The Peregrine Omnibus Volume One (38 page)

“There was something familiar about him,” Tony admitted. “But his face… that wasn’t no mask, boss. His face was all dried up and skeletal. It was like he was dead. He even
smelled
dead!”

Charlie sighed, flicking some of the ashes off his cigar. He let the cheroot lie against an ashtray that cost several thousand dollars. “And you ran like a little schoolgirl instead of trying to take him out? What the hell am I paying you for, Tony? It sure as hell ain’t so you can be an errand boy for some guy who looks like he just crawled out of the grave.”

Tony’s eyes widened and he took a step towards the desk, lowering his voice. “Boss! That’s it! You don’t think this Reaper guy was Hank, do you?”

“Hank Winthrop’s dead and buried,” Charlie reminded him.

“Yeah, but… I told you what Mel said about that grave…”

Charlie rolled his eyes. Mel worked at the cemetery and had covered for a number of unofficial burials over the years as some of Charlie’s enemies dropped off the face of the earth. According to Mel, grave # 166 was disturbed on Halloween night. That particular grave was the one where Hank had been buried alive some three years back, which would have been strange enough. But Mel swore that it looked like something had crawled
out
. “Is that what this is about? You going paranoid on me?”

“No, boss, nothing like that. Look, the papers said that the cops were all over the joint after I left. They said they had a witness—one of the girls who described him just like I did, right?”

“She sure did,” Charlie admitted.

“Then you know that
something’s
up. And it wouldn’t be the first weird thing to happen in this town, would it?”

Charlie had to agree with that. In the last few years, he’d heard things from men that he would have trusted with his life that sounded impossible. Vampires, werewolves and mad scientists, all loose in Atlanta. It was like something out of a bad pulp novel. “I tell you what, Tony… I want you and Mikey to take some goons out tonight to look for this Reaper. A guy who looks like that can’t be hard to miss, am I right? Somebody musta seen him.”

Tony shuffled his feet, not wanting to even consider going after the Reaper. But he knew what it meant to defy Charlie and so he merely nodded and headed for the door, already planning his call to Mikey.

As he left, he passed the boss’s wife, the shapely Sally. She smiled prettily at him as she entered her husband’s study, wearing a gown that would have once been beyond her wildest dreams. “No problems with work, is there?” she asked Charlie, kissing him on the top of his head.

“Nah, it’s nothing, doll. Just some old business that won’t stay buried, that’s all. You going shopping again today?”

Sally nodded. Shopping was one of the few things that silenced the pain in her heart. “If you don’t mind…”

“Course not, doll. You have yourself a good time.”

* * *

“When the good is swallowed by the dark, there the Peregrine shall plant his Mark,” Max said as he brought he glowing signet ring down on the man’s forehead. It sizzled against the crook’s flesh and produced a scream of pained terror that echoed throughout the abandoned warehouse.

When the deed was done, the Peregrine let the Latino man fall to the ground. “Count yourself lucky, Pedro. If I’d been the Reaper, you’d be dead right now, you know that?”

Pedro looked up at him with red-tinged eyes and nodded. The image of a Peregrine in flight had been branded onto his forehead, looking painfully bright. “
Sí, señor
. I know that.”

“Then show me you’re grateful.” The Peregrine knelt next to the door, gesturing towards an open crate full of magazines. “There’s enough illegal pornography there to put you away for a long, long time, my friend. But I’m willing to cut you a deal: you abandon all this garbage here and now, leaving town for good. Got it?”

“
Sí
!”

“And one more thing,” the Peregrine said with a cold smile. “Tell me what you’ve heard about the Reaper. All I know is what he looks like—and that he’s a busy little bee, hitting a different spot every night for the past few days.”

“I don’t know much,
señor
. Only that he appears and disappears without a trace. He’s killed almost everyone he’s met so far, but he always leaves at least one person alive.”

“You mean a witness?”

“No,
señor
—they are just lucky ones! I mean he leaves behind someone who can give a message to the man who owns all those things. The bordello, the drug syndicate, the gun runners. They are all owned by one man.”

