The Peregrine Omnibus Volume One

by Barry Reese

  “That man who visited you… was his name Edward Willes?”

  “Yes…”

  Evelyn opened the newspaper and flipped to page 2, where an article about the discovery of a University professor’s body was located. “I read it during breakfast. His body was found near his home, riddled with wounds consistent with an attack from arrows. But none of the weapons were found at the scene, indicating that whoever committed the crime was intelligent enough to take away anything that might serve as clues to their identity.”

  “The arrows weren’t taken away,” Max stated, shaking his head. “They disappeared. Transformed into smoke and vanished into the air.”

  “You’ve run into something like that already?”

  “Yes. A couple of spectral Indians last night… they looked like they’d had the outer layer of their skin flayed off. When McKenzie and I defeated them their bodies turned into vapor.”

  Evelyn felt a shiver go down her spine. “What’s next, then?”

  Max fingered the lid of the box. He was beginning to think he could hear the heart’s beating… though it was obvious that no one else did. “Since I don’t have my powers anymore, I can’t use them to find out what’s up with the heart… and I don’t fancy flying back to New York just to get Ascott to do it for me. So I suppose I need to pay Whisper a visit.”

  Evelyn fought the urge to frown. She had never actually met the mysterious Whisper but from the way Max described her, it was obvious that she was sultry and exotic… exactly the sort of woman that no wife wants her husband doing business with. But she trusted Max and liked to think of herself as being above petty jealousy, so she never made a point of the situation… though she was fairly certain that Max detected some tension in her at the mention of the other woman’s name. “Well, do be careful,” she said.

  “I will,” he answered, rising. “After all, I have two children to be thinking of.”

  Evelyn’s eyes flew open. “You did read it?!”

  “Of course I did,” Max laughed, dodging out of the way as Evelyn tried to hit him with the rolled-up newspaper.

  Evelyn stood up and faced him, her eyes growing moist. “And… are you happy?”

  Max took his wife’s hands in his. “Evelyn… I love you. I love William. And I’m sure I’ll love the new baby, too. I can’t think of anything that could make me happier.”

  Evelyn flung her arms around him and they embraced, thoughts of murder, bodiless hearts and spectral assassins momentarily—and thankfully—pushed aside.

  CHAPTER VII

  Whisperings

  The woman known only as Whisper had arrived in Atlanta without fanfare, opening a small fortunetelling shop just off of Peachtree. Its unassuming appearance—simply the words “Whisper—Divination and Guidance” stenciled on the window—meant that many people didn’t even notice it. Indeed, Max suspected that only those who had need of Whisper even knew of her existence or where to find her.

  Her shop was always dimly lit, even in the harshness of the morning light, with only a few candles and burning incense to illuminate the dark, drab interior. Whisper herself favored clinging black dresses, always low cut in the front to reveal ample cleavage, and long gloves that reached past her elbows. She was a lovely, if somewhat cold, looking woman, with ebony hair and smooth white skin.

  As always, Max found her seated in her divining room, performing a reading with Tarot cards. She did not look up when he entered, instead continuing with her actions. Max waited silently, standing with hat in hand, until she finally addressed him. Her eyes never ventured up from the cards and her face remained pensive.

  “You’ve come to ask me about the heart,” she began and Max nodded. “It’s a nasty bit of business you’ve gotten yourself wrapped up in, Max.”

  “It always is,” he said.

  “Why do you still do this?”

  Max blinked at the abrupt shift in conversation. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  Whisper looked up then, her dark eyes boring into his. “Your father spoke to me from beyond the veil of death. He told me that your powers… your ability to sense and converse with things outside the realm of the normal… has been inhibited. You are no longer cursed with visions of future crimes and yet you still wear the mask and bear the Knife of Elohim. You still creep along the city streets, ready to mete out vengeance.”

