To Speak of Things Unseen (Hemstreet Witches Book 2) Read online

  As a witch, Elke understood some of the feeling of being drained-- but more had been described as taken from Adolfo than she’d experienced. But she’d also never gone into a real war as he had. What would it be like to face, not just human evil, but something that was supposed to be mythological? She remembered the books she’d read about Native American gods and monsters. She needed to get them out again. Might they be as real as Adolfo’s powers?

  She’d been taught to fight using earth elementals. She knew how to shoot plasma bolts, control their power, use swords, bullets, and knives infused with platinum-osmirdium alloy. She could transport herself from one place to another, go invisible when required, and look into people’s minds. One of her greatest joys was shifting into a wolf and roaming the desert as an animal.

  What she had never done is what had most fascinated her about the fictional Adolfo-- he hunted monsters. He found them in their lairs, on the earth or in the sky. He had used weapons she understood but added an element she had not known. If these monsters had in anyway threatened or used their power, it had left a scent he could track, and when he found them, he showed no mercy.

  Ford’s book claimed it was fiction, but something about it seemed real. Was that why she could not release it or him? If her mother could not find a source to let her meet Mitchell Ford, she would find him another way.

  She sent her intentions into the universe. As a last resort, she would use her powers, no matter how much she’d been told to never do that for selfish reasons. When she found the writer, he would lead her to Lupan. Ford had to know him. While the plot may have been a device, fictional-- too many elements were real. Lupan was real. She felt his energy. He was not imaginary. She would find him.

  ><><><

  Tucson, Arizona

  Watching the human drama play out below, Ornis felt his usual satisfaction—a demonic job well done on both sides of the havoc he was causing. He loved playing with the minds of the stupid, greedy humans. That kind was so easy to manipulate. Such fun to watch the results. For once, his superior should be pleased with him. Maybe Azaziel would even move him up a rank.

  “I didn’t mean to do wrong.” The young woman’s voice broke, as Ornis saw her try again to understand what she’d done to offend the man. She was pretty, wore a dress that showed a lot of a shapely leg. Ornis could appreciate a pretty form—male or female.

  “You do know.”

  “I didn’t… I meant…”

  “You do know,” the man repeated. He seemed to be growing in power as she weakened.

  Ornis chuckled, glad they could not hear him—Damnation to the humans who could. He preferred those oblivious. So much easier.

  “I try to do right.”

  “But you always do evil, commit sins, tempt the weak.” Oh just the right note of righteousness in the large man’s voice. He did piety so well—of course, that was his job.

  “What can I do to make it right?” The girl’s voice sounded desperate and angry at the same time. Ornis planted the thought-- Why was it always my fault? He saw it take root, but it’d not help her. Not this time.

  “You are worthless. God knows I’ve tried to help you, but…”

  “I’ll do what you ask.”

  “You say that, but you don’t.”

  “Give me another chance. I know that you talk to God. I know you know what is right. I want to fix things.”

  “Do you really want to make amends?” Ornis grinned as he heard the new note enter the man’s voice.

  “You know I do.” That was when the girl saw the gleam in the man’s eyes. That is when she felt fear instead of grief. Ornis saw her desire to escape, but where could she go? This was getting good. Nowhere. After all, how could she escape the one she believed was God’s emissary. He chuckled again. Humans were so easy to fool.

  Chapter Two

  Catalina Foothills—Tucson, Arizona

  If he had been using logic, something he prided himself in, Mitch Ford knew he’d not have gone for a run in the middle of July—even after midnight. A storm would have cooled off the night, but the monsoon storms had been bypassing Tucson.

  Shifting into his wolf form was probably even less logical, although he saw better in his canis lupus form. The scents of the desert at night filled his nostrils. He wasn’t hunting, though he knew his companion, Adolph, was off somewhere after a rabbit. Adolph was a hybrid wolf legally speaking. He didn’t shift, even if he did have a few other rather unusual traits for a wolf—like being able to understand humans and talk himself.

