“Where is he now?”
“Took off… but not before I unloaded a couple of shots at him. I’ll call the police in the morning.”
“Want me to stay up and watch the place in case he comes back?”
Max smiled, but it was an odd one… unlike any other that Josh had seen from his employer. It was the smile of a killer and it chilled Josh to the core. “No thank you. Go back to sleep. I’ll handle this.”
CHAPTER IX
The Reich
Trench compulsively tapped his finger on the cafe tabletop, staring at the newspaper spread out before him.
Attack on local businessman, assailant on the loose
was splashed across the front page in bold letters. There was no mention of the assailant being a member of the shambling undead, of course, but Trench knew that Davies would be back soon enough, continuing his investigation.
“One creature,” K’ntu had said with a shake of his head earlier in the morning. “You send one lone creature to deal with this man. Perhaps I was wrong about you. Perhaps you are not worthy of the Master’s grace.”
Trench had stood there, not answering the taunts. They burned away at him, but he knew that K’ntu was right. He had underestimated Mr. Davies, it seemed.
“Mr. Trench. I hope I have not kept you waiting.”
Trench looked up to see a handsome blond man, dressed in a dapper black suit. The man’s ice blue eyes, clear complexion and soft German accent made it all too clear where his heritage lay. “Not at all, Mr. Schmidt. Please take a seat.”
The German did so, glancing around the crowded café. They were in the very heart of Atlanta, which still retained much of its Southern charm. A black minstrel sang a song outside, a small hat lying in front of him. A few whites tossed coins in to it, but not many. Across the street, an old man in a tattered Civil War regiment coat ambled by, muttering to himself.
“Interesting taste in meeting places, Mr. Trench. I had hoped for something a bit more… discrete.”
“The best hiding place is always the one in plain sight.” Trench leaned back in his chair, studying the man before him. Schmidt was a high-ranking member of the Nazi occult department. It was men like him who fed the Fuehrer a steady diet of prophecy and folklore, all proclaiming the eventual success of the German regime. “What did you think of my offer?”
“An intriguing one. As you know, our researchers have been working on the same problem. The location of the tomb is something that we covet very much.”
“I made a breakthrough last evening,” Trench replied, his words quickening. He was being honest in this, for a vital piece of the translation code had finally slid into place for him. “I think I know exactly where the tomb is located… but I’ll need supplies and men, both of which you have in abundance. Fund my expedition and I’ll turn over all mystic artifacts… save one. A silver key engraved with a single word, written in Sumerian. That prize is mine.”
“Agreed.” Schmidt pursed his lips together, making him look a bit prissy. “Of course, you realize that our coffers are not endless. If you fail to deliver on this… we will exact payment in return.”
Trench grunted. “I’d expect nothing less.” He raised his glass of water, clinking it against the German’s. “To a successful partnership.”
CHAPTER X
Secrets Revealed
The Peregrine crouched low atop a building facing the front of Jacob’s Ladder. He wore a long trench coat and low-brimmed hat, both of which hid much of his features from sight. His mask was in place, along with the bird-like beak that accompanied it, but Max had no doubt that Trench would recognize him if given the opportunity.
It was another warm night in Atlanta and Max could hear the sounds of bluegrass drifting by on the breeze. A local night club was filled to the brim and every now and again a drunk redneck would stumble by on the street below. Aside from that and the occasional motorized vehicle, there was no motion in front of the curio shop… which suited the Peregrine just fine. He allowed himself to enter a meditative state, running through all that he had seen earlier in the day. After the attack on his home last evening, he’d stayed awake, dreading the coming of more visions. None had come, but around noon a driver had arrived, bearing a tightly bound package.
Inside had been a tattered copy of the
Axiomata
. True to Leopold’s word, it appeared to be an excellent translation, with handwritten notes in the margin, scrawled there by some previous researcher. These notes discussed at length the differences between this edition and earlier ones, which aided Max greatly. He had a feeling that Trench was on the verge of a breakthrough and Max badly wanted to keep pace with the man.
