The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two

by Barry Reese

  “Max?”

  “It’s me, Will. But we need to talk. There have been a few… changes.” To punctuate his words, Max pulled his lips back, revealing his canines, which glistened sharply in the morning light. “Big ones.”

  * * *

  Garibaldi lit his cigar and reached down to ruffle Raptor’s head. He was standing on the roof of Century Tower, Hochmuller busily setting up the Ivory Machine. It wasn’t long before Atlanta would be bathing in a crimson, flesh-eating rain.

  The events of last night had cemented Garibaldi’s desire to move forward quickly with his plans to seize control over Atlanta. If the Peregrine were moving to stop him—and really, who else could have broken into his penthouse and killed those dogs?—then it was only a matter of time before the masked vigilante tied Garibaldi to the Crimson Rain. Of course, considering the amount of blood that the Peregrine lost in battle, there was the chance that the man was dead.

  One can only hope, Garibaldi mused.

  “Herr Garibaldi, the machine is ready.” Hochmuller looked up into the clear blue sky. “How big of an area should I aim for?”

  “I want to make my point,” Garibaldi said. “So I think we’ll go for City Hall… and the entire block surrounding it.”

  The German nodded. It didn’t matter to him how many people would die today. It was all in the name of science, after all. “We only have a few more minutes before the deadline.”

  “Do it now.”

  Hochmuller blinked. “But your warning to the mayor said—”

  “I know what it said,” Garibaldi snapped. “I wrote it, remember? But there’s no point in waiting. There’s nothing they can do about it, one way or the other. And I’m anxious to see it done.”

  Hochmuller noted the husky tone in his employer’s voice and he had to fight down a smile. He knew the real reason that Garibaldi was so anxious. He wanted to show off his superiority, true… but he was also sexually aroused by the pain and suffering of others. In that, at least, they were alike.

  Garibaldi blew out a long line of smoke. Tomorrow he would contact the mayor’s office again and tell them that more people would die if they didn’t turn over a large sum of money to him. In addition, there would be other concessions: a few of his top men who had been arrested would be released, and Garibaldi would give a list of names of people who were not to be bothered by local law enforcement. He wouldn’t include himself on that list, of course. He was an honest businessman, of course. The list would actually be those men who had so far refused to bow down before him. The logical assumption amongst the police is that one or of the “protected list” must either be the Rainman, or at least very close to him.

  Nothing could be further from the truth. Garibaldi hated each and every one of those men.

  The Ivory Machine began to hum, unleashing its invisible beam of death into the skies above.

  Less than a minute later, the Crimson Rain began to fall, in thick sheets of liquid death.

  * * *

  “You’re a vampire??” Will McKenzie shut the door to his office, lowering his voice so that the men outside couldn’t hear.

  “Not quite,” Max said, taking a seat. He looked pale but otherwise quite healthy. “If I was, I wouldn’t be out in the daytime. Remember?”

  “Okay. Then what the hell are you? Those teeth look like they could tear me in half.”

  “Will, I just finished explaining all of this to Evelyn. Do I really need to go through it again?”

  “I think so.”

  “It’s almost ten o’clock,” Max pointed out.

  “Do you have any idea how we can stop Rainman?”

  “No. I can’t shake the feeling that it’s all tied to Garibaldi somehow, though. Those dogs he had in his apartment weren’t normal. They were too large and far too intelligent.”

  “Should I have him brought in for questioning?”

  “On what basis?”

  “The fact that the break-in at his place was strange as hell? I could say we want to talk to him, that’s all.”

  “Couldn’t hurt. If he is Rainman, it might disrupt his ability to carry out his plans this morning. How soon could you have someone there?”

  “Century Tower’s not far from here. A few minutes.” Will walked back around his desk and picked up his phone. He dispatched two officers to Century Tower, telling them not to take no for an answer. When he was done, he eyed his friend. “Now. Tell me why you’re still breathing. It’s not that I don’t like it, but you’ve gotta admit that it’s more than a little unusual.”

