The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two (20 page)

The baron nodded, all too aware of the Italian leader’s penchant for talking. “I think this alliance is going to be a very good thing, Adolf. I am glad you took my advice.” Few men dared talk to the Fuehrer with such intimacy, but Gustav felt comfortable doing so, and there was never any sign that Hitler took offense.

Hitler nodded, stepping away long enough to pour himself a glass of brandy. “Your guidance has been a blessing, Herr Gustav. And your very presence is proof that the forces of the supernatural are with us.”

“I am not gifted with prescience, but I cannot see how we can possibly fail in this war,” the Baron said, eliciting a pleased chuckle from his patron. In truth, Gustav could foresee a dozen different scenarios by which the Fuehrer’s plans could be stopped… but until one of them came to pass, he would continue to play the loyal confidante. It was amusing and it afforded him many pleasant opportunities. “How is working progressing on your super-agent program?”

“Very well. I expect to have two or three active before the end of the year. Project: Black Zeppelin should be the first to roll off the assembly line, so to speak, but the Iron Maiden project is progressing nicely as well.”

The baron nodded sagely, sipping from his own glass of red liquid. It was, of course, blood, freshly drained from a Jewish girl of fourteen. Gustav preferred the younger girls because they were less likely to have been tainted by drugs or alcohol. On one occasion, the Fuehrer had offered the baron the services of pure-blood German girls, thinking it wrong that his trusted advisor should have to feed off degenerate Jews. Gustav had rebuffed him, however, saying that it was better to thin out the cattle than it would be to lose valuable German women.

In truth, Gustav cared nothing about race… blood was blood, pure and simple.

“I wanted to ask you about something, mein Fuehrer. A favor, if you please.”

Hitler looked pleased to be able to offer the vampire something that would please him. So like an eager puppy the German leader was, in some regards. “You know all you have to do is ask, Herr Gustav.”

“There are many enemies of the state, all of whom are deserving of death, but there is one that seems to me to be rising above his station. He is becoming a nuisance and will only become more so as time passes.”

“Are you speaking of the Russian, Kaslov?” Hitler asked, his eyes narrowing. Leonid Kaslov had been a thorn in the Nazis’ collective sides for several years.

“No. The American… the Peregrine.”

Hitler seemed taken aback. He had obviously not considered the Peregrine to be anything other than a luckier-than-most vigilante. “You want us to have him kidnapped and brought to you?”

“I’m not certain your men could accomplish that.” Seeing the sudden shock on Hitler’s face, Gustav held up a hand to assure his patron that he meant no disrespect. “I only mean that the Peregrine is a man around whom others will rally. Mark my words: the Peregrine will eventually prove himself to be one of the greatest threats to the Reich.”

Hitler drank more of his brandy and sniffed, obviously not wanting to tell the baron that he thought him mad. “If you do not want the Peregrine brought to you… then what
do
you want?”

“Only your assurance that should he ever fall into our clutches, I will be given the opportunity to deal with him personally. His blood is most unusual, I’ve heard… he’s been touched by the messenger of the mad gods, Nyarlathotep, and he has the stink of the dead about him, indicating that he has traveled back and forth across the planes of reality. I would like to drink from him.”

“But you don’t want me to mount an expedition to capture him?”

“No. Let him be for now. If it happens by chance, then so be it. But I have a feeling that my path and his will cross at some point… and I want you to know that I have my sights set on him.”

* * *

September 1943

The war was not going well. Baron Gustav sat in his study in Berlin, two nude dead girls lying on the floor before him. His tastes had gotten stronger over the years and both of these nymphs were barely past their twelfth birthdays. More and more, he craved the younger girls. It was a hobby of his, he supposed, something to take the edge off his growing disappointment in Hitler.

The Fuehrer had possessed such potential, but it was being squandered so badly. The Fuehrer had eventually become so convinced of his own eventual victory that he had started ignoring many of his advisors, including Gustav. As such, the German offensive in Russian—ill-conceived to begin with—was floundering. German submarine losses in the Atlantic had been so severe that the naval campaign was temporarily halted. And the debacles with Mussolini were well-documented.

