Chapter 3
SCOTT
The next morning, Scott debated what to wear for his appointment with Dr. Rich Jefferies at the Fox Hollow Institute. He decided on a nice camp shirt, good jeans, and no tie, hoping to fit in with the town’s relaxed vibe.
We found our mate. Why do we have to talk to someone else? Scott’s coyote sulked.
Because my articles pay for food and a nice place to live, Scott pointed out.
If we slept in our fur, we could find a nice cave and plenty of rabbits, his coyote countered.
Nope. Not doing it, Scott said. And you know you like the blankets and pillows.
Maybe, his coyote side admitted. And the couch.
Scott ran a comb through his hair, decided that he looked presentable, and then grabbed his backpack on the way out the door.
The Fox Hollow Institute resided in a large Victorian mansion, one of the era’s Great Camp summer homes for a wealthy family in the Gilded Era. Scott checked in at the desk in the main entranceway and was directed up a sweeping staircase to an office on the second floor.
He reached the door just as a man opened it.
“Scott, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Rich Jeffries.” He looked to be in his late forties, and while gray tinged his dark hair at the temples, his bright blue eyes held a vibrant sparkle.
“Very nice to meet you, too, Dr. Jeffries,” Scott said, shaking hands.
“Please, just Rich. We aren’t formal around here.” Jeffries escorted Scott into his office and motioned for him to take a seat on the couch instead of in one of the chairs near the large desk. Jeffries sat in a chair facing him.
“Now, how can I help you?” Jeffries asked.
“As I mentioned in my email, I write online articles,” Scott replied.
“I have assignments for pieces on the abandoned amusement parks and ski resorts for some history and travel pages. But I also got intrigued with information I found about the old Platt Mine and the spooky creatures that supposedly crawled out of it. The university I work with has contracted me for an article on the mine—not the spooky stuff, just the mine itself.”
He had supplied plenty of links to sites for Jeffries to validate his credentials and see the kinds of articles he wrote, and the fact that he got an interview told him he had made a good first impression.
“I read some of your work. Interesting and well-researched,” Jeffries said. “That’s a difficult combination to pull off. Most writers manage one or the other. You tackled some supernatural-themed topics without being sensational. That also got my attention, given what we do here.”
“I read everything I could find about the Institute,” Scott told him. “It has a fascinating history, and I’m very interested in the kind of studies it supports.”
“We’re a rare bird, that’s true.” Jeffries laughed. “Ask away!”
“Before we start, can I ask a personal question?”
“What did you have in mind?” Jeffries asked.
Scott cleared his throat. “I’m a coyote shifter. Is it true that when you find your fated mate, you feel a ‘spark’ when you touch hands?”
“Did that happen? With someone you like?” Jeffries’s smile helped Scott feel less nervous.
“Yes. But I’m not used to feeling so much so soon. I don’t want to do this wrong,” Scott confessed. I’m pretty sure I’m already in love with him.
Jeffries chuckled. “There’s no right or wrong way to get to know your fated mate.
Yes, feeling a spark like that is a classic sign.
Often with shifters, their animal side will identify their mate by scent.
You don’t have to move at any speed except what’s right for the two of you.
Is the other person, your mate, a shifter too? ”
Told you, his coyote huffed. He belongs to us.
Scott shook his head. “No. But he has psychic and weather magic abilities.”
If Jeffries guessed that Scott was talking about Justin, he didn’t mention it. “Fated mates don’t both have to share the same supernatural talents, although it’s more common when they do. If the connection is strong for both of you, go for it.”
Scott let out a sigh of relief he didn’t realize he had been holding. “Thank you.”
“Not a problem,” Jeffries said. “You’d be surprised how often that question comes up.”
Scott powered up his laptop to take notes and got the recorder ready on his phone. “Let’s start with the ghost stories and go from there.”
For the next half hour, Scott asked about the local hauntings he had researched, some obscure and others more legendary.
Jeffries was able to confirm a number of details from the Institute’s efforts with psychics and mediums and also debunked some of the wilder stories that had arisen over the years.
“This is fantastic.” Scott paused to save his notes before moving on. “Now I’d like to ask what the Institute has heard about the old mine and its monster, or creatures from the caves.”
