by Barry Reese
“I wasn’t supposed to be there,” Hayward stammered, not caring that his words carried a whine to them. “The guy I was working for sold me out…”
“You knew he was an evil man, Hayward. You deserve what you get when you play with fire.”
“I’ll die before I let you take me back,” Hayward said, summoning as much bravery as he could. He tried to look intimidating, but he could feel his lower lip begin to tremble.
The man laughed and slapped Hayward on the back. “Calm down, my man. And call me Scratch, okay? We’re going to make a little deal.”
“I know how deals with the devil turn out,” Hayward said, shaking his head. “I ain’t interested.”
“The alternative is that I grab you by your scruffy neck and drag you kicking and screaming back down to hell. Your old playmates will have all sorts of things planned for you—they’ve really missed you, Hayward.”
Hayward looked back at his beer and took a drink with trembling hands. He knew the bartender was watching him from his position at the end of the bar, but the man had too much sense to stay close to Scratch, who projected an air of danger about him. “What do you want me to do?”
“Someone you might be familiar with—Abraham Klee—is about to unleash some potent forces into this world. I don’t want him to be distracted while he’s doing this. But there’s a man out there who’s going to try and stop him. That’s where you come in. You’re going to keep that man so busy that he’s not going to be able to stop Klee from succeeding.”
Heyward’s eyes had grown wide as Klee’s name was mentioned. “That bastard who put me in hell—you want me to help him now?”
“Not quite. You’re not so much helping him… as you are helping me. And yourself, of course… because if you do a good enough job, I’ll let your soul go free.”
“Who’s this guy you want me to mess up?”
Scratch reached up to tug at his beard. “The Peregrine.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Heyward laughed out loud and shook his head. “There’s no way I’ll be able to slow him down. I’ll end up lying in a jail cell somewhere with that crazy bird symbol of his tattooed on my forehead!”
“It could be worse,” Scratch warned, and as he spoke, his eyes flashed with an inner flame that chilled Hayward’s blood.
“Are you… the devil?” Hayward asked, not caring if the bartender overheard him.
“No,” Scratch said, turning away. He seemed pleased by the comparison. “I’m just another servant. A particularly old one, it’s true, but not the fallen angel himself. He rarely comes out these days. He has so many dukes and princes amongst his followers that he can wage war against the almighty from a dozen different directions all at once. Makes more sense for him to play general than foot soldier, don’t you think?”
Hayward didn’t respond to that. He was desperate for any small shred of hope that he might avoid going back to hell… but he was smart enough to realize that any deal with the devil—or an agent of his—was fraught with the possibility of betrayal.
“So, are you willing to become something greater than you are right now?” Scratch’s lips were held in a thin smile that seemed vaguely reptilian.
Hayward finished his beer and turned in his stool so that his body was turned towards Scratch’s. “How are we going to do this?”
“It won’t take but a second.” Scratch reached out and touched Hayward’s shoulder, squeezing slightly. Almost immediately, Hayward felt a tremor pass through him, and his heart suddenly felt like it had been dipped in fire. He screamed, and every man and woman in the bar whirled to stare at him.
Hayward’s eyes went dark, and his body began to twist and alter. His flesh toughened, taking on the quality of snakeskin, and his forehead began to itch terribly as small black horns suddenly burst up through his skin. The back of his pants ripped as a long and thick tail suddenly pushed through. It swept back and forth through the air with powerful strokes. When Hayward finally fell to his knees, panting with pain, his body had been transformed into that of a human-snake hybrid.
Scratch watched as Hayward lifted his head and glanced around. A forked tongue shot forth from between his lips, tasting the air. “Welcome to the new phase of your existence, Mr. Haley. Or perhaps I should call you Draco? A more fitting name for you at present, I would think.”
