Time and Remembrance Read online

  Get Tracy’s Free Starter Library

  One of the privileges of writing is sharing the fun and joy of stories with my readers. I send newsletters with details on new releases, special offers, deals and news about my books.

  From among the most engaged and long term subscribers, I offer Street Team membership and the chance to read all my books before they’re published.

  Sign up for my mailing list and get four free novels, as a sample library, and join the community of readers who love romances.

  You’ll find the link to subscribe after you’ve enjoyed Time And Remembrance.

  Table of Contents

  Get Tracy’s Free Starter Library

  About Time And Remembrance

  Praise for the Kiss Across Time series

  Title Page

  Author Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Dedication

  Did you enjoy this book? How to make a big difference!

  The Next Book in the Kiss Across Time series

  Get Tracy’s Free Starter Library

  About the Author

  Other books by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Copyright Information

  About Time And Remembrance

  A special story marking a moment in history…lest we forget.

  On the one hundredth anniversary of Armistice Day, Jesse Hall, United States Marine and unsung hero, finds herself among a group of time-traveling vampires. She has been directed there by a century-old letter from her great-grandfather, instructing her to introduce herself with the phrase: “I’m not wearing a red shirt.”

  So begins a dash through time to save a man in the very last minutes of the Great War, which in turn will save eight million other lives…

  This novelette is part of the Kiss Across Time paranormal time travel series:

  1.0: Kiss Across Time

  2.0: Kiss Across Swords

  2.5: Time Kissed Moments*

  3.0: Kiss Across Chains

  4.0: Kiss Across Deserts

  5.0: Kiss Across Kingdoms

  5.1: Time And Tyra Again*

  6.0: Kiss Across Seas

  7.0: Kiss Across Worlds

  7.1: Time And Remembrance*

  8.0: Kiss Across Tomorrow

  [*Time Kissed Moments are short stories, novellas and collections which feature the characters and situations from the Kiss Across Time series.]

  The series has ongoing storylines and characters. Reading the books in order is recommended.

  A Time Travel Vampire Romance Novel

  Praise for the Kiss Across Time series

  Wow, again Wow. I swear this author must be a time traveler because this story is filled with such awesome details.

  I've been following Tracy Cooper-Posey for a while now, and she never disappoints. Damn, she can write! To start with, I love history, I'm an academic historian, and her books are really well documented.

  What a great book, I just loved it. It's like being on a roller coaster, the action never stops and the time travel details are awesome.

  I'm totally addicted to these fantasy vampire series. Hard to put down. The characters are real, believable, interesting and complex, and Cooper-Posey really knows how to tell a cliff-hanger story.

  Time travel has always been an interesting concept, but Cooper-Posey takes it to another level because her stories arc over an entire series - and over several centuries. I LOVE IT!!!

  This series just keep getting better and better.

  Author Note

  As a writer of historical novels, and a history nut of the first order, I knew I must mark the centennial of Armistice Day with a story. It would have to be part of the Kiss Across Time series, for every hero in that story has been impacted by war somewhere in their personal histories, and the settings of all other series I currently write wouldn’t let me put characters in France at the time of the Great War—not without some serious re-shaping of physics and story worlds.

  Once I had that key decision made, I turned to brushing up on my knowledge of the Great War, and researching trench warfare, the final days of the war, war casualties and more.

  The research was so harrowing and discomforting that I knew writing this story was the right thing to do. If more people knew and understood the horrors of World War One—the first “modern” war—then perhaps less wars would be waged for fear of invoking the same horrors.

  Chapter One

  Martha’s Vineyard. November 11, 2018.

  Aran’s twin sister, Alannah, didn’t look up from her cellphone when the front door chime sounded. “It’s your turn.”

  Marit and Aran exchanged glances.

  “Whose turn?” Aran demanded, scooping up a spoonful of chili. It was Marit’s own recipe, which she had tweaked to the point where the three of them could happily live on the stuff, it was that good.

  Alannah thumbed out text. “Mum and Far and Athair are upstairs.” She wrinkled her nose.

  So did Aran.

  “One of us has to get it and I got the door this morning,” Alannah added.

  “I got lunch,” Marit pointed out.

  “Fine, okay. I’ll do it.” Aran shoved himself to his feet. He stalked through the kitchen to the formal, neat and tidy front foyer that no one ever used. He wrenched the dark oak door open.

  A Marine in full dress uniform stood on the tiled stoop. She had an arm in a black sling. In the other hand, she held an open letter. She looked up from the letter as Aran opened the door and tucked her cap awkwardly under her wounded arm. There were bruises and healing cuts on her face.

  “Hi,” she offered. Her voice was low, with a pleasant burr to it. “This is going to sound very strange.”

  “Not in this house,” Aran told her, straightening up to his full height. The woman was tall.

  She blinked. “Well…” She glanced at the letter. “Okay, here goes. I’m not wearing a red shirt.” She watched Aran for his reaction and raised one brow.

