by Rain Trueax
Denali dressed quickly. She doubted they could gain much by being together, but she’d gotten nothing despite trying to direct her dreams. She was often pretty good at lucid dreaming, using the night for answers. Although her sleep had been restoring, she was no closer to an answer than when she’d gone to bed.
She was surprised again to see her grandmothers’ cars. This was another family parlay. Inside the bacon smelled good. She grabbed some from a plate stacked high. “Scrambled eggs and toast coming up soon,” Celia said.
“Pour yourself some coffee, sweetheart,” her mother said. “Join us in the dining room.”
Her sisters were sitting around the table with their own coffee. A stack of cinnamon rolls were in the center of the table. Jess was eating one. Everyone smiled, but their eyes were troubled.
Her mother stood at the head of the table. “I already told them about the ranch and how an entity had gotten through the shield.”
“You gals have been remiss,” Jess said shaking her head. Elsa just watched, but her eyes showed her agreement, even if she didn’t want to say it.
“It’s possible it could happen anyway though, isn’t it?” Torre asked. “We had the shop under a ward, and that girl got through it. Whoever is behind her is strong.”
“But the spirit wasn’t trying to hurt us and did not identify itself,” Denali reminded them. “It might not be behind the murderer.”
“And there might be a Santa Claus,” Elke retorted.
“All right, what do we have?” Her mother looked at her mother and mother-in-law. They didn’t answer.
“Two murders of women, left in the same general pose,” Elke offered.
“Beyond that.”
“It is him,” Elsa said taking a sip of her coffee.
“And you know this why?” her mother asked.
“Morris told me.”
Denali didn’t disbelieve what her family’s spirit guide might say, but they weren’t always right. Azaziel was a name intended to cause fear as his rank in the demon world was growing. She still could not imagine him taking an interest in an art gallery owner or creating a zombie out of… “Who was that girl? Has anyone identified her?”
“Cynthia Barnes,” her mother answered. “Jace called with the ID first thing this morning.”
“And who is she?”
“According to Facebook, Twitter, and what I could get online, she’s a witch wantabe, who has been playing around with whatever she thought would be fun.” She snorted. “She had tattoos. Did you see them?”
“At our shop, she was wearing a long sleeved shirt, which I guess should have made me wonder,” Torre said, “given the heat.”
“Well the tattoos were Satanist,” her mother said. “Jace described them. Not for real demons, but the ones created by human cults to gain power. An upside down cross on her bicep, on the inside to keep it from being obvious, some Celtic symbols on one wrist, for white supremacists groups. Of course, a swastika, and to be sure there was no mistaking it, a ram’s skull on her hip. Jace said they were poorly done, not a real shop probably.”
Elsa gave a low growl. “I resent how the Nazis appropriated an ancient symbol of auspiciousness. Sacred thousands of years before Hitler misused it.”
“I doubt this young woman had much idea of its meaning other than for supposed power.” Her mother sighed. “In the coroner’s report, it said Jane had a tattoo also. She probably had no idea what the Celtic symbol on her back even meant. It also was not done by a professional.”
“The same person then,” Denali said.
“It seems obvious to me-- we are dealing with a human evil, someone appropriating witchcraft for their own gain, using the demonic realm for power,” Jess said with a grim expression. “Of course, the other side uses what humans it can, and this time, it must be stopped before more are taken.”
“Do you think the crucifixion pose from the victims means anything?” Denali asked thinking again how serial killers often posed their victims in one way or another.
“It means the killer has a fixation and won’t stop,” Elke said.
“It’s a sacrificial pose,” Torre offered.
“Could it be someone angry at the Church?” Devi asked, speaking for the first time. “Remember when San Xavier was desecrated over that.”
“It is possible,” Jess said. “It is not only Christianity with that symbol. The cross itself goes back to the Stone Age. It shows up in Egyptian symbology. Of course, as the Christian symbol, it represents torture, most appealing to prurient interests, as well as the ultimate sacrifice.”
“Is this about sacrifices then?” Denali asked, thinking her own concern it was in terms of Nick.
“Some would say so probably,” her mother said, “but I am sure Jane had no such intention nor probably this poor young woman. They were used because they wanted something. For Jane something she felt she didn’t have and the girl, well, hard to say what she sought.”
“I am still trying to sort through what happened at the ranch. I thought Azaziel and his minions required being invited in,” Denali said.
“Which means, someone was there to open the door.” Her mother gave her a pointed look.
Denali considered that possibility.
“Nick maybe?” Elke suggested.
“No, I am sure not him. He doesn’t believe in the other side, but his brother was there also.” She told them then about Pete Coburn and her instinctive distrust of him. “Fortunately Luke wouldn’t hire him. I have no idea where he went, as after he made some threatening jokes about Nick’s cat, Nick told him he couldn’t stay there either.”
“We can look him up,” her mother said.
“I tried but found nothing of use.”
“Computers,” Jess said with a snort of derision. “Let me look into it.” She gave Elsa a look. “And I have a more reliable source.”
“Jeff?” Elsa said with a snort. “He’s never here when you want him.”