  Max hesitated before answering. When he did speak, his voice was low and conspiratorial, as if he was imparting some dark secret. “It’s who I am. I grew up from the age of eight driven to do these things. I can’t just shut it off, powers or no. Besides… a couple of years ago I had a battle with a demon. He wanted to hurt me with the knowledge that I’d outlive everyone I cared about… he showed me a vision of the future. It was early in the 21st century and I was still alive, still wearing this mask. It’s destiny.”

  “Men make their own destinies,” Whisper answered. “If you let that vision be your own, then it will come to pass.”

  “But I saw it! I know it was real.”

  Whisper looked away sadly. “Then that is your fate.” She cleared her throat then and Max knew that part of their conversation was over. He was glad for it. “Show me the box and I will tell you of the threat you face.”

  The Peregrine stepped forward and placed the box on the table in front of Whisper. He could smell her perfume—a cloying, seductive scent—and it made him feel strangely guilty. He knew that Evelyn disliked the very idea of Whisper and he could understand why… there was something dangerously sexy about her. If a man gave in to her charms, it would bring intense pleasure… but also inevitable heartbreak.

  Whisper seemed to shiver as she reached out to touch the box, lifting its lid. There, amongst the dirt, was the still beating heart.

  “Her name was Elizabeth Maddox,” Whisper said. “This is her heart, beating still with fury and rage as its power source. She was 16 years old and freshly married when the attack came. She had lost a child the year before and was beginning to feel what she thought to be the quickening again. She was wandering outside the confines of the colony, near dusk, thinking about the future and what it might hold. Life was so difficult for them all, but she hoped it would get better. She hoped that her children, whenever they might come, would find the peace and prosperity that had been promised them. She was amongst the first of the Roanoke colonists, having arrived in 1585. She was a pretty girl, with the kind of features that men desired and women coveted.”

  Max sat down, drawn into the story that Whisper was weaving.

  “As I said, it was near dusk and she began to hear movement amidst the trees. She started to turn but she came face to face with three Indian braves. They spoke to her in their strange tongue but she couldn’t understand them… not at first. Not until they began to push her deeper into the forest, pulling at her hair and clothing. That she understood all too well. She put up a fierce struggle but they were too strong. They raped her repeatedly for hours, finally leaving her to lie naked in the dirt, bleeding from her lips and from her womanhood. Any child that might have been growing slowly within her was gone now, its life snuffed out in fury, lust and hatred for the Whites who were coming to steal their land from them. They were rogue members of the Croatoan tribe, having disagreed with their elders, who argued that—unlike some of the other neighboring tribes—the Croatoans would greet the Europeans with open hands.” Whisper took a breath and then continued. “After they had satisfied themselves upon her, they cut her heart from her chest and threw it into the dirt. It lay there, covered with the sands of Roanoke… but it never stopped beating. Not ever. Because that dying girl’s rage took hold, it seeped into the land… and it became something very dark and very dangerous.”

  Max stared at the heart, trying to picture the girl in whose chest it had once beat. He’d seen so many awful things in his lifetime that he had little difficulty picturing these vile deeds taking place. “What happened next?”

  “Her spirit became a conduit to Hell
,” Whisper replied. “She manifested as a living wind, ripping the flesh from the bodies of her attackers like every gust was made of pure glass. And then she animated them as her servants, as her undying warriors. In her madness and grief, she blamed not only the men who had raped her but also the people of her colony… she blamed them for believing that the cold, dead earth of Roanoke could ever bring life. She blamed them for not hearing her screams as she pled for rescue. She blamed them for living when she could not.”

  “And she destroyed the colony,” Max said, beginning to picture things in his head. “She attacked them with her Red Men and her psychic pain… pulled them all straight down into Hell with her. And when the soldiers were left behind between colonies, she did the same to them… and then the last of the colonies vanished, as well. They were all killed by her.” Max started to reach for the box. “So all we need to do is destroy the heart… If that’s where her spirit is housed, then that should remove her from this plane.”

  Whisper stopped him by quickly placing a hand on his wrist. “No! Her spirit has become too powerful for that. All you’d do by attacking the heart is to anger her. After the failure of the last Croatoan colony, her spirit went dormant, it fell into a slumber. It was reawakened recently and she’s now lashing out at everyone around the heart.”

