The Peregrine Omnibus Volume One (36 page)

The Peregrine stared at her for a moment, not speaking. Truth be told, the question had come up on more than one occasion. Before coming to Atlanta, he’d been based up North. Coming to Georgia had seemed to carry all the old demons with him, as suddenly the state’s capital was filled with vampires, werewolves and sadistic killers. “Go on.”

“You’re a magnet for weirdness,” she said with a smile.” Not only are you drawn to the darkness but the darkness is drawn to you in turn.”

“You’re saying that all the monsters who’ve threatened the city are here because of me? That it’s my fault?”

“Wherever you went, they would begin to appear. It’s simply a fact, not a matter of blame.”

“Don’t play games with me,” he answered, growing a bit angry. “You pop into my head and then tell me you know all about me—and that I’m a threat to everyone around me. Why?”

“Benson is an ally of mine,” Whisper answered, nodding towards the tarot cards spread out before her. “And he’s asked me to use my unique talents to assist you whenever necessary. In this case, I think you need some guidance. I’ve seen a lot of darkness in your future—a lot of pain, almost more than any one man could bear.”

“Vague and foreboding, just the two things I like in a person,” the Peregrine answered. “Tell me something useful or I’m leaving.” He tried to avoid showing how much her words disturbed him. Not long ago, he had fought an ancient entity known as the Dark Man. During that battle, he’d gotten glimpses into a future that seemed too dark to bear: a world in which everyone he loved would die before him.

Whisper watched him in sympathy. “Soon you’re going to have to choose what kind of person you really are: the kind who believes the ends justify the means or the kind who believes in the sanctity of life.”

The Peregrine frowned. He’d killed plenty of men in his time but it had always been a last resort. Before he could say anything more, a tiny ringing emanated from his right coat pocket. He pulled forth the smallest phone Whisper had ever seen, a black device no bigger than the palm of his hand. He flipped open the cover of the phone and pressed a button, enjoying the fact that he seemed to have caught the woman unawares. This invention was his own creation and allowed him to stay in communication with allies across the globe. It was similar to the devices currently being worked on by engineers at Bell Labs but far superior. “Yes?” he asked into the phone.

Will McKenzie’s voice was so crystal clear that he could have been standing in the same room with Max. The Peregrine immediately pictured the handsome young police chief in his mind’s eye, familiar with the man’s slender build and friendly features. “You busy?”

“Nothing important.”

“Then get on over to Peach Avenue, my friend. We’ve got multiple homicides at Suzy’s house of ill repute. Somebody did a real number on this place.”

“Any witnesses?”

“We’ve got one girl who managed to hide in the attic. She caught a brief glimpse of the killer and he sounds like one of yours.”

Max grimaced.
One of mine?
He thought.
Maybe Whisper’s right. Maybe I bring these monsters out to play.
“I’m on my way.”

As he put the phone away, Whisper rose from her seat and moved around the table. “I’ll see you again soon,” she purred.

“Not if I can help it,” he muttered, leaving her home as quickly as possible. The last thing he needed right now was some mystery woman feeding him lies and half-truths.

Back inside, Whisper watched him through her window, an enigmatic smile on her full red lips. Though the Peregrine could not hear her, she spoke the following words aloud: “You’re not alone in your war, Max. You’ve accepted the aid of your wife and McKenzie. Now’s the time to welcome new allies to the cause as well.”

CHAPTER VII

The Russian Revealed

The train ride took the trio northwards and began fairly uneventfully, though Libby’s excitement over being invited on one of Kaslov’s adventures caused her already bubbly personality to reach new levels. She chattered away animatedly as they boarded and found their cabins, never ceasing even as the men unpacked their things and made way to the dining car. It was fairly late in the evening but the thrill of adventure had kept the three fully awake.

Kaslov had changed into his traveling clothes, which consisted of a military-style khaki shirt, jodhpur pants and black boots. A leather gun belt completed the ensemble, a holstered .45 automatic on the side.

As the party settled into their meals, Flynn caught the Russian’s eye and they shard a silent exchange of humor over the young lady’s enthusiasm. She caught wind of their glance and sat back with hands folded in her lap, looking a bit embarrassed. “Sorry, gentlemen… I didn’t mean to prattle on so.”

