“Mr. Trench played with zombies, I see,” Camilla commented. She wrinkled her nose and moved past the corpse, dismissing it as something beneath her. “Here,” she said, nodding towards a box covered with a peculiar kind of leather. Reed wondered if it was human flesh but didn’t dwell upon it.
Setting the lamp on the floor, Reed knelt in front of the box and carefully lifted its lid. He expected to see a heavy leather-bound book, closed by a large metal clasp. It was a tome written long, long ago by an Arab mystic that many thought mad. But it was not a natural madness he possessed, for he had been in contact with the Old Ones themselves, ancient entities from the stars who roosted in the dark nether-places of the Earth.
But there was no book to be seen.
Camilla emitted a small cry of rage. “Where is it? You told me he had a copy of the cursed book!”
“I… that’s what I was told,” Reed stammered. “I don’t understand.”
Camilla shoved him aside, knocking him onto his rump. She leaned over the box, sniffing noisily, like a dog. The way her neck twitched to and fro made Reed uneasy. “We aren’t the first ones to come here, beloved.” She turned to face Reed, eyes blazing. “The book was stolen by another… but I have their scent.”
“What are we going to do?” Reed asked, rising to his feet and brushing dirt off the back of his slacks.
“Find them, of course.” Camilla laughed coldly. “Then I’ll rip their throats out and take the Necronomicon for myself.”
CHAPTER V
A Figure of Ice and Steel
The plantation that was now home to Max Davies and his wife was built in the 1820s and still retained much of its luster from the days when cotton was king. A burly farm hand named Joshua and a matronly woman named Nettie ran the place, keeping everything running smoothly during Max’s many trips away. Both of them met Max when he drove his car up to the main house.
“Miss Evelyn’s not with you?” Nettie asked with concern. An elderly black woman with skin so taut that you could see the bones poking against the flesh in places, Nettie was a devout Christian and a perpetual worrier. “You and she didn’t have a fight did you?”
Josh exchanged an amused look with his employer as he began to get the bags out of the car.
Max shook his head. “I dropped her off in town to meet with a producer.”
“Not proper for a married woman to be dining alone with another man,” Nettie sniffed reproachfully.
“Who said they were dining together? It’s a business meeting.” Max kissed Nettie on the cheek, who accepted it with a harrumph. “It’s good to be back.”
“Mr. Davies,” Josh said, stopping Max as he started for the front door. “A man’s inside. In the study. Says he’s a friend of Mr. Grace, from New York City.”
Max frowned slightly. Leopold Grace was one of his dearest friends and the current president of the Nova Alliance, an adventurer’s guild of sorts. “Did he give a name?”
“Yes, suh. Says his name is Benson.”
Max nodded, moving inside. He’d heard that name before, though he wasn’t quite sure where. Perhaps Leopold had mentioned him at one of the Nova Alliance meetings? He moved to the study, removing his hat and overcoat as he did.
The man who waited for him was like no man that he’d ever seen before. Not particularly tall or wide, but possessed of a rugged strength that spoke of many physical pursuits. But it was his face that seemed so striking. It was as white and dead as a mask from the grave. Pale gray eyes flicked over Max, moving up and down, as if sizing him up from within.
Benson rose as Max entered, nodding curtly. When he spoke, his voice was clipped and businesslike. Overall, he had the manner of one who simply lacked the time for niceties. “I’ve come with an offer,” he stated.
Max shut the door behind him. He trusted both Josh and Nettie with his life, but neither of them knew about his business as the Peregrine. “Something related to the Alliance?”
“You might say that. It’s come to my attention that your nocturnal pursuits have made you an enemy of the law.”
Max didn’t bother pretending ignorance about Benson’s meaning. Obviously, he knew about the Peregrine and there was nothing to be done about that. “They see me as a vigilante.”
“As well they should,” Benson answered. “But you and I both know that there are men in this world whom the law can’t touch. And they must be stopped before more innocents are harmed.”
Something suddenly clicked in Max’s memory and he pointed at Benson. “I recognize you now, even with the change in your features! It was in all the newspapers! Your wife and daughter went missing on a plane flight and…”
“They were the victims of a criminal conspiracy. Those responsible are dead.”
