A Coven of Crows: A Story of Crows, #1

By d. l. struble

"A Coven of Crows" is a delicious tale of witchcraft set in the modern landscape.  The story follows nine-year-old Figgy and her mother, Blu, as they traverse the country evading Marlow, a devilish fiend, on a holy mission to wipe out paganism.  Blu and Figgy find refuge within the Coven of Crows.  This band of witches has survived for centuries and makes New Orleans their current home.  The coven is led by Mary Catherine Lefleur; a beautiful wise woman that vows to protect the young novice witches.  This sets up a show down between perceived good and evil.

 

The book is chalk full of wonderful characters and bone chilling moments.  There is a historical context that might surprise some readers.  Not to give too much away, but the reader will absolutely adore Norine and the other sisters that make up the Coven of Crows.

• Language: English
• Publisher: d. l. struble
• Release date: Jun 6, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227791955

Book preview

For our newest Little Crow

Mari Taylor Struble

Chapter One

She was born Fiona Elizabeth Newsome, but that name didn’t last long.  For as long as she could remember, she was Figgy.  She’d always been Figgy since she was squeezed into this world squeaking and squawking.  Her mother had pushed her out in the Lazy J Motel bathroom, squatting over the edge of a stained fiberglass tub. Her mother was young, alone, and on the road. Where else was a broke, scared, young woman going to give birth other than the Lazy J Motel bathroom? She was alone. Figgy never knew her father and her mother would never elaborate more than his name was Casper and that he had a gypsy heart and restless shoes. 

She figured her father had given her the raven black hair and piercing dark eyes that betrayed whatever she was feeling. These traits must have come from Casper because her mother had dishwater brown hair and her blue eyes told you nothing.  It was a while before Figgy learned her mother’s proper name.  She had always been Mama. She was born Norine Blu Newsome, but she only went by Blu.  If Casper had restless shoes, Blu’s must have been nuclear powered because once she got the itch to move, she never stopped.  Fresno for a week, then Albuquerque long enough to shower.  Off to Durango and then to Jasper.  Figgy saw a lot of the country through the windshield of a Peterbilt, Kenworth, or other big rig. 

Figgy didn’t know how other kids grew up.  She didn’t know about school, homework, summer vacation, game nights, or any other typical childhood scenario.  She knew the road.  Blu taught her that. She navigated truck stops, roadside rest areas, and cheap diners.  She knew which stall in the lady’s room would be the cleanest.  She knew how to dodge security cameras. She could avoid the concerned glances from other travelers.  She could tell the difference between an over-the-road trucker, or the rig driver who would be home for supper. 

Blu wasn’t stupid.  As a matter of fact, she had a pretty quick mind, sharp wit, and cunning instincts. You had to if you lived on the road, especially with a nine-year-old.  She still had her figure and could charm a snake out of its skin. She found that it was always safer to blend in rather than make a scene.

Blu would say they were free.  That the road offered freedom from rules and boundaries.  She would say the next adventure was just around the bend or waiting for them in the next town.  Figgy wasn’t too sure about all that.  She knew that there were a lot of rules like where to stand when Mama was getting them a ride, how much food she could pack in her hoody pockets without getting caught, and never talk when Mama was talking to, well, anyone.  There seemed to be an awful lot of rules and boundaries on the road. 

As far as adventure went.  Figgy stopped waiting for the next town or what was around the bend.  A truck stop was a truck stop whether it was Colorado or Texas. The food always tasted the same.  Well, except New Mexico.  She liked the food in New Mexico.  On the road, the weather always seemed to be hot or cold.  Just like it was day or it was night. It was never just right.

Mama would get a job once in a while.  She worked in a Laundromat in Fort Stockton for a couple of weeks. This was bittersweet for Figgy.  She and Mama would have sit-down meals, watch TV together, or maybe even go swimming if the motel’s pool had water in it. But then Figgy was left on her own when Mama was working; she wasn’t allowed to go exploring. Heck, she wasn’t even allowed to leave the room.  Figgy was also supposed to look out for people who would try to put her in a home and take Mama away. If she saw the same strange person twice or someone strange knocked on the door, Figgy was to hide and tell her as soon as she could. Under no circumstances was she to open the door.  This was normal life for Figgy. She watched a lot of TV and read whatever she could get her hands on.  Mama had taught her to read and Figgy was an exceptionally quick learner.  Figgy would have been considered a gifted student if she were ever in one place long enough to be enrolled in school.  She was getting an education but it was an unconventional education. Her teachers were her Mama, whatever books were in the motel lobby, daytime television, and of course the road.

