The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two

by Barry Reese

  Dracula waved a hand through the air, dismissing the threats as if they were beneath him. “The Peregrine will be inadvertently responsible for my eventual ascension to power. When Camilla began the Kingdom of Blood ritual, it resurrected me, but I was still too weak to have effectively mounted a campaign against the other ancient vampires. Thanks to the Peregrine stopping her before all of the others could be reawakened, I now have a clearer path to my goal.”

  Dracula and Scratch entered the ancient and forbidding structure together. The interior buildings were carved from black stone and seemed to absorb all light. Burning braziers lighted the school, and there was a sickly sweet smell that hung over the area.

  “Where are the current pupils?” Dracula asked, his eyes passing over every window and doorway. There appeared to be no life whatsoever in this place.

  “We do not currently have any students,” Scratch admitted. He smiled at the shock on Dracula’s face. “We have begun spreading our lessons far and wide. We have many more adherents now than ever before. The days of hiding ourselves away in remote locations are over. The rest of this century shall belong to the denizens of the dark.”

  Dracula said nothing, though his expression showed that he very much doubted that. Still, the world had changed much during his long slumber. During the ten years since his resurrection, he had studied those changes in great detail. It had been a long, slow process of acclimating himself, but it had been necessary.

  “When you sent word to me that you wanted me to return to my old school, you said it was because you wished to propose an alliance between myself and someone else. I am here.” Dracula stroked his moustache. “I would like to meet this man that you think could help me.”

  Scratch nodded, smiling broadly. He knew that the count wanted nothing more or less than world domination. The problem was that Dracula trusted no one—even his vampiric servants were kept weak-willed and in spiritual bondage so that they could not rise up against him. This meant that all too often Dracula stood alone against his enemies, and even someone as powerful as the count could eventually fall against superior numbers.

  “The count is here, mein Freund! Feel free to come forth and introduce yourself!” Scratch raised his voice as he spoke, and Dracula glared at him, thinking that Scratch was an uncouth servant of the dark lord—and why the devil would cloak Scratch in the heathen form of a Negro was beyond him.

  Dracula caught sight of movement from within one of the darkened passageways leading into the heart of the school. The man who emerged was short and somewhat stocky, with one hand that trembled slightly and was held stiffly against his body. His thinning hair was combed over his balding head and his small moustache was dashed with gray. He wore an old army uniform that was dirty and ripped. Dracula recognized the man immediately, though his current state was shockingly distressing.

  Adolf Hitler had once been the most powerful man in the world. Under his direct supervision, millions had come to their ends, in battle and through a series of euthanasia programs. Dracula had admired many of the man’s directives, though not his foolish inability to learn from his mistakes.

  “The Allies claim you are dead,” Dracula said, speaking in flawless German.

  “Not the Russians,” Hitler said. “That bastard Stalin knows better.”

  Dracula glanced towards Scratch, but quickly realized that the devil’s right hand was no longer there. He had vanished without a trace, leaving behind two of the world’s great evils. Turning back to Hitler, Dracula gestured towards a small outdoor table. “Let us palaver.”

  Hitler moved with a shuffling gait and Dracula sniffed the air. He was attuned to the blood of others and he sensed that not all was well with the former Fuehrer. “How did you escape Berlin?”

  “A double died on my behalf, in the hopes that it would fool anyone who found my bunker that I had committed suicide. I was then hurried out of the country. Many of my former comrades have taken up residence in Argentina, but I have no plans to go into hiding like some frightened animal!”

  Dracula sat down across from Hitler, studying the man with interest. “And what are your plans?”

  Hitler laid his trembling hand atop the table, his face contorting with rage. He was incredibly ugly when he was like this, Dracula noted. “I want to see my enemies lying in pools of blood! I want to see the Reich restored! I want… I want…” Hitler’s eyes seemed to bulge, and for a moment Dracula thought the man was going to have a heart attack. But then the Fuehrer regained his composure, though he quickly issued a series of hacking coughs. “I want my health back, Count. And this Scratch claims you can do this.”

