“I think that would be for the best.”
Max jumped, barely able to keep from swerving off the road. He cast a furious glance at the figure who had materialized in the passenger seat: his father, still wearing the same suit and tie that he’d worn on the day he’d died. “You nearly frightened me to death!” he hissed.
“Sorry, son. I suppose I should clear my throat before speaking?”
“What do you want?” Max asked, returning his attention to the road before him. The farmhouse was now visible in the distance.
“I’ve been listening in to your thoughts and…”
“I have no privacy at all, do I?” Max shook his head. “Go on.”
“Benson is safe enough, but be aware that Evelyn and McKenzie will be in danger every time you bring them into our affairs.”
“Our affairs, is it?” Max snorted. “You used me, turned me into a killing machine so you could get some sort of cosmic retribution. And now you make it sound like we’re partners.”
The elder Davies looked away, his voice lowering slightly. “Max, I loved you. I did what I thought was best—for you and for the entire world. I’m sorry for all the pain it’s caused you.”
Max lifted his foot off the accelerator, letting the vehicle slow somewhat. He’d rarely ever heard such emotion in his father’s voice and it touched him. “I… missed you after you died. Very much.”
“I would have come to you… but the barriers between the world of the living and the dead were too strong. I could only send you messages via dreams. I had to wait until your mental abilities were more pronounced.”
Max rode in silence with his father for a moment, feeling oddly at ease with the ghostly presence of the man who had shaped his life. “I’ll be careful, father. I won’t put anyone at risk if I can help it.”
“I trust you to do the right thing,” his father replied. “You’ve been giving that warning I gave you some thought, eh?”
“The terribly vague one?” Max responded with a smile. “Yes. Care to give me anymore details on it?”
“No,” his father answered. “I can’t. Things are still unclear to me… but I know this: dark things are looming in your future. The Kingdom must be stopped.”
Max pulled off the road, reaching under his seat to retrieve his coat and mask. “I’ll do whatever it takes. Hopefully, I’ll catch Mr. Barrows unawares and Camilla sleeping. Thanks for the talk, by the way. I…”
Max let his words come to a stop. His father was gone, as if he had never been there at all.
“To work I go,” Max whispered. He placed his mask over his eyes and nose, allowing himself the briefest of moments to treasure the first real man-to-man talk he’d ever had with his father.
CHAPTER XVI
Dead Thoughts Live New
The house was eerily quiet, though the bright sunlight robbed the place of any terror it might have otherwise induced. The Peregrine crept about the outside of the house, but heard no sounds of habitation within—nothing save for the slow, steady rocking of a chair in the main parlor. The ground outside was well trampled and by many feet—Max counted at least twelve distinct sets of prints.
When he finally steeled himself to enter the home, the Peregrine made sure that he held a pistol in both hands. He burst in through the unlocked front door, bellowing “Barrows! Stand down or I swear to Heaven, I’ll blow your head off!”
“You’re a bit late,” Barrows said, his voice echoing into the central hallway from the parlor. Max noted that there was a peculiar quality to Reed’s words… like someone whose spirit had been battered repeatedly and finally broken had voiced them.
The Peregrine strode into the parlor, guns at the ready. “Where’s your mistress?” he demanded, though he came up short upon seeing the figure seated in the center of the room. Barrows was there, looking pale and wan… his neck was heavily bandaged and he held a small ring box in his lap. He turned sunken eyes upon the Peregrine, displaying red-tinged gums as he smiled.
“She’s gone away,” Barrows said, his words taking on the sing-song quality of madness. “But she left me behind, to give you words of warning.”
The Peregrine lowered his weapons and knelt beside Barrows, reaching up to examine the man’s wounds. His neck had been torn asunder by multiple bites… and his shirt was stained red with his own blood. “Tell me where she is, Reed.”
“Don’t bother dressing my wounds. They drained me dry.”
“You’ll be fine,” Max whispered, though he was concerned by how much blood had been lost. Against Reed’s objections, he removed the bandage around the man’s neck and began applying some ointment that he carried in his pocket. “Tell me what she said,” he prompted.
