From there, the narrative mentioned a wide variety of adventures that Grímarr engaged in, all on behalf of his deathly mistress. Eventually, he was freed from her service and his sword left behind in the world of man. That sword had acquired unique abilities over the years, soaked as it was in both the blood of Grímarr’s enemies and in the strange powers of Hel.
There were other items in the box, of course, but it was the sword that most enflamed Kirsten’s desires.
She knew that the Fuehrer believed that the sword and its companion pieces could be used to deliver a powerful killing blow to Germany’s enemies but a part of her secretly desired it for herself. To wield such a weapon… coupled with her armor, she would never need fear the depredations of men again.
The Fuehrer will use me as his Valkyrie,
she thought with a smile,
and I will help the Third Reich achieve its most glorious victories…
The image of the handsome police officer rose unbidden in her mind and her happy thoughts trailed away. What she’d done was distasteful but necessary, she believed… but he seemed so honest and his appearance was almost Aryan in its attractiveness.
Kirsten sighed, closing her eyes and tossing the papers away. Men were such vexing creatures, both enticing and frightening in equal amounts. She lay in bed, tossing and turning, for nearly an hour before she rose hesitatingly to approach her armor. She garbed herself in its metallic embrace and then returned to the bed, which creaked beneath her increased weight.
Encased in gleaming metal, she slept.
CHAPTER IV
The Scene of the Crime
The Peregrine’s connections with law enforcement, first put into place by the mysterious Benson but later strengthened considerably by McKenzie, allowed him access to areas that would otherwise be considered closed crime scenes. At present, he was spending the early dawn hours crawling through the wreckage of McKenzie’s vacation house.
Max bent low, running his gloved hands through ash. He was near the area where McKenzie’s body had been found and he was considering doing something that he knew would be distasteful.
“Max?”
The Peregrine glanced up to see his wife approaching. She was in her adventuring gear, which consisted of khaki pants, a stiff blouse, gloves, coat and a small domino-style mask. Max regarded the entire ensemble with some amusement but he knew it pleased Evelyn to accompany him on his missions, as much as possible. Being a mother and a relatively successful actress usually kept her busy, but at times like this she wanted to be there for him.
“Find anything?” Max asked, grateful that the police had given them complete privacy at the moment.
“I checked the grounds like you asked and you’re right—there are multiple footprints out there, some of which couldn’t possibly be from the firemen or police officers.”
“What do you mean?”
Evelyn moved closer, her attractive features lined with worry. Several years younger than her husband, Evelyn was a auburn-haired buxom woman, with porcelain doll features. She’d starred in off-Broadway productions since her teen years and had moved into low-budget b-movies as well. Her most recent film,
Bride of the Swamp Beast
, hadn’t opened in theaters yet but Max had seen enough of the shooting to know it followed the usual plotlines, involving Evelyn’s character being placed in mortal peril, complete with artfully ripped bodice. “There are some that are too deep to have been made by any of the boots or shoes they’re wearing. From what you’ve taught me about gait, I’d say it was a woman who made them but she would have been incredibly heavy.”
Max pursed his lips thoughtfully. He’d come here looking for answers, thinking that his visions had meant more than his friend’s mere death. He felt strongly that there had been foul play involved. Those clues that Evelyn had mentioned just now seemed to confirm his suspicions. There had been multiple individuals present when this fire occurred but none of those people had reported the accident, if it had been one. This was murder.
“I’m going to try sensing what happened,” Max said, dipping his fingertips back into the ash.
“How are you going to do that?”
“If I concentrate, I’m betting that my telepathy will be able to pick up on any mental energy that might be lingering in this area.”
Evelyn nodded with understanding. “You’re operating on the theory that painful or emotional events can cause a resonance with their surroundings… basically leaving behind a psychic ‘imprint’ that can be read later on by sensitives?”
Max stared at her with an open mouth, making Evelyn laugh out loud.
“You know, that was the entire basis for
Haunted Bridesmaid
, don’t you?”
The Peregrine smiled, grateful that she was able to make him laugh even at a time like this. He closed his eyes and relaxed, losing himself in the moment.
