“Kirsten Bauer,” the Eel repeated, committing it to memory. “I’ll do as you ask.”
“Good. Because if you do not… if you let your petty little fears overwhelm your intelligence, I will not speak to you again. I will wait until I am freed by another… and then I will seek you out. And I will make you suffer in ways your little mind cannot comprehend!”
The Eel grunted as a mental shove knocked him back. The hooded woman was gone from his vision and a quick glance at his watch told him that he’d lost over an hour. Rising, he forced himself to calm. Again the urge to flee the box came to him: destroy it or leave it, either way he should be free of the woman. But something always stopped him—the man who always slipped free from others seemed bound by an unbreakable force this time.
“Kirsten Bauer,” he said aloud. “Whoever you are, the Eel is coming for you.”
CHAPTER VI
Prisoner of the Iron Maiden
McKenzie hurt in places that he didn’t even know he had. He groaned as he sat in the tub, barely conscious of the cloth being drug across his back or the soothing bath salts that dissolved around him.
Normally, being nude in the presence of a woman would have at the very least elicited a bit of embarrassment from the young man, but in his current state McKenzie could have cared less. His punishments had been so severe that he’d blacked out several times and more than once he’d found himself wishing silently for death.
Kirsten Bauer sat on a chair behind him, carefully cleaning the wounds that she herself had caused. She was not in her armor, having discarded it after helping McKenzie into the tub. Now she wore only her undergarments, accompanied by a garter belt and hose. The steam from the warm bath would have made the armor seem like a furnace around her, so she had elected for comfort rather than modesty.
It was rare for her to be dressed as such around a man but she knew that the policeman was in no condition to try to escape, let alone force himself upon her sexually.
“I have looked into your background, Mr. McKenzie,” she said, leaning so close that her lips brushed against McKenzie’s ear. “And I think I believe you when you say that you cannot remember what you did with the box.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, turning his head to look at her. His eyes dropped slightly to steal a quick glance at her cleavage but there were no stirrings in his loin; at least, not yet.
“You were hospitalized after an attack on your person. The assailant remains unknown but the assault took place at your home. I think it’s possible that this person stole the items from you and left you for dead. Your concussion could have easily led to amnesia.”
“I remember being sick… but every time I’ve tried to remember what happened during that time, it just comes up a blank.”
Kirsten moistened her lips, the tip of her tongue darting out quickly, betraying her excitement. “I am willing to forgive what happened earlier if you agree to help us.”
McKenzie stared at her for a moment before bursting out laughing. The sudden change in his expression startled Kristen so much that she stood up and backed away. “You’re
forgiving
me?” He asked. “I believe it was you that was working
me
over. I don’t have anything to apologize for. I can’t believe you… you’re telling me that you faked my death and then tortured me… all for nothing. And now that you’ve realized your mistake, you’re going to forgive
me
? Sister, that’s rich!”
Kirsten’s face took on a furious cast and she marched over to begin strapping back on her armor. McKenzie rose unsteadily from the tub, not caring that his body was fully displayed to her. He had kept himself in excellent shape, which was fully noticed by Kirsten, but the patchwork of scars she’d given him were standing out in bright shades of pink and red, marring his handsomeness. “You don’t understand,” she whispered, though some of the anger was slipping from her manner, replaced by something akin to disappointment.
“Then explain it to me,” McKenzie said, staring into her eyes.
Kirsten snatched up a towel and tossed it to him, averting her gaze. “My nation is going to lead this world into a new era. Those who have helped build that empire through their sweat and blood and tears will be rewarded.”
“That Third Reich nonsense?” McKenzie asked, drying himself off before tying the towel around his waist. “I’ve heard about the way your Fuehrer talks about other people, like they were half as good as the Germans.”
Kirsten ignored his words, still staring off into space. “I love my homeland. I think that this war… it will bring some horrible things at first. There will be much bloodshed and suffering. But when peace has been restored, the Fuehrer will make things right again. And I want to help with that. I can use the items you lost to help the Fuehrer do that, quickly… so that as few have to die as possible.” She finally glanced back at him, her sincerity shining through. Despite her cruelty to him, McKenzie found himself drowning in those big blue eyes of hers. “I am not a cruel woman but I am one who will do what is necessary. I… don’t want you to suffer. I want you to stand with me. In the end, you can become a loyalist and—”
“I’d never back that maniac running your country. And I’d never turn my back on the US of A.”
