“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 forinfection. 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 usualprescription 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.”
