The Gabrielle Series Boxed Set

by Zachary Chopchinski

  “So, my parents are here? Can I see them?” she asked, not bothering to wipe away the fresh tears. A sweet smile spread across Morrigan’s face, and she looked over Gabrielle’s head towards the tree line. Gabrielle let go of Morrigan’s hands and followed her eyes. There, not ten feet away, were her mother and father. They looked just as she had remembered them. Happiness covering their faces, arms outstretched toward Gabrielle, she ran into their embrace and sobbed uncontrollably. They tightened their hold on her, and she squeezed them as hard as she could.

  “Don’t make me go!” she cried, tugging at them. Her mother squeezed Gabrielle tighter, and her father reached down and kissed the top of her head.

  “My dear, you must,” her mother whispered into her ear.

  “I promise, one day, we will all be together again. We will be waiting for you,” her father replied, kissing Gabrielle once more on her head. Gabrielle squeezed her eyes closed and cried even harder.

  “The time is here, Gabrielle. Remember, we will be waiting for you,” Morrigan repeated. Gabrielle slowly turned to look at Morrigan. She looked back at her parents and then back to the god she loved so deeply.

  “Go,” her mother said. “Go, say goodbye. We will always love you, no matter who you choose to love. Live a good life. Grow old, and one day we will see you again.”

  Gabrielle took a step away from her parents and then paused. She looked into Morrigan’s lavender eyes, the eyes that got her through every tragedy she’d been forced to live for the last hundred years.

  As if on cue, both women closed the distance between each other. When their lips touched, a volt of electricity rushed through every fiber of Gabrielle’s body. The jolt was addicting, and with every kiss, Gabrielle found herself needing more and more. When she finally let her eyes flutter open, there was a lavender hue surrounding Morrigan, and her body was changing forms; the little boy Gabrielle first met, the man Gabrielle called a friend and fellow traveler, and the woman Gabrielle had fallen in love with. Gabrielle stepped back, eyes wide at the strangely beautiful image before her.

  “I am the Morrigan. I am both man and woman, animal and human,” Morrigan said as her body continued to alternate forms. Gabrielle took a step closer, a playful smile dancing on her lips.

  “And I am Gabrielle, the girl who loves the Morrigan for everything she is.” She wrapped her arms around the god as the lavender hue engulfed Gabrielle’s body.

  “I’ll be seeing you soon,” Morrigan said and captured Gabrielle in one last kiss.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  A jarring, stinging sensation forced Gabrielle to open her eyes. A sharp pain shot through her shoulder as she smacked into something hard. She opened her eyes, and a bright light forced her to snap them closed again. She felt around and found nothing but a hard surface. Am I on the floor?

  Gabrielle forced her eyes open again and let the light through. At first, all she could see was a blinding white light, but as her eyes adjusted, she realized she was back in her father’s office. It appeared as though she had fallen from the sofa. She scrambled to her feet and plopped herself back onto its soft surface.

  For a moment, she looked around the room in confusion. The morning sun broke through the windows, and the entire area was filled with warm light. As she rubbed her eyes, a cold bump hit her nose. It was the bracelet. She looked down at the old tarnished piece of jewelry, with the faded letters and the deep cuts.

  Gabrielle scanned the room she’d missed so deeply and wondered for a second if it was all a dream. She walked to the window that looked out over the porch and peered through the frosted glass to see if there was any sign of the officer that had escorted her home. As she pressed her face against the cold glass, the black uniform of the officer came into focus. He was still there and had stayed on the porch all night, it appeared. The reality of everything hit Gabrielle like a mountain. She slid down the side of the wall and wept as hard as she ever had.

  Suddenly, a banging came from the hallway. Someone was knocking on the door. At first, Gabrielle didn't want to get up. Why should she? When the officer realizes that her mom wasn’t coming home, he would call child services, and she would end up in the foster system.

  The knocking continued until she finally gave up on ignoring it and rose to greet the unwanted visitor. She walked from her father’s study to the front door and threw it open in a huff. To her surprise, she startled the young officer so much that he leaped back from the door.

