Sally blinked in confusion. “You’re going to let me go…?”
“I’m going to make you ever so much better. You’re going to become one of us.” Horst smiled again and it was so cold and merciless that Sally thought the devil himself would have recoiled at the sight. “Welcome to the Bloodwerks.”
CHAPTER II
When the Good is swallowed by the Dark…
August, 1940—Berlin, Germany
Germany was a nation at war, with all that entailed. Men and women scurried about with obvious optimism but with a gravity that sapped some of their goodwill from them. Though many, if not most, believed in their Fuehrer and his message that they were the chosen people of the Aryan race, it was still difficult to see friends and family sent off to die in foreign lands.
So far, the war in Europe had gone well for the German war machine. Poland had fallen to the Nazis, who had then marched through Denmark and Norway. France had recently signed an armistice with the Germans, leading to the direct occupation of Paris. It seemed almost inevitable to some that Germany would come to control the entire continent within a few years. The only true threat that remained outside of the Russians was the United States, a sleeping giant who seemed incapable or unwilling to rouse itself for war.
The four people, three men and one woman, who sat together in the rocking train car represented very different parts of the globe. Their opinions on the war had been expressed harshly, brought about by a German gentleman’s evident desire to discuss politics. He was a thin man with very straight white teeth. He had introduced himself as Horst, a shipping expert who owned his own import/export business.
Max Davies didn’t like him. Davies was one of two Americans in the group and he was a dashing man with olive tinted skin and wavy dark hair. His eyes were of a penetrating style, with a keen intelligence that caused weaker men to cower before his gaze. He wore a dark suit and tie, an American newspaper folded on his lap.
Seated next to Max was the other American member of the group and the only female. She was almost painfully lovely, with long blond hair that curled at the ends, dreamy brown eyes and silky skin that seemed to beg to be kissed. She wore a form-fitting sweater that clung enticingly in all the right places and a skirt that stopped just short enough to reveal enough leg to distract any red-blooded male in the area.
Horst had caught her name—Ellen Patrick—and mentally filed it away for later review. He thought he recognized it from some old news files but couldn’t be sure she was the same Ellen Patrick he’d heard about. That one had been the daughter of Owen Patrick, a crusading politician in Southern California, whose drive to expose corrupt officials around him led to his untimely murder.
The fourth member of the quartet was a tall, broad-shouldered Spaniard named Diego, who had jet-black hair and a small Errol Flynn-style moustache. He was very continental in both manner and dress, a bit foppish around the edges. He smoked a cigarette and gazed at Horst beneath heavy lids. “Has no one ever told you, my friend, that you should never discuss religion or politics in social situations?”
Horst looked out the window, which showed the city of Berlin, cast in evening shadow. “We are all similar creatures, I believe. Why should we not discuss events that will have a bearing on all our lives soon enough? The Reich is soon to rule the world.”
“Eh,” Diego replied, exhaling a long column of smoke and winking at Ellen. “Your Fuehrer is a short little man who seeks to compensate for his lack of height.”
“How dare you!” Horst exclaimed, turning to stare at the Spaniard. He heard Ellen’s soft giggle and moved his gaze to her, softening his expression. His pink tongue darted out like a lizard’s, licking at his lips. “Miss Patrick… surely you do not scoff at the magnificence of Adolf Hitler. You seem far too intelligent for such nonsense.”
“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” the young beauty deadpanned.
In the silence that followed, Max entered the conversation for the first time. “So is everyone a first timer with Bloodwerks?”
Horst shook his head, accepting the turn in conversation. “I have been with the organization for many years. It is the best use of my funds that I have ever encountered.”
“I’m a little uncertain about how it all works,” Ellen admitted. She ran a finger through a set of blond curls. “I mean… what if we’re caught? It’s so illegal what we’re doing.” This last bit was added in a whispered undertone that led all three men to unconsciously lean forward in a conspiratorial manner.
“Many of the local authorities have been paid to look the other way,” Horst reassured her. “All of us are very wealthy men and women. Our monies that are given to Bloodwerks are split between them and the Fuehrer’s war coffers. Thus, we are far too valuable to waste in a prison cell.”
