Covenant: Crone Chronicles, #1

By Jacqueline Farrell

Fifty, English, and a professional crone, Sophronia Sheridan is on a tour of the USA when she comes across a juvenile witch caught up in a dangerous relationship with the youngest member of the local undead community. Driven to help, against her better judgment, she draws the unwelcome attention of the head vampire, who has plans to use her skills for his own ends. But Sophronia is more than capable of looking after herself...
This novel was first published as SOPHRONIA AND THE VAMPIRE.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jacqueline Farrell
• Release date: Oct 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393203711

Jacqueline Farrell

Jacqueline Farrell lives in Merseyside where she works as a teacher. She has been writing as a hobby since she was a teenager, before finally getting a novel published at the age of 45. She writes historical and paranormal romantic fiction and more details of her work can be found on her website www.jacquelinefarrell.co.uk. She can be contacted on twitter @jacquiefw1. 

Book preview

Jacqueline Farrell

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used ficticiously and any resemblance to actual persons either living or dead, business establishments, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Covenant

COPYRIGHT © 2019 by Jacqueline Farrell

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Previously published as ‘Sophronia and the Vampire’ by Lyrical Press 2012 and The Wild Rose Press 2015.

Cover Design by Angie Alaya

Triquetra Books 2019

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 Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Author’s Note

Bonus Material

Chapter One

As soon as I turned off the main highway, I knew I was in trouble. The mist rolled in from the sea in a manner I’d only seen in old black-and-white horror movies, the sort Roman had loved. We always watched them late at night curled up next to each other while I kept my hands over my eyes and he roared with laughter. Watching swirls of fog obscure a wobbly movie set is way different from actually seeing it happen though.

See how I put ‘way’ in there? I felt quite proud of that. Ever since I stepped off the plane at Dulles, I’ve been experimenting with American-teenager speak. I’m not sure how well it’s working. At fifty I’m probably too old to start and the spotty adolescent at the last petrol station didn’t improve my confidence. He gave me one of those disgusted stares young people do so well when an adult does something to annoy them-which is apparently all the time. I’d told him I thought America was cool and, to be fair, I don’t think I’m ready for that one yet. Or it may have been that I mentioned how cheap petrol is out here. I must stop calling it ‘petrol.’ It’s gas. Gas.

I peered out through the windscreen but the sudden onrush of fog meant I’d lost all visibility. I stomped on the brake too late and felt a thud. With a horrible rush of fear, I wondered if I’d hit someone or something then I saw a blur of movement and a face by the glass next to me.

I’m so sorry, are you all right? I shouted, trying to get the window down. I’ve driven over a thousand miles in this car now and I still keep searching for the handle to wind it down, forgetting it’s electric. In the end I gave up and got out. After all, if you’ve nearly mown someone down it’s only polite to make an effort to see they’re okay. I immediately wished I hadn’t. A tall young man stared at me, unsmiling. In his mid-twenties, he had long black hair and a very pale complexion.

I’m so terribly sorry. I cringed as I heard myself. I sounded like the stereotypical English buffoon, bumbling along and expecting everyone to forgive me because I’ve got lovely manners. Did I hurt you?

He glanced at the bumper of the car. No.

Good, good. Splendid. I can’t believe how quickly the fog appeared. One minute it was perfectly clear and the next-

It happens a lot in this part of California. You should always drive with your fog lights on at night round here.

Absolutely. Of course. Well as long as you’re all right... I felt for the handle of the car and backed into the seat again, before he decided to ask for a lift. If he did, I knew I would have to agree, but I certainly wasn’t going to offer.

Thankfully he didn’t. He just turned round and walked off into the mist, an image I found so iconic I started giggling before remembering how much danger I was in.

Phronsie, I muttered to myself, you need to find a hotel right now and get safe for the night.

At that moment the fog lifted, but I didn’t trust it to remain that way so I started the engine again and continued driving, making sure I’d turned the lights onto full beam as the young man had suggested.

