The Harry Ferguson Chronicles Box Set

by William David Ellis

  A knock on the door tore her from her misery. She turned toward it, but needn’t have. The door swung open, and Dr. Alice Oberheust charged through. She might not wear the uniform anymore, but she definitely had not lost the abrupt and demanding nature that had made her one of Nazi Germany’s chosen. She was over one hundred years old, and looked like a woman in her late twenties. Genetic modification had been her specialty, and she had been practicing.

  The scientist’s voice was calm, gentle even, “Elizabeth it’s time. We need to go. My people have finally located the primary lab, and we are ready to move on it. This is the day I have been waiting on for years.” Noting Lizzy’s tall frame, Oberheust walked toward her and placed her hand on Lizzy’s arm, “You are ready.”

  Lizzy looked back at Oberheust and thought You claim to be my creator. You mixed my genes together in a petri dish and baked me like a cookie, and now I’m done. All my life I thought I was somebody else, but no…” Lizzy, lost in a sadness, slowly shook her head.

  Oberheust had watched her do this a dozen times before and knew exactly what she was thinking.

  “Elizabeth you were created for this reason. The whole world changes tonight. Thousands of years up and down the time streams all come together in this time, in this night. You are the fulcrum. Who cares what you thought you were? Elizabeth you are so much more!” Oberheust slowly and carefully moved to embrace her. You are my construction Elizabeth. What more could you want?”

  Lizzy’s lip quivered as she lay her head on the old Nazi’s shoulder, “It’s going to be all right Elizabeth,” Oberheust whispered as she gently patted Lizzy’s shoulder, “Everything is going to be just fine.”

  Chapter 2

  1940 Nazi concentration camp somewhere in Poland

  The 1937 supercharged Phaeton automobile, a flashy state of the art, look-at-me car, equipped with running boards, a Geneva Blue exterior, silver chrome trim, and bright red leather seats, rolled to a stop. Dust settled like dry fog on its tan canvas top as the driver stopped to stare at the dark wooden gate, framed in treacherous, concertina wire. The wire was razor sharp, and as Cadmus looked down the length of it, he noticed the skeletal figure of a prisoner entangled in the wire, deliberately left there as a warning for others. The wire already showed signs of rust, or at least Cadmus thought it was rust.

  A workman dressed in striped pajamas strained to lift the last letter of the sign that hung over the barbed wire entrance.

  Cadmus looked at the sign the prisoner was toiling with. It said, Arbeit macht frei. Work sets you free. The Greek demi-god shook his head and frowned, “Nazi hypocrisy has never ceased to amaze me.”

  “Quit gawking and start the car. I need to get my laboratory organized. There is a lot of work to do and sitting here staring at the entrance to the camp is not in my schedule.” Dr. Alice Oberhuest, the newest of the Nazi scientific elite, grumbled. The three-thousand-year-old Greek demi-god looked back at the thirty-year-old blonde and thought, Patience Cadmus, they don’t live forever, and right now you need her.

  She continued her complaining as he drove the car through the gate and parked outside the newly constructed block building that served as the experiment station. Behind the freshly painted building a mobile crematorium sat smoldering. Its flames went up day and night. Exposure to the intense heat and normal rust, had already caused two of the units to turn into slag. Other more permanent solutions were being constructed.

  Cadmus got out of the car, walked around it, and opened Dr. Oberhuest’s door. She nodded, grabbed her purse, and a large Halliburton suitcase, insulated with a German product called polystyrene. Inside the insulation, sealed in cryogenic freeze, was a silver tube, and inside the tube was an embryo, a small cluster of cells that would one day become a woman called Elizabeth Ferguson.

  As they mounted the short steps that led onto the porch that wrapped the experiment station, Cadmus’ instincts flared. Eyes were on him, and not just any eyes. These belonged to something ancient, hostile, dangerous. He paused and looked about, pretending to be orienting himself to the camp. To a casual observer nothing looked out of the ordinary, but Cadmus’ vision was beyond excellent, and his ability to perceive a threat beyond that. He cautiously scanned the length of the prison yard, bordering the station. Guards walked along with their large German shepherds. Cadmus noticed them but looked beyond them through the fence at the prisoners. All wore thin, striped ticking pajamas made from the cheap material used for a common mattress. Their eyes were hollow, inset with dark rings around them. They were emaciated, lanky skeletons, starving; their every breath was labor. Some shuffled about; others simply stood staring at the gate and watching the guards as they paced back and forth, circling the great wire cage of the camp.

