The Peregrine Omnibus Volume One

by Barry Reese

  I left behind one of my calling cards, though I knew it would be wiser not to. There’s something that compels me to take responsibility for my actions, Leopold. Perhaps it assuages my guilt somehow, for the taking of human lives. Or perhaps it is vanity…

  Regardless, my actions have brought renewed scrutiny upon myself. Had things gone differently, I never would have chosen the life of secrecy in which I now hide. I would have made my deeds public, like our friend Clark did. I hear that the authorities welcome him and his friends these days. Of course, his preferred means of dealing with criminals is lancing into their brains and removing the parts of the mind that compel them to commit evil deeds. More humane than putting a bullet into their skulls, I suppose.

  I will endeavor to stay out of the limelight for the time being, old friend. Give my regards to Clark, Lamont and the rest.

  Max finished the missive by artfully drawing in the shape of a blackened bird. He sat back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment as pain began to throb behind his forehead. These horrible headaches had plagued him since his youth, when he’d seen his father gunned down… they’d appeared with regularity ever since, usually carrying with them visions of dark portent. Leopold had claimed they were bursts of precognition, helping guide Max along his path. But to Max, they were as much a curse as a blessing. They had led him to Darkholme and others like him. They made it impossible for him to set aside the Peregrine identity and live a life of peace.

  Max gritted his teeth, trying in vain to avoid crying out in pain. He saw a crystalline object, glowing with an inner fire. A man held it in one hand, a look of almost orgasmic pleasure flitting across his features. There was a name attached to the man and Max whispered it aloud as the pen slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor. “Trench,” Max said, before the image shimmered to reveal the face of a bald man with a long white beard. From the shape of his eyes, Max thought him to be Chinese… and very, very old. “K’ntu,” Max said, the pounding in his skull increasing until spittle flew from his lips and he jerked out of his chair. He heard his servants’ footsteps, hurrying to his bedroom door. They’d heard him cry out and were concerned. “Can’t be found like this,” Max whispered, forcing the images from him. As he did so, the pain became a dull ache in the background of his consciousness.

  Sorry, Sam. I really did mean to stay out of trouble… but it looks like the Peregrine’s going to be needed again.

  CHAPTER IV

  Evelyn

  The home of Beauregard Ellis was not what it had once been, but it was still one of the few plantations that had managed to survive the burning of Atlanta. Much of the surrounding property had been sold off since the War Between the States, helping to keep the family’s manner of living intact, but Max could tell that the Ellis clan was heading for hard times. There was no more land to sell, save for the house itself, and the way Ellis decorated the place, the remaining fortune would be gone in one or two generations.

  As Max stepped into the grand foyer, Beauregard and his wife, a somewhat heavyset woman named Gladys, greeted him. Both of them wore old-fashioned attire, with Mrs. Ellis’ considerable bulk squeezed into a corset. Beauregard himself was dressed in a long coat and tails, his hair swept back by an overuse of hair cream.

  “Mr. Davies!” Beauregard exclaimed, moving forward to shake hands. “I am so pleased that you decided to attend. How have you enjoyed the Southern hospitality so far?”

  “Aside from the heat, I’ve quite enjoyed myself,” Max replied honestly.

  “You Yankees just don’t know what a real summer’s like, is all,” Gladys said. She offered her hand daintily and Max played along with the game, bringing it to his lips. On the three occasions he’d met her so far, Gladys had never missed an opportunity to lament the many faults that Yankees possessed… but she always seemed somewhat attracted to him, as well.

  “I’m sure there are hotter days to come,” Max agreed. “It looks like an excellent turnout.”

  “Social event of the season,” Beauregard laughed. “Go on into the study. The men folk are gathered there, having some smokes. We’ll meet up with the ladies later on, for food and dancing.”

  “Do you dance, Mr. Davies?”

