The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two (56 page)

When the tree-like creature spoke, its voice sounded impossibly deep and full of malevolence. “The Peregrine. What an unexpected pleasure.”

Max took a moment before responding. He’d heard of this creature—the Stickman, it was called, from a variety of sources. The Peregrine didn’t know its origins, but the Stickman had first come to prominence in the final days of the war, when rumors of his appearance in the burning ruins of Berlin had come to light. The Stickman had pillaged a number of sites that had once been home to Hitler’s Occult Forces Project, accumulating quite a collection of artifacts in the process.

The Peregrine glanced back at the doorway from which the Stickman had emerged. They hadn’t followed him in through the same passage he’d used, which probably meant that all the doors led to this same room, but the dangers in the others were probably greater than the ones he’d faced in his. If he were a gambling man, Max would have bet his fortune that the Stickman had started out with more than the two gunmen he currently had.

“I suppose there’s no point in pretending that I don’t know why you’re here,” Max said. He gestured towards the Onyx Goddess. “There she is.”

Stickman stared past Max with a hungry expression on his face. He nodded to one of his men. “Take the vigilante and his friend against the far wall. If he makes any sudden moves, kill them both.”

The gunman moved forward, gesturing with his rifle for Max to drop the machete and take a few steps away from the statue. The Peregrine did so, reuniting with Will alongside the opening where he’d first emerged into the room. As Stickman and the other gunman moved towards the goddess, Max whispered to his friend, “Be ready.”

Will looked at him with curiosity but merely nodded. He felt awful about having failed to protect Max, but Stickman and his men had surprised him. He’d deliberately led them down the wrong passageway, and this had led to three of the gunmen’s painful deaths, but unfortunately, Stickman had still managed to find his way to the prize.

The odd creature was even now kneeling before the Onyx Goddess, his slender fingers wrapping around the statue. He gave it a hearty tug, grimacing as he realized that it adhered to the altar via some sticky, glue-like substance. He flexed his arms and then made the attempt again, this time successfully yanking the goddess free of her perch. Immediately, the room began to darken, and the sound of stone scraping against stone filled the air.

Stickman looked around him in alarm, his eyes settling on a section of flooring that was slowly opening, revealing a gaping chasm of pure blackness. The air that rose from this hole was a putrid horror and caused everyone, even Stickman, to recoil in disgust.

“What the heck
is
that?” Will asked.

The Peregrine watched as his guard stepped towards the hole, his eyes widening at the sudden change of events. “Some sort of booby trap. I figured the statuette wouldn’t be gained quite so easily.” Max moved forward quickly, raising one leg and shoving his foot against the gunman’s back. The fellow screamed, falling forward. His momentum carried him right over the edge and he tumbled into the darkness. Everyone heard him striking stone, and then his anguished moans of agony.

Stickman glared at the Peregrine, raising a hand to ward off the other gunman’s obvious desire to open fire on the vigilante. “You’ve just done us a favor,” Stickman said with malicious glee. “If there’s more to this trap than just an open door, we’re about to find out what it is… and my poor henchman will be the one to reveal it.”

The Peregrine nodded coolly, reaching down to his belt and retrieving a pair of weapons: the mystically-charged Knife of Elohim and his specially-modified pistol, which was capable of firing nearly a hundred rounds without need of reloading. The bullets in this gun were miniature in size but packed the wallop of an assault rifle. “I’m glad we agree that it’s best if one of your flunkies handles the dying part of this.” The Peregrine quickly freed Will and handed him the pistol, keeping the dagger for himself.

A sharp cry of pain echoed forth from the pit, and the remaining gunman abruptly dropped his gun and bolted for the exit. Stickman roared in anger and shot forth one of his long arms. He caught hold of the man’s arm and yanked him backwards. Stickman gripped the man’s neck when he was within range and snapped it with the ease of a small child breaking a toy. The corpse was then tossed aside with obvious disregard. The man landed facedown in the blue-tinted water.

“Coward,” Stickman hissed. The Onyx Goddess was being held under his arm, and the inhuman figure moved closer to the pit, the Peregrine doing the same. “You and I might have to work together if we hope to escape this place,” the villain said.