  Cadmus had seen the like before. Every century had its camps, every kingdom its place of torment. The suffering did not concern the immortal. He was looking for the one who had recognized him. It didn’t take long to find him. To the uninitiated, he was just another prisoner, but the second Cadmus’ eyes lit on him, Cadmus knew this was no ordinary man. For a moment Cadmus stared then he turned to a guard and asked, “Who is that man?”

  The guard followed Cadmus’ gaze then laughed. “He is nothing. Less than nothing. He’s just another Jew lover.”

  “Why is he imprisoned?”

  “He thought he could hide the mice in his monastery.”

  “He is a priest, then?”

  “Yes, a very prominent one. He still holds mass, and even the Yids attend. Fancy that… Jews at a Catholic mass.”

  “Hmmm...” Cadmus noticed the man’s unwavering eyes locked on him. “Interesting,” and with that, turned to follow Oberheust into the foyer of the experiment station.”

  Chapter 3

  1940 London England, Royal London Hospital

  Sarah Linscomb opened the door and walked in the room. While Harry slept, she had kept her distance, but as he drew closer to consciousness, her heart knew he was wakening, and she could not keep away. Now she stood in the doorway. She was beautiful. Her short black hair fell perfectly into place. Her green eyes radiated.

  Belle Rodum, who had kept vigil by Harry’s wounded side, watched, conflicted. She did not know whether to run or rage.

  Faced with Sarah for the first time, Belle understood how Harry could love her. She was a princess in every meaning of the word from the way she carried herself to the power that emanated from her. Belle also saw into Sarah’s heart. She was knit to Harry, made for him. Belle withered, I’m only a witch; how can I compete with that?”

  Belle’s ability to read people like dog-eared books confirmed what she had feared. Sarah was still in love with Harry, and Belle had no doubt that Harry Ferguson had never stopped loving the princess. Now they faced each other, and Belle’s heart broke. She had known better than to love a man like Harry. He was a one-woman man, and that woman was standing in the door. Belle slowly rose to step out of the room and give them some privacy, avoiding eye contact with her rival. Sarah, ignored Belle, like an battleship passing a buoy, and moved to the foot of Harry’s bed.

  Harry slowly opened his eyes to see who had come into the room, and why Belle started to move away. When his eyes met Sarah’s, he stared at her then back at Belle, who sensed something strange and stopped to find out what. He looked back at Sarah, his expression confused. Finally, he asked, “Do I know you?”

  Harry’s question, like a hot iron, pierced Sarah’s heart. Her stomached tightened. She blinked rapidly. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She had battled dragons and fought hoards. Her flesh had been pierced by arrows as she held her dying fiancé, but nothing had stung like this. She couldn’t breathe, and her chest felt like it had been jack-hammered. She actually stumbled back. Belle moved toward her to keep her from falling, as both women riveted the bed-ridden man with their stares.

  Belle recovered first. “Harry, it’s Sarah? You know her… you saved her.”

  Harry frowned, his head slowly shaking. His eyes
were troubled. They had seen so much pain and were now clouded in sorrow. He strained to break the dark seal that hid his most sacred memories but could not.

  Belle continued. It occurred to her that she was cutting her own throat trying to remind the man she loved of the woman he loved, but she plowed on. “Harry you have talked of nothing but this woman ever since I have known you!”

  Sarah still reeling, both eyebrows now escorting her hairline, looked back at Belle, still surprised, but now for a different reason.

  Harry grimaced, almost like it hurt to try and remember. He reminded the women watching him of a man scratching a rock wall with bloodied fingernails. He still continued to shake his head.

  He turned back to Sarah. Slowly, and with sympathy seeping through his words, “I am so sorry... but… I don’t know you. I realize I should, and if Belle’s words are half as true as she says, I know you must be hurt. I don’t want to do that. But I have no… memory… of you.”

