The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two

by Barry Reese

  Vincent looked down at him, and from within the hood, Max could sense his new friend smiling. “I would have… a job?”

  “I’d pay you, certainly. And you could stay in one of the servants’ quarters until you decided to move out on your own, if that’s what you wanted.”

  Vincent nodded. “I would like that. A job. A home. A life… as a man. Very much so.”

  Together, man and creature left the hidden city.

  * * *

  Trevor Kirkman rolled off the young brunette who shared his bed. She was barely out of her teens, but she already liked to drink hard liquor, and this had forged a bond between them, one that led to her frequently sharing his bed.

  Kirkman lit up a cigarette and felt the urge to pee. He rose from the bed, leaving her to drift off quickly into sleep. After relieving himself in the bathroom, he stared in the mirror at his face, scratching at his beard while running the tap water. He felt… strange… and then he jerked upright as Doctor Satan’s face appeared in the mirror.

  “Trevor Kirkman,” the villain said. “I have need of you.”

  Kirkman started to scream but he could not—the mental essence of Doctor Satan was in his head, stamping down all traces of Trevor, banishing him to the void.

  It was a trick that Satan had mastered in years past, but one that was very, very dangerous to pursue. A single mistake and he’d be sucked away into the hellish afterlife that would normally await someone of his evil nature, which was why he hadn’t used this method to escape from prison. But the death of his body in Vorium had made it a necessity.

  Satan strode from the bathroom and spotted the nude girl in Kirkman’s bed. He slid under the covers beside her, reaching around her to cup her firm young breasts.

  “Trevor,” she murmured, smiling in the dark. “You beast…”

  Satan smiled evilly and leaned in closer. “You have no idea,” he murmured.

  THE END

  THE DIABOLICAL MR. DEE

  Introducing The Peregrine’s Claws

  By Barry Reese

  Prologue

  March 14, 1942

  I’m ready for the march to begin anew. The blisters on my feet are still seeping and are painful to the touch but I have new hope and am willing to ignore the suffering for the sake of the expedition. Our boat is stocked with supplies: guns, ammunition, clothing, and food. We are far from comfortable with the meager amounts of rations we have left, but there are plenty of fish in the river and I believe we can successfully hunt for game when on land.

  My two companions could not be more different from one another and neither would have been my choice for this expedition, but I have no choice but to hope that we can come together and succeed in this.

  One of them is named Theodor Frisch. He is a German national who claims to know the jungle like the back of his hand. I get the impression that he is on the run from multiple sources and I can’t help but wonder why. With the war raging for his homeland, I would think that capable men like Frisch would be in high demand… whatever crimes he had committed must have been so severe that not even the Nazis would want him. It doesn’t fill me with confidence to know that my life is partially in his hands.

  My other companion is a woman named Makeeda. Her name is of Ethopian origin and means “the beautiful,” according to one of our now-deceased guides. The name could not be more appropriate. Her skin is the color of milk chocolate and her slim body is the very definition of sex appeal. She wears only the briefest of clothing and it strains my sense of honor to not openly stare at her.

  Theodor has no such qualms.

  I know that many of my colleagues would consider the notion of traveling with a woman into the jungle to be a disaster in the waiting. The fairer sex are not considered capable of enduring the rigors of hard travel the way we men are, but in Makeeda’s case, this is her homeland and she is perfectly at peace in this environs. Before coming here, I had thought of Ethiopia as a dry place, like a desert, but the country actually has an astonishing array of ecological zones. The deserts lie to the east, while in the north is Lake Tana, which is the source of the Blue Nile. We are in the south, where the tropical forests and jungles are the norm… and where, if my sources are to be believed, lies our ultimate destination.

  Makeeda is a levelheaded person and over the past few weeks, she and I have grown much closer. I share my concerns and dreams with her and she listens with obvious attention. She does not speak often and her English is limited but I cannot help but feel that we have bonded in some fashion. She seems to draw comfort from my presence and I am feeling increasingly protective of her.

