The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two (75 page)

“I’d like to,” he said, “but I feel like I should stay here.”

Sally nodded, as if she’d expected this answer. “Well, Nathaniel and Rachel are waiting for me back at the Aerie. We’re going straight to see Ascott Keane in New York and see if can help revive Vincent. If not… we’ll head to Europe. There are some people there who might be able to help.”

Max sighed. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

Sally’s expression softened, and she leaned forward to kiss Max on the cheek. “I will. Bye, Max.” With a brief wave at Jenny, Sally turned away and headed back towards the house.

Max stared after her until he felt Jenny’s touch on his arm.

“She’s going to be okay. She’s just hurt right now.”

Max said nothing, but he hoped Jenny was right. “So… you’re going to leave, too?”

“Yep.” Jenny walked away and set her caterpillar down on a nearby plant. “But I’ll be around. You can never be sure when I’ll drop in unexpectedly.” Jenny looked back at the house and saw that Evelyn was moving towards them, the kids in tow. “You’re a lucky guy, Max. You should stop beating yourself up for the dangers your friends are put into. They choose to be your friends, despite the risks, because they believe in what you do. And your life doesn’t just bring danger—it brings things like the Spear of Destiny, which you used to save lives.”

Max looked at the young girl and grinned. “You sound a lot wiser than your years.”

“I’m older than I look.” Jenny took a few steps further away and began laughing. “See you in ’53!” she said, before vanishing into thin air. The sound of her merriment lingered after her for a brief second.

Evelyn was close enough to have heard Jenny’s parting words. “What in the world did that mean?”

Max slipped an arm around his wife’s waist and reached down to ruffle his son’s hair. “I think we need to start setting an extra place at dinner on January 1, 1953.”

“I love you, Max, and I love our crazy life together.”

The Peregrine looked into her eyes and he realized that Jenny was right. No more beating himself up over the dangers in his life—he was going to start enjoying all he had. “I love you, too, Evelyn. And I always will.”

THE END

THE IVORY MACHINE

An Adventure Starring The Peregrine & His Claws

Written by Barry Reese

“I am ready to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter.”

—
Winston Churchill

CHAPTER I

Mysterious Visitors

October 1943

Tim Roland couldn’t sleep. He knew that he should be resting up, but the idea that his mentor and surrogate father was off in Germany without him made him restless. He sat up in bed and ran a hand through his short-trimmed hair. It was almost always an unruly mess, but the girls seemed to like it so Tim had never worried over it. In the few years since he’d come to live with Bob, he’d often wondered if someone would put two and two together and figure out his identity… but it hadn’t happened so far.

To the world at large, Bob Benton was a mild-mannered, almost cowardly… pharmacist. Tim was a street urchin made good, excelling at school and apprenticing in chemistry under Bob’s watchful eyes. What hardly anyone knew was that Tim frequently sported a black outfit adorned with a skull and crossbones, just like the Black Terror’s. Though few people paid him enough attention to even wonder what he was called, Tim had taken to identifying himself as Black Terror, Junior… but mostly Bob just called him Tim, and the press just referred to them both as the Terror Twins.

Tim slid out from under the covers and crept towards the door. He listened for a moment until he was certain that Jean Starr wasn’t moving about downstairs. He shared an apartment above the pharmacy with Bob, and Jean had volunteered to keep tabs on Tim while Bob was away at what she thought was a conference.

Hearing nothing, Tim stepped out and wandered downstairs. He was in his pajamas and he shivered slightly in the autumn chill. Jean had gone home, locking the place up and leaving out a small plate of cookies for Tim. He grinned and snatched one up, munching happily.

As he ate, he noticed that the flame in one of the many gas lanterns that Bob kept around the office was still lit. Bob liked the old-fashioned lighting methods and frequently saved on electricity by using the lanterns while working at night.

It was unlike Jean to leave one of the lanterns on, and Tim blew it out, cookie still in hand. As he turned away from it, the flame reappeared, blossoming to life once more.

A chill went down Tim’s spine as he stared at the flickering light. There seemed to be shapes forming within it, tiny human figures… a man and a woman. The figures suddenly jumped in size and two full-sized human beings suddenly emerged from the fire, landing on their feet just in front of Tim.