Jeffries’s face, so open a moment before, seemed to shutter. “Is this also for articles?”
“I’m still pitching it to editors, so I’m not sure where it will land, but a haunted mine that’s also one of the deepest in the world is quite a hook. The work I’m doing for the university wouldn’t include anything about hauntings or creatures.”
“The Platt Mine is a little different from others you might have researched,” Jeffries said.
“It was an iron mine, and iron is known for its protective qualities against negative supernatural energy. So, the ghosts are nearby, but not in the mine itself. And that means that it’s unlikely for there to be a ‘monster’ inside that is native.
“Unlike some of the other ghost stories in the region from hunting accidents or romance gone wrong, the Platt Mine ghosts died on the job,” Jeffries replied.
“Some went peacefully. Others were understandably angry, especially since there were verified reports that safety measures weren’t always enforced. ”
“Did your psychics and mediums deal with any of the spirits?” Scott noted that Jeffries seemed to choose his words more carefully on this topic.
“When hikers and campers encounter restless ghosts, we do everything in our power to help the spirits pass over and remove the danger,” Jeffries said. “We do that as a community service, to keep the area safe. Kind of like having the sheriff remove a dangerous animal.”
“The mine has been shuttered for years,” Scott said. “If it’s got such strong supernatural protections, do you think someone with that sort of ability might have trapped something inside, believing it would be a safe prison due to the iron?”
Jeffries frowned. “I want to make sure I understand. You’re speculating that a witch of some sort might have used the abandoned mine to imprison a monster because of the iron?”
“I know that sounds fantastical, but in theory, would it work?”
Jeffries rubbed his temples. “How did you come up with that theory?”
Scott grinned sheepishly. “I read a book on local legends at the library. There was a story about someone having summoned a dangerous creature for nefarious purposes. When the summoner was killed by local witches, that still left the creature. Since it was too hard to kill, the story said they used the iron mine as a prison, expecting it to be abandoned forever.”
Jeffries sighed. “That’s a little bit true and a lot sensationalized. This is not for publication, you understand. I’m only telling you this so you don’t get yourself into trouble poking into things without realizing the danger.”
“I understand,” Scott replied.
“Yes, there are folks around here with strong paranormal and magical abilities who work together to protect the area,” Jeffries went on.
“Every now and then, an outsider decides to cause trouble. The local folks take care of it. I’ve heard the story about trapping a creature in the old mine because of the iron deposits, but if that’s true, no one recorded it with the Fox Institute, and the people who would have been involved have all passed away by now. ”
“I hear the mine is starting up again. If it does, and the story about trapping a creature inside is true, would reviving the mine set it free?” Scott asked.
“I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Jeffries said.
“What about the Mob’s involvement? A lot of articles written about the mine in its heyday suggested its owners had ties to organized crime.
Some of my research hinted that the Mafia has witches of its own.
Did they have anything to do with the witch who originally might have summoned the creature?
” Scott held his breath, wondering if Jeffries would reply.
“It makes a good story,” Jeffries agreed.
“We’ve heard reports but haven’t been able to document anything.
And we certainly don’t go into the mine itself or the caves.
I’m afraid I can’t be much use on that topic.
” Jeffries paused, then continued. “Having said that, we actively discourage thrill-seekers from exploring the area. Old mines are dangerous, even without supernatural activity. These woods have plenty of wild animals that don’t like to be disturbed.
We love having visitors to our area, but we want them to stay safe. ”
“Understood. I had to ask,” Scott said.
Jeffries fixed him with a warning look. “Any involvement by organized crime or dark witches would have been seventy years ago. Those people are long dead and buried. It’s a dangerous story to reopen.”
For as friendly as Jeffries had been at the start of the conversation, he had grown chillier with Scott’s last two questions.
He’s uncomfortable. His scent changed like he’s not telling the whole truth, Scott’s coyote chimed in.
Yeah, I get that. I wonder if he’s just cautious or if there’s still a reason to be wary, Scott replied.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Jeffries. “I didn’t mean to harm the town’s reputation or bring up old dirt.” Scott tried for his best aw-shucks smile. “When I start researching, I just follow one interesting link after another, and sometimes it takes me far afield.”