For a moment there was nothing save darkness but then brief images began to filter through his mind. He saw men in suits, their faces hidden by masks. A woman was with them, wearing armor. And McKenzie… but not in the house: inside the house lay another man entirely, one who had been planted there for the express purpose of making everyone believe it had been McKenzie who had died.
The images suddenly came with further speed, causing the Peregrine’s body to jerk in terrifying spasms. Evelyn started to reach out and grab hold of her husband but a torrent of strange words began to spill from his mouth, giving her pause:
“Sword of Hel, given life through blood and sacrifice. Unleash the old goddess and Hel shall be unleashed! The end of days shall come! On a pale horse she rides!”
The Peregrine screamed then, a long wail of primal emotion. He then sagged forward onto the ground, his face buried in the soot. Evelyn pulled him onto his back and gradually he seemed to recover from whatever awful fever had held him.
“Max! What the hell happened to you?”
“I saw… a little bit about what happened here. A woman in armor did this. She staged it so that it would look like McKenzie was dead.” The Peregrine made it to his feet and took his wife by the hand, leading her towards the car. “They believe he knows something about a box… but I couldn’t see more than that.”
“What about those things you were saying?” Evelyn asked, gasping from the speed with which her husband was moving.
Max slowed his walk, setting his jaw as his demeanor grew grimmer. “That wasn’t me talking. It was something speaking
through
me. I felt something invade my mind, something incredibly old and powerful. It wanted to warn me about a sword… and the strangest thing is, I already have that thing.”
Evelyn got into the car as Max held the passenger side door for her. “That thing you got from the Eel?”
“Yes. I don’t know by what providence it’s come into my possession but I’m not going to waste this. If McKenzie is still alive, his kidnappers want that sword… and we’re going to use it to draw them out.”
CHAPTER V
Slithering Away
The Eel stepped into the darkened apartment, blood oozing down the side of his face. He moved with a woozy gait, a leftover effect from the blow to his head. The Peregrine had nearly captured him but once again the crime lord had proven a bit too slippery to be caught.
Unfortunately, he’d been forced to abandon not only his beloved yacht but also his trained female assassins, the Three Minnows. He loved those girls in his own way so somehow freeing the ones still living from the authorities would take high priority.
The worst thing of all was the loss of the sword, however. Without it, he felt antsy and confused… possessing the Sword of Hel made one feel invincible.
I should have carried it out onto the deck with me,
he mused,
and stabbed the Peregrine dead right then and there.
Realizing that there was no time for recriminations, the Eel turned on a lamp and cast a wary gaze about his apartment. It was a well-furnished place in downtown Atlanta, only a few blocks from the opulent Fox Theatre. The Eel used it only rarely, mainly when he wanted some time alone with one of the Minnows, so it was not well stocked with provisions, but it was secure from all appearances. The Peregrine had managed to trace him to the yacht but had yet to find all his hideouts.
The master criminal staggered into the bathroom and stared at his wound in the mirror. The flow of blood was slowing to a trickle but it was going to leave a nasty bruise. He took out a wash cloth and soap, slowly cleaning the area, occasionally wincing at the pain. When he was done, a fresh bandage was applied and the Eel began to feel like himself again.
He moved into the kitchen, found some moldy bread and a jar of peanut butter. After scraping off the mold, he made himself a sandwich and turned on the radio, expecting to hear details about the Peregrine’s nocturnal activities. The vigilante was quite the sensation around town, especially after a B-movie series was made about some of his more lurid adventures.
When the Eel heard the major news story of the day, a chill seemed to go down his spine and he forgot all about the Peregrine:
“Authorities continue to search for clues in the death of Atlanta police Chief William McKenzie. Chief McKenzie’s remains were found in the burned out husk of a vacation retreat near Lake Lincoln early this morning. Investigators believe that an overturned lantern might be the culprit behind the blaze but a full inquiry is still ongoing.”