  Aran reached for the door, his heart leaping. “Holy fuck…” he breathed. “Just wait right there,” he told the Marine, gripping the edge of the door. Then he filled his lungs, turned his head and shouted. “Mom! Athair! Far! Get down here!”

  * * * * *

  Twenty-three minutes later.

  Far put the Marine at the end of the long, skinny dining table in the corner of the kitchen, while Marit made her coffee. Aran knew his father had brought her into the kitchen because everyone tended to use the area directly in front of the fireplace in the big common room as an arrival spot. Veris didn’t want the Marine to see people materializing out of thin air, even if she did know about red shirts.

  She watched Alex and Sydney and Rafe, with Liberty in Rafe’s arms, then Remy and Neven arrive and settle around the table. Remy and Neven had left London back in France as she was recovering from having her baby.

  The Marine had sharp eyes, which she kept narrowed as she examined everyone. She had dark hair under the cap and light brown eyes which looked tawny in the light filtering through the blinds over the windows next to her.

  While they arrived, Far read the Marine’s letter, frowning over it.

  Brody touched Veris’ arm, making him look up. Veris handed him the letter and squeezed his hands, making his knuckles pop. “Everyone, this is Jessenia…did I get that right?”

  “Just Jesse will do,” the woman said. “Jesse Hall,” she added, glancing around the table. “First Lieutenant, United States Marine Corps Forces Special Operations Command.”

  Everyone nodded. Aran could see the intense curiosity in their eyes, but they weren’t peppering her or Veris with questions. Instead, Alex looked at Veris and lifted a brow in question.

  Veris pointed at the letter Brody was reading. Brody frowned, too. “Jesse’s mother handed that letter to her last night,” Veris said, “before she headed for Washington for the centennial ceremony. The contents of the letter made Jesse come here, instead.”

  “What, it has your name and address in it?” Rafe said, smiling.

  “Yes,” Veris said.

  Rafe frowned.

  “It isn’t just what the letter says,” Jesse Hall added. “I’ve never seen the letter before. My mother says it is exactly one hundred years old.” She looked at everyone. “Only, that is my handwriting…and I don’t remember writing it.”

  Time loop, Aran breathed to himself. He could see everyone else was thinking the same thing. Only, they couldn’t say it aloud. Not in front of Jesse.

  Veris stirred. “Let me introduce everyone.” He went around the table, giving everyone’s current names. “I trust these people with my life,” he added. “You can, too.”

  Only Jesse was staring at Taylor. “Did I hear that right? Your name is Taylor?”

  Taylor nodded.

  Jesse reached inside her jacket. “I always thought it was some sort of family joke, handed down by my great-grandfather, that my mom bought into…” She pulled out an envelope that had been folded in half. It looked rigid, dirty and yellow. She put it on the table and smoothed it out, then turned it around. “This is the envelope the letter came in.”

  Everyone leaned to read it, including Aran, who had to get to his feet to do it because he was at the other end of the table from her.

  For Jessenia Taylor Hall

  Not to be opened until November 11, 2018

  “My great-grandfather was a tailor in Germany, before the Great War,” Jess
e said. “He gave my mother this letter before he died in 1996. He had just turned a hundred years old.” She took a deep breath. “What the letter says is that he shouldn’t have lived. He should have died at the end of World War One, as one of the last casualties. When I read the letter, I was to come here and tell you I’m not wearing a red shirt.”

  “We have to go back and kill him?” Aran breathed, his gut cramping.

  “Aran!” Brody growled.

  Aran sucked in a breath. He’d said too much. He sat down again, his heart thundering. It was stupid stuff like this that got people killed. How often had Far said that?

  Jesse Hall shook her head. “You have to go back and save him.” She hesitated. “I’m not losing my mind, am I? This letter is talking about…about…”

  “Time travel,” Veris finished.

  Jesse touched her fingers to her temple. “I need a Tylenol,” she muttered.

  * * * * *

  They moved out to the big common room, after that. Everyone was there who could suddenly arrive, and it was Veris who had let the cat out of the bag, so that got Aran off the hook. He grabbed the cushion from the big sofa and settled on the floor with it, because there were too many adults and not enough chairs, as usual.

  The chairs were pulled into a rough circle with the sofa making up one side, and the fireplace the other. The fire was lit and flickered pleasantly.

  Alex read the letter now. He tapped it with his fingernail. “It looks a hundred years old,” he said judiciously. “Only, it’s made of synthetic paper, I bet my tenure on it.”

  Alex was an historical archivist for the university in Granada. He would know the difference between paper and parchment and whatever else the history books were made of. It was one way to make a living, Aran supposed.

  “Which is an interesting coincidence,” Brody said. “I just bought a box of the stuff. We were going to experiment with delayed letter drops and see how the paper withstood time.”

  “Apparently, quite well,” Remy said dryly. “There are some very explicit directions in there. How can we be sure we aren’t screwing with history by following them?”

  “Because you’re closing a loop, not opening one,” Marit said.

  Everyone looked at her. Aran’s big sister was the expert when it came to loops and the millions of ways time could bite itself on the ass.