  Max sat back in his chair, removing his hat and placing it on his crossed knees. “I have a friend named Marie. She’s a Bokor. Do you know what that is?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “A Bokor is a sorcerer or sorceress in the Voodoo religion. She’s basically a Mambo for hire—a priestess who will do work for anyone if they can meet her price.”

  “Wait a minute. Voodoo? We’re talking about those witch doctors in Haiti?”

  Max grimaced. He loved Will like a brother, but there were times when the younger man seemed woefully unprepared for the kinds of adventures they routinely shared. “Yes. Like in Haiti.”

  “Okay. So this Marie person brought you back as a zombie? Or a vampire? ’Cause you look like a vampire.”

  “I thought we’d established that I’m not a vampire,” Max answered testily. “I left instructions for Evelyn to take my body to Marie upon my death. Marie revived me. In time, I should be back to my normal self. But for now I’m hosting a loa inside me. A spirit. It wants blood and I have to feed it on a regular basis. That’s why I have these teeth.”

  “Feed it?”

  Max looked away. “It’s just what it sounds like. I bit Marie last night. Nearly tore her throat out. Tonight I’ll have to slake the demon’s thirst again.”

  “How long will you have this… thing… inside you?”

  “Don’t know for certain, but Marie doesn’t think it’ll be very long. Evelyn and I stayed with Marie until about an hour ago, to make sure that I’d be able to handle this thing. I left her with Kirsten before coming here. Thanks for sending her over. I think Evelyn needs a friend right now. Seeing me dead last night and then coming back like this… It wasn’t easy.”

  “I can imagine.” Will shook his head. “I better call the mayor.”

  Max watched his friend pick up the phone again, but both men froze in place as the door to the office burst open. A young officer with freckles and a thatch of red hair on his head looked like he was about to cry.

  “Edmonds, what’s wrong?” Will asked.

  “The Crimson Rain, sir, it’s falling again!”

  “Where?”

  “All around us!”

  Will and Max both hurried to the window and looked outside. The red-tinted water was splashing down from the sky, first in a small drizzle but quickly building up to a deluge. Men and women on the city streets were beginning to scream and Will caught a glimpse of the mayor himself standing on the steps of city hall, a newspaper covering his head. The mayor was ushered back inside, safely out of harm’s way.

  The police chief averted his gaze as a woman fell to the sidewalk outside, her skin beginning to sizzle. “We’ve got to do something,” he whispered. Glancing towards his friend, he asked, “Got any ideas?”

  There was no one standing there, for the Peregrine had already sprung into action. Max Davies shoved people out of his way as he burst out onto the street, his heavy coat held over his head. The strange Crimson Rain seemed to affect nothing but human skin so he had no fear of it burning through the thick material. He crouched over the burning woman, whose beauty was now marred forever. Peering out from under the coat, he saw others in need of help. He pulled off his low-brimmed hat and called out to a man who was protectively covering his head nearby. “Catch!” he bellowed, throwing the hat like a Frisbee. The man caught it with one burning hand and pulled it over his head. His face would be spared the horrible effects of the rai
n, at least.

  A wail from nearby then seized Max’s attention. Near the post office, a baby’s pram had been left unattended while the baby’s mother had gone inside. The sun cover was protecting the baby’s face but raindrops were falling on its legs, which were flailing beneath their blankets. A wrong move and the baby’s feet would be exposed to the searing touch of the Crimson Rain.

  “Stay here. Keep the coat over you,” he said, touching the woman’s shoulder. She winced, even though her dress had protected that part of her. She nodded, saying nothing but continuing to whimper. The poor thing was half mad with pain and shock.

  The Peregrine reached into the pockets of his pants and pulled out a pair of leather gloves. He slipped these onto his hands and then took off at a sprint. He felt the rain striking his hair and shoulders and knew that there was a very good chance that he would come out of all this permanently scarred. But he couldn’t allow a child to suffer, not when there was something he could do to save it. That was the difference between Max Davies and most men—no matter what the danger to himself, Max was incapable of standing by when innocents were threatened. There was something in his makeup that had been present at birth and then strengthened by the death of his father.

