The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two (32 page)

The Manchu was a near immortal whose rise to power in the Orient had eventually led him to eye the West as his next seat of power. Along the way, he had become tutor to Max Davies, training the man in all the martial arts known to humanity… when Davies had then rejected the Manchu’s overtures of joining his criminal organization, a blood feud had ensued between the two men. As the Peregrine, Davies had helped bring down the Manchu’s plots again and again.

A group of the Manchu’s servants were presently trapped within the confines of the Fabulous Fox Theatre. The ornate movie palace had been opened on Christmas Day, 1929, but the stock market crash had made the original tenants, the Shriners, unable to fund the operation. Throughout the 1930s, it had suffered through mismanagement and continued to lose large sums of money. But the present decade had seen a dramatic rise in the theatre’s fortunes. With a clear direction in place, the Fox Theatre’s popularity had boomed. The Egyptian Ballroom had become Atlanta’s most popular dance hall, playing host to the finest bands in the country. It was the only theatre in Atlanta to allow both white and black patrons into the building simultaneously, though they were kept segregated at both the ticket windows and in terms of seating.

The four members of the Ten Fingers who had been cornered in this section of town had forced their way in through the “colored” box office window and were presently in the ballroom, turning over tables so they could shove them up against the doors.

“We are doomed,” one of the men said in Chinese. All were of Oriental descent and looked like brothers, with short-cropped black hair and dark eyes. “Even if we escape, the Manchu will punish us for our failure.”

“We can’t worry about that now,” one of the others answered. In the gloom that surrounded the Egyptian Ballroom, the faux sarcophaguses took on a sinister appearance. “How many of them are out there?” he asked, no longer able to keep the fear from his own voice.

While the foursome debated how many enemies they were being confronted with, a lithe female form moved through the rafters above. She wore a skintight black bodysuit, complete with skullcap and domino mask. It was an ancestral uniform, one that had been passed down from father to son for many generations… and now it was worn proudly by Sally Pence, the current Revenant. As defender of the tiny African nation of Bordia, she was a close ally to Max Davies in his war on crime… so close that she had heeded his call and left her homeland to return to the United States.

The Revenant crept quietly along one of the structural beams, her eyes locked on the men below. She had snuck in through another entrance when she’d realized where the Ten Fingers were assembling… and she knew that the others in her party would be along soon enough. In her right hand she held a snub-nosed pistol and it was with this that she took careful aim. Finally deciding she had chosen her target correctly, she fired the gun. A bullet tore through one of the men’s legs, the shot having been calculated to such perfection that she knew he would suffer no permanent effects but he would be incapable of putting any weight on it at for several days at least.

The other three men looked up in a panic, quickly ducking behind the remaining tables. They were armed with guns, as well, but none of them were as good a shot as Sally so their attempts at returning fire accomplished nothing other than wasting their ammo.

As Sally knelt down in the shadows, she kept an ear out for the approach of her companions. She didn’t have to wait long. The front door, which had been barricaded shut with overturned tables, suddenly caved inwards, the heavy doors shattering under tremendous force. A man pushed his way in, shoving aside the tables, and his appearance was enough to weaken the spirits of the remaining Ten Fingers. He was very tall, with sallow skin and long stringy black hair. He was quite unkindly deemed a monster by many, but to his friends he was simply Vincent.

Two of the Ten Fingers emptied their rounds on the invading creature, who held up his hands in front of his face and quietly accepted the pain. He was far more resistant to pain than normal men, the result of his bizarre creation. Brought to new life from the corpses of dead men, Vincent was the only one like himself in the world. Like Sally, he was a friend of Max’s, having been given a new lease on life after helping the vigilante defeat a plot to destroy the world.

As the men realized they were out of bullets, the third remaining man took off at a fast clip, sprinting to the other side of the room. From above, Sally followed his progress, correctly guessing that he was planning to try and escape through a window.

As he approached his planned exit, he suddenly skidded to a stop, his shoes slipping on the dance floor. A man dressed in a dark green cloak and bodysuit passed through the wall, his eyes shimmering with an emerald glow.

