Fiona Grace walked from the restaurant to a nearby alleyway, moving with purpose. None of the night’s denizens approached her, though a few who recognized her waved in pleasure. Though there were many who blamed her for the rise of the Barrier, she was a popular figure with most, for her beauty and courage were well regarded. As such, she was quite surprised to see a costumed man waiting for her in the alley. She immediately reached for the small dagger strapped to her left leg, drawing it forth quickly. “Who are you?”
“A friend. You can call me the Peregrine.”
The woman who carried on the legacy of Eobard Grace didn’t look impressed. “I’m in a bit of a hurry, so if you could explain what it is you wanted…?”
Ian smiled, despite himself. He knew the taste of her lips and remembered where she liked to be touched…
Patience. No need for her to know all your secrets. She probably likes a bit of mystery anyway.
“Well Fiona, I was wondering if you would be interested in a new member of your organization—the Nova Alliance.”
Fiona moved closer to him, noticing the way he smiled at her. It should have been creepy, the way this chap just assumed he could be so familiar with her. In fact, though, he seemed to radiate something that appealed to her.
“A fan of the original, I take it? Well, you seem to know an awful lot about me and I know absolutely nothing about you, aside from your affection for old vigilantes. Before I take you into the heart of the Alliance, don’t you think I deserve to know more about you?”
The Peregrine reached up and removed his helmet, his smile never wavering. “My name’s Ian. And I’d love to tell you a bit about me… Over coffee perhaps?”
Fiona laughed. “Cheeky devil, aren’t you? Okay.” She reached out and took his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ian. I get the feeling you and I might have quite the time together.”
He surprised her by kissing her hand. “You have no idea,” he laughed.
ABOMINATIONS
An adventure starring the Peregrine
By Barry Reese
CHAPTER I
Unholy Alliance
Atlanta—April 30, 1939
“Quite a speech that Chancellor Hitler gave at the Reichstag, eh?”
The dark skinned fellow in the tightly wrapped Egyptian garb said nothing. He continued sitting in the back of his taxi, watching with amusement as the men and women of Atlanta moved through the streets.
The driver glanced back at his passenger, wondering if the fellow was mute or just plain rude. It didn’t really matter to Tommy Lancaster, though. He’d had all types in his cab and had learned to carry a conversation all by himself. “I tell you, he’s trouble, that one. Renouncing that pact like that—what was it called?”
“The Anglo-German Naval Pact of 1935,” the passenger said, his voice sounding deep and weary.
Tommy blinked in surprise but carried right on. “That’s right! The Naval Pact. Anyway, that fella’s big trouble, mark my words.”
“Stop here,” the passenger said, indicating with a languid hand an alleyway located between two abandoned buildings. The impact of the Depression could still be seen throughout the nation and Atlanta was no exception, with many small businessmen having been driven out of business. In their place, a shady underworld of black market dealers had arisen. This particular part of the city was home to quite a few of them, including Boss Thorne, the meanest man in town.
“Uh, I’m not sure you really wanna be here,” Tommy said, pulling the car up to the curb. “This is a bad neighborhood and you seem like… well, a real out of towner, if you know what I mean.”
“I appreciate your concern.” The man reached into the depths of his robes and retrieved several small coins, which he pressed into Tommy’s hand. “Your payment shall be life everlasting.”
Tommy blinked in surprise, casting his eyes down to the strange objects he now held. They didn’t look like any money he’d ever seen before. They were a dusky brown in color and bore the carved likeness of a jackal. “I need American money, pal. This stuff won’t fly.”
Tommy’s passenger said nothing, merely closing his eyes and smiling softly. A strange scent caught Tommy’s attention—it reminded him of burning paper. Old, dry paper from books that were no longer loved or taken care of. Before he could comment on it specks of something like ash flew past his eyes and he suddenly screamed. It was his hand and arm that he smelled, as the skin turned as brittle as dried parchment. Bits of it were breaking off from the rest of his body, swirling in the wind.
Within seconds, there was nothing left of Tommy save for desiccated flesh clinging tightly to bone. The cabbie still stirred, propelled by some inhuman mockery of life. It pushed against the door and shambled out into the street, moving around the vehicle to open its master’s door. The Egyptian stepped from the car, sparing not even a glance at the poor soul who now followed at his heels.
