Page 6 of Signs and Wonders

“Yeah, in Monroeville. Zombies in a mall. That’s a classic,” Seth said with reverence.

Evan shifted in his seat for a better view out the side window. “The city looks different without snow.”

The last time they were in Pittsburgh, Seth and Evan hunted a witch disciple based there, right around Christmas. That was when they met Travis and Brent.

“Still cold,” Seth grumbled. “And the hills of West Virginia are going to be cold too.” He rolled his shoulders, trying to get comfortable. A good night’s sleep and some ibuprofen eased the stiffness, but he knew it would take a couple more days before he and Evan could even think about going into a fight at full capacity. Given the stakes, he wasn’t willing to take the risk of anything less.

“If we’d have headed to Savannah like we originally planned, it would be warmer,” Evan pointed out.

“Yeah, but all the newest intel said the West Virginia warlock was likely to move his sacrifice up sooner,” Seth replied. “So we’ll be freezing our nuts off for a good cause.”

“I solemnly swear to keep your nuts warm,” Evan joked.

Seth maneuvered the truck into the parking lot behind St. Dismas, a halfway house in the Hill District. He spotted Brent’s black pickup and Travis’s old Crown Victoria, confirming he was in the right place.

Travis Dominick met them at the door. The ex-priest grinned in welcome and shook hands with a firm grip. Travis was in his early thirties, nearly as tall as Seth and Evan, with chin-length black hair and green eyes that contrasted with his pale coloring.

“Good to see both of you. Come in.” He stood to the side to let Seth and Evan go first. “You need to see Matt? Looks like you’re limping.”

Seth nodded. “Yeah. We got tossed around by a ghost at a haunted hospital on the way here. Long story. We’re both pretty sore.”

“I’m sure he can get you on the schedule,” Travis replied. “Follow me.”

Travis once belonged to a secret Vatican group of demon hunters known as the Sinistram. He grew uncomfortable with the Sinistram’s ethics and left both the group and the priesthood, despite considerable pressure to stay—and return. Now he hunted on his own terms and managed a small recovery program focused on second chances.

“Hey, Matt! I’ve got a couple of new ones for you,” Travis called out when they reached the in-house clinic. St. Dismas provided food, shelter, basic medical care, counseling, and community for its residents. Matt Sanchez, a former army medic, handled the infirmary, while Travis and his site manager Jon took care of the rest.

“Seth and Evan! Good to see you again. What fucked you up?” Matt greeted them with a big smile. He was also in his thirties, with a wiry build, thick black hair, and perpetual stubble.

“I’ll be back when he’s done with you.” Travis excused himself. “Brent’s already here, and there’s coffee and donuts in the meeting room.”

Seth explained the ghostly confrontation at the hospital, and Matt gave them both a thorough check, making sure no bones were broken or serious damage done.

“I know you’re busy saving the world, but if you can spare a few days to heal, it would keep you from re-injuring the joints,” he warned. “I can give you something for discomfort and inflammation. Ice will help. The best medicine is not doing any new damage until the old damage heals.”

“We were planning to take a couple of days here before we head south,” Seth said. “The witch disciple will be at the top of his game, so we need to be ready for him.”

They thanked Matt and followed Travis to a no-frills conference room down the hall. St. Dismas had once been a hotel, and its origin showed in the layout. While the building wasn’t fancy, fresh paint and good maintenance hid the flaws. Brightly colored accents and punchy but inexpensive art made the corridors warm and homey. Seth felt certain that Travis had a lot to do with St. Dismas’s welcoming atmosphere.

Brent Lawson greeted them with handshakes instead of the usual backslaps, and Seth figured Travis warned him about their injuries.

Brent was around the same age as Travis, with short blond hair, blue eyes, and an athletic build. Despite having left the FBI years ago to become a monster-hunting private investigator, something about his manner still suggested “federal agent.”

“Sometime you two need to come to Pittsburgh just to have fun,” Brent said. “In nice weather, when you’re not chasing ghoulies and ghosties. See a baseball game, eat pierogies, try some local beer. We’ve got it going on here.”

Travis just shook his head and closed his eyes, resigned. “Ignore my partner’s ill-advised attempt to be cool. But we have plenty to do and lots of good food.”

“Seriously? Thepriestis giving cool lessons?” Brent bantered.

“Ex-priest. And yes. Because you need all the help you can get after so many years in those boxy suits with the high-and-tight hair.” Travis’s voice lacked heat. Seth always figured that for the two work partners, bickering was half the fun.

Seth and Evan helped themselves to coffee while Travis passed around the donuts. They chatted while they ate before getting down to business.

“Parker’s chasing down a lead between Fletcher Swain’s wellness empire and some shady online fundraising companies.” Evan shared what his brother had discovered. “I’m thinking that his retreat in the no Wi-Fi zone is pretty suspicious, and likely to be where he does the rituals.”

Travis took notes as they talked. “Yeah, I think that makes sense. I’ll see if any of our contacts know more.”

“I’m working with some folks to untangle the whole paranormal pharmaceutical cartel,” Brent said, refreshing his coffee. “The warlock in Cleveland was deep into it. I don’t think it’s Fletcher’s main focus, although he’s probably involved.”

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