The Scrying Stone: Crone Chronicles, #3

By Jacqueline Farrell

Fifty, English and a professional crone, Sophronia Sheridan is stuck in California, trying to keep her young protégée, Charlie, safe, whilst at the same time figure out a way to explain to Hagen, the dangerously attractive vampire lord, that she may have killed two of his friends. Yevgeni, their mutual enemy, is getting ready to challenge Hagen and there are more vampires in Oreq than the town can safely feed. On the bright side, Sophronia had discovered that she can fly on her own personal broomstick...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Triquetra
• Release date: Oct 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393235088

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

Chapter One

Well, I’ve had about as much of this as I can stand, I said.

Charlie nodded. "It is kinda shit. She rubbed her forehead. Sorry for dragging you along, Phronsie."

We were in Greg and Emmylou Allen’s palatial living room. It was gorgeous, but monochrome: white walls, cream carpeting and an overstuffed white sofa, contrasting with a stark, black coffee table in the middle of the room and a huge, black, flat screen TV on the wall above the black mantelpiece. The only splash of colour was an enormous floral display of brilliant orange marigolds in a vase by the window. The whole place was giving me a headache. But it wasn’t just the décor that was stressful; the icing on the cake was the atmosphere in the room.

We watched Frank Stanton, Emmylou’s father, argue with his brother about a new appointment to the Senate. On the sofa, Emmylou, Charlie’s stepmother, held court among cousins and aunts, who were all seething as she boasted about her recently-acquired, thoroughbred racehorse, which had already won her several thousand dollars. Not your fault, I said, although I thought Thanksgiving was all about Americans gathering round a dinner table and counting their blessings.

Charlie snorted. That only happens in movies.

The invitation to spend Thanksgiving here had come as a bit of a shock, quite honestly. There was no love lost between Charlie and Emmylou. Charlie was born when her father, Greg, was already engaged to Emmylou and Emmylou had never forgiven him for cheating on her, or Charlie for existing. Charlie’s mother, Lynette, only escaped all this vitriol by being dead. But then, last week, the invitation had arrived and Charlie had veered between wanting nothing to do with her step-family, whilst at the same time being consumed with curiosity about their lives. In the end, she had agreed to attend on the condition that I accompanied her. She had wanted to bring Macie, her cousin, too, but Macie had refused to come. Instead, she stayed at Byrnes, the motel Charlie owned, watching all seven instalments of the Star Wars Saga, and sharing a plate of turkey sandwiches with my dog, Zed. I think they were having the better time.

Just then, the veneer of civility finally exploded as two younger cousins, adorable little tykes of six, began fighting. As various older relatives hauled them apart, the parents of one child accusing the other of having no control over their offspring, I glanced across at Charlie.

I’ll be off then, sweetie. Are you coming?

Give me a moment to say goodbye to Angie and Jen, she said, and disappeared upstairs. Angelina and Jennifer were Greg’s two daughters with Emmylou, and recently the three girls had become much closer. At fourteen and fifteen, Angelina and Jennifer were ready to rebel against their parents and, since Charlie existed outside the rich, exclusive world their parents had created for them, she was enjoying some hero-worship at the moment.

I slipped out to the back of the house. The kitchen was steamy from all the cooking that had been going on and the three servants roped in to serve all looked sweaty and harassed. I smiled at them apologetically, feeling guilty because I was escaping and they weren’t. On the other hand, at least they were being paid to be here. It was a relief to be outside. I’d recently started experiencing that particular joy of the menopause, the hot flush, and the night air, smoky yet fresh, bathed my neck in a welcome coolness. A door slammed somewhere and then I watched a car back out onto the road, Emmylou in the driving seat. She looked excited and I wondered what was so important that she would abandon her own party late on a holiday evening.

You leaving?

The voice made me jump and I turned to see Greg standing at the other end of the veranda. He was a big man in his early forties, with hair that was starting to grey.

Oh hello, I said. I was just-er- Usually I’m a lot better at lying than this, but I didn’t want to be ungracious. He smiled.

That’s okay; I’d leave too, except it’s my house. Seems like at least one host shouldn’t bail on the guests.

I decided to be sociable. I rather liked Greg and he did look miserable on what I had been given to understand was supposed to be a jolly American holiday. I’ve had a lovely time, I said. Thank you for inviting me. I’ve never eaten pumpkin pie before.

You realise my wife and her family will never forgive you for not eating any turkey.

Oh dear, I said insincerely. I forgot to mention I was a vegetarian.

He laughed. They loved the drama. Anyway, thanks for giving Charlie some support.

