by Barry Reese
Which was exactly what Satan intended.
Though the words he and his lawyer were speaking were, to all signs, the simple back-and-forth that one would expect to hear in such circumstances, the truth was that the pattern had been carefully laid out, using a series of careful intonations and word pairings to gradually induce a hypnotic state.
Doctor Satan, dressed in prison grays, finally stopped speaking, glancing over to see that Carl was staring straight ahead, eyes glassy and unfocused. “He’s under,” the villain stated. “Have you been doing as I instructed?”
The lawyer, a thin man with faintly Asian features, nodded. A longtime agent of Satan’s, he had been doing the mastermind’s dirty work for weeks, allowing Satan to maintain his various operations while being held in prison. “Yes, master. I confess that I’ve been confused about why you didn’t just free yourself immediately…”
“As long as I’m here, Keane and the Peregrine will both think that they are safe from me and my plans. This has allowed me the freedom to construct a scheme that they won’t be able to interfere with. But the time has come for me to leave this place. Are you ready to switch places with me?”
The lawyer nodded, having long ago traded his soul to the nefarious enemy of the law. His life was no longer his own, and he would have gladly died in service to Satan.
Doctor Satan reached out and clutched the sides of the lawyer’s face. He stared into the man’s eyes and whispered, “Then let us exchange faces. When the guard awakens, you will remain here, wearing that nondescript face that has been my own during my incarceration, and I will walk out the door, with no one the wiser. In fact”—Satan smiled coldly—“let’s erase any memory of who you really are, to prevent any slip-ups. From this day forth, you’ll believe that you are Doctor Satan! For however long that life of yours might last,” he added with a laugh.
Moments later, Doctor Satan—wearing the face and general appearance of his own lawyer—snapped his fingers in the guard’s face. Carl blinked and looked sheepishly embarrassed.
“My gosh… I can’t believe I did that! I must have dozed right off!”
Satan chuckled, maintaining his disguise. “It happens to the best of us. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”
Carl looked very thankful. “Man, I don’t envy you—having to work with that guy must be tough.” The guard cast a secretive glance at “Satan,” who was still sitting right where he should have been.
“It’s not so bad,” Satan said. “I’ll see you around, officer.”
CHAPTER II
Old Fiends, New Life
The Peregrine felt the staleness of his breath inside the gas mask, hating the way it restricted his peripheral vision. He crept through the steel girders of a new skyscraper being erected in downtown Atlanta, guns at the ready. A dead man was hidden here, given new life for some foul reason. Why is it that good men stay dead and the evil ones always seem to get a second chance? he wondered.
Professor Lycos stepped into view up ahead, wearing an old-fashioned World War I-era gas mask of his own. A scarred chemist driven insane by his injuries, Lycos had threatened a city before dying in battle with the Peregrine and another vigilante known as the Moon Man. That had been back in ’38, in what seemed like another lifetime to Max Davies. Lycos had originally used chemicals to poison innocents, but he had gained a superhuman ability to generate noxious gases from the air around him through a demonic pact, and evidently that pact had played a role in his current resurrection.
“Nearly six years I was tormented in hell,” Lycos said, his voice sounding oddly distorted by his mask. “And all because you and men like you tried to stop me from cashing in on my genius!”
“Why didn’t you stay dead, Lycos?” Max asked, speaking through his own breathing device. He pointed his pistol at the man’s chest, hoping that his silver-tipped bullets, each doused in holy water, could somehow bring him down. “Who brought you back?”
“After you slew my patron, I thought I would be condemned to hell forever,” Lycos explained, referencing the demise of his former master, the dark man called Nyarlathotep. “But I found a new lord and he gave me new life, as long as I promised to slay you in his name.”
The Peregrine shook his head, marveling at how tenaciously some men hated him. “And who’s your new lord, Lycos? If I’m going to die in his name, surely you should tell me first.”
Lycos held up both hands, a horrible-looking yellow-green cloud beginning to form around them. Like a living thing, it sprang forth from him, streaking towards the Peregrine. “I kill you in the name of Doctor Satan!” he shrieked.