  With sharp hearing he never enjoyed as a human, Mitch heard the sound of someone in trouble. A muffled scream stopped him cold, as he listened for its source. It was coming from a dry wash. When he heard it again, his fur bristled as he headed for the sound—a man molesting a woman wearing shorts.

  Mitch growled low and lunged at the same moment he realized the two had changed form. It had been a demonic trap. He stopped his leap and landed on all fours. Running as a wolf had left him with no weapons. As a wolf, the demons could overpower him. He had to morph into his human form and fast-- then he had spiritual tools at his disposal.

  Naked, in a crouch, Mitch faced the demons who now looked like cougars, prepared to rip his throat out. He growled low, thrust out his hand and felt the earth’s energy, rising up in him, before he threw the plasma bolt at the creatures. One screamed as it hit, while the other lunged at Mitch, diverted by Adolph’s leap. The demon used a bolt of light that sent Adolph flying. Mitch turned his and the earth’s energy on the second demon, watching as it dematerialized with a snicker. “Another day,” the first said and then both were gone.

  Mitch turned to his wolf to see if he’d been injured. By then, Adolph was shaking a little but standing.

  “Don’t do that again,” Mitch ordered. “I know you meant well, but I don’t want you hurt.”

  “What were they trying to do?” Adolph asked licking a paw.

  Mitch squatted and took hold of the paw. The faint light from the moon made examination difficult—at least not for his human eyes. If he morphed into a wolf, he’d not have the use of his hands.

  “It was a trap. I should have been more careful. What happened to your paw?”

  “I picked up a thorn.”

  Mitch ran his finger over the bottom of the paw and felt the offending barb. Getting hold of it between his nails, he pulled it out, then held his hand over the paw and let healing energy flow through him. When he put it down, Adolph stood levelly on it. “Thanks.”

  Morphing back into a wolf, Mitch set off at a lope for his desert home. Wolves at night saw almost as well as during the day, and he easily wound through the cactus, avoiding the thorns, increasing his speed, until he was flying through the desert. Adolph was right behind him and running with no limp.

  Reaching the hacienda, Mitch stopped, heaving for breath, as he released the wolf form and morphed into his human body. He could not say to his real form, as sometimes he wasn’t sure which was most real or which he preferred.

  Adolph flopped to the ground. “What were you trying to prove, brother?” he asked panting before he went to the fishpond to drink.

  Mitch shrugged. “Prove? Did I have to prove something?”

  “That or trying to cast something out?” The wolf chuckled as he watched the koi head for the bottom of the pool. “Maybe a demon of your own.”

  Mitch stalked to the swimming pool and dove in, stroking hard from one end to the other. While he enjoyed shifting into a wolf, his human form was powerful. He worked to keep it that way. He cut through the water and felt the heat leave him. Heaving himself onto the edge of the pool, Adolph came to sit beside him. He petted his companion’s fur. Adolph might have some supernatural powers, but he had a very real appreciation of being stroked. He gave off a contented sigh.

  “Now tell me,” his best friend repeated. “What happened out there?”

  While he wasn’t sure, one possibility stood out. “The book I suppose. Damn the book.
It’s caused me nothing but grief.”

  “You felt you had to write it.”

  “I should have listened to Nantan. He told me it’d draw to me what I didn’t want, that it was like a challenge.”

  “That wasn’t how you saw it.”

  “No.” He drew in a breath. “I thought it would help people understand better what they feared, that more was here than they knew. It did not work out that way. They saw instead a superhero to fix their problems.” He let out an angry breath.

  “Well, you can’t undo it.”

  “No.” Much in life could not be undone—like his White Mountain childhood. With an unknown father and his mother dying at birth, his mother’s father, Chalipan Ford, had raised him. As a half-breed, Mitch learned he would be fully accepted by no community—which led to loneliness but also an inner strength he hadn’t understood, until years later.

