by Barry Reese
The baron nodded sagely, sipping from his own glass of red liquid. It was, of course, blood, freshly drained from a Jewish girl of fourteen. Gustav preferred the younger girls because they were less likely to have been tainted by drugs or alcohol. On one occasion, the Fuehrer had offered the baron the services of pure-blood German girls, thinking it wrong that his trusted advisor should have to feed off degenerate Jews. Gustav had rebuffed him, however, saying that it was better to thin out the cattle than it would be to lose valuable German women.
In truth, Gustav cared nothing about race… blood was blood, pure and simple.
“I wanted to ask you about something, mein Fuehrer. A favor, if you please.”
Hitler looked pleased to be able to offer the vampire something that would please him. So like an eager puppy the German leader was, in some regards. “You know all you have to do is ask, Herr Gustav.”
“There are many enemies of the state, all of whom are deserving of death, but there is one that seems to me to be rising above his station. He is becoming a nuisance and will only become more so as time passes.”
“Are you speaking of the Russian, Kaslov?” Hitler asked, his eyes narrowing. Leonid Kaslov had been a thorn in the Nazis’ collective sides for several years.
“No. The American… the Peregrine.”
Hitler seemed taken aback. He had obviously not considered the Peregrine to be anything other than a luckier-than-most vigilante. “You want us to have him kidnapped and brought to you?”
“I’m not certain your men could accomplish that.” Seeing the sudden shock on Hitler’s face, Gustav held up a hand to assure his patron that he meant no disrespect. “I only mean that the Peregrine is a man around whom others will rally. Mark my words: the Peregrine will eventually prove himself to be one of the greatest threats to the Reich.”
Hitler drank more of his brandy and sniffed, obviously not wanting to tell the baron that he thought him mad. “If you do not want the Peregrine brought to you… then what do you want?”
“Only your assurance that should he ever fall into our clutches, I will be given the opportunity to deal with him personally. His blood is most unusual, I’ve heard… he’s been touched by the messenger of the mad gods, Nyarlathotep, and he has the stink of the dead about him, indicating that he has traveled back and forth across the planes of reality. I would like to drink from him.”
“But you don’t want me to mount an expedition to capture him?”
“No. Let him be for now. If it happens by chance, then so be it. But I have a feeling that my path and his will cross at some point… and I want you to know that I have my sights set on him.”
* * *
September 1943
The war was not going well. Baron Gustav sat in his study in Berlin, two nude dead girls lying on the floor before him. His tastes had gotten stronger over the years and both of these nymphs were barely past their twelfth birthdays. More and more, he craved the younger girls. It was a hobby of his, he supposed, something to take the edge off his growing disappointment in Hitler.
The Fuehrer had possessed such potential, but it was being squandered so badly. The Fuehrer had eventually become so convinced of his own eventual victory that he had started ignoring many of his advisors, including Gustav. As such, the German offensive in Russian—ill-conceived to begin with—was floundering. German submarine losses in the Atlantic had been so severe that the naval campaign was temporarily halted. And the debacles with Mussolini were well-documented.
But still Gustav remained in his post. His VSS had staged numerous raids, all of them remarkably successful, but Hitler was calling upon them less and less and Gustav knew why: the Fuehrer’s pride was wounded and he wanted to earn victories through his own wisdom or through the actions of those he had personally selected. To allow the VSS, transformed and trained by the baron, to help turn the tide, would suggest that Hitler needed assistance.
“The man would rather lose an empire than admit his own fallacy,” Gustav murmured.
From the shadows, a soldier emerged. Like Gustav, he was a vampire. The day-to-day leader of the VSS, he went by the name of Willem. It was not his birth name but he had made an obvious point of separating his old human existence from his current condition. In Willem’s eyes, he had been reborn as the perfect Aryan superman thanks to Gustav. Certainly, he fit the bill physically: tall, blond, and blue-eyed, Willem was the prototypical German. “Krupp’s family is demanding action by the Fuehrer,” Willem began, keeping his voice low. The crackling of the fireplace gave the darkened room a familial quality.