Draco felt exhilarated by the strength he now possessed, but his thrills were muted by the overpowering hunger that filled his body. He caught sight of the bartender, who was now quivering in fear behind the bar. With a roar of animalistic rage, Draco threw himself over the bar, sending several bottles and glasses crashing to the floor. Draco grabbed hold of the terrified bartender and the two disappeared out of sight, the sounds of rending flesh and growls echoing in the air.
The rest of the tavern’s customers were suddenly spurred from their shock, and they began to move en masse towards the exits. When they found the doors strangely locked and resistant to being forced open, Scratch began to laugh merrily. He grabbed an unbroken bottle of brandy and poured himself a glass.
Draco rose up from behind the bar around this time, his mouth and chin covered in crimson. Scratch sat back and watched as the altered human jumped over the bar and began tearing into the other patrons of the bar. Their screams eventually faded away, as Draco ripped them to pieces and devoured much of their bodies.
When the beast was finally sated, he turned back to Scratch and found himself once more able to vocalize. “What have you done to me?” he hissed.
“I’ve given you the opportunity to win your freedom. And all you have to do is kill the Peregrine.”
CHAPTER V
Twists and Turns
The Peregrine knelt before the back door to Abraham Klee’s home, slowly pushing a silver powder into the keyhole. He then took a few steps back and waited. Fumes emerged from the slot, and within seconds, the entire lock assembly fell to pieces, having been melted by a powerful acid created by Max’s chemical genius.
Evelyn was parked around front, keeping an eye out for any signs that Klee might attempt to flee. This left Max alone as he pushed the now-unlocked door, letting it swing silently inwards. In his left hand, the Peregrine held a pistol loaded with silver bullets.
After he and his wife had returned home, Max had listened with great interest to Josh’s story. The name Abraham Klee had immediately caught his attention: not only was Hayward’s former employer a man with a lengthy record, but he was also the owner of the Atlanta address that Max had planned to investigate anyway.
Once again, he’d realized, things had begun to fall in place for him. He’d long ago realized that there was no such thing as coincidence. There was only cold, implacable fate, always pushing him forward into one horrible situation after another.
Max found himself grinning as he crept through the corridors of Klee’s nicely furnished home. Sometimes his tendency for the dramatic asserted itself and he painted a worse picture than it actually was. He was happily married, with two wonderful children. He had good friends and the capacity to help others. Ultimately, that was more than enough to balance the scales, in his opinion.
The Peregrine quickly realized that the house was empty. Room after room contained books and ancient artifacts, a few of which Max recognized from his own studies into the occult. When he finally came to the study, the Peregrine spotted the few remnants of the alien’s corpse on the floor, melted into a few spots of inhuman blood and gore.
He also saw the Onyx Goddess on a small shelf.
With a curse, Max activated the small communicator he was wearing. “Evelyn. Abraham Klee is Stickman. I’m sure of it.”
His wife’s voice sounded just as annoyed as he felt. “And he’s already gone? How in the hell did he know we were coming after him?”
“I don’t know. He might have just stepped out for all we know—or maybe he somehow knew we found that address book and guessed that I’d be looking for him. Could be anything. It just burns me that h
e’s been right under my nose in Atlanta the whole time.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
Max didn’t answer right away. He was sniffing the air, catching the faint whiff of female perfume. Did the Stickman have a girl who was part of his gang?
The Peregrine turned and started to search more of the house when he spotted a small flash of light on the back of the door. He approached it and blinked in surprise as writing began to appear. Each letter was drawn on the door as if by an invisible pen:
Peregrine: Gone to Manhattan, in search of a man named Reed Barrows. If you miss us there, try Easter Island. The secrets of rongorongo await!
Max stared at the words, watching as they faded away once more. It was a simple spell, he knew, one that was keyed to the presence of a specific person—in this case, himself.
Two things immediately sprang to mind: First, who had left him this message and why? Second, what did Reed Barrows have to do with Easter Island and rongorongo?