“So you’re like me. A vigilante.”
“Not quite. I choose not to kill… my enemies usually die by their own hands, not mine. This has allowed me to function quite well with law enforcement authorities. In fact, I’ve created an entire team of like-minded individuals who are willing to assist me.”
“I’m not looking to join,” Max said, finally taking a seat. When he did so, Benson returned to his own chair. “If that’s what you’re here for.”
“It’s not. Leopold Grace asked me to give you assistance in resolving your problems with law enforcement.”
“You can do that?”
“I already have. All ongoing investigations into the Peregrine have ceased.”
“How…?”
“It’s not important.” Benson leaned forward and his steely eyes glinted. “If you’ll agree to change your tactics somewhat, I’ll provide you with continued protection from the authorities.”
“You don’t want me to kill the men and women I pursue.” Max pursed his lips. “It’s not that simple. I have… compulsions.”
“Are you saying you’re insane?”
“No!” Max ran a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated.”
“I’m sure. Regardless, all I’m asking you to do is make an effort to take your enemies alive. If things don’t work out that way, I’ll understand. But we must hold ourselves to a higher standard than the criminals do.”
“Very noble,” Max countered. “But I’m not always facing mobsters. I’m dealing with cannibals, wizards and the walking undead.”
Benson nodded, a smile briefly flashing in his eyes. His face, however, remained rigid and unmoving. “And I wouldn’t argue that the undead shouldn’t be stopped by any means necessary. I’m speaking about flesh and blood beings, not the supernatural.” He stood up, producing a small card that he held out for Max. “Call me if you need assistance with the police.”
Max said nothing as Benson left the room, abruptly ending the conversation. He stared down at the card, which bore an address in New York City: Bleek Street. “Leopold… what have you gotten me into now?”
CHAPTER VI
The Peregrine Takes Flight
Since the strange visit by Benson, the Peregrine had focused his attention on learning as much as possible about Reed Barrows and his wife. Mr. Barrows had married a woman of means early in his life, but she had perished under mysterious circumstances not long ago. Within a shockingly short period of time, he had moved on, marrying a pale young woman named Camilla. Of her, there was no trace whatsoever. Given what Max knew about her nature, that wasn’t surprising, he supposed. Barrows, who had always lurked in the black market for antiquities, had recently gone into overdrive. Most of his inquiries had to do with the frightful book known as the Necronomicon.
The Peregrine parked his specially made car along the side of the dirt road that led to the old Matthews Plantation. The car was painted with a unique paint that absorbed light to an astonishing degree. In the black of night, it was virtually invisible. The windshield was covered with a thin layer of “night glass,” yet another of Max’s inventions. It allowed the driver to see in complete darkness, rendering the use of headlights obsolete. And the engine had been modified to that it was as silent as a fox. All of those creations could have afforded Max many millions of dollars, but he kept them to himself, preferring to utilize them in his war on crime.
The Matthews place was, along with Max’s current home, amongst the only major plantations to escape Sherman’s march relatively intact. There had been only minor damage done to the place and the intervening years had been kind, giving both homes a melancholy appeal.
As Max crept up to one of the well-lit windows, he took note of the fact that the fields were lying bare. Apparently, the Barrows were still living off their sizable personal incomes rather than using the grounds as a subsidy to their accounts.
With gun in hand, the Peregrine peered in through the window. He wore his customary garb—long trenchcoat, domino style mask with a small birdlike “beak” and low-brimmed hat. Inside the room he saw Reed Barrows, pacing about like an expectant father. There was no sign of Camilla, but Barrows was talking to himself, rubbing the palms of his hands together anxiously.
Max reached into his coat and retrieved a small listening device, which he pressed against the glass. A small wire led from the device to an earpiece, which he put into place. Immediately, Barrows sounded as clear as if Max were in the same room with him:
“It’s dangerous. Too dangerous. We shouldn’t… we should let it go. Just let it go.”
When the words only continued to repeat for close to a minute, the Peregrine removed the listening device and moved on. Something was obviously agitating Barrows, but there didn’t appear to be any clue to be found from the man himself—and Max wasn’t yet ready to break in and begin questioning him. Not without making sure that Camilla wasn’t about…
He suddenly wished that Evelyn had been able to come with him, but at the same time he was glad she wasn’t. He feared for her safety on nights like this, but she also had a way of making his mission seem not nearly so lonely.