After all, just because he was a vampire didn’t mean he wasn’t right about road safety.

* * * *

My hands were still trembling slightly as I drove up the road looking for anything that might be a safe haven. Ideally, I wanted a city street full of light and noisy throngs of partygoers drinking and shouting and making me feel inconspicuous-Cardiff on a Saturday night would have done me fine just then. Instead I found a deserted highway with one streetlamp every twenty miles, by the look of it, and no one, absolutely no one, in sight.

America is so big. You can go for hundreds of miles without seeing another car, driving along endless dusty roads with no road markings or people or anything suggesting you’re in the richest country on earth. It’s amazing. I’m not saying we don’t have lonely stretches of land in England, because we do, but you have to work quite hard to find them, usually by climbing up mountains or along muddy paths, and, quite honestly, it’s often not worth the effort. Have you ever seen An American Werewolf in London? Great film-lots of fun-but I’d love to know where David Naughton and Griffin Dunne actually were at the beginning of the film, and I’ve never seen a pub like The Slaughtered Lamb either. Roman loved it too, but mainly because of Jenny Agutter. Like every male in existence he adored her-The Railway Children has a lot to answer for. A typical Jenny night would be The Railway Children wherever you can see her knickers, Walkabout for the bit where she swims naked in the pool, all of Logan’s Run, which is apparently the sexiest film ever made, and finally her and David Naughton in the shower scene just before he turns into a werewolf. I asked him-Roman, not David Naughton-once if he didn’t feel a bit ashamed of himself leering at what he obviously considered a schoolgirl, but he’d looked at me as though I were mad so I didn’t bother after that. After all, Britney Spears exploited it brilliantly in her tacky little video. Sometimes there’s nothing else you can do but let men get on with being stupid.

Anyway, I digress. The point is that while I wanted the American dream of bright lights, throngs of people and lovely, safe crowds, I had actually ended up on a deserted coast road in which patches of dense fog could suddenly appear. So when I finally saw a sign with the word ‘Motel’ winking on and off as though it were a saucy hussy trying to tempt me in for the night, I damn near cried. I pulled off the road and parked the car as close to the office as I could.

Unfortunately, as I turned off the ignition, I happened to glance down at the paperback I’d been reading during my breaks from driving-John Connelly’s The Black Angel. I love John Connelly’s books and reread them all the time, but this evening I wished I hadn’t picked this one. I won’t go into the plot but suffice it to say near the beginning several people die horribly in a motel exactly like this one. It seemed almost as if the author had actually spent the night here, woken up the next morning and said, Yes, a mass-murdering demon would be right at home in this place. That’s when I should have turned the car round and left.

I ignored my instincts, however, got out the car and tried not to notice the motel’s shabby exterior. The illuminated sign at the front flickered in a way guaranteed to induce a fit if you were epileptic and some of the letters were missing. It said ‘By n Motel-Competitive rat s.’ Some dead plants decomposed in pots by the door, which was in desperate need of a new coat of paint. Still, once I’d paid for a room, it would be mine to invite or refuse entrance to whomever I liked. If the bed was clean and the toilet flushed, that would be a bonus. I pushed the door open and walked in. A young woman behind the reception desk smiled beguilingly at me.

She looked around nineteen or twenty and had long, dark, curly hair twisted up round a pencil, which I found very impressive. My hair’s about the same length but every time I’ve ever tried that style, it all flops down five seconds after I’ve jammed the pencil through the knot. She was about five foot five with a lovely slim figure which had to be the result of abstinence from all the nice things to eat in the world, otherwise life just wasn’t fair. Her coffee-colored skin glowed with health, and her eyes were a dark brown.

Good evening, ma’am. How can I help you?

I love the way Americans say ‘ma’am.’ It makes me feel important, although I always want to look over my shoulder to see whether the Queen has turned up behind me. In England, people usually just say ‘love’ or ‘dear.’

