The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two (80 page)

“You really don’t know anything about where Tim is?” he asked.

“Not a clue, and don’t care,” Rachel said tersely.

Catalyst reached out to take her hand but she pulled it away, not wanting him to try and soothe her. She was angry and thought she had every right to be.

“I can try and find him,” Nathaniel offered. He received another cold glare from his wife, who wasn’t pleased with him helping someone who had just attacked them.

The Black Terror managed to look even more chagrined, if such a thing was possible. The fact that the Claws team was willing to assist him even after he’d acted like a fool made it all the more obvious that he’d made a terrible mistake.

Rachel picked up on this, not only because she was adept at reading people’s expressions but also because she was breaking her personal rule of not peeking into the minds of others unless invited to do so. Her telepathy was allowing her to thoroughly scour the contents of the Terror’s mind, and what she was finding was slowly reducing the anger she felt.

“He’s okay,” she said to the others. “He really did just snap… he’s pretty much on edge.”

The Black Terror stared at her and finally nodded. “I
am
sorry.”

Catalyst moved closer to the dark-garbed stranger, pulling up a chair so he could sit next to him. “I’m going to lay my hands on yours,” he said, locking eyes with the Black Terror in the hopes that it would engender trust. “And then I’m going to use my magic to try and hone in on your friend. I need you to visualize him very clearly in your mind. Can you do that?”

“I haven’t stopped doing that since he vanished,” Bob answered, and the sincerity in his voice made Nathaniel look away. Catalyst knew that he’d fall apart without Rachel in his life, and even though the love that Bob had for Tim was like that of a father and son, it was close enough to the devotion that Nathaniel felt for his wife that he could sympathize.

Sally watched from a distance, knowing that Nathaniel could handle things from here. She slipped out without Rachel noticing and returned to Clarke’s lab. The former Nazi was bent over Vincent’s prone form, inserting a clear liquid into an intravenous tube that ran into her teammate’s arm.

“How is he doing?”

Clarke didn’t turn around. He continued working, now inserting another set of needles into Vincent’s neck. “So far, so good, Fraulein. He is a remarkable piece of work… to be honest with you, I’m not sure that his existence can actually be described as science. It’s borderline magic that the dead parts that make up his body were animated at all.”

Sally focused her eyes on Vincent’s waxy features. For a creature that was so revolting, he had a tenderness about him that almost made it easy to forget the fact that he was a patchwork man. She was studying his face when something happened that made her gasp aloud. Clarke turned to look at her and she pointed a gloved hand at Vincent’s head. “His eyelids… they fluttered!”

Clarke immediately began to check for signs of life, though he wasn’t sure if he’d recognize them in Vincent. The man had been born “dead” for all intents and purposes, his corpse-donated parts animated by electrical stimulation. Before he’d gotten much further than checking for a pulse, Vincent sat up, his eyes opening and a guttural roar emerging from his lips. One of his arms whipped out, catching Clarke on the side of the head. The German was thrown into Sally, who barely got up her arms in time to catch him. A trickle of blood oozed from Clarke’s forehead and his eyes were already glassy before Sally could help him to the floor.

Vincent was on his feet by now, swaying slightly and blinking repeatedly.

“Vincent? It’s me, Sally. Just… take it easy.” Revenant took a few cautious steps towards her friend, knowing that he must be terribly confused. Hell, for all she knew, he might be suffering from amnesia or might be in some sort of pain.

The hulking figure paused, turning to face her. His gaze seemed locked on something far off in the distance, as if he were somehow looking through her. When he spoke, his voice sounded dry and raspy. “Sally?”

“Yes,” she answered, realizing that she’d been holding her breath. “Yes… it’s me. Are you… okay?”

Vincent’s expression seemed to soften and he reached out a pale hand. Sally let her fingers interlock with his and was once again amazed at Vincent’s size. Her hand could have been crushed within his, but his touch was surprisingly gentle. “I had a bad dream,” he said, and for a moment his voiced sounded childlike.

“It’s over,” Sally said. “The nightmare’s over.”

Doctor Clarke stared up at the bizarre scene before him, brushing away the blood that was trickling past his vision. He felt a tremendous sense of pride over his success today, though he wasn’t sure that it was something that could be replicated again.

