The Peregrine Omnibus Volume One (12 page)

Max grimaced but inwardly he was pleased that she was enjoying herself. His life had rarely featured moments where he could bring pleasure to others… in fact, most of his existence seemed predicated on the exact opposite.

When he’d been a young boy, Max had seen his father killed in front of him, in an act of senseless violence. Though he had not known it then, his latent telepathy had opened his mind to the world that lay beyond this one, allowing the ghost of his father to invisibly haunt him. His father’s rage over his own death had led him to induce painful visions of crimes directly into Max’s head, propelling him along the path of vigilantism. He had become a master of criminal science and gained degrees in Engineering, Chemistry and Psychology, all before his mid-twenties. And there were his many travels throughout the world, where he’d learned fighting skills from the best the planet had to offer. In the end, he’d become something more than mere man. He’d become the Peregrine, the shadowy nocturnal avenger who dispatched criminals with efficient ease… always leaving behind a single calling card adorned with the image of a bird in flight.

That calling card had nearly led to Max’s capture by the police on more than one occasion, leading him to flee Boston for the relatively safer confines of Atlanta, Georgia. There he’d become embroiled in the schemes of Jacob Trench… and there he’d fallen in love with Evelyn Gould. Now she shared his secret, even going so far as to join him on occasion. It was a match made in heaven.

Max withdrew a cigarette and lit it, cupping one hand about the match so it didn’t blow out in the wind. He’d always detested smoking, but had picked up the habit in the last few months. For some reason, it seemed to keep his headaches at bay… or at least that’s what he told himself. Since ending Trench’s life the summer before, he’d only experienced four visions, far fewer than in the past. Each had compelled him to seek out murderers and rapists… and kill them. He had not made contact with his father during this time and was uncertain if he was still being haunted… though he suspected he was.

“That smells horrid,” Evelyn hissed. She disapproved of his vice, but had never pressed the issue beyond verbal reproach.

Max ignored her, exhaling a long plume of smoke and clapping lightly as the tour guide wrapped up his spiel. Dark clouds loomed on the horizon, a sure sign that it was going to be another wet and chilly night in London.

“Well, it’s all done. We can get dinner now. In plenty of time, I might add.” Evelyn took his hand and began crossing the street with him. “Have you had fun?”

“With you? Always.”

“So have I. I still can’t believe you proposed to me… and that we’re married. It all feels like a dream.” She gazed up at him shyly. “You really don’t mind that I keep Gould as my stage name, do you?”

“I told you I didn’t. I understand how important it is for producers to remember your name.”

“Good. I love being Evelyn Davies in private, though. It’s…”

Max failed to hear the rest of her words. He stumbled a bit, nearly falling to his knees in the street. A rushing sound filled his ears and a terrible pain started behind his eyes, quickly spreading to encompass his entire skull. Images, fuzzy and indistinct, ran through his mind, showing a succession of horrors: a stunningly beautiful woman wearing a clinging black gown, her lips and chin stained crimson with blood; a man… her thrall… standing outside a grand old house in Atlanta, watching nervously as a pine box was lowered from a moving truck; the screaming death of a police officer, the woman’s teeth tearing into his neck. And the words ‘Kingdom of Blood,’ hanging like a shroud over his mind…

“Max!”

Max gasped for air, sounding like a drowning man at sea. He came to his surroundings, seeing that he was leaning against a wall while a small crowd gathered about, curious to see what had set him off so. “I’m… I’m okay.”

Evelyn looked about at the confused faces. “Epilepsy,” she shrugged, feigning a smile. One by one, the gawkers moved away, though many still glanced over their shoulders at Max. “What did you see?” she whispered, turning her attentions back to her husband. “It was a vision, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. It was a very powerful one, too.”

“Well?” she pressed.

“We need to get back to Atlanta. She’s there.”

“Who’s there?”

Max hesitated, thinking it would sound absurd. But then he remembered that this woman had stood at his side as he fought demons, harpies and resurrected magicians. “A vampire.”

“Like that Bela Lugosi character? Dracula?”

“More shapely than that.”

“Cad.”

“Sorry, can’t be helped. She’s beautiful.”

“And dangerous, I take it.”

“Very.”

“Well, the honeymoon lasted longer than I thought it would.”