  The Peregrine sighed, feeling his certainty slipping away. “Okay, then how do we end the threat?”

  Whisper stood up, her clinging black dress outlining every curve. “The first thing you need to do is return to the site of her death. But don’t think that she’ll sit back and wait for you to do it—you and everyone with you will be at risk. Once you’re there, take her heart from the box and attempt to re-bury it. I think she’ll manifest then… and you will either need to slay her or convince her to leave.”

  Max said nothing for a moment, still wrapped up in the mental image of a teenaged girl raped and murdered in the dirt. Elles must have uncovered her grave… or at the very least found her heart. When he’d disturbed it, it had reawakened an entity that perhaps wasn’t truly evil… but was quite dangerously mad. “The Red Men who disappeared after they fought McKenzie and I… they can’t be destroyed, can they? They just fade away and then return later?”

  “Yes. They are powered by her will and nothing else. As long as her spirit still exists on this plane, her Indians can be sent to do her bidding.”

  The Peregrine put his hat back on and moved towards the door. “Thanks, Whisper. I’ll take care of it.”

  Whisper watched him go, sadness still etched on her face. “I’m sorry, Max,” she said under her breath. “No man should know his destiny. That’s a cruel trick that was played upon you…”

  CHAPTER VIII

  Murder at Sea

  Max stood on the deck of the ferry, leading him across the choppy waters towards Roanoke Island. He’d flown to North Carolina but the harsh winds of an approaching storm had made it too dangerous to try and venture forth to the Island via the air. Landing on the mainland, it had been easy enough to find a ferry that shuttled people back and forth to the island.

  He wore his normal Peregrine attire—long overcoat, gloves, tie and well-tailored suit, but his mask was in his pocket. There were only a small handful of people on the ferry with him, and all of them were congregated under the coverings so that they could avoid the raindrops that fell irregularly to the deck. Max had hoped to find a way of traveling that would allow him to remain by himself but it hadn’t worked out… now, he knew that everyone onboard was at risk from Elizabeth’s rage.

  There were many thoughts running through Max’s head as he stared out at the approaching island. First and foremost were his hopes for a new child. For most of his life, he’d believed that he’d never have a family… that his drive for revenge over his father’s murder wouldn’t allow him that luxury. But meeting Evelyn had changed everything, shifting his entire paradigm to a new level. Since William had entered his life, he’d become nearly obsessed with the boy, wanting to give him all the happiness he felt had been stolen from his own childhood.

  Behind those mostly happy thoughts, however, lurked fear about what was to come. Elizabeth Maddox had died in pain and anger, both of which had been so great that not only had she been driven insane but her fury had taken on an existence of its own. “And now I’m going to destroy her,” he whispered. He knew there was the possibility of reasoning with her spirit… but that seemed very faint. All that seemed left of Elizabeth was her anger. If there had been any sign of sweetness left, Max certainly hadn’t seen it.

  The area he was headed to was now part of the Fort Raleigh National Historic Site, which had been established on April 5, 1941. Though Max had never been to the park before, he had read in an issue of Life about the outdoor symphonic drama The Lost Colony that had first been performed there in 1937 and repeated every summer since. “Too bad they don’t know the truth… of course that would make for a very depressing show, I suppose,” Max said to himself.

  From somewhere behind him came a woman’s scream, followed by the war cry of an Indian. The Peregrine whirled about, his hand dipping down inside his coat to grasp at the Knife of Elohim.

  Max cursed as he saw the three Red Men come into view. They were wielding their various weapons, slashing and stabbing at the tourists on the deck. The Peregrine rushed forward but one of the Indians spotted him and quickly sprang to engage him. The Indian swept his tomahawk through the air, slicing through Max’s tie. The undead warrior pressed his attack and the Peregrine found himself being forced back. He sprang up on the railing of the ship, which was slick with rain but Max’s natural agility allowed him to keep his footing.