Reed closed his eyes, looking forlorn. “She activated the spell as soon as we got back. I could feel the air around us changing as she spoke the words… and then
they
started coming. I couldn’t believe there could be so many, not so close… she said they were waking up all over the world, but there were over a dozen right here in Atlanta. They came and they talked about the heaven that was to come… and then she offered them a feast. She offered them
me
.” This last word was forced out amongst a sudden onslaught of sobs that wrenched at Max’s heart. “I loved her. She said she loved me… but it was a lie. All a lie.”
Max removed a needle and thread, working to stitch the man’s neck. It was difficult work, made all the more so by the fact that Reed kept turning his head away from the help he needed. “You mentioned words of warning,” he reminded, hoping that keeping Reed focused on something specific would soothe the man and allow Max to finish his work.
“The Noble Dead. That’s what they call themselves,” Reed continued. “She said they were going into town, to wait for more to arrive. When there’s enough of them, they’ll begin a blood orgy. They’ll slaughter everyone they can find, using their victims’ souls to power the final phase of the Kingdom’s spell. Then the air will change and night will rule over day forever… and science will wither and die, leaving only magic in its place.” Reed leaned forward, grabbing Max by the collar. “She said that He comes tonight. She said that Dead Thoughts live new and oddly bodied. She said…” Reed pulled away suddenly, rising from the chair so quickly that it fell on its side. “She said that if you oppose her, you will die in the most painful way imaginable!”
“Where in the city is she?” Max asked, reaching out to keep Reed from tossing himself to the floor. “Help me. I know she’s hurt you… but you can help me and redeem yourself!”
“She lied to me. She said I would rule as her King…”
“Who is coming tonight? Who is this ‘He’ that she spoke of?”
“The speaker of the dead. The messenger of madness. The black stranger!”
Max paused, for something in his words was now making sense to him. In his studies of the Necronomicon, he’d been forced to read much about the Old Ones, the entities whose mad designs for power had forged the universe. At the center of it all spun the mad god Azathoth. But most recurring of all was the sinister black stranger who ferried messages from the Old Ones to their human servants. An entity of tremendous power and trickery, one who wore the skin of humanity but had been birthed by no mother. He had been the inspiration for a wealth of human myths, but the one that he clung to most was that of Loki, the Norse God of Mischief. “Are you telling me that Nyarlathotep is coming to Atlanta?” Max whispered in disbelief.
“Yes! Yes, he comes! He is the one who spawned the Noble Dead by lying in vile forms with humanity. He comes to welcome his children to their just reward! He comes to witness the evolution of humanity… as we become cattle to those who lord over us!”
Max saw madness reign in Reed’s eyes and he delivered a powerful slap to the man’s face. It startled Reed for a moment, but then lucidity returned, ever so tenuously. “Help me, Reed. Help me stop her from succeeding.”
Reed licked dry lips and nodded. “I can sense her,” he said, touching the side of his head. “All the times she suckled me…
I can sense her.
”
The Peregrine smiled beneath his mask. “Then we have an advantage that they might not be unaware of.” He held on to Reed’s shoulder, leading him towards the door. “Is there anything else here that might help us?”
“No… there’s nothing here worth keeping. Not any more.” He looked down at the ring box he still clutched in one hand. Within lay the gold band he’d once removed from his dead wife’s finger… the same band he’d once slid onto Camilla’s hand with all the attentiveness of a passionate lover. He tossed the ring box into the ashes of the fireplace. “Nothing at all.”
CHAPTER XVII
The Messenger of Madness
Camilla watched her fellow Noble Dead, writhing naked atop one another. They were beautiful to behold, but it seemed needlessly decadent… they should be planning for the Kingdom to come, not losing themselves in the release of pent-up passions. The tall vampire queen kept to herself, hiding in the shadows of the underground tunnels. This place had once served as a means of transporting people and supplies, but now it served as a lair to the undead… but despite the presence of her fellows, this area seemed dank and oppressive to Camilla. It was unseemly for them to debase themselves amongst filth.
“Your standards are higher than most,” a male voice said. Camilla turned to face the stranger, who emerged from the shadows with a smile on his handsome features. He was dark-skinned like an Egyptian, with a small neatly trimmed beard and deep-set eyes that spoke of hidden knowledge. His clothing was dark and fit him well, but it was his scent that caught Camilla’s attention immediately. It was the musk of pure masculine sex, an animal scent that set Camilla’s blood aflame. “I wish I had been here last evening, when the spell was first invoked. Alas, I was busy in Europe at the time.”
