by Barry Reese
The Black Terror turned to face Cassandra, who raised her slender hands and gave him a slow but steady set of applause.
“Most impressive, Mr.—?”
“You can call me The Black Terror.”
“How melodramatic.” The witch tipped her head to the side and studied him. “You’re one of those vigilantes, I take it? Like The Peregrine?”
“I wear a mask and operate outside the law. That’s where the comparisons stop.”
“Well, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company? Are you here to arrest me for something? I’m fairly certain I’ve committed no crimes. None that are on the books anyway.”
“The White Worm’s not coming.”
“I assumed as much.” Cassandra waved her fingers through the air and The Black Terror took an involuntary step back. It was as if he could feel her cold touch, even though she stood several feet away from him. “You’re powerful, but there’s something strange about you. You’re not quite the man you appear to be, are you? You’re some sort of homunculus.”
“I’m a man!” he retorted, a bit more severely than he’d intended. Seeing the knowing smile on the witch’s face only made him angrier and he had to visibly calm himself before he asked, “The weirdness… the suicides, all the cults springing up. Is it all related?”
“You don’t need me to tell you that, do you?” Cassandra nudged the groaning form of one of her men and added, “I think we’re in the End Times. Something dark has been reawakened. We magic-users keep in close contact with one another, even though some practice White Magic while others, like me, take the darker routes. I was talking to a young Southern witch6 the other day and she said that she’d had a vision of a woman covered in dripping filth standing over the body of an old friend of hers… the hero Lazarus Gray.”
The Black Terror frowned. He liked Gray and hearing Cassandra so casually discussing his possible injury or even death made him feel uncertain. He was about to question her more when he saw her form begin to dissipate. He surged forward, his fingers passing through her disappearing torso.
“No! Stop!” he commanded but all he elicited in return was an amused laugh.
“Sorry, my strapping young hero, but I’m not going to be caught tonight. I’d advise you to find your loved ones and huddle up tight. Something wicked is coming.”
* * *
The Peregrine was an expert when it came to sneaking in and out of Nazi Germany.
In the relatively few years since Hitler had seized power, he’d found himself drawn to Europe on numerous occasions, often straight into the heart of the Third Reich. As such, he knew all the ins and outs of the various secret routes and was well equipped with false identification papers should he be discovered.
Samantha and Morgan were going to find it easy enough to avoid detection but The Peregrine had initially been concerned about Andre Thierry. Thankfully, the mage had been able to slightly alter the appearance of his skin with a simple spell. In fact, he was now the most Aryan looking of the bunch, with the classic strong chin, sharp nose, blue eyes and blond hair. He looked like he would have been the perfect breeding match for Samantha, who also embodied much of the Nazi ideals of beauty.
The trip had taken only two days, sped along by the wonderful engine in The Peregrine’s private jet plane. It had been an entertaining trip, livened up by Morgan’s ability to spin colorful yarns and Andre’s endless trove of somewhat inappropriate jokes.
And so the foursome was now walking down the Potsdamer Platz, which lay just south of the Reichstag. The men and women that they passed were of two types: those who moved with furtive glances and obvious concern and the ones who smiled freely, walking with the confident strides of those for whom the world was their oyster.
Max ran a hand through his wavy hair and wondered what those latter people made of his olive-tinged skin and Mediterranean ancestry. He supposed they’d consider him a Gypsy, which was barely a step above the Jewish people that Hitler so disdained.
“You need to keep that frown off your mug,” Morgan whispered. “You look like a man who just swallowed something foul.”
“Thanks for the reminder. It gets worse every time I’m here. It’s like the hatred and madness of Hitler is befouling the air.”
“In many ways, that’s the case,” Andre said. The three men were huddled closely together, while Samantha had wandered further afield to examine the scenery. She was still within visual range, which made Max feel better. He didn’t want any of them to get separated. Andre continued, “A man like Hitler doesn’t need The Unnervum to broadcast his emotions across the nation. He’s persuasive and able to tap into the latent fears and desires of his people. That makes him far more dangerous than your garden-variety criminal.”
Morgan lowered his voice so that it was barely discernible. “Then maybe our real mission should be to find him and put a bullet in his head. Might do a lot of people a lot of good.”
Max shook his head. “The world’s already a powder keg. Can you imagine what would happen if word got out that a group of Americans snuck behind the German border and assassinated the Füehrer? There wouldn’t be any hope of staying neutral then. The US of A would be right in the middle of it all.”
Andre cleared his throat and said, “Looks like our little Samantha has made a friend.”
Morgan and Max looked up to see that Samantha was returning to them with another woman in tow. This girl was about the same age but of much stockier build. She wasn’t so much overweight as she was simply very thick all over. Her brown hair was pulled back severely against her skull and her face was unmade, with dark rings under her eyes. In a less harsh light, she might have been acceptably attractive but at present, she looked like she was living a very harsh life and it was rapidly catching up to her.
Samantha, in contrast, was beaming like a ray of sunshine. In flawless German, she said, “This is my friend Inga. We met when she came to Sovereign for a tennis tournament.”