  Max paused at the question, recognizing the woman who had teasingly asked him. He turned to see Evelyn Gould moving up the stairs and into the foyer, looking breathtakingly beautiful. She wore a soft yellow dress that left her shoulders bare. Auburn hair was pulled back on her head, leaving small ringlets to dangle invitingly down her neck.

  “Only with women such as yourself,” Max answered.

  “And what kind of woman is that?” Evelyn inquired, coming to a halt just before him, close enough that her perfume reached his nostrils.

  “One who is far too lovely for words.” Max reached out for her hand, not having to feign a desire to lift it to his lips, as he had with Mrs. Ellis.

  “Flatterer,” Evelyn said with a small but pleased smile. She had arrived from Boston just a month or so before Max had moved to Atlanta, working as an actress. There was a small but increasingly vital arts community in the area and Evelyn had hopes of contributing to it. Her talent, from what Max had heard, wasn’t enough to get her onto Broadway or into the higher class of film, but she seemed content with what she had: which was more than enough to appease the typical theatergoer or matinee aficionado. “Did you come alone?”

  “I’m afraid so. And you?”

  “Yes. Shall we remain close to one another in hopes that no one will notice?”

  “I was going to suggest the very same thing.”

  “Great minds think alike,” Evelyn teased. She glanced around, noticing that several people were casting annoyed looks at them. “Seems we’re blocking the entrance. Are you going into the study to smoke those foul cigars and drink liquor?”

  “Well, when you put it that way, it does lose some of its charm.” Max gently took her by the arm and led her towards the parlor room where the ladies were gathered. Laughter spilled out as various gossips were spread and fashions were compared. “Are you anxious to spend time with the old biddies of Atlanta?”

  Evelyn’s eyes flew open and she emitted an unladylike snort of laughter. “You better hush before someone overhears you! We’ll be branded as uncouth Yankees and will never be invited back!”

  Max grinned, marveling at how alive she made him feel. He’d long ago put aside notions of romance, for fear of how his nocturnal activities might impact such things. But whenever Evelyn was about, he found himself flirting like a schoolboy. “I suppose we should conform to local notions of propriety. Shall I find you once the males and females are brought back together?”

  “Yes, please.” Evelyn squeezed his hand before moving into the parlor, leaving behind a most enticing scent. Max indulged in it for a moment before heading to take care of his own social duties.

  * * *

  “Darkholme was a bastard and I’m glad he’s gone!”

  This heated pronouncement from a man named Gilbert Smith was met with a general murmur of approval. The topic of the recent unpleasantness had not been long in coming, for the party’s host himself had broached the subject within moments of the men-folk’s retiring to the study. “What does everyone think about this Peregrine fellow?” he’d asked, sipping a brandy and looking altogether too impressed with himself. “If the rumors I’ve heard are even half true, I’d say a bit of Southern justice would have dispatched Darkholme as well as this Yankee vigilante did.”

  Max had smiled at those words, but Gilbert had spoken up before he could have voiced any kind of reply. He could see that Beauregard was watching him closely, however, as if waiting for a response.

  “What sort of rumors have you heard, Beauregard?” Max asked, honestly curious.

  “Only that Darkholme was conducting perverse experiments on negroes and gypsies. Fiendish stuff.” Beauregard took another sip of his drink and added “But you were up North during the Peregrine’s previous killings, weren’t y
ou? Do you think he’s followed you here?”

  The look in Beauregard’s eyes made Max a bit uncomfortable. He’s heard the stories, Max realized. I knew I was getting sloppy… that’s why I tried to stop this madness before it landed me in jail.

  Forcing a look of nonchalance, Max shrugged and replied “I was there. The cad even made a few of his crime busting efforts on my private property. Gave me a bit of notoriety, I have to admit. Can’t say I’m glad to see him in these parts, though I think we’d all be in agreement with Gilbert that some of these people need to be taken care of.”

  “True enough,” Beauregard confirmed. “Perhaps he’s someone you know, though? Did you bring any servants with you?”

  “No. I traveled alone.” Max averted his gaze, as if losing interest in the discussion and was saved from any further defense of his honor by the arrival of a new gentleman, one whose late arrival caused everyone to look in his direction.

