The Peregrine Omnibus Volume One

by Barry Reese

  Endings and Beginnings

  Evelyn slipped out of the tub, checking her reflection in the mirror. She looked none the worse for the harrowing adventure in Germany, though the first few days back had left her feeling sore in places she didn’t even know she had. As she wrapped a fresh towel about herself, she wondered which dress she should wear for the evening: the black one was her favorite but she’d noticed that Max favored the red.

  Red it would be, then.

  After dressing and applying her makeup, Evelyn cast a glance over an open script next to her bed. It was a good one and it promised a return to the silver screen, both of which appealed to her. Working on the stage in Atlanta was fun but there was always a tiny part of her that wanted more.

  She stepped out of the room and went downstairs, where Max was waiting for her. He’d arrived early for their date, which was par for the course. In the month or so since they’d returned from Germany, they’d gone out practically every evening and he’d made it a standard practice to show up an hour or so early each time. It had annoyed her at first but she’d come to recognize it as a compliment of sorts. He wanted to see her as soon as possible.

  She found him in the den, standing next to the radio. His expression was grim, but it didn’t detract from his handsome features. In fact, it only added to them. “Something wrong?”

  Max turned to face her, his eyes drifting over her curves. In some men, such a look would be worthy of a slap… but for some reason, Evelyn didn’t exactly mind that Max found her body pleasing enough for the occasional leer. “You look wonderful,” he said.

  “Thank you. But you didn’t answer the question.”

  “It’s nothing. Are you ready to go? The movie starts at six-thirty.”

  “Don’t give me that, Mr. Davies. There’s something whirring away in that mind of yours, so spill.”

  “There was a news report, that’s all. The police have found another body. That’s the third one in the last week.”

  “Another child?”

  “Yes. A boy of about nine.”

  “Awful business.” Evelyn studied his face. “Have you had any visions?”

  Max stiffened and Evelyn wondered if she’d gone too far. Since their return, he had said nothing about visions or ghosts. She didn’t think he was hiding them from her… she truly believed they hadn’t plagued him. After they had disposed of the now harmless Cage by turning it over to some of Max’s friends, it had seemed like a door had closed on that portion of his life and she could sense his newfound peace of existence.

  “I did see something, yes,” he admitted at last.

  “What was it?”

  “I saw a woman, working with a hack saw. She was… slicing up a little girl.”

  “A woman’s doing this? I can’t believe it…”

  “Women are just as capable of violence as men. I’ve learned that often enough.” Max ran a hand through his hair. “I’d hoped this was all behind me. That my father had left me be.”

  “Maybe he has. Maybe you’re tapping into your own powers now, without his help.”

  “I just want to be your boyfriend, Evelyn. Not the Peregrine.”

  Evelyn felt her eyes grow moist and she reached out to take his hand. “Why not have it all?”

  “Evelyn…”

  “Let me tell you a little secret, Max. The Peregrine is my boyfriend. And you’re the Peregrine. You’re not two different people. And I hope you don’t think you’re going to keep me from stopping the murders of little children.”

  Max sighed. “You mean to come with me, then?”

  “Of course I do. I’ve even designed myself a mask.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “You’ll like it! And I found the perfect fabric for the leotard.”

  “I have fabric you can use. Bulletproof.”

  “All the better.” Evelyn tossed her pocketbook down on the couch. “We’ll catch the movie tomorrow.”

  “You’re an amazing woman, Miss Gould.”

  “Then we’re a perfect match, Mr. Davies.”

  They kissed once, quickly, and then moved to the waiting car outside.

  Somewhere, a killer lurked.