“I didn’t realize we’d be backing the war by paying our fees,” Diego remarked, looking slightly put out.
“What difference does it make?” Horst teased. “All of us are more concerned with the unique pleasures that are made available to us. Where the money goes should be a concern next to that.” He let his eyes dance over Ellen’s exposed legs and she shifted her body in response, trying to shield them from his gaze. “Very unusual to get a woman amongst the group. I find the women to be the most severe in their punishments. Far more creative than a man.”
Max cleared his throat. “May I ask how many times you’ve done things like this, Horst?”
“Over a dozen.”
Ellen gasped. “I had no idea the group had been around so long…”
“Bloodwerks has been known under many names,” the German replied. “It dates back to the Middle Ages and perhaps further.”
Diego dabbed out his cigarette in a small ashtray set into the arm of his seat. “I’m not entirely certain what it is that we can do,” he admitted.
“I thought we were here to torture and kill people,” Ellen whispered, her eyes growing bright with evident excitement.
Horst chuckled, realizing that she was enjoying the illicit nature of their shared escapade. “Murder is sometimes an option, yes… but Bloodwerks has strict rules. Come here to kill and you come only once.”
Max leaned forward, setting aside his newspaper. An unusual ring on his right hand gleamed redly in the train lights. An image of a bird in flight could briefly be seen, flashing into view atop its surface. “When I first heard about this group, I thought it too good to be true. I mean, I’ve done everything I could think of, experienced every pleasure known to man or woman… but to have that kind of power over another human being seemed so enticing. I took the plunge and contacted the group. But I didn’t know you
could
come back. That’s why I asked earlier. I wanted to know if they really didn’t allow any repeat customers—and why they’d give up such earnings. Surely people would want to do it again and again.”
Horst nodded, obviously enjoying the fact that he knew more than the rest of the group. “Bloodwerks is set up as an International operation based in Germany and Austria, presumably to provide thrills of a peculiar nature to the wealthy upper class who can afford such things. According to the agreement we all signed, none of us can ever discuss what it is that we’ve done with the organization—under penalty of severe torture and eventual death. In return, we get a victim that meets our requested specifications and get to enjoy ourselves to the fullest.”
Ellen tossed her pretty blond curls. “But I didn’t pay the full fee. They waived some of it in exchange for future considerations…”
“They’ll ask you to locate a victim for someone down the line,” Max responded. He saw the surprise in Horst’s eyes and shrugged. “That’s what I’m assuming, anyway. Am I right?”
“You are correct,” Horst admitted. “If you provide such a service to them, the Bloodwerks organization is willing to provide discounts. But the only way to become a repeat customer yourself is to… ah, but it seems we have arrived.” Horst laughed as the train came to a stop and everyone began to ready themselves for departure. “It seems that I will have to tell you more once we have arrived at the club.”
The German picked up his hat and overcoat, stepping out of the car. Max watched him head to the washroom first, obviously intending to clean up before departure. With a well concealed nod to Ellen, Max set off after the man. He waited for a moment after the German had entered the washroom, smiling at the other passengers as they filed to the exits. When the time was right, the American yanked open the door and stepped into the cramped little room, forcing the German up against the counter.
“Was ist dieses?” Horst exclaimed, letting out a little yelp of pain as Max drove his arm up behind the man’s head, pressing it hard into the wall.
“Who runs the Bloodwerks?” Max hissed into the German’s ear. When Horst didn’t answer quickly enough, Max increased the pressure.
“His name is Jakob,” Horst stuttered. “I have only met him a few times!”
“Will he be at the club tonight?”
“Ja!”
Max spun the German around, keeping him held tightly. “Finish what you were saying before. How do you become a repeat customer?”
“You have to join the Inner Circle,” Horst whispered. “You are taught how to empty a human vessel so the Masters can step in and animate it.”
“What does that mean?”
Horst spat in Max’s eye. “It means that you’re a fool to even think about crossing them! They’re not what you think they are! None of the Bloodwerks is!”
