by Barry Reese
“There are five bedrooms in all,” Max continued, leading the Claws team into the kitchen. “So there’s room for guests, should you ever have any. You also have direct lines to my portable radio and to the police station.”
Nathaniel, holding his wife’s hand, let out a whistle of appreciation. The house was pre-furnished and was so out of his old salary range as a London police officer that it took his breath away. “You’re giving this to us?” he asked in disbelief.
“Well, it’s technically going to be in my name,” Max said. “But you’re all free to use it for as long as you’re a part of the team.”
Rachel tried and failed to hide her amusement. Dressed in a light green sweater over a green-and-black checkered skirt, the red-haired beauty looked particularly fetching today, made all the more so by her good humor. “I bet this headquarters has a name all picked out, doesn’t it?”
Max nodded. “I call it the Aerie.”
“Of course you do.” Rachel glanced over at Sally. “Boys.”
Sally smirked in reply. She was still uncomfortable around Rachel but the telepath was making an obvious attempt at befriending her this morning, and Sally thought it best to forget about her attraction to Nathaniel and move on. “I like it a lot,” she said to Max. “The house, I mean. The name, I’m not too sure of yet.”
Vincent stood silently at the rear of the group. He was dressed in a dark suit that had been specially tailored to fit his large frame. “The library was nice,” he said. “And I appreciate the laboratory you had installed. I look forward to using it.”
Rachel glanced at her husband, projecting her thoughts into his head. “I love how he says ‘laboratory.’ Lah-bohr-a-tory.”
Nathaniel’s eyes twinkled in response. Aloud, he said, “If we’re going to do this, I think we need to define our roles a bit.”
“What do you mean?” Max asked.
“We need a leader, someone who’s going to be our point of contact with you. I think it’s safe to say that Vincent is going to handle the dual job of being our science expert and our muscle in the field. I have experience in the field of detection and I’m also the team’s magical expert. Rachel will handle interrogations and would be a good fit on reconnaissance, along with Sally.”
Sally crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the kitchen counter. She wore slacks and a turtleneck sweater, making her seem a bit more standoffish in appearance than Rachel. “That works for me. And I’m decent at investigative tasks, too, so we can work together on that.”
Nathaniel nodded. “And obviously, I think you’ll be the leader.”
Sally’s eyes widened. “What? No, no. I don’t have enough experience…”
“You have more than Rachel or myself,” Nathaniel countered. “You have to take into account that you’ve been groomed to be a hero since you were a little girl. All that time spent with your father has to be taken into account. Besides, whenever we’ve been in the field, you’ve taken charge… reluctantly, perhaps, but you always step to the fore.”
Max watched in silence, letting the group work this out on their own. He heard a soft chiming in his pocket and pulled forth the small telephone-like device that he’d invented to keep him in contact with his many aides and allies. Stepping out of the room, he left the Claws to work out the remainder of the details themselves.
Sally fought to keep from looking directly at Rachel as she asked, “Does anyone have any problem with me being the leader? I mean, I’m willing to step aside if someone does…”
It was Rachel who answered, shrugging her shoulders and slipping an arm around her husband’s waist. “You’ll do a great job. Nat’s right… you’re a natural.”
Vincent nodded, his shaggy hair still obscuring most of his face. “I have complete faith in you,” he said gently. “I’ll do anything you to tell me to do.”
Sally thought she caught some underlying message in Vincent’s words, but she didn’t get a chance to follow up on them as Max suddenly burst into the room. There was an energy radiating from him that put them all on edge.
“What’s wrong?” Vincent asked, clenching his massive hands into club-like fists.
“A friend of mine is dead,” Max said, his voice sounding cold and deadly. “His house was ransacked… McKenzie says it was pretty clear that whoever did this was looking for something in particular. He was a collector of arcane objects and not long ago he asked me to hold on to several pieces of his collection. He didn’t think his house was secure enough to keep them out of the wrong hands.” Max walked out of the room, gesturing for the others to follow him. He led them up a flight of stairs and past the bedrooms. He stopped outside a locked room, with the stenciled word “Archives” on its surface.
