by Barry Reese
The Peregrine turned back to once more face Jacob Trench, who had finally managed to pull the Knife of Elohim from his shoulder. The villain had tossed the blade away disdainfully and it now lay on the floor, still glowing brightly. Trench was holding one hand against his wound, which was seeping blood at a steady pace.
Max raised both pistols, pointing them directly at Trench’s face. “If this was your idea of a trap, it was a poorly laid one.”
Trench nodded. “You’re right—if those five zombies were all I’d planned for you, that would have been sloppy. But I had another idea, actually.”
The Peregrine suddenly screamed as something icy cold passed through his chest. He staggered away and turned to see that his attacker was his own father. Warren Davies was staring at him with disgust, his right hand dripping ectoplasm. Though it was difficult, strong phantasms like Warren could interact with the living, though the effects could be painful for mortals if the dead desired it to be so.
“Dad?” Max asked, the shocking nature of the attack momentarily knocking him off his proverbial feet.
“I’m so ashamed of you,” Max’s father said. “You’re nothing but a disappointment!” Warren rushed forward, and the Peregrine was unable to avoid the contact that ensued. Max felt like his entire body had been sent by an electric shock, and one of his pistols fell from his fingers, that entire side of his body having gone numb.
The Peregrine saw that his father was headed towards him again, balling his hands into fists. Another blow like the last one, and Max wasn’t sure he’d be able to continue. He dropped quickly and slid across the floor on his knees, passing through his father’s legs and narrowly missing more contact with him. Max snatched up the Knife of Elohim as he passed and struggled back to his feet as his father turned to face him.
“I think I know what’s going on here,” Max said, his numb arm still dangling helplessly at his side. “They’re controlling you with the Spear. You’re not in control of yourself.”
Warren curled his lip into a snarl and lunged for his son. “I am in control, son! I’m just doing what I should have done years ago!”
The Peregrine managed to avoid contact this time, and he instinctively struck out with his dagger. The mystic blade sliced through his father’s arm, but did no extra damage to his wraith-like form, only cutting loose a piece of his ectoplasmic being and not causing him to burn—and that confirmed Max’s belief about was going on.
“Dad! Look! My knife didn’t hurt you the way it would if you were evil or truly meant me harm!”
Warren came to a halt and stared at his son. For a moment, Max knew he was staring into his father’s true self, and he saw only love and sorrow in the older man’s eyes. In that moment of contact, Max heard his father speaking, though no words were said aloud: Max, they’re not going to let me stop. I’m going to keep coming after you until you’re dead—unless you stop me. There’s only one way to do that, son. And I’m ready. After all this time, I really am ready.
“No,” Max whispered, feeling the tingling in his fingertips that told him he was regaining sensation in his wounded side. He knew that if his father kept up his attacks, though, eventually Max would be too frail to resist, and that meant that he’d join his father in death.
“Kill him!” Trench bellowed from the sidelines, eager to see the fight resume. He’d caught the strange look between father and son and wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew he didn’t like it.
Now! Warren Davies shouted into his son’s head. Before I lose control and start coming after you again!
The Peregrine whispered, “I’m sorry,” under his breath. Then he ran forward and jammed the Knife of Elohim straight into his father’s chest. Though Warren Davies was no longer mortal, he was still powered by the soul, and the Knife of Elohim could rip that to shreds. Max yanked the blade back and forth and his father cried out with each motion. When at last Warren Davies dissipated into harmless smoke, Max realized that his eyes were wet with tears. Never again would his father come to visit from beyond the grave. Now, even that gray existence was over for the elder Davies.
Jacob Trench stared, dumbfounded at what he was seeing. Never had he expected Max Davies to slay his own father, ending the older man’s supernatural existence for all time—it had been Max’s devotion to family that was Trench’s ultimate weapon, after all.
But now, as the Peregrine turned angry, bloodshot eyes upon him, Trench realized that he had made a horrible mistake.