My pleasure, I said, insincerely again, because I hadn’t actually wanted to come at all; but since I was here... Emmylou is getting very friendly with Mr Volkov, I continued and the friendly look on his face changed to one of concern, as well it should have. Yevgeni Volkov was a Russian businessman who had recently enveloped various local enterprises in his vast embrace, and I knew from experience that he was not a person anyone in their right mind should be getting involved with. In fact, he wasn’t strictly a person at all, but more of that later.

Yeah well, that’s her business, not mine. Or yours, his eyes said. He was right, but I’ve always been a busybody and even though I don’t like Emmylou, I felt duty bound to warn Greg of the dangers facing his family.

He can be quite ruthless, you know, I said, rushing in where angels fear to tread.

Greg’s expression grew even less friendly. And how would a nice British lady like you know that? Oh, wait a moment, might it have something to do with that other foreign guy who’s bought up half the land around here? ’Cos you’re real cosy with him, aren’t you? Too many foreigners round here, by half, he muttered under his breath. I had to admit he had a point. The other foreigner he was talking about was Hagen Terving, with whom, it is true, I am cosy. He wasn’t a person in the strictest sense of the word, either.

You’re right, it’s none of my business, I said, having just noticed a broomstick by the side of the porch; the old-fashioned kind, twigs at the end, knobbly knots in the handle; the whole nine yards, as they say over here. Goodbye, Greg. You should go back inside now.

Right. He did as I said, resisting only very slightly, as coercion is one of my stronger talents. I’m a witch, you see. No warty nose or pointy hat, but I do take advantage of broomsticks wherever I can find them.

Because I’ve recently found out that I can fly.

****

I opened the door to Charlie’s car and cast around quickly to make sure I wasn’t being observed, then threw off my coat, shoes and tights so I was left with just my thin party dress on. I could feel the excitement bubbling up inside me, a kind of fizzing sensation that started in the pit of my stomach and gradually worked its way round my entire body until I felt ready to explode with joy if I didn’t get in the air right away. In my bare feet, I should have been frozen to the bone, but I wasn’t; it was as though a protective bubble radiated around me the very second I’d made the decision to fly.

I walked across the lawn, away from the house where it was more secluded, the broomstick in my hands. Riding on some object was necessary as a stabilising influence. Those mediaeval woodcuts of hags on broomsticks weren’t just for show, although it doesn’t have to be a broom; anything will do at a pinch. As I strode across the frosty white grass, I closed my eyes, took in a deep breath and then I was up and away, trying hard not to cackle with delight as I circled round a tall cedar at the bottom of the Allens’ garden. I was just promising myself a quick turn in the forest, when I suddenly noticed two glowing, golden eyes watching me with unblinking intensity from the edge of the tree-line and I crashed into the garage at the back of the house.

Hagen had arrived.

Chapter Two

When were you going to tell me? he asked, picking me up from the bush I’d landed in.

I pulled a twig out of my hair. How about never?

Most disloyal, Sophronia, he tutted.

I don’t see why. It’s got nothing to do with you.

Of course it’s got something to do with me. You’re my crone.

Hagen, if you’re trying to irritate me, you’re going exactly the right way about it. I swatted a few leaves sticking to the skirt of my dress, not in the mood for his feudalism. He watched me thoughtfully for a few seconds, his hands behind his back. At the moment his eyes, a barometer of his moods, were celestial blue, the most benign aspect.

You seem unhappy, darling. Have you not enjoyed your first American Thanksgiving?

I picked the broom up. I have not, I said. I was supposed to be sitting down to a small, intimate meal of Tofurkey with all the trimmings, in the bosom of my coven, followed by an extended stretch in front of the TV watching as many movies as was humanly possible in the hours from dusk ’til dawn-

What’s Tofurkey?

It’s a vegetarian turkey substitute.

He grimaced. It sounds horrible.

Well, I’ll never know, will I? Because instead of doing that, I’ve spent the afternoon in an overheated room, full of unpleasant people, who’ve eaten and drunk too much and who don’t like each other. And why have I had to do that, Hagen?

He rubbed an eye absently, not even trying to appear apologetic. Darling, it was such a tiny request. I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss.

I really wanted to be back in the air again, flying away from this bloody vampire.  It was not tiny, Hagen; and it wasn’t a request either.

Yes it was, my love. I distinctly remember asking you to accept Charlotte’s invitation to her father’s house this afternoon.

I looked at him with narrowed eyes. And when I said I’d prefer not to because it would be awful and I had no intention of wasting a perfectly good holiday, you bit me and made me agree to go so I could spy on Emmylou and her loathsome father.