It was a Thursday afternoon when Mama threw open the motel door and announced she was done washing and folding someone else’s dirty laundry. They were leaving. Figgy hopped up off of the floor and turned off the TV. Blu grabbed their things, which did not take long, and off they went. Figgy wore her red backpack containing her clothes, a water bottle, their worn road map with taped seams, and their emergency money.  Mama thought it was safer for Figgy to hold the little bit of money she had managed to scrape up.  Mama had taken out the light box in her glow worm plush toy and stuffed the wrinkled bills inside.  They called the toy Mr. Squishy but it really wasn’t a toy anymore; it was too big a responsibility to be anything fun.

Mama carried her blue duffle bag.  She had her traveling clothes and her gettin’ pretty clothes.  The zippered outside pocket had a small pepper spray can, her jack knife, and her wallet.  The wallet didn’t have much.  There was her bluffing money in it, no more than ten dollars.  She thought anyone looking for money would stop after finding the bluffing money and leave Mr. Squishy alone. There was also a strip of pictures; Mama and Figgy had them taken in a photobooth at the Love’s Truck Stop in Tucson Arizona.  They tried making kissy faces for the camera, but the camera caught them laughing instead.  Figgy loved that picture strip. 

They were hustling now.  Moving faster than a walk, but not quite a run, and Figgy almost had to jog to keep up. The TA Truckstop was still about a half mile up the road and it was hot.  Slow down Mama! You’re pulling my arm outa its socket.  Figgy’s backpack was bouncing and slapping against her back. I know, Figs, but we gotta be quick. I got one of those feelings and it’s telling me we have to move and move now. 

Blu’s special feelings were nothing to argue with.  They were as true as water was wet. Blu knew she had the gift and she was certain Figgy was gifted too.  All the women in her family were special.  Her mother could tell what Blu was thinking almost before the thought entered her head.  She knew when Blu was fibbing. She knew what the girl had been up to by just looking at her.  This strained an already strained mother-daughter relationship.  One thing that Blu knew for sure, people needed their secrets and secrets needed to be guarded. 

Blu’s mother wasn’t a kind woman either. She was too quick with the switch.  Sometimes Blu didn’t know why she was getting a whoopin’. Her mother would only say, You know why, and I know why just by lookin’ at you.  You can’t hide things from me, Blu. I can see in you.  This constant scrutiny, prying, and picking apart her thoughts like pulling meat off a carcass was too much for Blu. One August night, shortly after she turned sixteen, she ran, and ran, and ran.  She guessed her Mama couldn’t see that coming.

Blu’s father had disappeared shortly after Blu was born, proving that apples don’t fall far from trees.  When she was younger, Blu thought a lot about her father and how difficult it must have been living with her mother.  A husband, no matter how true and steady, needed his secrets too. What Blu couldn’t know and certainly couldn’t ‘feel’ was that her father’s body was at the bottom of a well somewhere in rural Kentucky.  Apparently, Blu’s mama could see into him also, and didn’t like what she saw.

Blu knew they needed to move faster, but Figgy’s legs were only so long.  Someone was looking for them and that someone was relentless.  Blu knew the pursuer had found them in Tucson, followed them to Albuquerque, and then had tracked them to this shithole.  Blu thought that she had been clever enough to buy some time, but somehow, mother and daughter were sniffed out.  Blu wasn’t sure if their pursuer was after her or Figgy, but she was sure that whoever it was had to be up to no good.  Her feelings were dark, really dark this time.

It had taken time, but Blu learned to shield her thoughts, a practice she had tried on her mother, but her mother’s gift was too strong and could break through any mental wall she put up.  Blu knew that with a little practice she could also spy out people’s thoughts and intentions.  This skill was not as strong as her mother’s, plus she had to open her mind to do so. This meant Blu would be defenseless.  Blu would never allow herself to be defenseless.  She knew how it felt to be mentally naked and her thoughts examined and groped. She kept her secrets and therefore allowed others to keep theirs as well.