Holding his hands up in front of him, Trench attempted to bargain. “I can help you, Max. I know everything that Dracula and Hitler are planning… with my information, you can’t lose!”
The Peregrine tightened his grip on the Knife of Elohim, which was still dripping with the ectoplasm that had made up his father’s ghostly form. “I hope your friends in hell will be glad to see you again, Jacob. Tell them I’m sorry it took me so long to get you back where you belong.”
* * *
Nathaniel Caine stepped out of his teleportation spell in front of the bistro, having honed in on his friend’s spiritual essence. He wasn’t sure what he was going to find, but it certainly wasn’t this. Max Davies was sitting on the curb, face in hands.
“Max?”
The Peregrine looked up, eyes shining. He rose a bit unsteadily and offered a wan smile. “Nathaniel. How goes it?”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m probably doing about as good you, from the looks of it.” Max examined Nathaniel’s haunted expression. “Things have fallen apart, I take it.”
“Sally and Rachel are down for the duration. Vincent… Vincent is dead.”
Max winced at the news and looked away. “Damn.”
“But Jenny’s ready to help us, and Kaslov is on his way.” Sirens and gunshots rang out, and Max wondered how long they’d been doing so without him even noticing. He’d been too wrapped in his own grief to care. “And Max… the dead are walking.”
The Peregrine nodded grimly. “Then we better get busy. Let’s find these vampires who are causing all the trouble.”
Nathaniel smiled broadly. “And kick their asses. Yeah. That’s been thoroughly agreed upon.”
CHAPTER XIX
The Impaler
The sun was beginning to rise over Paris, and Dracula looked forward to feeling its rays upon his face. It would be the first time in many, many years that he could stare up into the sunrise without fear of pain and death. With the Spear of Destiny at his side, he would be immune from its effects, and he was going to embrace this new existence with vigor.
Hitler held hands with his niece, moving a few steps behind Dracula. The Fuehrer was fearful of the sun, but he trusted Dracula that the Spear would extend its influence to protect him. Dracula wasn’t positive of this, but if it didn’t, he would hardly miss Hitler’s presence.
Behind these three came nearly two hundred of the newly-risen dead. They shambled down the streets, their limbs and heads hanging loosely. Some looked like they were almost alive, but most were horrible mockeries of life, their withered forms exposing bone and gristle. The horde had come into contact with only a few Parisians at this early hour, but all of them had been dispatched with bloody glee, their bodies torn to shreds before slowly rising back to their feet to serve in Dracula’s growing forces.
Dracula had sent out the signal all over Paris and he knew that his undead followers were wreaking havoc elsewhere. He’d heard the sirens, the gunshots, and the distant screams. The chaos would further break down the resistance he would face.
He had come here to Paris for many reasons, but first among them was the fact that Paris represented so much to the Western world. By establishing his beachhead here first, he would be making a statement: the cultural leader of the West was his, and soon all would follow.
Dracula stared at the capitol building before him. It was the seat of power for the Provisional Government of the French Republic, typically referred to as the GPRF, since in French it was the go
uvernement provisoire de la République française. After the liberation of Paris and the disbanding of the Nazi-run Vichy France, the GPRF had operated as the nation’s governing body. That would change soon, as progress on a new constitution was coming along quickly, and rumors ran rampant that a new government would soon be unveiled, possibly as early as in the fall of this year.
Charles de Gaulle was the Prime Minister of the GPRF, though Dracula knew enough about French politics to know that his days were numbered. Infighting amongst the various officials in the GPRF was taking a serious toll on de Gaulle’s mental and physical health, leading many to assume that he would not last out the year.
Dracula knew better—if de Gaulle didn’t play along as directed, he would not live to see another month.
There were a number of armed guards standing outside the capitol’s gates, having been roused by the many reports of murder in the city. They watched the approaching horde with fear and mounting concern. Dracula locked eyes with several of the closest ones, using his power of mesmerism to make sure they were held in check.
The vampire was so focused on this task that he was surprised to find a sudden burst of pain flowing out from his chest. Looking downwards, he saw a sharpened wood stake protruding from his clothing, warm red blood oozing around the wound.