Together, the two men entered the alleyway, stopping only when the Egyptian saw a figure emerge from the shadows. The man was of Oriental origins, attractive and well-groomed. He wore a brown suit, white shirt and dark tie. “Mr. Ibis?” he asked in flawless English.
The Egyptian nodded. “I had hoped to be met by your master.”
“You will meet him soon enough, Mr. Ibis. But I have been sent to make sure that you have brought the items that were promised.”
Ibis gestured to the creature that stood behind him, stirring slightly. “You see evidence of my power. Is that proof enough?”
“Forgive me, but it is not.”
Ibis narrowed his eyes, feeling a flush of anger welling up in his heart. He tried to keep his voice calm as he retrieved a small wooden box from the insides of his robes. “The ear of the Abomination,” he said. He opened the box to reveal a yellowed hunk of meat. “I also have with me the creature’s lungs and its tongue.”
“My master has the heart,” the Oriental replied, his eyes fixed on the ear. “That leaves only the hands and the brain, does it not?”
“You never introduced yourself,” Ibis said, closing the box and putting it back into the dark mass of robes that he wore. “Usually your people are more polite that this.”
With a deep bow, the Oriental answered “So sorry. I am Mr. Li.”
Ibis gestured to the thing at his side and the creature moved forward with surprising speed. It clutched at Li’s throat, lifting him off the ground and pushing him hard against the wall.
“When we reach your master’s lair,” Ibis whispered, “you will impress upon him the fact that I do not appreciate having my word questioned. If he wishes to deal with the Sons of Anubis, he shall treat us as equals. Is that understood?”
Li fought to form his words around the rigid grip of the monster. “I… understand,” he gasped. “And I am sure that my master meant no disrespect!”
Ibis accepted the words, gesturing for his pet to release Li. The Oriental fell to his knees coughing and clutching at his throat. “Then take me to the Warlike Manchu.”
CHAPTER II
Mark of the Peregrine
The smell of sizzling flesh hit the Peregrine’s nostrils but he kept up the pressure, digging his glowing signet ring into the mook’s forehead. The petty criminal howled in agony, thrashing like a fish out of water. “When the good is swallowed by the dark, there the Peregrine shall plant his Mark!”
Evelyn stood a few feet away, putting the finishing touches on the hogtieing she’d done on the rest of the crooks. Each of them bore the same raven-silhouette brand on their foreheads. The whole thing made Evelyn’s stomach churn in disgust.
When the Peregrine finished with his victim, he tossed the crook aside and took a deep breath. These men had run a white slavery ring for months, trading the flesh of young women for money and opium from the Far East. Max had worked closely with McKenzie to track down the thugs but the final bust had included only Evelyn—McKenzie was away on other business and Max’s wife had insisted on coming along. Though he loved having Evelyn at his side, he knew what was coming and was dreading it.
Sure enough, Evelyn wasted no time in asking the inevitable question. “So how long have you been doing this?”
“Doing what?” the Peregrine asked, pulling a black glove back into place. The glowing signet ring disappeared from sight.
“Torturing people. Burning them like they were animals.”
“It’s better than a bullet to the brain, isn’t it?”
“Not much.”
The Peregrine looked at his wife, noticing that she was definitely beginning to show signs of pregnancy. “You shouldn’t come out with me anymore. We have to think about the baby.”
“Don’t change the subject,” she replied. “Besides, I’m not going to be bedridden for some time yet, I hope.”
“We don’t want you getting bruised up before the awards show, either,” Max pointed out. He began searching the sleazy apartment for more evidence, stacking everything he could find on the kitchen table. He’d call McKenzie and let the cops sort out the details.
“The awards show isn’t for another week… and you’re doing it again. Changing the subject. When McKenzie told me you were doing this, I didn’t believe him. But it’s true.”
“Is that why he begged off coming tonight? So you and I could talk?”
“Yes.”
“The stone came from the battle in Great City. It burns any flesh it touches… except mine. I don’t really understand it.”
“It comes from that evil being… and you wear it like a ring. That’s… insane,” Evelyn commented.
