by Barry Reese
The Peregrine knew that he was in real danger here as his back was pressed against the door and he didn’t seem able to dislodge the dog from his arm. Max took drastic action, then totally ignoring the animal at his midsection, allowing it to do its deadly work. Instead, he raised the gun that had been focused on that dog and pointed it against the side of Raptor’s head. He started to squeeze the trigger when the German Shepherd’s eyes grew large and it abruptly dropped its hold on his arm, ducking down before the gunshot went off. Max was stunned, realizing that the dog had obviously sensed the danger and responded perfectly to save its own life. He’d never seen anything like it.
Still, he was free for the moment and he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. Max brought the butt of his pistol down on the skull of the dog that was tearing into his belly. The loud crunch of shattering bones made Max wince but he was in no position to relish the victory. He was bleeding profusely and was beginning to feel weak.
Worst of all, Raptor was still out there. The obvious pack leader, the dog was peering from behind the living room couch, eyes narrowed. Max saw the dog’s gaze shift from the bodies of its three dead companions and then fix upon their murderer. If Max hadn’t known it was impossible, he would have thought the dog was silently swearing vengeance for his fallen comrades.
The Peregrine staggered towards the window he’d come in through, keeping an eye on Raptor at all times. He still held both guns and he was confident that his aim wasn’t impaired to the point where he wouldn’t be able to shoot, but even so, he thought it best to get out of there as quickly as possible. If there were more dogs around, he was done for.
Thankfully, Max was able to reach the window. He crawled out onto the ledge, put away his guns and then pulled himself up back onto the roof. He sagged to his knees for a moment, feeling around on his stomach to figure out how bad the damage was. Beneath all the blood, he found several jagged rips in his skin, but thankfully the dog hadn’t managed to disembowel him.
The Peregrine coughed, flecks of blood staining his lips. He rose unsteadily and then gazed down at the cable leading back to the other roof. In his present condition, he wasn’t sure he could manage it. What was the alternative, however? If he entered Century Tower, it was unlikely that he’d make it out of the building without being seen… and even if he were sans mask, someone would want him to wait for the authorities, especially if they saw he was bleeding.
Max peered down and saw several police cars arriving on the scene. Evidently, the call for help had come after gunshots were heard. Gritting his teeth, the Peregrine stepped gingerly onto the cable and began the task of crossing the distance between buildings. Unlike his earlier passage, this one was slow and arduous. Several times he swayed so much that falling became a distinct possibility, but Max ignored the danger and continued, finally setting foot on the original rooftop. He gathered up his things and descended the fire escape, where his roadster was parked between buildings.
The Peregrine sat behind the wheel for a long moment, intending to drive back home and have Evelyn patch him together. But then the darkness that had been eating away at the edge of his consciousness won out and his vision began to fade… in the end, Max Davies slumped over onto the passenger seat of his car, blood pouring from his injured body.
* * *
Officer David Gort had been with the Atlanta PD for nearly seven years and during that time he’d become quite familiar with the antics of the Peregrine. He didn’t approve of vigilantes, but he’d had to grudgingly admit that the masked man did a necessary job. Hell, Gort was pleased as punch to not have to deal with some of the crackpots that the Peregrine routinely handled.
Gort leaned against his squad car now, watching as Chief McKenzie spoke to the manager of the Century Tower. The chief wanted access to the top levels, where the shots had allegedly come from, but the manager wanted to wait until the tenant, Mr. Garibaldi, came back. Gort had a feeling that McKenzie was about to lose his cool and he couldn’t wait to see the manager get what was coming to him.
A fluttering sound made Gort turn his head. He saw a half dozen black birds standing in the entrance to an alleyway and he’d be damned if it didn’t look like they were staring right at him. He straightened, a chill running down his spine. The birds began to hop down the alley, stopping every few steps to check to see if he was following.
