Götterdämmerung (11 page)

To complete his creation, he’d been mentally fed a false life. He had initially believed himself to be a simple chemist who had gained his powers through the use of “Formic Ethers.” According to his memories, he had a girlfriend and a kid sidekick, but these had been mere fantasies. After an adventure alongside Lazarus Gray
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, he’d not only gained knowledge of his true past, he’d also broken free of his captor’s control and used their own technology to bring his friends to artificial life. They had no knowledge of what they actually were and he planned to keep it that way. Tim and Jean were good people and what did it matter if they’d been born of flesh or science?

Currently, he was crouched atop a rooftop, a cutlass held tightly in his right hand. He usually preferred to go into battle with nothing more than his fists but there were times when he knew that he might need something a little more… severe.

He was fairly certain that tonight would be one of those times. Lately, he’d been encountering crime that was a little more… mysterious… than usual. Where he most often fought gangsters and would-be criminal masterminds, he’d encountered Satanists several times as of late. All of them were babbling about the “end times” and the return of dark gods.

His most recent battle had been with a slovenly gentleman who’d called himself The White Worm. The Black Terror had learned that The White Worm was supposed to meet a witch called Cassandra outside a dive bar called The Blue Labyrinth and he’d taken it upon himself to attend in The Worm’s stead.

Down below, Cassandra stood waiting in an alleyway with four men at her side. The goons were poured into their suits, muscles visibly bulging. The Black Terror could tell that they were packing heat, as well. He spotted the telltale signs of guns holstered under their jackets.

Cassandra was quite a sight, the hero had to admit. Tall and curvaceous, she had wavy blonde hair, bright blue eyes and a beauty mark just above the right corner of her mouth. She wore a white dress that shone like moonlight in the gloom and when he heard her speak, her voice sounded like the tolling of church bells.

“The Worm’s late,” she said. “Something’s not right.”

One of the men grunted and replied, “I don’t see why we need him. He’s only good for bringing in cash from his whores and booze. We could replace him easy enough.”

Cassandra’s pretty face twisted into a grimace. “Don’t speak of such things in front of me!” she warned. “I’m a lady, remember?”

“Sorry,” he muttered.

The Black Terror shifted. He’d heard enough to confirm that this was the woman he’d been looking for. The White Worm had made it clear that Cassandra knew what was going on and why the entire town had been acting crazy lately—hell, maybe even beyond this town, if the news from Sovereign could be believed. A rash of suicides? That was enough to bring goosebumps to The Black Terror’s flesh.

Throwing himself off the roof, The Black Terror allowed his cloak to billow out behind him. He landed in a crouch and, before the stunned goons could even comprehend what was happening, he launched himself at them. He seized the nearest of the men by the throat and threw him at another. The two men’s bodies collided with the force of a freight train, their heads slamming audibly together.

The third man was felled by a brutal uppercut that sent teeth flying from between bloodied lips and the final fellow was silenced with a kick to his midsection that rendered him unable to do more than gasp for breath and clutch his wounded stomach.

The entire battle—if it could be called that—was over in seconds.

The Black Terror turned to face Cassandra, who raised her slender hands and gave him a slow but steady set of applause.

“Most impressive, Mr.—?”

“You can call me The Black Terror.”

“How melodramatic.” The witch tipped her head to the side and studied him. “You’re one of those vigilantes, I take it? Like The Peregrine?”

“I wear a mask and operate outside the law. That’s where the comparisons stop.”

“Well, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company? Are you here to arrest me for something? I’m fairly certain I’ve committed no crimes. None that are on the books anyway.”

“The White Worm’s not coming.”

“I assumed as much.” Cassandra waved her fingers through the air and The Black Terror took an involuntary step back. It was as if he could feel her cold touch, even though she stood several feet away from him. “You’re powerful, but there’s something strange about you. You’re not quite the man you appear to be, are you? You’re some sort of homunculus.”

“I’m a man!” he retorted, a bit more severely than he’d intended. Seeing the knowing smile on the witch’s face only made him angrier and he had to visibly calm himself before he asked, “The weirdness… the suicides, all the cults springing up. Is it all related?”

“You don’t need me to tell you that, do you?” Cassandra nudged the groaning form of one of her men and added, “I think we’re in the End Times. Something dark has been reawakened. We magic-users keep in close contact with one another, even though some practice White Magic while others, like me, take the darker routes. I was talking to a young Southern witch
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the other day and she said that she’d had a vision of a woman covered in dripping filth standing over the body of an old friend of hers… the hero Lazarus Gray.”

The Black Terror frowned. He liked Gray and hearing Cassandra so casually discussing his possible injury or even death made him feel uncertain. He was about to question her more when he saw her form begin to dissipate. He surged forward, his fingers passing through her disappearing torso.

“No! Stop!” he commanded but all he elicited in return was an amused laugh.

“Sorry, my strapping young hero, but I’m not going to be caught tonight. I’d advise you to find your loved ones and huddle up tight. Something wicked is coming.”

* * *

The Peregrine was an expert when it came to sneaking in and out of Nazi Germany.

In the relatively few years since Hitler had seized power, he’d found himself drawn to Europe on numerous occasions, often straight into the heart of the Third Reich. As such, he knew all the ins and outs of the various secret routes and was well equipped with false identification papers should he be discovered.

Samantha and Morgan were going to find it easy enough to avoid detection but The Peregrine had initially been concerned about Andre Thierry. Thankfully, the mage had been able to slightly alter the appearance of his skin with a simple spell. In fact, he was now the most Aryan looking of the bunch, with the classic strong chin, sharp nose, blue eyes and blond hair. He looked like he would have been the perfect breeding match for Samantha, who also embodied much of the Nazi ideals of beauty.

