To Speak of Things Unseen (Hemstreet Witches Book 2)

by Rain Trueax

“An unrealistic hope.”

  “You are a cynic.”

  “Only one of my many virtues.”

  She laughed. “Don’t you mean flaws?”

  “Would I admit that?”

  “You might if you wanted to drive me off.”

  “Being a cynic would do that?”

  “Oh no, that would attract me. Watch out.”

  “Let’s go get you a swim suit. I have a plot, er make that plan.”

  “Maybe I have one of my own.”

  He grinned. “I can handle that… I hope.” He didn’t want to smile but couldn’t hold it back.

  ><><><

  An hour later, he had driven her up to Jerome. “Ever been here before?” he asked as he found a place to park the truck—not easy given there were already a lot of visitors and limited parking. She felt the energies and realized this town was full of ghosts. She wondered if Mitch knew that. While she knew he had powers, she wasn’t sure which ones.

  “No, this would be a first time, but I’ve heard of it.”

  “It’s had a long history of mining. This is Cleopatra Hill, and are you interested in any of this?” He laughed when he saw she’d been distracted—what he couldn’t know was why.

  She saw a woman walk past wearing a long dress, with dark hair mostly hidden under a bonnet. Was she part of an historic reenactment? Then she vanished. She had seemed oblivious to Mitch and her—even though Elke was relatively certain the ghost knew they were there. Some ghosts had a hard time adjusting to not being human. If this woman had died in the period where her clothing fit, she’d had a very hard time. Being in places they had been when alive provided comfort until they could finally let go of one life—one probably unhappily lived or ended. Looking around, she saw more. She wasn’t sure how aware the ghosts even were of one another. She saw some wearing rough clothing, maybe one-time miners.

  “Do you see ghosts?” she asked when she looked back at him.

  “Chǐdn?”

  “Navajo call them chindi-- the bad ones anyway. Is chǐdin what Apaches call them?”

  He nodded. “You wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t see some today.”

  “When I want to and especially places like this, where there are a lot. Maybe the tourists draw them or where so many may have died.”

  “They don’t stick to cemeteries, huh?” he teased.

  She ignored his attempt at humor. “They don’t have rules for where they will be, but some places attract them more than others.”

  “Any Apaches among the ones you see?”

  “Should there be?”

  He shrugged. “The Yavapai mined here, then the Spanish for copper. Long before the first claim was filed in 1876, it had been used. Al Sieber, a retired cavalry scout for General Crook, filed the first American claim after seeing the existing mines. After that came more, including the first bordello, and the big mines. It’s also had a history of union problems of the violent sort. Lots of violent or sudden deaths. There have been stories about ghosts here.”

  Her experiences with ghosts hadn’t been scary, nothing like with demons. She didn’t want to think about any of it on a sunny day in this interesting old town. “You really think I can find a swimsuit here?”

  “At this boutique.” He pointed to one storefront. “And if it doesn’t work for you, I’ll take you down to Cottonwood to the Walmart.” He grinned. “Somehow I doubt there’d be ghosts there.”

  Half an hour later, they emerged. She had an animal print bikini she might never have bought, but Mitch’s eyes let her know he approved. She also bought a flowing skirt to wear over it with a plain white gauzy top. “So what’s next?” she asked.

  “How about lunch?” When she nodded, he put his arm around her waist. “In honor of your tastes, I suggest the Haunted Hamburger.”

  She laughed. “I love hamburgers.” Soon they were seated on a patio with a glass of draft beer. The valley spread out below, with buildings as well as the old mines to see. Beyond lay the Verde Valley and in the hazy distance the Mogollon Ridge. History mingled with nature and spiritual mysteries. What made someone decide to remain when their human form no longer sufficed for them? Mystery.

  He pointed to the menu and the Haunted Burger. “This is good.”

