getting together under better circumstances,” Brent said, and Travis echoed the sentiment.
“I don’t know how many of these folks you know.” Mark walked in with them from the parking lot. “I can introduce you. They’re hunters, so don’t expect much in the way of social skills.”
The memorial service for Al Saunders was short and ecumenical, held in the back room of Fletcher’s Bar. What was left when the rougarou was done with him had already been cremated and buried in a corner of a local cemetery that hunters had quietly claimed for their own.
A donated headstone was promised to show up the next week, bearing only his name and dates. He had no family, exceptfor the other men and women who shared the danger, burden, and nightmare of their calling.
Brent counted fifteen men and two women, ranging in age from early thirties to late fifties, all in flannel shirts, canvas jackets, worn jeans, and boots—practical gear that transferred from hunting deer to stalking monsters. The women looked as hardened as the men and stood together off to one side.
Father Leo spotted them and came over to shake hands, since Mark had introduced them on a hunt a while back. “Travis and Brent. Good to see you. Thanks for coming. I’m guessing Mark’s already shared his thoughts?”
Brent nodded. “And we’re hoping to get to talk privately after the service. Sorry about your loss.”
Father Leo Minnelli still looked youthful at nearly forty, with wavy brown hair and brown eyes. He was the chaplain of St. Gemma Galgani, a rural church that served a few dozen families in a sparsely populated area that had seen better days. Aside from those duties, he worked with the Occulatum, another group of monster-hunting priests that weren’t as hard-assed as the Sinistram. He was in between Travis and Brent’s heights, with a trim build that suggested he kept in shape.
Leo hadn’t left the priesthood, but he had made it clear at their first meeting that he bore Travis no ill will for his choice.
“There are all kinds of monsters,”Leo had said back then.“Addiction, family trauma, loneliness. This way, I get to make a difference with both kinds.”
“Definitely. You’re staying the night at Mark’s?” Leo asked.
Travis nodded. “He had room, and we figured it gave us more time to talk.”
“Good. We need to find some answers. I’ve done too many services like this lately,” Leo replied.