  His life had a way of changing and it did at the age of six. He had run up a nearby ridge to look down on his grandfather’s home. He’d been startled when a figure materialized in front of him. “Boy,” the apparition had said, “what do you want most in life?”

  He supposed he should have been frightened. Instead, he stood tall as he could. “Who are you?” he had asked rather than answering the old man, who was dressed in full Apache regalia.

  “I am your great grandfather.”

  “Why are you here?” His great grandfather had died years before his own birth.

  “Do you want to be a warrior?’” the spirit had asked. Mitch did not have to consider that answer. He nodded.

  “The path is not easy.”

  At six, he had not understood all that meant but answered confidently, “Yes, I want to.”

  “The cost will be high.”

  “I don’t have money.”

  “Not that kind of cost.” The old man had chuckled. He had settled onto a boulder studying Mitch until he felt uneasy. He then began to talk, to tell Mitch of his own childhood when the Apache way still existed and how it was changed by the white man’s invasion. He had explained that he was one who knew the old ways, the legends, and had lived long enough to see the new world where Apaches were forced to adapt to a world they had not chosen. “Do you understand the way of the warrior is about more than fighting?”

  He had thought that was all it was about. “I don’t know.”

  “Good answer, young one.”

  “I am not whole Apache,” Mitch had said, trying to keep his voice from breaking.

  Yet, you are pure in the ways that matter.”

  Mitch remembered feeling himself swell with pride. From that day forward, he had a trainer. The years of intense teaching had been whenever he wasn’t in school and lasted until he was eighteen—when his life changed again. That was the day his grandfather told him he was dying, and revealed the secret he had withheld—where his birth father lived. Nantan had continued being with him through those years, coming to him when he needed him-- until…

  “You are looking too deep, my friend,” Adolph said, nuzzling his side, “and taking too much on yourself.”

  Mitch stared into the starry sky. “Usen,” he whispered, “have you forgiven me for revealing your secrets?”

  “Not like he’ll answer you,” Adolph said. “Gods cannot be bothered with useless guilt.”

  “Useless is it? I didn’t need to write the thing.”

  “You didn’t?”

  Rising, Mitch walked to where he’d dropped his shorts and pulled them on. “It’s caused me nothing but grief. I had plenty of money from what my birth father left me.”

  “It wasn’t about money and you know it.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “Quit beating yourself over it. It’s done, and it was meant to be as it was.”

  “I doubt that.”

  The wolf chuckled as only he could. “No, you don’t.”

  Buck Miller, Mitch’s right-hand man, came out onto the patio. “Luke Oliver called while you were on your run.”

  “Kind of late for calls.”

  Buck shrugged.

  “Emergency?” He hadn’t looked at a clock but guessed it to be around two. He pushed wet hair back from his face and fastened it with a leather strap. It was shoulder length. Perhaps he should have it cut, but he liked being able to pull it back and out of the way. He cared little about should. Maybe that was another mistake.

  “Didn’t sound like it.”

  “A problem with Ranger?” He didn’t have a barn at his desert home and had been stabling his gelding at the Circle C for specialized training. Damn, the horse better be okay.

  “He would have said if it was. Are you taking Ranger when we head north?”

  “I hadn’t decided.” He had more room to ride at his Verde Valley ranch. When he had first bought the chestnut, he’d kept him up there. Whether it was his own wolf energies or just the horse’s jitteriness, he’d brought him to Oliver hoping to get the gelding past bucking at anything that frightened him—and pretty much anything seemed to do that. He wanted to be able to ride with Adolph and that had been less than successful.

  At the outside bar, Mitch poured himself a whiskey, foregoing the ice. He sat on one of the stuffed chairs around the pool and stared at the desert beyond. An owl called from a mesquite and beyond another answered. The scream of a hawk split the night. His stretch of desert had at one time bought him peace.

  He wasn’t sure from where the attacks had come, but this one hadn’t been the first. To this point, they’d all been when he came to Tucson. He didn’t like being run out of Tucson and wasn’t sure the Verde Valley would soon prove safer. He loved Arizona, with the kind of love that went deep in a man’s soul. It was where his ancestors were buried, most in secret graves.

