by Barry Reese
“And yet when you finally claimed the Spear, you still lost everything.” Dracula’s eyes continued to blaze into Hitler’s. “The Spear considered you nothing more than a mule, Adolf. A means for it to eventually end up in my hands.”
Hitler bristled but chose to avoid a direct reply. “You say you can summon the souls of the damned with that?”
“Yes. Those in hell are the easiest to claim because they wish to be brought back—they want to be freed of their torments. I can summon others, as well, but it is harder.”
“I have someone I wish you to bring back to me.”
Dracula found himself growing curious. “Who?”
Hitler fell to his knees in a ridiculous pose, beseeching Dracula to do as he asked. “My lovely niece, Geli… You can bring her back. You can make her love me!”
“Surely you would prefer to have your Eva?”
“Eva was a good woman… but my Geli. She died too soon.”
Dracula’s lips pulled back, revealing his sharpened teeth. He detested weakness, and at the moment Hitler seemed like a sniveling little worm. Worse yet, he was a lying one, the vampire sensed. “How did she die?”
Hitler’s expression became guarded, though he kept the pleading tone in his words. “She died when she was twenty-three, in 1931. We’d had words about her voice lessons before that, and she was so distraught that she shot herself.”
“How odd,” Dracula noted. “Women do not usually choose firearms as their implements of suicide.”
“My Geli was brave enough to be a man in many regards.”
“And you want me to revive her… and make her love you?”
Hitler nodded. “She loved me, adored me! But not as much as I did her! She was my princess!”
Dracula rose, bearing the Spear of Destiny in his left hand. “I can do this thing, but it will only put you further into my debt.”
“Anything! I will do anything you ask!”
Dracula nodded and moved further away, down a passageway lined with the skulls of the dead. “I shall summon her and bind her will. Wait for me here.”
Hitler nodded gratefully, but as soon as Dracula was out of sight, his expression changed. The vampire lord may be his master at present, but when the time was right, Hitler would claim what was rightfully his. He would have his Geli… and he would have the Holy Lance.
* * *
Dracula found a secluded area of the catacombs, confident that he was safely away from the prying eyes of the Fuehrer. He was well aware that Hitler was not to be trusted, and he was quite sure that Hitler’s love for his niece was anything but pure. Having sexual relations with relatives was not unknown to the count, and he was certainly in no position to act as a moral judge over anyone’s sins, but Hitler’s lustful expression when he spoke of “his” Geli was enough to make even the master vampire shift uncomfortably.
Dracula raised the Spear and began to open his soul to the weapon’s arcane energies. The power surged through him and allowed him to gaze into the realms beyond this one. There was a misty field that served as a gateway between the bowels of fiery hell and the gentle peace of heaven. Dracula searched for Geli’s soul, finding it loose in the field of fog and mist. That meant that while she was not sinful enough to warrant hell, there were enough skeletons in her closet to make her unwanted in heaven.
As the vampire centered his thoughts upon her spirit, he felt a peculiar sensation: he was being watched. Dracula looked about mentally, finding locating the man who was studying his actions. It was a handsome man in a well-tailored suit, and Dracula could sense the disapproval that this stranger held for him. The man began to pull away, hiding from Dracula in the shadowy mists, but Dracula caught just enough of his mental presence to pluck a name from him: Warren Davies.
Dracula hesitated, for a moment growing so confused that he almost lost sight of Geli. Davies—that was the same last name as the Peregrine’s true identity. Was there a connection?
Deciding that this was something to be studied at a later date, Dracula refocused his attentions on Geli’s spirit. He used the amplified power of the Spear to yank her towards him, tearing her free of the void of the spirit. The Spear was able to encase her soul in a new body, one that perfectly mirrored the one she had held in life. Furthermore, Dracula was able to insert several commands into her psyche: she would obey Adolf Hitler above all others, save one: should the need ever arise, she would take the commands of Dracula as total law.