“It’s quite alright,” Benjamin Flynn replied, gracing her with a dashing and somewhat roguish grin. “Honestly, it’s been ages since I’ve traveled in the company of so vivacious a woman.”

Libby glanced down at her plate, enjoying the man’s attentions but equally aware of Kaslov’s presence. She knew better than to hope that he’d grow jealous of Flynn’s attentions—there seemed to be nothing about women that could seize the Russian’s attention for long. “Leonid,” she began, lowering her voice slightly with anticipation. She rarely called him by his first name but they were out of the office and she felt more comfortable doing so in this setting. “Tell me again what you want me to do when we arrive?”

“My face is a bit too recognizable,” Leonid explained, picking at his salad. A dedicated vegetarian, the Russian was usually very finicky about his vegetables, often bringing his own with him on trips. He had foregone that today and looked decidedly unhappy about the results. “And it is very likely that Mr. Flynn has left a lasting impression upon these mysterious guards in Loggieville… so we need you to be the ‘face’ of our little operation. Both Flynn and myself will be with you but we will disguised enough that no one will notice us as long as you play your part effectively.”

“And that is?”

“You will need to be only yourself, Miss Raines: attractive, funny and outgoing. Any red-blooded male in Loggieville will be too enamored of you take any real notice of us. We’ll try to get them to let us in directly, claiming you’re there to visit Mrs. Lorraine O’Bannion, aged 63, who lives at 134B Early.”

Libby blinked in confusion. “Is she a real person—?”

“Yes,” Flynn said, answering before Kaslov could do so. “She’s the mother of the woman I was visiting in town. Wonderful woman.”

Somehow, Libby wasn’t surprised that Mr. Flynn had been there to visit a woman… She sat in silence for a moment, digesting everything that was said. It took a moment for her to realize that Kaslov’s words had been the closest things she’d ever gotten in terms of interest from him. Wetting her lips, she leaned forward, pushing her mostly untouched plate to the side. “You’ve always been so mysterious about your past, Leonid. Could you please tell me about you—? I mean, I’ve read the interviews and all, but you rarely go into any kind of detail.”

Kaslov hesitated. “I’m certain my life story would bore you both,” he murmured.

“Not at all,” Flynn countered. “I’ve been a bit curious myself. The rumors I’ve heard… well, if half of them are true, they should make movie serials about you!”

“I’ve received offers,” Kaslov replied with a laugh. “Many of the men and women who are part of the adventurer’s club I belong to—the Nova Alliance—are in the same boat. None of us seek the limelight but sometimes it’s hard to avoid it, I suppose.” Leonid glanced out the window, staring hard at the passing countryside, which was blanketed in a field of white that stood out startlingly clear against the night sky. “I was born just after the turn of the century, in 1901. My father was the scientist Nikola Kaslov. He married late in life, not becoming a father until he was nearly 45 years old. My mother was a secretary who came into his employ just three years before my birth. I was born precisely at midnight in the midst of one of the greatest lightning storms to ever hit Russia. My father said it was a sign that I was meant for great tings.”

“Your father was an expert in electricity and magnetism wasn’t he?” Flynn inquired. “I’ve read about his exhibition of wireless communication back in 1893. Brilliant.”

“Yes. He was. But he was also deemed a madman by many within the Russian Empire. They thought he was insane for his various claims, his various pursuits. He never sought to create weapons of destruction but all too often his ideas were twisted to those purposes.” Kaslov’s eyes flashed with an inner fire that surprised Libby. She rarely saw him so emotional. “He worked in many fields, including robotics, physics and even brief forays into the paranormal. After my mother’s death when I was three, my father became even more distant and withdrawn but he always included me in his work, taking me on as his greatest pupil. I became his greatest invention, a living weapon against the injustices of the world. During my early teens, my father fell out of favor with the Tsar and so he fled to Siberia to continue his work.”

“I began experiencing a peculiar affliction during this time: blinding flashes of light that accompanied hallucinations. These visions were often linked to a word or an idea that I had recently come across and they frequently led to astonishing leaps of logic that allowed me to begin equaling my father in his studies early on.”

