The Coven--The Triquetra: The Coven Series, #1

By Ashlynn Stone

She's a perfectly average young woman.
He's a superhuman, carrying his supernatural coven's secrets.
And… her knowing those secrets could prove deadly to both.

You won't want to put this book down as you join Aurora Washington and become tangled in the web of chaos, lies, and fear attached to the non-human James.

Aurora Washington cherishes her life and position as a dispatcher with the Townsted Police Department. That is until one day, hundreds of 'crazies' begin reporting the loss of significant chunks of time, leaving Aurora amused. At the same time, bodies start popping up throughout Northeast Ohio, linked only by the murderer's strange signature. The widespread panic quickly loses all humor when Aurora finds herself directly affected, in more ways than one.

Throughout the chaos, Aurora meets James Barrington. James is an annoying yet mysterious superhuman, who lives among humans and refuses to share the facets of his life with her. Finally growing tired of hiding who he is, he opens up to Aurora about himself, The Coven's secrets, and his knowledge of the murders. All the while, James ignores the unavoidable and fatal consequences that await them both since he disclosed the secrets of a near-immortal coven, spanning over a millennium.

Upon learning of Aurora's knowledge of The Coven's secrets, James' father and Coven King, Alex Barrington, requests to meet with her. Will King Barrington spare James' and Aurora's life? How far will The Coven go to protect their family secret?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashlynn Stone
• Release date: Oct 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393553236

Book preview

By Ashlynn stone

The Coven

The Triquetra

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By Ashlynn stone

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This is a work of fiction. The characters and events in this book are a creation of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or deceased, is not intended by the author and is purely coincidental.

Cover design by Ben Murphy, 2019

Photography by Kenzie Rhea Photography, 2018

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form (e.g., electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recorded, scanning or otherwise,) without written and signed permission.

Copyright © 2019 by Ashlynn Stone.

All rights reserved.

A Special Thanks

A massive thank you, to you—my reader—for taking a chance on me and bringing my story to life.

Thank you, Dana Conners, Jess Hastings, Dovenetta Johnson, Maggie Knight, Harlee Davidson, Carol Haight and Helen Jo Miller for taking the time to beta read my book. You all have been an incredible help!

My Aunt and Uncle, both Retired Law Enforcement Officers—I appreciate and thank you for answering my never-ending legal and law enforcement related questions. I may have tweaked your answers some, but without your help, I would have been clueless.

Thank you, Mom and Dad, for the endless help when I couldn’t come up with the correct wording. Also, for never complaining about reading different versions of the same passages and paragraphs—repeatedly—just to calm my mind.

My nephew, Brady—I remember sitting next to you, frustrated, because I couldn’t get paragraphs to make sense. At only eleven, you turned my laptop around, read over my problem areas, and told me exactly how to word it. You got me out of a lot of binds. Thank you for helping me.

My niece, Hunter—Thank you for helping me with the romance end of the plot and making it flow seamlessly.

My nephew, Beau—I don’t know how to show my appreciation. The simple words, Thank you, don’t seem to be enough. How do you properly recognize the person who named your series? Nevertheless, please accept my sincerest thank you for doing so.

The Haight, Legg, Hurst, Walters, and Knight families... you all listened to me drone on and on about my characters, as though they were family.  Also, the storyline, my progress, etc. None of you passed judgment, and each of you showed me nothing but support. I cannot thank you enough!

There is freedom waiting for you,

on the breezes of the sky,

and you ask, What if I fall?

"Oh but my darling,

what if you fly?"

– Erin Hanson

Dedication

Jake,

I am forever grateful to you and for you.

You supported me to reach.

You encouraged me to soar.

With your help, my dreams have come true—

For today, I fly.

I love you!

~Ash

Chapter One

The Call

Someone just stole an hour from me! a panicked man screamed into the phone.