He waved a hand carelessly, unmoved by my complaints. Since he was a vampire, he had spent the last two thousand years mesmerising humans whenever he wanted; and at this stage in the game he found it hard to even pretend to care whether we liked it or not. Well, it was a request to begin with - and anyway, now you’ve done it and I’m in your debt. And you know I always pay my debts.

I don’t care about debts, Hagen. If you want me to do something, ask and if I can do it I will. But don’t send me off on errands like a minion. It’s aggravat-

I didn’t get any further because he pulled me up close to him and kissed me. He’s very good at it, what with him being full of dark charm, etc, etc. You’d think I’d be immune to it. I mean I’m fifty, for God’s sake, not fifteen. And what’s more, I keep telling Charlie to give up her vampire boyfriend and there’s nothing worse than not practising what you preach. And this is all my fault anyway. I got locked in his room with him for a whole day a few weeks ago. He was asleep, obviously, or dead-however you want to characterise it-and by the time dusk came and he woke up I was bored stupid and just so grateful to have anyone with me, I kissed him with more vigour than I would have done if I’d been thinking straight. I could tell he was surprised, because he blinked, which is something vampires rarely do unless they’re concentrating, but he rallied well and we ended up rolling about on his ridiculous four-poster bed for a few minutes, before I got a grip on myself. Obviously, the damage had been done by that time and for the last week or so he’d been indulging in this behaviour. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. I was enjoying it too much and I’d allowed myself to be seduced into staying here when I should have left long since. Tonight, Phronsie, I told myself sternly. Tonight, you’re going to tell him you’re leaving. As I struggled to disentangle myself, he pulled back, the familiar smile of mild amusement on his face.

You know, despite your Catholic name, my darling, there’s more than a touch of the puritan in you. I wouldn’t advise you to cultivate it. I was in England during the first half of the seventeenth century and the puritans were dreary people. They even tasted dull.

I brushed a feather from my sleeve. We’ve been through this, Hagen. I’m fifty already and you’re never going to get any older. All we’re doing is setting ourselves up for misery.

True. Humans live such short lives. I don’t miss it at all. But I’m the one that’s going to be left behind, not you. If I’m prepared to accept the consequences, I don’t see why you have to be so difficult.

Lots of reasons.

Really? What are they?

This was the golden opportunity to tell him, but I chickened out. "Because I’m the one getting older and wrinklier while you stay the same and I’m not okay with that. You just stick to visiting Nadine whenever you feel frisky - let’s not complicate things." Nadine is the senior waitress at his club and his little bed-buddy for when the nights get extra cold.

Dear Nadine, he mused, then shot a look at me. You’re not jealous of her, are you?

To Hagen’s credit, he took my roar of laughter with good grace. Just a thought, he murmured. Actually, I haven’t seen her for a while. I believe someone mentioned she’s got a new job.

Don’t you know? I thought she was one of your favourites.

She was, darling, but nothing lasts forever. Now, what do you have to tell me about Mrs Allen and her father?

I shivered a little, itching to get up in the air again. Apart from anything else, my feet were getting cold. If I wasn’t flying, or getting ready to fly, my body reverted back to the temperature around me.

Not here. Let’s talk back at the Cabal. I snapped the broom back into a horizontal position and decided to be generous. Do you want to come back with me?

He thought about this for a moment. Why not? I haven’t flown with a witch in five hundred years.

I settled onto the cushion of air that always appeared around the handle and Hagen climbed on behind me. After sending a quick call to Charlie, telling her I was making my own way back home, I directed the broom upwards and we rose steadily above the trees into the inky, black sky, watching the houses get smaller and smaller below us. This high up the air smelt clean and I was invigorated just breathing it in. It was quiet too; the constant background hum that we take so much for granted drifted away, until the only sound was the soft sighing of the wind. An owl flew up and stared at me with huge, brown eyes before settling on the front of the broomstick, cooing in appreciation of the ride. I reached forward and stroked her cool, silky plumage. Behind me, I heard Hagen chuckle.

Will it stay long?

Only until she sees a meal down below. They’re very fickle. I glanced up, making sure the moon was on my right. It was my best means of navigation. Shifting direction slightly, I took us out to open sea.

