“Is it worth much?” Max asked, wondering if greed might provide an explanation for the crime.
“A fair mint to the right people, yeah. But the professor says it might be something else: according to local legend, that skull is a mystical artifact. On its own the skull is dangerous enough, according to the believers… but if united with its two twins—they’re called the Greater Skulls, it’s capable of destroying the world.”
Max grunted. “So it looks like the killer might be looking to grab the others, as well? Any leads on where they might be?”
“Not a clue.” McKenzie put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “But I figure you can find out while I’m out of town.”
“So nice of you to think of something to keep me busy,” Max deadpanned. Growing more serious, he lowered his voice and said, “I hope this works out for you. I really do.”
“Thanks, Max. I know that some folks think I’m crazy for doing this… but I love her. And I think she loves me, too.”
“That’s the most important thing.” Max looked up to the sky, where the sun was beginning to sink low behind the pine trees. The air was brisk on this January day and there was something of a melancholy feeling that clung to every detail. It had been that way for Max ever since the attack on Pearl Harbor, when he had realized that his fears over the growing war in the Pacific and in Europe were all too real. As the Peregrine, he’d clashed with enough Nazis in recent years to know exactly how dangerous their agenda could be… and now the nation was going to find out for itself.
Max started to voice some of his concerns to Will when suddenly a pounding settled in the base of his skull. It grew in intensity until it felt like someone was driving a nail straight into his brain… and it was a painful sensation that was all too familiar.
Haunted since childhood by visions of the future, Max had tried in vain to banish the things from his life. He had finally settled in to a benign appreciation of the awful gift he possessed.
Gritting his teeth, Max felt the world sway around him. He reached out blindly for McKenzie, who caught his arm to hold his friend upright.
In the darkness of his mind’s eye, the Peregrine began to see images appear:
Three crystal skulls, side-by-side. All three were glowing with an inner light that was almost blinding. Standing above and behind them was a figure straight out of myth: the grim reaper, cloaked and hooded, the bones of his skeletal face just barely in view. In his hands was held a long, dangerous looking scythe. The images then swirled, as if someone were disrupting the scene with a brush of their fingertips. Max wondered idly if that wasn’t the case—his father, Warren Davies—was the one directly responsible for these visions, sending them to Max across the void separating the living and the dead.
The scene shifted, to reveal the face of a man that the Peregrine knew very well. He had never met him personally, of course, but Adolf Hitler’s visage was growing more infamous by the day. It haunted newsreel footage and was already inspiring fear and hatred amongst many Americans. Due to the freshness of the Pearl Harbor tragedy, there was more dislike for Japan in the States than for Germany at the moment, but Max felt certain that would change over time, giving all members of the Axis at least equal footing as villains. Max saw Hitler reaching out to grasp a crystal skull, his voice ringing out in German. Max, who could speak numerous languages fluently, heard the leader of the German war machine speak as clearly as if they were in the same room together:
“Inform our allies that we have won. No one will stand against us now…”
Hitler’s image faded, replaced by a horrifying vision that seemed to stretch on for miles. America’s heartland, reduced to dry dust and a barren landscape… here and there Max could see bones of animals and humans sticking up from the earth. It was a nightmare given perfect form.
When Max blinked hard, the images were gone, having taken less than ten seconds to fully appear in his mind. He found McKenzie staring at him in concern.
“It happened again, didn’t it?” McKenzie asked, having witnessed his friend’s episodes before.
“Yes. But I think I have a better idea about what our friend the Grim Reaper might be up to.”
“The Grim Reaper?”
“That’s who he looks like,” Max explained. He turned away from his friend and began to head back into the house. “Tell Evelyn that something came up.”
McKenzie stared at Max’s back, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Sure.”
Max stopped at the door, turning to look back at McKenzie. “Oh… and have fun on your honeymoon. Don’t worry about things while you’re gone.”
“Why in the world would I worry about anything, Max? My best friend’s just going off to face a guy who chops people’s heads off and dresses up like Death.”
Max laughed softly, realizing how absurd the whole thing sounded. Something occurred to him then and he suddenly snapped his fingers. “Kirsten! I need to speak to her.”