  Unfortunately, Frisch has begun to make overtures of romance to her. Since my son grew lame with a leg injury two weeks ago and was forced to turn back with the last of our guides, it has just been the three of us on this trek… and the tension is almost palpable in the air. Were it not for the fact that neither Makeeda nor I are capable of reading the map and navigating the sometimes choppy waters, we would have abandoned Frisch long ago.

  We set off on this latest leg of our journey after a small breakfast on the banks of the river. Makeeda knows the local legends and has tried to give us directions to supplement the crudely drawn maps that Frisch possesses. She says that we are within two days of reaching our goal. I am giddy at the prospect but also fearful of what may happen before then. Frisch is barely speaking to me now and the glint in his eye when he watches Makeeda bathing in the stream disturbs me. I fear he may try to kill me and take her for himself.

  I must set aside my writing instruments for now, as the boat is beginning to rock so badly that my ink is going askew. May the Lord above help guide us in this last leg of our journey.

  Ahead of us lies the lost city of Tegdaghost… and the possibility of immortality.

  CHAPTER I

  Breaking Fingers

  August 1944—Atlanta, Georgia

  The city of Atlanta was home to a terrible war. The followers of the infamous Warlike Manchu were a group of trained killers known as the Ten Fingers. Since the Manchu’s recent resurrection, they had resumed their attempts at claiming the city’s underworld for their lord and master.

  The Manchu was a near immortal whose rise to power in the Orient had eventually led him to eye the West as his next seat of power. Along the way, he had become tutor to Max Davies, training the man in all the martial arts known to humanity… when Davies had then rejected the Manchu’s overtures of joining his criminal organization, a blood feud had ensued between the two men. As the Peregrine, Davies had helped bring down the Manchu’s plots again and again.

  A group of the Manchu’s servants were presently trapped within the confines of the Fabulous Fox Theatre. The ornate movie palace had been opened on Christmas Day, 1929, but the stock market crash had made the original tenants, the Shriners, unable to fund the operation. Throughout the 1930s, it had suffered through mismanagement and continued to lose large sums of money. But the present decade had seen a dramatic rise in the theatre’s fortunes. With a clear direction in place, the Fox Theatre’s popularity had boomed. The Egyptian Ballroom had become Atlanta’s most popular dance hall, playing host to the finest bands in the country. It was the only theatre in Atlanta to allow both white and black patrons into the building simultaneously, though they were kept segregated at both the ticket windows and in terms of seating.

  The four members of the Ten Fingers who had been cornered in this section of town had forced their way in through the “colored” box office window and were presently in the ballroom, turning over tables so they could shove them up against the doors.

  “We are doomed,” one of the men said in Chinese. All were of Oriental descent and looked like brothers, with short-cropped black hair and dark eyes. “Even if we escape, the Manchu will punish us for our failure.”

  “We can’t worry about that now,” one of the others answered. In the gloom that surrounded the Egyptian Ballroom, the faux sarcophaguses took on a sinister appearance. “How man
y of them are out there?” he asked, no longer able to keep the fear from his own voice.

  While the foursome debated how many enemies they were being confronted with, a lithe female form moved through the rafters above. She wore a skintight black bodysuit, complete with skullcap and domino mask. It was an ancestral uniform, one that had been passed down from father to son for many generations… and now it was worn proudly by Sally Pence, the current Revenant. As defender of the tiny African nation of Bordia, she was a close ally to Max Davies in his war on crime… so close that she had heeded his call and left her homeland to return to the United States.

  The Revenant crept quietly along one of the structural beams, her eyes locked on the men below. She had snuck in through another entrance when she’d realized where the Ten Fingers were assembling… and she knew that the others in her party would be along soon enough. In her right hand she held a snub-nosed pistol and it was with this that she took careful aim. Finally deciding she had chosen her target correctly, she fired the gun. A bullet tore through one of the men’s legs, the shot having been calculated to such perfection that she knew he would suffer no permanent effects but he would be incapable of putting any weight on it at for several days at least.