  “I’m sorry for waking you, Miss,” the officer apologized, adjusting his jacket and cap. “I didn’t leave the porch all night. Your mother didn't come home, did she? Through the back door, maybe?” he said, more of a statement than a question.

  Gabrielle battled the tears that threatened to give her away.

  “I, uh, well . . .” the officer stuttered when Gabrielle didn’t answer.

  “How can I help you, officer?” she asked, collecting herself. She may still only be fifteen, but she had lived for over five hundred years.

  “Well, you see, I didn't want to bother you this early, but since your mother never came back. There is a post boy here with a delivery and . . .”

  “A post boy?” Gabrielle interrupted.

  “Yes, Miss. A young man came up the walkway a minute ago and said that he had a package for Gabrielle. He insisted on giving it to you himself. I told him to leave it with me, but he refused.” The young officer was clearly a bit shaken from the long night and the issue of Gabrielle’s mother never coming home.

  “Where is he?” Gabrielle asked, her jaw clenched as if preparing for a fight.

  “Right there.” The officer turned and pointed down the walkway. At the bottom of the steps, standing in the bright sunlight, was a boy that looked to be about Gabrielle’s age. “Miss, I need to call this in. With your mother not coming home last night, we need to get you to a safe place.”

  “My mother did come home,” she lied, shutting down the young officer.

  “She . . . she did?” he asked, confused. “Last night?”

  “Yes, she did. She came in through the back door like she usually does. We spoke half of the night about what happened. I’m so sorry, I had completely forgotten that you were out there. She’s sleeping upstairs now. I don't want to wake her. She’s exhausted.” Gabrielle’s words flowed effortlessly. So much so that the officer appeared to have believed it.

  “Alright then. I, uh, suppose I should be off. I’ll come by later in the afternoon to speak with her. I’ll need to talk to her for my report. I’ll need her to sign some things.”

  Gabrielle nodded and thanked the officer. He shook Gabrielle’s hand and reminded her that he would be back later, and then he walked down the stairs, pausing after the first one to look back at her. As the officer passed the young boy, they nodded to each other, and the boy started up the stairs to Gabrielle’s front door.

  The boy looked to be a few years older than Gabrielle. He wore a long, heavy leather jacket and held a large envelope in his hand. When he reached the front door, he thrust the package into Gabrielle’s hands. She looked down at the delivery and then back up into his hazelnut eyes.

  “What’s this?” Gabrielle asked, turning the unmarked envelope in her hands.

  “Dunno. I was told to get this to you,” he replied.

  Gabrielle was transfixed on the item in her hands. She ran her fingers along the top of the envelope until she found the edge. She then ripped it open and poured the contents into her hand. Out of the package fell an old iron key and a small, folded note.

  She held the old key in one hand and fumbled to unfold the note with the other as the empty packaging fell to the floor. There was only one small message on the paper. Written in green ink:

  “It’s all yours. Here’s to a lifetime of adventures.”

  -M

  Gabrielle felt her jaw once more fall open as she looked at the key. She’d seen it before, many times. It was the key to the shop. To her shop. Gabrielle brought her stunned ga
ze to the delivery boy to ask where he had gotten the package from. The boy smiled and started to walk down the steps. As he stopped to look back at her, his hazelnut eyes flashed a brilliant shade of lavender, before returning to the soft brown they once were. Let the officer come for Gabrielle. She wouldn't be there when he did.

  ***

  Thank you so much for reading the Gabrielle Series. I would really appreciate an honest review. Please check out the book’s Amazon and Goodreads Page. Turn the page for a look into Webley and The World Machine.

  Webley and The World Machine

  The Beginning

  1

  I remember that day like it happened this morning. We’d been fighting the enemy for months, slowly pushing our way through the lines to get to this one point. You see, we knew Hitler was in that compound. We also knew the Russians were on their way from the other side. We didn’t like it, but we had to work as a team.