To say that they were a wondrous sight would have been an understatement. The man wore a yellow suit with scarlet gloves and boots, and his face was hidden behind a crimson mask. A long red cloak hung off his shoulders. On the center of his chest was the image of a flame and in his right hand was held a strange pistol of some kind.

The woman was beautiful, with long blonde hair that fell in ringlets down her shoulders. She was dressed in a red blouse and miniskirt that revealed an ample amount of leg. A domino mask and small hat completed the outfit, and like the man, she was armed. A standard handgun was in her left hand.

The man studied Tim closely and quickly holstered his gun at his side. He nodded at the woman to do the same and, with obvious reluctance, she followed suit.

“Son… are you the one called Black Terror, Junior?”

Tim couldn’t help but smile… someone
had
been paying attention! He hesitated a moment, unsure if he should reveal his identity, but finally nodded. If these two had come this far, they probably had figured out Bob’s connection to the Terror. “That’s me,” he said. “Who are you two?”

“I’m called the Flame… but you might as well know me by my real name: Gary Preston. This is Miss Masque.”

Tim’s eyes widened. He was familiar with both of them and had, in fact, entered information on them in the Black Terror’s Heroic Compendium, a sort of encyclopedia that Bob was amassing on various mystery men. There were entries on all the major heroes: the Peregrine, Leonid Kaslov, the Black Bat, the Green Lama, and many more.

Miss Masque nudged the Flame, mischief in her voice. “I think he’s heard of us.”

“Of course I have!” Tim blurted out. “You’re Diana Adams, a socialite who turned to fighting crime to erase the boredom she was feeling! And Gary Preston’s father was a missionary in China when he died in a flood. Gary was just an infant but when he was washed into a hidden land, the Buddhists who lived there proclaimed him a High Grand Lama and taught him to control flame!”

Miss Masque crossed her arms over her chest. “How do you know all that? And why do you talk like you’re reciting something you read in a book?”

“Sorry… Bob and I got most of that information from the Peregrine. He’s been helping us put together a dossier on all the heroes who are active right now.”

“And how the hell did
he
find out who I really am?” Miss Masque demanded, but the Flame touched her arm.

“Diana, let it go.” The Flame smiled at Tim. “Listen, son, is the Black Terror around?”

“No. He’s in Germany on a secret mission for the government.”

Miss Masque turned away, looking around the pharmacy. She had never warmed up to kids, not even when she’d been one. She’d always wanted to be with the grown-ups, to know what their parties were like, what they were talking about and whom they were seeing. Now that she was grown herself, she knew how dark a lot of that “grown-up” talk really was, but it hadn’t altered her feelings for children.

“Well… you’ll have to do, then.” The Flame reached out and clasped the young man by the shoulder. “We need help, son. And you’re going to have to help provide it. The world depends on it.”

“Of course I’ll help… but can’t it wait until the Black Terror is back?”

“I’m afraid not. Every second we waste worsens that situation. You have time to leave your mentor a brief note, though. And… tell him that if he wants to find you later on, to look for the Claws of the Peregrine.”

“Claws of the Peregrine? What’s that?”

“He’ll understand… when the time is right.”

Tim nodded and turned away, hurrying off to find both his costume and some paper to fashion his note. When he was out of the room, Miss Masque cast a disapproving look at the Flame. “This isn’t right. He’s a child.”

“He’s got a destiny, Diana, just like you and I do.”

“You should at least tell him…”

“What? That’s he’s about to lose out on a few years of his childhood?” Gary Preston’s voice took on an edge now and Diana knew she’d touched a nerve. Gary had been on edge ever since Flame Girl’s death. “This is important. You know that. If the Black Terror were here, I’d take him instead… but he’s not.”

Miss Masque said nothing but her doubts remained. She wondered what the Black Terror would think when he returned and heard the words “Claws of the Peregrine.” They wouldn’t make any sense, of course.

The Claws of the Peregrine were still nearly a year away from being formed.

CHAPTER II

The Flock

April 1946—Atlanta, Georgia

James Adder lit a cigarette, cupping one hand over the flame to shield it from the wind. He stood under a hotel awning in downtown Atlanta, a heavy rain drenching the city and causing a chill wind to invade the approaching dawn of spring.

