Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
“You’re supposed to be resting,” Travis protested when Brent called to sell him on the idea of going to New Castle to interview Helene.
“She’s a circus witch,” Brent countered. “And she might be able to give us some tips—or spells—to help set the Walter Brothers’s ghosts to rest.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Matthew cleared me to drive,” Brent said. “But I’m asking you to drive so I don’t have to. That counts as resting.”
Travis sighed, knowing when it wasn’t worth arguing. “Okay, but if it takes longer for you to feel better, don’t blame me.”
“Helene didn’t seem surprised when I called her,” Brent said.
“Ya’ think Finley warned her, or is she psychic?”
“Damned if I know, but she invited us to come talk and gave me her address,” Brent replied. “Either she’s the real deal or it’s some kind of trap.”
Travis frowned. “Unless Finley was in on it somehow, I can’t figure how it could be a trap. Not like we’re the trusting sort, regardless.”
“Guess you’re right.”
Brent typed the address into his phone for directions, and they headed out. “Did you ever hear of a circus town outside of New Castle?”
“Can’t say I did, not that I ever looked for it,” Travis replied. “What is a circus town, anyhow?”
Brent grinned, and Travis knew his partner had been using his search engine talents to do a deep dive.
“Circuses were top-tier entertainment back in the late 1800s. Some of the big names from then are still around now, like Ringling Brothers, but dozens of smaller companies spent the good weather months traveling to towns near railroad lines and putting on a weekend show,” Brent told him.
“They were often called ‘ten-cent shows’ because that’s all they charged for a full day of trapeze artists, clowns, trained dogs and horses, live music, snake handlers, and everything from dramatic readings to people who used their physical oddities to make a living as a performer,” Brent said.
“And one of those shows was based in New Castle?”
Brent nodded. “The Hurlburt and Hunting Circus lasted into the early part of the 1900s. In the off-season, the performers needed somewhere to live, train, and house their animals. They had a little enclave on the outskirts of New Castle. They didn’t bother anyone, and the locals apparently didn’t mind them being there.
When people retired, they stayed and helped run the circus town. ”
“This new friend of yours has to be way too young to remember those days, unless she’s a ghost,” Travis said.
“Finley says she’s very much alive. The Hunting Circus closed, but the enclave remained, and so did its reputation as a safe place for circus folks. Most people have forgotten all about that piece of local history, and I think that suits the community residents just fine,” Brent told him.
“So we need to be careful about not blowing their cover.”
“I make it a habit not to annoy people who have trained snakes for a living,” Brent said with a deadpan expression.
The GPS took them around New Castle to what looked like a small town swallowed by the modern developments around it. “Welcome to Gibbstown,” a sign said.
A tidy community of houses and shops lined the road and stretched a few blocks on either side. Many of the houses were Victorians, while others dated from across the last century. A café, general store, bakery, and a couple of other well-maintained businesses looked like they were doing okay.
“Looks pretty ordinary,” Travis observed.
“You were expecting circus tents?” Brent joked. “Pet tigers in the backyard?”
Travis shrugged. “Didn’t know what to expect.”
They parked at the curb near their destination, and Brent looked up at the sign that hung above the door. “‘Fortune Coffee.’ Guess this is the right place.”
Inside, the warmly lit, cozy interior had fanciful paintings of dogs and cats on the walls. The air smelled of roasting beans and fresh baked goods. Not a single detail referenced the circus or traveling shows.
They walked to the counter and ordered two drinks. “I’m looking for Helene,” Brent told the woman at the register. “I called this morning. I’m Brent, and this is Travis.”
She nodded. “Figured that. I know everyone in town. I’m Helene.”
Helene looked to be in her late forties or early fifties, a tall, spare woman with dark hair shot through with gray pulled back in a ponytail. Rolled-up sleeves revealed sinewy arms and strong hands. An apron over a T-shirt and jeans read, “Good Fortune Starts Here.”
“Take the back table. I’ll be over as soon as Jane can cover for me.” Helene called to a woman working in the back as they ambled over to their seats, and followed a few minutes later.
“So…tell me what you want to know, and I’ll see if I can help.”
“We want to know about circus witches, and Finley said you might have some history on the topic,” Brent said.
Helene laughed. “Some history? Yeah, I guess you could say that.” She closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating. When she opened them, she looked at both men differently, as if she could see through them. “You lay spirits to rest and stop monsters.” It wasn’t a question.