“He is when I need him. He is good with cowboy stuff. He was up in Montana until recently.”
“Yeah right, and didn’t stay for the conclusion either.”
“He was called back here.”
“Maybe so,” Elsa said with another snort, “but it’s true.”
“He was there when he was needed.”
Frustrated with the circling around and getting nowhere, Denali said, “A concern of mine is Nick’s brother, who showed up right after the first murder… if not before. I accused him of that possibility mostly to shut him up, but he was oblivious.”
“Might he be dabbling himself?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“All right,” her mother said looking from one of them to another. “We need to dig into Cynthia’s recent history, where she lived, worked, who her friends were, was there a connection to Jane we don’t know about? Elke and Torre, why don’t you do that? Was there a reason Cynthia showed up at your shop? Talk to her friends if possible.”
She looked then at her mother and mother-in-law. “Would you two consult your spirit guides? If they don’t know anything, ask them to do some snooping. I know they won’t like it, but some of this is happening in the spirit realm.” She then turned to Denali. “You think it relates to Nick. Concentrate on that end just in case.”
“What about me?” Devi asked. She was the quiet one, who rarely protested. Being the baby, she was also cossetted by the family. Devi had a softness that Denali knew she and her other two sisters didn’t have. This was harder for her.
“You and I will visit a few, who we know are into Wicca, see what they have been hearing, perhaps talk that wouldn’t come to us. It could also help us discern if one of them has gone over the edge and into something more dangerous than binding spells to make someone fall in a love or get sick?”
“I don’t like that idea,” Devi protested.
“I want you with me because you look so innocent.”
Devi gave a growl, which sounded much like their gra
ndmother Elsa. “I don’t like being around those who dabble in witchcraft, who take it as a club or something. Why can’t one of the other girls do it, and I’ll investigate Cynthia’s friends. I like to keep my witchcraft pure.”
Elke was the one to give an unladylike snort. “It’s not pure once you use spells—no matter what you want to think.”
“I didn’t say I do that.”
“You don’t?”
Her mother looked from one to the other. “Quit bickering. I think we all need time at the ranch to regather our strength. We should do some rituals, request help from Puriel.”
“Draw in an angel on this?” asked Denali. She was surprised, as they rarely went to the angelic realm, feeling the powers they had were sufficient.
“If need be. We’ll leave it up to her. We will do the circle, cleanse, dance, use the fire. How about Saturday.”
“You think it’s necessary?” Elke protested.
“The ranch is necessary, isn’t it?”
Reluctantly Elke nodded. Torre didn’t like the idea much either. Denali wondered if they had hot dates. Actually, she remembered she did. Luckily, he was her assignment. She wondered about her mother’s motivation. She was known to be a matchmaker, might that be it? She wasn’t about to complain.
“Saturday, we’ll ride out to the circle, strengthen its shield, and ask for answers. Maybe Elmo will join us.” Elmo was her mother’s screech owl, who served as a guardian, much as Edie did for Denali. She wished she had one in town. She agreed with her grandmother. They faced two enemies. She believed one was centering on them and the other on Nick.
Chapter Ten
Back at her home, Denali changed into cropped jeans, a shirt she tied below her red bra, and ecru wedge sandals. She fastened her hair into one long braid, while taking extra time with makeup. She wasn’t kidding herself as to her motives. She was not just interested in whether Nick was a target with all that was happening. She wanted the man—whether he wanted her long-term or not. There was something there with him she might never know with another man. There might only be this moment for either of them—as a witch, she was as capable of being killed as any other human. She felt things closing in around them, and she wanted whatever she could have with him.
At his home, she knocked on the door, then a second time, before he came. He was wearing a paint smeared t-shirt and holey jeans. “Sorry, I was wrapped up in something. Come on in.”
The scent of new oils was fresh on the air. “Do you want to skip our lunch?” she asked understanding how someone felt at being in the flow and not wanting to lose it.
She saw him considering. “No, I want lunch and to show you my work. The new piece is roughed in only.”
“I’d love to see your work, but if you’re not ready.”
“I won’t ever be.” He smiled faintly. She noticed Harvey was sitting on a nearby chair watching her with some suspicion.
“May I pet him?” she asked.
“If he lets you.”
She moved closer and the black cat remained seated but watchful. “You are a pretty boy,” she said. “Does Nick belong to you?”
The cat looked less distrustful as she continued to talk in a low voice with flattering comments. Finally, she was close enough to reach out her hand, which she put under his nose to let him sniff. He did and then looked up again at her. “Yes,” she said, “I am Nick’s friend too.” She reached out then and stroked his smooth fur. “Nice boy,” she whispered as she knelt to look him in the eye.
“Guess you won him over,” Nick said.
“I can see why you love him.”
“It’s a risk loving anything,” he said, “but it crept up on me without asking.” She looked up and saw him watching her. “Come on into the studio, said the spider to the fly.”
Smiling, she followed him. Canvases were neatly stored in divided shelves. His newest paintings were on three easels. He had windows open on two walls to let in fresh air, but it still smelled strongly of turpentine and linseed oil.