  The Peregrine kicked out with a foot, catching the flayed man under the chin and knocking his head back with a snap. As the Indian’s head came forward again, he found himself starring directly into the glowing yellow blade of the Peregrine’s knife. Max shoved it forward, embedding it deep in his opponent’s skull. As the Indian fell to the deck, his body already turning to vapor, the Peregrine realized that the remaining two warriors had thankfully turned away from the innocents. Many of the crew and passengers were injured but none looked seriously so and as the Peregrine watched, all of them began to seek safety from the crazed invaders.

  The Peregrine waited until the two warriors were close enough and then he jumped from the railing, spreading his arms out to clothesline both of them. They tumbled back and the Peregrine immediately buried his blade to the hilt in one’s chest. The other rolled away and got to his feet, bloodied tomahawk in hand.

  The Peregrine and the Indian moved in a slow circle around each other, both wielding their blades and taking the occasional swipe at the other. Max caught site of the ferry’s captain emerging from within, rifle in hand. It was then that the rain began to fall harder, as if the heavens above had thrown open their flood gates.

  “I don’t know who the hell you two are,” the captain said, lumbering closer. He was a large man whose belly hung over his belt and he wore dirty jeans and a stained shirt. “But I’m going to shoot first and ask questions later!”

  “I wouldn’t get involved if I were you,” Max warned, ducking under an attack from the undead Indian brave. The Red Man didn’t appear to care that there was someone approaching with a gun… his sole target remained the Peregrine.

  “I became involved when all of you started fighting on my boat!” the captain bellowed. He raised his rifle and took aim at the Indian. Max lowered his shoulder and barreled into the brave, knocking him straight back towards the captain. When the shells tore through the Indian’s back, blood splattered all over the Peregrine’s torso… but it, too, turned to smoke and faded, just as the corpse did.

  The captain lowered his weapon, staring in shock as the last of the Indians vanished. The rain was falling in buckets now and Max could hear that many of the travelers on the ferry were going into shock, screaming in confusion and fear.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” the captain ask
ed, staring at Max. Rain clung to the man’s nose running down so steadily that it almost looked like a single string of moisture hanging from the tip. Max could see the cold, clammy touch of terror reaching into the man’s soul.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Max said and even though he no longer possessed the mental ability to force his sincerity into the man’s mind, the captain seemed to sense that Max wasn’t the threat he might have appeared to be.

  Max looked back towards the island, running a gloved hand through his wet hair. “We’re almost there. And then it’s going to end, Elizabeth. For all time.”

  As if in answer, the winds began to howl all around them. It sounded just like a woman’s wail of anguish.

  CHAPTER IX

  Hell Hath No Fury

  The ground was slippery with mud as the Peregrine trudged through the woods. He held the box containing Elizabeth’s heart in his right hand. In his left, he bore a small lantern that helped guide him through the murk. He had passed the site of the yearly symphonic production a mile or so back and he could sense somehow that he was coming to the spot where Elizabeth had died, all those years ago. It didn’t take any mental powers to detect this: it was an almost palpable sense of dread and loss that seemed to grow thicker as Max approached.

  As he moved through a closely grown clutch of trees, Max came to a clearing and saw firsthand why the area felt so foreboding. There, amid the grass, was the outline of a woman’s body, formed by an area where the grass was yellowed and dead.

  The Peregrine stood there staring at it for a moment before taking a step into the clearing. As he did so, the wind began to pick up again and the rain began to fall in heavy drops that were almost painful against his skin. A fog rose up around his ankles, rising until it was to his knees… and then, from the mist, came the image of a young girl… she hovered in the air above the spot where she’d died, staring at him. She wore a tattered, bloodstained dress. Her long blonde hair was matted with blood, leaves and sticks wrapped up in the strands. Her face could have once been beautiful but it was marred now by bloated, cracked lips and a shattered nose. Her body was ethereal, glowing and slightly transparent, but there was not a doubt that she was real and was present, in as physical a form as she could now manifest.