The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two (72 page)

“Bravo, Max. You always play your part so well in these little games of death.”

The Peregrine stared at Trench, his voice low and deadly. “Why go to all the trouble of coming back to life, Jacob? Did you enjoy having me kill you so much that you wanted to experience it again?”

The smile on Trench’s face faded somewhat. “You ruined years of planning, Max. You stopped me from becoming a god.”

“I think your memory is addled. You turned against the demon that was hosting your body, remember? You realized that you were nothing more than a tool for him to use for his own purposes. You were never in control.”

“I would have worked it out! I would have taken possession of my body again, but you made me feel weak. You manipulated me!”

The Peregrine saw a definite glint of madness in Trench’s eyes, and he knew there was no reasoning with the man. It was quite telling, however, that Trench was not holding the Spear of Destiny. Where was the unholy weapon?

Trench didn’t give him much time to wonder about that, however. “You’re never leaving here alive, Max. But the worst thing for you isn’t the fact that you’re going to make your wife a widow—it’s that your torment is only just beginning with death. You’ll be revived by Dracula to serve in his army of the dead, alongside these horrid creatures!”

To punctuate his words, Trench stamped his foot on the checkered floor, and from behind the counter shambled five monstrous members of the undead. Three of them were men and appeared to have been dead for quite some time. Little flesh clung to their bones now, and their clothing was nothing more than loose tatters that drooped from bony shoulders and arms. The other two zombies were women, and were much fresher. Aside from the unhealthy tint of their skin and the gaping wounds at their necks, they could have almost passed for the living. Their own dresses were ripped and torn, allowing their breasts to occasionally slip into view.

The Peregrine processed Trench’s words in the split second before he took action. Trench had mentioned Dracula, meaning that the vampire was hardly removed from the playing field. This meant that Max’s father was either wrong in what he had said… or he had lied.

Knowing that now wasn’t the time to worry about that, the Peregrine ran forward and jumped up onto one of the dusty tables that stood on the center of the bistro floor. He used the tabletop as a prop to propel himself higher into the air. As he danced through the air, he drew one of his pistols and began firing, blitzing the zombies with specially-modified ammunition. The bullets ripped tremendous holes in their rotting flesh, and when Max returned to the ground, he was now less than three feet from Jacob Trench. Whirling around to face Trench, the Peregrine tossed the Knife of Elohim, catching Trench in the left shoulder.

As Trench reached up to yank the Knife free, he began to scream. The mystic blade did extra damage to those with evil spirits, and Trench certainly qualified. As his palm wrapped around the hilt of the dagger, his flesh burned, producing a sickly sweet odor that filled the room.

The Peregrine was unable to finish off Trench during this moment, however, for the zombies were still moving towards him, despite the fact that one of them had a hole in his face big enough to shove a fist through. Max pulled forth his other gun, giving him one in each hand. He strode towards the undead, squeezing the triggers of his pistols as he did so. The zombies weren’t much for dodging, so his bullets found their intended homes again and again. As he’d taught Sally to do, the Peregrine soaked all his silver-tipped bullets in holy water, and the effects they had were dramatically increased as a result. He blew apart the undead horde until they were unable to rise from the floor, leaving them as nothing more than twitching pieces of human meat.

In his younger days, scenes such as this sometimes unnerved Max. The human mind, after all, was not normally conditioned to viewing the shambling undead. But all things could become familiar in time, he had come to realize—even something as horrible as this.

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
gouvernement 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.”