“The four of you are the only people on earth besides myself who will have access to this room. It’s the storehouse for the odds and ends I’ve accumulated over the years as the Peregrine, and it’s home to the objects that Richard Nova gave to me, as well.”
Max unlocked the door and threw it open, revealing a stunning array of artifacts in mounted displays. Even someone like Vincent, who had traveled the world and seen many strange things, was taken aback by what they saw. The skull of the creature dubbed the Golden Goblin, a rock labeled “The Philosopher’s Stone,” and a scarlet cloak and hood that had once belonged to the infamous Doctor Satan were just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
The Peregrine entered the archives, his eyes moving over each and every piece in the room. He spotted what he wanted and led the group to four displays. “These are the things that Nova gave to me. The one I’m most concerned about is the Tegdaghost collection.” Max gestured towards a locked box, secured behind a glass case. He lifted the case off and set it on the floor, running a hand over the box’s lid. “An explorer named Daniel Cummings found a lost city in the heart of Ethiopia. He brought this box back with him and gave it Nova for safekeeping. He never said what was in it, but he warned that it mustn’t be allowed to fall into the wrong hands… and he warned Nova that there would be men coming after it. Specifically, someone he called Mr. Dee.”
“But it could be one of the other artifacts that they were after, couldn’t it?” Esper asked.
Max thought for a moment and then shook his head. “I don’t think so. The fact that Richard mentioned this one specifically, and then he gets murdered by someone looking for something in his house… and it’s not related to the lockbox? I don’t think that’s likely.”
Vincent looked at the lock, a sturdy thing that would have been impossible for most men to even consider breaking. “What do you think is inside?”
“I don’t know. But I think we have to find out. Would you mind doing the honors?”
Vincent moved forward, gripping the lock in his right hand. He applied enough pressure to crush the bones of an enemy and after a long moment, the lock shattered into metal shards.
When the big man had moved away, Max flipped open the lid and the entire group crowded around, curious to see what was so valuable that a man would have been killed for it.
What they saw was quite shocking, indeed. Inside was a dagger, and its blade was shattered in the middle, leaving only a jagged edge. Wrapped around the blade’s hilt was a crudely-drawn map, showing what appeared to be the swamplands of Louisiana.
“I don’t understand,” Rachel whispered. “If this box was found in Ethiopia, why is there a map in it of Louisiana… and what’s up with the dagger?”
Max sighed, the look on his face suggesting that he was asking those same questions of himself. “I don’t know… but I do know I’m going to need help figuring all this out.” He looked expectantly at Sally, who realized that he was silently asking her to take a stand.
Revenant thought for a moment and then took charge, grateful that Max was deferring to her at this point. He was obviously the one who was ultimately in control of the group’s direction, but if she was really going to be the field leader, she couldn’t have him hovering over h
er, causing everyone to look to him for confirmation of her orders. “I’ll go with Max, and I want Rachel and Vincent to come along, too. Nathaniel—you’ll stay here and try to use your magic to figure out what’s going on with this dagger and the map. You’re the only one who might be able to do that.”
“And what are we going to do exactly?” Esper asked, not happy to be leaving her husband behind but not willing to cause a row over it.
Sally glanced over at Max, who merely nodded for her to continue. “I want to see the crime scene. I’m not sure how your powers work exactly, but you might be able to sense some residual psychic impressions while Max and I will focus on the actual hunting for clues approach. We might be able to track the men who killed Mr. Nova… I’m sure they’d have some answers for us.”
“And me?” Vincent inquired.
Sally grinned. “You’re there to beat up the bad guys, Vincent. If they show up again, I expect you to put the fear of God into them.”
Vincent smiled from beneath his hair. “Oh, I’ll do that for you, don’t worry.”