I hated the public sometimes. They called the police department for the most stupid reasons. But my training taught me to remain professional and consider each call an emergency. Excuse me? Do you mean that someone wasted your time?

No! I mean, he literally stole an hour from me!

Pinching the bridge of my nose in frustration, I asked the caller for the entire story. If nothing else, it would provide my afternoon entertainment.

I just told you. A man rang my doorbell. I went outside to talk to him, and he stole an entire hour of my life.

I’m still having trouble understanding you. Are you referring to blacking out? Did he give you drugs or something like that?

He slammed his hand on a hard surface. Damn it! No!

The noise boomed through my earpiece. I jumped and instinctively pulled it away from the left side of my head. Sir, please—

Fletcher. Harold Fletcher, he said through his teeth. He lowered his voice to a whisper and mumbled, I knew I shouldn’t have called... that no one would believe me. He sighed, calmed himself, and said, I know it sounds ridiculous. I’m not making this up though.

Biting my bottom lip, I held back my laughter and asked him to start from the beginning.

Okay. At exactly 1:00—I’m sure of the time because the theme song for The Price is Right just started. I was on the couch, and my doorbell rang. I looked through the peephole and saw a man on my porch.

The confidence in his voice cleared any confusion I had about his mental state. What did he look like?

Some things were hard to make out because the peephole distorted his image, but from what I could see, he was thirtyish, thin, clean-cut, and quite tall. He was even in a suit. The guy didn’t look like a typical salesman at all. But what... Harold’s voice trailed off until he stopped talking.

But what? What were you going to say? I asked.

Nothing. Never mind. It’s not important.

Mr. Fletcher, please. Even the smallest detail could be helpful to the investigation.

Well, he began, hesitantly, The guy. He, uh, Harold stumbled on his words, sighed and collected his thoughts. The guy, or salesman, looked straight at the peephole like he knew I was looking at him. His eyes were purple! In all my 58 years, I’ve never seen someone with purple eyes. Maybe they were contacts. Who knows? Either way, it was creepy.

I usually ignore salesmen. They’re so pushy, and I can’t stand that. This guy though, he didn’t want to sell me anything. He said he could save me money on my electric bill. I’m retired and on a fixed income, so I went outside to hear his pitch.

I didn’t want to miss a word he had to say, so I typed as fast as I could. I asked, What happened when you went out there?

No matter which way I put this, you’re going to think I’m on something.

I promise I won’t. Without thinking about it, I held up my index and middle finger and added, Girl Scout’s Honor.

He nervously laughed. Fine. Remember, you promised, though. With a defeated sigh, he said, The salesman, he handed me some papers. Before I could see what they were though, the salesman—if that’s really what he was—he, Harold cleared his throat, looked me square in the eye. Almost like he was trying to hypnotize me or something. Then he mumbled something that sounded like, ‘Local rumors and unusual news.’ He said it so quiet that it was hard to hear. I know it's ridiculous, but that’s what he said. The next thing I know, he was gone.

You mean he left?

No. That’s why I called you. It’s like I blinked, and the man was gone. One second he was there and the next, he’d vanished.

There was no doubt Harold was calling in and reciting the plot of a sci-fi movie. The Townsted Police dispatchers coined a phrase for people who lived in their own reality. We called them crazies.

I swung my head around and snapped my fingers to get my cubemate’s attention, something we often did when a crazy called. I didn’t want Dakota to miss out on the absurd call.

Two feet behind me, Dakota spun his chair around. What’s up? he asked.

I pointed to the phone and circled my finger around my temple. A crazy, I mouthed.

The corner of Dakota's lip raised, and I frantically waved him over. For more than five years, we shared a cubicle and thought nothing of rolling our chair behind each other when one had a crazy on the line. Just as I finished typing in the last few words that Harold said to me, Dakota slammed into the back of my chair. He rested his chin on my shoulder while pressing his ear against my earpiece.