Gort swallowed hard and looked about, but no one else seemed to be taking notice of the birds. Thinking himself mad but unable to resist, he began to follow the flock of birds. It didn’t take long for him to spot the black car up ahead and he began to quicken his pace. There were more birds on the car’s trunk and hood. Several of them were peering into the vehicle, and the quick way they moved their feet gave the impression that they were antsy. Could birds get antsy? Gort wondered.
As he neared the vehicle, the birds moved away, fluttering their wings. Gort looked into the driver’s side window and got the shock of his life. There, lying in a spreading pool of blood, was the Peregrine!
Gort yanked open the car door and reached inside, feeling for a pulse on the masked man’s arm. He then reached up and felt along the man’s throat. The body was still warm, indicating that he hadn’t suffered these injuries very long ago. Gort was no doctor, but he could tell the Peregrine had suffered fairly minor injuries to one of his arms and massive ones to his stomach area.
Leaning back out of the car, Gort began yelling for the chief. Everyone knew about the relationship McKenzie shared with the vigilante. The youthful police chief answered the summons quickly, detecting the note of panic in Gort’s voice. The look on his face was ample evidence that he recognized the car.
“How is he?” McKenzie asked, pushing Gort aside and examining his friend.
Gort hesitated for just a moment, scarcely believing the words he was about to say. “He’s dead, sir. Dead as can be.”
CHAPTER V
To Raise the Dead
Romania
Vincent lay in a long glass tube, his normally pale skin looking even worse than usual. The product of a mad scientist’s dream, Vincent was a patchwork man, forged of the remains of dead men. Victor Frankenstein had somehow managed to breathe life into his wonderfully hideous creature, but what lay waiting for Vincent in this harsh world was pain and loneliness. It was only in recent years that Frankenstein’s monster had found a measure of acceptance; he had found friends with the Claws of the Peregrine. He had even considered the possibility of love, even though the object of that affection had never returned it in the degree to which he would have liked.
Sally Pence stood beside his special coffin, staring down at his face. Though it was hideously put together, there was still the trace of kindness in the monster’s features. As Revenant, the field leader of the Claws, Sally had come to rely upon Vincent’s rock-solid reliability. But on a more personal level, she’d come to consider him her best friend.
“He looks like he’s sleeping,” Rachel Caine said. The red-haired girl entered the room, arms wrapped tightly about her. Her emerald uniform, designed to match that of her husband, was scant protection from the harsh cold. European castles were drafty at the best of times but with this unusual cold snap in Romania, the place was downright frigid.
Sally took a moment before answering. There had been a time when she’d detested Rachel, partly because she herself had been attracted to Rachel’s husband. But that was all behind them, and while the women weren’t particularly close, they were teammates in the truest sense of the word. “I’m glad that Nathaniel was able to preserve him like this. It’s been a few months since he died… at least this way we don’t have to worry about him decomposing.”
“Yeah,” Rachel said, shifting her weight from foot to foot. The team’s resident psychic, Rachel had taken the codename Esper. At first, Sally had feared that Rachel would constantly be prying into other people’s heads, but she’d never known Rachel to do that without an urgent need. “Listen, Sally… you know that Nat and I loved
Vincent. And we’re willing to do whatever we can to help revive him, but maybe you should consider that it’s just not going to happen. Ascott Keane tried and failed. Nothing Nathaniel’s tried has worked. And now we’re here in Romania, dealing with an ex-Nazi? When are we going to stop?”
“When Vincent’s alive again!” Sally snapped. She took a step away from the casket and held a hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
“You haven’t slept in days,” Rachel said. “Maybe you should lie down.”
“No. Not until Dr. Clarke has examined Vincent.” Sally turned towards a window and looked out at the swaying green grasses outside the castle. She’d grown up in Africa, heir to a heroic legacy dating back centuries. She was the first woman to ever bear the name Revenant and she wore the dark black-and-purple garb with pride. But there were plenty of times when she wondered if she would ever live up to her father’s memory. What would have done in this situation? Would have given up on Vincent? It didn’t seem right… they lived in a world where Nathaniel could hurl magic spells with ease, where Adolf Hitler found a new existence as a vampire, and where their mentor, the Peregrine, had saved the world again and again from monsters most would dismiss as folklore. Why shouldn’t Vincent live again?