As Dracula was accepting this betrayal, he felt someone grab hold of the Spear of Destiny and give it a yank. He allowed it to be pulled free, turning to face his attacker. As he suspected, it was Hitler, who stood with a triumphant smile upon his face. The shambling hordes of the undead were slowing to a stop behind him, confused as to who they should follow, given that Hitler’s niece Geli was now in possession of the Spear.
“You thought I would let myself be led around like a fool?” Hitler said, his eyes alight with victory. “That is not my destiny! When I was young, I went before the Spear in Vienna, and a voice whispered to me that my destiny was to be great, and that the Spear would be a part of it! It should not belong to you!”
“You missed my heart.”
Hitler narrowed his eyes as Dracula grasped hold of the wooden stake and began to slowly pull it free. Blood and gore poured freely from the hole that was left behind, but aside from a grimace on his face, Dracula seemed none the worse for wear.
“It doesn’t matter,” Hitler said. He held out a hand towards his niece. “I control the Spear of Destiny. I can kill you in an instant.”
“Can you?” Dracula asked, sounding as if he didn’t believe that to be true. “I think you’re being overconfident with regards to your control of the Spear.”
Hitler realized that Geli had not handed him the lance, and he glanced at her quickly, taking a step away from Dracula. “Geli! Hand it to me!”
Geli was shaking all over by now, and she was obviously yearning to follow her uncle’s request… but something was holding her back, and Hitler grew angrier with the delay.
“Now, you stupid girl! Quickly!” he bellowed.
Geli fell to her knees, sobbing. “I can’t, Uncle Alf! I can’t! I’m so sorry!”
Hitler stared at her in shock, realizing how stupid he had been. He straightened up and turned to solemnly face Dracula, who was now within a few feet of him. “You control her still,” he mused. “I was foolish to believe that your hold over her would end when you didn’t hold the Spear any longer.”
“Yes,” Dracula agreed. “You were.” The lord of the vampires reached out and gripped the Fuehrer by the throat, lifting him off the ground. The undead soldiers watched avidly, many of them licking their cracked lips in anticipation of a kill.
Geli reached out beseechingly, the Spear now lying on the ground between her knees. “Please don’t hurt him,” she whispered. “He won’t do it again… Uncle Alf will learn. He’s very smart.”
Dracula ignored her, his eyes boring into Hitler’s. “I made you a vampire… I gave you eternal life… and I only asked for two things: the Spear and your loyalty. You gave me one, but not the other. So tell me why I should spare you now?”
“Because the forces of hell wanted us to unite!” Hitler gasped, squeezing out his words around the pressure on his throat. “Scratch asked you to meet with me, because together we can conquer this world in the names of our patrons!”
Dracula sneered slightly and brought his face so close that Hitler shrank back from his fetid breath. “I have no patrons. I serve only myself. That is the difference between you and me. You are willing to submit to others in the hopes that you will eventually gain power for yourself—I refuse to do that. I might work with entities like Scratch, but I will never cow down before him. I would never beg for my life against a greater foe. I would simply resign myself to the fact that I was not the man I thought I was. Are you brave enough to do that now, Adolf? Can you admit that you were a flawed little man with delusions of grandeur?”
Hitler’s features twisted into an awful expression, one that made him look as weak-willed as a child. “Please do not end my life. Geli is right. I can learn my place…”
“And so you have answered my question.”
Dracula lifted Hitler higher, using his free hand to grab the German by the crotch. Holding him over his head, Dracula shook Hitler like a rag doll before hurling him towards the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the capitol building. The Fuehrer landed atop a metal spike, his weight carrying him down until he hung there, suspended.
“Please don’t let him suffer,” Geli whined, grabbing hold of Dracula’s sleeve as he hefted the Spear once more.