Max and Andre had no trouble following the conversation but Morgan was momentarily lost. He was able to understand several languages on a rudimentary level but he was certainly not fluent. Thus, he was extremely grateful when Andre reached out and squeezed his elbow. Instantly, he was able to understand German as if he had been born to it. Morgan had to admit that magic was a most useful talent to possess.
Max was asking, “You’re a tennis player?”
Inga gave a weary shrug of her shoulders. “In my younger days. But now I am serving the Fatherland in the preferred way, by being a good wife and mother. I have two children now.”
Samantha added, “As soon as I found out that we were coming to Berlin, I sent her a message and asked her to meet us.”
“That’s why you insisted we visit the Platz,” Morgan muttered. He seemed just as surprised as Samantha that he was speaking German.
Covering her amusement, Samantha said, “Yes. I told her that we were looking for things that might be a bit unusual and she’s got a lead for us.”
“These days, there is no shortage of the unusual,” Inga said. “But I have a cousin who works in the Dahlem neighborhood. He says that the Reich has opened up a set of offices in the name of The Research and Teaching Community of the Ancestral Heritage.”
“That’s quite a mouthful,” Max said.
Inga nodded. “They are mostly academics, I have heard, but my cousin says that some of their offices are off-limits to all but researchers. He says that sometimes you can hear screams coming from there and he once saw a file marked Occult Forces.”
“Sounds promising.” Morgan favored the young woman with his best grin and he was pleased to see that she responded favorably. Though not as young as he used to be, he retained a rakish air. “Inga, could your cousin tell us how to get into this… Ancestral Heritage building?
“There is no need to ask him. I already know how.”
“And how is that?” The Peregrine asked.
“They’re always looking for volunteers for
their experiments. They pay you.”
“Lovely,” Morgan said. “I figured they’d use prisoners for those.”
“They do but sometimes they don’t want degenerates for their trials. They need to test things on true Aryans.”
“Which we have the papers to prove that we are,” Samantha pointed out. “Will it matter that I’m a woman?”
“The Füehrer has put an emphasis on breeding the next generation of Germans. The only women used in the trials are criminals or Jews.”
“That works out well,” Max said. “If something goes terribly wrong while we’re inside, you can bail us out.”
Samantha appreciated the show of respect and she knew it wasn’t mere words. Though women were often treated as being less than their male counterparts in the workplace, she had always been highly valued with Assistance Unlimited and its allies. “I’ll come to your rescue if it comes to that,” she promised.
“Good.” Looking at Inga, Max asked, “So, how soon can we get inside?”
Inga seemed to think this entire affair spoke of pure madness. Nevertheless, she calmly replied, “You have arrived just in time. Today is volunteer day. I can have you inside in less than an hour.” She looked away and added, “I just hope you’ll get back eventually.”
CHAPTER IX
Inside the OFP
Dieter Schneider watched as Vulthar continued his preparations for the rituals that were supposed to wake up the Old Ones. One of the interior laboratories had been completely cleared, leaving a large open expanse for Vulthar’s work.
Dieter had stopped thinking of the man before him as being Lars. It wasn’t as easy to put aside thoughts of Sonya when he dealt with Darhoth but in this case, there were so many differences between Vulthar and the man whose body he now utilized that it was impossible not to notice them.
Lars had been a man of action. He’d possessed a quick mind, to be sure, but he was a solider first and foremost. When in doubt, he shot things. Vulthar was much more silent and observant. He knew his role in the great tapestry of things. He was a follower of Darhoth’s and knew when to keep his mouth shut. But there was no doubt of the evil intelligence that brewed behind his narrowed eyes. He exuded malevolence and whenever he spoke to a human being, his tone was full of disdain. It was like he was being forced to deal with creatures that were less than cockroaches to him and Dieter wondered, ultimately, if that was the way Darhoth and all of her ilk felt, as well.
Dieter cleared his throat and Vulthar looked up in annoyance. His fingers were dripping with calf’s blood, which he had been using to draw a pentagram on the floor.
Vulthar had traded in Lars’ military uniform in favor of a set of long green robes that were cinched around his waist by a rope belt. As he stood up, he pulled the belt tighter and Dieter winced. It was visibly digging into the flesh and had to be quite painful. Perhaps, he mused, that was intentional on Vulthar’s part.
“What is it, Herr Schneider?” Vulthar asked. His tone suggested that he would not be pleased if Dieter’s response lacked urgency.
“The volunteers are being processed now.” Dieter shuffled his feet. “I know that you wanted several of them for your own work but I have to ask, are they going to be harmed? If they’re killed or maimed, I need to know how to handle that beforehand.”
“You’re still thinking about things the way they were before.”
“What do you mean?”
“The world’s changed.” Vulthar stepped towards Dieter and patted him on the cheek, leaving a bloody hand print. “Forget about your old views of morality. All of those people outside this room, none of them matter. They’re just walking sacks of meat and blood. We can use them up as we see fit. Our masters were here long before your civilization and they will be here long after. Keep that in perspective.”
“Yes but we’re still subject to the rule of the Füehrer, at least for now. If we upset them, they can kill us and that would disrupt Darhoth’s plans.”