  The other three men looked up in a panic, quickly ducking behind the remaining tables. They were armed with guns, as well, but none of them were as good a shot as Sally so their attempts at returning fire accomplished nothing other than wasting their ammo.

  As Sally knelt down in the shadows, she kept an ear out for the approach of her companions. She didn’t have to wait long. The front door, which had been barricaded shut with overturned tables, suddenly caved inwards, the heavy doors shattering under tremendous force. A man pushed his way in, shoving aside the tables, and his appearance was enough to weaken the spirits of the remaining Ten Fingers. He was very tall, with sallow skin and long stringy black hair. He was quite unkindly deemed a monster by many, but to his friends he was simply Vincent.

  Two of the Ten Fingers emptied their rounds on the invading creature, who held up his hands in front of his face and quietly accepted the pain. He was far more resistant to pain than normal men, the result of his bizarre creation. Brought to new life from the corpses of dead men, Vincent was the only one like himself in the world. Like Sally, he was a friend of Max’s, having been given a new lease on life after helping the vigilante defeat a plot to destroy the world.

  As the men realized they were out of bullets, the third remaining man took off at a fast clip, sprinting to the other side of the room. From above, Sally followed his progress, correctly guessing that he was planning to try and escape through a window.

  As he approached his planned exit, he suddenly skidded to a stop, his shoes slipping on the dance floor. A man dressed in a dark green cloak and bodysuit passed through the wall, his eyes shimmering with an emerald glow.

  “Going somewhere, mate?” the Englishman named Nathaniel Caine asked, mischief in his voice. Allegedly the world’s most powerful sorcerer, Nathaniel was still new to his role as the Catalyst and sometimes struck Sally as being overly tentative. There was no hesitation on his part tonight, however, as he raised both hands and unleashed an eldritch blast that pounded the Oriental villain so hard that he was lifted off his feet and slammed back to the ground.

  Sally chose this moment to jump down from her position in the rafters. She performed an acrobatic dive that would have drawn raves in Olympic competition and landed smoothly, less than five feet from Catalyst.

  Nathaniel flashed a dashing grin and Sally felt her heart skip a beat. Catalyst was a handsome man and she loved the accent… but unfortunately for her, he was also spoken for.

  Rachel Caine, codenamed Esper, moved past Vincent, her long red hair drawn back into a ponytail that hung down her back. Clad in a green jumpsuit similar to her husband’s, the telepathic heroine locked eyes with one of the remaining criminals. She was about to tell him to stand down when he sprang forward, kicking and spinning expertly. Esper was hardly impressed, however. As he neared her, she caught him in a telekinetic grip that squeezed all the air from his lungs. With a gentle “push” from her mind into his, she also rendered him unconscious.

  That left just one man standing, with another on the ground writhing in pain, holding his injured leg. The four heroes converged on them and Sally noted that each of her companions was looking to the others to see who was going to step forward and be the leader.

  With a sigh, she pointed her pistol at the uninjured man and said, “What were you doing in downtown? Were you supposed to meet someone tonight?”

  “Go to hell, American bitch!” the man said in heavily accented English.

  Sally fought the urge to correct him about her heritage… though she’d gone to school in the United States and spoke the language flawlessly, she had been born in Africa and considered that her homeland.

  Instead, she cocked her pistol and repeated her questions.

  The man glanced from her to the looming form of Vincent, who was glowering at him. “We were meeting with Fifth Columnists. They want to buy weapons and drugs. We sell both.”

  Sally locked eyes with Vincent, who shrugged. “It’s sad to think there could be men like that here, working with the enemy… but there are always those who value money more than honor,” he said in a surprisingly soft voice. Sally turned back to the remaining member of the Ten Fingers, not noticing the way Vincent’s gaze lingered over her.

  It was certainly noticed by Rachel, however, but the red-haired girl was less concerned with the team’s various romantic entanglements than she was in expediency.