  Sarah’s heart had finally settled back into her chest. She nodded to Belle and then sat down in the empty chair on the other side of Harry’s bed. She was about to speak when she heard both the speaker sword and Liv her own embedded BFF flood her with a torrent of angry racing words.

  Sarah, the sword cried, witches have the ability to block a person’s memory. She’s done it to him before, and she’s doing it now!

  Sarah’s eyes grew instantly cold, and smoke began to curl from her nose. Her tear-filled eyes that had been staring at Harry’s confused face changed to angry glowing orbs of fire, seconds away from scorching a witch.

  Belle’s reaction was instantaneous. Her face hardened with a look that had doomed hundreds as flames of fire formed in her hands. Both women were a heartbeat away from war.

  Liv, the ancient manuscript, screeched, breaking through the rage storming Sarah’s heart. Stop it! Sarah, that ancient old pummel is wrong again! First, if Belle Rodum was giving off pheromones to rob Harry of his memory, they would not be specific to you! They would rob him of all his memories, even his memories of her. Second, if she were emitting pheromones, you would be able to smell them. Sniff the air, Sarah Do you smell any scents that should not be in this room?

  Sarah’s rage cooled. She looked away from Belle, who immediately sighed in relief. Sarah relaxed and took a deep breath savoring it and testing it, looking for anything that would be out of place. She sensed fear, anger, blood, sweat, Harry’s, Belle’s, her own. She sensed the antiseptic on his bandages and the warm manly scent she had never forgotten. But there was no mystical pheromone. Nothing. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes once again resting on the man in the bed who had fortunately slipped back into unconsciousness and missed the battle that was almost fought across his bedcovers.

  Belle Rodum pulled back behind emotional and supernatural shields. She wasn’t sure she could defeat a dragon-shifter and was extremely glad she didn’t have to try. She was also stunned. Her stomach reeled, her heart thundered, and her thoughts whirled about like a tornado. She had read Sarah’s rage, like sitting in front of a loud speaker at a heavy metal concert. Sarah thought Belle had caused Harry’s memory loss. Belle laughed, thinking, “I wish I had thought of that,” but knew she didn’t and wouldn’t have. She chuckled, “It was a great idea though.”

  Sarah saw Belle laugh, and instinctively tiny wisps of smoke began to curl out of her nose.

  Belle saw the reaction and smirked. “Does that tickle?” Before Sarah could respond, Belle continued, “I did not rob Harry of his memories.”

  Sarah’s eyes widened, and she blinked.

  “I wouldn’t do that to him. For one thing, I wouldn’t have the ability to control what memories he lost, and secondly,” she paused for a moment, looked hard at Sarah, and then continued, “and secondly, I wouldn’t want to risk losing him.”

  Sarah wilted. Belle’s words were like salt on a fresh wound, her wound. Sarah’s head dropped, her eyes closed, and tears began to slowly trickle down her cheeks. She looked for a Kleenex to wipe them with, started to use her sleeve, and then stopped. Belle was watching.

  Belle was struggling. Sarah’s tears were a reflection of the ones Harry could not shed, but would, if the world had been fair. She sighed and said, “He told me you did that.”

  Sarah frowned and then bit her lip to halt the tears. “Did what?” she whispered, embarrassed that her voice was rough.

  The faintest of smiles offered a truce, and Belle answered, “Had a bad habit of wiping your nose on your sleeve.”

  Sarah’s frown deepened, and angry embarrassment answered, “Are you mocking me?”

  “He wasn’t when he remembered the habit. He loved you, Sarah, and if he could, would still. He has been robbed of the one who meant the most to him.” Belle’s voice got quiet, finally she blurted, “I was always runner-up.”

  Sarah’s frown shifted, and sympathy replaced it. Belle continued, “I don’t want to be runner-up, Sarah.”

  And to be honest…” Belle laughed at the thought of being honest. Harry had influenced her more than she cared to admit. Sarah’s frown returned. “If it were just you and me, I wouldn’t be… but it’s not. I have grown to love him. He is courageous, and honest… to a fault. He is stubborn, and… and… he can be obnoxious... and… and…” she paused for words to add to the list. Sarah smirked and added her own to the pile.

