Enchantress' Secret (Hemstreet Witches Book 1)

by Rain Trueax

  The Enchantress’ Secret

  Hemstreet Witches Book 1

  Based in Tucson’s Barrio Viejo.

  By

  Rain Trueax

  Copyright

  Enchantress’ Secret

  Hemstreet Witches Book 1

  is an original work of Rain Trueax.

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2016 Rain Trueax

  ISBN: 978-1-943537-08-2

  Ebook

  Prepared and presented by:

  Seven Oaks

  Monmouth, Or.

  Sign up for new release notifications at http://raintrueax.blogspot.com

  Personal Contact and Rights Agreements write to: raintrueax@gmail.com

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter One

  Barrio Viejo, Tucson, Arizona

  May 1, 2014

  Irritated in having to wait so long for him, her annoyance grew. She never stayed at Gallery 11 after nine—not even after an opening. What was so important it could not wait for morning? She tried to control her anger. It would not help if she lost control. The memory of doing just that earlier increased her indignation. It had happened at a time when she should have been savoring a victory. Everyone who was anyone in Tucson had been at her gallery. The sales had been phenomenal. They had been helped by the magick Baron had created for her. From the time she’d seen his mighty bronze sculpture installed in the atrium, the gallery had grown more powerful. Even shadowed as the female shaman was in the dimmed lights, it radiated strength. Smiling, she felt its power surge through her.

  If only she had not been so angry earlier—and in public. What had her rage been about? She had even sliced his wrist. There’d been blood, followed by a brief moment of satisfaction to savor her supremacy over even such a powerful man. When he had stalked off, her gratification had just as quickly been replaced by regret.

  For a moment, she considered how the rages had grown with the power. Perhaps they were part of it. For a woman who had previously suppressed her feelings, now she was letting them be felt and used. Yes, they were part of her growth. She had gone from being a woman everyone controlled, finally to being a one who had control. This was just the beginning. She was confident of it.

  Smiling she thought about telling Maria how she hadn’t needed her after all. There were other ways. Her friend had proven to be less than a friend when she refused to share what she knew, refused to teach what would have cost her so little. Selfish. Well, she’d show her.

  She heard the door open and smiled again. Perhaps soon, she’d not need him either. Her wealth and her influence were growing. It was all exactly as he had promised.

  “How are you?” he asked. “But then I guess your face shows it all.”

  “The show was wonderful, like magic.” She smiled as he walked up to her.

  “And did you do as I said?”

  “I thought you knew everything.” She was being disrespectful, but she didn’t care. This was the hour she took complete control of her own life. She had practiced with the fireballs. She was naturally gifted in them. She smiled more broadly.

  “I know one thing.” He moved closer to her. She backed up, suddenly not liking the look in his eyes. They had changed colors. A flame flickered in them. What was happening? He hadn’t taught her that.

  “What is it you know?” she asked as she moved to the front of the gallery where a large painting dominated the room. She had proven her power, getting that one for the show using stealth. Lies sometimes were as effective as power. She looked back at his eyes. It had been her imagination. They looked normal.

  “I’m sad to say that your time of being beneficial is over.” His voice had deepened. His eyes didn’t look sad as he moved to stand right in front of her. She found herself unable to move.

  “What do you mean?” Fear surged through her. She wanted to run. Why were the fireballs no longer hers to use?

  “There are ways you can be helpful, but you won’t agree.” He laughed.

  She narrowed her gaze trying to read his expression. It did not bode well. She tried to pull up magick. Her strength was insufficient. She should have talked to Maria when she was at the show. She wished… The hand was at her throat, one powerful hand. She tried to fight it off. It took her breath. It was all for nothing.

  ><><

  Leaving behind the pleasant warmth of an early May morning, Denali Hemstreet walked into Black Cat Bookstore, where her mother kept the temperature the same year round, which meant a little cool for morning. She yawned and waved to her sister Devi who was helping a customer. It was ten o’clock. Denali, who’d been on a red-eye from Boston, would have preferred to be in bed. She needed a vacation, not being called to work.

  She didn’t bother to knock but walked into the back office, also used for the Hemstreet detective agency. She forced a smile when her mother looked up from her phone conversation. She pointed to the coffee and for Denali to take a seat.

  From the sounds of her mother’s voice, she guessed Aunt Rosa was on the other end of the line. She must have been angry over something, as her mother’s tones were placating. Denali could have listened to both ends of the conversation but had little interest in even the one she couldn’t avoid. She did understand. She and her sisters also went at it now and again. She hoped she’d not be pulled into her mother’s disagreement with her sister.

  Sipping coffee, she looked around the office. Her assignment had only taken her away for six months, but the room’s energy had changed. Then she saw it. A large painting dominated the wall across from the desk. The colors were intense, brilliant and the subject a man and woman about to kiss. The background was almost mystical, undefined. She got up and walked over to see who had painted it. She’d never heard the name-- Beringer. She admired the palette knife work. It had none of the apologetic quality of her own painting. She could feel the paint being thrust onto the canvas. While it appeared haphazard, she could see it had been focused on keeping attention where an inspired artist had wanted it.