The girl who now stood before Dracula was lovely, though there was something so childlike in her features that it prevented her from being truly beautiful. Angelika Maria “Geli” Raubal had been born in 1908 and she had died in 1931, but the fire that burned in her eyes now seemed far older than that. She had suffered much in her brief existence on Earth, and the torment of wandering in a void had aged her spirit even more. But she remained nymph-like in her sexuality, with a trim figure, slightly over-sized eyes, and breasts that, while small, were perfectly aligned.
Geli stared at Dracula, a momentary look of disgust passing over her doll-like features before her programming kicked in. When she spoke, there was no trace of doubt in her voice. She was here on this Earth for two reasons only: to serve her uncle and, in secret, to serve Dracula. “Where is Uncle Alf?” she asked.
Dracula raised his voice and shouted for the Fuehrer. He repeated the call twice more until he heard Hitler’s footsteps in the passage. When the Fuehrer emerged, his eyes were riveted on the female form before him. Geli smiled happily and rushed to him, embracing him with all the fervor of a young lover. Hitler was stiff for a moment, his shock holding his emotions in check, and then he pulled her to him so roughly that Geli’s breath was knocked from her.
Quietly, Hitler whispered soothing words in her ear, and Geli returned the ardor by stroking her uncle’s hair.
Dracula watched the scene with amusement before stepping past them. The happy couple barely seemed to take notice of him, and the vampire left them to their happy reunion.
Past the rows of the dead, the vampire strode. The Spear was glowing softly now and Dracula felt elated by the power he now wielded. He could resurrect anyone—past lovers, loyal followers, brilliant tacticians who could advise him…
“Or you could revive someone who could not only deal with the Peregrine for you, but who could make sure that none of his friends would rise up to avenge him.”
Dracula whirled about to see a ghostlike figure standing before a wall of skulls. The wraith was obviously a spirit who had followed Geli back to this realm, but he was nothing more than a ghost, with no physical shell to hold him. He was tall and thin, with dark hair and sunken eyes.
“Who are you?” Dracula demanded in imperious tones.
“My name is Jacob Trench. About ten years ago, I ended up in possession of a little relic called Lucifer’s Cage. I made a few mistakes along the way and ended up running afoul of the Peregrine. I ended up dead, but I’d like to make a comeback. And I know everything there is to know about the Peregrine… and his daddy, who was the one watching you back in the void.”
Dracula pointed the Spear of Destiny at Trench’s chest. The ghost backed away somewhat, confirming what the vampire already suspected: the power of the lance not only allowed him to summon forth wraiths and bind them, it also gave him the ability to wound them. “I could twist you to my will, making you my slave for the rest of your existence—there is no bargaining to be done here. I am in command. You are a servant.”
Trench nodded, obviously accepting his role. “All I want is a chance for revenge. After that, what you want is fine.”
Dracula lowered the point of the lance. “You have a plan?”
“I do. The Peregrine has several weaknesses, most revolving around his family and friends. Quite a few people have tried to strike at them, and so he’s gotten used to protecting them. But there’s one avenue where he’s unable to offer any defense at all: his father.”
“His father is dead.”
; Trench grinned. “That’s right. And with that lance, you can control him. You can bind him to your will… and make him into a weapon against the Peregrine. Our boy Max is used to following his dad’s advice. All we have to do is twist Warren Davies into being your slave and then we lead the Peregrine into a trap, easy as can be.”
Dracula pondered this and finally nodded his agreement. He had plans that he believed would be impossible for any one man to impede—even someone as dangerous as the Peregrine. But having something in place that could delay or kill him so that there was absolutely no chance of Davies saving the day… that was well worth his time.
“Very well,” he said with a cool smile. “I will resurrect you… and then we will use the Peregrine’s father as our ultimate weapon.”
CHAPTER XV
Revelations
Bella sat in an overstuffed chair in the Peregrine’s library, a heavy book spread open over her lap. She was dressed like a normal girl, having borrowed a few things from Evelyn, and with a cup of warm cocoa at her side, she almost felt like someone who hadn’t spent the past few years traipsing through one sinful place after another.