Clarke slowly rose to his feet and staggered out into the hallway. His mind was fuzzy and he wondered if he might have a mild concussion. Had he lost consciousness after being hit? He wasn’t sure.

He paused before the hallway window, taking deep breaths of the cool air. It helped clear his head and he was almost feeling like himself again when someone gripped his shoulder and pulled him around to face them. For a moment Clarke found himself speechless.

There was a lovely blonde woman standing there, wearing a crimson dress and floppy hat. A domino-style mask hid her identity, though Clarke could see her sparkling blue eyes behind it. She held a pistol in her right hand but a wicked grin on her face made Clarke think that he did not have to fear for his life. The woman held up a finger from her gloved left hand and made a motion for him to stay quiet.

* * *

The Black Terror sighed as Catalyst stood up, a pensive expression on the magician’s face. “You couldn’t find any trace of him, could you?” Bob Benton stood up, anger making his handsome face turn ugly. “It’s useless. He’s dead and I failed him.”

Nathaniel held up a hand. “Cool down. I didn’t stop because I didn’t find him. I stopped because I
did
find him… and it doesn’t make any sense.”

“You found him?” Bob stopped in place, his mouth hanging open in shock. “But where?”

“Here.” Catalyst gestured around with his hands. “I sensed him right here, in this castle.”

“Want me to scan the place telepathically?” Rachel asked, picking up the Black Terror’s continuing surprise.

“I don’t understand,” Bob was saying.

It was at that moment that someone stepped into the room. Though he was a few inches taller than when Bob had last seen him, he would have recognized Tim Roland anywhere. The youth was wearing his version of the Black Terror costume. “I’m sorry I was gone so long,” the youth said. “I didn’t expect to be.”

The Black Terror grabbed Tim by the shoulders and pulled him close, embracing him so hard that Tim was almost unable to breathe. “I thought you were dead,” Bob whispered.

Tim pulled back, his own eyes glistening just as much as his mentor’s. “I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

“You better have one hell of an excuse,” the Terror said, but there was no rancor in his tone. He was far too happy to be able to muster any anger at this point.

Tim looked over his shoulder as the Flame slowly stepped into view. “Bob, this is Gary Preston. He and Diana Adams—Miss Masque—were the ones who came and got me that night.”

The Black Terror nodded at the Flame, who greeted everyone with a brief smile. “And where have you been?” Bob asked. “And why did you tell me to look for the Claws of the Peregrine?”

“That last bit was my fault, I’m afraid.” The Flame reached into his cloak and pulled out a small paperback book. He held it up so the Black Terror could see the cover. It depicted a stylized version of the Peregrine in battle with some sort of octopus-like monster. The title of the book read
The Chronicles of the Peregrine: Atlanta’s Mystery Vigilante
. “This book came into my possession back in late 1942 and it’s formed the basis for pretty much everything I’ve done since. It’s written by a woman named Jenny Everywhere, and…”

“We know her,” Rachel said. “She helped us out a few months ago… she was from the future.”

“That’s right,” the Flame said, his smile broadening. “This book is from the future. It was copyrighted in 2014. How it ended up in Tibet I’ll never know, but a friend of mine there found it and sent it to me. Once I started seeing things mentioned it was really happening around us, I realized what a powerful tool this could be. It mostly focused on the Peregrine, so its usefulness in the war effort was limited, but it did mention that a threat would arise in a placed called Zerzura. While the book was somewhat vague, it indicated that a lot of people would suffer greatly, and that the Peregrine and his allies, the Claws of the Peregrine, would confront the menace. It listed the members of the team, too, and I was surprised to see myself listed among them, along with Miss Masque and the Black Terror.”

Catalyst murmured to himself. When he noticed that everyone was looking at him, he raised his voice. “Zerzura. I’ve heard of it. It was called The Oasis of Little Birds and The City That Is White as Dove. Supposedly, it existed deep in the desert, west of the Nile River. It appears in writings as far back as the thirteenth century, but no one has ever discovered its actual location, and most people assume it’s just a myth.”