Harold cleared his throat again, and I said, Please give me one more moment, Mr. Fletcher. I’m just typing up your call for the officer.

That’s fine, but please stress the color of the man’s eyes. They were so...purple. Not like the shade that changes color in the sun. They were a shade I’ve never seen. They reminded me of that big dinosaur. You know, the annoying one that kids love to watch. He nervously chuckled. The color obviously bothered me because I can’t stop talking about it.

Laughing through my nose, I said, Truth be told, if I saw eyes that color, I’d be bothered too. My words seemed to have calmed him down some. Have you looked around to see if the man took anything from your house? I asked.

Uhhh, I don’t think so. I’m in my living room now, and nothing seems out of place. A few moments later, he added, The bedrooms look fine too. Hold on while I check upstairs. Faint footsteps echoed through the phone while he walked around his home. From the corner of my eye, I watched Dakota holding his mouth, silencing his laughter. I smiled in return, but it faded when Harold finally spoke. Nothing looks disturbed. I even checked my antiques, and nothing’s gone. I don’t think he even came inside.

Good. That’s one less thing to worry about. I have one last question, Mr. Fletcher and I hope you don’t take offense to it. The officer will ask me this if I don’t note it.

What? he defensively asked.

I took a deep breath, knowing I’d receive backlash from my question. Did you drink or take any drugs today?

Jesus Christ, he growled. I knew you guys would assume that. Not for nothing, but I’ve been sober since I graduated med school, over 30 years ago! He grunted and took a deep breath. Calmly, he said, Look, I’m not one of those crackpots who sits around on his couch all day, thinking up conspiracy theories.

Harold, I compassionately said to keep his aggressiveness from escalating. I didn’t thi—

I’m a doctor with the CDC. An epidemiologist, he interrupted. Well, I was for 29 years. I retired a few months ago, so I’m far from an idiot. I was the doctor the CDC sent to those remote villages that no one’s heard of when people were dying of illnesses no one’s seen before. You know, as you see in the movies. I spent days at a time, he got progressively louder, researching and testing dying tribes. I was the person who figured out what the villagers were dying from, and I’m the one who came up with the cure. Plus, I was the one who figured out how to keep the diseases from turning into pandemics. I’m not stupid, and certainly not crazy. I’m telling you, something weird just happened to me.

Harold left me speechless, and Dakota’s mouth hung open, both of us in surprise. Assuming Harold wasn’t exaggerating, he spent almost three decades figuring out the impossible. I believed he experienced something unusual and assured him an officer would be en route as soon as one became available.

When Mr. Fletcher hung up, I froze and whispered, Did that really just happen?

It was unlike Dakota to not sarcastically answer a rhetorical question. He leaned back, and I twisted my chair to find him looking down. His body trembled, from what I thought was fear. Clapping my hands to get his attention, I loudly whispered, Earth to Dakota. It was then that I saw his hand over his mouth and his body shaking with laughter.

With a snort, I said, At least you can laugh. I couldn’t!

The second shift replacements stood against the entrance to our cubicle, so I glanced at the clock in the corner of my computer screen. We only have four minutes until shift’s end, I said to Dakota. I’ve got to report this to Burt now because I don’t want to stay late for the third Friday in a row.

A smile formed across my face while watching Dakota try to stop laughing, but the moment he looked at me, he’d lose control again. I dismissively waved my hand. You’re a lost cause.

I made my way down the narrow hallway to the shift supervisor’s office and found his door and blinds closed. He did that only when he was having a critical discussion and found it rude when people knocked when someone was in there. I needed to update him though, and I wasn’t going to stand by his door to wait for the other person to emerge.

The printer sat on a table under his window, and my report waited in the tray. At the same time that I grabbed it, my other hand rested against his door in a fist. I hesitated, but the benefit of leaving on time outweighed the risk of having Burt yell at me. I knocked three times.

Burt snapped, Who is it?

Aurora Washington, Sir. You’ll want to see this.