But still Gustav remained in his post. His VSS had staged numerous raids, all of them remarkably successful, but Hitler was calling upon them less and less and Gustav knew why: the Fuehrer’s pride was wounded and he wanted to earn victories through his own wisdom or through the actions of those he had personally selected. To allow the VSS, transformed and trained by the baron, to help turn the tide, would suggest that Hitler needed assistance.

“The man would rather lose an empire than admit his own fallacy,” Gustav murmured.

From the shadows, a soldier emerged. Like Gustav, he was a vampire. The day-to-day leader of the VSS, he went by the name of Willem. It was not his birth name but he had made an obvious point of separating his old human existence from his current condition. In Willem’s eyes, he had been reborn as the perfect Aryan superman thanks to Gustav. Certainly, he fit the bill physically: tall, blond, and blue-eyed, Willem was the prototypical German. “Krupp’s family is demanding action by the Fuehrer,” Willem began, keeping his voice low. The crackling of the fireplace gave the darkened room a familial quality.

“Hermann Krupp was a fool. His Golden Goblin project was doomed from the start.” The baron rose from his chair, wiping his chin with the back of a sleeve. The smeared blood was cleaned away and Gustav smiled, gesturing to the two dead girls. “I believe they’re still warm, my friend. Would you like a turn?”

Willem could not quite hide his distaste for his master’s penchant for young girls. “No thank you, sir. I wanted to remind you of the Krupp situation because it might allow us the leverage we need.”

Gustav considered it for a moment. The baron had been making subtle overtures to the Fuehrer as of late, hoping to have the VSS unleashed once more… and with the death of Krupp, virtually the entire super-agent program was now in shambles. There was no doubt that the Fuehrer could use the sort of assistance the VSS could provide. Still, the baron shook his head. “I think it’s time we began thinking about what is best for us, and that may be at odds with what is best for the Fuehrer.”

Willem’s face betrayed nothing. “The VSS will follow you to the gates of Hell itself, Herr Gustav.”

“I have never doubted that,” the baron assured him. “I don’t think we need to wait for the Fuehrer to release us… we have plans of our own that can be implemented. I have called in some favors and had an item removed from the storage labs. It has been brought here and I believe that it may hold the key to securing our own power base.”

The baron stepped past Willem, leading the other man into an adjoining room. There they came to a halt, staring at a most peculiar piece of sculpture: apparently shaped out of lead, it depicted a regal-looking Asian man dressed in ornate robes and possessing a long drooping moustache. The fellow’s eyes were almost feline and were narrowed in apparent anger, the overall aspect being one of great evil. The statue had been found by Nazi soldiers in December of 1942 at the scene of yet another battle between the forces of crime and the Peregrine.

“Is that the Warlike Manchu?” Willem asked, excitement beginning to seep into his words.

“It is indeed,” the baron confirmed. “The greatest criminal mind in all the ages. His long lifespan has allowed him control over virtually every crime cartel in the Asian underworld and much of the west, as well. But like the Fuehrer, he has found his plans continually foiled by the Peregrine… and almost one year ago exactly the Warlike Manchu’s thirst for power brought an untimely end to his career. His dabbling with the Philosopher’s Stone left him in this inert state, but it is a state from which he can be restored.”

“But how will that help us?” Willem wondered, moving closer to the villain’s frozen form.

“The man has knowledge of numerous things. He has survived death itself and has crafted a working Philosopher’s Stone… if he is beholden to us, then we can use that knowledge for our own ends.”

“But how can we trust him?”

The baron reached into a pocket and pulled forth a small cylindrical device. It gleamed in the dim light. “This is a mystic artifact, one that dates back to the middle of the Dark Ages. It dispels sorcerous effects and I believe it can reverse the Manchu’s condition. But it is only temporary, requiring additional uses for the effect to remain reversed. Thus, we have a means of controlling him.”

Willem clasped his hands behind his back and lifted his chin. “I will support you in whatever you do, Herr Gustav… but may I ask… what is our ultimate goal?”

The baron smiled coolly. “Nothing less than the establishment of a German empire, spanning from one end of Europe to the other… and all of it under
my
thumb.”