Vulthar grunted and turned away. “Very well. Yes, I will probably break a few of the people you bring me today. We have to make blood sacrifices, you see? It’s not enough to kill a calf. In order to make the spell truly sing, I have to have something richer than that. I need human souls in torment. So, yes, they will be maimed and killed. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”
Dieter nodded and left the room, knowing that Vulthar had lost interest in him. He strode down the hall and found the group of twenty or so volunteers being examined by the OFP’s top scientists. Each of the men was shirtless and blood was being drawn, with physical measurements taken. The women were hidden behind a curtain and being similarly checked out. Most of the volunteers were among the most poor of the city, the dregs who needed to sell their bodies to get enough money to feed themselves or their children.
Today, however, had also brought in three men who were in much better shape than usual. In fact, one of them—a gypsy, Dieter suspected—was as fit as Lars had been before Vulthar’s assumption of power.
Dieter informed one of the doctors that he wanted those three brought to Vulthar. He detected disappointment in the physician’s face and he didn’t blame him. Such healthy specimens would have been a boon to the experiments here but Vulthar would want the strongest for himself. The weaker the body, the weaker the soul, he had said.
That brought up thoughts of his daughter, his lovely, sweet Sonya. Her soul must have been very strong, for she was certainly strong of body and spirit.
Clenching a fist, Dieter pushed away all thoughts of rebellion. He was a coward at heart and he simply had to accept that his only hope for survival lay in being agreeable to all the demands of his new masters.
* * *
The Peregrine wasn’t surprised when he was pulled aside with Andre and Morgan. Despite their attempts to look rougher than normal, they still stood out like sore thumbs. There was only so much that a bit of dirt smeared on the cheeks could accomplish. They still looked much healthier than the poor souls who stood beside them in line.
The question was: were they being separated because there was something special in mind for them or had their deception been uncovered?
Each of them was allowed to put their shirts and coats back on. Max quickly checked to make sure that his weapons were in place. All three men had been surprised by how lax the security had been on the way in. Beyond the most cursory of pat-downs, none of them had been searched. Max assumed that here in the heart of Berlin, the Nazis felt relatively safe. As a resort, Max’s small arsenal of weapons lay within his jacket, protected from sight in the many hidden pockets that lined the interior of the garment.
The three men were led down a long hallway and each of them tried to catch a glimpse into the various rooms that they passed. They saw a plethora of odd things, though each was only briefly seen: an old man being outfitted with a harness that featured large feathered wings; a suit of steel being fitted to a lovely young woman; a nude androgynous figure with an elongated skull and misshapen bones; and a table upon which two teen-aged twin girls were strapped down. The girls had been holding hands and one of them had been crying as a scientist approached with a large syringe in one hand.
Morgan felt bile rising in his throat. He knew what the mission was but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave with all this still going on. Surely they’d have the time to burn the place to the ground, but even if they did, the Nazis would only start again someplace new. His earlier words about killing Hitler rose once more to the forefront of his thoughts. He understood The Peregrine’s point about not wanting to cause more trouble for America but Hitler was a nut, even if a lot of people back home didn’t want to admit it yet. Something had to be done and why couldn’t guys like Lazarus or The Peregrine be the ones to do it? Hell, with Catalyst onboard, they’d be able to get in and out without ever being seen!
His musings were interrupted as they entered a large room that was mostly empty. On the floor a blood-smeared pentagram had been drawn and the artist stood ne
arby, looking like some sort of mad monk. Though Morgan didn’t know Lars or Vulthar from Adam, he definitely recognized the danger that the man posed. Standing nearby was an older male—an academic, Morgan figured. This guy looked fearful and his eyes continually darted about the room, as if he was afraid that something was going to jump out and get him.
The scientist who had led them to this room hurriedly backed out and locked the door behind him.
The older man cleared his throat and smiled. “My name is Dieter Schneider and this is…”
When the pause became somewhat awkward, the robed figure spoke up. “You may call me Vulthar.”
Dieter nodded. “Vulthar. The three of you were chosen to help us with a very important project. You seem very healthy and that is good. We need strong, vital men for this. It is of the utmost importance to The Füehrer.” He suddenly looked troubled and asked, “Do any of you have families? Children?”
Max answered for the group. “None of us do. I’m married but my friends are not.”
“Good!” Dieter seemed relieved. “So. The first thing I need for all of you to do is to strip down. Completely naked.”
Andre gestured to the pentagram on the floor. “What is this, Herr Schneider? I thought we were here for a scientific experiment?”
“The blending of science and what we once thought of as magic is a strange thing,” Dieter admitted. “Now, please, do as I have asked.”
Andre glanced at The Peregrine, wanting to know what they should do. Max made it abundantly clear by quickly reaching into his coat and pulling out a pistol. Morgan did the same while Andre raised both hands, allowing a soft golden light to surround him. His false appearance faded away, leaving him revealed not only for his ethnic heritage but as the Catalyst, cloaked in emerald.
The Peregrine pointed his pistol at Vulthar, having recognized him as the true threat. Likewise, Catalyst directed his open palms in that same direction, ready to unleash a magic blast at a moment’s notice.