She was also smiling blissfully, lost in the joy of learning. These books were priceless, and she shivered to think of all that Max must have gone through to bring them together in one place.
As she turned the pages of her book, she felt her brother’s gaze upon her. She looked over at him, standing there with his back against the wall, a book held lightly in the fingers of his right hand. He was studying her closely, looking very pleased with himself.
“What’s gotten you so peppy?” she asked, feeling a sense of irritation taking hold, ruining her mood.
“You. Seeing you like this, without that stupid outfit on. Without a horde of demons chasing you, out for blood. It reminds me of the girl you used to be. I miss her.”
Bella looked down at her book, but she wasn’t taking notice of the words before her. Her eyes were filled with hot, moist tears all of a sudden. “You don’t understand,” she whispered.
“You’re right. I don’t. Because after you got away from that chamber of horrors, you’d never let me or anyone else get close enough to understand.”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
Zadak crossed the room quickly and knelt in front of her. He gripped her hands and held them tightly, forcing her to look into his face. She saw nothing but love and concern for her in his eyes, and she felt briefly ashamed for keeping him at arm’s length from her. “I love you, Harriet. And yes, I know you don’t want me to call you that, but that’s who you are to me. You’re my sister. And I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to protect you. But you don’t have to change who you are to keep from facing the past. I’ll stand right beside you and help you.”
Bella started to reply in an angry manner, but her brother’s obvious concern touched her deeply. She turned away, blinking away tears. “I love you, too,” she said with a shaky voice. “But you really don’t understand. Something happened to me when that doctor tied me up. Now I need the excitement, the thrill… I can’t stop. I’m addicted.”
“Then I’ll get you help.”
“I don’t want help!” she barked, staring at him once more. “That’s what you don’t get. I’m happy this way, Zadak. I’m Belladonna now, and I don’t want to go back. So learn to love me like this, or get the hell out of my life!”
Zadak sat back, shocked at the anger in his sister’s voice. “I… you’re right, Harriet. I hadn’t really thought about it like that. I’d just assumed you want me to help you.”
“That’s because you’re a sweet, wonderful man, Zadak. But I don’t need you to protect me. I’m a grown woman.”
“You’re right.” Zadak looked away and sighed. “I’m so sorry, Bella.”
Bella blinked in surprise, noticing his deliberate use of her newly chosen name. “Thank you. Very much.”
Zadak stood up and cleared his throat. In a somewhat sweet manner, he completely changed the subject, making his sister smile wistfully. It was hard to stay mad at someone who loved you so much, she realized. “Well,” he was saying, “I think I’ve uncovered the history of the Spear. And it’s certainly a strange one.”
Bella set her book aside. “Most of what I’ve found is fairly recent about the Spear. You found its beginnings?”
“I did. Turns out that it was created around 3061 B.C. in the Land of Nod, somewhere east of Eden, in the foothills of the Ararat Mountains. A man named Tubal-Cain lived there. He was born to the seventh generation of the descendants of Adam and the last generation in the direct lineage of Cain. He was a forger of every sort of tool and a weapons-maker with copper and iron. Unhappy with the quality of metal in the area, he asked God to give him a material that would be the strongest in the world.”
Bella found herself growing entranced by the images that were taking shape in her mind’s eye. “And I suppose God answered him?”
Zadak nodded, warming to the subject as well. He was obviously glad to be discussing something besides the emotional wounds that lay between himself and Harriet… or Bella, he mentally corrected himself. “There was a great light in the heavens and the clouds burst asunder. A streak of fire descended to Earth and struck the base of a nearby mountain. Tubal-Cain went to it and found that it glowed with a strange light and with great heat. When it had cooled, he found a mass of molten metal that was unknown to him. He wrought in his forge a spear from this metal. God then spoke to him and told him to take the lance to a distant mountain and leave it there, so that those who would have need of it might find it.”