The trip had taken only two days, sped along by the wonderful engine in The Peregrine’s private jet plane. It had been an entertaining trip, livened up by Morgan’s ability to spin colorful yarns and Andre’s endless trove of somewhat inappropriate jokes.

And so the foursome was now walking down the Potsdamer Platz, which lay just south of the Reichstag. The men and women that they passed were of two types: those who moved with furtive glances and obvious concern and the ones who smiled freely, walking with the confident strides of those for whom the world was their oyster.

Max ran a hand through his wavy hair and wondered what those latter people made of his olive-tinged skin and Mediterranean ancestry. He supposed they’d consider him a Gypsy, which was barely a step above the Jewish people that Hitler so disdained.

“You need to keep that frown off your mug,” Morgan whispered. “You look like a man who just swallowed something foul.”

“Thanks for the reminder. It gets worse every time I’m here. It’s like the hatred and madness of Hitler is befouling the air.”

“In many ways, that’s the case,” Andre said. The three men were huddled closely together, while Samantha had wandered further afield to examine the scenery. She was still within visual range, which made Max feel better. He didn’t want any of them to get separated. Andre continued, “A man like Hitler doesn’t need The Unnervum to broadcast his emotions across the nation. He’s persuasive and able to tap into the latent fears and desires of his people. That makes him far more dangerous than your garden-variety criminal.”

Morgan lowered his voice so that it was barely discernible. “Then maybe our real mission should be to find him and put a bullet in his head. Might do a lot of people a lot of good.”

Max shook his head. “The world’s already a powder keg. Can you imagine what would happen if word got out that a group of Americans snuck behind the German border and assassinated the Füehrer? There wouldn’t be any hope of staying neutral then. The US of A would be right in the middle of it all.”

Andre cleared his throat and said, “Looks like our little Samantha has made a friend.”

Morgan and Max looked up to see that Samantha was returning to them with another woman in tow. This girl was about the same age but of much stockier build. She wasn’t so much overweight as she was simply very thick all over. Her brown hair was pulled back severely against her skull and her face was unmade, with dark rings under her eyes. In a less harsh light, she might have been acceptably attractive but at present, she looked like she was living a very harsh life and it was rapidly catching up to her.

Samantha, in contrast, was beaming like a ray of sunshine. In flawless German, she said, “This is my friend Inga. We met when she came to Sovereign for a tennis tournament.”

Max and Andre had no trouble following the conversation but Morgan was momentarily lost. He was able to understand several languages on a rudimentary level but he was certainly not fluent. Thus, he was extremely grateful when Andre reached out and squeezed his elbow. Instantly, he was able to understand German as if he had been born to it. Morgan had to admit that magic was a most useful talent to possess.

Max was asking, “You’re a tennis player?”

Inga gave a weary shrug of her shoulders. “In my younger days. But now I am serving the Fatherland in the preferred way, by being a good wife and mother. I have two children now.”

Samantha added, “As soon as I found out that we were coming to Berlin, I sent her a message and asked her to meet us.”

“That’s why you insisted we visit the Platz,” Morgan muttered. He seemed just as surprised as Samantha that he was speaking German.

Covering her amusement, Samantha said, “Yes. I told her that we were looking for things that might be a bit unusual and she’s got a lead for us.”

“These days, there is no shortage of the unusual,” Inga said. “But I have a cousin who works in the Dahlem neighborhood. He says that the Reich has opened up a set of offices in the name of The Research and Teaching Community of the Ancestral Heritage.”

“That’s quite a mouthful,” Max said.

Inga nodded. “They are mostly academics, I have heard, but my cousin says that some of their offices are off-limits to all but researchers. He says that sometimes you can hear screams coming from there and he once saw a file marked Occult Forces.”

“Sounds promising.” Morgan favored the young woman with his best grin and he was pleased to see that she responded favorably. Though not as young as he used to be, he retained a rakish air. “Inga, could your cousin tell us how to get into this… Ancestral Heritage building?

“There is no need to ask him. I already know how.”

“And how is that?” The Peregrine asked.

“They’re always looking for volunteers for their experiments. They pay you.”

“Lovely,” Morgan said. “I figured they’d use prisoners for those.”

“They do but sometimes they don’t want degenerates for their trials. They need to test things on true Aryans.”

“Which we have the papers to prove that we are,” Samantha pointed out. “Will it matter that I’m a woman?”

“The Füehrer has put an emphasis on breeding the next generation of Germans. The only women used in the trials are criminals or Jews.”

“That works out well,” Max said. “If something goes terribly wrong while we’re inside, you can bail us out.”

Samantha appreciated the show of respect and she knew it wasn’t mere words. Though women were often treated as being less than their male counterparts in the workplace, she had always been highly valued with Assistance Unlimited and its allies. “I’ll come to your rescue if it comes to that,” she promised.

“Good.” Looking at Inga, Max asked, “So, how soon can we get inside?”

Inga seemed to think this entire affair spoke of pure madness. Nevertheless, she calmly replied, “You have arrived just in time. Today is volunteer day. I can have you inside in less than an hour.” She looked away and added, “I just hope you’ll get back eventually.”

CHAPTER IX

Inside the OFP

Dieter Schneider watched as Vulthar continued his preparations for the rituals that were supposed to wake up the Old Ones. One of the interior laboratories had been completely cleared, leaving a large open expanse for Vulthar’s work.

Dieter had stopped thinking of the man before him as being Lars. It wasn’t as easy to put aside thoughts of Sonya when he dealt with Darhoth but in this case, there were so many differences between Vulthar and the man whose body he now utilized that it was impossible not to notice them.