“Hermann Krupp was a fool. His Golden Goblin project was doomed from the start.” The baron rose from his chair, wiping his chin with the back of a sleeve. The smeared blood was cleaned away and Gustav smiled, gesturing to the two dead girls. “I believe they’re still warm, my friend. Would you like a turn?”
Willem could not quite hide his distaste for his master’s penchant for young girls. “No thank you, sir. I wanted to remind you of the Krupp situation because it might allow us the leverage we need.”
Gustav considered it for a moment. The baron had been making subtle overtures to the Fuehrer as of late, hoping to have the VSS unleashed once more… and with the death of Krupp, virtually the entire super-agent program was now in shambles. There was no doubt that the Fuehrer could use the sort of assistance the VSS could provide. Still, the baron shook his head. “I think it’s time we began thinking about what is best for us, and that may be at odds with what is best for the Fuehrer.”
Willem’s face betrayed nothing. “The VSS will follow you to the gates of Hell itself, Herr Gustav.”
“I have never doubted that,” the baron assured him. “I don’t think we need to wait for the Fuehrer to release us… we have plans of our own that can be implemented. I have called in some favors and had an item removed from the storage labs. It has been brought here and I believe that it may hold the key to securing our own power base.”
The baron stepped past Willem, leading the other man into an adjoining room. There they came to a halt, staring at a most peculiar piece of sculpture: apparently shaped out of lead, it depicted a regal-looking Asian man dressed in ornate robes and possessing a long drooping moustache. The fellow’s eyes were almost feline and were narrowed in apparent anger, the overall aspect being one of great evil. The statue had been found by Nazi soldiers in December of 1942 at the scene of yet another battle between the forces of crime and the Peregrine.
“Is that the Warlike Manchu?” Willem asked, excitement beginning to seep into his words.
“It is indeed,” the baron confirmed. “The greatest criminal mind in all the ages. His long lifespan has allowed him control over virtually every crime cartel in the Asian underworld and much of the west, as well. But like the Fuehrer, he has found his plans continually foiled by the Peregrine… and almost one year ago exactly the Warlike Manchu’s thirst for power brought an untimely end to his career. His dabbling with the Philosopher’s Stone left him in this inert state, but it is a state from which he can be restored.”
“But how will that help us?” Willem wondered, moving closer to the villain’s frozen form.
“The man has knowledge of numerous things. He has survived death itself and has crafted a working Philosopher’s Stone… if he is beholden to us, then we can use that knowledge for our own ends.”
“But how can we trust him?”
The baron reached into a pocket and pulled forth a small cylindrical device. It gleamed in the dim light. “This is a mystic artifact, one that dates back to the middle of the Dark Ages. It dispels sorcerous effects and I believe it can reverse the Manchu’s condition. But it is only temporary, requiring additional uses for the effect to remain reversed. Thus, we have a means of controlling him.”
Willem clasped his hands behind his back and lifted his chin. “I will support you in whatever you do, Herr Gustav… but may I ask… what is our ultimate goal?”
The baron smiled coolly
. “Nothing less than the establishment of a German empire, spanning from one end of Europe to the other… and all of it under my thumb.”
CHAPTER II
Questioning a Demon
November 1943—Atlanta, Georgia
Two fingers and a thumb on each hand, all of them tipped by razor-sharp nails. The Six-Fingered Demonness had become a source of terror throughout Atlanta in recent weeks, striking in the darkness, slicing her victims to bits. The Peregrine’s research had discovered that she was a minor Oriental creature of myth, one whose sudden arrival in the Empire City of the South was only the latest in a series of bizarre events over the past ten years or so. Almost to the day that the Peregrine had come to Atlanta, the town had become the crux of supernatural events, both large and small.
Max Davies knelt on the rooftop of the New Atlanta Hotel, a downtown structure located on Peachtree Street. The building was three stories tall and was frequently the staying place of the elite, but it also had two long dark alleyways alongside it. The downtown area had become the favorite hunting spot for the Six-Fingered Demonness.