“Sally?” Rachel was saying, concern in her voice.
“What?”
“You seemed… gone… for a minute there.”
Sally looked over her shoulder and started to give voice to her thoughts, but at that moment Catalyst entered with Dr. Clarke. The scientist had defected from Nazi Germany a few years ago, and whatever research he had done for the United States, it had led to him being pardoned for his crimes and, eventually, set free to take up residence in Europe once more.
Nathaniel exchanged a quick glance with his wife, who shrugged in reply. Sally knew that Rachel had been sent to try and talk her into getting some rest, but Sally wasn’t planning on taking a nap anytime soon. “Dr. Clarke,” she began, “this is Vincent. I was hoping that your research might allow you to help him.”
Clarke was staring at Vincent with undisguised excitement. “It is true,” he whispered in heavily accented English. “I read Mary Shelley’s classic as a child but never imagined it was based in truth!”
Sally felt annoyed. Clarke was looking at Vincent like an object, not as a person. “Can you bring him back to life, Doctor? Or are you just wasting our time?” she asked, a dangerous tone in her voice.
Clarke stiffened and adjusted his glasses. “As I told Mr. Caine,” Clarke said, gesturing to Catalyst, “my research was primarily dealing with the creation of super-soldiers. My work allowed me to create men who healed more quickly than normal, were super fast and strong, and so forth. I’ve never revived the dead…”
“What I’ve heard says differently.”
Clarke’s head whipped up at that. “You’ve seen classified data.”
Catalyst put a hand on the scientist’s shoulder. “Look… we have contacts. They led us to you. According to what we’ve been told, you revived a dead soldier in February of last year. The man had been brain dead for over eight hours.”
Clarke frowned. “It was quite different than this. That man had already been exposed to my Super-Human Serum. It was already coursing through his veins when he died. I was able to shock his system into restarting itself… the regenerative properties of the formula repaired the damage to him and his heart began beating again. But he died again within a week. The serum could only do so much…!”
“Vincent’s not a normal person,” Sally said. “He already healed faster than usual, and Catalyst was able to preserve him so it’s like he just died a few hours ago.”
Clarke looked into her eyes and saw how pointless it was to argue with her. “Very well. I’ll inject him with a liquid version of my formula… we should see results within an hour.”
A sense of relief came over Sally then and she suddenly looked dead on her feet. “Good. Do whatever you need to do.”
* * *
Three hours later and Revenant was passed out in a chair just outside Clarke’s laboratory. It was well past midnight and the castle was freezing. Sally was wrapped up tightly beneath a heavy blanket. Exhaustion had finally won out and her cheek now lay against her left shoulder, her lips parted slightly. Catalyst stood watching her, his cloak wrapped tightly around himself. Just a few years ago, he’d been a London police officer, but that was before he’d learned that he was fated to be this generation’s greatest sorcerer. He’d become Catalyst, an ally to the Peregrine in his unending war on crime. There had been many ups and downs since then—meeting Rachel being one of the highest of the “ups”—but there had been soul-wrenching valleys. Vincent was a good soul and it had pained Nathaniel to see him die, but it had hurt him even worse to see Sally driving herself into an early grave in an attempt to revive him.
Rachel stepped up beside her husband and Nathaniel slipped one arm around her waist. “If this Clarke character can’t help, I think it’s time we gave up.”
Nathaniel nodded, though it pained him to think of the confrontation that would come when they told Sally their decision. “Maybe we should call Max. She really respects him and if he were to tell her, she might listen.”