The sharp tang of salt water hit me like a drug and coursed rapidly through my veins. There really is nothing like flying low across a dark, silent ocean with the light of a full moon high above you. I lowered the broom so my toes skimmed the surface, creating little ripples on the dark waves and within seconds I felt them speeding towards me. I flew up again, mindful of how exuberant they could be and then suddenly, they were right in front of me; dozens of dolphins, exploding to the surface, sailing gracefully above and around the broom, clicking and squeaking greetings and questions simultaneously:

- she is here -

- behold the other -

- creature who is not us -

- yet speaks to us -

- where have you been -

- how do you stay up there -

- where are you going -

- why have you got a dead thing with you –

- it’s something new -

- tell us about this new dead thing -

Together we raced along the waves, their noses occasionally nudging at the twigs on the end of the broom. It fascinated them - anything dry did - and they kept up a ceaseless, eerie, joyful alien chatter in my head, requesting all kinds of information on different sensations. I replied as best I could, and was rewarded by wave after wave of pleasure in return.

Eventually, however, exhaustion overtook me and I had to leave before I became too tired to fly home. I shifted direction, bidding them farewell and it was only as I cut back toward the shore and the stink of petrol hit me in the face that I felt Hagen’s hand on my waist and remembered he was with me.

I cut through the Redwood forest, flying just above the tops of the towering dark trees, and landing in the residential compound he kept at the back of the leisure complex he owned. It was locked up tight during the day and only a small nuclear bomb would allow anyone in. The second I stepped off the broom, I felt the cold envelope me like an icy coat and I was grateful that Hagen kept his house heated, even if it was only to keep the paintings and furnishings in good condition.

Was it as good as you remembered? I asked as we walked up the stairs to his private suite.

Exhilarating. Those creatures-were you talking to them?

Yes.

He studied me, his expression a mixture of cold-blooded calculation and tetchiness. I know you can coerce animals, but you never told you can communicate with them as well.

I laughed. Don’t get all grumpy; I’m not Dr Doolittle. I’ve never been able to actually talk to an animal before. I was surprised the first time it happened. Damn near fell off the broom.

Really? By this time, we had reached his rooms and he held the door open for me. So how is it you can talk to them?

I’ve no idea, I said, and I’m going to be paying for it with a stinking headache in about an hour’s time. Dolphins are like us in many ways, but very different in others. I think it’s because they’ve spent so long in a water environment. I can’t get anything from fish at all.

Fascinating. He sat down opposite me and picked up my right foot, kneading the skin and massaging warmth and feeling back and I shivered with pleasure.

Insects and reptiles are even worse. I tried reaching out to a friend’s tarantula once and vomited for an hour afterwards. I yawned. To be honest, I forgot you were with me for a while there.

You forgot? He looked up, his eyes darkening.

I’m still learning, I said defensively. Sometimes I get a bit carried away.

My dear, you must be more careful. There was a time when the pyres and gallows of Europe were full of crones who hadn’t bothered to check whether anyone was around to witness them flying.

I know. I leaned back in the chair and then noticed a guitar by the chair. Where did this come from?

Hagen began working on my other foot. Part of my inheritance from Louis.

I frowned as I smoothed my fingers across the inlay on the rosette, an intricate design made of mother-of-pearl and coloured wood. Louis was a vampire who’d abducted young witches and drained them slowly to try and absorb their powers. I suspect he’d also enjoyed the torturing aspect for its own sake as well, since he was an evil little sod, but fortunately he was now dead, thanks to Hagen and his vassals, the younger vampires who worked for him. As victor, Hagen was entitled to all his property.

It’s beautiful, I said, plucking a string inexpertly.

Yes, I thought so too. Tell me about the Stantons. What’s Yevgeni’s business with them?

Yevgeni was a vampire too, almost as old as Hagen, and they had lived out their long lives in a series of never-ending squabbles, like little boys; they didn’t seem to have the sense to leave each other alone.

He’s invested in a couple of their projects, I said, and he’s whispering in their ears about what an undesirable element you are in the community.

Me, an undesirable element? Hagen sounded offended. What’s he been saying?

I smiled. Well, I don’t think he’s mentioned you literally suck the blood out of the townsfolk, since he does too, but you’re going to start receiving lots of safety inspections and spot checks on hygiene preparations areas and that kind of thing.

That can be easily dealt with, he said, and I knew he was relying on his ability to mesmerize humans.

Not before sunset, I pointed out.

He frowned momentarily, before his expression brightened. I’ll give the day-time staff instructions to refer all queries to me. They only open up in the late afternoon anyway.

I shook my head. No, love, that’s not going to work either.

Why not?

Because even though you pay your staff well, at the moment Yevgeni’s paying better.

He stared at me for a few moments, his eyes slowly darkening to indigo. How many? he asked at last. I shrugged.