Max grimaced, his face darkening. He pushed Horst’s head back against the counter and raised his oddly tinted ring. “When the Good is swallowed by the Dark, there the Peregrine shall plant his Mark!” Max said under his breath. He brought the ring’s surface down upon the German’s head, a strange heat beginning to rise from the contact. Horst screamed as the image of a bird in flight was burned into his flesh.
To Max’s surprise, however, the skin gave way, revealing not bone but something more like polished marble. Strange runes had been etched into the German’s skull and Max turned away in disgust as Horst began to shudder and shake, his body suddenly flaring up in eldritch flame. Within seconds, the German was gone, leaving behind nothing but ash on the floor.
“Are you alright in there?” a porter demanded in German, beating on the door.
Max opened it, smiling apologetically. “Terribly sorry,” he replied in flawless German. “Something I ate must have disagreed with me.”
Max pushed past the porter and hurried off the train. Ellen and Diego were waiting for him near a taxi cab whose engine was idling.
“Where is Horst?” Diego asked, his voice having somehow changed in timbre. Gone was his Spanish accent, replaced instead by one that sounded like he was born in the American South.
“He’s dead, though I’d wager to say his true death lay years in the past.” Max nodded at Ellen. “You were right to call me. Bloodwerks is more dangerous than we’d ever imagined—and the whole world might be threatened if we don’t’ put a stop to this!”
CHAPTER III
The Heroes’ Alliance
Ellen Patrick slipped into a black satin gown, letting the clinging material drop across her firm breasts and well-toned body. A white cape was soon tied about her neck but it did little to hide the daringly low cut nature of the dress. Her bare shoulders looked soft to the touch and Ellen couldn’t help but smile at her own reflection as she slipped a small jet black domino-style mask over her eyes.
Ellen was indeed the same woman that Horst had thought he’d recognized from the newspapers. Having lost her mother when she was very young, Ellen had been raised by her doting father, who had taught her to love all manner of outdoor activity: hunting, boating, riding and shooting amongst them. But her education had always been paramount and she’d been pushed to excel in that area, attending Berkeley and graduating with a degree in Foreign Languages. After graduation, she’d spent a year in the Orient, where she’d perfected her already impressive understanding of the Oriental languages and become an accomplished student of judo.
Unfortunately, her father had hit upon a difficult road back home. A rising career in politics was based in part on his crusade against corruption in state government. When those being exposed grew angry at his investigations, these crooked politicians hired a killer to end Owen Patrick’s life.
Ellen was hardened by the murder of her father and she decided to do something that the police could not: she went undercover as The Domino Lady, hunting down all those who would betray the public trust. To further her vigilante career, she pretended to be a flighty, party-loving socialite in her public life, making sure that no one suspected her of being a nocturnal avenger.
The disappearance of her friend Sally Wingforth and the evasive nature of Carl Klemons in answering questions about their trip to Europe had led Ellen to grow suspicious. She’d turned to an East-coast based Adventurer’s Club for assistance, having been invited to join the organization several months prior by a mysterious gentleman named Benson, who had spoken at length about the benefits of associating with others of a similar vigilante-oriented bent. She’d resisted at first but had finally accepted the offer and she was glad she had. The group’s chairman, Leopold Grace, had put her in touch with his friend Max Davies and the two of them had managed to track down the details surrounding Sally’s disappearance.
The Peregrine had learned that Carl had affiliations with a shadowy organization known as Bloodwerks, who had a reputation for supplying disgusting pleasures to bored socialites. From there, it had been a relatively simple matter of contacting the right people and slipping the appropriate amounts of money into their hands.
Max and Ellen were accompanied on this mission by William McKenzie, the police chief in Max’s current hometown of Atlanta, Georgia. McKenzie’s handsome features and blond hair were hidden by a masterful makeup job done by Max.
After leaving the train station, the trio had checked in to a hotel recommended to them by Bloodwerks. It was located just two blocks from their eventual destination, a club known locally as die Grube, which translated as “The Pit.”