  THE END

  THE KINGDOM OF BLOOD

  An adventure starring the Peregrine

  By Barry Reese

  CHAPTER I

  The Quiet Place

  Manhattan—August, 1936

  A small, flickering light danced on the cobblestone walls, illuminating the man’s passage through the tunneled walkway. He was dressed in a crisp black suit that was dotted here and there with dirt and grime, an oil lamp held firmly in one liver spotted hand. In his late forties, Reed Barrows was still as trim as he’d been in his youth but in all other regards age was weighing heavily upon him. It showed in the sickly pallor of his skin and the creaking of his knees. He paused beside a gold-and-crystal casket, the dim glow from the lamp illuminating the figure within. It was a mummy, one wrapped in linens that had begun to rot from exposure to damp air in the years before Reed had bought it. He’d brought it here, to his quiet place, where it now rested in an airless case. With luck, it would last far beyond the few years left to its owner.

  Reed stared into the lifeless eyes for several moments, soaking in the ambience of the dead female before him. What had she been like in life? How had she traveled through history, ending up here, beneath one of the oldest buildings in Manhattan?

  Putting such frivolous wonderings aside, Reed turned away from the mummy and continued his descent into the quiet place. All along the narrow tunnel were small glass cases containing oddities that he’d collected: a “Fiji mermaid,” which was actually nothing more than the top half of a monkey sewed on to the body of a fish; a crystal skull from South America; a battered, somewhat mistranslated copy of one of the Tomes of Blood. He loved these things, far more than he loved his wife or children.

  The passageway narrowed a bit towards the end, finally opening onto a small chamber in which a wooden coffin rested atop several large stones. Reed stood there for a moment, breathing in the dank smell of earth. The sounds of the world above were a faint, distant memory.

  Setting the lamp on the ground, he reached into his coat and withdrew a slender knife. The shadows cast by the lamp made his body appear elongated and inhuman, but Reed took no notice of it. He grunted with the exertion of shoving the heavy lid from the coffin, letting it fall to the floor with a thump.

  The strong scent of death wafted up from within and Reed coughed a bit, wrinkling his nose. The woman inside was long dead, wrapped in a long black gown that, in its day, would have barely contained the lovely female curves of its owner. Wispy strands of black hair still lay about the corpse’s shoulders and her hands were neatly folded over her bosom. A stout piece of wood protruded from that same bosom, driven deep by the actions of a strong man, many years before.

  Reed licked his lips, aching to reach out and caress the body of his mistress. There had been many nights when he’d snuck from the bedroom he shared with the horrible shrew he’d married… snuck down here, to pour out his heart to the only woman he truly felt comfortable with.

  “It’s time,” he whispered. He fought the urge to bend down and press his lips to hers. It seemed fitting to wake her with a kiss, like in an old fairy tale. But this was no nursery rhyme, to impart wisdom or morals to a child. This was something far worse: a mockery of all that was holy. Reed was about to awaken the dead.

  He raised his hand over the corpse’s face, driving the knife roughly into the skin of his wrist. The cut was a ragged one, for he had never handled a knife for anything more than cutting his food at dinner. He gasped as the pain spread through his arm, but he kept cutting until thick red droplets fell from the wound, landing one after the other against the mouth of his beloved.

  When he was satisfied that enough of his blood was seeping down her throat, he tossed aside the knife and grasped the wooden stake with both hands. He immediately regretted the order of h
is actions, for his wrist ached so horribly that he was almost unable to pull upon the stake. But he fought through the agony, desperate for what was to come.

  Slowly the stake moved. It felt like it was wedged in concrete, but Reed groaned aloud as he yanked with all his might. The point of the stake eventually came free and Reed fell backwards, landing on his bottom. He panted, his eyes tightly closed as the hammering in his chest slowed to a steady thump.

  When he looked up, he realized that he had missed a stunning transformation. The woman in the coffin was now sitting up, her skin a lovely, healthy shade of pink. Her wispy hair was now lustrous and deep black in color, perfectly suited to the obsidian orbs that were her eyes. Her lips were stained red with blood, with small droplets running down her chin and neck. The hole where the stake had been was now filled in with warm flesh, her ample bosom rising and falling as she enjoyed the renewed sensation of breathing. Reed found that last part amusing and he smiled.

