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  Aubrielle’s Call

  C. Marie Bowen

  Aubrielle’s Call by C. Marie Bowen

  Copyright © 2016 C. Marie Bowen

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-945215-02-5

  Edited by Liette Bougie

  Cover Design by J.M. Walker with Just write. Creations

  Published by Pixler Publications

  Discover other titles by C. Marie Bowen at cmariebowen.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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

  Dedication

  For my father, Eugene Nelson Pixler.

  Dad was born in Benkelman, Nebraska on July 30, 1923. He moved with his family from Benkelman to Denver, Colorado in the late ’30s, during the Great Depression so his father and brothers could find work.

  When he was seventeen, he joined the Civilian Conservation Corps and worked out of Morrison, Colorado from July to December 1940. He listed his occupation as a cabinetmaker.

  After the attack on Pearl Harbor at the end of 1941, like all patriotic young men, Gene joined the service and volunteered for the U.S. Navy. He was honorably discharged as a Seaman 1st Class on October 25, 1945.

  He married Inez Christopher on November 12, 1944, in Englewood, Colorado. My brother, Jerry Eugene, was born in August 1945, and my sister, Rama Lee, was born the following year, in September.

  On August 25, 1950, he reenlisted and served during the Korean War as a Steelworker R 2nd class in the Seabees at the U.S. Naval Construction Battalion Center. He was honorably discharged on April 12, 1953. I was born in December 1958.

  Dad was a stainless steel worker and owned his own kitchen installation business. He and mom built a cabin in the mountains where the family spent many wonderful holidays and weekends.

  He rebuilt player pianos as a hobby. He loved to sing and watch science fiction. He had a kind heart and gentle disposition. I think he would have liked this story.

  Dad died on April 9, 2002, in Denver from Alzheimer’s disease. Forever missed.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Back Cover Copy

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Also By C. Marie Bowen

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Acknowledgments

  The research for this story took me down many unexpected paths. Each time I thought my hero would do something simple, like board a ship from America to England, he was thwarted by facts. It made for interesting turns, letting John solve the impediments I discovered while combing through historical documents. John made interesting choices. And while that enhanced the story, it always involved additional research.

  A big thank you to the Banque de France for answering questions about banking before—and during—the first part of WWII and for providing me with banking regulations used during this time.

  Many of the descriptions and incidents I describe during the evacuation at Dunkirk were fashioned from eyewitness accounts.

  A big thank you to my wonderful editor, Liette Bougie. You’re amazing. Your knowledge and love of language is impressive. I’m thankful to have you on my team. Merci beaucoup.

  A special, heartfelt thanks to my critique partner, C.A. Jamison. To have someone know and care about my writing as much as you do lifts me when I am down and struggling to get the words onto the manuscript. I’m lucky to have you as a critique partner and honored to call you my friend.

  And lastly, to my husband, Todd Bowen. Your knowledge of all things nautical and military kept me on the right track. Your unwavering support and love made this story, and all my writing possible. I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.

  Aubrielle’s Call

  The world careens towards war…

  Consumed with grief over the death of his soul mate, immortal John Larson trades his spurs for the scent of the sea and the life of a merchant marine.

  Condemned by an ancient curse, he’s bound to await her rebirth, for a threat to her life, and for the magical summons that will draw him to her side.

  In the heart of Paris, Aubrielle Cohen struggles to survive. Resolved to support her dying father, she sells flowers from a horse-drawn cart to tourists, who now flee the onset of war.

  Beneath the Eiffel Tower, she learns a hard lesson about trust and meets a stranger whose presence evokes an irrational yearning in her soul.

  As the Nazi war machine stands poised to invade Aubrielle’s homeland, John must gain her trust, defend her life, and rekindle the passion he hopes still stirs deep within her heart.

  CHAPTER 1

  September 1939

  Able Seaman John Larson swung onto his lower rack as the overhead light in the seamen’s quarters winked off, and the red light came on. The Yankee Dream would make Boston Harbor the day after tomorrow. The run from Panama should prove profitable for the small merchant vessel. Lucrative enough, the shipmaster had hinted, that there might be a bonus to the crew’s regular wages.

  John closed his eyes and prayed for a dreamless rest. A nightly ritual ever since the death of his wife, almost twenty years ago. How long would her face haunt him?

  Until the magic beckons and I find her again.

  As memories edged into dreams, he watched his wife call flame to her hand. In the glow of the fire, her perfect silhouette stole his breath. Her smile and sparkling eyes nearly broke his heart.

  Alyse, my love. How I miss you.

  Emotion closed his throat, and he clenched his teeth, awake once more.