  “What do you know of Scratch?” Dracula prodded, knowing of Hitler’s distaste for the “mongrel” races.

  “The Negro came to me a few months ago. My bodyguard had been shot by a group of Russians who have been in pursuit of us since the fall of Berlin. I was desperate and half-starved. Then Scratch appeared, offering me sanctuary. I would not have trusted him, but I could not abide being captured, and he… had showed me a sampling of his power. I knew then that he could help me accomplish what I had been after. All during the war I accumulated artifacts that I thought would help me secure the Reich. I found the Occult Forces Project. I exhausted myself mentally and physically… but in the end, I was undone by both the frailty of my flesh and the lack of will amongst my compatriots. No more! If the Reich is to be restored, it must be my hand that guides the wheel.” Hitler raised his hand, which shook so badly that even Dracula was embarrassed for him. “Scratch says that you can cure me of these afflictions. You can make me strong—and immortal!”

  Dracula laughed, a cold and mirthless sound that made Hitler draw back in anger and which echoed off the surrounding walls. “You want me to make you a vampire?”

  Hitler did not seem to share the humor. “I see no other alternative. My body is betraying me. My mind remains fit, but there some days that make me feel like a prisoner inside a rotting shell! If I am to have any chance at redeeming myself, I need to be strong and vital!”

  “And what would I gain from doing this?”

  “What would you want? A continent or two? I could give you all of Asia—would that be enough?”

  Dracula’s lips continued to twist in a mockery of a smile. “You are very confident, I grant you, but I would think I would have as much chance of conquering the world without you as with you. You have no military left to speak of. Your closest aides are either in the hands of the Allies or are deep in hiding. You are too recognizable. Everywhere we went, we would run the risk of someone seeing you. You would be a liability.”

  Hitler seemed incensed by the thought that his help would be spurned, but he quickly lowered his eyes and nodded. It was a curious thing, Dracula thought, to see such a proud man having been brought so low. “You… are correct. I have nothing to offer you save for my word of honor. I always thought I was a man of destiny, that my victories were inevitable. But the past few years have shown me that my reach has exceeded my grasp. I should have died there in the bunker.”

  Dracula said nothing for a moment, considering his options. All that he had said was true: there were far more reasons to refuse Hitler’s request than there were to grant it… but at the same time, Hitler had the possibility of greatness. He had risen from obscurity to become the most dangerous man in the world, through sheer charisma and force of will. But could he do that again? Or was his spirit too broken for him to once again rise to the top?

  The count leaned forward, his eyes flashing. “Look at me,” he commanded. Hitler raised his gaze until it locked with Dracula’s, and the two men stared at one another for a long moment. Hitler felt as if the vampire was peering into his very soul. He refused to look away, instead choosing to stare back with all the intensity of a man who had once led the German people.

  Dracula finally nodded and Hitler let his shoulders fall. The Fuehrer looked tired and drained, as if the effort of summoning this display of will had been almost too m
uch for him. “I will turn you into a vampire,” the count said at last.

  Hitler’s eyes widened, and he smiled coolly. “You shall not regret it, my friend!”

  “We are not friends, nor shall we ever be,” Dracula replied tersely. “And you shall be my servant from this door forward. You must be ready to accept that!”

  Hitler appeared to consider the count’s words, obviously troubled by the idea of being a slave of another, but there was no other way. Without the vampirism to make him strong and immortal, Hitler knew he would not last more than another year or two, if that long. The strains of being a wanted man weighed heavily upon him. “I shall accept that,” he said, so softly that Dracula almost couldn’t hear him.

  The count bared his fangs. He threw himself upon Hitler before the smaller man could change his mind. Dracula’s weight pressed the German down to the ground and his fangs bit deep into Hitler’s neck. They clung together for several long moments, looking like lovers caught beneath the moonlight…

  And before long, the deed was done.

