Chapter 4 #3
Just when Brent felt certain that he was losing the battle, the force vanished. Travis’s hands joined his on the wheel as they corrected to keep from slewing across the other lane and into the trees. The maneuver slammed them into each other and threw Travis into the door.
“Hang on,” Travis warned. He kept driving for another mile or so, but when nothing else tried to kill them, he eased off the side of the road and put the car in park.
Both men were wide-eyed and breathing hard from the near miss.
Travis slowly relaxed his white-knuckled grip on the wheel, ready to grab it again. “Well, now we know what killed the other hunters.” He willed his heart to stop pounding.
“That’s gotta be magic,” Brent said. “There wasn’t anything on the road to make us lurch.”
“I’ll see about getting some of our witch friends out here to un-hex whatever caused the wrecks,” Travis said.
When they reached the main road without incident, Brent let out the breath he had been holding.
“Whoever set that wanted to give the gnome the first shot at killing them, and finish the job if necessary,” Brent said, feeling the attack in sore muscles and new, bleeding wounds, although it was a toss-up whether the cuts from the tommyknocker or the punctures from the gnome hurt more.
“Maybe you should get some body armor,” Travis said. “To help you keep the blood on the inside.”
Brent flipped him off, but without heat. “You could be right.”
Travis called ahead, so Matthew was waiting for them when they arrived. Brent looked over to Travis. “I appreciate the concern, but it’s not like I need to be wheeled in on a gurney.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Matthew joked, although Brent saw the concern in his eyes. His mouth tightened into a line when he took in the holes in Brent’s clothing and the blood. “Come on. Let’s see how bad it is.”
Brent knew the way to the infirmary. At this time of day, St. Dismas was quiet, so they avoided questioning looks from the residents.
Sheer stubbornness meant Brent got himself onto the table. He managed to get his shirt off, although the wounds in both arms made movement painful.
Matthew examined the punctures closely, frowning as he gently poked and prodded. “I don’t know whether to be glad it was claws instead of teeth or not. They both carry risks for infection. Fortunately, these look pretty clean. Although I don’t know what sort of germs a gnome might carry.”
The medic flushed the wounds and applied a tincture and salve that Brent knew had been specially compounded for supernaturally-caused injuries.
“I’m hoping that gets them healing quickly without any infection,” Matthew said as he bandaged the wounds.
“The good thing about bleeding—up to a point—is that it can help clean out the wound too.”
He went to a cupboard and poured pills into a prescription bottle.
“These should help with the pain so you get good sleep,” he told Brent as he handed it over.
“I know you’re not going to like hearing this, but I think you need to take some time off from hunting—at least a couple of days—so this wound and the last one actually have time to heal. ”
“How do you feel?” Travis asked, handing Brent a pair of sweatpants from the donation pile.
“Like I was clawed by a gnome,” Brent replied, deadpan. “I’ll be fine.”
“Let’s take a couple of days for research, and then there’s another haunting I want to check out,” Travis said. “There was a circus train that overturned a hundred years ago, and apparently the ghosts of the animals are causing problems.”
Brent knew his friend was saving his ego by giving him time to heal. “That’s a new one.” He paused, worried. “I appreciate a chance to get fixed up, but someone is still killing hunters out there.”
“Yep. And there’s no point in tempting fate by going in at less than a hundred percent,” Travis countered.
Brent glared at him, knowing Travis was right but still feeling guilty about being the cause of the slowdown. “All right, but I’m going to research the hell out of this while I’m sidelined.”
Travis and Matthew exchanged an exasperated look. “We’re only talking a couple of days, not weeks,” Travis reminded him. “I know you could probably white-knuckle it if you had to, but it’s not that dire, yet.”
“Hunters who take decent care of themselves live to shoot monsters longer,” Matthew observed. “I think I read that from a fortune cookie.”
Brent sighed, knowing that he was outnumbered. “Okay. But just a couple of days.”
“Don’t get an infection, and we’ll go from there,” Travis said.
“You two are a real handful, you know that?” Matthew said with exasperated fondness. “Go home. Sleep. Both of you.”
“Give me my keys,” Brent said.
Travis shook his head. “Not tonight. Sleep here, enjoy the painkillers, and tomorrow if Matthew clears you, you can go home then. Free room, clean sheets, and a hot breakfast. It’s a pretty good deal.”