Max sighed. “You could stay here without me, I suppose.”

Evelyn placed her hands on her hips and regarded him coolly. “Very funny. Besides, do you really think I’d send you back to Atlanta to face some shapely vampire without me?”

CHAPTER III

The Snowy Mountain

The Peregrine ascended the snowy cliff, the feel of biting cold nipping at his cheeks. He wore the long trench coat and domino-style mask that had become infamous amongst the criminal element, but his clothing did little to warm him from the elements. He ignored the discomfort, however, telling himself again and again that this was not real, that this was a figment of his imagination.

But that was not quite true.

This mountaintop existed on another realm entirely, one composed of pure mental energy. The Astral Plane his father had called it, during one of their chats during the Lucifer’s Cage affair. It was here that Max had come when he’d been shot; it was here that he’d learned the truth about his father and the visions that had plagued him.

“Father?” Max yelled over the howling wind. The same Tibetan prayer temple lay up ahead, looking abandoned. “Come to me!”

Abruptly, the wind ceased blowing, startling Max. He froze in place, the air was still bone chilling, but no longer as harsh as before.

“I’m here, son.”

Max whirled around, seeing that his father was approaching, still wearing the same blood-stained clothing that he’d had on the night he’d died. “Do you have to look like that?” Max asked, the fury rising in him again. He hated the fact that his father had turned him into a killing machine, had used him to further his own need for vengeance.

“I can appear however I want to, Max… but I think you need to see me like this.”

“I remember the way you looked.”

“Hmm. Why did you come here, son? I thought you wanted nothing more to do with me.”

Max paused, staring into the gray-white haze that surrounded this place. “Evelyn and I are on a plane, returning to the States. I… had a vision. Of a woman who drank blood. A vampire.”

“And you want me to guide you, is that it? Give you some important piece of information that might help you with the dangers to come?”

Max fidgeted. “Well… yes.”

His father adopted the same stern expression that he’d used to adopt when Max would behave foolishly. “You denied me, Max. You said you wished I had never done these things to you… and now when you have need of me, you expect me to counsel you?”

Max felt stung by the rebuke. “Well… yes.”

For a long moment, neither man spoke a word and then Max’s father let out a long, weary sigh. “Why not? You’ll just go and get yourself killed if I don’t help you. And then what good would you be?”

Max didn’t answer, though he couldn’t help but marvel at how his father could discuss his son’s death in such a matter-of-fact manner.

“The vampire’s name is Camilla, that much I’ve been able to see through the ether,” Warren Davies said. “Her companion… his name is unclear to me. They’ve traveled to Atlanta to pillage the remains of Jacob Trench’s collection.”

“But his curiosity shop, Jacob’s Ladder, burned down shortly after his death,” Max replied.

“True enough… but there were levels below the ones accessible to the public. They seek something that was once in his possession… something of dark power.”

“Can you tell me what it is?”

Max’s father lowered his voice, allowing it to take on a dreamlike quality. He appeared to be staring past Max, into the furthest reaches of the outer realms. “Cursed the ground where dead thoughts live new and oddly bodied, and evil the mind that is held by no head.”

Max blinked. “What in hell does that mean?”

His father’s face darkened. “Words of warning. You’ll hear them again soon enough.” He turned, as if to leave.

“Wait!” Max shouted. When his father paused but did not turn around, he said, “I married her.”

“I know. I was there.”

“Is it always going to be this way between us? You and I? You lurking about like some awful specter and me resenting you?”

“That’s up to you, isn’t it, Max?”

Max sighed, watching as the mists rose up to envelope his father’s form. “I’ll come back,” Max promised.

* * *

“Max?”

Max opened his eyes, hearing the soft roar of the plane still surrounding him. He looked over at Evelyn, who was watching him with a peculiar sort of smile. “Yes?”

“You were talking in your sleep.”

“What did I say?”

“Mostly just mumbles, but you said something about coming back to see me?”

“Sorry. A dream.” He noticed she had a few sections of the Atlanta paper spread out on her lap. “What’s that?”

“Before we left I packed away some of the society pages. There’s a review of my latest film in it,
Queen of Atlantis
.”

“Did they like it?”

“They said I looked quite fetching in my coconut shell bikini.”