  As a painter herself, one with not nearly so much talent, she was envious of the vitality this work radiated. She closed her eyes to get a feeling for the energy behind the work. She got nothing. She opened her eyes. That couldn’t be.

  “Isn’t he brilliant?” her mother said coming to stand beside her.

  “I guess.” She felt jealous and wished for such freedom in her own work.

  “Come on. You know he is.” Her mother laughed. “You look tired.”

  “I am tired. What was so important I couldn’t sleep all day?”

  “Sit down and I’ll try to explain it to you.”

  “Try?” But Denali sat and watched as her mother walked to the filing cabinet and returned with a folder.

  “No computer?” she asked teasingly as she knew how her mother’s vibrations caused her great grief with computers and even cell phones. She only used them as a last resort.

  “I’ll let you type it in. Most of this is old.” She handed the file to Denali and sat to let her give it a quick once over.

  “Jane Elm?”

  “Yes, she runs Gallery 11. Are you familiar with it?”

  “Vaguely.” Not long after her divorce, i
n March 202, she had taken a portfolio of her work there hoping to get the owner to show her paintings. A woman does not forget someone who had been so dismissive of her talent. Saying no is one thing, but Jane Elm had done it with a viciousness, which had led to Denali to doubt her work, never trying at another gallery. It had not stopped her from painting, but she showed her work to no one.

  “Jane was or rather is a friend of mine.”

  “I never heard you talk about her.” Denali realized she’d been so busy with her own life, she had little clue who her mother’s friends even were.

  “We connected through our businesses with common interests but shared dinners and then philanthropic ventures. We had quite a bit in common at one time.”

  “Problematic daughters uninterested in getting married and providing you with grandchildren?” Denali teased.

  Maria snorted. “Her daughter actually is married; so no, not that. Jane was curious about many things. It led to a cooling of our friendship.”

  Had her mother known Jane Elm when she took her work there? At the time, she had been using her ex-husband’s name. It had sounded a bit more artistic to her rather naïve mind.

  “You are distracted,” her mother said bringing her back to the present.

  “A bit.”

  “You didn’t leave me, did you?”

  “You know I didn’t. Can’t you see me?” Denali gave her mother a sly smile.

  “I also know how good you are at creating doppelgangers.” Her mother lifted her eyebrows.

  “Would I do that to you, my dear mother?” Denali asked giggling.

  “Since you were ten. Unfortunately, for you, back then, you were easier to catch at it. Now, you’ve gotten better and might even fool an old witch.”

  “Not implying behavior, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  They both laughed.

  “Now, back to the issue at hand. I am concerned about Jane. She’s always been a difficult woman.” Denali smiled but said nothing. “Lately, I have the feeling she’s been dabbling in the occult.”

  “Wouldn’t you know?”

  “What led to the break in our friendship was her desire to be taught the dark arts. Sadly, she didn’t understand that to take power over another would never end well.”

  “Did she know you are a witch?” Denali knew her mother generally kept her powers hidden, had encouraged her daughters to be wary of how many they chose to trust with such dangerous secrets.

  “She suspected, but I never confirmed it. She must have been probing. Anyway, my belief is she found a teacher, one who taught her blocking techniques, one who discouraged her friendship with me.”

  “Was she born into it but never developed it?” When Denali had met the woman, she’d had no such indication.

  “No. I’d have known that. I think she has felt weak and wants and easy way to gain more power. Sadly, she was not too particular from where she got it. When she first stopped having lunch or getting together, other than on a business level where she brought paintings I might buy, I didn’t pay it much mind. I thought she was busy, and so was I. The invitation to the special showing of Nicholas Beringer’s work seemed an opportunity to find out what she’d been doing and possibly renew our friendship.”

  “Gallery showings are busy times for the owners.”

  “Yes, but this turned disastrous.” Her mother’s lips tightened. “She and Nicholas got into a vicious fight. From what I could hear, it was on Jane’s part. He was, however, unhappy with something about how she had hung his work. He can be an arrogant bastard to be frank, but this time, it really was her. Their argument pretty much ruined the show.”

  “In what way?”

  “Jane lost control totally. She reached out with her long nails. I swear she was like an animal, as she tried to claw his face. He put out an arm defensively to block her, and she gashed his wrist. Blood ended up on the floor as he held his wrist, gave her a most steely look, and stalked out.”

  “For something like that, he should have pressed charges.”

  “Maybe he did, although he didn’t seem to me the sort of man who would.”

  “You said you didn’t know him.”

  “Not personally. He has come around only when required for a show. Of course, also when a prospective client has expressed an interest in meeting him before buying his work. That was how I met him. I now own three of his oils.”