  “What is so humorous, my savior?” she asked, her voice sounding both grateful and mocking in equal amounts. She spoke in husky tones, with a slight Eastern European accent.

  “You’re breathing. I didn’t know you could do that.”

  “It is only a semblance of breathing… all the better to blend in with humanity.” She rose from the coffin, extending her long legs over the side and hopping down almost delicately. “Where am I? And what shall I call you?”

  “My name is Reed Barrow. And you’re in New York. Beneath my home.” He stood up, suddenly self-conscious in her presence. She was a creature of unearthly beauty, while he… he felt so old. “I love you,” he suddenly stammered, blushing like a schoolboy as he said it.

  She laughed softly, reassuringly. “Thank you, Reed. You may call me Camilla.”

  Reed sighed, letting his lips and tongue practice saying the name. He liked it.

  “How did I come to… this New York, Reed? And why have you awakened me?”

  “I bought you,” he whispered, hoping the explanation didn’t offend her. “I… collect unusual things. When I saw you and learned you were supposed to be a vampire… I became obsessed with you.”

  “You wish to be my lover?”

  Her frankness made his blush deepen. “I… I have a wife.”

  Camilla reached out and touched his face. Her fingers felt electric as they slid over his skin. “Shall I kill her for you?”

  “Oh, yes. Please.”

  CHAPTER II

  Death Takes a Holiday

  London—July, 1937

  Max Davies was a good-looking man. He knew this in the same abstract way that a gifted athlete knew they could accomplish things that others simply could not. Their physical prowess was so much a part of them that they barely noticed it. Max’s good looks were a bit like that. He stole the heart of virtually every woman who met him, while their husbands or boyfriends looked on in jealous fury… but he was never arrogant about it, for he rarely gave consideration to his appearance beyond simple courtesy.

  Max had a slightly olive complexion to his skin and wavy black hair, the sort that made women want to run their fingers through it. He favored well-tailored suits and wide-brimmed hats, but was going decidedly casual today, wearing a pair of pressed slacks and a sweater vest over a tan-colored shirt. “Our dinner reservations are for seven thirty,” he reminded his wife.

  Evelyn Davies fixed him with a critical eye. She was a second-tier actress on stage and screen in the United States, but here in London not a second glance was given her… at least, not because of her fame. She was a striking woman to look at, however, no matter what country she was in. She wore her auburn hair pulled back today and a white safari-style shirt with brown slacks. “That’s the third time you’ve mentioned that to me. In the last hour.”

  “I just don’t want us to be late.”

  “I never knew you were the worrying type,” she replied with a shake of her head. The two of them were standing near the Halls of Parliament, along with a group of some twenty or so tourists who had booked the same walking tour they had. Max had tried to argue that he knew London well enough to show her the city without the need of a tour guide, but Evelyn had won out on the basis that she was on her honeymoon and it would simply have to be done correctly. They would stay at the finest hotels, eat at the finest restaurants and take the best tours… because she didn’t plan on doing a second honeymoon at any point in her life. “We’ll be there in plenty of time,” she continued. “Now hush so I can hear what our guide’s saying.”

  Max grimaced but inwardly he was pleased that she was enjoying herself. His life had rarely featured moments where he could bring pleasure to others… in fact, most of his existence seemed predicated on the exact opposite.

  When he’d been a young boy, Max had seen his father killed in front of him, in an act of senseless violence. Though he had not known it then, his latent telepathy had opened his mind to the world that lay beyond this one, allowing the ghost of his father to invisibly haunt him. His father’s rage over his own death had led him to induce painful visions of crimes directly into Max’s head, propelling him along the path of vigilantism. He had become a master of criminal science and gained degrees in Engineering, Chemistry and Psychology, all before his mid-twenties. And there were his many travels throughout the world, where he’d learned fighting skills from the best the planet had to offer. In the end, he’d become something more than mere man. He’d become the Peregrine, the shadowy nocturnal avenger who dispatched criminals with efficient ease… always leaving behind a single calling card adorned with the image of a bird in flight.