  John hunched his shoulders and rolled to his side. A seaman’s rack didn’t fit a man his size. To curl his six-foot-five frame onto a six-foot long bunk became another nightly torture. Still, work on a ship offered enough change from working cattle. These reflections only plagued him at night.

  After he had lost Alyse, he buried the man he'd been beside her. He chose a new name. A new profession. A new life. The in-between years stretched before him. The years, decades, centuries, after his soul mate's death.

  What if I never feel her call again?

  The recollections of their recent life together were still too raw and painful to bear. Eventually, he would cherish the memory of Alyse as he did all the lives she had lived, back to the beginning.

  Back to Agaria.

  Agaria sim Biraci.

  My life changed forever because I loved Agaria and rejected another.

  As if
summoned, the sharp specter of the Druidess Nescato scraped across his mind. Her jealous, contorted face encircled by the Biraci tribe’s most sacred pelts. The embodiment of evil. Bitter with envy, she raised her staff to the heavens, spoke her curse, and then pointed the staff at him and Agaria.

  Nescato cursed his soul to endure the centuries alone, unable to love another. Bound forever to await his soul mate’s rebirth, for a threat to her life, and for the magical summons that would draw him to her side. Not always able to reach her or save her, he would forever be compelled to try.

  He pushed the image of the sorceress away and rolled to his other side, seeking a comfortable spot, both on the bed and in his heart.

  “Hey, Big John, you’re rocking the rack,” Elmer Jones called down from above.

  “He’s rocking the ship,” Fred Harmon said from across the way.

  “Sorry,” John muttered.

  Lie still. Rest.

  The motion of the ship relaxed him, lulled him to sleep. At first, a deep, restful emptiness soothed and replenished his mind and body.

  And then he dreamed.

  He stood the first watch, waiting in a darkened room. Silent as the night, Alyse joined him, slipping her small hand into his.

  Further back.

  Alyse laughed when she took his arm, and he escorted her to the family dinner table.

  A sweet reminiscence.

  Their first kiss. A promise made a hundred times over. I love only you.

  His dream darkened.

  He waited inside a circle scored in the dirt. The intense heat of a summer sun beat down on his shoulders. Others fought beside him, but dust obscured his vision. He wiped a sleeve across his eyes, and Alyse stood before him. Fire cradled in her hands. Hatred bled from her eyes like tears.

  Out of the shadows crawled a monster. The threat to his beloved’s life. The reason for his summons. This prophetic evil had threatened Alyse since the day she’d been born.

  John raised his rifle and took aim. The name he once called himself rang through the apparitions of sleep. “Jim, wait!”

  “Wake up, son.” Fred nudged John with his boot. “It’s time for morning muster.”

  John rolled from his rack and stretched, pressing his palms against the overhead steam pipes. Most of his shipmates had already dressed and headed aft for breakfast. He pulled on his dungarees, buttoned his shirt, and followed Fred up the ladder to the main deck.

  At muster, Bosun Garza assigned John to mend the mooring lines damaged while in Panama. When he finished that task, he was to chip and paint the bollards with young Elmer.

  Clear blue sky and southerly winds stayed with them as they sailed up the coastal waters. The crew moved about their tasks with a light heart. Tomorrow they’d make port.

  At evening mess, John consumed a bowl of soup and a slice of bread.

  “Will you join us in town tomorrow night, John?” Elmer asked.

  “Of course, he will.” Fred dabbed at the last bit of soup in his dish with a crust of bread. “We’ll unload the ship, collect our pay, and depart. Ain’t that right, Big John?”

  John shook his head at his friends. “How can I argue with the two of you?”

  Elmer, a farm boy from Nebraska with a large head and a shock of white hair, rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  The oldest of the three, Fred took a sip of his coffee and laughed at Elmer.

  After another night at sea, the morning found them moored in Boston Harbor. The long task of unloading the cargo and waiting in line to see the ship’s purser took most of the day. They crossed the gangway at dusk and headed for Gull’s Tavern.

  Early evening customers filled the bar. The friends found a small table near the back.

  “I’ll buy the first round,” Fred said and made his way through the jam-packed bar.

  Elmer pointed. “There’s a barmaid.”

  The buxom server shoved mugs of brew across a table filled with sailors. She pulled a pencil from her curls, prepared to take their orders.

  “She’s busy.” John pulled out a chair. “Let’s wait for Fred.”

  On the shelf behind them, a radio played a swing melody. As the song ended, a Glen Miller tune began to play.

  “Look, they’re dancing.” Elmer nudged him and pointed at three couples near the bar.