CHAPTER II

Questioning a Demon

November 1943—Atlanta, Georgia

Two fingers and a thumb on each hand, all of them tipped by razor-sharp nails. The Six-Fingered Demonness had become a source of terror throughout Atlanta in recent weeks, striking in the darkness, slicing her victims to bits. The Peregrine’s research had discovered that she was a minor Oriental creature of myth, one whose sudden arrival in the Empire City of the South was only the latest in a series of bizarre events over the past ten years or so. Almost to the day that the Peregrine had come to Atlanta, the town had become the crux of supernatural events, both large and small.

Max Davies knelt on the rooftop of the New Atlanta Hotel, a downtown structure located on Peachtree Street. The building was three stories tall and was frequently the staying place of the elite, but it also had two long dark alleyways alongside it. The downtown area had become the favorite hunting spot for the Six-Fingered Demonness.

The Peregrine had spent far too many hours recently tracking the creature’s movements and in the end, he had elected to take a dangerous gamble: his wife, Evelyn, was down on the streets below. She wore a black dress that hugged her figure—still enticing after giving birth to two children, but a bit broader in the hips than when Max had first met her. She was a fetching bit of bait tonight, standing in the shadows of the alleyways, purse in hand. She wore a floral scent that, according to Max’s research, would prove to be a potent lure for the Demonness, who was drawn to her prey by their smell.

“Honey, I’m freezing my behind off.”

Max smiled and reached up to touch the tiny radio transmitter nestled in his ear. His wife’s voice sounded crystal clear, a testament to her husband’s gift for gadgetry. “You could have stayed home with the kids, you know,” he reminded her gently. “McKenzie offered to play the role of victim.”

“And I’m sure he would have smelled lovely with this perfume you created.” Evelyn sighed and began pacing slightly. The Peregrine narrowed his eyes, the tiny contact lenses he wore for the evening detecting her motion and illuminating her despite the gloom. “I have a really bad feeling about this, Max. I know it sounds silly, but my female intuition has been going haywire lately. This thing with the Demonness… it’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

Max frowned but said nothing in response. He’d come to trust his wife’s hunches as much as he did his own, sometimes more. But he also knew that her beliefs were usually just that: hunches, with no real clues as to what led to her discomfort. A flash of movement from up the alley made him pause. “Honey. To your left. I think she’s here. As soon as she’s moved into the light, I’m with you.”

Evelyn turned, following her husband’s instruction. Her auburn hair was pulled back, away from her shoulders, and it was her long smooth neck that had attracted the creature’s attention. Evelyn had splashed a bit of the floral scent behind her ears and the scent wafted through the air, causing the Six-Fingered Demonness to inhale noisily.

The Demonness moved into view, scuttling a bit like a crab. She moved in a bizarre crouch, her long black hair trailing on the ground, looking so unkempt that Evelyn recoiled at the sight. Her skin was dirty and bruised, the perfect complement to the yellowed teeth and nails she possessed. She was naked, though the long hair she possessed hid much of her body. “You smell so sweeeet,” the woman purred, speaking with a Chinese accent. “You make me so hungggggry…”

Evelyn reached into her purse and withdrew one of her husband’s pistols. Loaded with silver-tipped bullets that had been soaked in holy water, they were extremely painful to demons. “Sorry. You shouldn’t eat so late, my dear… it’ll give you heartburn.”

The Demonness hissed at the sight of the weapon. With clawed fingers raised, she threw herself into the air, planning to come down upon Evelyn and tear her to shreds. The Peregrine leaped off the rooftop and timed his fall so that he landed directly atop the Demonness, however, preventing her from making it closer to Evelyn.

The downed Demonness hissed and snapped at the air like a cornered cat and Max found himself straining his strength to the limit trying to bind her hands. He finally succeeded in pulling her arms behind her back, tying them with thick cord.

Evelyn was at her husband’s side, pistol still trained on the monster. When the Demonness raised her head to stare at Evelyn, she spat out a wad of phlegm that struck Evelyn’s left leg. “Ew,” Evelyn complained. “Can’t I just shoot her and be done with it?”

“You could… but then we’d never find out how she got here.”

Evelyn looked disappointed but she held her trigger finger in check.

The Peregrine leaned closer to the Demonness, ignoring the rancid odor that came from the writhing creature. “Who summoned you?”