  CHAPTER IX

  Jenny Everywhere

  Josh was never one of those fools who thought that real men didn’t cry. He’d seen his own father break down on more than one occasion, and it had never made him think less of the man; in fact, it was the exact opposite.

  So as he walked the moonlit property owned by Mr. Davies, Josh didn’t try to hide the thick tears that rolled down his cheeks. His overalls were soaked with mud and sweat, but he didn’t even notice. His mind was on Nettie and his cousin, who had somehow been turned into some sort of monster before he’d died, at least according to Mr. Kaslov.

  “Josh?”

  He stopped where he was, waiting. Evelyn’s voice rang out once more, closer this time. Josh finally yelled back, “Over here, Mrs. Davies.”

  Evelyn came around the side of a tree, her eyes filled with concern. She was in a robe that hid her nightgown, and looked like she’d recently woken up. “I went to check on you and didn’t see you in your room,” she explained. “Are you okay?”

  “Not really, Mrs. Davies.” Josh put his hands on his hips and blinked away his tears. “I just feel like I’ve let everybody down. Like I should have done something more to help out Hayward…”

  “He was a grown man,” Evelyn said, moving closer. “Sometimes you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.”

  “I know you’re right, but it doesn’t change how I feel.” Josh looked directly at her. “When I saw Hayward, he’d already changed back to how he normally looked. Did you see him when he was that creature?”

  “Yes. I… I was the one who shot him. I wasn’t sure how to tell you before. He was going to kill Max, and I… I didn’t know he was your cousin.”

  “It’s okay. You did what you had to do. I just wish I could have talked him into staying when he came to see me. He was okay then. Whoever did that to him hadn’t gotten to him yet. You think it was that Abraham Klee fella? Or some demon from hell?”

  Evelyn shrugged. “I don’t know. Max is going after Klee, though. He’s probably already caught him. As for it being a demon—before I met Max, I would have laughed in your face for even saying that. But I’ve been face-to-face with vampires, werewolves, demons… yeah, it could have been the devil or a demon.”

  “Strange world we live in,” Josh said, laughing ruefully. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course you can.”

  “How come you aren’t in church every day of the week? I mean, you’ve seen these things… you know they’re real. The devil, ghosts, all of that. So why don’t you pray to Jesus?”

  Evelyn wasn’t sure how to respond. She started walking towards the house, Josh at her side. “I’ve never been very religious. I mean, my parents went to church, so I did, but it was mainly a social responsibility. When I got old enough to decide for myself, I always decided to sleep in on Sundays.” Josh grinned at that, knowing her penchant for late mornings on the weekends. “I know what you’re getting at, though. If the devil’s real, then God must be, too. And we know that Max’s father still exists, so there is definitely life after death.” Evelyn shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. I guess I think the most important thing is how you live your life, being a good person to those around you. I think whatever God there is would put more emphasis on that than how many times I go to church.”

  Josh considered her words for a moment. “You make it sound like you’re not sure that the Christian God is the real God.”

  “I just mean that… yeah, I guess that is what I mean. Just because there’s a devil doesn’t mean that the Bible is right about everything. Many religions have a demonic entity that tries to trick humanity. Maybe all religions are just telling the same stories, in different ways. Some get more things right than others, but none are perfect.”

  “I don’t really agree with that. From what Hayward told me, he was in hell. You know, the Bible’s version of hell. That makes me think Jesus and the other stuff is true, too.”

  Evelyn glanced at him. “So what are you going to do about it?”

  “I think…” Josh grinned at her as they stepped onto the back porch. “I think I’m going to find me a nice Baptist church with a lot of singing and dancing.”

  * * *

  She fell from the sky at approximately seven a.m. local time. She landed with a small “Eep!” escaping from her lips, tumbling down in the middle of a large bale of hay. She rolled off the hay bale and ended up on her knees. Adjusting the aviation goggles that sat atop her head and the scarf that hung colorfully around her neck, Jenny Everywhere quickly took a look around and grinned to herself.

