by Barry Reese
Evelyn flushed but said nothing in response, instead kissing William on the forehead and telling him what a big boy he was. Max immediately sensed his mistake and sighed. For some reason, Evelyn had taken to the poor thing and it made Max wonder how she’d react when the truth finally sank in: there was no way they could keep that child, not when he’d put William and everyone else in the house at permanent risk.
A knocking at the front door allowed Max to put aside the troubling thoughts that were plaguing him. He answered with a wide grin, recognizing Leonid, Flynn and the woman who owned both of those men’s hearts, Libby Raines. The curvaceous beauty wore a fuzzy sweater and skirt, while both men were dressed in slacks, warm jackets and white shirts.
“Max,” Kaslov said with a friendly shake of his head. “Thanks very much for having us over.”
“My pleasure. Come on inside.”
Warm pleasantries were exchanged between the Davies’ and Kaslov’s party, before Evelyn and Libby went to put William to bed. As the men put away their things in the guest rooms, Max managed to pull Leonid to the side. “I’m glad that you’re here, Leo. I have a problem that you might be able to help with.”
“And I have one for you, as well.”
Max blinked in surprise. “What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t want to mention it over the phone,” the Russian whispered, “But there’s a growing problem throughout the country. The dead are returning to life, with a powerful hunger for living flesh.”
“The Death Cabal,” Max answered, shaking his head.
“Who are they?”
“Necromancers. I fought one of them in England just a few days ago. They’ve been growing increasingly active around the world. Best rumors I’ve heard peg their inner circle as being only 4-5 people but they have many more servants than that.”
“Any idea what their ultimate goals are?”
“Not really. The one I met in England was working with a vampire who was trying to unite the various undead factions in Europe.”
Kaslov stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I just came from Massachusetts where a group of undead were terrorizing a small port town. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason behind their actions… do you think the Cabal is just interested in chaos for its own sake?”
“Honestly? I’m not sure.” Max nodded at Flynn as he stepped up to join them.
“You fellas solved all the world’s problems yet?” the cocky gunman asked, a roguish grin on his face.
Kaslov didn’t seem to hear him. Instead, he looked Max in the eyes and asked “You said you had a problem of your own?”
“Did you notice the girl hovering in the shadows of the living room? The one with the baby?”
“Yes.”
“The baby’s the problem.”
“What’s wrong?” Flynn asked. “It keeping you up at night with its crying?”
“No,” Max said with a grim smile. “He’s dead.”
CHAPTER IV
The Cabal
Macon, Georgia—Just Past Midnight
Keane watched the delicate needlework and never flinched once. The man before him had been horribly scarred in an incident several years before but he had taken to wearing the skin of the dead in place of his own. Born Horatio Ledger, the man who wore the faces of his victims now preferred to be called Dr. Zero. It was an odd name, even for one with such exotic tastes as cannibalism and necrophilia, but Keane had never pushed for the reasons behind the identity.
Sometimes, it was simply best not to ask.
The Death Cabal was based out of this small Southern town, deliberately placing themselves close to the Peregrine. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer, Dr. Zero frequently said and Keane couldn’t argue the point. They’d been here for nearly two years and not once had the Peregrine come close to locating them.
The group met in an old American Legion headquarters in downtown Macon, using the public offices as a front for the terrors that went on behind closed doors. Rape, murder and the raising of the undead were frequent activities for the Inner Circle, of whom Keane was one.
The Inner Circle—eight men, ranging in age from 25 to 70—were gathered now, watching patiently for Dr. Zero to begin the meeting.
Zero wore blue-silver pants and a matching shirt, a small pentagram stitched onto the right breast of the garment. His face was newly stitched—he was skilled enough to do the work himself—and now looked like that of a young man in his mid twenties with broad lips and clear skin. Zero’s hair was so black that it looked unnatural. When he spoke, he sounded like a professor beginning a college lecture. “Our plans to infiltrate the vampire community in Europe have come to an end. The demise of the Baroness means that there is no one left in that region who trusts us. Mr. Keane… please inform us why we should not blame you for this debacle.”