The Peregrine resisted the urge to laugh. Since Satan had ended up in jail, a plethora of hitmen had come after Max, all claiming to be striking back in vengeance. Most of them had turned out to be totally unrelated to Doctor Satan—they were criminals who idolized the villainous mastermind and who hoped to somehow earn their way into his good graces by slaying the man who had captured him.
The only thing that gave Max pause was the fact that Lycos had come back from the dead… which meant that someone, possibly Satan, had brought about the resurrection.
The Peregrine felt the poisonous fumes wash over him but his mask filtered out the worst of it, though he still found his lungs beginning to burn. He took quick aim and opened fire, his modified pistols sending dozens of bullets flying towards Lycos. They struck home, ripping through his clothes and driving him to the ground. Smoke rose from his body as the poisonous fumes began to dissipate.
Max approached the fallen form cautiously. He didn’t see any rise and fall of the man’s chest, but breathing wasn’t necessarily something that Lycos still needed to do.
The Peregrine knelt beside him and jerked back quickly as the madman’s hand shot upwards, the fingers closing in a vain attempt to grasp the vigilante’s throat. Max gripped Lycos’s wrist and bent it back painfully, eliciting a cry of agony from the downed chemist.
“He’s going to be so angry,” Lycos whined.
“Tell me the truth,” the Peregrine whispered. “Was it really Doctor Satan who brought you back?”
“Of course it was! He told me to try and kill you—he said that even if I failed, he’d still have your head on a pike eventually.”
“Hard to do that from jail,” Max pointed out.
“He won’t be there for long… if he’s still there at all.” Lycos shook his head, dislodging his gas mask. It fell away, revealing a horrible visage that made Max recoil in disgust. The man’s face looked like it had been melted in places, with an unskilled sculptor called in to make repairs. “I despise you,” the man hissed, staring into Max’s eyes as he spoke. “And even if I don’t pull it off today, someday someone will… someone will catch you making a mistake, and they’re going to kill you.”
The Peregrine smiled coldly. “As long as it’s losers like you who keep coming after me, I’ll take my chances.”
Lycos screamed then, his body bursting into flame. The Peregrine stood up and moved away, watching in sick fascination as the villain’s body quickly became a raging inferno, one that raged for only a few moments before ceasing, leaving behind nothing, not even dust.
The Peregrine was reminded of the Manchu’s tactics just a month before: send a flunky to keep Max busy, while the mastermind conducted his work in the background. Maybe Satan is up to something, after all. I’d better call Ascott, he thought.
The sound of a foot scraping across concrete brought the Peregrine spinning round, guns pointed in the direction of the sound. When he saw it was only his best friend, he relaxed.
William McKenzie, the city’s police chief, was grinning broadly. He was wearing his police uniform but had left his hat back in the car. Handsome, with an open smile and a twinkle in his eye, Will had been quite the ladies’ man before settling down with a former Nazi agent. Kirsten had been working hard to undo the evil she’d once been a part of, and a big part of her success was due to her husband’s support. Max thought
so highly of him that he’d named his son after the man. “Saw the whole thing,” Will said, gesturing towards the spot where Lycos had been lying. “Guess we’ve seen the last of him for awhile.”
“Not necessarily. Come back from the dead once, you might as well do it again.”
“True enough.” Will allowed his smile to fade, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets as he did so. “I came out here to talk to you about Doctor Satan, actually. I imagine you’ll be hearing about it from your buddy Keane soon enough.”
“He’s escaped, hasn’t he?” Max let out a string of curses as he put away his guns.
“Actually… no.” Will cleared his throat and said, “He’s dead. He somehow managed to get hold of a belt, and he did it in seconds, while his guard wasn’t paying attention. They think he might have gotten the belt from his lawyer when he came in to speak with him earlier today, but they haven’t confirmed that.”
The Peregrine digested this information and then shook his head. “He’s not dead.”