  “My gosh. It is loaded. I don’t eat this much in two days.” She wondered how anyone go their mouth around layers of bacon, cheddar, Swiss, mushrooms, green chilies, grilled onions, guacamole and of course the burger. Making it a double added twice the meat, cheese, and bacon. Who could eat that much food? Apparently, Mitch as he ordered it along with a side of fries. She asked for a ghostly burger, asking to not add the cheese and bacon.

  Sipping his beer, Mitch said when the waiter had gone with their order, “So tell me, is this building haunted?”

  She smiled. “Is it supposed to be?”

  “There are those stories.”

  “For instance?”

  “When they began trying to turn this into a restaurant, it was claimed that the spirits caused workers problems, like taking hammers and hiding them. Doors slammed into faces. Some say they are still seen like a woman in a flowing dress and bonnet. You see any?”

  “I did on the street but not inside or on the patio.” She looked around to be sure. “Maybe they are out for a walk.”

  “I haven’t wanted to see them. What good does it do? Can you help them go on?”

  She considered that. “Besides a cynic, you are very practical minded.”

  “They probably go together.”

  “Along with being a recluse.”

  “Maybe.

  “You’re also an introvert, aren’t you?”

  He let out a snort. “Geesus, you weren’t a psychology major, were you?”

  She shook her head. “Mostly reading since. Detectives use a lot of psychology, when trying to determine motives. And I’m an extrovert.”

  “I would have never guessed.” This time his smile was even more cynical. Their hamburgers came, and he ordered them each another beer although she’d barely finished hers. “Stop,” she told the server. “Bring me water instead.”

  Mitch shook his head but nodded to the waiter and sent him off. “So, you like digging into people to figure out what makes them tick.”

  “You’re the writer. I’d guess that also requires digging into people.”

  “In my case, not so much.”

  “You didn’t write your book.”

  “Remember Hemingway?”

  “Of course.”

  “He wrote what he had lived and knew. When he ran out of that, he was done.”

  “So you are Adolfo, but you didn’t experience all he did.”

  “Didn’t I?”

  “Where? Not in Tucson.”

  “No, to avoid people searching out its actual location, I set it in an imaginary site.”

  “And where it happened is another secret.”

  “I could tell you sometime-- if you really cared.”

  It didn’t actually matter to her. “So your skills are as a warrior.” She already knew the answer to that also.

  “With one focus. I don’t want war and have done what I can to avoid that. It comes to me though—want it or not. Nantan was probably right.”

  “The…” She hadn’t expected that. In the battle there were battles, almost supernatural appearing ones. The hero had supernatural skills such as she’d never imagined using. While she had seen the book as reality, where it came to the adventure part of it, she thought it had been enhanced to make it exciting. If he was telling the truth, she and her family had mostly dabbled into the supernatural. Their battles had been on a much lower level.

  “You can’t just stop and put an end to the attacks on you?”

  “You don’t retire,” he said as the waiter arrived with his beer, and he took a healthy slug. “You get retired.”

  “That’s fatalistic.”

  His smile was cold. “Goes with cynical, right?”

  “What made you de
cide to write the book?”

  “I don’t honestly know. Call it an impulse. I wanted people to understand the reality out there. Except, of course, it became Star Wars or Harry Potter and readers and reviewers didn’t understand. I don’t think even you did. You went for the intellectual argument.”

  “Was there an Estella?”

  “No, that was my one fictional device. It allowed bouncing the argument around, as to whether magical answers to conflicts were ever justified. My character could have had the argument all in his head, but it was more effective as a conversation.”

  “You are a writer than whether you admit it or not.”

  He shrugged.

  “No woman then has ever known who you really are?”

  “Do I?” He laughed, but it was without humor.

  “Given what you’ve told me, how did you decide to write it all down?”

  “Let’s eat our burgers before they get cold. I have plenty of time to tell you the rest.”

  She was dying of curiosity, but he was right. She set to eating and consumed less than half before she felt stuffed. She did snitch one of his fries as she watched him finish his burger.