  By the time the Peregrine reached the crying baby, there were numerous areas on his neck that had been hit by the Crimson Rain. It was soaking down through his hair, as well, burning his scalp.

  Max pushed the pram back under the post office’s awning, just in time for the distraught mother to run out of the building. She immediately knelt beside the pram, checking on her child.

  “Oh, God! Thank you so much!” she said, lifting up the baby and cradling it against her shoulder. She turned to look at Max, her eyes widening as she recognized him. As one of the most influential and wealthy men in the city, Max was often featured in the newspapers.

  For his part, Max was already looking for others to help. The rain was beginning to slacken, for which he was grateful. But there were going to be dozens of men and women left in tremendous pain, if not dead.

  And then a flash of emerald came from the sky, leaving behind a semi-transparent dome over the entire city block. The Crimson Rain fell against this shield and dripped off its side but no one within its protective shell remained in danger.

  For a moment, Max was unsure of what had happened, but a smile quickly spread across his face as the Claws of the Peregrine—complete with several newcomers—suddenly materialized about ten feet from him. Catalyst looked pained, beads of sweat on his forehead. Max realized that the sorcerer was responsible for the dome and its great size was putting a tremendous strain on him.

  Max moved towards them quickly, ignoring the pain from his own burns. His eyes quickly moved from one friend to another: Revenant, Esper, Catalyst… and Vincent! The hulking form of Vincent was a most wonderful sight. The Peregrine embraced the big man, who hugged him back warmly. “You’re alive again! How the hell did you do it?”

  Vincent shrugged his massive shoulders. “There was nothing to it,” the big man said. He winked at Revenant, letting her in on the joke. It had been Sally and the rest of the team who’d trekked across the globe to revive him.

  “Max, what’s going on here?” Revenant asked, staring at the Peregrine’s face.

  Max saw the rain was coming to a halt and heard Catalyst exhale slowly as he lowered the magical barrier he’d erected. “A killer called Rainman has created this stuff. Burns flesh on contact.”

  “No,” Revenant said, her eyes narrowing behind her mask. “I’m talking about your teeth. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a vampire.”

  “No worries there. I had an accident and died, but now I’m much better. I’ll explain everything back at the Aerie. Who are your friends?”

  Revenant looked like she wanted to hear more about Max’s situation but she pushed aside her concerns for now. She gestured to the two black-clad men in their midst. “This is the Black Terror and his partner, Tim. The guy in red and yellow is the Flame. And the girl in the miniskirt is Miss Masque. Believe it or not, they’re members of the team.”

  “Adding to the ranks?” Max asked, noticing that the streets were filling up now, with people streaming forth from various buildings to help those in need. Many of them stared in wonder at the colorfully-garbed group. Max was about to suggest that Catalyst begin healing some of the wounded when the magician and his wife immediately broke off and began tending to the fallen.

  “It’s a bit more than that,” the Flame said, moving forward. “We’ve been to a lost city. We were there when a device was stolen from its rightful owners. It’s called the Ivory Machine… and we have every reason to believe that it’s being used for the very crimes you’re trying to stop.”

  * * *

  “Turn it off,” Garibaldi said. He had a pleased expression on his face but something down below had caught his attention, ruining his mood.

  Hochmuller powered down the Ivory Machine, concern lacing his words. “Is something wrong?”

  Garibaldi leaned over the edge of the roof, gesturing towards a parked police vehicle. “You’re sure there’s no way they could trace that beam here, right?”

  “It’s virtually invisible. And if no one spotted the machine during the break-in, there should be no reason to think we’re involved with it. Even if they did see it, it would take an engineer weeks to figure out what it did.”