“How can you say that? The man’s whose body is in the morgue is the same guy who’s been in that cell from day one.”
The Peregrine locked eyes with his old friend. “I know Doctor Satan, Will. Only one man on Earth has ever fought him more than I have, and that’s Ascott Keane. Until I hear it from Keane’s lips that Satan is dead, I’m not going to believe it.”
“You’re a very wise man,” someone said from the shadows. He stepped quickly into view, his body looking somewhat out of sync with his surroundings. He was partially transparent, allowing Max and Peregrine to see some of the background behind him. It was Ascott Keane. “I’m here via astral projection. Are you seeing me?”
“Yes,” Max confirmed, “But you look… not quite here.”
“Exhaustion, I’m afraid.” Keane clasped his hands behind his back and came to a stop a few feet from the Peregrine. He nodded once at Will, who gaped at him in astonishment. “The man who committed suicide is not Satan. I have seen the body and cast the most powerful dispel magic spell that I could manage. When it was completed, the man’s true face was revealed. Satan switched places with his lawyer earlier today and walked out of the prison, leaving his lawyer to die in his place.”
“Where do you think he is now?”
Keane shrugged, his image flickering with the movement. “I don’t know yet, but I’m not going to rest until I’ve found him again.” The occult investigator began to fade away, his weariness finally overwhelming him. “But you need to be careful, Max… he hates you almost as much as he does me. Be vigilant!”
When Keane was gone, McKenzie glanced at his old friend, recognizing the look of determination on his friend’s face. “What are you going to do?” he asked.
The Peregrine began walking towards his roadster, parked outside. “The same as Ascott. I start looking for the bastard, and when I find him, I do what I should have done the last time: I kill him so he can’t hurt anyone else ever again.”
Will watched Max exiting the building, not bothering to voice the doubts that now plagued him: Based off what we’ve seen with Professor Lycos and the Warlike Manchu, what makes you think that killing Satan is going to solve anything?
CHAPTER III
An Unquiet Mind
Evelyn Davies finished getting dressed, only slightly troubled by the fact that her husband hadn’t returned home the night before. Being married to the Peregrine had long ago made her aware that his schedule would never be like that of other men. She still worried, but she had faith in his ability to handle just about anything.
Downstairs, the children were having breakfast with Nettie, the Negro housekeeper who seemed both more ancient and ageless with passing year.
Evelyn stared at herself in the mirror, noting that she was still a beauty but one who was losing the bloom of youth. Already most of the roles she would have once had on stage and screen were being handed over to younger starlets, and Evelyn had contemplated quitting the acting business altogether, rather than admit to herself that she was soon going to be trying out for the part of the heroine’s mother, rather than playing the starring role herself.
With a sigh, Evelyn turned away from the mirror and tried to recognize that what was truly bothering her had nothing to do with her advancing age, and everything to do with the events of the past month, when she’d been stolen away to Germany by Baron Gustav, who had reawakened memories of a previous life within her. She’d briefly lost herself in that role, abandoning Max in favor of her vampire lover. Though she’d eventually regained control and turned against Gustav, and Max had seemed to completely forgive her, she’d been a liar ever since. She did feel guilty, despite everything, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever stop dreaming about Gustav. About his hypnotic eyes and his immortality… or the way he’d made her feel. She loved Max, but a part of her was still with Gustav and always would be. It was maddening.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Evelyn nearly jumped out of her skin. Clutching one hand over her chest, she looked to see Kirsten McKenzie standing in the doorway. “Kirsten! I didn’t know you were there.”
“Obviously,” the German said with a knowing smile. Her hair hung over one eye, much like how the actress Veronica Lake had worn hers. Kirsten was lovely, but there was a cold edge to her which always reminded Evelyn that, once upon a time, Will’s wife had been the deadly Iron Maiden. “Max sent me over to make sure you were safe.”
Color rose quickly to Evelyn’s cheeks and she replied a bit hotly, “Oh, so he’s decided to baby me today? What’s the horrible threat this time?”