Kirsten let out a long sigh, shaking her head as if to confirm that she’d made a stupid miscalculation. “I should never have thought you’d understand. Like all Americans, you’re too bullheaded to listen to reason.”
McKenzie took several steps towards her but Kirsten didn’t flinch away, not even when he put his hands on her shoulders. “Look… I don’t know anything about you, but I can sense that you’re not a bad person. Not even after all you did to me. Now’s my chance to make a pitch to you—let me go and I’ll do everything I can to get you out of this mess. You can stay here in the States.” McKenzie paused and then said a few words that surprised even him. “With me.”
“I…” Kirsten hesitated, warmth beginning to flood through her limbs. She felt herself leaning in close, lips parting, and a section of her brain wondered what was happening to her. How could she go from torturing this man to suddenly growing weak in the knees for him?
Before their lips met, a pounding at the door made them both jump. The Iron Maiden pulled free and quickly pulled the last of her armor into place, both figuratively and literally.
The Iron Maiden opened the door, revealing one of her metal-masked henchmen. He pointedly looked over the Iron Maiden’s shoulder, where McKenzie was now getting dressed.
Kirsten cleared her throat, summoning her servant’s attention once more. “Yes?” she demanded.
The fellow handed his mistress a section of newspaper, speaking to her in German.
McKenzie knew only a few words of that language but he could sense the tension suddenly rise in the room. He moved close enough so that he could glimpse the headlines. At the top of the page was an article detailing the ongoing investigation into his own “death” but the bottom of the page seemed to be what had caught his captors’ attention:
LOCAL VIGILANTE CLAIMS MAGICAL SWORD
Exclusive article by Phillip Gallagher
Nocturnal lawman the Peregrine has told this reporter that he has recently toppled notorious criminal The Eel from his perch atop Atlanta’s underworld. One of the spoils of war was an ancient Viking sword adorned with enigmatic symbols.
The Peregrine donated the priceless relic to the High Museum where it will be put on public display beginning tomorrow.
The Iron Maiden crumpled the paper in her gauntleted fist and whirled on McKenzie, who took an automatic step back.
“It seems that my attempts to avoid your masked friend have all been for naught.” The Iron Maiden’s earlier warmth and vulnerability had vanished beneath the chrome of her armor. “You’re going to tell me everything you know about him, Mr. McKenzie.”
“Give it up,” he warned her. “Tangling with the Peregrine is the surest way to get yourself thrown in jail… but not before he marked that pretty face of yours with his brand.”
The Iron Maiden sneered in response. “I’m not afraid of the Peregrine. He should be afraid of me.”
McKenzie couldn’t suppress a chuckle, which only seemed to infuriate the Iron Maiden all the more. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said.
CHAPTER VII
Facing the Enemy
Evelyn Davies moved through the thinning crowd, dressed in a stunning black dress that accentuated her long, lithe form and smooth complexion. The auburn haired beauty was a local celebrity who attracted attention wherever she went but today she was hardly the focal point of the crowd.
Rather, it was the ornately adorned sword that hung on the far wall, every notch on its blade seeming to carry with it a story of some bloody battle lost to history.
The sword was not the usual sort of item to be on display at the High Museum but the press about it had brought forth many gawkers who otherwise wouldn’t have stepped foot in the museum. The article had run yesterday, with a smaller repeating news item in this morning’s edition. The journalist who had written the pieces was a trusted agent of the Peregrine and one of the few men who knew of Max’s dual identity.
The current museum collection was housed in what had once been the home of Mrs. Joseph M. High, who donated the Peach Street structure to the museum’s trust in 1926. Evelyn loved the place, spending many of her weekend hours here. Max’s old friend Leopold Grace had even donated several items that were in the museum’s private collection.
Evelyn came to a stop near the sword, standing with her back against a corner wall. Thoughts about Leopold made her sad, for he had been murdered recently. His death had meant that the baby boy in his care had gone to Leopold’s older brother Korben for safe keeping. Max still took on a haunted expression when confronted with his friend’s memory.