Dracula nodded at the girl. “I am not an unnecessarily cruel man,” he assured her. “In the past I have let my enemies suffer so that it might be lesson to others. But in this case… it is not necessary.” Dracula strode quickly towards Hitler, his eyes noting that the guards were scrambling back towards the building, taking up positions in case the horde pushed through the gates. “Farewell, Adolf,” he said, slashing out with the point of the Spear. Hitler’s head was lopped off, spinning twice through the air before landing with a thud on the ground. His eyes were locked forever in a wide-eyed expression of disbelief.
Dracula offered a terse smile at Geli. “And now your beloved uncle is at peace. Do you wish to join him?”
Geli looked frightened, but as she lowered her head, she nodded softly. “The only reason I exist is for him.”
For the briefest of moments, Dracula almost felt compassion for this girl, who in life had been bound by blood and fate to Adolf Hitler. Even in death she could not escape him, having been summoned back to serve as his sexual slave… and now, freed from tethers of his hold on her, she could think of nothing more than being at his side once more.
“So be it,” the vampire said and he nodded to several of the undead soldiers. They fell upon her, ignoring her screams of pain. Within seconds she was a bloody mess, her clothing ripped from her body and her tender young flesh dropping into the hungry mouths of the undead.
Dracula watched for a moment, a spot of blood spurting up from the gory scene and landing on his chin. He scooped it up with a finger and inserted it in his mouth. Humming with pleasure, he turned back towards the capital building and promptly received a punch to his face. Dracula blinked in surprise as Catalyst wrapped his arms around the vampire’s shoulders.
“That was for my wife, you undead bastard.”
A second later, Dracula was gone, having been teleported away by the world’s most powerful mage.
CHAPTER XX
To Hold the Spear
The Lord of Vampires found himself beneath the Eiffel Tower, surrounded by the angry faces of his enemies. In addition to Catalyst, who quickly released Dracula and stepped away, there was the Peregrine, Jenny Everywhere, and the Russian superman, Leonid Kaslov. The Peregrine was holding the Knife of Elohim in his right hand and he’d loaned Jenny one of his pistols. The girl looked uncomfortable with a gun in her hand, but that didn’t stop her from keeping it trained on the vampire. Kaslov was unarmed, though Dracula knew enough about the
Russian to know that this certainly didn’t mean that Kaslov didn’t pose a great threat.
Dracula turned the focus of his gaze upon the Peregrine. Dracula didn’t bother trying to hypnotize the man—when someone felt the intense hatred that the Peregrine obviously did, it was pointless. “I see that Trench did not live up to his end of the bargain.”
“He failed to kill me a decade ago—why did you think he’d succeed now?”
Dracula shrugged. “One never knows unless one tries.” Dracula launched himself into action, not wanting to give his enemies the chance to strike first. The Spear of Destiny whipped through the air, narrowly missing its intended target, Leonid Kaslov. The Russian’s keen instincts had caused him to jump backwards at the first sign of attack, and the point of the lance left a harmless tear in the front of Kaslov’s white shirt.
Dracula was a blur of motion, his enhanced speed far greater than that of a normal human’s. As soon as he realized his attack on Kaslov had failed, he had grabbed hold of Jenny’s arm, eliciting a scream of surprise from the girl. He threw her with all the force he could muster into Catalyst, sending both of them flying backwards. The mage struck the metal base of the tower, the back of his head slamming against the dense structure. Blood flowed freely from the injured area, and his vision immediately began to swim. Jenny was mostly unharmed, but still somewhat dazed.
The Peregrine ran forward and threw himself onto Dracula’s back, holding on with one hand while raising the Knife of Elohim with the other. He didn’t get to bring the blade down, however, as Dracula drove the blunt end of the Spear back into the vigilante’s side, breaking the skin with the force of the blow. Max slid off, gasping in pain, and then felt his head snap back as Dracula backhanded him so hard that one of the Peregrine’s teeth was chipped.
Dracula would have finished the hero off if Kaslov hadn’t slammed into him from the side. The Russian’s massively muscled body was strong enough to stagger the vampire, who nearly dropped his grip on the Spear of Destiny.