  Garibaldi tossed his cigar to the side and looked towards a service door. It opened to reveal the Century Tower’s manager. The man looked flustered again, as if the excitement of the past few days were taking a dire toll on his health. “The cops want to see me?” Garibaldi asked, and the manager’s head bobbed up and down like a doll’s.

  “They say they want you to come down to the station for questioning.”

  Garibaldi glanced over at Hochmuller, who was grim-faced. “If they found out something, I’m taking you down with me, Nazi. You understand that?”

  “Quite clearly.”

  “Good.” Garibaldi tugged at his collar, smoothing it out. His fingers unconsciously rubbed over the brand on his forehead. “I’ll handle this one, Gottlieb. You stay here and listen to the news.”

  The German did as he was told, carrying the Ivory Machine back into their penthouse apartment and turning on the radio. As expected, it was filled with reports of the most recent attack. Rumors were circulating that the master criminal—dubbed Rainman—had warned City Hall prior to the attack. Questions were being asked about why the citizens hadn’t been warned.

  Hochmuller ran a hand across the smooth surface of the Ivory Machine, marveling at its killing power. He had stolen it from Germany, but he had not been one of the men who had first claimed it in the Fuehrer’s name. He wandered into his room and retrieved a packet of reports, which he’d taken along with the Machine. They detailed the discovery by General Romney of a lost city in Egypt. Romney had led a raid on the place, looting several items of interest but not before encountering resistance from several American heroes: Romney identified them as Miss Masque, the Flame and the Black Terror’s teenaged partner. The presence of the Americans led many in Germany to fear that the Allies already had access to the wondrous technology that Romney had seen in the city. The Ivory Machine was the Reich’s favorite, though they had never quite gleaned its full secrets. That had taken Hochmuller’s genius.

  The German wondered what the original purpose of the machine had been. The natives who still lived there had been a strange people and obviously had devolved greatly from their intellectual heyday. Romney said they had worn loincloths and elaborate headdresses, with their dark-skinned women wandering about with nothing covering their breasts. None of the natives seemed to have the slightest knowledge about what their machines were intended to do—in fact, most of them had lain under massive piles of dust and debris, discarded by those who could not operate them.

  Hochmuller heard a whine and saw that Raptor was approaching. “Lonely, eh?” the scient
ist asked.

  Raptor nodded slowly. He had been in a funk over the deaths of his companions.

  “I will see what I can do about getting you new friends,” Hochmuller promised. “But we must be careful. We no longer have brave German soldiers willing to volunteer for the procedure. But I might have something that will improve your mood considerably. I’ve been working on something that not even Garibaldi knows about.”

  Hochmuller entered his laboratory, Raptor following at his heels. The dog was obviously excited to see what new prize was being offered him. The scientist pulled up a black leather dog collar upon which a small speaker had been attached. A series of wires were exposed on the rear of the collar. “This device will transfer your brain patterns into human speech. It currently allows you to ‘speak’ in either English or German.” Hochmuller attached the collar around Raptor’s throat and then stepped back. “Go on, imagine yourself speaking to me.”

  Raptor shifted his weight from front paw to front paw and then he opened his mouth, as if to growl or bark. Instead of canine sounds, however, a human voice spoke from the box around his neck. The voice was monotone and lacked all sense of emotion but its diction was perfect: “I don’t understand how this will work, Doctor.” Raptor’s eyes opened wide in disbelief. “This thing is a telepathy machine?” he asked.

  “In essence, yes. The collar reads the human brainwave and its contents are delivered in everyday language. Your words are encoded in the brainwave.”

  “I like this very much.” Raptor wagged his tail happily. “It was the Peregrine who broke in here. I think we may have killed him. He was losing so much blood.”

  A knock at the apartment’s front door made both Hochuller and Raptor pause. The dog growled in the back of his throat and the scientist peered at him in alarm. “What is it? Do you sense something?”

  “Stranger,” Raptor said. “I don’t recognize the scent. It’s a woman.”

  Hochmuller moved towards the door and opened it slowly. “Yes?”