COLD: The way revenge is best served; the way a war was fought; the way a story should be told.
This is the phrase you'll read when you first visit Victoria Dougherty's website, but don't stop there. Her pages are filled with fascinating tales and tidbits about her--both real and fiction.
In the
surreal and paranoid underworld of wartime Prague, fugitive lovers Felix Andel
and Magdalena Ruza make some dubious alliances – with a mysterious Roman
Catholic cardinal, a reckless sculptor intent on making a big political
statement, and a gypsy with a risky sex life. As one by one their chances for
fleeing the country collapse, the two join a plot to assassinate Hitler’s
nefarious Minister of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda, Josef Goebbels.
But
the assassination attempt goes wildly wrong, propelling the lovers in separate
directions.
Felix’s
destiny is sealed at the Bone Church, a mystical pilgrimage site on the
outskirts of Prague, while Magdalena is thrust even deeper into the bowels of a
city that betrayed her and a homeland soon to be swallowed by the Soviets. As
they emerge from the shadowy fog of World War II, and stagger into the foul
haze of the Cold War, Felix and Magdalena must confront the past, and a
dangerous, uncertain future.
Praise for The Bone Church
'The Bone Church' by Victoria Dougherty is a beautifully crafted piece of fiction. Set largely in and around Prague, the narrative alternates between the time of the Nazi occupation and specific events in 1956 when Czechoslovakia was under the heel of the Soviets. . . Peopled with memorable characters and with some fine plotting, Ms Dougherty's novel is a serious candidate for my Book of the Year 2014." - Diogenes, Amazon reviewer
“The Bone Church” by Victoria Dougherty is a gripping and atmospheric historical thriller that intelligently weaves two narratives into one another . . . ChristophFischerBooks, Amazon TOP 500 REVIEWER
"Evocative, suspenseful, and poignant with a good dollop of dark humor, Victoria Dougherty's first novel sends us on a powerful journey we won't soon forget." - Jason Jordan, Amazon Reviewer
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Enjoy an Excerpt
Chapter 1
Vatican
City: March 11, 1956
The viscount with the dense, copper hair
rocked back and forth in the front pew. He whispered to the man next to him.
Felix pretended not to
notice the disturbance. He unlocked the tabernacle and retrieved a gold
chalice, pyx, paten, and crucifix from its purple silk interior, then arranged
them on the altar before the Cardinal. A sweet, breathy gust of air blew in
from the only open window in the chapel, making Felix’s cassock flutter against
his legs. It felt good – almost like the touch of a woman’s fingertips.
“In nomine Patris, et
Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen,” the Cardinal said, making the sign of the
cross over his head and breast.
At long last, the
viscount looked up from his rocking and whispering. He folded his hands and
consigned them to his lap, where Felix could still see on the man’s middle
finger the shiny indentation where a bulbous emerald ring had rested until a
few weeks ago. It had come time to pay off the Romanian attaché and his pet
border guard in exchange for a wispy woman with an advanced case of Parkinson’s
disease.
“But what wouldn’t a
man do for his mother?” The viscount had said upon their last meeting. Plenty, Felix had thought. He’d once
watched a man shoot his mother in the face for a single gold tooth rolled in a
piece of blood-stained suede. Of course, the attaché had failed to disclose
that the viscount’s mother – in addition to her Parkinson’s – was also in the
late stages of dementia, soiling herself and exhibiting a total vocabulary of
five words: “Paris, last Christmas” and “hideous curtains!”
Still, the viscount
appeared grateful for her safe recovery. He’d even remarked that she was eating
better.
“Judica me deus, et
discerne causam meam de gente non sancta: ab homine iniquo; et doloso erue me.”
Psalm 42. Felix
recited it in tandem with the Cardinal.
Judge me, O God, distinguish my cause from the nation that is not holy; deliver
me from the unjust and deceitful man.
Mass was brief – twenty-five minutes
start to finish – and Felix was glad of it. Cardinal Carlo Merillini’s
obligation to the row of elegant gentlemen bowed in the front pew was
fulfilled. The Cardinal now stood in the back of the nave with Primo, his valet,
while Felix collected the tithes and thanked the visitors: an Argentine
cattleman, an American steel magnate, a Polish-born hotelier, the viscount, and
a handful of other influential Catholics.
“Envy and death,
Father,” muttered the cattleman.
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s all they know.”
He was a little man, fully bald.
“Yes.”
The cattleman spoke
lovingly of his Lithuanian wife. Pretty woman. Felix had met her before.
“Envy and death,” the
cattleman repeated.
The cattleman’s
sister-in-law and young niece had been killed by a Russian soldier at the end
of the War.
Raped on a bed of horse dung in their stables, then bludgeoned with a bottle of
cheap brown vodka. Only his wife’s daughter from a first marriage had survived
the incident, hiding behind a bushel of hay and biting a salt lick to keep
quiet. The cattleman mouthed the girl’s name.
It was just the year
before last when Felix had finally been able to arrange passage for the girl.
Already sixteen by then, she’d been instructed to dress as a prostitute – presumably
for one of the port guards – but was instead folded into the bowels of a sofa
and smuggled over the Baltic Sea into Sweden.
“She still hates
horses,” the man said. “And she hates her mother.” The cattleman tapped Felix’s
forehead with his index finger. “Poisoned her mind.”
Felix looked the man
in the eye and clasped his hand. He then took the cattleman’s envelope and
handed it to Primo.
“And this is the
acquaintance I wrote to you about.” The cattleman tugged at Felix’s cassock.
Felix nodded at the Polish
hotelier, though they hadn’t been officially introduced. The man took Felix’s
hand and squeezed, bringing it to his lips and rubbing his twice shaved cheek
over the priest’s knuckles.
“A tragic story if I
ever heard one,” the cattleman said.
The Pole began to sob.
Felix put his hand on
the Pole’s head and assured him that he would speak to the Cardinal on his
behalf. “These matters take time,” he explained.
He didn’t have the
heart to tell the man how far down in the queue he was – how many dozens had
come before him begging about a wife, a husband, a son or daughter, a brother,
a lover. And how Felix, too, had begged and prayed until finally his turn had
come.
Meet the Author
Victoria
Dougherty writes fiction, drama, and essays that often revolve around spies,
killers, curses and destinies. Her work has been published or profiled in The
New York Times, USA Today, International Herald Tribune and elsewhere. Earlier
in her career, while living in Prague, she co-founded Black Box Theater,
translating, producing and acting in several Czech plays. She lives with her
husband and children in Charlottesville, Virginia.
For
more information, please visit Victoria Dougherty’s website.
You can also find her on Facebook, Twitter,
Goodreads, and Pinterest.
Next Week's Tour Stops (tour goes through the 31st)
Monday, July 14
Review at 100 Pages a Day
Review at 100 Pages a Day
Tuesday, July 15
Review at Kinx’s Book Nook
Review at Kinx’s Book Nook
Thursday, July 17
Guest Post at Savvy Verse & Wit
Guest Post at Savvy Verse & Wit
Friday, July 18
Review at Curling Up By the Fire
Review at Curling Up By the Fire