“I always believed that the only way to make sure a criminal wouldn’t hurt anyone ever again was to end their life. Benson made me think otherwise—and if I want to continue taking advantage of Benson’s contacts and the police, I have to keep to that. But I want the criminals we stop to remember us—and for everyone else to know what kind of person they are.”
“Something’s… not right with you.” Evelyn flinched a bit as Max approached her, reaching out to her face. “You still haven’t told me what Nyarlathotep said to you before his avatar died.”
“He said I’d outlive you.”
“Is that all?” she asked, staring into his eyes.
“Yes,” he lied. “That’s all.” Max pulled her to him, letting one hand drop between their bodies to rest on her stomach. “I think this is the right thing to do.”
“The branding or the baby?” she asked.
“Both.”
Evelyn sighed, not responding for a moment or two. She hugged him back and finally disengaged from him. “I’m not going to argue with you about it, but I don’t think it’s right. And one thing definitely has to change.”
“What’s that?” the Peregrine asked with concern.
Her answer made him laugh aloud. “That stupid saying of yours when you do the branding. Very silly.”
CHAPTER III
The Man with the Dead Face
Benson was a man of striking appearance. Not particularly tall or wide, but possessed of a rugged strength that spoke of many physical pursuits. It was Benson’s face that most captivated those who met him, however. It was as white and dead as a mask from the grave. Pale gray eyes stared out from under rigid brows, flashing with an internal fire.
Max Davies had met Benson several times before but familiarity did nothing to deter the sensation that filled the Peregrine’s heart: he was in the presence of someone who had lost everything and been reborn in the flames of despair. Benson had lost his wife and daughter to the criminal element and the shock had changed him, physically and emotionally. He had formed an organization devoted to tracking down criminals of all types and he had become a patron of sorts to the Peregrine, offering him protection from the law in exchange for Max’s vow of non-lethal crimefighting.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Benson?” Max asked, pouring them each a glass of water. It was a typically humid Georgia night and both men were already sweating. “It’s not often you make the trip down to Atlanta.”
“I brought information… and a few questions.”
“Let’s start with the latter then, shall we?” Max sat down across from Benson. The two men were seated in the study of Max’s home, a restored Civil War era plantation house. As Max took a sip of his water, he reached up with his free hand, allowing the fingers to run through the dark curls of his hair. With a faintly olive complexion, Max had a Mediterranean look to him that appealed to most women. “What do you need to know?”
“Is it true you’ve begun branding the criminals you face?”
“Yes. Does that cause a problem in our relationship?”
“No. Just something I like to keep informed on. Planning on doing anything else different?”
“No,” Max answered, feeling annoyed.
“Good. Then we’ll move on. Have you ever heard of the Warlike Manchu?”
“Rumors, here and there. They say he was a member of the Imperial family backed by the losing side in the Boxer Rebellion. Now he’s some sort of kingpin for the underworld.”
“That’s putting it mildly. He’s a master criminal whose real name is unknown. He goes by any number of identities but the Warlike Manchu is the translation for his most frequently used title. He controls the majority of the gangs in the United States and Europe right now—his fingers are deeply involved in everything from assassination to drug running. He’s a master of every known language, an expert in finance and has trained with the finest killers on the planet.”
“You make him sound like the devil incarnate.”
Benson leaned closer, his eyes burning brighter. “Imagine a tall, almost feline figure, Max… high-shouldered with a close-shaven skull and magnetic green eyes. Give him all the cruel cunning you can imagine and a cruel smile, hidden beneath a long thin moustache. That’s the Warlike Manchu. He’s the most dangerous person you’re likely to ever meet.”
“I take it that he’s here in Atlanta,” Max said. “Or else you wouldn’t be here. True?”
“Yes. But I don’t believe he’s alone. A man named Ibis was spotted recently… he’s a priest of Egyptian origins. A murderer, whose fanatical followers claim he’s old enough to have lived through the time of the Pharaohs.”
Max stood up, pacing across the room. The conversation was making his palm ache, in the way that the supernatural always did. “What could bring them together? What common interest could they have?”
“I’m not certain,” Benson admitted, his steely gaze following the other man closely. “But I’m confident you could find out.”