“This is the newest finished one,” he said pointing to a large canvas. Surprising her, it was more realistic than anything she’d seen him paint. It was the desert, the mountains and a sky ready to erupt in a storm. How he had captured the drama of the moment between peace and storm was amazing. She saw the underlying abstract design increasing what the painting said far beyond its elements. Again, she felt not only a surge of admiration but one of envy.
“It’s incredible,” she said.
“Other than that one in the gallery, it’s not like much I’ve done,” he said. “Galleries may not want them. They tend to want what we’ve been successful selling.”
“But Jane did.”
He nodded and pulled another canvas from its slot. He put it on an empty easel. She felt a moment of shock. It was a dancer but not of dances she’d seen—at least not earthly dances. Some kind of ritual, with an almost supernatural appearing storm behind the dancer. “How did you come to paint this?” she asked trying to steady her voice. She recognized the face, but she’d only seen it in powerful group meditations, rituals, and dreams.
“I am not sure. A flashback maybe only of nothing I’ve seen. The eyes…” He stopped and sucked in a breath. “I had to paint it last month, but then it disturbed me because I can’t tell from where it came.”
“You showed it to Jane.”
“Not purposely. She came here to collect two more works for the gallery showing. She said she needed them to get the show to fit right, and it was no trouble for her to come by. This one was still on an easel, as I tried to figure why the hell I had painted it. I told her it wasn’t going. She had a strange look on her face as she tried to convince me to let her take it. She could see it didn’t fit with the rest. I told her it wasn’t for sale and wasn’t going to be shown. A few days later, she claimed she had a buyer for the supernatural sunset if I’d let it go. I almost said no, as in the back of my mind, I saw it fitting with this one, nothing I could explain having painted, but… Well, the rest is history. Unpleasant history.”
She swallowed, worked again to steady her voice. “The headdress is of eagle feathers and yet it’s not of any Native American tribe. He is holding a rattle, the kind used for rituals… and his other hand has… energy, with a vortex behind him. You painted mystic power.” The hard part for her to get her head around was how the face could be Ornis, the exact demon she had been concerned was invested in what had been happening. Had this painting proven why Nick had been targeted or had he been picked and the vision planted in his head, preparing him? She shuddered, fortunately he wasn’t looking at her.
“I will clean up for lunch,” he said taking a turpentine rag to his hands. “Sorry I wasn’t ready. I get to forgetting time.”
“How about ordering pizza for here? You have beer, right?”
“I do. You serious though? Pizza?”
“Just no anchovies or pineapple. I am more an olive, mushrooms, pepperoni and sausage woman.”
He laughed. “Deal.” He punched in the number for a nearby pizzeria. “Be here in half an hour,” he said when he hung up. “I should shower.” His smile turned sly. “Want to join me?”
“I’ll pass and stay here and lure your cat away from you.”
He winked and disappeared to the back of the house while she headed for the patio. A few moments later, Harvey followed and sat near her when she settled into a lawn chair. She patted her lap and it took a little encouragement but eventually he hopped up. “You are such a good kitty,” she said as the cat rubbed against her chest.
“You won’t let me do that,” Nick said, changed into long shorts and a tank top.
“Maybe you didn’t purr when you asked,” she suggested.
He laughed and went back for two beers. “This is okay with you?” he asked holding a Dos Equis.
“Very much.”
He opened the bottles and handed one to her. “I saw you as a fine wine gal.”
“That works too.” She
grinned and sampled the beer. “Tucson has some good breweries.”
“I did know, but for now this is the best I’ve got. Warn me next time.”
“I don’t know. I might like you taken off guard.”
The knock from the pizza deliveryman saved her having to answer.
They sat at the table and she polished off two slices before holding up her hands to say no more. He smiled and put the rest into the refrigerator before returning to sit across from her with two new but unopened beers.
“How was your morning?” he asked as he opened his, and she turned down a second.
“Not good. There has been another murder. It happened the night before our ride.”
He whitened as she told him what she knew. “Is there any chance you knew the girl?” she asked when she finished.
“The name isn’t familiar. What did she look like?”
Tattoos, dark hair, not too long. She wasn’t herself at the shop, so I can’t say what she might’ve looked like at a bar.”
“I am not a bar hopper, despite what you might assume. No, I think it’s safe to say I didn’t know her. The similar way she was left makes me think I’ll be hearing from the police though.”
“It’s possible. As far as I know they have no suspects.”
He let out a breath before he reached for his cigarettes and lit one. “So the same killer, most likely a serial killer—especially with that warning… or did someone want it to seem a serial killer? Have there been others like it in Tucson?”
“We are looking into that. These two were meant to be found. Such killers often hide their work until they want to challenge the police.”
He sat back in his chair smoking. “And Tucson seemed such an innocent place.”
She laughed at that. “Do you read the newspaper?”
“I thought most of it was cartel and gang related—and south of town.”
“You live south of town.”
“More south.” He smiled as he blew the smoke away from her.
“Just knife fights here.”
She grinned as he shrugged. “Okay, so I haven’t read the paper much until the last few days.”
“I imagine you’d rather get back to your work than talk about this.”