  We arrived at the outskirts of the bunker just as the sun was peeking its head over the hills. We marched all night and let me tell you, my feet were so blistered I couldn’t take a goddamn step without popping one of those bad boys. The tanks’ rumbled as I walked with my machine-gun in my hands, oh lord, that was the most empowering moment of the war. We knew what we were gettin’ ourselves into and we were ready to be heroes, so let the enemy come.

  Were we scared? That’s a foolish question. We were the 761st Tank Battalion. Our motto was “Come Out Fightin’.” Being a primarily African-American unit we were always given the suicidal missions; goddamn army didn’t even care about us. At first, we couldn't believe we survived, but after a while, we liked defying the odds. We liked showing those bastards what we were made of.

  It always made me laugh, that we were fighting against intolerance, but our unit was formed out of racism. So, believe me when I say, we threw our own hearts and pain into each battle.

  We reached our rally point. The tanks quit rolling, and we all gathered into formation. What we got was a simple plan with high danger and a lot of work. This wasn't anything we weren't used to. We basically came to blow it up, shoot it down, kill them all… a regular day at work.

  So, when the order was given, we started to move out and get into position. My unit was the “Cutters” as they called us, and they weren't talkin’ about knives. We carried the BAR and kept those krauts in check with heavy fire while our tanks did what they came to do. I liked the post, except for lugging that big hunk of metal and wood around.

  We only walked a little more before we came through a park and the bunker was in sight. Now usually, we’d wait a moment before we attacked a target. Sort of a “wait for the best time” kinda thing, you understand that? This time, we were out in the open, so they saw us just as we saw them. Also, we had a little bet going against the Red Army, so we weren't waitin’ for anything. You see, sometimes in war, you gotta make a game out of it, you know . . . to keep out the dark thoughts that you killin’ a bunch of people.

  We entered the clearing, and our tanks opened fire. Then BOOM! We learned a long time ago that the sounds could deafen the poor bastard who shot them off. That’s why I got this bad ear, ya’ see. I stayed away from the tanks after that.

  Anyway, so we fired, moved, fired, and moved killing as many of those kraut bastards as we could. Their machine guns couldn’t stand up against our tanks, it was sort of funny seeing all those German faces when they saw us. Hitler’s final stand outside his goddamn compound and here we are, a battalion of black men showing those Arian bastards what real warriors are.

  Eventually, we got to the compound walls. Well, what was left of ‘em. We did a great job leveling their barriers, and we rolled in like a wave of hate and contempt. My hands had gone numb from the constant vibrating of my rifle as I gave the German’s all I had. When the magazine ran dry, I’d gotten so good at slapping a new one in that you couldn't even hear a break in my fire pattern.

  When we got inside the compound, we started to mop up what was left of the enemy. I’ll admit, the Germans weren’t stupid, they had some good defenses once we were inside. I personally fought with three SS soldiers in a hallway for almost five minutes before I remembered that I had a grenade remaining. Like to say they went out with a bang.

  We were a little agitated, as we got inside, the Russians were already in, working the German’s from the other side. Damn, they got in there fast. Like a bunch of goddamn magicians. Everything turned into a mad dash to get down to the basement bunker and get to the target. On more than a few occasions, I came across some of our “allies” in the halls. Nearly shot ‘em a few times, not always by accident, either. They seemed to always be “accidentally” shooting at us, so I decided to return the favor. Anyway, eventually, we started outnumbering the Krauts so telling the difference was easier.

  After, I don’t even know how long fighting and moving, we finally made it to the bunker, only to find out that the coward killed himself and his wife. Let me tell you, when I say that we were hot under the collar about that, I’m not yankin’ your chain. I shot a few holes in the walls to let off a little steam, myself.

  The Russians didn't seem bothered by it, though. In fact, they took credit for the entire raid. I even heard a few of them saying that we helped them raid the bunker! Those sons of bitches wouldn’t have even made it into the compound if it wasn’t for our tanks.