A little voice in his head whispered to him
Just kill him and it’ll all be done. Why play the game? Why let him try to lure you into his death traps? You know how it’ll end up… you standing over his body, a smoking pistol in your hand. Just do it!
Max frowned at the persistent suggestion, trying to still his mind. He was a vigilante but not a murderer. If Trench died, it would be because he had forced the Peregrine’s hand… that’s the only way Max could justify his own actions.
A black sedan pulled up in front of the shop and the Peregrine leaned down a bit to remain hidden from sight. Trench emerged from the vehicle and moved towards the door, while another man that Max recognized from his visions pulled the car around back: it was K’ntu, the aged Chinese.
Once Trench had moved inside and the car’s driver was out of view, the Peregrine was on the move. He descended the side of the building using a grappling hook and wire, landing silently in the dark alleyway. A quick scan of the area revealed that no one was watching and he sped across the street, coming to a stop on the same side of the building that the car had turned down. A small garage lay in the back and Max silently watched as the bearded old man exited the vehicle and entered the store through a rear door.
Something about the old man made Max uneasy, as if he were in the presence of a shark or some other kind of predator. The man was dressed simply enough, with a warm fur coat and a dark suit, but there was certainly an aura about him that suggested barely restrained violence.
The Peregrine crept around back after the man entered the building, checking to confirm that the door was locked. To his surprise, it opened at the twist of the knob, allowing Max an easy entranced. Holding his pistol tightly, the Peregrine moved inside. He was in a darkened kitchen area but there was light around the corner and Trench’s voice could be heard easily enough.
“The tickets are supposed to be waiting for us at the airport,” Trench was saying.
A thickly accented voice replied “And you mean to leave Atlanta… with this Davies person still breathing?” Max could hear the disdain in the man’s voice.
“Davies will have problems that go far beyond any attempts on his life. I’m going to destroy him without firing another shot.”
“Overconfident fool,” the other man replied. “You will waste the only opportunity the Master will ever have!”
“I am the chosen one, K’ntu… you’ve said it yourself. Now trust in me.”
Max felt the throbbing in his head and he bit down hard on his lower lip. The urge to kill, to slay evil, was almost overwhelming… what stopped him? Why not end it now?
Do it
, the voice inside him urged.
Kill them.
“What is this place we are going to?” K’ntu asked, giving Max something to focus in on. As long as he could concentrate on the conversation in the other room, he could fight off the voices inside him.
“Kassel. It’s in west-central Germany, along the Fulda River. The Brothers Grimm lived there and it was there that they wrote most of their fairy tales.”
“Childish stories, but ones inspired by the dark deeds of truth,” K’ntu answered. “And the tomb is in this place?”
“Yes… and more importantly, the key that’s housed in the tomb. I suspect there are several such keys in the world, but this is the only one we know of… and so it’s the one we have to gain.” Max heard Trench putting ice into a glass. Soon afterwards, the sound of something being poured over the ice. “The Germans will provide us with all the papers we’ll need… and the manpower, as well. I’ve been careful not to give them any more details than are necessary. The last thing we need is for them to decide they no longer need us around.”
“The Druselturm. An odd name. Wasn’t it built long after Rosenkreuz’s death?”
“It was built in 1415… used to be a prison. But now it’s a historic ruin.” Trench sipped his drink. “But, yes… it was built after Rosenkreuz was dead. It was built on top of the tomb.”
A triumphant chuckle came from the old man. It sounded like sand paper rubbing together and made the pain in Max’s head even worse. “A prison built atop a prison, eh? Clever. And from there we shall gain the means to free
our
master from his own prison.”
Max felt his vision blur as Trench joined the old man in laughter. Images passed through his mind’s eye… of the dank temple with an elaborate altar, upon which lay the screaming form of Evelyn. A man with sunken flesh and empty eye sockets was clawing at Evelyn’s dress and skin, leaving long streaks of red on her pale body. Her screams were piercingly loud, the shrieks of terror that one produced when death was pressing its clammy hand directly upon your breast.