“Are you…?” Camilla began, but stopped herself. It was He, of that there could be no doubt. The power that emanated from him was a powerful aphrodisiac and she was barely able to restrain herself from offering her body to him, then and there. “There are nearly twenty of us here now… but many more are coming. The call has gone out. They can all hear it in their souls.”
“You have no souls,” the man said with a laugh. “You’re soulless monsters, sent out to inflict pain and suffering on humanity. Your beauty is only to entice them into a fall from grace.”
The words stung Camilla, for they were full of scorn. She had expected him to love his children. Eager to win over his approval, Camilla gestured with her chin towards the writhing bodies of her kindred. “They will help carry the day but none of them are fit to rule at your side.”
“But you are, aren’t you?” he asked, his eyes traveling over the curves of her flesh in a way that made her tremble. “The female who finally brought about the Kingdom of Blood. You are impressive.”
Camilla smiled at the compliment. “There were many obstacles that had to be overcome, but I would not be denied.”
“Where is the human who brought you out of your own slumber? Is he not here to enjoy the fruits of his labor?”
Camilla’s smile faltered. Had she made a mistake in disposing of Reed? “He was no longer useful to me… so I abandoned him.”
“Did you kill him?” Nyarlathotep asked, stepping around her to better view the orgy. “Or were you so stupid that you left him alive so that he could betray you later?”
Camilla flinched at the insult. “He can do nothing! He is weak and helpless!”
“I suppose it was too much to hope for… that you could be as smart as you are beautiful.”
“I… I can find him. I will kill him if you want!”
Nyarlathotep looked back at her over his shoulder. His dark eyes blazed with anger. “You’ve made your mistake. Accept it. When he comes with his allies, then you will have the chance to impress me.”
“What makes you think he will come?” she asked, disappointment racing inside of her. She had so looked forward to this moment, to being able to bask in the glow of her master…! But to see the disdain he held for her… it made her feel like a child suffering a rebuke from their parents.
“Because that’s the way things work,” he said patiently. “Our servants prepare for triumph… and then their enemies gather to oppose them. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. That’s the way the game is played.”
“But this is no game,” Camilla whispered.
“Anyone who tells you it isn’t… is a fool.”
Camilla looked away from him, unable to stand up to his penetrating gaze. “I will win. I promise you that.”
The messenger of the dark gods reached out to cup her chin, turning her face back towards his. He leaned close enough that she could smell the death that clung thick and hot on his breath. “You’d better, my sweet. Or else your pain will become something that will be sung of for centuries to come.”
Camilla swallowed hard, her inhuman form trembling all the more. “Who will he bring with him?”
“The Peregrine, of course.” Nyarlathotep laughed loudly, capturing the attention of the rutting vampires, who now gazed up at him in confusion. “He has interfered with a number of my recent servants… Felix Darkholme and Gerhard Klempt foremost amongst them.”
Camilla’s eyes opened wide at the mad doctor’s name.
“Yes,” Nyarlathotep continued, sneering. “You ruined a plan of mine that was close to coming to fruition. So you’d best be right that you and your army of fiends can deal with the Peregrine… because I won’t abide failure from you. Not again.”
“The Peregrine dies tonight,” Camilla replied, steeling her voice with conviction. “I will tear out his heart and offer it to you, my lord.”
Nyarlathotep let her chin fall from his grip, nodding as he stepped back into the shadows. “Then plan for him. For he does not come alone.”
CHAPTER XVIII
Council of War
Evelyn sat in the parlor, trying to get the image of Klempt’s death out of her mind. It wasn’t easy and she could almost hear the gunshot echoing over and over again. She was wearing one of her nicest dresses, a leftover from a film called
Belle of the Ball
that had tanked at the box office. It had been a departure from her usual damsel-in-distress roles, instead offering her up as the lead in a romantic comedy. The financial disaster had sent her scurrying back to the stage for a time afterwards. The feel of the silk against her skin calmed her somewhat, making her feel like a normal woman again.