“That’s fine,” Max said. “But the second we get out of here, I’m going to cut you down for kindling and take that statue from you.”

Stickman laughed, though there was no humor in it. It was designed to show one thing and one thing only: that he cared nothing for the Peregrine’s threats. “I don’t suppose either of you gentlemen have a light with you?”

“Just this,” the Peregrine said, holding aloft the Knife of Elohim. In the presence of evil, it glowed with a golden light, and it was very bright at the moment. The Peregrine knelt at the side of the pit and leaned into it, keeping one eye on Stickman as he did so. Will, for his part, was making no pretense about his concerns: he was holding the pistol pointed directly at Stickman.

Max peered down into the gloom, seeing nothing. The blade’s glow extended only far enough for him to see that the walls were wet with splattered blood and were made of the same finely-prepared stone as the rest of the room. And then he caught the scent of something disturbing and yet very familiar: the stench of the undead. He jumped back just in time to avoid being hit by a creature who leaped from the bottom of the pit.

The monster that emerged had once been a human male, but that had been long, long ago. Now it was a naked beast whose mummified flesh clung to every bone in its body. Long strands of white hair hung from its head, and its eyes had retreated deep into their sockets, giving them the appearance of dried-out pieces of fruit. The thing hissed like a snake, swiping at the air and making brief lunges at the men surrounding it.

Stickman took several steps back and lowered his voice. “A ghoul… here? How did that happen?”

The Peregrine watched the ghoul closely, noting that it was beginning to size them up, obviously trying to choose who its first target would be. Its sunken eyes kept returning to the Knife of Elohim. “He was created as a guard for the goddess long ago. Probably wakes up when someone tries to steal the statue, drags them down into its pit, and goes back into hibernation.”

“Is there some reason why we’re not killing this thing?” Will had finally shifted his aim from Stickman to the ghoul.

“Well, he’s technically already dead,” Max began, but Will’s groan of exasperation brought his lesson to a halt. “Okay, okay. Let’s kill it!”

The Peregrine struck first, dancing close enough to swipe with his dagger. The weapon caught the ghoul in the left shoulder and tore off a chunk of rotten flesh. The Knife of Elohim’s mystical properties meant that the wound burned with a holy fire, as well, sending the ghoul into a series of pitiful howls.

As soon as Max had moved out of his line of fire, Chief McKenzie opened fire with the pistol. He let loose nearly two dozen shots before pausing, the bullets riddling the shambling corpse’s body and causing it to jerk about in the air like a puppet on strings.

When the barrage of bullets had ceased, the ghoul swayed unsteadily, looking as if he might collapse. But then he threw himself towards Will, landing atop him with surprising weight. Will tumbled onto his back, barely throwing up his arms in time to hold the ghoul’s snapping teeth away from his face.

The Peregrine moved quickly, knowing that Will’s exhausted body could not hold the ghoul at bay for long. He raised the Knife of Elohim high into the air and brought it crashing down atop the undead creature’s skull. The blade sank in deep, ripping a gash into what remained of the monster’s brains. Max repeated the assault four more times, ignoring the pitch-black tar that bubbled up from the head wound. The ghoul released its grip on Will and toppled over, its body twitching like a fish out of water.

Will scrambled to his feet, brushing himself off and making retching sounds. The smell of the ghoul had been tremendous, especially up so close. McKenzie was finally gaining control of himself when he noticed something important. “He’s gone.”

The Peregrine was nudging the ghoul with his foot. “Yes. I wasn’t positive that the Knife of Elohim would stop him, but I’m glad that it did.”

“No. I meant the guy made out of wood. He’s gone.”

The Peregrine glanced around, confirming for himself that Stickman had escaped with the Onyx Goddess. “I’m not surprised.”

“Are we going to go after him? What if that statue is all it’s supposed to be? He could be really dangerous with that thing…”

“Nothing to be done about it now. By the time we get out of here, he’s bound to be scot-free.” The Peregrine sheathed his dagger and moved over to begin searching through the dead gunman’s clothing. His hands came away with a pack of cigarettes, a box of matches, and a small notebook. “It’s our lucky day. It’s his address book.”