I’d like a room please, I said, a little surprised to find myself mimicking her overbright smile. I should have been paying more attention but I was still a bit spooked by the vampire and the fog.

Sure. How long you staying? she said out loud, while her brain telegraphed her desperation. "Make it at least a week, please."

Just the night, dear. I felt bad even saying it.

Okay. Hey, you know we got a deal on at the moment-three nights for the price of two. The ocean’s real pretty this time of the year. Stay! I need the money!

Maybe I will. Can I let you know tomorrow? I rubbed my forehead, confused.

Well gee, we could be full tomorrow. There’s a Native American festival starting in the Redwood National Park on Thursday and we’re so near we fill up quick. Damn you, stay for one more night at least.

She offered me her pen to sign the register and blasted me with another smile. Under the column ‘duration of stay’ I nearly wrote three nights until I realized what was going on.

"My dear, I’m sorry you’re having money problems, but that isn’t polite."

She went pale-her eyes huge, round holes of surprise-before muttering, Excuse me, and ducking down under the counter.

When she didn’t come up again, I leaned over to see where she’d gone and found her squeezed behind a pile of cardboard boxes full of those tiny packets of soap that hotels love so much and I personally find irritating. They’re too big for one-time use only and too small to bother taking home.

Are you all right?

"Go away." I mean, go away!

I thought you wanted me to stay for a week.

She jumped up again and grabbed the pen from me. No. I just remembered we’re full tonight. You have to leave.

I looked at the empty register book. No you’re not. Besides I’m very clean. I won’t be a problem, I promise.

I gave her some coercion of my own, and it was her turn to look confused. Okay. You got any luggage you need help with?

No, I’ll be fine, thank you.

I paid her, she handed me a key and I walked to the door. This wasn’t my problem.

That old woman didn’t read my mind. No one does that. Not even me. I’m normal.

The I’m normal sounded pathetic, but I gritted my teeth and ignored her. I didn’t even offer to help when she picked up one of the boxes and started walking through to her office, though I’m usually very obliging that way. Hotel staff love me-I strip my bed on checkout and always clean my hair out of the shower drain.

I’m normal. I’m not Charlie the freakazoid who talks to dead people anymore. I run a motel and that’s all.

I almost made it to the door. Almost. If only I’d carried on walking. Why didn’t I carry on walking, Roman? I had traveled to America in your memory. I didn’t have time for lame ducks and abandoned puppies. I’m not a natural mother. I can look after myself and that’s it.

Completely normal, so get lost, bitch.

I sighed and turned round. Charlie, that was rude.

She dropped the box.

* * * *

Little packets of artificially perfumed soap cascaded all over the floor, tumbling under chairs and finding inaccessible corners to hide in. I went round the counter and began helping her corral them back into the box.

Leave it. I’m okay.

Really?

Yes. I mean, yes. Stop it. Whatever it is you’re doing, stop it.

If that’s what you want, dear. I projected my sweet old lady image at her-totally white hair with a pair of wire-rimmed specs. It never fails to soothe people.

Yeah, right.

Pardon?

She gave me a sardonic scowl. Listen, if you want me to think you’re a harmless old kook, get rid of that weird white streak down the front of your hair. You look like Lily Munster.

Oh, I see. Sophronia Sheridan. Pleased to meet you.

She glanced at my outstretched hand in contempt before crawling under a desk to retrieve the last soap packet. I tried again.

So do you prefer Charlie, or should I call you Charlotte?

Take a hike, lady.

"Well, that’s not very nice."

I’m not trying to be nice. Go away. I’ve got enough problems as it is. And stop doing that.

She remained underneath the desk, so I sat down next to her. There were lots of dust bunnies and I got the impression cleaning wasn’t one of her strengths. I hate to sound childish, but you started it. Tell me what other problems you’ve got, apart from being Charlie the freakazoid?

Some old broad in my motel who doesn’t know when she’s not wanted.