“Did you hear that?” Trench asked.
Max froze in place, the images fading. He heard the men approaching and hurried towards the door, hands shaking.
Turn and fight them now!
a voice urged, but he knew that he was too weak after the vision.
A shout, followed by a burst of gunfire, put fire to Max’s heels. He sped outside, a small warmth on his left shoulder telling him that the bullet fired by either Trench or K’ntu had grazed him, finding one of the few places on him not protected by his costume.
Again and again he heard Evelyn’s screams of horror echo in his head and they propelled him forward. The squeal of tires rang out through the night as a passing car swerved to avoid hitting him.
Back in the shadows across the way, the Peregrine fell to his knees. The pain in his head was awful and he retrieved a series of small capsules from his coat pocket, eagerly tossing them on to his tongue. They were a potent series of pain killers, mixed together in his own combination, that helped fight off the migraines that often accompanied his visions.
They’re going to keep getting worse. Just like way you hear me a lot louder now than you used to. The walls between the living and the dead are very thin… and growing ever more so as the day of Lucifer’s return draws near.
Max sighed, closing his eyes. The voice… it had always urged him in one direction or another… but it had never held a conversation with him…
“Who are you?” Max asked, knowing that he should keep moving but unable to force his legs to work.
Open your eyes… and see.
Max hesitated, but finally did so.
There, before him in the same suit he’d worn the day he’d died, was Max’s father.
CHAPTER XI
Shades of the Past
The Peregrine was standing in a field of blinding white snow that whirled all about him. For a moment he could see no further than the hand in front of his face and the howling of the wind made it impossible to hear even the screaming of his own voice.
He staggered forward, sensing warmth up ahead. Through the maelstrom he made out a small temple of some kind, hidden in the massive mountains he could now make out all around him.
And his father—Warren Davies—stood before the temple, watching him with a mixture of exasperation and obvious pride. Max’s father had never been an emotional man and had always held himself at arm’s length, both figuratively and physically. But there had been a bond between the two that had always remained firm in Max’s memory.
The Peregrine came to a stop before this man who could not exist and whispered through cracked lips, “This isn’t real. The bullet was drugged… wasn’t it?”
“Considering all that you’ve seen… is it really so hard to believe that you might actually be speaking to me?”
“I’m sure as hell not in… wherever this is. I’m in Atlanta.”
“You’re in a dreamscape, Max. A mental projection. You’ve always been gifted… even when you were a little boy. That’s the reason I was able to guide you over the years. Make myself heard. But with the walls between the living and the dead becoming so weak these days…” Max’s father opened his arms. “Well, you can see that I’m capable of a lot more now.”
“You’re telling me that the voice in my head… the source of my visions and the headaches… is my own dead father?” Max’s voice was dripping with disbelief. “This is a trick.”
“No. It’s not.”
Max paused, letting the implications sink in. “Why would you do this to me? Make me a vigilante?”
“I didn’t
make
you do anything. I merely offered certain paths to you and you chose to take them.”
“Or else suffer those headaches of yours! Not a fair choice, from where I’m standing!”
“You sound like a little boy, Max. Stop. Listen.”
Max seethed inside, still finding it hard to fathom. Could it be true? Could his father have been haunting him all these years? And if so… did that mean that someday Max would be free of his compulsions? Would his father leave him alone?
“Pay attention!” his father snapped.
“What do you want to say?”
“What’s happening to the world is not just the work of Trench and his manservant. They are chess pieces, being maneuvered about by the source of all evil in this world. These men seek to unleash the father of demons from his cage.” Warren Davies moved towards his son, locking gazes with him. “The forces of sin know their day is coming closer and they’ve begun weakening the barriers between worlds. That’s why you’re able to see me now… that and your own telepathic powers are becoming stronger.”
“Now I’m a telepath, too?”
“You’ve always been good at sensing deceit in others… but it’s a gift you may not have the luxury of mastering. You have to stop Trench or the entire world will suffer.”
“Why have you haunted me? Why did you make me into… what I am?”