I’ll drop by tomorrow and find out exactly which ones are picking up two pay checks, but Frank Stanton was pretty confident that he’d be able to give you a big enough headache over the next few days. He and Emmylou really didn’t appreciate you giving Charlie money to renovate the motel.

The frown returned and his eyes darkened further. This vexes me, Sophronia.

It’s a problem, I agreed, then yawned. Flying is wonderful but it really saps my energy and I felt the headache starting. Hagen stood up.

You’re tired. We’ll talk more about this later. Rest for a while.

Thanks, I said, just forty winks, then I’ll be fine.

The last thing I remember was the door closing softly as he walked out.

****

When I woke up again, I found myself lying in bed. Staring up at the ceiling, I recognised the erotic nymphs, skimpily draped in red and gold costumes, gambolling around their wild forest. I was in Hagen’s bedroom. A warm, wet nose nuzzled my hand and Zed wagged his stump of a tail at me. He was a pit-bull dog that I found tied up in a dilapidated trailer park a couple of weeks ago. I tickled him behind the ear and he gave a happy dog groan. Just as I noticed the thick steel shutters were down over the windows, the door opened and Hagen came in.

You’re awake. Good. It’s almost sunrise. If you want to leave you must go now.

Right. (Tell him now, Phronsie. That was the deal.) Why’d you bring Zed here?

(You coward.)

Miss Byrne rang. The beast apparently took a dislike to some guests and was causing trouble. You were asleep, so I sent a vassal to fetch it. He was in the bathroom now and his voice sounded slightly echoey.

Was somebody horrible to you, sweetie? I cooed to Zed and his tail thumped even faster. He had been ill-used by his former owner and, as a consequence, was unreliable around humans, although vampires didn’t worry him. I leaned down and stroked his rough fur.

Well, obviously, I can’t tell him now. It’s too late. It would be mean to cut and run like this. He deserves better.

You are such a coward, Decent me said.

I know, Cowardly me agreed, ashamed but unrepentant.

Hagen came back into the bedroom again. He had taken off his suit and wore a bathrobe.

Can I stay? I asked. (What? Are you mad?)

(One more night. Just one. I’ll definitely tell him tomorrow.)

Hagen blinked. You want to stay? Here? In this room?

Yes.

I thought you disliked being imprisoned in here with me. I believe those were your words when last I asked you.

I shrugged. So long as you make sure I’ll sleep all day with you. I don’t want to wake up and find I can’t get out. That wouldn’t be nice.

He climbed onto the bed and bit into my wrist, withdrawing the tiniest amount of blood. When he does this, I am compelled to obey his commands for-well, let’s say twenty-four hours. That’s what he believes and so far, I’ve had no reason to disabuse him of this notion. Certainly, it would work long enough to give me a good day’s sleep.

It pleases me that you want to stay, he said, stroking my wrist where the fang marks were already fast disappearing. I smiled, praying I didn’t look guilty.

Because, you see, dear reader, no matter how irritating Hagen found Yevgeni, I had a much bigger problem with him, something I’d been trying to ignore for the last couple of weeks. Yevgeni, and his son and counsellor, Vasily, were on the verge of discovering that I’d killed a thousand-year-old vampire, known as an Old One, the worst crime a human could commit. I’d actually killed two, but I was fairly certain they’d only ever find out about the most important one, a sadistic thug called Arraigaithel; that was bad enough, however. And I hadn’t told Hagen. I was living on borrowed time.

Sleep now, Sophronia. I shall enjoy waking up next to you.

You know I’m very fond of you, Hagen, I said, as sleep began to envelope me like a warm bath. I thought I heard him sigh.

And I you, my heart.

Tomorrow. I’ll definitely tell him tomorrow and then I’ll go. But not tonight. Not tonight.

Then everything went black and I was free.

Chapter Three

I woke up to the sound of music. Hagen was sitting by the window, partially dressed and strumming a tune on the guitar.

I didn’t realise you could play that, I said.

I spent a winter in Spain in the fourteenth century and developed a fondness for a noblewoman who played the vihuela. She taught me.

Played the what?

A vihuela. The forerunner of a modern guitar.

Oh. I sat up and moved to the end of the bed, looking for my clothes. Was she a crone?

No, just an ordinary human. She died of a fever that swept through the countryside, which was probably just as well. The priest in her household was beginning to harbour suspicions about me and was communicating them to her. He died too, but I was less upset about his death. The last of Louis’ property arrived this evening, he added, pointing to a heavy oak chest by the door.

I pulled up the carved lid. Inside was a pile of ancient, musty