“Is there an interest for Stickman in there?”

Max looked over at Will with a pleased expression on his face. “Did you overhear his name, or had you already heard about him?”

“Both. I
am
a police chief, you know. The FBI sent out a memo about some new crime boss calling himself Stickman a few weeks ago. They said he used some sort of gimmick to make himself look inhuman.”

“No gimmick, I’m afraid.” The Peregrine started towards the tunnel through which he’d entered the room. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I just have a few bumps and bruises, that’s all.”

A chiming noise emanated from the Peregrine’s shirt pocket, and he reached in quickly, deftly pulling free a small radio transmitter of his own design. It allowed for nearly instantaneous communication with his various agents, even over tremendous distances. A small receiver was hidden in his ear, nearly invisible due to its small size. The handheld portion of the device allowed him to speak to whoever was on the other end. “Yes?”

Will watched as his friend’s face grew very pale. “What’s wrong?”

“We have to hurry home,” he said, closing the connection with the other side. “There’s been a death in the family.”

CHAPTER II

At Rest

The funeral was well-attended, as Nettie Greene was laid to rest on the Davies family estate. When Max had moved to Atlanta in 1935, Nettie had been one of the first people he’d met. She’d come with the house in a sense, since she’d been keeping the old plantation house for the previous owners before Max had purchased it. She’d brought along a younger relative, Josh, to work the fields, and Max had paid them both very well, even going so far as to pay for Josh’s education. He’d recently gotten a college degree and was planning to start a career for himself. But Nettie had always been a fixture in Max’s life and in the lives of his family. She’d spent as much time with the kids, William and Emma, as Max and Evelyn had.

And now she was gone, taken from them by a heart attack.

Max and Evelyn held hands as they walked away from the gravesite, a soft mist falling around them. Little William, seven years old, was holding his three-year-old sister by the shoulders. Max glanced over to see that Josh was holding up well. Nettie had raised him, and she was more than just a mother figure to him: she had been mother, father, and everything in between.

The family said goodbye to the many guests and finally retired back to the house, where silence hung over them like a shroud. McKenzie and his wife hung around for a little while longer before leaving, allowing the Davies clan and Josh to be alone.

The men ended up on the front porch, glasses of iced tea in their hands. Max stared out into the now-steadily falling rain and shook his head. “She lived a good, long life.”

“Most of it wasn’t very good,” Josh responded. “She was treated like dirt from day one, Mr. Davies. It wasn’t until you came along that somebody started to give her the respect she deserved.”

Max said nothing in response to that. Though race relations had improved over the last eighty or so years since the end of the Civil War, they were still strained at best, especially here in the Deep South. Max had never let skin color stand in the way of his friendships, but he knew that he and his family weren’t necessarily the norm in that regard.

Josh drained the last of his iced tea and set the glass down beside his chair. “I just wish Nettie had lived long enough to see me become a father. She was always after me to settle down and start a family.”

Max thought about how Nettie had doted on William and Emma. He couldn’t imagine the kids having a better guardian than the old woman had been. He’d heard her mention more than once that she wished for Josh to settle down, but she’d nursed the same suspicions that Max had about handsome Josh. Despite a number of local girls expressing interest in him, he’d been on only a token number of dates, and Max suspected that Josh preferred the company of men. Homosexuality was rarely discussed in polite society, and not even Max had felt comfortable bringing up the subject with Josh, despite the fact that it wouldn’t have changed how they felt about him in any way.

As the Peregrine thought through all of this, he caught sight of a long flash of light, cutting through the rain clouds.

“A shooting star,” he said aloud. Josh looked up just in time to see the light disappear on the horizon. “Maybe it means Nettie’s out there watching over us.”

“I hope so. Nettie always believed in heaven… and to be honest, I’ve always had my doubts. But for her sake, I hope she was right about all that. She deserves it.”

Max nodded, catching sight of a black sedan pulling down the muddy path leading to his house. He stood up, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the man driving the vehicle. He hadn’t seen Mr. Benson in years, though the mysterious figure had never been far from his thoughts.