The Peregrine had spent far too many hours recently tracking the creature’s movements and in the end, he had elected to take a dangerous gamble: his wife, Evelyn, was down on the streets below. She wore a black dress that hugged her figure—still enticing after giving birth to two children, but a bit broader in the hips than when Max had first met her. She was a fetching bit of bait tonight, standing in the shadows of the alleyways, purse in hand. She wore a floral scent that, according to Max’s research, would prove to be a potent lure for the Demonness, who was drawn to her prey by their smell.
“Honey, I’m freezing my behind off.”
Max smiled and reached up to touch the tiny radio transmitter nestled in his ear. His wife’s voice sounded crystal clear, a testament to her husband’s gift for gadgetry. “You could have stayed home with the kids, you know,” he reminded her gently. “McKenzie offered to play the role of victim.”
“And I’m sure he would have smelled lovely with this perfume you created.” Evelyn sighed and began pacing slightly. The Peregrine narrowed his eyes, the tiny contact lenses he wore for the evening detecting her motion and illuminating her despite the gloom. “I have a really bad feeling about this, Max. I know it sounds silly, but my female intuition has been going haywire lately. This thing with the Demonness… it’s just the tip of the iceberg.”
Max frowned but said nothing in response. He’d come to trust his wife’s hunches as much as he did his own, sometimes more. But he also knew that her beliefs were usually just that: hunches, with no real clues as to what led to her discomfort. A flash of movement from up the alley made him pause. “Honey. To your left. I think she’s here. As soon as she’s moved into the light, I’m with you.”
Evelyn turned, following her husband’s instruction. Her auburn hair was pulled back, away from her shoulders, and it was her long smooth neck that had attracted the creature’s attention. Evelyn had splashed a bit of the floral scent behind her ears and the scent wafted through the air, causing the Six-Fingered Demonness to inhale noisily.
The Demonness moved into view, scuttling a bit like a crab. She moved in a bizarre crouch, her long black hair trailing on the ground, looking so unkempt that Evelyn recoiled at the sight. Her skin was dirty and bruised, the perfect complement to the yellowed teeth and nails she possessed. She was naked, though the long hair she possessed hid much of her body. “You smell so sweeeet,” the woman purred, speaking with a Chinese accent. “You make me so hungggggry…”
Evelyn reached into her purse and withdrew one of her husband’s pistols. Loaded with silver-tipped bullets that had been soaked in holy water, they were extremely painful to demons. “Sorry. You shouldn’t eat so late, my dear… it’ll give you heartburn.”
The Demonness hissed at the sight of the weapon. With clawed fingers raised, she threw herself into the air, planning to come down upon Evelyn and tear her to shreds. The Peregrine leaped off the rooftop and timed his fall so that he landed directly atop the Demonness, however, preventing her from making it closer to Evelyn.
The downed Demonness hissed and snapped at the air like a cornered cat and Max found himself straining his strength to the limit trying to bind her hands. He finally succeeded in pulling her arms behind her back, tying them with thick cord.
Evelyn was at her husband’s side, pistol still trained on the monster. When the Demonness raised her head to stare at Evelyn, she spat out a wad of phlegm that struck Evelyn’s left leg. “Ew,” Evelyn complained. “Can’t I just shoot her and be done with it?”
“You could… but then we’d never find out how she got here.”
Evelyn looked disappointed but she held her trigger finger in check.
The Peregrine leaned closer to the Demonness, ignoring the rancid odor that came from the writhing creature. “Who summoned you?”
“Dieeeeee,” the Demonness whispered, eyes rolling up into her skull.
“Something like you doesn’t appear full-blown in a modern city,” the Peregrine continued. “A mystic brought you here. Who was it and what did they want to accomplish?” When it became obvious that the Demonness wasn’t going to answer willingly, Max pulled out a glowing dagger from within his jacket. The Knife of Elohim, which had once been dipped in the blood of Christ, sizzled as he pressed it against the Demonness’s cheek. She howled like a stuck pig. “Now,” he demanded, holding the Knife inches away from her. “Answer me.”
