by Barry Reese
CHAPTER VI
Questions at Midnight
The Peregrine arrived at the Ellis home just before twelve, a full moon giving him ample light to work by. He was cloaked in his dark garb, allowing him to blend in to every shadow. On his face was a small domino mask affixed with a birdlike beak over the nose. It was a bit of melodrama, he’d always reasoned, but it helped hide his identity amongst those frightened few who saw him and lived.
Though he was definitely in business mode, he couldn’t help but think about Evelyn. The young woman had recovered from her fright quickly, which had impressed him greatly, but it was clear that she didn’t want to be alone. She’d asked him to stay for a while longer and the implications of her offer were all too clear, but Max had been forced to excuse himself as politely as possible. There had been neither more visions nor their accompanying headaches, but he knew they were coming. Best to deal with the mystery head on rather than wait for him to be drawn into it against his will. Besides, he reasoned, whoever had done all of this had upset Evelyn… and the very notion of her being hurt roused in him a sense of chivalrous honor. He would find out whom had done these things, be it Trench or someone else… and he would make them pay.
Max crept through the quiet house, not making a sound. A light in the study was on and the fireplace was burning brightly as Beauregard sat in a large chair, smoking a cigar and staring into the dancing flames.
“Mr. Ellis?” Max hissed, making sure to keep his voice low and deep.
Beauregard glanced around in mounting terror, his eyes wide. “Who’s there? God knows you’ve taken everything you could have wanted! Why come back again?”
“I’m not the one who ruined your party, Mr. Ellis.” Max stepped partially into view, staying to the far side of the room so that Beauregard only saw what Max wanted him to see: a dark-clad figure with bird-like features, wielding a pistol. “But I want to know about them. What did they take from you?”
Beauregard hesitated, swallowing hard before speaking. “You’re the Peregrine, aren’t you?”
“What did they take from you?”
“A book…”
“All that over a collection of writings, Mr. Ellis? Seems unlikely. What kind of book was it?”
“A 17th century copy of Axiomata,” Beauregard said, looking back into the flames. He looked like a broken man, with none of the confidence he’d shown earlier in the evening. “Are you familiar with it?”
“No. Tell me.”
Beauregard sighed. “It was an important work in the collection of the Fraternity of the Rosy Cross.”
“The Rosicrucians,” Max whispered, remembering the name from his studies into the occult. He didn’t know much about them, but was sure that the Nova Alliance would know more. “Are you involved in witchcraft, Mr. Ellis?”
“No! I acquired it by accident, I assure you, knowing nothing of its origins. I was hoping to sell it to Trench but he claimed the price was far too high. And now it’s gone forever… and my hopes of getting my family out of debt is gone as well.”
“Why is it so important?”
Beauregard shifted in his seat, looking more forlorn by the minute. “The Fraternity was founded by a man named Christian Rosenkreuz. He was born in 1378 and lived until the age of 106. He was buried in a seven-sided vault and it’s said that he would return 120 years after his death.”
“Did he?”
“I don’t know!” Beauregard wailed. “But the Axiomata is said to contain references to where the vault can be found. The tomb is reputed to contain all the order’s books, plus magical mirrors, lanterns and more.” Beauregard sat forward in his seat, warming to the subject. Max thought he looked a bit mad, recounting these strange legends. “I’ve heard rumors that the Germans are looking for the true location of the tomb. Hitler’s a fanatic when it comes to occultism. Do you think the Nazis might have done this?”
“I think the thief might be a bit closer to home than that,” Max replied.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing you need concern yourself with.” Max began to turn away but Beauregard rose from his chair, sounding desperate.
“Wait!”
Max glanced over his shoulder, noting the way Beauregard’s hands shook with impotent rage. “Yes, Mr. Ellis?”
“I don’t care if you are a madman, like the papers say. I want you to find the men who did this unspeakable thing, who violated my home and my honor. I want you to kill them!”
Astonishing how quickly a man becomes murderous when it’s his own property being threatened, Max thought. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Ellis. In the meantime, I wouldn’t throw any more parties.”
Beauregard remained where he was, scarcely believing his eyes. It seemed that the Peregrine vanished into thin air, melding into the very shadows that blanketed the room. “Kill them,” he whispered again. “If what the ladies said about those men is true, they are abominations…”
CHAPTER VII
Jacob’s Ladder
“So, tell me again why you’ve brought me to this dreadful place?” Evelyn looked out of place, in her cosmopolitan fur-lined coat and small hat. Atlanta was fast returning to its glory of the pre-War days, but it still retained a lot of its country heritage. Evelyn, on the hand, reeked of 20th century sophistication. It was a dichotomy that attracted Max to her, for she certainly stood out amongst the women of the South. Someday that would change, he knew, and Atlanta would take its place amongst the leading cities of America… but that day was not today.
Max was standing in the dimly lit shop of curiosities, staring intently at an authentic sarcophagus. Trench’s place of business was full of interesting odds and ends, many of which were no more than elaborate forgeries. But several of them were the real deal and Max wondered why Trench didn’t ply his wares in New York or London, where the prices for such items could be much higher. “I thought you might appreciate a shopping excursion,” Max said to Evelyn. “To take your mind off the events of last evening.”