Keane stood up from his seat, casting a glance around the room before beginning his spiel. Most of the others were avoiding looking at him, which he knew was a bad sign. The room was badly lit, with only a few large candles casting light over the meeting. In the shadows of the room, a few of the undead shambled about as far as their chains would allow, moaning at the presence of living flesh. They could be unleashed by Zero at a moment’s notice, ready to rend Keane limb from limb.
“I take full responsibility for the failures in England,” Keane said, surprising those in assemblage. Even Zero seemed taken aback, keeping his silence while Keane continued. “But I would like to point out that this defeat may pave the way for greater victories to come.”
“Continue,” Zero said, staring at Keane with growing delight. Of all the Inner Circle, only Keane had the audacity to amuse the Cabal’s leader.
“The Peregrine intervened, with the aid of the same young woman we’ve heard rumors about before. While their dual identities remain unknown to us, I firmly believe that they are not only partners but lovers. After they had emerged from the fray victorious, I watched from a distance. They touched and kissed in a decidedly non-platonic way.” Keane began to pace a bit, playing to his audience. “Of course, that knowledge alone does us little good. But it might prompt future moves against the Peregrine, perhaps suggesting the use of the girl as a pawn.”
Zero shifted a bit, wondering where Keane was going with all this. Was the man simply biding time…? If so, his death would be all the more painful. Zero tried to picture carving away Keane’s face, stretching it over his own ruined features. It would be so beautiful.
Keane’s next words roused Zero from his reverie. “The child of prophecy exists,” the necromancer was saying. Immediately, there were gasps and cries of outrage from the Inner Circle. Keane held up a hand to silence them. “It’s true. I saw him. The Baroness claims she used some sort of spell to ensure that this vampire child would grow and change, just like a living one would.”
“What spell?” one of the Inner Circle wondered aloud, scoffing at the idea. “I’ve scoured every text known to us and there is no such thing!”
Zero spoke then, his voice cutting through the din. “And it is said that in the days of fire and strife, the child of life and death shall utter his first cries. His arrival shall signal that the time is right for the gates of oblivion to be flung open and the spirits of the dead to claim what is rightfully theirs. The Shambling Ones shall feed and mankind shall crumble to their knees, begging for salvation.”
Keane nodded slowly, smiling triumphantly. “The Peregrine took the child with him. I wasn’t close enough to hear their words, but I believe the woman was quite taken with it. They won’t harm it. I’m sure of it.”
“Even if you are right,” Zero said, closing his eyes for the moment. He let the moment extend, picturing what a child such as this would look like, half alive, half dead. He opened his lids and stared at Keane once more. “How would this help us? In order to open the Gates, we must have the child. Do you know where to find the Peregrine?”
“No,” Keane admitted, “but I can still get us the child. The
Baroness had a young girl named Gloria who watched over the boy, whom she called Kenneth. I suspect that the Peregrine took Gloria with him to help care for the infant.”
“And you can reach this girl? She would bring you the baby?”
“The Baroness told me how to contact her—a minor spell that would allow her to check on the boy’s safety at all times. I’m convinced that she would meet with me… and bring the boy if I told her to do so. She was quite taken with me in our previous meeting, I believe.”
Zero smiled beneath the mask of flesh that he wore. “Mr. Keane, you are forgiven for your past failures… but I do want to warn you. If you are wrong about this child being the one from the prophecy or if you fail to deliver him to us unharmed, I will make sure that your death is only the beginning of your suffering.”
CHAPTER V
Love’s Deception
Gloria cradled the tightly wrapped infant against her shoulder, hurrying through the crowded downtown streets of Atlanta. Since it was daytime, little Kenneth was sleeping like the dead, bundled up so that no stray rays of the sun could possibly touch him. Gloria hated to sneak away from the Davies home like this, as they had been very kind to her, but the message she’d received had been more than enough to spur her into action.