  The figure’s appearance caused a profound effect on Max, who recognized him immediately. The man was slightly older than him, but in good shape and with a dark intelligence evident in his eyes. He wore the most fashionable of modern suits and a fedora was held tightly in one hand, which was slightly bent, as if it had survived great trauma. It was the figure from Max’s vision, the one named Trench.

  “Jacob! Welcome,” Beauregard said, moving forward to shake Trench’s good hand. “I’m so glad you could make it. You’ll notice a few new faces in the crowd, so I’ll introduce you.”

  Beauregard took to his task with great relish, introducing Trench as a collector of curiosities and the owner of a downtown Atlanta establishment called Jacob’s Ladder. Max noticed that many of the men who already knew Trench seemed to regard him coolly, so he made his way towards Gilbert, who had moved to stand near the window.

  “You know Mr. Trench, I presume?” Max asked.

  “Hmm? Oh, yes. Interesting fellow,” Gilbert replied, in a voice that definitely implied that he found Trench anything but interesting.

  “He looks familiar to me, though I can’t quite place him.”

  “Some of the newspapers ran stories on him a few years back. Feared lost on an expedition, turned up hale and hearty, only survivor, heroic case of human will overcoming nature. All that sort of thing.”

  “Sounds like it, doesn’t it? And he never lets you forget that it is.” Gilbert surprised Max by reaching and touching his arm. “He’s a dangerous man, Mr. Davies. Be wary of him.”

  Max nodded, feeling a bit unnerved by the fear that he’d seen in Gilbert’s eyes. Before he could question the man further, he heard Beauregard clear his throat from behind him. Turning, Max came face-to-face with the man who had haunted his mind earlier today.

  “Mr. Davies, may I introduce you to…”

  Beauregard’s words were lost in a sudden scream that made everyone in the room jump. Max shoved his way past Trench and his host, running full speed towards the door. He recognized the woman who had emitted the sound, which had been full of agonizing terror.

  It was Evelyn.

  CHAPTER V

  Bodies in the Mist

  Max burst into the parlor room, barely able to stop himself from retrieving the pistol he wore strapped under his coat. He found the women staring outside the windows, into the thickest fog Max had ever seen outside of London. It tumbled about like small clouds of mist, borne along by mystic winds.

  Evelyn stood closest to the window, a hand raised over her open mouth. The poor woman looked as pale as a ghost and she jumped when Max touched her shoulder.

  “What’s happened?” Max asked, feeling the way she shivered beneath his hand.

  “Out there… Can’t you see them?”

  Max followed her gaze, aware that the other men had entered the room and were asking their own wives and girlfriends for information. Outside, in the mist, were men… shambling mockeries of men, stooped over and somewhat misshapen. “Stay here,” he whispered. He turned and found himself face-to-face with Trench.

  “Going somewhere, Mr. Davies?”

  “There are people out there. I’m fairly certain that Beauregard didn’t invite them.”

  “I’ll come with you, if I may.”

  Max hesitated, remembering the dark terror of his earlier visions. Despite them, there was no way he could avoid the offered help without seeming rude to the other guests. “If you’d like. Just stay behind me.” Max reached under his coat and drew out his pistol, careful to keep it hidden from the women.

  “Do you always come so well prepared to parties?” Trench asked.

  “Only ones where unnatural mists spring up out of nowhere.” Max hurried out the front door, stumbling a bit as he reached the stairs. The fog was so thick that he could not see more than a few feet in front of him. He thought he saw two of the mysterious figures ahead of him, but he could not be sure. “You there!” he yelled. “Identify yourself!”

  Trench’s voice came from just over his left shoulder. “Look to your right.”

  Max did so and felt the blood in his veins chilling at the sight before him. A man with bluish-tinted skin had come into view, his clothing soiled by dirt and blood. His eyes were rolled up in his head, leaving only white showing. There was an awful nature to his gait that made Max feel sick and confused. “God in heaven,” he whispered.