Then tell me to go and I’ll go.

She ignored me so I leaned back against the wall and waited. I’m good at waiting. After a while she backed out from under the desk and glared at me, her mouth pinched into a pout.

Okay, not that I’m interested or I care or whatever, but how’d you do it?

I took hold of her hands. They were cold and a little clammy. Brace yourself, my dear.

"You’re a witch.

Chapter Two

A moment of pure silence prevailed. Charlie stared at me in a kind of horrified stupor.

Witch?

Witch. I know it sounds stupid, dear. Try not to think pointy hats and broomsticks. Think wise women with supernatural abilities.

What? She got up and started backing away from me then stopped, momentarily distracted by the crashing of dustbin lids-excuse me, trashcan lids-falling to the ground outside.

What’s that? I asked aloud, although I already knew. It was that bloody vampire again.

Cats fighting. Did you just say witch?

Yes dear. Give yourself a moment. It does take some getting used to.

I said this because she’d turned a funny color and kept crashing into furniture in her haste to get away from me, as though being a witch were contagious. I tried gently coercing her to sit down again.

Hey! Stop it.

Oh well, have it your own way. I walked to the other side of the reception desk, Charlie wheeling away from me as though I were Lucifer himself.

You just tried to force me into sitting down.

Forcing is such a strong word, sweetie. Really, suggesting is much more-

Listen, I know what a suggestion is and that wasn’t it. I could feel you pushing my arms and legs around. She rubbed her forehead. Witch?

Yes.

Like green skin and warty nose?

Well, when I’m seasick, my face does go a bit green, I suppose, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Or the warty nose either. They’re both very unattractive.

Wild, disjointed thoughts swirled in her head and I tracked them idly. Once, it looked like she was going to be sick, but the moment passed.

So do I get a broomstick?

Only if you want to do some sweeping. It was on the tip of my tongue to say this might be a good idea, but I restrained myself. Nobody likes to be told they’re a slob.

How about a black cat?

You can have a cat by all means. I’ve had several in my time, all different colors. They were lovely but some witches prefer dogs. It’s a human thing. Nothing to do with being a witch at all.

She took a few deep breaths. So, what, like now I need to start wearing lots of eyeliner and lacy black gloves?

No dear, that’s Goths. Or is it Wiccans? I get a bit confused sometimes.

I thought witches were Wiccans.

Well, the words have the same derivation, but apart from that Wiccans are just ordinary women who worship nature. Lovely girls-what they don’t know about mushrooms isn’t worth knowing. I had a Wiccan friend in London and sometimes I’d go round for a cup of tea and wouldn’t get home for days. It used to drive Roman mad.

Roman? She projected an image of togas and lions in arenas in the top part of her mind. Underneath her thoughts careered wildly between wondering if she had lost her mind or I had. Deeper still, a little voice told her she’d known this all along.

My husband. He was Polish.

She took another deep breath. Okay, so we’re both witches and that’s-

Before she could continue, a roar of anger followed by a howl made us both start in shock. She glared at me suspiciously. What the hell was that?

It’s all right, just some cats fighting. I used the coercion much more gently now. It happens all the time.

She nodded. Yes.

All the time, my darling, just some cats fighting. Nothing to concern yourself with, nothing at all.

Just some cats-

Another howl, much louder this time, and the ground shuddered beneath us.

That’s not cats. Before I could stop her, she’d run out of the motel and down the driveway.

Charlie, come back, there’s nothing to see, I shouted after her, but I knew I was too late. By the time I reached her she already had the vampire’s head in her lap. He lay on the ground, his face paler than the last time I’d seen him. A thin trickle of blood stained his mouth.

Ethan, are you all right? Ethan? Wake up.

I gaped. You know him?

Yes. He’s hurt. If you go into the office, there’s a first-aid kit in the drawer-

He’s fine, I snapped.

Charlie glared at me. He’s not! He’s out cold. Go call for an ambulance.