“We help them move on and keep them from hurting the living,” Travis replied.
“There’s a place where a circus train wrecked many years ago—people and animals died,” Brent replied.
“It was dormant for a long time, but now the ghosts are acting up, causing danger. We want to help them pass over and keep people from getting hurt. I was hoping you might know something that would help.”
They weren’t usually quite so plain-spoken, but something about Helene made Brent trust her and told him she would respect straightforwardness.
She nodded. “I’ve heard many stories about the wreck and visited the site a few times. Unfortunately crashes like that weren’t unknown in the circus world back then, but that particular one is among the worst. I’m not surprised the ghosts aren’t settled.”
“We think there may be a malicious third party riling up hauntings to draw out hunters and attack them,” Travis replied, and both men waited to see her reaction.
Helene hesitated as if listening to a voice they could not hear. “There is truth to what you say. How did you think I could help?”
Brent gave an uncertain smile. “That’s part of what we came here to figure out. We thought maybe you might have some additional insight since you were also part of the circus.”
She chuckled. “When I traveled with the show, I was the fortune teller. Behind the scenes, I worked protective magic, helped the medics with healing, and kept away the dark things. Since I retired from the circuit, I still do all those things, but I sleep in my own bed every night, which is something I truly appreciate.”
“Can you help us? Will you?” Travis asked.
Helene looked from Brent to Travis. “Before I give you my answer, I want to share a story I heard about the wreck soon after I came to Gibbstown. One of our oldest residents, Joe McLaughlin, was a rigger with several shows. He came from a circus family, going back generations. One of his ancestors had been with the Walter Brothers and survived the crash.”
She paused and took another sip of tea. “Joe said that the story that came down through the family held that there was a supernatural cause to the wreck. He didn’t know all the details—old stories like that always leave a lot out—but the piece that endured and that his ancestor apparently swore on a Bible was true was that vampires had something to do with it. ”
“Vampires?” Brent hadn’t anticipated that revelation.
Helene nodded. “Joe certainly believed the story to be true, and apparently so did his family members. Figured you should know.”
“Thank you,” Travis replied. “Here’s hoping none of them show up when we go to deal with the restless ghosts, but we’ll take precautions.”
“Which brings us back to the beginning,” Brent added. “Is there anything you can tell us about the magic to help us with the spirits?”
Helene gave an enigmatic smile. “I can do better than that. I’ll go with you. Circus folks stick together.”
Travis felt a weight he didn’t know he carried slip from his shoulders. He wasn’t sure why he felt so relieved to have the witch’s help, but it was like a piece of a puzzle slotting into place, one he hadn’t realized had been missing.
“Thank you.” Brent sounded as relieved as Travis. “I didn’t think we could ask you for that, but I believe it will make a difference.”
“So do I,” Helene said, “although my sources haven’t explained why.
I’ve been out to the wreck site a few times over the years.
When it was closer to living memory, people wanted to lay a wreath on the anniversary of the crash.
The ghosts never bothered us, but even then, I knew they hadn’t made their peace and moved on.
When spirits linger too long, someone or something is going to rile them up and cause trouble eventually.
I consider this to be part of the healing I do in the community. ”
They spent the next half hour making plans and agreed to meet up once Brent had been cleared for action by Matthew.
Helene gave Brent a look that seemed to see down to his bones. “You’ve been injured recently by something supernatural. It’s left a mark on you.”
“I got hurt on a hunt,” Brent replied.
Helene shook her head. “I know demon energy when I sense it. On top of your new injury.”
Ben didn’t like to remember his run-in with Mavet in Mosul, or his brushes with demons since then. He had suspected that something attracted them, but hearing confirmation didn’t help his mood.
Helene ran a hand just above the surface of Brent’s arm and leg where the gnome had clawed him, and her lips moved silently as she concentrated.
“Gnomes are nasty business,” Helene said, even though neither man had mentioned Brent’s attacker. “Supernatural injuries often fester. Yours is clean and healing well. I added a little something to help things along,” she added with a smile.
“Thank you.” Brent’s features looked less pinched, telling Travis that the healing had been effective.
“Call me when you’re ready to go,” Helene told them as they took their leave. “I’ll keep my calendar open over the next couple of days.”