CHAPTER V
Mr. Dee
The fat man with the piggy eyes stared out at the small group before him. He wore a butcher’s apron, stained with blood. His hair was straw-colored and stuck out in places, looking like the unkempt end of a broom. “The thing about impaling a woman and keeping her alive is that you really need a consensual partner. I know what you’re thinking… where in the hell are you going to find a girl like that? But there are women who have the desires for this, trust me on that. Anyway, the impaling spit can’t pierce the heart or your evening is over and the fun is spoiled. This means that the impalee must be willing to manipulate her body in some way, as the spit is going to be too rigid for you to guide yourself. The girl in question is going to be able to feel where the spit is at all times—very well, I might add!—and should be able to move around a bit to guide it upwards and out. Obviously, pain is going to be an issue here… If she’s not able to handle pain very well, you might want to have her take some opium before beginning. Otherwise, I recommend morphine or heroine. Please don’t try any sort of nerve blocker unless you’re trained in such a thing, otherwise your partner is going to expire too soon.”
James McIntyre listened to every word, his heart hammering in his chest. His erection pressed painfully against the front of his slacks and he found that his mouth was dry. He’d had cannibalism fantasies since his earliest days, but it had taken Mr. Dee to bring him together with others who had similar interests. Before that, it had remained a dirty little secret, something too revolting to bring up around his girlfriends or friends. But tonight—tonight it was going to be a reality.
His eyes flickered over to the skinny brunette in the corner. She was a bit thin, with sunken eyes and needle-tracks dotting her arms. She wore only a leather harness that left her breasts and genitals exposed, but she didn’t look very embarrassed by her nudity. In fact, she didn’t look very aware of her surroundings at all. She just sat there quietly while the fat man with the piggy eyes talked about slicing her into meal-sized portions.
“Are you excited, James?”
The whispered voice to his left made James jump. He looked guiltily over at the guy next to him, seeing an intense look in the man’s eyes. The brown-haired male wasn’t much older than James—maybe in his mid- to late twenties—but he had an air about him that made him seem so much worldlier. “Yes,” he said in hushed, embarrassed tones. “Thank you so much for this, Mr. Dee. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
Mr. Dee laughed gently and squeezed James’s shoulder. They were two among nearly a dozen men, all shifting from foot to foot with nervous excitement. Only Dee and the fat man with the piggy eyes seemed truly calm. They acted as if they did this two or three times a day. James wondered if they did. “Believe me, I know,” Dee said. He smoothed down the front of his black military uniform. James thought it was a bit too similar to the clothing that officers of the S.S. wore but he didn’t really care. Dee could be a hardcore Nazi and it didn’t matter. “So,” Dee said, “what part are you most looking forward to?”
James swallowed and forced a smile. It felt good to talk about this… to get it out in the open and not worry about being looked at as a freak. “Seeing the moment when she’s dangling right on the edge of dying… I hope she’s still alive so she can watch as we start to eat her.” James trembled with a sick lust.
A look passed over the brown-haired man’s face and James worried that he’d said the wrong thing. “I had no idea that cannibalism was such a popular obsession. There’s nearly a dozen of you here tonight. So many… any more and I wouldn’t have been able to fit all of you into my home.”
“Yeah. And to think I thought I was the only one. I wish they’d picked a bigger girl though. There’s not much meat on her.” James licked his lips as he spoke, nervous and excited. “What part do you want to eat? I want a breast… or maybe a hip.”
Mr. Dee didn’t reply, as his attention was drawn back to the girl. She was moving towards the fat man with the piggy eyes, who had revealed the spit and grill to the excited audience. The girl’s eyes flickered to the spit and for a second it looked as if she might bolt and run, but the fat man grabbed her arm tightly and pulled her close. He whispered something in her ear that seemed to calm her.
“God, what a slut,” James whispered. “She wants it. I can tell.”
The other man made a grunting sound in the back of his throat. “There’s no need to wait anymore, I don’t think. I’ve seen enough.”
James blinked. “What are you talking about, Mr. Dee?”
