The Peregrine Omnibus Volume One

by Barry Reese

  To his amazement, the heat of the flames reached him but he suffered no other damage. A wall of invisible protection had formed itself around him and Max immediately sensed that it had to have come from either Keane or Satan.

  Who it was that had saved him was immediately answered as Ba’al rounded on Doctor Satan. “Stop this!” the demon warned. “Ally yourself with me and I will find a place for you amongst our kind!”

  “There could never be an alliance between us,” Satan responded, holding his ground as Ba’al began to run towards him. “Because in the end, I only care for myself, not any partners.”

  Ba’al rampaged straight through Satan, who rematerialized several inches to the left, saved by a small illusion. Satan reached out with both hands as the demon charged past and snatched up two of the Elohim blades. “I believe these belong to me,” he laughed. Satan then ran towards the edge of the observation deck and jumped off into thin air. His mocking final words echoed in the heads of his fellow warriors. “I got what I came for and now the deal’s complete! I’ll leave you boys to do the mopping up!” There was no doubt in any of the onlookers’ minds that Satan would reappear safely elsewhere.

  “Bastard,” the Black Bat whispered under his breath. He wasn’t truly surprised but it was still disheartening to realize that arguably your most powerful ally was now gone from the battle.

  Ba’al came to a stop near the Black Bat, now shaking with rage. With three of the knives out of his possession, his plan was falling to pieces. He grabbed hold of the Black Bat’s cloak and pulled the hero close, opening his mouth so he could rip out the Bat’s throat. Quinn managed to wedge his pistol into the gaping maw and pulled back on the trigger, splattering the demon’s brains all over the scene.

  Ba’al staggered back but did not fall. The death of his human host would cost him dearly but for now he could continue to animate this form.

  “Ba’al… do you still want your knife back?” the Peregrine asked, taunting the demon.

  Ba’al whirled to face him, his face contorting with pain and anger. Blood and gray matter dripped in equal amounts down his back.

  The Peregrine ran forward, leaping into the air. For a moment, he was framed against the stars, the knife raised high in both hands. And then the moment passed, the knife plunging downwards to embed itself between the eyes of the demon.

  Ba’al faltered, dropping to his knees. He readied himself for one last attack but a sudden glow seemed to surround him and he looked up to see Ascott Keane approaching with the Jewel of Seraphim held out before him.

  “I condemn you to the hell from whence you came,” Keane stated. “Let us never again be troubled by the likes of you!”

  Keane drove the Jewel against Ba’al’s chest and the effects were instantaneous. The demon’s body began to shake as holy light flooded through him, exiting again through every orifice. Keane stepped back, the Jewel fused to the skin of the beast and averted his eyes. A flash so bright it could be seen hundreds of miles away accompanied the destruction of Ba’al’s form, taking with it the early remains of a power-hungry magician named Arias.

  CHAPTER XIII

  A League of Heroes

  “Is this your first trip to the South?” Evelyn asked, offering Quinn a glass of iced tea. The entire victorious group had convened at the Davies’ plantation less than a week after seeing Ba’al destroyed. Of course, the group was minus Doctor Satan but no one had truly regretted that at all. Wherever the evil Doctor was, everyone was glad it was not here.

  Tony sipped the tea experimentally and nodded. His eyes were hidden beneath his dark glasses but Evelyn didn’t need to see them to know that he didn’t think much of iced tea. “It’s beautiful. Hard to believe it’s February, though. This would be spring weather back home.”

  Evelyn smiled, looking around the yard, where men and women congregated in small groups. She’d gotten a chance to meet Keane’s friends Beatrice Dale and Shakir, taking an instant liking to both. “I think Max is ready to give his little speech.”

  “What’s he going to say?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of ruining the moment. He practiced all last night on it!”