He’ll survive, but we need to get back inside right now. I reached down to pull her up but she pushed my hand away.

Are you going to help me or not?

Absolutely not, I began but, before I could say anything else, she jumped up again. That’s one of the few things I miss about youth. You can bounce about and never once feel your bones cracking or joints popping.

Listen, you crazy old bitch, I don’t know you from Adam but this is one of my friends and if you think I’m going to leave him to die here then you’ve got-

He’s not going to die. He’s done that already, I pointed out but she pushed past me and ran back to the motel.

I crouched down and inspected the creature, definitely the same one from the road earlier. I’d felt him hanging around while I talked to Charlie but it had never occurred to me that they knew each other. He was unconscious but that wouldn’t last long. Next to him were the telltale little piles of ash. Say what you like about vampires but they certainly die tidily.

The creature began to moan a bit. I reckoned he was still quite young-one hundred, one hundred and fifty years old at the most-which explained his lack of interest in me. I’m not being vain, by the way. It’s not that they think I’m gorgeous or anything, but I do have some qualities they find fascinating. I don’t find them fascinating however and, since Charlie would be back any second, I gave him a clip round the ear. You haven’t bitten her yet, have you?

His eyelids fluttered. What?

You haven’t bitten her yet.

No. He sounded like a sulky teenager, which he actually was, in a way.

Why not?

He ignored the question and sat up. I moved back. He might only be a young one, but I still didn’t want to be too close to him.

Who are you?

Never mind about me, sonny. You know what she is, don’t you?

He stood up, licking the blood from his mouth. Instantly healed, he moved gracefully toward the door. Where’s Charlie?

She’s inside, getting a plaster for your poor bleeding head. Does she know what you are?

He ignored me again and went into the motel.

Vampires are arrogant creatures, with a tendency to believe the only questions that need replies are the ones they ask. Also, because of his relative youth, he didn’t know what I was. Under normal circumstances this would have suited me fine and I’d have used the opportunity to get the hell out of there, but I am nothing if not loyal to my own kind. Charlie was so young I felt duty bound to help her. Besides, he held no threat to me. What worried me far more was the ease with which he’d entered the building. I cast some light, honey-sweet coercion at him.

Tell me truthfully, darling, does she know what you are?

He frowned, confused, but turned back to me. No.

Good. I extinguished the sweetness. Now get lost before your lord and master arrives, if you don’t want him finding out-

Just then Charlie returned, a first-aid kit in her hands. Before I could stop her, she ran to him eagerly.

Ethan, you’re okay. For a moment there, I thought-

Charlie, don’t look in his eyes-

Too late.

Charlie, can I use your phone? the creature asked. He stood very close to her, looking far too cozy for my liking. I’ve lost my cell.

Of course you can. She damn near cooed this and I knew right there and then the little blighter might not have bitten her, but he’d bloody well mesmerized her enough times to make it second nature to let him do what he wanted. They both walked toward the office by reception, and I trailed after them, thinking evil thoughts about the vampire.

Where have you been? As she spoke, her fingers twined round his hair and they embraced, forgetting about me. I expected you hours ago.

I couldn’t get away before.

They began to kiss, ignoring me energetically, and I wanted to slap them both. They were behaving as though they were normal, stupid kids who only had to worry about normal, stupid things.

Charlie, could I have a word with you? I asked.

The vampire stared at me. "Who are you?" He gave me a sour look, but I can ignore questions too.

Just a quick word, dear, then I’ll get out of your hair, I said to Charlie.

Without waiting for an answer, I marched out the office and up some stairs marked ‘Private’. It only took me a few minutes to find her bedroom. It was decorated in a mixture of angry pink and black, with stuffed animals on the bed and posters of moody looking young men on the walls. I searched in her cupboards and found a suitcase.

What the hell do you think you’re doing? Leave my stuff alone.

"Charlie dear, I realize this is a sharp learning curve,