Blu glanced over her shoulder at Figgy.  She wondered how much Figgy had figured out, if anything at all.  Blu knew that Figgy had the gift. It would have surprised her if she didn’t. She wasn’t as tuned as Blu, but she had her feelings.  Her instincts were very sharp.  Figgy always seemed to know which truck was going where and which driver could be trusted for a ride.  She could also charm just about anyone.  She would waltz out of the corner store with an extra scoop of ice cream that the clerk had just felt compelled to give her, or the waitress would bring a plate of fries for them to share without being asked.  Spying out someone’s thoughts was one thing; influencing someone was something on a completely different level. She also knew that Figgy was getting stronger and without guidance, it would be a hard and dangerous road for her.  Blu knew this from experience and felt it to be true.  Blu and Figgy had to find a quiet place to rest so Blu could explain and Figgy could learn how to protect herself by protecting her thoughts.  She had to build a wall, an impenetrable wall around her secrets.

Blu never intended to be on the road for this long. In fact, when she found herself in Sacramento, she thought she could make a life there. She had met a young man and had thought they had fallen in love. Sacramento was short lived. Casper proved to have a wandering spirit and the two of them hitchhiked up and down the California Coast. This really wasn’t running; it was more like meandering. They slept on the beach when the weather was nice, and it was almost always nice. Casper was free and Casper was fun, but Casper wouldn’t be tied down to one place. Once Blu got pregnant, Casper got spooked. After Casper left, Blu had no one and no place to be. She was pregnant, scared, and desperate. She made her way across the Sierra Mountains to Reno Nevada where she relied on her natural abilities and a small income. She exchanged rent and a few meals at the Lazy J Motel for a housekeeping job changing sheets and cleaning towels. Then Figgy came along and the hunt for a better life for the two of them began. It was a wonderful adventure at first, full of new places and new surprises.  Over the next few years, Blu and her daughter bounced from town to town looking for a better life but Blu couldn’t settle down. She too had a gypsy heart and restless shoes. She couldn’t quite realize it at the time but she was looking for a place to belong.  A place where women like her were accepted and safe. Where she and Figgy could be a part of a community.

It was late one evening when Blu’s mother pressed Blu. Years had gone by and Blu never expected to hear from her mother ever again. The message was very short and very much to the point, ‘Run, you are in danger. He knows who you are. Run!’  And then there was nothing. Communication ceased between Blu and her mother, permanently. Blu had no idea who he was but she felt the warning was serious. It wasn’t too long after her mother’s warning before the dark feelings came. The feelings of being watched, tracked, and hunted.  Blu heeded her mother’s advice and they ran. And so began the deadly game of cat and mouse. Blu and Figgy were exhausted. What the pair needed now was rest, quiet, and time, but those three things were impossible when on the run, when being tracked and hunted from town to town and state to state.

Chapter Two

Marlow McCallister was the type of man you didn’t notice.  If you did glance in his direction, you felt the urge to look away and pretend he wasn’t there. He had a slight build and pale complexion.  His eyes were narrow and slitted to the point where guessing his eye color was just that- a guess.  He preferred standing in shadows.  His thinning hair was shoulder length, slicked back and almost always under a black hat.  The hat was an Australian Outback style with a brim that always cast a shadow over his thin face.  He preferred to dress in all black not for fashion, but purely as a practicality.  You don’t remember what you don’t see. 

Marlow came from a long line of hunters. His lineage could be traced back thousands of years to the Scottish Highland Clan McCallister.  From at least as early as recorded family history, the Clan McCallister had tracked, hunted, and killed witches.  In 1737 there was a fundamental split in the Clan McCallister. The unified European government all but banned witch-hunting and it was no longer nearly as profitable to be a hunter.  The family was torn in two.  Many of the Clan McCallister returned to the Scottish Highlands, back to their ancestral lands, and gave up the pursuit of capturing and persecution of witches.

However, the most pious, devout, and ruthless McCallisters remained quite active, although they were no longer directly supported by the government or church.  There were plenty of true believers who supported their mission and held firm that the McCallisters were ordained by God himself. They firmly believed that they were doing the Lord’s work and did not have to bend to the will of man. Eventually, their vicious pursuit led them to the New World where they retained their Old-World beliefs, practices, and tenacity. 

Though times had certainly changed over the decades, the belief in the Dark Arts persisted.  Marlow didn’t have the time, energy, or patience to hunt down charlatans, mystics, carnies, snake charmers, or any of the thousands of black robed, pointy-hatted, spell-chanting, foolish pretenders.  They were everywhere and very few possessed even an inkling of the third eye sight of the true wiccan, and/or the ancient knowledge of witchcraft.  These misguided souls would have to answer for their sins when they stood before the gates of heaven.  Marlow had narrowed his gaze to the few powerful mediums, wiccans, and witches who truly had power that he believed, in the deepest corners of his heart, were the unholy gifts bestowed upon those who had tied their souls to Satan himself.  It was his family’s destiny to purge the mortal world of these servants of the Devil. 

