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In 1939, the world careened 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 Agaria's rebirth, for a threat to her new life, and for the magical summons that will draw him to her side.


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.

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