The Peregrine Omnibus Volume One (2 page)

“I’m touched. I really am. But this is my home now. Go back and monitor my investments for me and maybe I’ll be up for a bit of skiing when winter comes.”

Sam rose, dusting himself off. “That man who was shot a few weeks back,” Sam whispered, keeping his voice low, lest a servant might overhear. “Croft says he heard there was a card left behind. The Peregrine’s signature. Now, I don’t believe you’re a killer, but it might mean that this guy has a thing for you. An obsession. Could be he’s followed you down South.”

“I’ll be careful, Sam. You have my word.”

CHAPTER III

Visions of Evil

Max ran the cold washcloth over his naked chest, examining the extensive network of scars that ran across his flesh. There was a story behind each and every one of them, most involving gunfire, whips and fists. Moving here to Atlanta had been Max’s way of saying enough was enough and that he was now ready to put the life of pain and death behind him.

That decision lasted approximately three weeks. It was that long before he’d discovered that a man named Felix Darkholme had begun a series of vile experiments on local poor. Max had found himself falling into the old roles all too easily, donning the skintight black jumpsuit of his own devising. The material of the suit was made of a light-absorbing material that was resistant to small arms fire, without restricting his movement in the least. The fabric had been one of Max’s first discoveries, created during his time in the Orient. It was so lightweight that he was able to wear it beneath a suit and tie with no restriction. Thus, while he might appear to be wearing nothing more than normal clothing, he was actually far more protected than most would realize.

Max had traveled the world shortly after turning eighteen, spending time with a Sensei in Kyoto and studying under many of the world’s great scientists and philosophers. All of it had been part of his ongoing mission to better himself, so that the entire world might benefit from his experiences. He had become the Peregrine to ferret out the evils of society, to find those who slipped through the cracks like hungry snakes, seeking out the innocent to prey upon.

Darkholme. Memories of the man came rushing back to him, turning his thoughts away from those concerning his distant past. Max set aside the washcloth and dried himself off, feeling refreshed but knowing that the sweltering heat would find him drenched in sweat again soon enough. Still, the sense of being clean would last at least long enough for Max to make it to the party being thrown by his nearest neighbor, a local banker by the name of Beauregard Ellis.

Donning a clean shirt, Max picked up the unfinished letter that lay upon his nightstand. It was addressed to the Nova Alliance, a group of men and women based in Boston who shared his passions. Leopold Grace was the current president of the Alliance and one of Max’s oldest and dearest friends. They had met in Paris back in ’27, when the Red Lord had tried to seize power in the Parisian underworld. Heady days, those were.

Max plucked up a pen and sat down, the sheet of paper still gripped in his fingers. He ordered his thoughts before resuming the narrative he’d begun before Sam’s arrival.

Leopold, you should have seen the horrors that Darkholme had foisted upon the poor fools he’d trapped in his lair. It brought to mind some of the stories you’ve told me about your family’s own adventures in the realms of shadow and nightmare. The madman had turned his storm cellar into a torturer’s delight, with chains that hung from the ceiling and beds wired with electricity. But worst of all were the noxious smelling chemicals that he fed his prisoners, forcing their bodies to alter in ways that God never intended. He’d taken the core components of the chemicals from several lakes and streams located near Tunguska, the site of that horrible explosion from ’08. Apparently, the source of said explosion was a meteorite that fell to Earth and detonated in mid-air. The meteorite contained creatures, Leopold! Tiny, almost microscopic creatures! They floated in these solutions of Darkholme’s, looking like brine shrimp… only with such malevolence to their appearance that it chilled the blood in my veins! Darkholme was feeding these things to the poor souls he captured… and the beasts wrought horrible effects upon them, devouring parts of their brain and making them susceptible to Darkholme’s suggestions.

Luckily, Darkholme’s pets proved to be no match for my revolver, though it pained me to end their lives. I kept hoping that there would be some cure to be found for them… alas, their murderous intent made it impossible for me to snare one for study. Darkholme himself nearly escaped into the countryside but I managed to catch his trail before the moon’s light faded behind the clouds. I shot him dead, ridding the world of a great evil, and then set fire to the house itself, to ensure that no one else would ever duplicate his experiments. The only thing I kept from the awful place was a silver dagger inscribed with mystic runes. Eventually, I’ll send the weapon on to you for study, but in the meantime I’ve been carrying it with me.

