Aubrielle's Call

by Bowen, C. Marie

  Aubrielle set the tray on the coffee table. John’s whispered comment sent her pulse racing, despite her annoyance.

  My face must be on fire.

  “The potato bread looks delicious Tante Mae.” She took a seat in the cushioned green chair and held a chilled hand to her cheek.

  John placed the kitchen chair across from the couch, unbuttoned his suit coat and sat, pulling the chair closer to the table.

  “The bread turned out better than I’d hoped.” The scent of fresh baked bread drifted around the room. Mae put a slice on one of the small plates along with a scoop of sour cream. She looked sharply at both John and Aubrielle before holding the bread up for Lou to taste.

  Aubrielle ignored Mae’s look. Instead, she opened the bag of candy and withdrew the dreidel, setting it on her lap. She handed Henri the bag of treats. “If you would divide the candy between us, we’ll play a game of dreidel.”

  “Five players?” Henri looked over Lou’s head to Mae.

  “Four,” Mae said. “Lou and I will be a team.”

  “Four it is.” Henri separated the small wrapped candy pieces and nuts into piles then held up the netted bag of coin-shaped chocolate. “These too?”

  “Yes.” Aubrielle picked up the dreidel and turned it in her hand. “I used to play this by myself for hours.” She scanned her father’s face. “Do you remember, Papa?”

  Her father stared glassy-eyed at the pile of candy and nuts on the table before him.

  “Of course, he does,” Mae said and took his hand. “But I’ll need a reminder on how to play this game.”

  “It’s easy.” Aubrielle pushed one piece of candy from her pile to the center of the table. “Everyone puts in a nut or a bit of candy.”

  “Ante up.” John nudged a nut from his pile into the middle.

  “Gambling?” Henri picked up his golden chocolate coin. “With this?” He flipped the coin off his finger with his thumb. It spun into the air. He caught it before it touched the table.

  “A game of chance,” John replied.

  Aubrielle looked at John from the corner of her eye. “You’ve played before?”

  “Only once,” he offered with hesitation. “A very long time ago.”

  Aubrielle raised a brow at John’s cryptic answer, then lifted the Jewish toy to show Henri. “The spinner, or dreidel, has four sides. Each side is painted with a different symbol—each symbol tells you what move to make.” She turned the painted toy until a wiggly W was on top. “The symbol with three prongs tells you to put another piece of candy into the pot.” She turned to the next side. “This backward C means you get nothing, and the turn passes. The upside-down Y is the good one. When this side lands face up, you win all the candy in the pot.

  “The last side has a broken symbol. With this one, you split the pot. Half is yours and the other half you leave on the table.” She spun the handle between her fingers, whirling the painted colors into streaks. “After each turn, everyone puts in another piece of candy. When you’re out of candy, you’re out of the game.” She snapped the fingers of her other hand and held out the dreidel. “It’s very simple.”

  “So, besides all the candy, what does the winner get?” Henri took the spinner from Aubrielle and studied each painted symbol.

  “The winner gets to eat a piece of candy.” Aubrielle laughed. “The rest we save for our game tomorrow.”

  Mae put a chocolate coin in the middle of the table. “Lou and I are in.”

  Henri spun the top and cheered when the broken symbol landed up. “Half a win. I’ll take it.” He pulled in two pieces and pushed one back into the pot. “Ante up.” He handed the toy to Aubrielle’s father.

  Lou lifted the toy up and laughed.

  Aubrielle bit her lip as she watched her father. This is what I hoped for.

  “Can you spin the top on the table, Lou?” Mae paid their ante.

  He held the toy toward the table, but it slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor.

  Mae snatched it up. “Do you want to try again?”

  Lou shook his head and waved his trembling hand toward the table. “You. You do it.”

  “If you’re sure.” Mae spun the top. The toy fell with the backward C facing up. They won nothing, and the turn passed.

  Papa watched with interest as the top moved around the table. He laughed every time the dreidel spun.

  The candle had become a wax puddle by the time Henri won all the candy.