Keane had spoken to her through the same means that the Baroness had once used: a small pillar of flame had materialized in her bedroom just before dawn, allowing the necromancer to see and speak to her. Gloria had felt naked in front of him, dressed as she was in only her nightgown but she’d made no effort to cover herself.
His words still haunted her: “I tried to wait for you, Gloria, but I knew I couldn’t defeat the Peregrine and his lady. I hope they haven’t hurt you… that brief moment when I met you before they arrived has stayed with me in ways I never would have expected. Come see me, please. Bring the child. There may be hope yet to revive his mother.”
Gloria could scarcely contain her excitement. Not only was he interested in seeing her again but he held out hope for the return of the Baroness as well! She had dressed in a warm but inviting outfit and hurried into town as quickly as she dared. The crowds of shoppers were thick around the shops, many of them looking to stretch their holiday dollars as far as possible, but she paid them no heed. She had eyes for only one man and when she spotted him, she smiled broadly.
Keane stood next to a bench, just outside a small park. He looked handsome and sophisticated, hands pushed deep into the pockets of his trousers. When he saw her approaching, he smiled generously and opened his arms to embrace her. “Gloria! I am so glad you could come! And is that the little one?”
Gloria beamed, surprised but pleased by the physical contact. “Yes. It’s Kenneth. I was so surprised when you called me,” she stammered, feeling like a giddy schoolgirl.
“I should have done it sooner,” he replied, keeping a grip on her elbow. “I want you to come with me. Away from here.”
“You really think the Baroness could be revived? I saw what they did to her! I didn’t think—”
“You mustn’t blame yourself,” Keane said, cutting her off. “She wouldn’t have expected you to do anything more than what you did. Protecting Kenneth would have been your first priority and that’s exactly what she would have wanted.”
Gloria sat down beside him on the bench, unable to tear her eyes away from him. “I’ll go with you,” she promised, “but the Davies’ aren’t bad people. They just don’t understand the Baroness…”
“And they never will,” he reminded her. “Eventually, they’ll decide that they can never ‘fix’ whatever is wrong with Kenneth… and then they’ll destroy him, just like they did his mother.”
Gloria shivered a bit, unable to believe that Miss Evelyn would do such a thing. But Keane was so persuasive and they had dismembered the Baroness, after all. “Where will we go?”
“A safe place.” Keane took her hand and squeezed it gently. “Somewhere you and I can make sure Kenneth will be taken care of… and where we can learn more about one another.”
Gloria blushed furiously, allowing herself to be led away towards a waiting car.
* * *
Benjamin Flynn chewed a stick of gum, watching the retreating forms of Gloria and Keane. He wore a turtleneck sweater and jacket but the heavy clothing did little to hide the fit nature of his body. He walked after them with an easy grace that spoke of many long hours of intense physical exercise.
He reached into the pocket of his jacket and retrieved a small headset device, which he slipped on without attracting very much attention from those around him. “Libby? Are you listening in?”
The busty secretary’s voice came back almost immediately. “I’m here. What’s going on? Everybody was concerned when you didn’t show for breakfast.”
“I saw Max’s new girl—Gloria—slipping away this morning, with a bundle in her arms. Turns out it’s the vampire baby.”
“What’s she doing with it?”
“Meeting someone who seems a bit too smooth for my tastes. They’re getting in a car and taking off.” Flynn waved down a taxi and slipped in the back, directing the driver to give pursuit. “There’s something about this that really feels wrong to me, Libby. Tell Leo I’m going to keep reporting in.”
“Benjamin,” Libby said, giving him pause. He could sense her unease and knew the reasons why. They’d spent a night of passion together not long ago, part of her scheme to make a reluctant Leonid admit his feelings for her. It had been a mistake but one that Benjamin would have made again and again if he’d had the opportunity. “Be careful.”