I left behind one of my calling cards, though I knew it would be wiser not to. There’s something that compels me to take responsibility for my actions, Leopold. Perhaps it assuages my guilt somehow, for the taking of human lives. Or perhaps it is vanity…

Regardless, my actions have brought renewed scrutiny upon myself. Had things gone differently, I never would have chosen the life of secrecy in which I now hide. I would have made my deeds public, like our friend Clark did. I hear that the authorities welcome him and his friends these days. Of course, his preferred means of dealing with criminals is lancing into their brains and removing the parts of the mind that compel them to commit evil deeds. More humane than putting a bullet into their skulls, I suppose.

I will endeavor to stay out of the limelight for the time being, old friend. Give my regards to Clark, Lamont and the rest.

Max finished the missive by artfully drawing in the shape of a blackened bird. He sat back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment as pain began to throb behind his forehead. These horrible headaches had plagued him since his youth, when he’d seen his father gunned down… they’d appeared with regularity ever since, usually carrying with them visions of dark portent. Leopold had claimed they were bursts of precognition, helping guide Max along his path. But to Max, they were as much a curse as a blessing. They had led him to Darkholme and others like him. They made it impossible for him to set aside the Peregrine identity and live a life of peace.

Max gritted his teeth, trying in vain to avoid crying out in pain. He saw a crystalline object, glowing with an inner fire. A man held it in one hand, a look of almost orgasmic pleasure flitting across his features. There was a name attached to the man and Max whispered it aloud as the pen slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor. “Trench,” Max said, before the image shimmered to reveal the face of a bald man with a long white beard. From the shape of his eyes, Max thought him to be Chinese… and very, very old. “K’ntu,” Max said, the pounding in his skull increasing until spittle flew from his lips and he jerked out of his chair. He heard his servants’ footsteps, hurrying to his bedroom door. They’d heard him cry out and were concerned. “Can’t be found like this,” Max whispered, forcing the images from him. As he did so, the pain became a dull ache in the background of his consciousness.

Sorry, Sam. I really did mean to stay out of trouble… but it looks like the Peregrine’s going to be needed again.

CHAPTER IV

Evelyn

The home of Beauregard Ellis was not what it had once been, but it was still one of the few plantations that had managed to survive the burning of Atlanta. Much of the surrounding property had been sold off since the War Between the States, helping to keep the family’s manner of living intact, but Max could tell that the Ellis clan was heading for hard times. There was no more land to sell, save for the house itself, and the way Ellis decorated the place, the remaining fortune would be gone in one or two generations.

As Max stepped into the grand foyer, Beauregard and his wife, a somewhat heavyset woman named Gladys, greeted him. Both of them wore old-fashioned attire, with Mrs. Ellis’ considerable bulk squeezed into a corset. Beauregard himself was dressed in a long coat and tails, his hair swept back by an overuse of hair cream.

“Mr. Davies!” Beauregard exclaimed, moving forward to shake hands. “I am so pleased that you decided to attend. How have you enjoyed the Southern hospitality so far?”

“Aside from the heat, I’ve quite enjoyed myself,” Max replied honestly.

“You Yankees just don’t know what a real summer’s like, is all,” Gladys said. She offered her hand daintily and Max played along with the game, bringing it to his lips. On the three occasions he’d met her so far, Gladys had never missed an opportunity to lament the many faults that Yankees possessed… but she always seemed somewhat attracted to him, as well.

“I’m sure there are hotter days to come,” Max agreed. “It looks like an excellent turnout.”

“Social event of the season,” Beauregard laughed. “Go on into the study. The men folk are gathered there, having some smokes. We’ll meet up with the ladies later on, for food and dancing.”

“Do you dance, Mr. Davies?”

Max paused at the question, recognizing the woman who had teasingly asked him. He turned to see Evelyn Gould moving up the stairs and into the foyer, looking breathtakingly beautiful. She wore a soft yellow dress that left her shoulders bare. Auburn hair was pulled back on her head, leaving small ringlets to dangle invitingly down her neck.