  Papa’s head dropped with weariness. The game and the company had been too tiring for him.

  Mae helped Lou to his feet. “It’s time for bed, isn’t it Lou?”

  Aubrielle’s father staggered past her chair—his fist wound tight into Mae’s sleeve for balance. His gaze skimmed over Aubrielle’s but held no recognition. Only confusion and exhaustion.

  He won’t see the new year. Why did that thought come? Aubrielle shut it away and stood to follow Tante Mae down the hall, but John touched her arm.

  “Let me.” John stepped past Aubrielle just as Lou’s legs buckled. He caught her father and eased him to the floor. “I’ll carry you, Monsieur Cohen. If that’s all right?”

  Her father stared at John, his rheumy, watering eyes wider than they’d been all evening. His mouth gaped, and he nodded his head.

  John slipped his arms beneath Lou’s legs and lifted him to his chest with ease, all the while murmuring soft words. “I’ve got you, Monsieur Cohen. Let’s get you into bed.” He followed Mae into Lou’s room. “It’s been quite a night, hasn’t it?”

  Aubrielle trailed them down the hall.

  In her father’s room, John lowered Lou’s legs but kept his arm as support around Lou’s back.

  “I’ve got him, John. Thanks for your help.” Mae eased Lou to his mattress, then knelt to untie his shoes.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Lou whispered, his focus locked on John’s face. “I can’t seem to find my strength today.”

  Aubrielle held tight to John’s arm and stared at her father. “He’s gotten so much worse, in just a few days.”

  “Tell John and Aubrielle good-night, Lou.” Mae pulled a nightshirt from his dresser. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  “Do you want me to—” Aubrielle began.

  Mae shook her head as she guided Lou’s arm into his nightshirt. “No. Lou and I have this dance down pat.” She smiled at Aubrielle. “And besides, you have guests.”

  “Are we still going to La Fleur tonight?” Henri asked from the hall.

  “Yes. I want to see if Bonet has heard anything new,” John replied. He accompanied Henri into the kitchen. “If you could give Aubrielle and me a moment. I’ll meet you outside, and we can go.”

  Henri nodded to John and stepped around the corner into the cloakroom.

  “I thought you said we would talk?” Aubrielle crossed her arms and looked up at John. “Now would be a good time.”

  John ran his palms down her arms and took her hands. “It would. But there is someone I must find. It’s most urgent.”

  “Your smuggler friend?” Aubrielle pulled her hands away from John. “Mae told me he no longer stays at your apartment.”

  “That’s true. Billy left with François.” He lowered his voice. “The man I seek recently worked at La Fleur. If he returns to the club or contacts someone there, I may find a clue to where he’s gone.” He tried to pull her into his arms.

  Aubrielle stopped him with a hand to his chest. She smiled to soften the rebuke. “We should talk first.”

  John nodded. Exhaustion and disappointment etched his face. “I’ll check on you tomorrow afternoon, well before sunset, and then we can have our talk.”

  “Brie darlin’, I could use a bit of help,” Mae called.

  Aubrielle took a step back. “You’ll see yourself out?”

  John nodded. “I’ll be back late, but if you need me—“

  “We’ll be fine. Au revoir, John.”

  CHAPTER 25

  John pulled the back door shut. He adj
usted his fedora then buttoned his overcoat as he glanced up at the cloudless Paris sky. It would be another cold night. A familiar ache he recognized as bone-weary fatigue clung to the back of his neck. He rubbed his palm over the pain even though he knew there was only one cure.

  I need sleep.

  But there had been little time to rest and his eyes drooped from exhaustion.

  After he and Henri had left the hospital, they’d returned to the building where they had rescued François, but Karl and his Nazi allies had fled, leaving no clues. Back at the apartment, Henri helped bandage the bullet wound in John’s shoulder—a minor injury that had already stopped bleeding

  As the sun rose, John had walked the streets of Le Marais district, past the Café Jardin de Lune and Asher’s Market, hoping to catch a glimpse of the bastard’s discolored face.