Dee ignored him, taking a step towards the spit. The fat man with the piggy eyes noticed him and waved him away. “This is my show, Dee. Too many cooks spoil the broth.”
A few men chuckled at the culinary joke, but not the brown-haired man. He just kept coming, even as flames began to jump about his hair and shoulders. The fire flared so bright that many in the room were forced to shield their eyes. They were the lucky ones: they didn’t have to witness Dee’s skin peeling back like burnt bacon. They didn’t have to see his hair sizzle away to reveal white bone.
When Mr. Dee turned to face the crowd, he was a vision of horror. Where once had been a handsome face was now a flame-enshrouded skull. The assembled men stood transfixed, mesmerized by the sight before them. The fat man with the piggy eyes dropped his grip on the girl but she remained where she was, swaying gently, thinking the vision before her was drug-induced.
“My name is Mr. Dee,” he said, his voice rumbling like thunder. “All of you came here tonight because your desire for the pain and degradation of others has taken hold of you. Some of you have killed already, indulging in your sinful lusts. Others have only dreamed of it… but all of you were willing to sacrifice the life of an innocent tonight.”
At this point, James seemed to break free of the hold he was under. He turned and started to bolt for the door. He only managed to take three steps before Dee had opened his mouth and something awful shot forth. Dee’s tongue was like a whip, cutting through the air at an astonishing length. At the end of the man’s tongue was a sharp barb and it was that tore into James’s throat as Dee’s tongue wrapped around the flesh. James tried to scream but it came out as a gargle as his throat filled with blood.
Dee retracted his tongue and continued his sudden assault. He whipped around and grabbed the fat man with the piggy eyes, picking him off the ground despite his girth. Dee dropped him down on the spit, impaling him. The fat man wiggled in pain, unable to free himself.
Dee saw that other men were beginning to react now, some trying to decide whether to run or fight. Others simply wet themselves and began to cry. All of them would die, struck down by the whirling dervish that was Mr. Dee. He sprang into their midst, his fingernails extended until they were like claws, and he wielded these like weapons, disemboweling one and decapitating another. Two more were felled by his monstrous tongue and one even died of a heart
attack.
Within moments, Dee stood alone, his black uniform stained with blood and flecks of skin. He panted like a dog, his tongue snaking out to lick at the gory remains that clung to his skull-like face. The magical flames that danced around the bone began to fade and his skin returned, layer upon layer. In the end, he looked quite normal again, aside from the filth that lingered on his clothing and face.
The sound of knocking at the door to his room made him pause. It had to be Trevor—no one else dared to disturb him. He walked towards the door, his boots clicking on the floor. He cracked open the door, revealing little of what lay within. “Yes?” he asked in German. He knew that Trevor enjoyed speaking in German, thinking it somehow made him more like the Nazi he wanted to be.
The blond man’s face twisted nervously. “We killed Richard Nova and searched his home… but the lockbox was not there.”
Dee pursed his lips, noticing that Trevor’s eyes were widening as he spotted some of the blood and gore dripping from Dee’s chin. “I’m positive that Cummings gave the box and its contents to Nova… so Nova must have hidden them somewhere. We just need to find out where.”
Trevor held up a torn sheet of paper. Scribbled on it with a clean, precise handwriting were the words: Collection in the new Davies property. Much safer there. “We found a diary of Nova’s. This one was dated a couple of months ago.”
“Davies,” Dee said, as if tasting the word. “He must mean Max Davies, the philanthropist. He and Nova are known associates.” Dee opened the door further and he enjoyed Trevor’s gasp as the bodies of the dead came into view. The fat man with the piggy eyes was still writhing and moaning, and the nearly naked girl was now sitting on the floor. A long line of drool hung from her lower lip, as the drugs continued their work on her.
“Trevor?” Dee asked, bringing the neo-Nazi’s attention back to him.
“Yes, sir?”
“Find out what property Davies has purchased recently. And when you’ve located it, do whatever it takes to bring me the lockbox.”