“Good for you,” Max yawned. Truth be told, he’d also thought she’d looked quite good in the coconut shell bikini.

“Didn’t you say that this woman and her companion were new in the area?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Well, there’s a small mention here that might interest you. Says Reed and Camilla Barrows have recently moved to the Empire City of the South, taking up residence in the old Matthews Plantation. Mr. and Mrs. Barrows come from old money and are sure to add spice to Atlanta’s upper crust.”

“That’s them. My father told me her name was Camilla.” Max leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek. “You’re a godsend, Evelyn.”

Blushing, Evelyn sat back and smiled.

CHAPTER IV

Blood Work

Camilla ran her tongue along the curve of the policeman’s neck, savoring the racing pulse she could sense beneath his skin. “Shh,” she purred into his ear, making him squirm. “The pain will only last for a few seconds… and then you’ll experience nothing but ecstasy.”

Reed tried to ignore them, but it was difficult. She looked lovely in the moonlight, all pale and luminous. Her thin dress wrapped around every curve of her body, especially as she pressed herself against her victim. He was a police officer, one who’d had the misfortune to stumble upon them as they sifted through the remains of Jacob Trench’s store. It had been laughably easy for Camilla to entice him into a dark alley, though it made Reed jealous to see her teasing another man.

As if sensing his thoughts, the vampire turned to face her companion, a wicked smile on her red lips. “Go on and look for the hidden room, beloved. I’ll only feed for a bit, I promise.”

Reed swallowed hard, nodding. He turned away and resumed his digging. According to their sources, Jacob Trench’s storehouse of curiosities was not truly housed in plain view at all—the real treasures lay beneath the ground, locked away in a hidden vault. Despite his jealousy, Reed felt a sense of keen excitement building within him. Even before meeting Camilla, he’d delighted in the unusual or strange. Those things lifted him up from the drudgery of his life, transformed him into the owner of something powerful and pure.

A small wooden door set into the floor suddenly caught his gaze and Reed grinned delightedly. He started to yell for Camilla but he heard her lustful moans, intermingled with those of her victim, and refrained from doing so. Instead, he poured his jealousy into strength, gripping the steel ringlet that was set into the door. Reed was surprised by the barrier’s weight and he grunted with effort. He felt sweat beading up on his back, dripping down his spine. A pounding in his head made the world sway before him and a whispering voice seemed to fill his ears, speaking in a tongue that predated humanity. It spoke of dark, loathsome things that made Reed shiver from fear… he tried not to listen, for the speech promised nothing but madness, but he was unable to tear his focus from the words. He felt himself sinking into a deep, dark pit of nothingness…

“Wake up.”

Reed blinked several times, the feeling of Camilla’s hands on his arms pulling him back to reality. “What happened to me?” he asked, only able to stand upright because of Camilla’s help.

“You opened the door… and then I felt… something.” Camilla’s dark eyes bore into Reed’s.

Reed nodded suddenly, vitality returning. “Yes! It wasn’t just in my head, was it? It was real… You heard them!”

“No, my love. But I have met others who have heard such things… and I have seen the same look in their eyes. What you heard were the children of the Old Ones. They lurk in places of dark power.” Camilla turned away from him, her pink tongue darting out to lick at a remainder of blood lurking in the corner of her mouth. Reed couldn’t help looking back at the man she’d fed upon: he lay on his back, looking like a tossed-aside rag doll. “It’s dark below,” she continued, seizing his attention once more. “You brought your lamp?”

Reed moved away a few steps, grabbing hold of an oil lamp that he lit with shaking hands. The night air was ominously still and he felt a peculiar itching at the base of his skull. “Let me go first, Camilla.”

“You’re a sweet man, my love… but I should lead the way.” The vampire peered down into the gloom, her undead eyes able to make out what lay below. The lamp was for Reed, who was a good servant and whom she did not want to lose. This century was still strange to her and she needed his guidance.

Together, they descended a small set of stairs, emerging into a circular subterranean cellar. Bizarre items lay carefully arranged on bookshelves and on tabletops, but it was the scent of death that most caught Reed’s attention. He had scarcely noticed it before, as he had been so enraptured by the strange voices in his head, but here it was almost overpowering. He gagged at the sight of a rotting figure with sewn-together eyes, lying nude in the middle of a pentagram.