  “I can save us a lot of time,” Rachel said, “if you’ll all just shut up for a few minutes. I can read minds, remember?” To emphasize her point, she tapped the side of her head and then gestured to their prisoner.

  Revenant stepped back to let Esper approach the man and she was glad that the dim lighting hid her face a little. She had tried to like Rachel, but so far her own attraction to Nathaniel had made it all too easy to pick out every flaw in Esper’s personality.

  Vincent moved closer to the man, reaching out to hold the thug’s arms in his own oversized hands. “Don’t even think about fighting back,” he warned.

  Esper nodded gratefully at Vincent and placed the tips of her fingers on each side of the man’s head. As Rachel closed her eyes, she made contact with the man’s mind… and she saw nothing but madness reflected back to her—an insane zeal to serve the one known as the Warlike Manchu, at the expense of nearly all else. She also saw a litany of sinful crimes that the man had committed or witnessed. Pushing those aside, she focused in on the Fifth Columnists that the man had mentioned. She saw them clearly, a group of four males who spoke fluent German. Three of them had dark hair while the leader was a blond with piercing blue eyes. Rachel could sense that this leader was a dangerous person, one that frightened even the Ten Fingers, who worked for the frightening Warlike Manchu.

  Esper pulled away, breaking contact. She felt dirty and somewhat tainted by the experience. Turning, she found that her husband was waiting with arms outstretched. Grateful for the gesture, she accepted his embrace and then turned to face Vincent and Sally. “He’s telling us the truth. I did pick up where the Ten Fingers are based in the city. We could easily take care of them.”

  “I think we should let McKenzie take care of that.”

  All eyes turned to the man who was entering the room, stepping over the splintered remains of the door. Dressed in a well-tailored suit and overcoat, the Peregrine could have been a well-to-do businessman out on a jaunt around town. But his domino mask, featuring a small bird-like beak over the bridge of his nose, dispelled those illusions quickly enough. Max Davies was now in mid-forties, but he looked ten years younger, with wavy dark hair and an olive complexion that spoke of a Mediterranean heritage.

  Nathaniel glanced over at the criminal and flicked his wrist at the man. A small magical burst of energy struck the man, knocking him out an
d wiping his memory of the last ten minutes. No one bothered catching the man as he fell to the ground.

  “Are you sure?” Nathaniel asked. “You know better than anyone how dangerous they can be.”

  Max nodded, surveying the scene around him. “He gets his feelings hurt if we don’t let his police force handle some of this stuff.” The Peregrine’s friendship with William McKenzie, the Chief of Police, was a source of great aid in the vigilante’s war on crime, and he was always careful not to step on his friend’s toes. “Not bad,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “The property damage was kept to a minimum but there was still too much of it. All of you need to watch that in the future.”

  Sally put away her gun and asked the question that was on all their minds. “How long do you want us to do this? You called us together three weeks ago, saying you wanted us to help you take down the Ten Fingers… but it’s pretty obvious you’re prepping us for something else. You act like you want us to stay together permanently.”

  The Peregrine pursed his lips thoughtfully and then nodded. “I do owe you answers, all of you. You’ve done a wonderful job the past few weeks and I suppose I got a little ahead of myself. Let’s turn these men over to McKenzie and go back to the Peregrine’s Nest.” Max smiled teasingly. “That’s where I’ll tell you all about my offer. I’d like you to become the Peregrine’s Claws.”

  CHAPTER II

  The Claws of the Peregrine

  Max Davies lived on an old plantation farm, located several miles outside of Atlanta. The house was a lovely example of the best of Antebellum architecture but it was what lurked beneath the home that was perhaps most impressive. Where once there had been a storm cellar, there was now the hidden lair that Max had dubbed “The Peregrine’s Nest.” A laboratory filled with all the files, experimental weaponry, and crime detection equipment he used to wage his war on crime, the Nest had become his private escape from the rest of the world.