Rachel turned her head and glanced inside the laboratory. Clarke’s work area was like something out of an RKO feature: test tubes and strange gizmos were everywhere, and Clarke rushed between the various apparatus like a crazed mouse, twisting knobs and occasionally mixing chemicals. Vincent, removed from his preservation box, lay on a table, his face pointing to the sky. “Do you think she’s in love with him?”
“I don’t know. He certainly cared for her, and I think she was beginning to reciprocate. If nothing else, she might be driven by guilt… she feels sorry for Vincent, and responsible for him.”
Rachel started to say something else but she paused, her pretty face suddenly tensing in concentration. “Nat… something’s about to…”
Before she could finish her words a figure rushed from the shadows, his black attire helping him blend in to the darkness. The man wore a long cloak over a uniform adorned by a dramatic symbol: the skull and crossbones usually associated with death or poison. He was a famous being, having been the subject of numerous photographs and newsreels over the years: this was the vigilante dubbed the Black Terror.
Catalyst was the first to be struck as the Terror unleashed a backhanded blow that knocked the spellcaster off his feet. Nathaniel’s skull cracked against the brick wall behind him and a bright red splash of blood appeared on the stone. As her husband slid to the floor, Rachel struck back with a psychic bolt that slammed into the Black Terror with such force that his teeth ached.
“Where… is… Tim?” he demanded, refusing to back down. He lunged for Rachel, who was shocked to see someone throwing off her strongest attack. He gripped her around the throat and tossed her aside. Esper landed face down on the floor, nose cracking against the floor. Her blood spilled out in a widening circle, mingling with her husband’s.
The sound of a gun being cocked brought the Terror’s movements to a halt. He turned slightly, enough to see that Revenant was behind him, the barrel of a pistol pressed against the back of his head.
“I’ve heard you’re bulletproof,” Sally said tersely. “Want to test it from point blank range?”
The Black Terror clenched his jaw but finally gave a quick shake of his head. “I’d rather not.”
“Okay, then. I won’t blow your brains out as long as you put your hands up and don’t’ make any sudden moves.”
The Black Terror raised his hands high as Dr. Clarke rushed out into the hallway. “What the devil?! What’s going on here?”
The Black Terror gestured to Revenant and her gun. “These are the people I’ve been looking for.”
Clarke’s face registered shock. He waved his hands, encouraging Sally to lower her weapon. “I will check on your friends. This is all a misunderstanding, I am sure. Hel
p me get them into the lab and I can help them. This man is the Black Terror… he brought me to your country during the war and has been staying here for the past few weeks.”
“I’ve heard of him. I just didn’t know he was a raving lunatic,” Sally responded, holstering her weapon and helping Rachel to her feet. The red-haired girl was holding her nose, which was still bleeding profusely. “So who’s Tim?” she asked the Terror, who effortlessly lifted Catalyst in his arms.
“My partner. He sometimes called himself Black Terror, Junior. He went missing back in ’43 and I’ve been looking for him ever since. The only clue I had was a note he’d left for me, saying he’d left with two other vigilantes: the Flame and Miss Masque. Tim said that I could find him by looking for the Claws of the Peregrine. The name didn’t mean anything to me… not until I saw a picture of some of you in Paris, during the recent insanity.” The Terror set Catalyst down on another examining table, one close to Vincent, and the emotion in his voice temporarily quelled the anger that Sally had been feeling. “I had no idea how to find any of you. I knew that the Peregrine was based out of Atlanta, but beyond that I wasn’t sure how to get in touch with him and I wasn’t prepared to go through the authorities. Since Tim disappeared, I’ve gotten a little more violent than I used to be, and the police want to bring me in these days. I finally came back here after leaving Atlanta. Clarke has become a friend to me over the years. I distrusted him at first but we’ve put aside our differences.”
Revenant stared at the broad-shouldered man before her and took a deep breath. Though she’d only caught a relatively brief amount of sleep, she felt refreshed by the rest and the adrenaline rush. “We’ve never met your partner, and we weren’t even a team back in ’43. We didn’t come together until sometime in 1944.”