  He paid, and they went out to walk down the sidewalk to the truck. “What I’d like to do,” he said, “is take the horses up into the hills, then down along Sycamore Creek. There are some beautiful spots to camp, one in particular. It’d be a better place to get answers that we both want. There is a place where we can talk without being overheard by demons, or for that matter ghosts, who carry stories.” He grinned.

  “And that’s where you’ll tell me the rest of your story.”

  “If you are interested.” His smiled turned crooked. “I warn you that I’ll also try to seduce you.”

  It wouldn’t take much. She was already half in love with him, maybe had been when she read his book. She needed though to understand who he was. Could he be a delusional schizophrenic? Then she remembered his brief fight with Ornis. No, whatever he was, if it was a delusion, she experienced the same one. The world, the so-called real world, wasn’t at all what most humans thought. Why were some chosen to live with one foot in each world? She’d never had the answer to that question—nor to a purpose to her own life.

  “When would we go?” she asked as she clicked her seatbelt.

  “Early morning, right when the sun comes up to get the hottest part over first for the horses. When we drop down into the canyon, we’ll have water, grass and shade for the rest of our ride.”

  “It sounds beautiful. I wish I’d brought my camera.”

  “I can loan you one.”

  “You don’t want to take photographs?”

  He smoothly took the curves going down off the mountain even when a motor coach was partly in his lane. “I don’t do pictures,” he said glancing over at her when they reached the main road where he turned left for his ranch.

  “I did notice that. Is there a reason?”

  “Of course,” he said, with another of those enigmatic smiles. “Cameras steal your soul. Didn’t you know?”

  “Of course, I just forgot.”

  He chuckled. “So are you game for going?”

  “I have a choice? You didn’t give me one coming up here.”

  “Don’t remind me of that.” His smile was a little sheepish or maybe as close to that as his rugged face could manage. “I was overreacting. Sorry. Feel free to head back south. I’ll even get you there.”

  It was her turn to smile. She could manage that for herself, as transporting herself was one of her developed skills—although this was farther than she’d tested it. The thing was-- she didn’t want to go. “I’d like to see your special place. I find it hard to believe there is anywhere that safe though.”

  “This place at least has been. Here comes my cynicism. With our markings, the visits by holy men and women, its power has been enhanced. It’s in a hidden slot canyon off Sycamore where most would not know of its existence.”

  “Did your father take you there?”

  “My ancestor, Nantan. He was my guide, the one I told you about.”

  She heard the change in his voice. Pain was attached to what he’d told her. “Does this place have a name?”

  He shook his head. “No. I suppose New Agers would call it a vortex.”

  “An energy place that enhances magick,” We have visited those in Sedona.”

  “Yes, so you know they come in various energy patterns, some agree with us, some not so much. There are those that deflect demons. It isn’t that the dark side doesn’t know it’s there. It’s that they cannot enter. It was found by my people and then enhanced by the holy ones.”

  “We hiked into Boynton and went onto Bell Rock and Castle Rock but mostly just to see what we felt. The energy felt good but nothing that we can’t find on our ranch in Tucson.”

  “You are right. Vortexes are many places. Some publicized.” He turned onto the narrow drive that led to his ranch. “The ones that are protective are probably less known. Some don’t believe in demons, of course.”

  She smiled at that. “Will we take Adolph?”

  “Yes. Maybe not Ranger though. I’m considering that.”

  “I talked to him, and I think he understands now.”

  “How did you convince him?”

  “My secret.” She grinned, as he stopped in front of his home.

  “I like his gait, and he’s steady on steep places. I’d like to take him. Not to mention, other than Major, he’s the one big enough to carry me. The stallion is a good mount, but can be dicey when the mares get in heat.”

  “Will I ride Pepper again?” she asked as they walked into the house.

  “If you like.”

  “I do.”

  Sofia came out from the kitchen. “Will you be wanting lunch?”

  “We had it in Jerome,” Mitch said.