The Peregrine had crossed paths with Barrows back in 1937, when the man had foolishly revived a vampire named Camilla. Barrows had become her love slave, aiding her in an attempt to establish a vampiric dynasty dubbed the Kingdom of Blood. Barrows had fled after Camilla and her brethren had been slain, and Max had assumed that the man had bled to death from his wounds… but apparently he’d returned to his native Manhattan. Barrows had been in his forties when he’d brought Camilla back to life, so he’d be an old man now, close to sixty.
“Max.” Evelyn’s voice, slightly breathless, brought the Peregrine back to the modern day.
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s someone here—I can’t see him, but I just know it. I’m being watched.”
Max gripped his gun tightly and hurried towards the door. “I’m on my way!”
The Peregrine hadn’t taken more than two quick steps before Evelyn’s scream nearly deafened him. The listening device sent her howl of terror straight into his brain, and he momentarily lost his footing before recovering and rushing forward with even more speed than before.
As Max reached the front door, he grew even more concerned. Evelyn’s signal had gone quiet, with only static answering his requests for information. The heavy oak door split into several pieces as the Peregrine grabbed hold of the doorknob and he backed away just in time to avoid being caught in the debris as it was suddenly sprayed into the foyer. A monster—there was no other way to describe him—greeted the Peregrine with a roar of anger.
Draco stalked into the room, his snake-like tongue flicking out before him. He was naked, his maleness dangling between scaled thighs. Here and there on his sleek form were splatters of blood, and Max could only pray that those hadn’t come from Evelyn.
Max took a few steps back, raising his pistol and pointing it at the monster. He was a bit surprised when Draco spoke, having thought that the creature was some mere killing machine dispatched by Stickman.
“Peregrine,” Draco whispered. “I am going to kill you… if you put down your gun, I’ll make it quick for you.”
“I’m afraid I’ll take my chances.” The Peregrine pulled the trigger and quickly fired a half-dozen shots. The bullets ripped into Draco’s flesh, some passing all the way through his scaled body. Others merely opened deep fissures in his skin, letting blood ooze freely.
Draco hissed and lunged for the Peregrine, his body slamming against the vigilante’s and knocking him to the floor. The snakeman’s mouth closed on Max’s shoulder and bit down hard, cutting through clothing and flesh. Max brought his gun up under Draco’s stomach and fired, the point-blank range allowing the bullet to tear a jagged hole in the monster’s belly.
Draco moved away, one hand clutching at his ruined midsection. The Peregrine made it to his feet, swaying somewhat unsteadily. He felt feverish all of a sudden, and he was beginning to lose feeling in his left arm… With a fearful start, he realized that Draco’s bite had filled him with some kind of venom.
The Peregrine barely had time to brace himself before Draco slammed into him again. A powerful roundhouse punch sent Max stumbling backwards, and he fell through the shattered remains of the front door. He slipped down the stairs leading to the house and landed hard on the concrete walkway. The barking of dogs now disturbed the normally quiet neighborhood, and several lights began to come on in the surrounding houses.
Draco strode towards him, clenching and unclenching his clawed hands. His wounds were continuing to bleed profusely, but the pain only served to enrage the being that had once been Hayward Haley.
Max barely managed to roll over onto his side. The back of his head felt wet, and the venom was beginning to make his eyesight cloudy. Another few minutes and the combination of the loss of blood and the poison would render him helpless before the snakeman. “So… did your master send you to kill me?” he asked, stalling for time. “Are you something that Stickman summoned from hell?”
Draco hesitated, his eyes narrowing. “Stickman…?”
“What’s the matter? You prefer to call him Abraham? Or Mr. Klee? Or just Master?”
Draco stumbled to a halt, his face showing nothing but pure disgust. “Klee… I don’t serve Klee! He’s a bastard. Sold me out! But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do…”
Max stared at Draco in shock. For a second there, while Draco was ranting about Klee—he sounded almost human. In fact, he sounded like someone who had been stabbed in the back by Stickman—just as Hayward Haley had been.