That piqued the Peregrine’s interest. He’d been looking for a connection between the hits but so far had been only able to find one true link: that all the enterprises were illegal. “Who is it?”

“Big Charlie.”

Max paused for a moment, thinking back over the events of the past few months. Charlie had been top dog in the Atlanta underworld for years but he’d mostly dropped off the scene during the Warlike Manchu’s brief tenure in the city. In the aftermath of that whole affair, Max had been focused on the arrival of his son and had paid less attention to the underworld than he obviously should have. “Thanks, Pedro. Now get your tail out of my town.”

The Peregrine stood up again and thought about his next move. Paying a visit to Big Charlie seemed like the obvious thing to do. It wasn’t much of a stretch to assume that the man would know who was out to ruin his business, after all.

He started to head outside to his roadster when the sound of heavy footfalls made him pause. It wasn’t Pedro, who had scurried away as quickly as possible. This was someone new, someone carrying a good bit of weight on them.

“You were looking for me?” rumbled the deep voice of a man. The stranger stepped into view, emerging from the shadows near a back entrance to the warehouse. He was tall and broad shouldered, wearing dark, dirt-stained clothing. His face was skull-like and painful to behold.

“The Reaper?” Max asked, taking several steps towards the other man. “Didn’t expect you to find me first,” he admitted.

The Reaper stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “I keep a good ear to the ground. It lets me know when people are asking around about me.”

“You’ve killed a lot of people, my friend… and I’m guessing it has to do with some sort of vendetta against Big Charlie.”

“Retribution,” the Reaper replied. “He took several things from me, things that can never be repaid with anything other than blood.”

“Vengeance won’t get back whatever you lost,” the Peregrine said, hoping that his words could find hold with the Reaper. Max was reaching out with his telepathy, straining to call upon the powers he’d possessed since his youth. When his mind brushed that of the Reaper’s, he flinched at the sensation. It was nauseating, like stepping into the middle of a morgue, with the smells and sights of death assaulting him.

“Not a pretty place is it?” the Reaper asked. “My mind, that is.”

“What are you?” Max hissed, pointing both his guns at the Reaper. He gave thought to holstering one of them so he could draw his mystic dagger but held off on it for now—best to keep the dagger in reserve, he decided.

“I used to be like you. An average Joe trying to get by. I wanted to get myself a girl, settle down, and raise a few pups. The usual.” The Reaper shook his head sadly. “But Big Charlie wouldn’t let me. When I tried to get out, he killed me. Buried me alive.”

The Peregrine lowered his pistols, staring at the man before him. “You came back from the grave… for revenge?”

“For righteous fury.”

Max thought of his father again, remembering what he had said when he’d told Max that he wouldn’t be returning in the future. “Someone told me that the walls between the worlds of the living and dead were closing again. That travel from one side to the other was going to be more difficult. Mind telling me how you made it through to the world of the living again?”

The Reaper’s bony visage seemed to harden under the questioning. “The Black Flame. I called it and it came to me.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “The Black Flame…?”

“It’s an ancient entity that lives beyond the stars. When a man has enough strength of will he can summon the Flame. He can ask of it a boon. But there’s a price to be paid. I asked to be returned so that I could take my revenge on Big Charlie.”

“And what did the Black Flame get in return?”

“I’m here, spreading chaos and fear. That’s what feeds the Flame, fans it so it never goes out.”

“Once Big Charlie’s been taken down, what happens then?”

“My soul floats down into the abyss,” the Reaper stated without emotion. “I’m more than willing to pay for my sins, Mr. Peregrine… but Charlie needs to die.”

“You’re killing innocent people, as well.”

“No one’s innocent!” the Reaper bellowed. “No one but Sally.”

The Peregrine filed that name down in his mental notebook and pointed his pistols at the Reaper once more. “I’ll help you take down Charlie. But we’ll do it my way. Understand?”

The Reaper looked at the man’s pistols, eyes blazing. “Or what?”

“Or you’ll find out that I’m a little bit familiar with dispatching undead creatures like yourself.”

The being that had once been Hank Wilbon stewed it over for a moment before finally nodding. “In the end, Charlie has to die. By my hands. Understand?”