“A charming notion, but when you suggested it, I was picturing… I don’t know, some place that didn’t include mummies or haunted mirrors.”
Max turned to face her, trying not lose himself in her deep green eyes. “The best shops in the city, I promise. But I want to see Mr. Trench first.”
“I didn’t realize the two of you were so close.”
“We aren’t. But he was with me last night… he saw the same things you and I did.”
Evelyn’s features shifted at the mention of the walking dead. “I dreamed about them, you know. I barely slept a wink.”
Max reached out and touched her cheek, a move that surprised them both. Though they’d engaged in harmless flirtations before and there had been the hint of physical pleasures in her invitation to stay last night, there had not been overt touching between them. “I won’t let them harm you,” he said.
Evelyn looked both amused and touched by his sincerity. “You’re a rare man, Mr. Davies. There are times I look at you and think you’re a modern day knight, springing right out of those old storybooks of my childhood. But sometimes when I look in your eyes…”
“Yes?” he asked, moving closer to her.
“I’m not sure I know you really are. I mean…”
“Ahem.”
Max and Evelyn abruptly moved apart, startled by the sudden presence of Jacob Trench. He stood in a doorway leading to an off-limits storage area, his eyes taking in the scene before him. Max noted that there was a hint of blush to Evelyn’s cheeks.
“Mr. Trench,” Max said, moving to greet him. “Fascinating place you have here.”
“Thank you, Mr. Davies,” Trench responded, not accepting the offered hand. “I’m surprised to see you here, however. I didn’t realize you had an interest in antiquities.”
“I’ve traveled the world many times,” Max answered, holding the other man’s gaze. He saw questions aplenty in Trench’s eyes and Max felt relieved. If Trench had heard any of the stories about the P
eregrine, he had apparently paid them no heed… or at the very least, was not worried. “In fact, some of your items are clever forgeries. But I’m sure you know that.”
A corner of Trench’s mouth turned upwards. “Of course. But for some of my customers, these forgeries are the closest they will ever come to being able to afford the items they dream of. I have authentic versions of everything on display here… I merely choose to leave some of them in safer places.”
“Evelyn and I were just discussing the things we saw last night. Have you given them any thought?”
Jacob sighed, finally nodding in Evelyn’s direction. It was apparent that he’d been involved in something of interest when Max had entered the store and was now resigning himself to the fact that he would be delayed from returning to it.
“A bit… but I’m sure you’ll understand if I say that it’s not something I’d like to dwell upon.”
“You handled yourself far better than most men would have,” Max offered. “I daresay that poor Beauregard would have been beside himself when faced with the undead.”
Trench glanced past Max, watching as Evelyn occupied herself with a small brass scarab. “Are you a spiritual man, Mr. Davies? Do you believe that someone might have the power to raise the dead and send them forth to ruin someone’s party?”
“You mentioned that you’d seen zombies before,” Max answered.
“Yes. Explaining why I’d be so receptive to the notion of the undead. But as for you… just as you thought that most men would have run screaming from the things we saw last evening, I’d expect most men to come up with every excuse possible… other than the obvious: that what we saw was real.” Trench turned his eyes away from Evelyn’s trim form, taking the time to examine Max more closely. “But you seemed quite at ease amongst them. You’ve seen such things before.”
Max merely shrugged as Evelyn finished her browsing and came up to join them.
Jacob inclined his head in her direction. “Miss Gould. So wonderful to see you again. Have you found anything in my shop that catches your fancy?”
“Actually, I think the beetle is quite nice.”
“The scarab was taken from a Pharaoh’s tomb and is said to be quite cursed.”
“Do you really believe in such things?” Evelyn asked, her skepticism tinged by the remembrance of what she’d seen the night before.
“I never put limits on what the world might bring, Miss Gould.” Trench returned his attention to Max. “So… to answer your earlier question, no, I have not thought much about the events of last night. Was there anything else?”
“Only one thing… I’m interested in acquiring a manuscript. A copy of the Axiomata. Do you think you might have something like that on hand?”
“Recent copies only,” Trench replied, looking like he was ready to bring the game to an end. “And they are far from accurate, or so I’ve heard. Are you a member of the Fraternity, Mr. Davies?”
“No, just interested in helping a friend. Beauregard’s copy has gone missing.”
“How tragic.”
“Isn’t it?” Max took Evelyn’s arm in his, ignoring the look of confusion on her face. It was obvious that she was curious as to the real reason behind their visit to the store, but Max knew she was smart enough to hold her questions for later. “See you around, Jacob. Let me know if you happen to stumble across a copy of the Axiomata, won’t you?”
Trench watched in silence as Max and Evelyn left the store, though he crossed over to a window and peeked beneath the blinds, following them with his eyes until they turned the corner and were out of sight.
“You should have dealt with him before now,” a heavily accented voice said from behind.
Trench glanced back at the aged form of K’ntu, noting that the old man looked the same today as he had during their first meeting in Tibet. In all that time, Trench had never seen him eat a thing, nor found him sleeping. He came and went like a wraith in the night. “Even if the stories are true, he’s nothing more than a maniac with a gun. He can’t stop me.”