The Demonness stopped fighting, her eyes closing with defeat. “I am a distraction, nothing more. Freeeeeee meeeee. Pleeeeease.”
Max glanced up at his wife, noting that she wore the same concerned expression that he did. “A distraction,” he repeated. “For what?”
“My master has had business in your city. Things to be reclaimed. Contacts to be reached. It is not easy to revive a dormant empire.”
The Peregrine drove his knee into her back, causing the Demonness great pain. He held his position, not letting the discomfort ease. “You’re wasting my time. I could kill you and find out what I need on my own. If you want to be sent back to your home realm in one piece, you’re going to start talking. Now.”
“The immortal Manchu walks the world once more,” the Demonness cried, opening her eyes and starting to laugh. Her words sliced deep into the Peregrine’s heart, filling him with dread. “He will slay his enemies! He will bathe in their blood! And he is not alone! No, no, no! He knows your secrets and he will torture you for a thousand days before he lets you die! He will—”
The Peregrine quickly silenced her by plunging his dagger into the side of her neck. He backed away as the mystic weapon began causing her skin to blacken and peel away, revealing red meat and bone. The Demonness howled in the night, the sounds making grown men and women hurry past in fright.
When nothing was left of her but ash, the Peregrine wiped his blade and re-sheathed it.
“Max?” Evelyn asked, her voice quavering. “I thought you said he was gone for good.”
The Peregrine reached out for his wife’s hand. He’d killed the Warlike Manchu once, only to see him revived with a hunger for human flesh. Then the Manchu had become a godlike figure, imbued with the power of the Philosopher’s Stone. He’d been trapped as living metal, seemingly forever… but evil had a way of always coming back. The man who had once tutored the Peregrine in the ways of death had become an enemy when Max had refused to rule the underworld at his side, and a blood feud had arisen between them. The Warlike Manchu had even gone so far as to kidnap Max’s son William, intending to raise the child as his own heir.
When Max finally spoke, his words were clipped and cold. “I’m going to find out if he’s back, Evelyn… and if he is, this time I’ll cut his head off and burn the body. I won’t let him hurt our family again.”
CHAPTER III
An Assemblage of Heroes
They were scattered across the globe, linked together by an amazing invention of Leon
id Kaslov, the Russian superman. While Max sat in the Peregrine’s Nest in Atlanta, he stared at a large screen that had four faces on it, each neatly held within a small square. At the other locations, the people on the screen were viewing a similar image, though one with the Peregrine’s masked visage in place of their own.
Attending this virtual meeting was not only the Peregrine but also Kaslov, the dark garbed Black Bat, the mystic detective Ascott Keane, and the lovely but deadly Domino Lady. All of them were part of a loose-knit alliance, trading information as needed.
“And there you have it,” Max was saying. “The Warlike Manchu appears to be back… and we all need to be on our guard.”
The Domino Lady pursed her full lips and asked with a bit of hesitation, “Are you sure about that, Max? I know you said he’s come back from the dead before, but… maybe the Demonness was just trying to strike at you by bringing up his name.”
Ascott Keane shook his head. “Doubtful. For one thing, how would she even know about Max’s relationship with the Manchu? A creature like the Demonness is quite dangerous but hardly telepathic.”
“Sorry,” the Domino Lady muttered, obviously taking a bit of umbrage at Keane’s dismissive tone. “I guess I don’t have as much expertise with the supernatural as the rest of you.”
Leonid Kaslov raised a hand, making it clear that he had something to add. The Russian had snow-white hair and piercing blue eyes and when he spoke, it was with the authoritative tones of a born leader. “My contacts in Germany tell me that the Manchu’s body was removed from storage two months ago. Though I couldn’t get any true confirmation, there are also rumors that a division of the SS has gone rogue with their commander… the Nazis are on the lookout for a man named Baron Gustav. Given that he and his men disappeared at the same time as the Warlike Manchu’s resurrection I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some connection.”