  “Dinner then at seven?” she asked.

  He nodded. He went to the sideboard and held up a bottle of wine. “Grenache okay with you?”

  She hated to admit she knew little about wines and nodded. “Wonderful.”

  A few minutes later, she sniffed and then tasted the fruity wine. “I like this.”

  “It is mixed with Syrah. As I told you, I also don’t know a lot about wine, which is why my vintner has to.”

  “Jacques Durand.”

  “Yep. I have had more interest in growing the grapes, finding the right places for them to flourish. The advantage of the Verde Valley is its diversity.”

  “You are a farmer then?”

  “Looks like it.” He sipped the wine. “I used to smoke. Still do sometimes, when the pressure builds, but it damages taste. Taste mattered to me. Something I wanted to develop.” He watched her over the rim of his glass.

  “And a witch suits your taste?” she asked with a little laugh.

  “When she’s beautiful and talks like you do.”

  “How do I talk?”

  “A little throaty, warm, and then as though all the words matter.”

  “That is true on the last. It’s what drew me to your book. It was the discussions, the arguments, the debate over whether someone had a right to use powers that others didn’t have. And then, the question of why some? Why be born with these gifts? It wasn’t as though my family asked for them.”

  “Someone in your family did.”

  “I suppose that is so. I hadn’t thought of it that way. What about you? Were you born with them?”

  “Can we save that answer for when we get to the safe place? You know as well as I that there is no privacy here.”

  “Wards help with that.”

  “I haven’t used them.”

  “I know. I put one around the house when I arrived.”

  “Didn’t keep Ornis away.”

  She laughed as she took another sip of the wine. “He was outside.” The poltergeist, however, had come in, and although she’d forced it away, her ward hadn’t blocked its entry. That worried her. Maybe Mitch’s safe spot woul
d be more powerful at repelling demons. She hoped so.

  Chapter Ten

  At first light, Elke pulled on jeans, boots, a tank top, and a cotton shirt. She stuffed extra underwear, her new purchases, and a pair of sandals into a bag. She had no idea what to expect but added a pair of shorts. She’d sleep in her underwear, she guessed. Would he take a tent or was this to be really roughing it?

  In the kitchen, Sofia turned to look at her with a smile. “He’s already outside,” she said. “I am fixing a stack of hotcakes. What would you like for breakfast?”

  “Hotcakes are fine.” She poured her coffee.

  Sofia smiled. “He said you’ll be gone a couple of days. I packed food for three with dry for Adolph. Hope that’s enough.” Elke had no idea. Camping is something she’d never done.

  When Mitch came through the door, Adolph at his heels, he was wearing a plaid shirt that he’d ripped the sleeves from, Wranglers, boots, with a holster and gun belted to his hip. He threw his Stetson on the rack. “You need a gun?” she asked. She’d never owned one. Never fired one.

  “Not usually but sometimes. There are rattlers up there, cougar, sometimes a bear. For the last two, it’d be making noise more than killing it—at least for the first shot.”

  He washed up at the sink, then with coffee, sat across from her. “I saddled the horses. I hope it’s not a mistake taking Ranger.”

  “You can still change your mind.” Sofia set a plate in front of each of them. Mitch put butter and syrup on his. She settled for a little butter. Mostly she avoided carbs, but the hamburger the day before had tasted good. Maybe there’d be a place to go for a run in the canyon—that is if it wasn’t already too hot when they got there.

  “We sleep up there, wherever up there is, for two nights?” she asked and shook her head at another hotcake when Mitch took more.

  “More likely three, but we’ll see. It’ll take us half a day to get there. You won’t get cellphone coverage in there. No point in taking it.”

  She didn’t need the phone to contact her family, but she nodded and smiled. “What about the camera?” she asked.

  He got up and retrieved it from a shelf. “Just no pictures of me.”

  She smiled innocently. “Of course not, I wouldn’t want to steal your soul.” She nodded when Sofia poured another cup of coffee.