“Only with women such as yourself,” Max answered.

“And what kind of woman is that?” Evelyn inquired, coming to a halt just before him, close enough that her perfume reached his nostrils.

“One who is far too lovely for words.” Max reached out for her hand, not having to feign a desire to lift it to his lips, as he had with Mrs. Ellis.

“Flatterer,” Evelyn said with a small but pleased smile. She had arrived from Boston just a month or so before Max had moved to Atlanta, working as an actress. There was a small but increasingly vital arts community in the area and Evelyn had hopes of contributing to it. Her talent, from what Max had heard, wasn’t enough to get her onto Broadway or into the higher class of film, but she seemed content with what she had: which was more than enough to appease the typical theatergoer or matinee aficionado. “Did you come alone?”

“I’m afraid so. And you?”

“Yes. Shall we remain close to one another in hopes that no one will notice?”

“I was going to suggest the very same thing.”

“Great minds think alike,” Evelyn teased. She glanced around, noticing that several people were casting annoyed looks at them. “Seems we’re blocking the entrance. Are you going into the study to smoke those foul cigars and drink liquor?”

“Well, when you put it that way, it does lose some of its charm.” Max gently took her by the arm and led her towards the parlor room where the ladies were gathered. Laughter spilled out as various gossips were spread and fashions were compared. “Are you anxious to spend time with the old biddies of Atlanta?”

Evelyn’s eyes flew open and she emitted an unladylike snort of laughter. “You better hush before someone overhears you! We’ll be branded as uncouth Yankees and will never be invited back!”

Max grinned, marveling at how alive she made him feel. He’d long ago put aside notions of romance, for fear of how his nocturnal activities might impact such things. But whenever Evelyn was about, he found himself flirting like a schoolboy. “I suppose we should conform to local notions of propriety. Shall I find you once the males and females are brought back together?”

“Yes, please.” Evelyn squeezed his hand before moving into the parlor, leaving behind a most enticing scent. Max indulged in it for a moment before heading to take care of his own social duties.

* * *

“Darkholme was a bastard and I’m glad he’s gone!”

This heated pronouncement from a man named Gilbert Smith was met with a general murmur of approval. The topic of the recent unpleasantness had not been long in coming, for the party’s host himself had broached the subject within moments of the men-folk’s retiring to the study. “What does everyone think about this Peregrine fellow?” he’d asked, sipping a brandy and looking altogether too impressed with himself. “If the rumors I’ve heard are even half true, I’d say a bit of Southern justice would have dispatched Darkholme as well as this Yankee vigilante did.”

Max had smiled at those words, but Gilbert had spoken up before he could have voiced any kind of reply. He could see that Beauregard was watching him closely, however, as if waiting for a response.

“What sort of rumors have you heard, Beauregard?” Max asked, honestly curious.

“Only that Darkholme was conducting perverse experiments on negroes and gypsies. Fiendish stuff.” Beauregard took another sip of his drink and added “But you were up North during the Peregrine’s previous killings, weren’t you? Do you think he’s followed you here?”

The look in Beauregard’s eyes made Max a bit uncomfortable.
He’s heard the stories
, Max realized.
I knew I was getting sloppy… that’s why I tried to stop this madness before it landed me in jail.

Forcing a look of nonchalance, Max shrugged and replied “I was there. The cad even made a few of his crime busting efforts on my private property. Gave me a bit of notoriety, I have to admit. Can’t say I’m glad to see him in these parts, though I think we’d all be in agreement with Gilbert that some of these people need to be taken care of.”

“True enough,” Beauregard confirmed. “Perhaps he’s someone you know, though? Did you bring any servants with you?”

“No. I traveled alone.” Max averted his gaze, as if losing interest in the discussion and was saved from any further defense of his honor by the arrival of a new gentleman, one whose late arrival caused everyone to look in his direction.

The figure’s appearance caused a profound effect on Max, who recognized him immediately. The man was slightly older than him, but in good shape and with a dark intelligence evident in his eyes. He wore the most fashionable of modern suits and a fedora was held tightly in one hand, which was slightly bent, as if it had survived great trauma. It was the figure from Max’s vision, the one named Trench.