  Max Davies, clad in a dark button up shirt and slacks, stepped up on to the back steps of his home and waited for silence. When it finally arrived, he put his hands on his hips and began to speak. “I’m glad all of you were able to make it. I’m about to make a proposal that I think all of you will find worthwhile.” He paused for dramatic effect before continuing. “We worked well together in stopping the Bleeding Hells. Alone, I think any one of us might have failed. But together, we were able to pool our resources very impressively. I was part of an adventurer’s club back in Boston but with Leopold’s death, I’m not sure what kind of future that group has. And so I’d like to propose that we set something up between us: a formal exchange of knowledge, with meetings on a regular basis. We can come together when no one of us could succeed alone.”

  There was a moment where no one spoke and then Ascott Keane began to applaud. “An excellent suggestion. I, for one, would agree to be a part of such an organization.”

  “So would I,” Tony Quinn stated.

  Max couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Then let’s extend that invitation to our companions. Without them, none of us would be able to function. Miss Dale, Miss Baldwin, Shakir, all of them. While the three of us may form the heart of the group, all of them would play a part in our adventures.”

  Evelyn caught her husband’s eye and winked. He could be simply charming when he chose to be.

  Max’s face lost a bit of its humor as he pressed on. “And I think our first mission should be to track down the man who murdered Leopold Grace and left us hanging high and dry on the 86th floor of the Empire State Building.” Max reached into his jacket and retrieved his Knife of Elohim, returned to him during the battle. He raised it high, so that the sun gleamed off its golden surface. “Ladies and gentlemen, I for one will not rest until Doctor Satan is behind bars—forever!”

  * * *

  A short distance away, a crimson garbed figure watched the meeting. He heard Max’s words and the resultant clamor of agreements that came from them.

  Doctor Satan chuckled to himself. There might come a day when he and this strange league of heroes might have need of one another again but until then… until then…

  The game was afoot.

  THE END

  THE IRON MAIDEN

  An adventure starring the Peregrine

  Written by Barry Reese

  CHAPTER I

  McKenzie’s Torment

  The setting sun cast a cold, hard glint across the waters of Lake Lincoln. William McKenzie, one of the youngest police chiefs in the nation, stretched out in the small rowboat he’d set off in and closed his eyes. He’d barely caught any fish today but that was hardly the point of the trip. He’d needed to get away from Atlanta for awhile and this serene setting had been calling to him from the back of his mind for months. He couldn’t help but feel a little guilty as he drove away towards this weekend retreat—enjoying himself while crime ran rampant back home and the Germans were invading Greece had a way of souring anyone’s mood.

  Max will handle things while I’m gone, McKenzie had told himself and he knew it was true. His best friend in the world was Max Davies, the wealthy philanthropist who led a double-life as the enigmatic vigilante known as the Peregrine.

  McKenzie yawned and scratched at his stomach. He’d eaten far too many grilled hot dogs earlier but he’d been unable to stop his indulgences. He wasn’t worried about the effect the junk food would have on his appearance, though. He worked hard and kept himself in good shape. He had a trim but athletic build, but it was his blue eyes and curly hair that kept the women chasing after him. So far, none had been fast enough to catch him though.

  McKenzie had certainly thought about settling down but he’d convinced himself that he wasn’t ready yet. He had become a lawman to avenge losses in his past and he wa
sn’t sure he could ever truly love a woman while those doors to his youth remained unclosed.

  A subtle shift in the air roused McKenzie from his slumber. He opened his eyes to see that a significant amount of time must have passed, for the sky overhead was now dark. The stars twinkled brightly and there was now a chill present, one that sent a shiver down his spine. Somehow, the air seemed charged with an oppressive feeling of doom and McKenzie reached for the oars so that he could begin rowing back to the shore.

  He had made it halfway there when he noticed a peculiar light coming from his rented cabin. It only took a few seconds for the experienced lawman to realize that the building was ablaze. He began to row faster, jumping from the boat while still in the water and jogging the rest of the way to the beach. There were few valuables within but he still hungered to know what had gone wrong. Had he failed to extinguish the embers from his grill? Was there an electrical fault in the house?