McKenzie seemed surprised but he was more than willing to go along with his friend’s inspiration. “I’ll send her your way. You going to be down in the Nest?” McKenzie was referring to the reinforced storm cellar that Max had turned into a secret lair, filled with items used in his crusade against crime.
Max nodded curtly and disappeared within.
* * *
Kirsten was still in her wedding dress when she entered the Nest. She had a sort of happy glow about her that made Max feel guilty for having pulled her away from the reception. She took one look at Max in his Peregrine garb and some of the pleasure seemed to ebb from her. Max wore his domino-style mask with its odd little beak-like appendage over his nose; a long jacket over his slacks and white shirt, a tie, and gloves completed the outfit.
“Will mentioned that you needed to speak with me.”
Max nodded, thinking that not very long ago they’d met on the field of battle. The fight had ended when McKenzie had stepped between them, bringing his lover and his best friend to peace. He hoped he’d never have to face her that way again for she was a terrifying opponent. “I had a vision of a German agent, dressed in a hooded robe. He wielded a scythe and wore some kind of skull mask over his face. Are you familiar with him?” Before he’d even finished the description, Kirsten’s eyes had widened, making it quite clear that she did know someone who matched that appearance.
“Yes. His name is Werner Richter. At the same time I was undergoing training as the Iron Maiden, he was being outfitted with his own equipment. I know that he was a spiritualist and that there were stories about him trafficking in black magic.”
Max picked up a piece of paper and wrote the man’s name down, asking Kirsten to spell it for him for accuracy’s sake. “I believe he’s the one performing the murders in town,” he explained. “He’s looking to bring together three crystal skulls. I know he’s got one of them already—he got it last night. Do you have any idea where I might begin looking for the other two?”
Kirsten pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I did learn a bit about them. You have to understand, Hitler and his aides are diehard believers in the occult. They have reams of information on all sorts of topics. My particular leanings were towards those of Norse and Germanic ancestry but Hitler was willing to use anything to achieve his goals.”
Max thought he detected a trace of admiration in Kirsten’s voice, reminding him that she was only a few months removed from service to the German leader.
“I know of one other here in the United States but the last of the Greater Skulls… I have no idea where it might be.”
“The one here in the states?” Max prompted.
“Dr. Mitchell-Hedges, a retired professor from Miskatonic University. He has one. When I was still working for the Third Reich, Mitchell-Hedges was temporarily under surveillance and there was talk of stealing the skull from him.”
Max nodded, immediately making plans to contact the doctor and find out if he still owned the skull. As for the mysterious third crystal piece… he had ideas about how to find that one, as well.
The Peregrine reached out and touched Kirsten’s arm, squeezing it gently. “Thank you. I know it must be hard for you to give information about someone you used to work with—”
Kirsten’s face twisted into an expression of contempt. “I knew him, Max… but I never worked with him. Werner was a sadist who enjoyed his work far too much. If you’re expecting me to have some qualms about him being hurt… you’re wrong. Nothing would make me happier, in fact.”
The Peregrine laughed. “Okay then. I’ll make sure he pays for his crimes.”
After Kirsten was gone, the Peregrine began his investigations.
CHAPTER III
The Second Skull
January 12, 1942—Arkham, Massachusetts
Simon Mitchell-Hedges was a slender man in his earlier sixties, with silver hair and dark eyes. He walked with a cane adorned by a golden lion’s head and looked like the very picture of English nobility, in his sweater vest and slacks. His home was filled with books on every subject known to man. His private library was his personal sanctum, his defense against a world gone mad.
The professor had served on the faculty of Miskatonic University for nearly thirty years and during that time he had come face-to-face with things that simply should not exist… demonic forces which waged war on a daily basis against the human soul.
Upon retiring, Mitchell-Hedges had become a recluse in his home, sending his butler out for supplies but otherwise never leaving the safety of his abode.
As such, he never had guests. It was always just he and his butler… but Gregory was gone now on errands, meaning that Mitchell-Hedges should have been all alone.
But he wasn’t.