“Doctor Satan has faked his own death and escaped.”
Evelyn calmed down a bit at that news. Next to the Warlike Manchu, Satan was probably her husband’s greatest enemy. His capacity for evil was well-known, and Max had spoken often of Satan’s known willingness for harming children. Still, she couldn’t help but feel insulted that he’d sent someone to watch over her. She’d have thought she’d proven herself long ago. Then again, the Warlike Manchu had kidnapped little William a few years back, even though Evelyn was home to “protect” him. Maybe he’s right, she sighed. “Thanks, Kirsten. Want to share some breakfast?”
“I’d love to. I have my armor downstairs if we need it.”
“How quickly can you get into that thing?” Evelyn wanted to know, walking downstairs with Kirsten at her side.
“You’d be surprised. When I was in training, my commanding officer would drill me again and again, until I could outfit myself in the armor in less than a minute.”
“Amazing.” Evelyn glanced over at her friend and lowered her voice. “Do you ever miss it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your old life… I’m sure that things remind you of it all the time. You had friends, probably lovers, a career—all of which is different from the person you are today. Do you ever miss it?”
Kirsten stared straight ahead, her icy blue eyes hardening. “No. I chose this life over that one. There’s no point in regrets. The past is exactly that: the past. I prefer to live in the present and the future.”
Evelyn smiled at her friend’s pragmatic attitude. It was eerily similar to the reassurances she herself had given to Max after being reunited with him. She’d meant them then, and maybe she still did. “Thanks, Kirsten. You’ve helped me a lot.”
Kirsten looked at her in confusion. Seeing the satisfied expression on Evelyn’s face made her hold off on questioning any further, though.
They entered the kitchen together and were soon lost in the flurry that comes from being in the same room with two children.
In a brief respite from activity, Evelyn thought of Max, and she felt a flash of anxiety for him. He must be really worried to have asked Kirsten to come over here. Despite her anger earlier, she knew that Max only asked her to be “protected” when the risk was truly great.
I love you, Max, she thought to herself. Be careful.
CHAPTER IV
Arctic Ni
ghtmares
The icy wind that whipped Satan’s cloak about him bit into his skin, and not even his sternest spells could completely warm him. He stood before an ice-covered mountain, in which a forgotten relic of a bygone era lay startlingly intact. The wooden black hull of a nineteenth-century sailing ship could be seen underneath the thick layer of ice. Caught in an ice floe many years ago, the vessel was a wreck of a ship, one that had refused to die at sea. Here on the Mer de Glace, it had become the tomb for a creature who, likewise, had found the means to resist death.
Satan stood staring at it until his lips began to turn blue from the cold. Then he reached into his cloak and brought forth a small urn containing the bloody body parts of three nuns. The virginal young women had died screaming, the pain in their bodies transferred to the flesh that Satan had sliced from them. He threw the hunks of meat at the ice, generating a powerful spell that not only melted away the ice but also cast a hypnotic hold over any creature onboard. They would be incapable of harming Satan, no matter how much they might wish to do so.
Doctor Satan boarded the ship, moving across the deck and down into the interior. He found several remarkably well-preserved corpses, one of whom had a broken neck and a look of horror etched on his face.
The sound of movement further in the hold made Satan pause. “You’re awake, aren’t you?” he shouted. “I’ve come to take you back to the world of man.”
“I won’t go,” someone said from the darkness. He had a deep, rolling voice that was very pleasant in nature, though there was such an undercurrent of pain to it that even Satan was given pause.
“I know what you went through. Your saga was popularized in a novel. Most people think you to be pure fiction.”
A figure shambled forward, so tall that he had to duck his head. Satan guessed him to be nearly eight feet tall, with translucent yellow skin that barely hid the veins and muscles underneath. The stranger had watery, glowing eyes, flowing black hair, dark-tinged lips, and white teeth. Birthed quite literally from death itself, the sorrowful monster had no name other than “the Creature.”