  He was less than fifteen feet from the rental house when he noticed three men shuffling about near his car. They wore dark suits and low-brimmed hats, their faces shrouded by darkness. McKenzie thought he caught a glimpse of some sort of metallic mask over their features but he couldn’t be sure.

  “Chief McKenzie?” a woman asked, her sultry voice purring at him from his left. She had a faint German accent, which put McKenzie even further on edge, given the current political climate of the world.

  He turned on her quickly, wishing he’d bothered to keep his service revolver with him. The woman was both terrifying and enticing all at once: she wore a skin-tight suit of gleaming metal, which hugged all of her ample curves to perfection. Her face was hidden beneath a full mask that left only her shimmering green eyes and full red lips available for view. Her hair, a lustrous strawberry blonde in color, tumbled from the back of the mask and down her shoulders. A low-slung belt around her waist held a single pistol.

  “What’s going on?” McKenzie asked. He didn’t bother informing her that she and her goons were going to be in a lot of trouble. His car was marked as a police officer’s and she knew his name: they had to be well aware of what they were doing.

  “We’re making it look like you drank yourself into a stupor and then died.” The woman gestured to her men, who were now throwing the body of yet another person into the blazing fire. McKenzie could tell the fellow was already dead but that he was of a similar build to himself.

  McKenzie clenched his hands into fists and began to advance upon the armored woman. “I’m going to arrest you,” he said, no longer caring what motives these people might have. He’d chosen long ago to pursue a path of justice and he never wavered from that choice. He’d seen his father, one of the best lawmen who had ever lived, die for his refusal to bend before evil and McKenzie was willing to do the same if need be. His brother had been gunned down at the age of 16, the killers never being caught. William McKenzie knew pain and he knew heartache but neither scared him very much. “I’m giving you one chance to put your hands up and come along quietly.”

  The woman smiled in a lovely fashion. “So brave and handsome. I think I could fall in love with you, Officer. It’s sad, really, that there can’t be a future between us.”

  McKenzie was stunned by the rapidness of what came next. The woman drove a powerful fist into his chin, knocking him off his feet. McKenzie flew through the air, landing flat on his back in the dirt. He groaned and tried to rise but the woman gave him no respite. She ran forward and slammed a booted foot into his side, cracking a rib.

  She stood over him for a moment and when McKenzie looked up into her face, all he saw was her silhouette, the flames dancing behind. “You asked who I was, Mr. McKenzie. Do you still want to know my name?”

  Despite the situation, McKenzie found that he did still want that information. She saw it in his eyes and knelt beside him.

  “Men call me the Iron Maiden. Are you familiar with the historical device that gives me that name?”

  McKenzie found images coming to the fore in his mind. The anthropomorphic torture device was shaped like a woman, its victims locked within, where spikes lined the inner surface of the box. They died slowly and in great agony, the spikes pushed through their bodes as the box was closed. “Yes. I’ve read about it,” he whispered through clenched teeth. The scent of burning flesh was filling the air now, as the corpse within his rental house was consumed.

  “Good man. I knew you’d be well versed in ancient methods of law enforcement. Most people think the iron maidens date back to the Middle Ages but that’s a myth. It was invented in 1793 Johann Philipp Siebenkees, based off stories of the Schandmantel. The Schandmantel was a heavy coat made of wood and lined with sheet metal. It was weighted around the lower rim and neck, making it portable but extremely painful. It was a method of humiliating torture for prostitutes and poachers.”

  McKenzie found his vision was beginning to spin and the Iron Maiden’s words were now sounding distant and dim.

  The Iron Maiden sensed that she was beginning to lose her audience and she reached out to grab the police chief by the hair. Holding his face up to hers, she lowered her voice and whispered “I’m telling you these things so that you’ll realize that I’m not some two-bit criminal like you’re used to, Chief McKenzie. I’ve studied history… and I know what I need to do to get what I want.”

  “What… do you want?” McKenzie forced out, his lids beginning to droop.

  “I want the same thing that all loyal German girls want, Officer McKenzie. I want to help pave the way for my Fuehrer’s victory.”