  “Goodness. You are a fan.”

  “At the prices he charges, you better believe it. I bought this for here, of course, one for my bedroom, and one I am giving to Rosa for her birthday if she’s speaking to me by then.”

  “I heard you trying to make peace with my aunt. What went wrong this time?”

  “The usual. I don’t want to discuss it right now.”

  “All right, back to Jane Elm. What do you want me to do about this? I don’t see it fitting anything our detective agency normally would take on. I mean people can be bitches… and they can fool around with the dark stuff if they are stupid anyway. There is no real mystery in such interests. She doesn’t require a bodyguard does she?”

  “No. I thought you might go down and see what kind of vibes you get from her. Frankly, I am worried about her.”

  “Why don’t you try again, Mom? You might have more luck than I would.” She wasn’t sure Ms. Elm would remember her from that many years ago. She had grown up, wore her hair longer, more sophisticated makeup and clothing, not to mention having taken back her maiden name. Still, it would be embarrassing if the woman did.

  “I was not counting on your needing her cooperation,” her mother said. “I was counting on your other skill.”

  “Getting past barriers, to someone’s memories, doesn’t always work.”

  “I tried last night. I got nowhere. There are some areas, in which you are better than I am. We both know that, and it’s not being modest.”

  “All right, but--”

  Devi burst through the door. “Mom, it just came across as a news flash on my computer. There was a murder at Gallery 11.”

  “Did they say who?” their mother’s face had whitened.

  “Just that police are on the scene. I thought you’d want to know.” Devi disappeared back into the store.

  “You don’t suppose.”

  “I can’t imagine.” Her mother punched numbers into her cell phone. “Jace? I was wondering if you…”

  This time Denali opened herself to hear both ends of the conversation.

  “The murder at Gallery 11, can you tell me who?”

  “I am sorry to say it was Jane Elm. You are friends, if I remember right.”

  “Oh my God.” She hesitated. “Do you have any idea who did it?”

  “One possibility. It’s an odd case, not a robbery probably. Something more personal or maybe the world is ghoulish. Her body was found driven onto her sculpture, you know the one with horns in the atrium.”

  “How horrible. Poor Jane… I can’t believe it.”

  “The coroner will determine if she was dead when it happened, or if she was basically crucified on it. Whoever did it had to have had help or be very strong. You know how tall it is.”

  “Has someone notified her daughter?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I… Are you down there?”

  “No, I’m on the way to the coroner’s.”

  “Please keep me updated… I… Poor Jane.” When her mother closed her cell, she stared blankly at the painting on her wall.

  “Are you all right?” Denali asked. “Want me to get you something?”

  “Just stunned. I had no hint this was coming. I should have, but I didn’t. I must be losing my grip.”

  “Being a witch doesn’t make one always omniscient,” Denali reminded her.

  “You’re right.” Her mother smiled faintly. “I think I told you that.”

  “You did. Who is Jace?” It had been fourteen years, since their father’s death. Denali had no idea if she was dating.
With her mother’s thick, ebony black hair, she was strikingly beautiful at fifty-two. Her figure as slim as any of her daughters. While her mother had adored her father, there had been enough time to look toward other men. Was Jace one of those?

  “Detective Myers, and don’t get any ideas. He’s just a friend.”

  In another time, she might’ve asked more but under the circumstances, this was not it. “Do you want me to look into this?”

  “If you’re not too tired. I… I think I am too close to Jane to do it. I keep thinking how she seemed last night, her distraction, and then the fight with Nicholas.”

  “You think he was mad enough to come back and kill her?”

  “I wouldn’t imagine so, but… I don’t know him other than his size. He’s a big man, very muscular. A lot of people saw their arguing; so the police are bound to question him.” She stared again at the painting. Denali turned to look at it. She saw the passion there, the nervous energy behind the work, but then the blocking. Might he have been the one teaching Ms. Elm about the occult?

  “All right, I’ll head down to the gallery and see if I can talk to any of the investigators.”

  “I’d appreciate that. I will see if Elke can go talk to Nicholas.”

  “Does she know him?”

  “Not that I know of, but you girls never tell me anything.”

  Denali grinned. “It’s because we know you know it all without us telling you.”

  “I do not spy on you.” She gave a little huff.

  “Unless it’s for our own good?”

  “Not talking.” She smiled.

  Walking out of the shop, Denali thought about the end of her marriage. Darin had not wanted to let go even despite his unfaithfulness and eventual abuse. As an ex, he had proven even more difficult. She had cut all ties to him after the divorce, taking back her maiden name, but he continued to come around. He had never known she was a witch or for that matter the power of her family. It had been after her mother went to Phoenix to talk to him that he stopped calling or coming around. Whether her mother had used powers or just her influence, it had been a welcome intervention. Last she had heard, he was in Phoenix.