“You shouldn’t ignore them. Even a small pebble can lead to a great man’s demise.”
Trench sighed. He’d barely begun to study the Axiomata, but so far everything pointed to his eventual success. With the information contained in the tome, he would be able to find the last items he needed to open Lucifer’s Cage… But perhaps K’ntu was right: Jacob might need to grind the bothersome pebbles of the world—staring with Max Davies—into the ground first, before moving on to the next stage of his plan.
Smiling, Trench said, “Old master, I’ll take care of him. Trust me.”
The man who had tormented Jacob Trench mentally and physically did not return the expression. He regarded Trench as a tool, one that was necessary for the revival of the ultimate master they both served, but nothing more. If Trench died, K’ntu would shed no tears, but he would be forced to return to his lonely vigil in Tibet and the Cage would not be opened for many a year. That simply could not be allowed to happen. “Take no chances,” K’ntu warned. “This man must die or he will ruin everything.”
CHAPTER VIII
The Devil’s Night
Max sat in the damp grass, staring up at the moon. It was well past eleven at night, but he couldn’t sleep. It was too hot and he was restless. The dreams had come again, two since dinner. In the first, he’d been running down a dusty corridor, something nipping at his heels. In the second, he’d seen Evelyn, her pale arms bare in a thin gown of some kind. An ornate headdress adorned her head and she was bound to a large bloodstained altar. A snake had coiled itself around her left foot.
The nature of the dreams disturbed him greatly. Not just because it seemed that Evelyn was in danger, but because none of his visions had been quite so… vague… before. Normally, he saw the face of those he needed to kill, perhaps augmented by scenes of their crimes. But he didn’t recognize the cobwebbed lair that he had found himself in during his dreams tonight, nor did he see signs of Trench or anyone else. Was it supposed to be the tomb of Christian Rosenkreuz? If so, that meant that Trench was closer to his goal than Max would have ever dreamed.
“Mr. Davies?” a tremulous voice asked.
Max looked up to see Nettie, his chief maid, standing not far away, clutching at her robe. She was an elderly black woman with fiery, intelligent eyes and skin so thin that you could see it stretched taut over her bones. In the short time that he’d known her, Max had come to recognize several endearing qualities about her. Most notable amongst them was her deep and abiding faith in God, which had allowed her to endure a lifetime of racism and blocked opportunities. “Yes, Nettie? What is it?”
“Gonna catch your death of cold out here,” she warned.
Max couldn’t resist smiling. He had been burning up in the house, but the locals considered this weather to be abnormally cool for a summertime night. “I’ll come inside in a little while. Did you need something?”
“There’s a call from you. From New York City.” These last words were spoken with great solemnity, as if Nettie had just told him something that simply could not be believed.
“Thank you.” Max rose and dusted off his bottom. Nettie followed him as they headed back to the house, her eyes turned this way and that. “Something wrong?” Max asked her, noticing her nervousness.
“It’s a devil’s night.”
“I don’t follow you…”
“That’s what my mamma called it when the moon was all pink like it is tonight. A blood moon.”
Max didn’t say anything to that, though the old woman’s words chilled him on some primeval level. He’d heard similar things in his own youth and had found them true often enough.
Stepping into his study, Max picked up the phone. To his delight, the voice on the other end was Leopold Grace, the current head of the Nova Alliance and one of Max’s dearest friends. “Leopold! You got my message, I see.”
“Yes… and I take it that your retirement didn’t last very long?”
> Max grinned. Leopold knew about his activities as the Peregrine and had shared his own nocturnal activities with Max in turn. Leopold possessed a book which allowed him to travel between worlds, a gift from his father, Eobard. “Let’s say I’m keeping busy. Do you have anything for me?”
“There are a number of other copies of the Axiomata floating about, but the earliest I’ve been able to put my hands on is only from the late 19th century. It is allegedly a good copy, though, with many details not found in other translations.”
“How soon could you get it to me?”
“Through normal means? A few days. Via some of our more… esoteric methods… how does tomorrow sound?”
“Fantastic. When you’re in Atlanta in the fall, I’ll take you to the Fox Theatre. You’d enjoy it.”
“I thought it was bankrupt,” Leopold answered.
“That was back in ’32. The city took it over for a few years but it was sold to some gentlemen named Lucas and Jenkins last year. They’re using it as a movie house these days… a very opulent one.”
“I’ll take you up on that,” Leopold answered with a laugh.
Max was about to ask Leopold how some of their mutual friends were getting on when the line went abruptly silent. He checked the connection several times, a frown settling on to his face. Without even looking, he knew that there was someone outside the open window, perched low at the side of the house. Those sorts of feelings had saved Max’s life again and again over the years and he’d long ago lost any inhibitions he’d had about following his hunches.
Setting the receiver back in its cradle, Max knelt down and reached under his left pants leg, retrieving his pistol. He hated that whomever was out there had chosen his home as the battleground… Nettie and the other servants were innocents in the affairs of the Peregrine. My two worlds keeping meshed together, he mused. If I don’t find some way to make peace with this, someone I love is going to die eventually.