  Damn, let me tell you what I saw down in that bunker. Junk. A whole room of useless paintings, and crap. Sure, we’d heard the rumors of the Nazi treasures, but I was a little disappointed when I saw the room. I was expecting gold, jewels, and priceless art. What he had in there were cases upon cases of old crap. We walked around the room and looked at all the items, and it was all just a bunch of old junk. Not sure what the point of collecting all that was, but I never tried to understand someone like Adolf Hitler. No point in it.

  As we checked out everything, one thing did stick out—a coin on one of the old cabinets. The golden glint of light bouncing off it caught my attention and I thought, “here’s something valuable”. When I walked up to it, I found the coin was actually brass. It was big and heavy, almost half the size of my palm. It had what looked like gears on one side, and on the other were a wrench, hammer, and an anvil.

  Something about it was mesmerizing. I picked it up and twisted it through my fingers. The day’s spoils were still up for grabs, so I slid the coin into my pocket. The way I looked at it was the Reds owed us for gettin’ them into the bunker.

  We never did get any credit for that raid. We didn't kill Hitler, and the Russians had the jump on communication, so there was no need to give any credit to a bunch of black men, apparently. Even after all that we did, we got to return to a world where we were lower than the goddamn dog.

  It was at that point I thought to myself, “Why the hell should I go back?” It wasn't like I had anything to go back to. This half of the world was destroyed and would need to be rebuilt. The people were broken and needed help. The interesting part of it, they were happy to be getting assistance . . . even from a black man.

  After a while, I fell in love with the German culture and its people. There were still idiots just like back home, but I just couldn't pull myself from a country where I was able to help save and rebuild a world.

  This was near the time when a much younger version of myself met the love of his life. Oh boy, was your grandma beautiful. I’d never met someone like her in my life. Your grandma was my first friend in a land where I wasn’t sure I belonged. All of her family had been killed in one form or another during the Great War. We were both alone in the world. Our love knew no bounds, no colors, and no limits.

  This is the story of our family and why we are here today.

  Mr. Smooth

  2

  Adal shot up from his bed and looked awkwardly around the room as sweat trickled down his forehead. He hadn’t had a nightmare, and he wasn’t scared. Too often he awoke in a sweat, kicking his blankets off in the middle of the night. It didn't he
lp that his father refused to drop the central air lower than seventy-nine degrees. It also didn't help that when the hot morning sun peeked above the horizon, it poured through his window.

  “Damn!” Adal shot his panic filled eyes at his alarm clock. He was running late. Today was the day he was presenting his Grandfather’s story and family history to his class. He hopped from his bed. As he did, his foot tangled in his sheet, causing him to fall face first to the floor.

  The loud ‘thud’ was followed by him pressing his arms outward like he was doing pushups and leveraging himself to stand again. He paused for a moment and looked around his room, almost reflexively assuring that no one had seen him take the tumble. Coming back to reality, he scoffed and rolled his eyes before darting to his bathroom.

  He stumbled about his morning ritual of clothes and hair as quickly as he could, taking only a few minutes to stare at himself in the mirror. Adal always made it a point to look as good as he possibly could before he left his room. He had long worked on his reputation, and wouldn't let something as small as being late jeopardized it.

  With himself prepared for the day, Adal took a moment to appreciate his appearance before leaving the mirror. His low-cut white t-shirt dipped just far enough to show the crease between his pecs that he’d spent months chiseling with track and field. His hair and fade were perfectly lined up, and he ran his hand over his neck. Smooth as ever.

  Giving himself a wink in the mirror, Adal slipped his sneakers on and ran for his bedroom door. As he grabbed the handle, he froze in place and smiled. He turned around and grabbed his notebook off the desk that sat near the door. In all of the morning rush, he nearly forgot the reason for his hurrying.

  Swinging his bedroom door open, he ran down the hall and hopped down the stairs to the first landing. Collecting himself, he walked down the last three stairs and then made a dash for the front door.