Around the back of the house, he found an open storm cellar. The door lay thrown back and Max heard hushed voices down below. He crouched, catching bits and pieces of a conversation between a man and a woman.
“Aye, I know who has the book. He’s had folks translatin’ it for ‘im into other tongues. Plans to spread it the ‘ole world wide. When he has enough people to help ‘im, he’s going to raise the sunken city.”
“I don’t care what his plans are. I want the book for myself,” the woman replied. Her accent was European in origin and she sounded quite lovely.
Camilla
, he realized. A part of him wanted to rush in with guns blazing, but from the sound of things, Camilla had failed in her attempt to get the Necronomicon. If it was in the possession of another, Max wanted to know who it was.
“It won’t be cheap,” the man replied with a laugh.
“Money is no object, Guthrie, “ she answered. “Kill him, destroy all the copies he has made and bring me the original.”
There was a sound of paper exchanging hands before Guthrie spoke again. “We’ll do as you say. But there’ll be a bonus for every man we lose. Our kind are slow to develop and I can’t afford to lose even one.” He cleared his throat. “Truth be told, I’m a bit surprised you’d even want our help. You types usually look down on the hard workin’ sorts like me.”
“I have only recently risen. I have not yet returned to the peak of my power… eventually men like Klempt will pose no threat to me.”
“But until then, you want me and my kind to die for you. Real kindly of you.” The man began to walk up and out of the storm cellar. The Peregrine pressed himself flat against the side of the house, staying out of sight. Guthrie was emaciated-looking, dressed in a green turtleneck sweater with black coat and pants. He wore a small derby atop his head and a growth of red hair peeked out from beneath. A spray of freckles covered a mean face. “I’ll be in touch,” he shouted behind him.
The Peregrine waited for him to get a small distance away and then began following him. In a small grouping of trees about a mile down the way, a car waited with two other men within. Each of them looked just as dangerous.
“Did she pay you?” one of them asked the approaching Guthrie.
“Aye. And she’s a pretty one,” he answered. “Wouldn’t mind playin’ a bit with her when the work is done.”
“Like she’d let your muzzle come anywhere near her body,” the other man retorted.
The Peregrine had heard enough. He sprang from the darkness, landing atop a startled Guthrie. A stout blow to the back of Guthrie’s head sent him toppling over, while the Peregrine drew his revolver and pointed it at the others. “Stay where you are. Hands up.”
The men glanced at one another before responding. Slowly, they raised their hands, though Max wondered at the amusement he saw in their faces. “Sure, mister… no need for gunplay,” the third man said.
“I have questions that need answering,” the Peregrine continued. “This man… Klempt… where is he?”
“He’s gonna be in hell soon enough. Why don’t you go on ahead and wait for ‘im?” Guthrie laughed from below.
The Peregrine glanced down and gasped. Before his startled gaze, Guthrie’s body began to change. Hair sprouted from every pore and his face began to distend with a horrible popping sound. The clothes he wore ripped and tore, leaving him naked and covered in fur. His ears lengthened and came to tapered points.
A werewolf!
The Peregrine whirled about, confirming his worst fears. The men in the car were moving out now, also shifting into horrible half-man/half-wolf monstrosities.
Guthrie rose to his full height, snapping at the air with razor-sharp teeth. Saliva dripped from his maw as he turned yellow eyes on the Peregrine. “Questions, you say? Ask away, masked man… and perhaps I’ll answer them before we feast on your belly!”
The Peregrine refused to take the bait. The creatures before him were only toying with him, hoping to distract him while they spread out and flanked him on three sides. He pointed his pistol at one, using his free hand to draw forth a golden dagger… it was a trophy from a previous case involving a mad geneticist named Felix Darkholme. The dagger was possessed of unknown properties, but it had proved essential in his victories over Christian Rosenkreuz and Jacob Trench.
Guthrie hung back as his men lunged forward. Max blew the head off one of them, startling the two remaining werewolves. The Peregrine’s guns rarely ran out of ammunition and were capable of piercing the strongest armored tanks in the world.