A second shift officer swung the door open and nodded as he passed me. Burt waved me in. Washington. What can I do for you? I took notice of his desk. His usually organized desk had papers scattered all over it, making it hard to see the surface. He frantically searched through the sheets. It must be a full moon or something. Ah-ha. He lifted the sheet he was looking for. Found it. He lifted his head, smirked, and said, The crazies are in full swing.

I sniggered. Yeah. That’s why I’m here. Reaching over the desk, I handed him the copy of my report and said, An unknown perp made this caller blackout for an hour.

Burt looked it over and said, Why update me on an assault? Send an officer. The more he read through it, the wider his eyes grew. He drunk or something? I watched as he found the interesting part. His face went from blank to a raised eyebrow in a matter of seconds. Hold on here. It says, he looked at me for a moment before looking down again, one second the salesman is there and the next he’s not?  The caller had to be drunk.

Something else caught his eye. Burt ran his tongue across his lips while concentrating on a specific section. He pinched his brows together, looked up, and asked, How many times did he mention the purple eyes?

I shrugged. A lot. I wrote down everything he said word-for-word. I held my hand out to take the report, and said, I’ll count it up.

Burt rolled his eyes. You can be so literal at times, Washington. Did, uhm, he slid his index finger under the words of the report until he found the caller’s name, Harold Fletcher. Did Harold sound impaired?

No. Not at all. I asked him anyway, though. He’s been sober for decades. I shrugged and added, I believe him, Burt. He’s a doctor and spent 30 years traveling the world, diagnosing unknown diseases. He even figured out how to keep them from spreading.

Your point, Washington?

I bit the inside of my cheek and apologized. My point is, I don’t think he’s a crazy, but I’m sure there’s more to the story.

Burt pointed to the tray on my left. Grab those papers, will ya? I handed him the thin pile of dispatcher reports, and he bit his bottom lip while reading through the first. He placed it face-down on his desk with a grunt. He did the same with the remaining ten reports. No others like yours in here, Burt announced. But I did get a kick out of the one from the man who called about his elderly neighbor. Guess she was running around her backyard, screaming something like, ‘You’re my Goddess,’ over and over again. The caller looked out his back window, and the neighbor was stark naked. He snorted a laugh and added, She didn’t even have a privacy fence. Shaking his head, he added, Never a dull moment here in the Townsted dispatch, huh, Washington?

Sir, a male voice from behind me said. I jumped, not knowing someone entered the office. My chubby, balding co-worker, who I called Grandpa, took a few steps inside and announced, I had a report like Aurora’s. Here, Grandpa said while handing his report to Burt. A teenager claims a man with, he made air quotations, purple eyes, made him space out for two hours.

Hey, Boss, sorry to interrupt. The three of us turned our heads and found another colleague leaning against the door frame. I hadn’t learned his real name yet, so I nicknamed him Jazz due to his love for the sound of a muted trumpet. Sorry, Boss. Full moon out there or something. A crazy just called. While handing Burt the report, he added, She’s got to be off her meds. She claims a man approached her while she got in her car and he—

Burt sighed as he ran his fingers through his white, thinning hair. While looking at the paper, he asked, Let me guess. He had purple eyes and made her blackout?

The dispatcher cocked his head. Yeah. How’d you know?

Burt shook the three reports he held. Like you said, full moon. They, he pointed at Grandpa and me, got the same complaints. Burt asked Grandpa and Jazz where their incidents took place.

In unison, they said, Eastwood Estates.

Burt studied the three dispatch reports and mumbled to himself. Shit. I think the perp’s drugging residents in Eastwood Estates. Is it a new date rape drug or something?

The three of us awkwardly shifted while listening to Burt talk to himself. We hoped he’d soon remember we were still in his office.

If he’s not touching them, Burt continued, how’s it getting in their system? Hmm. Maybe the papers were soaked in a liquid form of the drug and it dried before the callers touched them?