  When those efforts failed, he had made his way home to rest. Instead, every time John closed his eyes he saw Nescato, wrapped in a blood-smeared Nazi flag instead of her animal skins. Sleep had never come.

  And again tonight, he hunted the German spy.

  Nescato is alive.

  Resurrected from his long dead past in an instant, her evil specter, once consigned to bitter memory, again walked the earth. Corrupt with malice. Hunting him.

  Karl had said the witch possessed the same immortality she had cursed on John.

  Is she bound to love only one, as I am?

  His breath stuttered. He blinked the cold, clear skies from his watering eyes.

  And if so, is she bound to me?

  John’s stomach convulsed, scalding his throat with burning bile. He swallowed back the bitterness with clenched teeth.

  Impossible.

  Nescato should have found him centuries ago, called to John in the same way he’d been magically called to Aubrielle. He halted in mid-step, hand on the rail, as his world careened out of focus.

  Except, by her own words—her own monstrous curse—there could never be a threat to his life.

  His immortality would leave her forever blind to John’s location. Their location.

  Blind until now.

  Movement in the yard caught his attention as Henri stepped out of Éclair’s enclosure. He brushed his hands on his thighs while he waited for John to descend the steps. “Her gelding is fed and watered for the night, but he needs a long walk.”

  “I agree.” John nodded. “But not tonight.” He passed Henri and continued out the back gate. “Hopefully, I’ll learn something so I can get my hands on Karl Reimer.” He crossed the street and continued toward the avenue.

  “You’re not going to drive the truck?” Henri asked.

  “No. A cab is quicker and will draw less attention.”

  “What did you learn at the hospital?” Henri ran to keep pace as John rounded the corner.

  John glanced at Henri and slowed his stride. “François and Billy are no longer there, or they were admitted under different names.” He raised his hand for a cab. “The staff told me they had no record of attending to either man.”

  A cab changed lanes and pulled to the curb where they stood.

  Henri rounded the vehicle, shaking his head. “That’s odd.” He dropped into the seat. “No, ridiculous. What could have happened to them?”

  The back doors of the cab shut in unison and the cabbie looked over his shoulder. “Où allez-vous?”

  “La Fleur Chantante, s'il vous plaît.” John lowered his voice, “The Sûreté nationale must have moved them. It’s the only explanation I can muster.”

  “Will we ever know if they survived?”

  “I don’t know, Henri.” John stared through the window at the lights on the tower. “I hope so.”

  They lapsed into silence. Just before the last turn, Henri looked at John. “Aubrielle’s father doesn’t have long.”

  “No. He doesn’t.”

  The cab stopped in front of the club. John paid the cabbie then shook his head in dismay at the line. “We might not get in.”

  “We’ll get in.” Henri held out his hand to slow traffic, and both men hurried across the street.

  The new doorman nodded as Henri approached. “Bonsoir, Vogl. De retour à nouveau?”

  Henri grinned. “Bonsoir, Webber. Is Monsieur Bonet here tonight?”

  “Of course.” Webber passed them through the line. “He told me to keep an eye out for you.”

  Henri raised a brow at Webber as they passed the doorman and entered the club. They checked their overcoats and hats, then surveyed the cozy club.

  There were a few empty chairs, but beverages on the table held the seats for the dancers. An accordion player led the house band in a musette as couples twirled in each other’s arms near the empty stage.

  “This way.” Henri nudged John’s arm and stepped into the crowd heading for the owner’s booth.

  Bonet spoke briefly to the men at his booth, his scrutiny on John and Henri.

  The men rose from their seats and disbursed into the club.

  “Mes amis.” The large man’s arms swung wide to indicate the open seats to either side of him. “How are you this evening?” Bonet’s red suit matched the leather booth and cast his skin the color of green olives.

  John released his suit button and folded himself into the booth. “Bonsoir, Monsieur Bonet.”

  “Bébé.” Bonet signaled a waitress. “Bring my friends some refreshment.”

  “Coffee.” John gave the busy waitress a weary smile. “Black.”

  “And you, monsieur?” She looked at Henri and grinned.