  “I don’t think God had anything to do with these things,” Trench whispered.

  The undead creature shifted at the sound of Trench’s voice, seeming to zero in on the two men. It picked up speed, raising its arms and forming the hands into fists.

  Max shot it twice in the chest, but the bullets only seemed to stagger the creature. It continued on, closing the gap quickly. Just as its fingers began to close around Max’s collar, he unloaded a bullet directly between its eyes. Blood sprayed backwards, along with white fragments of bone and gray matter.

  The monster fell to the ground, twitching. A noxious odor rose from it and Max recognized it from the numerous scenes of horror he’d witnessed. It was the smell of death and decay.

  “More,” Trench hissed.

  Max whirled about as two more of the things ambled towards him from the other side of the porch. He leaped towards them, aware that his ammunition was limited. The first of the things was met with a hard chop to the throat. It didn’t harm the undead monster the way it would have a normal man but it gave the thing pause, allowing Max to fire his pistol at point-blank range into its temple. As before, damage to the cadaver’s brain seemed to bring its rampage to a halt.

  Armed with knowledge of how to stop the things, Max made quick work of the thing’s companion and stared out into the mist, wondering how many more might be waiting.

  Trench appeared again at his side, staring down at the twitching monsters. “Fascinating. Reminds me of the zombies I’ve heard about in Haiti.”

  Max fought the urge to put the last of his bullets into Trench’s head. The visions had seemed to make it clear that he was a villain of the worst sort… but something stayed Max’s hand. He had never killed anyone who hadn’t forced the action and he held on to that last vestige of morality like a crutch.

  “The fog is lifting,” Max said, noticing that the mist was beginning to part as quickly as it had arrived.

  “And the bodies are going away,” Trench remarked. “Look.”

  The two zombies at Max’s feet faded into nothingness, becoming as immaterial as the mist itself.

  “What do you think could do such a thing?” Trench wondered aloud. “And why?”

  “They were a distraction.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Max frowned, wondering if that was true. It was certainly possible that whatever threat Trench posed was unrelated to his plague of undead… but Max had a feeling that Trench was anything but innocent here. “The men didn’t do anything other than wander around, attracting our attention.”

  “They did attack you…”

  “Yes, but rather ineffectually. There’s something
more at work here.” Max looked over as Beauregard and several of the men hurried over, some of them brandishing their own gentlemen’s pistols. “Mr. Ellis, might I recommend that you have the servants search the house and make sure that nothing is missing?”

  “You think some of those men the ladies saw might have gotten inside?” Beauregard asked, looking alarmed.

  “It’s possible.”

  “Where are they now?” Gilbert wondered. “I don’t see a damned thing.”

  “They fled,” Trench replied, drawing a glance from Max. The two men seemed to share an understanding that discussions of walking undead would not go over well with men who hadn’t seen them firsthand.

  Max spotted Evelyn slipping quietly out of the house and he excused himself quickly, moving to catch up to her. “Evelyn! Are you alright?”

  She turned to face him with fear in her eyes. “No! Those men… they weren’t right! I saw one of them! He… It was awful!”

  Max brought her into his arms, comforting her. “I believe you. I saw them myself.”

  Evelyn drew back quickly. “You did? Thank heavens! I thought I had gone mad!”

  “No, you mustn’t think that. There are things in this world that are beyond the rational. The sooner you accept that, the better. Can I take you home? I have a feeling you aren’t going to want to stay for tea and dancing.”

  “Please. I would very much like the company,” she said, looking profoundly grateful.

  Poor girl, Max mused. She’s not used to such terrors. I almost envy her.

  Walking towards his parked car, Max cast another glance back at the house. Trench was there, talking quietly with Beauregard. He looked up and gave Max a perfunctory nod. I think I’ll pay Mr. Ellis a visit tonight and find out what went missing. Because something most certainly did… and it’s looking more and more like a case for the Peregrine.