“You look lost in thought. Are you all right?”
Evelyn jumped as her husband’s voice buzzed in her right ear. She tried to avoid the temptation to reach up and touch the nearly invisible device that was nestled there. She glanced around but saw no trace of the Peregrine. “I was just thinking about old friends,” she whispered, flashing a smile as someone passed. “How long are we going to wait?”
“The museum closes in ten minutes,” Max responded. “I made sure that the newspaper mentioned the great lengths the High is going to in terms of protecting the sword overnight. If McKenzie’s kidnapper means to steal the weapon, I’m betting she’ll try it any minute now. With the people here, there will be plenty of confusion she can use to mask her escape.”
“Still seems crazy to me… why would they strike during the day at all? Even if the security at night is as tight as you said, it still seems better to do it in the dark.”
“I have a feeling about this,” Max answered and Evelyn ceased arguing with him. If he’d seen this in a vision, then he was bound to be right. She’d learned to trust his powers that much, at least.
Evelyn noticed that there were barely a half dozen people besides herself now, and two of them were security guards. Max had wanted her on the floor to provide assistance if trouble broke out but it was beginning to look like she wouldn’t be needed, vision or no.
But then one of the guards was thrown backwards as bullets ripped through his body and the screams of innocent bystanders filled the air. Marching through the front door were three masked men, flanking an armored woman who strode straight towards the sword. The second guard opened fire on the armored woman, but the bullets ricocheted wildly and caught an elderly man in the back as the fellow tried to escape.
From the shadows emerged the Peregrine, rushing forward with the glowing Knife of Elohim in hand. The mystical blade had been dipped in the blood of Christ, making it a potent weapon against the supernatural. Max threw it with unerring accuracy, the blade finding a home in the neck of one of the gunmen. His body now splashed with blood, the German fell to the ground in thrashing spasms.
The Peregrine then drew a pistol and fired twice, two shots that were so perfectly placed that they felled both of the remaining gunmen before they could respond in kind.
The Iron Maiden seemed to take no notice of her companions’ situation. Instead, she came to a halt just beneath the sword, which she dislodged from the wall by slamming a gauntleted fist against the area just below the weapon’s mounting. The sword shook and then fell into her waiting arms.
As the Iron Maiden started to turn around, Evelyn moved up behind her and slammed the butt of a small handgun against the Maiden’s helmet. The gun had been hidden in Evelyn’s handbag, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice.
The Iron Maiden felt the impact, though it had no effect on her. She whirled around with out even looking to see who had struck her, her fist backhanding against Evelyn’s cheek. The beautiful actress was knocked off her feet, slamming hard against the floor. An ugly bruise was already forming on the side of her face.
“That was your last mistake,” the Peregrine warned. He held up one gloved hand and the Iron Maiden watched in disbelief as the Knife of Elohim began to shake in her henchman’s neck. With a wet sound, the blade was pulled free by an invisible hand, flying through the air to land smoothly in the Peregrine’s palm. “Tell me where William McKenzie is and I might go easy on you.”
The Iron Maiden held the sword aloft, enjoying the weight of it in her hand. It felt natural, like she’d been born to wield it. “McKenzie’s joined with us now.”
“Don’t bother trying to lie to me,” the Peregrine responded. He took a step towards the Iron Maiden but stopped suddenly when the armored woman moved closer to Evelyn’s still form, resting the point of her sword against the fallen woman’s neck.
As sirens began to wail in the distance, the Iron Maiden let her eyes flick towards the doorway. Several more of her henchmen were entering, automatics held in their hands. They trained their guns on the Peregrine, who seemed unafraid, despite the danger in which he was now being placed.
“I’ll kill her,” the Iron Maiden vowed. She had suspected this trap and had made sure to bring more than enough men but she was still somewhat unnerved. McKenzie had refused to give her any information on the Peregrine and she had found herself unwilling—or unable—to truly harm him again. Thus, her constant threats rang hollow to the police officer, which shamed Kirsten greatly. “Drop your weapons and back away. My fight isn’t with you.”