It was 3:01, and we were anxious to leave. Each of us wondered how to stop Burt from his never-ending babbling, without being rude.

Jazz and I raised our eyebrows at Grandpa, silently telling him to do something. He took a step back and shook his head. I cleared my throat to break Burt’s concentration and asked, What’d you say, Sir?

Oh. Nothing. Sorry, Burt replied. He raised his head to find the three of us staring at him. His face turned crimson. Uh, I was just talking to myself. While checking his watch, he said, Go home, guys. I’ll email everyone, instructing them to tell their supervisor if they get any more calls like these.

We thanked him, and as we headed for the door, he called out, Watch out for the purple-eyed paper-drugger. He was proud of the joke, but Burt was known for corny one-liners. He was the only one laughing. Grandpa, Jazz and I shook our heads and walked out of his office.

Dakota was leaning against the cube entrance when I got back, joking with the second shift replacements. They laughed and made fun of Mr. Fletcher’s absurd claim. When I mentioned the two calls that Jazz and Grandpa received, they laughed harder. Dakota, still not fully recovered from his earlier laughing spell, had tears streaming down his cheeks. I couldn’t help but join them. I’d heard many doozies over the years, but a purple-eyed time-thief was a first for me.

Before the conversation escalated, I announced, It’s after three, guys. Pointing at Dakota, I said, Come on. Let’s get out of here.

Good luck, I said to my replacement, Kayla. As far as I know, only three crazies called in about purple-eyed men, but that could change. I think you guys are in for a busy evening.

While heading to my car, I prayed I was wrong—the more people who called, the higher the probability that it will make the news. The last thing Townsted PD needed was a story like that going public. If it did, the Townsted crazies would be flooding the emergency lines.

Chapter Two

The Broadcast

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The burn from the vodka in my cosmopolitan signified the end of my workday. Shoot. Who was I kidding? It signified everything in my life: the end of a relationship, a bad date, a good date, clean underwear, cute shoes, birthday, mail delivery, and everything in between. The smell alone made my mouth water.

Having already changed out of my uniform, I nestled into my oversized purple chair, plopped my feet on the coffee table and gulped down another mouthful of my favorite drink, which I made by the pitcher, not by the glass. Why waste time making them one at a time? I always drank at least two.

Usually, I’d shaken off the day during the fifteen-minute drive home by looking at the leaves changing colors, but Mr. Fletcher’s call left me feeling uneasy. I probably wouldn’t have found it as disturbing as I did, had he been the only person reporting the outrageous tale. I would have assumed he was a crazy, but his career said otherwise. It didn’t seem possible that his brain could fabricate such a bizarre story, intentionally or not. 

My phone chimed, announcing a text message. While pulling it up, I noticed two. I chugged the remainder of the glass and read Dakota’s first. 

A crazy just called Kyla. Claimed alien abduction! Too many crazies in Townsted.

I couldn’t help but wonder if these people knew each other and teamed up to create some type of conspiracy theory. Whether or not that was the case, calls about alien abduction were common from the local crazies, so it only seemed fitting that someone would use it as a reason for losing time. I replied to Dakota with his X-Files fixation in mind.

Scully and Mulder would have this figured out in one episode.

As I refilled my glass, I remembered the other text. My best friend, Madeline, sent hers during my drive home.

Got out of work early. Coming over. Chinese for dinner?

A head rush caused me to misread the message the first time. After the second read-through, though, I understood and was elated. For the first eight years of our friendship, Mad and I spent almost every day together. As she rose the career ladder though, our time together became limited to twice a week. Unless an emergency occurred, we had Wednesday dinner together at Rockster’s and spent every Saturday together. I couldn’t wait to see her! My leg bounced in excitement while typing my reply.

Come over. I miss you! Chinese is perfect. I’ll have a drink waiting.

Only moments later, she replied. 