When he stepped into his study he came face-to-face with a frightening sight: a man dressed in a long coat and mask, with a pistol held tightly in one gloved hand. The figure had wavy dark hair and an olive complexion, making Mitchell-Hedges wonder if the fellow wasn’t of Greek descent. “Who are you?” the professor demanded, gripping his walking stick so hard that his knuckles turned white.
“I’m called the Peregrine. I’m not here to harm you.”
“Then why are you brandishing a gun?”
“Because you have a sword in that cane.”
Mitchell-Hedges blinked in surprise and took a step backwards. “How do you know that?”
“I own one just like it. You give the handle a little squeeze on the sides and the blade pops out. Am I right?”
The professor lifted the cane off the floor and set it aside, letting it rest on a small table nearby. “Now it’s your time, Mr. Peregrine?”
The Peregrine placed his pistol in one of the twin holsters hidden by his jacket. “I’m here about the skull. You’re in great danger because of it.”
Mitchell-Hedges moved forward again, stopping next to a fully stocked bar. He poured himself a glass of scotch and held it towards the Peregrine questioningly. When the vigilante answered with a negative shake of his head, Mitchell-Hedges replaced the stopper and took a sip of his drink. “That skull has caused me problems since the day I first came into contact with it. I can assure you that whatever plans you have for it are not worth the turmoil it will cause you.”
“I’m not looking to bring the Greater Skulls together,” the Peregrine explained. “I’m looking to prevent that from happening.”
Mitchell-Hedges looked back at him with a slightly different expression than before. “If you’re looking to destroy it, you’ll fail. Nothing can harm it. The only thing you can do is keep it away from the others.”
“That’s what I’m going to try and do. Has anyone come here, looking for it? Threatening you?”
“No. What makes you think they would ?”
“There’s a killer loose. He has slaughtered quite a few people in Atlanta recently. I’ve managed to do some digging into the backgrounds of the people who died—and all of them were folks who might have had information about the other skulls. Thieves, black market experts, collectors… on the surface, none of them had anything in common, but a closer inspection showed otherwise.”
“You said the ‘other’ skulls… I take that to mean that he has one in his possession already?”
The Peregrine nodded. “He took it from the home of a professor named Stephen Gaines.”
Mitchell-Hedges looked pained and downed the last of his scotch. He began pouring himself another. “I know Stephen very well. He’s not harmed, I hope?”
“He’s fine. He wasn’t even home when the theft occurred.”
“Thank heavens for that. Well, Mr. Peregrine… let me tell you this: if this killer of yours gets all three skulls together, this world is in a lot of trouble.”
The Peregrine nodded. “He could strike at any time. I need you to give me the skull so I can protect it.”
Mitchell-Hedges laughed softly. “And how do I know that you’re not the killer yourself? You break into my home wearing a mask and holding a gun. That doesn’t make you the most trustworthy of people to me.”
The Peregrine took a step towards Mitchell-Hedges, forcing sincerity into his voice. He knew that he could augment the effect with a concentrated mental effort but he preferred not to manipulate the minds of others, especially innocent souls. “The killer’s real name is Werner Richter. He’s a Nazi who uses a scythe to cut people’s heads off. If you want to check out the newspaper clippings about me, feel free to do so after I’ve gone. I’m the Peregrine. I was active in Boston before moving to Atlanta. Hell, they’ve even made some factually incorrect movie serials based on my alleged adventures!”
That brought a smile to the old man’s face. “I know. I’ve seen them. I can’t say they made for very good viewing, though the leading lady was very enticing.”
Max resisted the urge to laugh, knowing that it was his own wife who had starred in those. “I agree,” he responded in a monotone. “So will you give me the skull?”
“Yes,” Mitchell-Hedges agreed. “It’s actually here in this room.” He walked past the Peregrine, stopping before a locked chest hidden underneath a table stacked high with bound leather volumes. Dust covered everything in this corner of the room and Mitchell-Hedges blew away a thick layer of the stuff from around the lock. He withdrew a small silver key ring from his pocket and opened the chest, revealing the box’s sole possession: the crystal skull.