“It’s not a myth,” Tim said. “We’ve been there. The book said that someone would arrive near the end of the war and try to steal something from the city. The Flame and Miss Masque wanted the Black Terror to go with them back in late ’43, but they got me instead. We went to Zerzura and it was… well, it was amazing. But the book was right. Someone did come eventually. And we failed to stop them. But the Flame was able to sense when the Black Terror and the Claws team finally came together—that was our cue to come out of hiding and find you guys. We’ve got to find the man who has the Ivory Machine. That’s what was stolen from Zerzura. It’s going to take all of us.”

“Well then, we’ve got a problem,” Bob said. “One of the Claws team is dead.”

“Not anymore,” Sally Pence said.

All eyes turned to the doorway where Revenant was standing with Vincent smiling at her side. He looked tired, as if he’d just awakened from a long nap. Just behind them, Doctor Clarke and Miss Masque waited.

Vincent laughed softly. “Sounds like I came back just in time… do I understand that we need to save the world?”

CHAPTER VI

Death Speaks In Quiet Tones

Garibaldi smoked a fine cigar while twelve men died painfully for his amusement. The men were members of the Ten Fingers, an Oriental crime syndicate run by a man called the Warlike Manchu. The Manchu had seized control over the Atlanta underworld a few years back, but the Peregrine had toppled his empire and rumor had it that the Manchu might even be dead. Garibaldi didn’t really care. He was king of this city now and soon would be king of the entire country.

Garibaldi stared up at the clear sky, one hand holding the cigar to his lips and the other holding an umbrella protectively over his head. He had arranged this meeting with the Ten Fingers in Oakland Cemetery, the oldest city cemetery in Atlanta. The Ten Fingers still controlled a lot of massage parlors and opium dens in the city and Garibaldi wanted to send a message that would either give him a cut of the action… or they’d die.

Hochmuller stood beside his employer, equally protected from the Crimson Rain by an umbrella of his own. His infernal device, the one that called the killing stuff from the heavens, was held in his hands. He watched the dying men, their skin sloughing off in smoking chunks, dispassionately. “I think the message has been delivered, Herr Garibaldi.”

Garibaldi blew out some smoke and looked at the third member of their group. She was a beautiful Asian woman with long dark hair and emerald eyes. Her name was Miu, and she ran the largest Asian brothel in the city. She had come to this meeting with the Ten Fingers at Garibaldi’s request. He wanted someone to live to tell the tale and thought she’d be the appropriate one. She stood now with her arms wrapped tightly about herself, not so much to protect herself from the cold but to ward off the chill that ran down her spine at the coming of the Crimson Rain. “What do you think, Miu? Have I made my point?”

Miu swallowed before speaking. Her eyes never left the smoking corpses before her. The bodies were little more than bones now, speckled here and there with remnants of flesh. Miu’s voice was cold, however, and one would barely suspect that inside she was shaking with fear. “I will contact our leader tonight and tell him your demands. Until I hear otherwise, I will consider you to be the kingpin of Atlanta. Ten percent of this month’s take will be delivered to you by the morning.”

“Good. I was also hoping I’d get to sample the services you offer.” Garibaldi smiled at the withering stare Miu gave him. He knew she couldn’t refuse him, not with Hochmuller’s killing machine ready to do her in. He enjoyed seeing people in pain, especially women. He planned to make the next twenty minutes excruciating for her. “My car or yours, princess?”

Miu looked over at the former Nazi, who seemed almost as displeased as she did. The Crimson Rain had stopped, but some of it lingered on the ground and she was hesitant to step into it. Realizing that Garibaldi wouldn’t take any risks with his own life, she assumed that the Crimson Rain was no longer dangerous. “Yours,” she said at last. She would allow him to rape her, but she would not give him the enjoyment of breaking her. She was well trained in her arts and could put her mind somewhere else very easily. “I will show you a good time,” she said, forcing the same fake smile she offered her other customers.

Garibaldi put a hand on the back of her neck and squeezed hard enough for her to cry. “You’d better, baby doll. Or Daddy’s going to be really upset.”

Hochmuller watched them head to the car. He loathed sexual relations with women. They were always so scornful towards intelligent men, preferring to rut like beasts with their brawny alpha males. It occurred to him that he could kill Garibaldi now, call down the Crimson Rain and let it peel away his skin. In the end, though, that would leave him alone in America once more. He was not prepared to lead an underworld army, and he really preferred to continue his scientific endeavors, which required lots of money. No, he mused, it would not do to lose Garibaldi.