Although the world had grown, the outright practice of the dark arts was becoming difficult to root out.  In fact, Marlow had hit quite a dry spell until he came across an old crone in rural Kentucky.  That old bitch had been tough, really tough, but he broke her like he had always done. After all, he had God on his side. He had felt her in his mind and no matter how strong his wall was; she had been able to break it like it was made of straw.  She caught a glimpse of what he had hidden deep in the dark corners, she let her guard down and pressed her only daughter, Blu, and told her to run. The message was short, but she didn’t have time to elaborate. Marlow also caught a glimpse of her daughter and knew she was out there somewhere. The small moment when she had pressed Blu was all it took for Marlow to pierce the old crone’s unholy spirit and scramble her mind like a cook scrambles eggs.

The old woman’s defenses were down and she was powerless.  She was sprawled on the floor at his feet. Now, he had time to work on her and after several hours of painful torture, she finally showed him her daughter, the pretty blue eyed gypsy witch.  He couldn’t get the location of her spawn and the old bitch wouldn’t tell him.  Before he finally dispatched her, he believed she really didn’t know. However, his instincts pointed him west.  Like her unfortunate husband, the old woman’s broken and burned body lay stinking, deep in the abandoned well, behind the old farm house.

Marlow was hardly ever surprised, but when he finally caught up with the gypsy witch in Tucson, he was thrown for a loop. It had taken him weeks of searching and pressing for the blue-eyed witch when he finally caught a whiff of her trail in the desert.  It must have been fate that led him to her because when he got close, he realized the gypsy woman had a very strong mental defense.  He had never seen any witch that was able to fortify her mind like this one.  Her mother’s had been strong but this witch’s wall was even more impenetrable. He softly probed, checking for a crack or a way in but he was extremely careful not to press too hard and give himself away.  There was no way into her mind, and her defenses were always up and always strong.  How could anyone keep this up all the time?  He imagined the power she could have if she ever let mind free.  What was hiding behind those walls could stay there as far as he was concerned.

Fortunately for him, she was traveling with her own spawn.  A little raven-haired beauty about eight or nine years old, this little devil was strong as well.  She had potential to be tremendously powerful if she focused and was trained.  Even with the slightest mind press, Marlow instantly knew that this young one had no idea of what she was.  Marlow also realized, with a wicked little grin, that he could track and hunt them down by looking through the little one’s dark brown eyes, and she wouldn’t even know he was in her head.

Chapter Three

Figgy started getting little headaches in Tucson Arizona.  Blu had assumed it was the oppressive heat and dehydration.  Figgy would sip on some water, take an aspirin, and wait for the slight ache behind her eyes to pass.  After a few minutes it always did.  The headaches were never consistent.  They would flare up at odd times and pass quickly.  They were never strong enough to cause Blu to worry, and could easily be attributed to heat and seasonal allergies.  After all, they were never in the same place long enough to get acclimated. 

As the pair raced for the truck stop in Fort Stockton, Figgy’s head began throbbing.  The pressure behind her eyes was intense and she had to squint to see clearly.  There was no time for aspirin and water. They were near running at this point and Figgy knew Blu wasn’t going to stop.  As they approached the truck stop, Blu was shouting at her.  Figgy had to concentrate on her mama to understand what she was saying. What truck Figs? What truck?! she shouted.

I don’t know Mama, Figgy told her.

Just pick one, Figgy.  We don’t have time to screw around.

The blue one over there. Figgy pointed at a big blue Volvo with a sleeper cab. I think he is going to New Orleans.  The pain behind her eyes was intense causing her eyes to water.

Blu composed herself, walked over to the blue tractor trailer, and started chatting with the driver who was filling up his gas tanks.  Figgy saw her mama run her fingers down his arm and laugh like the driver was Prince Charming. After what felt like forever, Mama waved Figgy over.  The driver opened the passenger side door and the two of them climbed in.

His name was Clive Bismark, but everyone called him Biscuit. He was a big man with an ample belly.  He reminded people of a busted can of biscuits, like the ones in the grocery store, after you dropped the can and it split open. That would have made Figgy giggle, but