  Fred wove through the crowd with mugs of beer and set them on the small table. “Drink up, shipmates. Next round’s on John.”

  “Are we going back to Panama, have you heard?” Elmer asked Fred.

  Fred took a swig from his mug and wiped the foam from his mustache. “Seems likely. Bananas, coffee, and sugar sell well in the States. Master Riley welcomes the profit, and so my friends, do I.” He smacked his lips and took another drink.

  The music changed to a slower song and a woman’s lilting voice crooned about the memory of a lost love. John’s stomach clenched each time they played this song. It reminded him of Agaria. He drank his beer in silence and watched the dancers.

  “Will you stay on The Dream, Big John?” Elmer asked.

  He shrugged. “No reason not to. The master is fair and the pay, as you say, is good.”

  The barmaid offered to bring another round.

  John pulled a bill from his pocket. “My turn.”

  As the dark-haired server returned with their mugs, the radio changed from music to news. Several patrons shouted for her to switch the station to dance music, but she hesitated, listening to the announcer.

  “News today from Great Britain. German forces have invaded Poland. German planes have bombed Polish cities, including the capital, Warsaw. The attack came without any warning or declaration of war. Britain and France have declared war on Germany in support of Poland. They have mobilized their forces in preparation to wage war on Germany for the second time this century.”

  A cold chill ran down John’s arms.

  The barmaid reached for the dial. “I hate those lousy Krauts,” she told John with a smile and a wink as the first notes of a jazz tune played on the radio. She let the music play and took an order from the next table.

  The noise in the bar became muted and distant. A familiar high-pitched whine bled into John’s brain.

  His mouth went dry as his heart thundered alongside the shriek in his ear. A cold sweat plagued his brow.

  It’s been only twenty years since I buried Alyse.

  He shook his head and stared at Elmer and Fred.

  The in-between always lasts longer.

  The men talked and laughed. Elmer nudged Fred and pointed across the bar, but when they spoke, John heard nothing.

  The call has come so soon. She must be a child.

  His stomach twisted with certainty as pain pierced between his eyes and shot through to the back of his skull. John set his mug on the table and missed. Released from his hand, the beaker fell and then slowed to a stop in mid-air. The beer’s foamy head froze in its splash toward the floor. His hand, a hairsbreadth from the handle.

  In the next instant, time resumed.

  The mug shattered and the barmaid spun in surprise.

  The pressure in his head expanded, pushing outward until his vision filled with white light. As the glare faded, the pain contracted to a single point above his right eye.

  “I’ll get that.” The barmaid pulled a towel from her skirt pocket and tossed it over the spill.

  “You feel all right, John?” Fred raised an eyebrow and took another swig.

  John squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heel of his palms against his eyelids “I’ll be all right.” He lowered his hands. When he moved, the point of pain sliced across his forehead. He tilted his head the other way until the sting settled between his brows. He didn’t have to step outside to know he faced east-northeast.

  Across the sea, Agaria calls.

  CHAPTER 2

  Is she in Poland?

  John nodded to the barmaid as she replaced his beer.

  She used her shoe to sweep the towel and glass across
the floor, away from the dancers.

  The stinging point on his forehead would be a distraction until he set eyes on Agaria.

  Or whoever she is in her new life.

  The adrenaline spike in his chest would ease once his journey toward her began.

  He brushed a hand along the back of his neck. There would be no way to reach her for days, even weeks, and he had no idea where to find her.

  His heart clenched.

  Damn.

  John gripped the handle of his mug and raised the foamy brew to his lips.

  The white-haired young sailor emptied his glass and chuckled at the dancers. He elbowed Fred and pointed. “See the blonde? I knew a girl in Toledo who moved like that.”

  John drank his beer and watched the blonde dancer. He remembered a conversation he’d had with a curly-haired blonde, a lifetime ago. She had claimed knowledge of the future and warned of wars that would encompass the entire world. Wars fought with weapons that didn’t exist in the late nineteenth century. She’d been right.

  He and Alyse had learned of events in the Great War by reading newspaper reports from the safety of their Denver home. Thankful for once, they could never conceive a child.

  The second war, his friend had warned, would sweep across Europe in what the Germans would call a blitzkrieg. The death toll would be astronomical, especially in Poland.

  John drank his beer. If his love dwelt in Poland, she could already be beyond his reach. Even so, she lived. As long as her heart continued to beat, he would feel her call, and the direction he must follow.

  He scrubbed his hand over his face. I’ll have to cross the Atlantic.

  Once in Europe, he’d have a better idea where to find her.

  Fred cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. “You’re less than fine, I’d say. What’s on your mind, son?”