  “A glass of the house wine, s'il vous plaît.”

  The waitress winked at Henri and swished her skirt as she disappeared with her tray into the crowd below.

  “My Bébé, she likes you.” Bonet flicked his cigarette ash toward the tray and chuckled. “I like you too, Henri Vogl.” He puffed and blew smoke toward the ceiling. “I like you both.” His smile widened, and he included John in his glance. “As it happens, because of recent unfortunate events, I have an opening in my staff for a personal valet.” He crushed the cigarette out and picked up his glass. “Would either of you be interested?”

  Henri sat forward. “I would be.”

  Bonet rolled the edge of his napkin beneath his thumb. “That position includes room and board since you will need to be available to me for certain periods outside of business hours.”

  “You’ve not heard from Karl?” John asked.

  “Non. He never returned after you chased him through my kitchen.” Bonet withdrew another cigarette from his silver case and tapped the end on the table. “Although I have come to know, through certain sources, that Karl remains in Paris.” He raised a thick brow at Henri. “You’ll have to empty the room of his things.” His lighter flared, and he inhaled. “A Nazi in my employ.” He shook his head, chuckled, and blew a smoke ring at the table lamp. “Next thing you know, I will have dealings with the Sûreté nationale.”

  “Karl left personal items?” John exchanged a quick glance with Henri. “Could we see the room?”

  Bébé stopped beside Henri and rested part of the tray on the edge of their table. She delivered the coffee and wine along with the bill.

  Bonet picked up the tab up and stuffed it in his pocket. “If Henri takes the job, the room and all its contents would be his.” Bonet laughed in delight at his wit. “You’d have to ask him.”

  John shifted his attention to Henri.

  Eyes bright, Henri picked up his glass and swirled the wine. “I think we’ll be able to come to an agreement. When would I start?”

  Bonet’s grin widened. “Tomorrow afternoon would be soon enough although you are welcome to the room immediately. Bébé can show you where it is when she returns.” He pulled a leather string with a key attached from his vest pocket. “This opens the new lock on the back door.” Bonet raised his brow and leaned forward as he handed Henri the key. “Do not lose it.”

  Face flushed, Henri jammed the key into his jacket pocket and took a small sip
of wine.

  Bonet switched his attention to John. “And you, mon ami?

  “You have a job offer for me as well?” John tasted the hot coffee.

  “Not as prestigious as my offer to your friend, but you would have access to certain privileged information as one of my security escorts.” He sniffed. “Karl was not the only individual to leave my employ recently.”

  “Really?” John studied the club owner. His name and accent declared him a native of France, but visually, he appeared to be Persian or perhaps Greek.

  “How many openings do you have?”

  “Originally two, not counting my personal valet. I’ve hired Webber for the door, but Bruce has also failed to return to work.”

  Neither of those men had been killed at the apartment. How many men accompanied Karl Reimer?”

  “Shouldn’t you require references?” John asked. “Considering Karl and his associates.”

  “You are two of the most honest men I have ever dealt with.” Bonet looked from John to Henri. “I have no doubt and no need of another opinion.”

  “You’ll allow me time to consider your offer?” John asked.

  Bonet grinned wide, exposing wine and tobacco stained teeth. “For a time—say, two days?” He tapped out his cigarette. “Ah, I almost forgot.” He reached into his vest pocket and brought out several colorful tickets. He handed two to each man. “Passes for the New Year’s Eve Extravaganza. Henri, you may have that night off, and it would make me happy if you both would bring a guest.”

  When Bébé returned to their table, Bonet held up his hand. “Leave your tray here and show Henri to Karl’s old room.”

  John slid from the booth when Henri stood. “I must be going as well.”

  “Adieu, John Larson. Let me know by this weekend if you will accept my offer of employment.”

  “Thank you, monsieur.” John followed Bébé and Henri down the steps and along the dance floor to the door on the far side of the stage.

  In the back room, Bébé turned left and continued past the raised backstage to the dressing rooms. She passed two curtain enclosures on her right, then opened the door at the end of the hall.