Benjamin Flynn turned off the headshot, visions of Libby dancing through his mind’s eye.
CHAPTER VI
Tracking the Madness
Max stood in the center of the Peregrine’s Nest, his laboratory hidden beneath his plantation estate. He had his eyes fixed on a large map of the United States, looking for any kind of pattern in the Cabal’s activities. Not far away, Leonid sipped a cup of coffee and did the same.
“You mentioned that the zombies have a tendency to attack families…?” Max asked.
“There have a number of attacks that fit that profile, yes. Not so much an assault on all the individual members but the zombies are frequently seen near the homes of couples with children.”
“But never any assaults on the children themselves?”
“No,” Leonid said. “Do you think that’s significant?”
Max shrugged. “I’m not sure.” He turned away from the map, rubbing his temples in exasperation. “I’d rather not go to Whisper for help… maybe my own powers can make some sense out of all this.”
“If it causes you pain,” Leonid began but he was cut off by a dismissive wave of Max’s hand.
“I’ve suffered through worse and so have you,” Max said, moving to sit in a wooden chair that rested between an armory of weapons. “Would you lock the door, please?”
Leonid crossed the room and made certain that the entrance to the Nest was secure. When he turned back to his friend, Max was already in a trance, his head tilted back so far that his scalp brushed the wall behind him. Beneath his lids, Max’s eyes flicked rapidly back and forth.
In the darkness of his mind, Max sent out a series of mental pulses, trying to illuminate what lay beyond the normal range of human vision.
At first there was nothing, but gradually Max began to see things slithering at the edge of his consciousness. Moans of the dead reached his ears, hungry and full of evil lust. He’d encountered zombies often enough to recognize the awful need that drove them… a desire that would never be completely satisfied. The dead hungered for the living, hoping it would satisfy the void that existed where their souls should be.
Suddenly Max was standing in the center of a large room, upon whose floor a pentagram had been drawn in human blood. An altar lay in the middle of the pentagram, a screaming form tied to its surface. Max realized with a shudder that it was Kenneth, starving for the taste of human blood,
protesting the harsh bonds holding him in place. A man in silver clothing stood over him, a curved blade held in one hand. The undead shambled about in the shadows, where Max also recognized two of the living: the necromancer named Keane was holding the crying form of Gloria, who begged for mercy in the name of Kenneth.
Max was a helpless viewer to what came next, unable to touch these ghostly visions of the future. The silver-garbed man with the oddly distorted facial features—was he wearing a mask of some kind?—raised the knife he held and plunged it deep into the heart of the half-dead infant. Kenneth’s wail was cut off by a series of painful coughs and his blood jetted into the air. When it did, Keane began chanting, loud and eager.
A glowing doorway began to open in the room, forming out of ethereal energy. Max could feel something awful on the other side… something whose hunger dwarfed that of the zombies.
It was pure death.
Max opened his eyes and sat up, startling Leonid with the suddenness of the movement. He was drenched in sweat, his heart pounding in his chest.
Leonid knelt beside him, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Max? Are you all right?”
Max swallowed twice before speaking. “Kenneth. They want Kenneth.”
A pounding at the door to the Peregrine’s Nest prevented Leonid from inquiring further. He left Max to recover and opened the door, seeing a distraught Evelyn on the other side. “What’s wrong?”
Evelyn pushed past him, still wearing her robe and pajamas. “Max!” she exclaimed, not even noticing her husband’s disheveled appearance. “She’s taken him. She’s taken him and Flynn thinks they’re both in danger!”
Max stood up, trying to find his equilibrium again. “Slow down, Evelyn. You’re not making sense.”
“Gloria… she took him. Kenneth. Flynn followed her and said he’d met up with someone who seemed a bit too smooth for his tastes. That sounds like the man you fought in England. Keane?”