  As he sipped the hard liquor, it hit with a jolt to his belly. He hadn’t been drinking much, and he was getting the impact of the alcohol a little more than he might’ve expected six months earlier. Maybe fasting wasn’t such a good idea. He’d take care of that in the morning.

  Adolph lay near but said nothing. He knew his wolf wasn’t happy with him. Despite his own foul mood, he wanted to smooth the waters. “I know you meant well.”

  “I don’t like it when you are moody.”

  Mitch ground his teeth and took another sip of the liquor. “It’ll pass.”

  “You need a good fight. Why don’t you go down to the bar and…”

  Mitch put up his hand. “I do not need bruises.” He’d had enough excitement for the night. “You relax, and maybe I will.”

  “It’s not my fault you’ve been like a grizzly at anything that happens. Maybe you need a woman,” Adolph suggested.

  Mitch snorted. That was the last thing he needed. Before he could continue arguing with his wolf, he heard the house phone ring. He ignored it. When it shut off, he heard Buck’s voice-- not what he was saying. He could have tuned himself to catch the words, but he’d learn soon enough.

  Buck came to the door, but before he could say anything, Mitch said, “Pour yourself a stiff one. You look stressed.”

  “You haven’t been easy to work for lately,” Buck said taking his suggestion. He came to sit in one of the other lounge chairs. “It was your stepbrother. I figured you were gone.”

  “He say what he wanted?”

  “No. He hung up when I said you were out. The number he called from was not his cell. I think the Holiday Inn out on Oracle. That means you will be hearing from him. I’m surprised he’d call at two thirty. What kind of hours does he keep?”

  “I know nothing about his habits. He’s not my stepbrother since his mother and my blood father divorced before I even met my father.”

  “Well, he milks it as much as he can. That story he sold to the tabloid about you being a recluse who he feared was suicidal, that one probably earned him a few bucks along with the telephoto shots he got. Fortunately at a distance, but he’s as bad as paparazzi.”

  Mitch snorted. “Yeah, he’s a winner. Any money I give h
im is soon lost to drugs or whatever else he buys.”

  “His mother still in Beverly Hills?”

  Pouring himself another shot, Mitch said, “I have no idea where Regina is. The witch maybe got on her broomstick and flew to Paris for the season.” He chuckled at the image. His father’s ex-wife had as little use for him, as he did for her.

  “When are we heading north?” Buck asked. “You’re always in a better mood on the Verde.”

  “I have a few business details to take care of, see if Ranger is improved, and then hell yes, soon as possible.”

  “Any I can help with?”

  “Meeting with the accountant,” Mitch said with disdain. He didn’t blame Jack Ayers for his anal way of approaching everything. It was an accountant’s job, but it didn’t make any meeting enjoyable.

  He looked then to the tallest of the nearby saguaros. At first, he thought a hawk had landed on it, and then he knew better. He had a visitor. “Buck, why don’t you head for bed. I will be a while out here.”

  Buck gave him a curious look but slugged his whiskey and left.

  “You want me gone too?” Adolph asked.

  “Just stay behind me.” He skirted the pool and walked into the open desert where the large bird watched him. He felt a mix of anger and curiosity. “What do you want?” he asked when he stood at the foot of the saguaro.

  “What makes you think anything?” The bird flew down and quickly morphed into a human form—not a particularly attractive one.

  “Don’t waste my time, Ornis. You want something. What is it?”

  The demon smirked. “Can’t we have a friendly visit?” He looked down at Adolph. “How’s your hound?”

  “Go before I unleash him.”

  “Like he could hurt me.” Ornis smirked.

  “Want to try? I can hold you in a human form long enough for him to give it a shot.”

  For the first time, the demon looked uneasy. “You could do that?”

  “Ask and you shall receive.” Mitch smirked.