  “…so preoccupied, and silly at the worst of times,” Sarah added.

  Belle laughed and stacked on, “…and he has this ridiculous way of phrasing things. He told me I reminded him of cornbread that wasn’t done in the middle!”

  “Sarah snorted in spite of herself, and then threw in her own memory, “Yes, absolutely! He once said I acted like a royal pain in the ass! And that it was a good thing he had spurs!”

  Belle laughed so hard she almost choked, but Sarah wasn’t done. “…and then he had the audacity…” Sarah pulled her chair closer to Harry’s bed, rested her elbows on the mattress, and continued. Belle responded by matching her body language, moving her own chair up, and resting her elbows on the other side of the mattress. Her face lit with anticipation; both women were enjoying the moment. “…audacity, mind you, to ask me if I had splinters in my mouth from chewing on trees!”

  They stared at each other a moment. Belle smiled, then Sarah’s mouth opened. Her lips formed an ‘oh,’ but words didn’t rush out. Finally, like she had almost forgotten, said, “You’re really her… Harry’s witch.”

  Belle frowned, read Sarah’s body language, then pushed back from the bed and answered. “I didn’t choose this Sarah.” Her frown deepened. “When Harry told me that I was the mother of his daughter, I tried to kill him. I thought it meant he planned to take me by force.”

  Sarah shook her head, and was about to say, then you really don’t know him, do you?

  But Belle wasn’t through, “And then I saw who he was. I saw the anguish, the loss he felt, and then I felt the power that resides from deep inside him. It’s a light so pure it burned me. Before I could run from it, he freed me. And then…” Belle stopped she didn’t know how to tell Sarah she had dreamed of a life with Harry, and of holding their daughter. She didn’t have too. Belle wasn’t the only soul reader in the room. Sarah’s eyes widened, her face reddened, her gaze turned to stare at a space between her and Belle. For a moment she watched it, her eyes flickering, following an invisible screen, a shared vision. Belle pulled back even farther, suddenly afraid. She was exposed, her most treasured dream. Visions she had never shared, or hoped to share, were suddenly laid bare. Her heart was stripped and being read by the last person in the world she would have shared it with.

  Sarah blinked. Her eyes focused. She slowly shook her head. She didn’t know what to say. Belle’s vision of Lizzy was powerful. It was real. And it was also Harry’s. Belle was destined to be Harry’s wife! All of a sudden, the room was too small. Sarah pulled back from the bed, took one last glance at Harry, and then turned to Belle. “I can’t give him that, and I wo
n’t take it from you.’

  She moved toward the door. Belle stood, not knowing what to say. Then, the door opened.

  Author Notes

  Thank you for reading! If you liked the trilogy, please leave me a good review! You can leave a review on the trilogy and on the individual books.

  There is more to come! The series is writing itself, and I am just along for the ride!

  Anyway, things you might like to know: I live in the little community where the adventures are set. There is a café where my characters eat breakfast and wait on patrons. People where I live actually talk like East Texans.

  Please follow me at my website: williamdavidellisauthor.wordpress.com

  Would love to hear from you. williamdavidellis@yahoo.com

  Other Books by William David Ellis

  for sale at Amazon

  The Princess Who Forgot She Was Beautiful Book 1 of the Harry Ferguson Chronicles

  Dances with My Dragon Book 2 of the Harry Ferguson Chronicles

  Dragons and Romans

  A Roman legion squares off against a dragon conjured by a demonized high priest of child-sacrificing Carthage. And that’s what history actually records. What happens next is the action-packed tale.

  If you like the supernatural, action, dragons, and alternate-history fantasy with a little cussing, and a little kissing, and some horror and gut-busting tension thrown in, you will love Dragons and Romans, winner of the B.R.A.G Medallion.

  Free!

  Read my short stories at my website: williamdavidellisauthor.wordpress.com

  Books to Come

  Rivals, the next book in the Harry Ferguson Chronicles, will be out as soon as my fingers quit tingling from typing and I can get my editors to quit polishing and fixing, which means summer of 2020.