Page 46 of Sinistram
“What about the others?”
Travis shook his head. “I think they’re the hunters. Not dressed for boating, canvas jackets, flannel shirts, jeans, boots, they look like they knew how to handle trouble.” He listened intently again.
“They’re surprised I can hear them. They want me to stop the witch.”
“We’re hunters too,” Travis told the hunters’ ghosts. “Tell us what happened. Was it the witch?”
Travis listened again for a moment. “The taller one says they don’t think the witch worked alone. They think another entity drew the witch here and made her stronger. Says they found binding sigils in the woods.”
Travis returned his attention to the ghosts. “Did you use magic against her?”
“The tall ghost’s companion replied, ‘No. Salt and steel didn’t work,’”Travis repeated so that Brent could follow the conversation.
Most hunters weren’t able to talk to ghosts or do magic. They relied on shotguns, knives, salt, and a few rote incantations and rituals to banish low-level violent spirits and supernatural creatures. Usually, that was enough unless it wasn’t.
“We have magic. Will you show us where the sigils are? And will you help us stop the witch?”Travis asked.
“We’re ghosts. What can we do?” Travis repeated for Brent. “You’d be surprised,” he replied to the ghosts.
Travis relayed the rest of the conversation to Brent, who had been keeping watch. “Did you see any other nasties out there?”
Brent shook his head. “No, although the lake and this whole area gives me the creeps. Maybe that’s a warning.”
“Let’s go see the sigils, and I’ll try to recruit more of the recent ghosts to give us a hand,” Travis said.
“Having any luck?” Brent asked after they had walked for a while.
“The place is very haunted. Some are too faded to respond. Those probably include the people buried in the old Livermore cemetery,” Travis replied. “We’ve got about half a dozen ghosts following us. They seem curious, but I don’t know if they’re willing to help.”
“We want to stop the witch from killing people,” Travis told the ghosts aloud, for Brent’s sake.
Brent knew they couldn’t do anything to prevent boating accidents brought about by carelessness or bad luck, but he figured maybe they could prevent the witch from adding to the death toll.
How?One of the ghosts spoke for the others, and Travis relayed the comment.
“We’re going to break the sigils binding her here and do a ritual to send her away,” Travis told them. “If she or anyone else tries to stop us, and you can interfere without getting hurt, we could use your help.”
“Getting hurt? We’re already dead,” Travis repeated after one of the ghosts countered. Travis didn’t try to correct him on all the ways it could still go wrong.
They headed for the sigil, which was carved into the bark of a large oak tree. Travis began to chant as Brent dug into the tree with his knife, cutting through the spelled drawing. Brent could feel the dark magic, but whether it was the power that bound the witch or the witch herself, he couldn’t tell.
Travis raised his voice as the carving began to glow.
Brent felt the blade vibrate in his hand, growing hot. He held on, hissing against the pain, making the last few vital cuts. With the final swipe of the knife, the vibration stopped, and the sigil went dark. Brent blew out a breath and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
Travis looked to the hunters’ ghosts. “Take us to the other sigils,” he said aloud.
The hunters led them to two more trees with similar markings, positioned to triangulate on the lake, and Brent destroyed those sigils as well.
With the marks disabled, Travis turned his magic on the water witch.
A shriek of fury sounded, the shrill scream causing them to wince. A woman’s figure rose from the center of the lake andhovered above the surface. She appeared to be made from water with long hair and a long dress. Fury twisted her expression, and rage glinted in her dark eyes. Brent leveled the shotgun, firing shells filled with salt and iron and blessed with holy water.
Her body exploded in a shower of water, but quickly reformed, looking even angrier.
Travis saw the ghosts hanging back. “We need your help,” he shouted to the spirits. “Help me fight her. Protect us. Stop the deaths.”
The witch started toward Brent again, and he grabbed the propane torch that hung from a strap on his shoulder. He had modified its range so that he could send a stream of fire several feet through the air.