The Peregrine thought of Whisper’s words and knew that this was part of what she meant. Would he stand aside and let an evil man die for his crimes? He’d been inside the Reaper’s mind, had seen the horrible act take place. He knew the rage that Wilbon felt and knew beyond a doubt that Big Charlie was worthy of nothing less than execution. But he’s made a promise to both Benson and to himself that he’d no longer willingly take human lives.

Which path would he choose in the end?

CHAPTER XII

Land of Confusion

The trio departed the train just outside Loggieville and Kaslov noted that there was a distinct difference in the air the next morning. Flynn seemed to be more chipper than normal while Libby was not only giving Leonid the cold shoulder but she was being overly fussy about doting over Flynn.

With a wistful shake of his head, Kaslov tried to ignore the situation. This was exactly the sort of thing he tried to avoid, after all. Before Libby had stormed out last night, he had considered trying to explain that it wasn’t just that she would be a distraction to his work but that she would also be in constant danger—any number of Kaslov’s enemies could make her a target of their wrath and Leonid didn’t want her blood to be on his hands.

The three of them made the slow trek to the edge of the city, trudging through ankle deep snow. Libby was the most disturbed by the extreme cold but Flynn gallantly gave her his overcoat to warm herself with. Kaslov said nothing about this though he knew it was partly his fault that the poor girl was shivering so. She was dressed perfectly for the role he had asked her to play: that of the sexually available nymph. Her emerald dress was tight in all the right places with a high slit on her right leg and a plunging neckline in the front. It was a breathtaking arrangement but not one suited for the weather.

Flynn and Kaslov were in their disguises, with both men sporting full beards and low-brimmed hats. Under close examination, they might be recognized but Leonid didn’t expect many eyes to be upon them with Libby dressed as she was.

“Something’s not right,” Flynn murmured under his breath as they rounded a corner and faced a small wooden sign welcoming them to Loggieville.

“What do you mean?” Kaslov asked, his eyes scanning the area. He could make out a few people moving through the streets on their daily business but saw no sign of any gunmen.

“Look at it! They’re gone!”

Leonid picked up his pace, entering the city’s environs with purpose. He caught the eye of a stout fellow with red hair and small wire rim glasses. “Excuse me, sir?”

The man stopped in place, a newspaper folded under one arm and a steaming cup of java in his hand. “Eh? What can I do for you?” The man’s eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of Libby, who pulled her coat around herself self-consciously.

“The men who were in this town recently—armed with guns and wearing military-style clothing—what became of them?”

“I don’t have the foggiest what you’re talking about,” the man replied. He stared hard at Leonid for a moment before his face broken into a grin. “Hey! Aren’t you that Russian fella who’s a super genius?”

“I am,” Kaslov replied, looking for any trace of deception in the man’s face. He found none and was forced to come to the conclusion that this fellow honestly knew nothing about Rasputin’s forces.

Flynn, however, was not so easily dissuaded. He gripped the man by the arm and brought his face close enough that the clouds issuing forth from his breath touched the other man’s cheek. “You’re Thomas, right? I met you when I was here before. I saw you the night the men came for the comet. Don’t you remember?”

“I’ve never seen you before in my life,” the man replied, pulling his arm away. “And I certainly think I’d remember men like you’re describing.”

“What about the comet?” Kaslov asked. “Do you remember that?”

With a shake of his head, the man said, “I do not… now if you’ll excuse me, I must make it to the office. Good day, sirs, madam.”

Libby waited until the man was out of earshot before she whispered, “Leo… what’s going on?”

Without answering, Kaslov turned to Flynn. “Can you take us to where the comet landed?”

“Sure! It won’t be hard at all to find that place. The crater was huge.”

* * *

The trio found the crash site with little difficulty, for it had burned a huge path through the local forest en route to its final resting place. There they found a half dozen children playing in and around the crater. Kaslov knelt outside the area and examined the ground, seeing a large number of glass pieces—evidently the landing had been hot enough that it had fused some of the grains of sand.

Libby approached the children, who stopped in their play to watch her. “Hello,” Libby said cheerfully and she was rewarded with a warm smile from the lone girl amongst the kids. “Do any of you know anything about what happened here?”