Drinking. Not surprised! LOL. See you in a few.

Madeline worked thirty miles away, in Downtown Cleveland, coiled between a series of freeways. The area was continuously covered with accidents and traffic jams. I knew I wouldn’t see her for at least an hour. That gave me plenty of time for a nap.

Part of my daily routine included watching CNN until the local news came on. In my line of work, it was wise to pay attention to local and breaking news since it usually led to an increase in phone calls at work. I didn’t remember falling asleep, but when I opened my eyes, I found someone nose-to-nose, staring at me.

I screamed for my life. Instinctively, I kicked my feet against the intruder’s chest. They tried to catch their balance but failed and rolled over the coffee table, onto the floor. 

It had only been six seconds since I’d awoken. It took a few moments before I realized it was Madeline. She was lying face down on my carpet, rubbing her temple. 

What the hell, Aurora? Madeline asked through clenched teeth. 

She looked at me with the coldest glare I’d ever seen from her. I jumped from the couch to help her, but she slapped my hand away.

I put my hands on my hips and said, Don’t you dare get mad at me, Madeline Curray. That’s on you. I returned to my chair. What type of moron puts their face against someone else’s like that when they’re asleep? I chuckled and added, That’s how murder scenes begin!"

She ignored me, snatched my glass from the end table, and finished my drink as payback. She said, Geeze, my heart’s beating a mile a minute. Madeline dropped on the couch, across the coffee table from me. Her expression returned to normal while crossing her legs under her. As though nothing happened, she said, I hope your day was better than mine. My team made me look incompetent. 

Okay? I mumbled, surprised she didn’t complain about her fall. 

I headed into the kitchen to make another batch of drinks. Over my shoulder, I replied, It was normal, until my last call. 

I didn’t have to look to know that Madeline’s grimace had turned into a huge smile. Faint tapping came from the living room, and I was willing to bet it was her foot tapping against the coffee table, anticipating the story. She loved hearing about the calls I received. 

I handed her a glass, and she said, Please, tell me! Please! 

Never mind. It was stupid, I teased.

Oh, come on. You know I won’t tell anyone. I didn’t say anything, so she added, I know, I know. I’m fully aware that you’re breaking the rules every time you tell me a story. I promise to keep it to myself. Just like I always do. Mad was one step away from begging and pleading, and that always amused me. Her relentless personality not only got her numerous work promotions, but it also ensured she’d get her way.

Fine, fine, fine, I said, holding my hands up in defeat. But, if it ends up becoming a big story, you’ll need to pretend you didn’t already know about it. I’ll get my ass kicked if you don’t." 

You say that same speech almost every time you’re about to tell me a really good one. She threw a small pillow at me. Come on already.

I reminded her again to keep the story to herself. Right before my shift ended, a crazy called.

You know I hate that term, Aurora.

I shrugged. Do you want to hear it or not? She pretended to zip her lips, so I continued. He’s a doctor and told me what he did before he retired, so I’m not sure he’s really a crazy. I’m just hoping he is. I fell silent. With the four known calls about it, I was praying he was.

Aurora? she said, cocking her head.

Sorry, I was just trying to figure out how to start. The doctor said a stranger hypnotized him and made him blackout, for no reason. Mad didn’t say anything, so I clarified. Actually, he said the guy ‘stole his time,’ but, when the guy came to, the man had disappeared.

So? she asked. How is that a big deal?"

Because he claimed an hour passed, in a blink of an eye. Literally. He said he blinked, and the guy was gone.

Mad tapped on her drink with her nail. Think he drank too much and hallucinated?

It was a question I’d asked myself a few times. My eye teeth tugged on a piece of flesh on the inside of my left cheek. I winced. A sore popped up the day before from the nervous habit. I had to stop, but I didn’t want to start biting my nails again. 

Intentionally, I chewed on the other side, shook my head and said, "That’s what I thought too, but the details he remembered about the guy were