  Before McKenzie could say anything else, his will succumbed to the blinding pain he felt and he drifted into unconsciousness.

  The Iron Maiden straightened and summoned one of her lackeys. Each of the men wore a small silver mask fastened over their face. “Load him into our car,” she commanded in German.

  “Should we leave his car as it is?”

  “You’ve planted all the evidence?” The Iron Maiden nodded when the man murmured his assent. “Then yes, leave it be. We’ve accomplished all that we could have asked for, mein Freund. The Fuehrer will be proud.”

  * * *

  McKenzie woke up to a throbbing headache and the disconcerting sensation that came from being suspended upside down.

  He immediately began to thrash about but the chains that held him were more than sufficient to hold him in place. He was tied to a table that was elevated some five or so feet off the floor, his head pointed towards the floor. Forcing himself to calmness, he looked about his surroundings as best he could, using his trained policeman’s eye to gather information.

  He was in a small room with a wooden table in the corner. Atop it lay several pamphlets and a newspaper, though McKenzie couldn’t tell if it was The Atlanta Constitution or its rival The Atlanta Journal. On the wall directly facing him was a poster celebrating Fritz Kuhn’s speech at Madison Square Garden back in ’39. Seeing the poster reminded McKenzie that his assailant—the stunner in the iron suit—had a German accent.

  Voices in the hall made McKenzie stiffen. He couldn’t see the door from where he was but he heard the click of it opening, followed by the metallic footsteps of the Iron Maiden. She moved into his line of sight but McKenzie felt certain there was someone else in the room with her, someone who didn’t want to be seen.

  “Do you mind flipping me upright?” McKenzie asked. “My head feels like it’s about to burst.”

  “I’m sorry but you’re being held that way for the sole purpose of keeping you off-balance. From what I understand, you’re extremely resourceful.”

  McKenzie watched as the Iron Maiden moved closer. She held a small silver blade in her right hand and the light caught its sharpened surface as she approached. He wondered—not for the first time—if he had been targeted because of his connection to the Peregrine. It wouldn’t be the first time that a villain had sought to wound the vigilante by striking at his friends. McKenzie had tried to avoid mentioning the Peregrine, just in case the Iron M
aiden knew nothing about the vigilante, but he decided that he was running out of options.

  “If you think the Peregrine’s going to cut you any concessions in order to save my life, you’re wrong.”

  The Iron Maiden’s laugh was somehow more chilling than any threat. “You’ve missed the entire point of that exercise back at the beach. We put a body in that house so that everyone would think that you were dead. We have no desire to have the Peregrine come calling and disrupting our plans.”

  “I… don’t understand. You’re saying you didn’t want to strike at the Peregrine… that you just wanted me? But why…?”

  “You’re an interesting man in your own right,” the Iron Maiden said. She raised the knife she held and ran its point along McKenzie’s pant leg. “Do you remember what happened the summer before you came to Atlanta?”

  “Of course I do,” McKenzie said, trying to ignore the teasing of the blade against his leg. Despite his words, however, there was a sudden panic when he tried to picture what had happened in the months before he’d accepted the Atlanta position of police chief. There seemed to be a gap in his memory, a gaping hole that threatened to engulf him.

  “You remember nothing,” the Iron Maiden whispered, watching his expression closely, “between the time you arrested a man named Eric Vogelin and when you met Mr. Benson. Do you?”

  McKenzie felt his mouth go dry. Benson had been a mysterious sort: a world traveler whose wife and daughter ha died under mysterious circumstances. In the aftermath, Benson had become an avenger of sorts. He’d introduced McKenzie and Max Davies, knowing that together they could help defend Atlanta from the hordes of criminals infesting it. McKenzie still remembered the day that Benson had strode into his office back in Alabama, telling him that there was an opening in Atlanta, one that Benson felt certain would appeal to the young lawman.

  But Vogelin… McKenzie could barely remember the man. A German nationalist, Aryan in appearance. He’d killed a man in a dispute over some kind of papers and a box of old relics. But… what then?