  The Davies plantation was a lovely place, especially covered with morning dew. For a moment, she thought she’d ended up in the Antebellum Aouth, but after noticing a pickup truck parked in front of the house, she realized that this was a later era than that.

  Reaching into the front right pocket of her khaki pants, she pulled out a small pocket watch and held it up above her head. She whistled as she counted out the seconds. After thirty had passed, she pulled the watch back down and looked at its face. The time was clearly marked, and in the lower right corner she saw the date, including the year.

  “Neat,” she said, putting the watch back into her pocket. She spotted the plantation house and took off towards it, noting that there were lights on inside. She could hear the sounds of children laughing and this made her already-sunny disposition even brighter.

  Jenny made it to the front door and knocked lightly. After a moment, Evelyn appeared in the doorway, staring at Jenny with undisguised surprise.

  Jenny knew she was an interesting site, especially in 1946. Jenny had short, dark hair, though much of it was hidden beneath her aviation goggles. A multi-colored scarf was wrapped around her neck, keeping her warm in the cool morning air. Her clothes were comfortable and obviously designed for travel: a gray tank top covered by a light jacket. Her khaki slacks were damp in the knees from her tumble in the grass, and her sneakers were covered with lawn clippings. A duffel bag was slung over one shoulder and a few spare pieces of clothing hung from the half-opened zipper. She was shorter than Evelyn, standing at five foot six inches, and was of medium build, though Evelyn immediately sensed that this young girl was remarkably comfortable within her own skin. Her face showed a mixed ancestry, though Evelyn couldn’t decide if she was seeing traces of Asian or Native American blood in her features.

  “Can I help you?” Evelyn asked, trying to wrap her head around who in the world would be visiting at this time of morning.

  Jenny put out a hand and vigorously greeted Evelyn. “Hi! My name’s Jenny. Some people call me the Shifter, but if we’re going to be friends, then I think Jenny will do—or Jen, if you’d prefer. You must be…” Jenny pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Don’t tell me! I know this… Evelyn Gould Davies!” Jenny snapped her fingers in the air, looking very pleased. “Married Max in the 1930s, died in the late 1960s…” Jenny’s eyes
widened considerably. “Oops. Scratch that. Never came out of my mouth.” Jenny turned for a moment and slammed the palm of her left hand against her forehead. She began whispering under her breath. “Never tell people when they’re going to die. First rule of time-space travel. Idiot.”

  Evelyn felt her confusion mounting. Had this girl just told her she was going to die in twenty years? “You said your name was Jenny?” she asked, hoping to get the conversation on level footing again.

  Jenny turned around and smiled wanly. “Yeah. Listen, is your husband up yet? I’d kinda like to talk to him.”

  “He’s not here right now.”

  “Darn.” Jenny’s nostrils flared and her face lit up like it was Christmas morning. “Did you make pancakes? I love pancakes!”

  Evelyn couldn’t avoid liking this girl. “Yes. Would you like to come in? I have no idea when Max will be back…”

  Jenny stepped inside and shrugged. “I’m in no hurry. I deliberately got here before the Big Bads got too far into their plans so I could help.”

  Evelyn led Jenny to the kitchen, where the kids were having their breakfast. William and Emma looked up at the newcomer curiously, and laughed as Jenny immediately began making faces at them.

  Evelyn watched them as she made a plate for Jenny. “Care to tell me where you’re from, Jenny? And why do people call you the Shifter?”

  Jenny gratefully accepted the pancakes and took a bite before answering. She closed her eyes and looked like she’d had a taste of pure ecstasy. “Wow. That’s good.” Jenny began talking in between bites, occasionally winking at little William, who seemed fond of her already. “Well, I’m able to exist in all times simultaneously. It’s kinda confusing, but the way it works for me is that I’m living a linear existence, moving from one place in space/time to another. But there are other versions of me out there, doing the same thing. I never run into myself—thank goodness—but I’ve met people who knew another me and I didn’t know them, though the memories from the other versions of me sometimes rush in when I need them. Is that making any sense?”