Unfortunately, Max didn’t have time to properly digest that information, because the killing machine that was Draco was upon him once more. The Peregrine was too dazed to avoid a backwards swipe of the snakeman’s claws, and three deep rifts appeared on Max’s cheek. Draco then kicked the Peregrine in the stomach with such force that Max spat up a thick cloud of blood.
Draco stood over him, panting, and narrowed his eyes. “If things go the way I want… I’ll end up with Abraham Klee’s throat in my mouth soon enough. I don’t work for him. Not ever again!”
The Peregrine tried to find the strength to grab hold of the Knife of Elohim. His fingers brushed against the hilt of the blade, but he couldn’t quite manage to pull it free of its sheath on his belt. He was going to die, he realized, killed by a half-human snake hybrid.
And that’s when Max’s ears were nearly deafened by a series of gunshots. He looked up quickly to see a dozen or so bullets slamming into Draco’s body. Some ended up in the monster’s midsection, but most went straight into his skull, with deadly accuracy. Draco staggered, his face a ruined mess, and then collapsed at Max’s side.
The Peregrine felt someone lifting him up to his feet, and he looked through blurry eyes at his wife, whose left eye was swollen and puffy. It would be a real shiner in the days to come.
“Evelyn? I thought…”
“That monster knocked me for a loop and then came after you—I guess he thought he didn’t have time to kill me. When I woke back up, I came to help.”
“You’re a better shot than I remembered,” Max stammered, leaning heavily against her.
“I was taught by the best. What’s wrong, Max?”
“Poisoned… need… help….”
Max fell into a deep pit of unconsciousness.
* * *
The next day found Max Davies struggling to sit upright in his bed, his body covered in sweat. He still felt quite fuzzy in the head, but gone was the blurred vision and the painfully-pounding heart.
Seated close to him was the Russian superman, Leonid Kaslov. The Russian was one of the most famous men in the world, both for his adventurous nature and his many scientific achievements. With close-cropped white-blond hair and icy blue eyes, he was a very Nordic-looking figure, his wonderfully sculpted physique lovingly wrapped in a dark suit and tie.
“Leo? How did you get here?”
“Evelyn called me on the emergency line and told me about your situation. I was here within the hour.”
Max put a hand to his forehead a
nd winced. “The poison…?”
“Will pass from your system within the next twenty-four hours. I’ve administered an antidote that should render it harmless until then. It was quite fascinating, actually. The poison was somewhat similar to cobra venom, but with traces of…” Kaslov stopped talking when he saw Max staring at him. “I’m sorry. We can discuss the chemical composition of the poison at another time.”
“Did Libby come with you?” Max inquired.
A shadow came over Kaslov’s face and he shook his head. “No. We are taking some time apart.”
Max held his tongue, though he was genuinely shocked. Leonid and his secretary had begun a courtship several years ago, but Libby had frequently chafed under Kaslov’s less-than-romantic nature. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said at last. He slipped out from under the sheets and got dressed. “Where’s the monster’s corpse?”
“Downstairs… but there’s something you should know. A few moments after you passed out, the body began to change. He turned into a male Negro. Evelyn called Will to help her move you and the snakeman’s body to the house. And your friend Josh identified the body as belonging to his cousin Hayward.”
“Damn.” Max lowered his head and took a moment to reflect. “Poor Josh. He lost Nettie and Hayward both.”
“He’s fairly insistent that you locate the man who did this to him and make him pay.”
The Peregrine nodded, pulling on his jacket and tie. He didn’t stop dressing until his guns were holstered and his domino-style mask was in place. “I found a message there at Klee’s place. It directed me to Manhattan, and if I strike out there, I’m supposed to head to Easter Island.”
“What on Earth for?”
“I don’t know. But somehow Stickman is involved in something involving rongorongo. I have to stop him, or else my vision will…” Max stopped suddenly, glancing at Leonid, who was looking at him with narrowed eyes.