  “If we didn’t touch history, then Jesse’s great-grandfather would have died on November 11, 1918 and Jesse wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation. Yet she is. So, we do go back and save her great-grandfather. We’re just finishing a loop that has already been set up.”

  Jesse put her coffee cup down. “I thought regression analysis was difficult…”

  “Tell us about your great-grandfather,” Veris said. “What do you know about him?”

  “I knew very little until last night. Then I phoned my mother and screamed at her to explain. She couldn’t tell me anything but what her grandfather had told her. He was with the First Royal Saxon Guard Heavy Cavalry, fighting along the Sambre Canal, but not by choice. His service with the German Imperial Army lasted five days.”

  “He was a conchie…” Rafe breathed.

  “Huh?” Aran said.

  “A Conscientious Objector,” Brody said. “The British Army allowed conchies to defer their service or work in support, where they didn’t have to pick up a gun. The Germans, though…” He blew out his breath.

  Jesse nodded. “Franz Grüber, my great-grandfather, was a tailor in Dresden. He was in love with the daughter of a philosophy professor at the university. Lisel’s father and Franz had long conversations about…well, everything, I suppose. So, when the war broke out, Franz objected to the violence. They arrested him, beat him and put him in an insane asylum, where he stayed until the very end of the war, during the Hundred Day Offensive.”

  “’Fight, or we kill you’?” Veris guessed.

  Jesse shook her head. “’Fight, or we kill everyone you know, including Lisel and everyone in the asylum’. So he took the rifle and uniform they shoved at him—it still had a bullet hole and blood on it. They drove him to the Hindenburg Line on the Western Front. That’s all my mother knew, except that he was in uniform for five days and afterwards, he returned to Dresden and married Lisel and had my grandfather, Brenden Vernon Grüber.”

  Aran jumped and looked at Athair. Brody frowned.

  “What’s wrong?” Jesse said, tilting her head.

  “Brenden is a name I have used before,” Brody said.

  “Vernon is one of my travelling names,” Veris added. He scrubbed at his hair. “That just leaves the why.”

  “Why…?” Jesse said.

  “Why was it so important that you exist?” Veris told her.

  Jesse shrugged. “I just found out time travel is real. You tell me. You’re the experts.”

  “Why is your arm in a sling, anyway?” Neven asked.

  Jesse chewed the inside of her cheek. “It’s…well, you don’t have clearance…”

  Veris looked at her with a patient expression Aran recognized. Veris wasn’t feeling patient at all. He was controlling his frustration.

  Sydney leaned forward. “This has everything to do with you. Something you’ve done or will do. We are going to take that letter back to your great-grandfather and tell him he will have a great grand-daughter in the future with your name and he must ensure you get the letter…and we will have to explain to him why and convince him we’re serious. So you must tell us.”

  Jesse looked doubtful. There was a deep line between her brows.

  “Consider the origins of the letter. Your hand-writing,” Veris said softly. “The synthetic paper. The coincidence of our names…which isn’t a coincidence at all.”

  “Perhaps a small demonstration, Veris?” Alex said.

  Marit stood up. “Not linear,” she said. “They’re too fraught. A simple compound to somewhere nice.”

  “The palace at Versailles, at a masked ball when Louis was at his most ostentatious. That is grand enough to snap her eyes open,” Remy said, sounding complacent.

  Neven grinned.

  Marit nodded. “There will be a bookmark, if I did take her. Would you mind standing for a moment, Jesse?”

  Jesse got carefully to her feet and smoothed her straight skirt.

  Marit put her arms around her. They were the same height. “Brace yourself,” Marit warned her.

  They disappeared.

  “Clear out the space in front of the fire,” Veris said.

  They pulled the chairs out of the way. Alex moved over to the sideboard and poured scotch into a tumbler, at least three fingers’ worth. He walked back to the fireplace and stood at the mantelshelf with it.

  Marit and Jesse reappeared. Jesse staggered, breathing hard. “Mon dieu…” she breathed. She pressed her hands to her stomach, looking down at her uniform, then patted the air above her head, as if she was feeling for something above it.

  Aran realized she was feeling for a tall, powdered wig, which she would have been wearing for the few moments they had been in the palace.

  Alex held the glass out to her. “Scotch, neat.”

  Jesse took the glass and drank deeply. Then she breathed out heavily. “Five days ago, I snagged a ride on a transport out of Berlin, trying to get home for this thing today. Four ISIS jihadists took over the plane—they had put themselves in the coffins of fallen Marines. They weren’t interested in hostages. They shot seven Marines before the Captain opened the cockpit, then they shot the flight crew. They took control and headed the plane for London, where they intended to crash it into the Houses of Parliament.”

  “What was on the plane?” Sydney asked sharply.

  “Three hundred kilos of Sarin gas,” Jesse said. “Enough to kill most of London.” She drank again.

  “That’s eight and a half million people,” Neven breathed.

  “You stopped them,” Veris said. It wasn’t a question.

  Jesse drained the glass. “Someone had to.” Her voice was hoarse.

  “That’s why you have to exist,” Veris said.