by Barry Reese
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 he
ard 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.
“Mr. Trench played with zombies, I see,” Camilla commented. She wrinkled her nose and moved past the corpse, dismissing it as something beneath her. “Here,” she said, nodding towards a box covered with a peculiar kind of leather. Reed wondered if it was human flesh but didn’t dwell upon it.
Setting the lamp on the floor, Reed knelt in front of the box and carefully lifted its lid. He expected to see a heavy leather-bound book, closed by a large metal clasp. It was a tome written long, long ago by an Arab mystic that many thought mad. But it was not a natural madness he possessed, for he had been in contact with the Old Ones themselves, ancient entities from the stars who roosted in the dark nether-places of the Earth.
But there was no book to be seen.
Camilla emitted a small cry of rage. “Where is it? You told me he had a copy of the cursed book!”
“I… that’s what I was told,” Reed stammered. “I don’t understand.”
Camilla shoved him aside, knocking him onto his rump. She leaned over the box, sniffing noisily, like a dog. The way her neck twitched to and fro made Reed uneasy. “We aren’t the first ones to come here, beloved.” She turned to face Reed, eyes blazing. “The book was stolen by another… but I have their scent.”
“What are we going to do?” Reed asked, rising to his feet and brushing dirt off the back of his slacks.
“Find them, of course.” Camilla laughed coldly. “Then I’ll rip their throats out and take the Necronomicon for myself.”
CHAPTER V
A Figure of Ice and Steel
The plantation that was now home to Max Davies and his wife was built in the 1820s and still retained much of its luster from the days when cotton was king. A burly farm hand named Joshua and a matronly woman named Nettie ran the place, keeping everything running smoothly during Max’s many trips away. Both of them met Max when he drove his car up to the main house.
“Miss Evelyn’s not with you?” Nettie asked with concern. An elderly black woman with skin so taut that you could see the bones poking against the flesh in places, Nettie was a devout Christian and a perpetual worrier. “You and she didn’t have a fight did you?”
Josh exchanged an amused look with his employer as he began to get the bags out of the car.
Max shook his head. “I dropped her off in town to meet with a producer.”
“Not proper for a married woman to be dining alone with another man,” Nettie sniffed reproachfully.
“Who said they were dining together? It’s a business meeting.” Max kissed Nettie on the cheek, who accepted it with a harrumph. “It’s good to be back.”
“Mr. Davies,” Josh said, stopping Max as he started for the front door. “A man’s inside. In the study. Says he’s a friend of Mr. Grace, from New York City.”
Max frowned slightly. Leopold Grace was one of his dearest friends and the current president of the Nova Alliance, an adventurer’s guild of sorts. “Did he give a name?”
“Yes, suh. Says his name is Benson.”
Max nodded, moving inside. He’d heard that name before, though he wasn’t quite sure where. Perhaps Leopold had mentioned him at one of the Nova Alliance meetings? He moved to the study, removing his hat and overcoat as he did.
The man who waited for him was like no man that he’d ever seen before. Not particularly tall or wide, but possessed of a rugged strength that spoke of many physical pursuits. But it was his face that seemed so striking. It was as white and dead as a mask from the grave. Pale gray eyes flicked over Max, moving up and down, as if sizing him up from within.
Benson rose as Max entered, nodding curtly. When he spoke, his voice was clipped and businesslike. Overall, he had the manner of one who simply lacked the time for niceties. “I’ve come with an offer,” he stated.
Max shut the door behind him. He trusted both Josh and Nettie with his life, but neither of them knew about his business as the Peregrine. “Something related to the Alliance?”
“You might say that. It’s come to my attention that your nocturnal pursuits have made you an enemy of the law.”
Max didn’t bother pretending ignorance about Benson’s meaning. Obviously, he knew about the Peregrine and there was nothing to be done about that. “They see me as a vigilante.”
“As well they should,” Benson answered. “But you and I both know that there are men in this world whom the law can’t touch. And they must be stopped before more innocents are harmed.”
Something suddenly clicked in Max’s memory and he pointed at Benson. “I recognize you now, even with the change in your features! It was in all the newspapers! Your wife and daughter went missing on a plane flight and…”
“They were the victims of a criminal conspiracy. Those responsible are dead.”
“So you’re like me. A vigilante.”
“Not quite. I choose not to kill… my enemies usually die by their own hands, not mine. This has allowed me to function quite well with law enforcement authorities. In fact, I’ve created an entire team of like-minded individuals who are willing to assist me.”
“I’m not looking to join,” Max said, finally taking a seat. When he did so, Benson returned to his own chair. “If that’s what you’re here for.”
“It’s not. Leopold Grace asked me to give you assistance in resolving your problems with law enforcement.”
“You can do that?”
“I already have. All ongoing investigations into the Peregrine have ceased.”
“How…?”
“It’s not important.” Benson leaned forward and his steely eyes glinted. “If you’ll agree to change your tactics somewhat, I’ll provide you with continued protection from the authorities.”
“You don’t want me to kill the men and women I pursue.” Max pursed his lips. “It’s not that simple. I have… compulsions.”
“Are you saying you’re insane?”
“No!” Max ran a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated.”
“I’m sure. Regardless, all I’m asking you to do is make an effort to take your enemies alive. If things don’t work out that way, I’ll understand. But we must hold ourselves to a higher standard than the criminals do.”
“Very noble,” Max countered. “But I’m not always facing mobsters. I’m dealing with cannibals, wizards and the walking undead.”
Benson nodded, a smile briefly flashing in his eyes. His face, however, remained rigid and unmoving. “And I wouldn’t argue that the undead shouldn’t be stopped by any means necessary. I’m speaking about flesh and blood beings, not the supernatural.” He stood up, producing a small card that he held out for Max. “Call me if you need assistance with the police.”
Max said
nothing as Benson left the room, abruptly ending the conversation. He stared down at the card, which bore an address in New York City: Bleek Street. “Leopold… what have you gotten me into now?”
CHAPTER VI
The Peregrine Takes Flight
Since the strange visit by Benson, the Peregrine had focused his attention on learning as much as possible about Reed Barrows and his wife. Mr. Barrows had married a woman of means early in his life, but she had perished under mysterious circumstances not long ago. Within a shockingly short period of time, he had moved on, marrying a pale young woman named Camilla. Of her, there was no trace whatsoever. Given what Max knew about her nature, that wasn’t surprising, he supposed. Barrows, who had always lurked in the black market for antiquities, had recently gone into overdrive. Most of his inquiries had to do with the frightful book known as the Necronomicon.
The Peregrine parked his specially made car along the side of the dirt road that led to the old Matthews Plantation. The car was painted with a unique paint that absorbed light to an astonishing degree. In the black of night, it was virtually invisible. The windshield was covered with a thin layer of “night glass,” yet another of Max’s inventions. It allowed the driver to see in complete darkness, rendering the use of headlights obsolete. And the engine had been modified to that it was as silent as a fox. All of those creations could have afforded Max many millions of dollars, but he kept them to himself, preferring to utilize them in his war on crime.
The Matthews place was, along with Max’s current home, amongst the only major plantations to escape Sherman’s march relatively intact. There had been only minor damage done to the place and the intervening years had been kind, giving both homes a melancholy appeal.
As Max crept up to one of the well-lit windows, he took note of the fact that the fields were lying bare. Apparently, the Barrows were still living off their sizable personal incomes rather than using the grounds as a subsidy to their accounts.