The Eel reached out and turned off the radio, his face darkening with rage. Years ago, he’d killed McKenzie’s brother, gunned him down in the streets… and then he’d eluded all the efforts of the McKenzie boys’ father to hunt him down. When the elder McKenzie had gotten too close, he’d been dealt with… and when circumstance had led both the Eel and McKenzie to Atlanta, it had seemed like only a matter of time before their feud would come to its end.
But not now.
He thought about the day that he’d planned to leave Alabama for good, the way he’d snuck to the home of William McKenzie. The idea had been to plug the young cop with a bullet to the back of his head, thus ensuring that the Eel’s escape across state lines would go unhindered. But what he’d found when he’d arrived at McKenzie’s home was the man staring into a box of the strangest artifacts the Eel had ever seen: a sword, some bits of broken pottery, several scrolls with ancient runes written on crumbling paper.
McKenzie had seemed entranced, totally oblivious to the Eel’s presence as the villain crept in through an open window, revolver in hand. But then the Eel had heard it, too… an odd whispering in the back of his head, the soft tones of a woman. Her voice had been alluring, yet oddly cold and frightening.
The Eel had struck quickly, slamming the butt of his gun down upon McKenzie’s head and then sprinting away, the box of items in tow. To this day, he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t killed the young lawman… but when weeks and then months went by with no sign of retaliation from McKenzie, the Eel had done some digging of his own. He’d found that the police officer had suffered a terrible concussion in the incident, one that had robbed him of several months’ worth of memory.
The Eel moved to his bed, kneeling at its side. From beneath it he pulled out a battered box sealed with tape. It tore easily under his pressure, revealing its aged contents. The scent of history filled the Eel’s nostrils and he coughed slightly, images of dark, terrible things filling his mind. He saw a river of blood, filled with screaming victims, forever unable to reach the shore.
The image of a woman, her face half hidden behind a drawn hood, rose up before his mind’s eye. What the Eel could see was lovely, with full red lips, smooth skin and eyes that twinkled with forbidden knowledge. But in the shadows of that hood lurked the other side of her face and the Eel somehow knew that gazing upon that would not nearly be as pleasant.
“Mortal man,” the woman’s voice whispered in his skull. “It has been so long since you have come to me.”
“I… have been busy,” he lied, and the woman in his head knew it.
“You’re afraid of me,” she purred, amusement lacing every syllable. “You feel the cold caress of death when you speak to me and it terrifies you.”
The Eel said nothing, knowing the truth in her statement. He knew that McKenzie had been listening to this voice when the Eel had come upon him… and in the years since, the Eel had listened to it himself dozens of times. After each experience, he’d vowed to destroy the box and never handle the sword again… but every time he came back, hungry to stare into the abyss.
“You are concerned. I can sense it.”
The Eel swallowed fearfully. “The sword. It’s gone.”
There was a distinct air of warning when the hooded woman spoke again. She had raised her face slightly, giving the Eel the briefest glimpse of white bone peeking out from the shadows. “You have lost it?”
“It was taken from me.”
“You must retrieve it.”
The Eel tried to look away but he couldn’t tear himself away from the hooded woman’s gaze. “I’ll do my best.”
“You need to do better than that,” she warned. “I have told you what must be done… and yet you have not performed the duties I asked of you. My patience grows thin. I have waited for so very long… I yearn to be free. I yearn to touch the skin of mortal men.”
The Eel felt his mouth growing dry. The hooded woman had instructed him to take the shatters pieces within the box and have them restored. They would form a small pot, something she called The Bowl of Forever Night. Blood would need to be shed with the sword and collected in the Bowl. And from the scrolls were to be read a series of phrases, ones that would allow the hooded woman to stride from her hellish realm and into ours.
“Who has the sword?” she asked, bringing the Eel back from his reverie.
“A man called the Peregrine. He fancies himself a vigilante and…” the Eel paused, remembering the way that the Peregrine had managed to snatch him down, despite being several feet away. “I think he might not be quite human.”
The hooded woman laughed then and the Eel felt certain that whatever
this
woman was, she was not human either. “There are others who seek the sword and the relics. Find the woman named Kirsten Bauer. Together, the two of you will be able to reclaim the sword and free me.”