Adder was in his mid-thirties, and he’d become a veteran of too many mafia wars to count. A dead shot with a pistol, he’d personally executed nearly three dozen men and four women over the past ten years. His cold-natured response to murder, coupled with his penchant for wearing dark suits, had led him to acquire the nickname Black Adder. Like his venomous namesake, Black Adder could strike quickly when provoked.

A portly man with rain-slicked hair and a glistening moustache joined Adder under the awning, shaking water from his overcoat. The two men greeted each other with brief nods and Adder extended a hand, obviously expecting to receive a tribute. An enveloped was passed to Adder’s grip and the killer quickly deposited it in a jacket pocket.

“You sure you’re up to this?” the portly man asked. Adder knew his name was Calvin Malone and he was a prominent figure in the local underworld. Malone would never haven been considered a major player in most circles but in Atlanta, the underworld was so fractured that he’d managed to insinuate his pudgy fingers into a lot of pies. While the mob had become a powerful force in other big cities, Atlanta was home to the masked vigilante called the Peregrine… and as a result being a criminal was more dangerous than usual.

Black Adder took a long drag on his cigarette and then grinned wryly. “I’ve never failed. Not once. You pay me to put a hit on somebody, they’re as good as dead.”

“Yeah but this ain’t a normal guy,” Malone retorted. “The Peregrine… some folks don’t even think he’s human.”

Black Adder snorted. “I’m not afraid of some guy who names himself after a bird.”

Malone’s eyes narrowed a bit and he took a step closer to Adder, lowering his voice. “Who contacted you about the hit, anyway? Was it Corleone?”

“Shouldn’t you know? You’re working with him.” Adder flicked his cigarette away and it landed hissing in a pool of water. A broad-shouldered Negro walked past, keeping his eyes averted from the two white men standing there.

To Adder’s surprise, Malone placed a hand on his arm, squeezing with surprising strength. “I’m going to ask you again,” the portly man said, “who hired you?”

Adder started to pull away but there was something in the other man’s eyes that caught his attention. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the way the light was striking just now, he realized that Malone was wearing some sort of small lens over his eyes. They looked like they’d been colored somehow, giving him the brown eyes that Malone was known to have. “You’re not Malone, are you?”

“No. I’m not.” The man pretending to be Malone gestured with his head towards three men across the street. The fellows were in a huddle, apparently engaged in some private discussion. Adder noticed that they kept sneaking little peeks at him and Malone, however. “Those men are police officers. They just saw you accept an envelope full of money, for the purpose of killing a man. As soon as I give the signal, they’re going to come this way and then you’re going up the river for a long, long time… but they might go easier on you if you fess us to who hired you. The real Malone chose to put a bullet into his own head rather than talk to us. I’m hoping you won’t be so stupid.”

Black Adder considered his options and, as he’d done for pretty much his entire life, he decided to trust in his abilities. He lunged towards the man holding his arm, driving the stranger back and causing him to lose his grip. Then Adder whirled and began to run through the rain. He was aware that the men across the street were shouting at him to stop but he ignored them. He pulled a pistol from the interior of his jacket and turned down an alleyway that connected to another street on the other side of the block. His black shoes caused splashes with each step and he wondered how the man behind him had pulled it off: he’d seen enough photos of Malone to recognize the crime boss with ease. Did the Atlanta police department employ a master of disguise now?

A shadow seemed to pass overhead and Adder heard the rustle of clothing. He skidded to a stop and looked up, seeing nothing but the full moon. Behind him was also empty and for a moment he thought that perhaps he’d lost his pursuit. And then a man cleared his throat from the end of the alley, in the direction that Adder had been heading before he’d come to a halt.

Adder turned to face the new arrival and he felt a momentary sense of shock that threatened even his usual stony façade. The man blocking his path wore a long overcoat, a suit and tie, gloves, and a small domino-style mask adorned by a bird-like beak that rested against the bridge of his nose. The overcoat was cinched at the waist but the foot of it blew in the wind. This was the Peregrine, the man who had haunted the dreams of Atlanta criminals for the past decade.