Kaslov paused for a moment as the train crossed over into New Brunswick. The dinner car was mostly empty now but a few stragglers lingered in one of the corner areas, laughing and playing cards. “My father showed me much before he died. Thanks to him, I’m fluent in English, Russian, French, German, Hungarian, Italian, Latin, German, and Hungarian.” Kaslov laughed. “Sometimes I catch myself thinking in a mixture of all those.”

Libby smiled, though she sensed sadness brewing behind those pink hued lips.

“My father was summoned back to the royal court in 1916, requested by several men who were growing concerned about the influence that Rasputin held over the Tsar. The Mad Monk as he was called… was a far more dangerous man than most people realize. He dealt with things that were beyond science, beyond what could be considered moral and just. My father took part in the planning of the man’s murder. He felt it was necessary to preserve the Tsar’s rule—despite the problems he and Nicholas had shared, my father was loyal to the rulers of our country. I begged my father to let me accompany him on that December night, but he refused. The deed was done but not before Rasputin had helped sow the seeds of doubt that led to the Revolution. My father was murdered just weeks before the Revolution took place… his killer unknown to me, even now. I fled to the United States when the madness took hold in my country and have been here ever since, working tirelessly to continue my father’s dreams. I hope to eventually bring about a better world, one that is based on the precepts of morality, kindness and scientific exploration.”

“I’m sure your father would be very proud of you,” Libby whispered.

“Thank you.” Kaslov looked up as the train began to suddenly squeal on the tracks, lurching forward and then back. The men who had been playing cards stood up, looking out the window on their side of the car as the train slowly came to a stop.

“Wouldja look at that!” one of them exclaimed.

Kaslov and Flynn moved to join the men. “What’s going on?” Flynn asked the nearest of them.

The man smelled of alcohol and looked a bit out of sorts, his eyes glassy and wide open. “A bunch of guys are blocking the tracks with a truck! They’re all wearing funny jumpsuits and carryin’ guns.”

“Black uniforms?” Flynn wondered aloud. When the man nodded in confirmation, the adventurer turned to Kaslov. Before he could speak, the sound of gunfire rang out, followed by the screams of passengers.

The tall Russian sprang into action, pushing Flynn towards Libby. “Take her to safety! Defend her with your life!”

“What about you?”

Kaslov’s body was tensed for combat, his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. “You must have been followed, Benjamin. They know you escaped and went for help. That’s the only explanation for them being here. We need answers—and I don’t plan to stop until I get them!”

CHAPTER VIII

Death in the Snow

Leonid was doing the exact opposite from what most of his fellow passengers were doing. While most of the men and women onboard were scrambling in terror from the sounds of gunfire, the muscular Russian moved at a steady pace towards the danger. He felt no fear at the knowledge that death possibly awaited him, for he had faced such terrors numerous times before. Instead, he felt a sudden quickening of the pulse, a thrill that went from the top of his head down to the very tips of his toes.

A man of science, he was, but he was also a man of action. In combat, he was able to blend the twin disciplines of the mind and the body in a way that he could never express otherwise.

He finally found his quarry near the head of the train: five armed men; each dressed as Flynn had described. They wore black leather uniforms with emerald green piping, their hands hidden beneath dark gloves. One of them had a porter shoved up against the wall, the barrel of a rifle pressed against the terrified man’s throat. “I won’t ask you again,” the gunman was saying. “Do you or do you not have a man named Benjamin Flynn onboard?”

“I’d have to check,” the porter stammered, his eyes growing wide. He was an older man, in his sixties Leonid surmised, and his hands trembled with fright. “Please… I don’t know everyone onboard by name!”

“I’m not expecting you to, you old coot!” the gunman yelled. “But you know how to find out, now don’t you?”

Leonid Kaslov broke into a run as one of the other gunman spotted the massive Russian and raised the barrel of his gun. With a roar, Kaslov lowered his head and slammed into the nearest of the men, knocking him right through the glass window behind him. The man flew through the air, landing in the snow. Kaslov continued his flurry of activity, backhanding another of the men and grabbing hold of the terrified porter, tossing him to safety.

The leader of the pack backed away after his hostage was ripped from him. Once he had more room to maneuver, the man opened fire, not caring that his own companions were at risk. Indeed, one of them was torn down in a bloody barrage of bullets that ripped him from head to toe.