Bella tapped the armrest of her chair and shook her head. “Why didn’t God just let Tubal-Cain keep it?”
“He wasn’t meant to use it for himself—he was an instrument of the Lord,” Zadak explained. “He forged this weapon with all his skill, and God wanted it to fall into certain hands.”
“And now it’s in Hitler’s? Sounds like God’s plan went a little off the right path at some point.”
Zadak smiled. “Tubal-Cain went to the land of Canaan and into the region of Ephraim in the territory of Timnath-heres, to the north of Mount Ga-ash. There he plunged the spear into a crevice and was then called up to heaven.”
“You mean God killed him?”
“He was called up to heaven,” Zadak repeated. “I think it was meant as a reward.”
Bella chuckled girlishly. “Remind me not to earn any favors from God.”
Ignoring her, Zadak said “It was then passed from mighty champion to mighty champion: Ehud, Shamgar, Ahab, King Hezekiah, the Maccabees—Judas, Jonathan, and Simon—and on to the Hasmonean dynasty. Eventually it fell to Julius Caesar, and then Gaius Cassius, and on and on. After it was used to pierce Christ’s side, it became even more powerful. Before it could cut through anything and was never nicked in battle. After Christ’s blood touched it, it gained the ability to raise the dead. Since the affair of Christ’s murder was tinged with both good and evil, the Spear acquired some of those properties. It’s not an evil object—as with any weapon, it’s neutral and responds to the wishes of the man who holds it.”
Bella stood up and stretched, relaxing some of the kinks that had developed in her spine from sitting for too long. “Okay… but this thing was created with God’s help, and God made sure that it ended up in the hands of some chosen champions or something, so why did he let Hitler claim it? Or Dracula?”
Zadak thought for a moment before throwing his hands up. “Who knows? Maybe God had a purpose for it and it’s been fulfilled, so he’d moved on… or maybe God has some higher plan that we’re not meant to understand yet. “
“That’s the excuse of believers everywhere,” Bella muttered. “Ask them anything that threatens their view of God as a benevolent being and they just shrug their shoulders and say, ‘Who can guess at the plans of God?’”
Zadak noticed the bitterness in her voice, but chose not to press. “I think we should call Max and tell him.”
> “Doesn’t sound like we’ve learned anything that will help,” Bella said.
“Maybe not… but now we’ve confirmed that the Spear isn’t tainted enough that it could be used for good purposes. Maybe Max can wrest it away from Dracula and use it against him. Hell, considering Dracula and all vampires are dead already, maybe the Spear can control them, too.”
* * *
Josh sat on the back steps of the house, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand. He wasn’t a heavy drinker, but after the weirdness of the past few days, he felt like cutting loose a little. Josh raised the bottle to his lips, splashing a bit of booze on his pants leg.
“I think you’ve had enough.”
Josh lowered the bottle and blinked through the haze that was his addled eyesight. He saw a man that at first he mistakenly thought to be Max standing before him—but then he saw that this man, while similar in features, was not his old friend. Furthermore, there was an odd, transparent nature to the man…
“Who are you?” Josh asked.
“My name is Warren Davies. I’m Max’s father.”
Josh felt a chill rush through him, and he tossed the bottle far away from him. It landed in the grass, spilling the remainder of its contents. “You’re dead,” he whispered, standing up with unsteady legs. “I’ve gotta be drunk…”
“You are. But that doesn’t mean you’re not speaking to a ghost. Surely my son’s told you that he’s seen me over the years?”
“Sure, but he’s got some kind of mental power. I don’t…”
Warren nodded. “That’s true. And you don’t. But certain drugs and types of alcohol can move you into another state of consciousness—it allows you to view things in a new light. People see all sorts of things when they’re intoxicated, but they tend to pass them off as hallucinations.”
Josh simply stared at the man, the combination of alcohol and his own past with weirdness allowing him to accept Warren’s words at face value. “Why are you talking to me? Is Max in trouble?”