  That calling card had nearly led to Max’s capture by the police on more than one occasion, leading him to flee Boston for the relatively safer confines of Atlanta, Georgia. There he’d become embroiled in the schemes of Jacob Trench… and there he’d fallen in love with Evelyn Gould. Now she shared his secret, even going so far as to join him on occasion. It was a match made in heaven.

  Max withdrew a cigarette and lit it, cupping one hand about the match so it didn’t blow out in the wind. He’d always detested smoking, but had picked up the habit in the last few months. For some reason, it seemed to keep his headaches at bay… or at least that’s what he told himself. Since ending Trench’s life the summer before, he’d only experienced four visions, far fewer than in the past. Each had compelled him to seek out murderers and rapists… and kill them. He had not made contact with his father during this time and was uncertain if he was still being haunted… though he suspected he was.

  “That smells horrid,” Evelyn hissed. She disapproved of his vice, but had never pressed the issue beyond verbal reproach.

  Max ignored her, exhaling a long plume of smoke and clapping lightly as the tour guide wrapped up his spiel. Dark clouds loomed on the horizon, a sure sign that it was going to be another wet and chilly night in London.

  “Well, it’s all done. We can get dinner now. In plenty of time, I might add.” Evelyn took his hand and began crossing the street with him. “Have you had fun?”

  “With you? Always.”

  “So have I. I still can’t believe you proposed to me… and that we’re married. It all feels like a dream.” She gazed up at him shyly. “You really don’t mind that I keep Gould as my stage name, do you?”

  “I told you I didn’t. I understand how important it is for producers to remember your name.”

  “Good. I love being Evelyn Davies in private, though. It’s…”

  Max failed to hear the rest of her words. He stumbled a bit, nearly falling to his knees in the street. A rushing sound filled his ears and a terrible pain started behind his eyes, quickly spreading to encompass his entire skull. Images, fuzzy and indistinct, ran through his mind, showing a succession of horrors: a stunningly beautiful woman wearing a clinging black gown, her lips and chin stained crimson with blood; a man… her thrall… standing outside a grand old house in Atlanta, watching nervously as a pine box was lowered from a moving truck; the screaming de
ath of a police officer, the woman’s teeth tearing into his neck. And the words ‘Kingdom of Blood,’ hanging like a shroud over his mind…

  “Max!”

  Max gasped for air, sounding like a drowning man at sea. He came to his surroundings, seeing that he was leaning against a wall while a small crowd gathered about, curious to see what had set him off so. “I’m… I’m okay.”

  Evelyn looked about at the confused faces. “Epilepsy,” she shrugged, feigning a smile. One by one, the gawkers moved away, though many still glanced over their shoulders at Max. “What did you see?” she whispered, turning her attentions back to her husband. “It was a vision, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. It was a very powerful one, too.”

  “Well?” she pressed.

  “We need to get back to Atlanta. She’s there.”

  “Who’s there?”

  Max hesitated, thinking it would sound absurd. But then he remembered that this woman had stood at his side as he fought demons, harpies and resurrected magicians. “A vampire.”

  “Like that Bela Lugosi character? Dracula?”

  “More shapely than that.”

  “Cad.”

  “Sorry, can’t be helped. She’s beautiful.”

  “And dangerous, I take it.”

  “Very.”

  “Well, the honeymoon lasted longer than I thought it would.”

  Max sighed. “You could stay here without me, I suppose.”

  Evelyn placed her hands on her hips and regarded him coolly. “Very funny. Besides, do you really think I’d send you back to Atlanta to face some shapely vampire without me?”

  CHAPTER III

  The Snowy Mountain

  The Peregrine ascended the snowy cliff, the feel of biting cold nipping at his cheeks. He wore the long trench coat and domino-style mask that had become infamous amongst the criminal element, but his clothing did little to warm him from the elements. He ignored the discomfort, however, telling himself again and again that this was not real, that this was a figment of his imagination.