Brent was too tired and sore to argue, and he knew Travis’s concern came from the heart. “Fine. But only because you threw in breakfast.”
Thanks to the painkillers, Brent slept hard, barely waking in time to catch the end of the promised breakfast. Scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast lifted his mood and his energy.
He did his best not to show that the injuries still hurt when Matthew checked him over, but he doubted that the medic was fooled.
“Healing nicely, no sign of infection,” Matthew told him.
“You’re cleared to drive.” He handed him a bottle with a few pills inside.
“Take these in case you need them to sleep for the next couple of nights. They won’t be an issue with your usual prescription pain meds for that leg, but don’t mix with alcohol.
Try not to get punctured by any monsters until you heal up. ”
“Thank you.” Brent appreciated Matthew’s expertise and good humor. “I’ll call Travis later. I have some leads I want to run down—by phone,” he assured Matthew. “In my nice, safe desk chair.”
Once he was back home, Brent made a pot of coffee and set up his laptop and a notepad so he could make calls and research from the comfort of his couch.
He settled in and called Mark Wojcik. “What are you hearing through the Occulatum?” Brent asked after a brief greeting, knowing that Mark was connected to the more moderate organization of researchers.
“Hello to you, too,” Mark replied jovially. “Did you fight the gnome yet?”
“Yeah, clawed me up some. I’m cooling my heels until I get cleared for active duty.” Brent gave Mark a short version of the fight.
“Damn. That’s a new one. But for what it’s worth, I think you’re right about the gnome either finding the mine on its own or being drawn there. And I really don’t like the possibilities from the second option.”
“Are your contacts running into anything similar? Dormant monsters creating new problems? Have there been any more hunter deaths?” In the background, a car engine turned off, and Brent realized he had caught Mark in his garage.
“No deaths, but a couple of near-misses that are hard to believe were accidents,” Mark said. “Father Leo and I have been getting the word out to all the hunters we know to watch their backs.”
“If we’re right about someone using monsters to draw out the hunters, then until we figure this out, there’s no such thing as a cold haunt.
Whoever’s behind this has enough magic to wake up a gnome, so that means they can probably juice up banished ghosts or call new monsters,” Brent said. “But we still don’t know why.”
“One of those near-misses happened when someone sabotaged the hunters’ truck while they were fighting some angry ghosts.
Last I checked, most ghosts couldn’t cut brake lines,” Mark added.
“Then two other hunters were nearly taken out with rifle shots. Luckily, they were psychic and literally saw it coming, but it’s not deer season, if you know what I mean. ”
“A deer rifle can hit a target that’s about 300 feet away, can’t it?” Brent’s experience was more with military weaponry.
“Technically, yes,” Mark answered. “Although most people go for around 100 feet.”
“Still, that’s far enough away to make it difficult to see the shooter,” Brent mused.
“That’s sort of the point,” Mark said. “As for the Occulatum, they’re worried. Not just about the weird omen stuff and the threats to hunters, but I get the feeling there’s political church stuff going on. Even Father Leo has been on edge.”
“Do you think he’d answer a direct question if you asked?”
“Depends. What do you want to know?” Mark asked.
“Whether he thinks Sinistram might be involved,” Brent said.
“You don’t mince words.” Mark blew out a breath. “I can ask. I know Father Leo tries to stay away from those sorts, like Travis does. I take it Travis has suspicions, and he can’t look into them because the Sons of Darkness still hold a grudge?”
“Yep. He got weird vibes when he went to the library a few days ago, and a bunch of books were missing from the shelves, but the priests wouldn’t tell him anything,” Brent said.
“Books on what?”
“Vampires, mostly. And a few on necromancers.”
“Well, that can’t be good,” Mark replied. “Why would vampires be involved?”
“We’re still trying to figure that out,” Brent admitted. “Which was another thing I was hoping you and Father Leo could do some poking around to get intel.”
“I’ll keep my ears open and let you know what I hear,” Mark promised.
“If you have any other names of recently dead hunters you haven’t had a chance to look into, send them to me since I’m sidelined for a day or two. I can see what shows up in my system.” As a licensed detective, Brent had access to specialized databases.
“Will do,” Mark said. “Keep your head down and try not to piss off any more gnomes.”
Brent ended the call and refilled his coffee cup, fortifying himself for the next call. He couldn’t spike his drink to ease the tension, and the painkiller didn’t really cover anxiety.