“Going somewhere, mate?” the Englishman named Nathaniel Caine asked, mischief in his voice. Allegedly the world’s most powerful sorcerer, Nathaniel was still new to his role as the Catalyst and sometimes struck Sally as being overly tentative. There was no hesitation on his part tonight, however, as he raised both hands and unleashed an eldritch blast that pounded the Oriental villain so hard that he was lifted off his feet and slammed back to the ground.

Sally chose this moment to jump down from her position in the rafters. She performed an acrobatic dive that would have drawn raves in Olympic competition and landed smoothly, less than five feet from Catalyst.

Nathaniel flashed a dashing grin and Sally felt her heart skip a beat. Catalyst was a handsome man and she loved the accent… but unfortunately for her, he was also spoken for.

Rachel Caine, codenamed Esper, moved past Vincent, her long red hair drawn back into a ponytail that hung down her back. Clad in a green jumpsuit similar to her husband’s, the telepathic heroine locked eyes with one of the remaining criminals. She was about to tell him to stand down when he sprang forward, kicking and spinning expertly. Esper was hardly impressed, however. As he neared her, she caught him in a telekinetic grip that squeezed all the air from his lungs. With a gentle “push” from her mind into his, she also rendered him unconscious.

That left just one man standing, with another on the ground writhing in pain, holding his injured leg. The four heroes converged on them and Sally noted that each of her companions was looking to the others to see who was going to step forward and be the leader.

With a sigh, she pointed her pistol at the uninjured man and said, “What were you doing in downtown? Were you supposed to meet someone tonight?”

“Go to hell, American bitch!” the man said in heavily accented English.

Sally fought the urge to correct him about her heritage… though she’d gone to school in the United States and spoke the language flawlessly, she had been born in Africa and considered that her homeland.

Instead, she cocked her pistol and repeated her questions.

The man glanced from her to the looming form of Vincent, who was glowering at him. “We were meeting with Fifth Columnists. They want to buy weapons and drugs. We sell both.”

Sally locked eyes with Vincent, who shrugged. “It’s sad to think there could be men like that here, working with the enemy… but there are always those who value money more than honor,” he said in a surprisingly soft voice. Sally turned back to the remaining member of the Ten Fingers, not noticing the way Vincent’s gaze lingered over her.

It was certainly noticed by Rachel, however, but the red-haired girl was less concerned with the team’s various romantic entanglements than she was in expediency.

“I can save us a lot of time,” Rachel said, “if you’ll all just shut up for a few minutes. I can read minds, remember?” To emphasize her point, she tapped the side of her head and then gestured to their prisoner.

Revenant stepped back to let Esper approach the man and she was glad that the dim lighting hid her face a little. She had tried to like Rachel, but so far her own attraction to Nathaniel had made it all too easy to pick out every flaw in Esper’s personality.

Vincent moved closer to the man, reaching out to hold the thug’s arms in his own oversized hands. “Don’t even think about fighting back,” he warned.

Esper nodded gratefully at Vincent and placed the tips of her fingers on each side of the man’s head. As Rachel closed her eyes, she made contact with the man’s mind… and she saw nothing but madness reflected back to her—an insane zeal to serve the one known as the Warlike Manchu, at the expense of nearly all else. She also saw a litany of sinful crimes that the man had committed or witnessed. Pushing those aside, she focused in on the Fifth Columnists that the man had mentioned. She saw them clearly, a group of four males who spoke fluent German. Three of them had dark hair while the leader was a blond with piercing blue eyes. Rachel could sense that this leader was a dangerous person, one that frightened even the Ten Fingers, who worked for the frightening Warlike Manchu.

Esper pulled away, breaking contact. She felt dirty and somewhat tainted by the experience. Turning, she found that her husband was waiting with arms outstretched. Grateful for the gesture, she accepted his embrace and then turned to face Vincent and Sally. “He’s telling us the truth. I did pick up where the Ten Fingers are based in the city. We could easily take care of them.”

“I think we should let McKenzie take care of that.”

All eyes turned to the man who was entering the room, stepping over the splintered remains of the door. Dressed in a well-tailored suit and overcoat, the Peregrine could have been a well-to-do businessman out on a jaunt around town. But his domino mask, featuring a small bird-like beak over the bridge of his nose, dispelled those illusions quickly enough. Max Davies was now in mid-forties, but he looked ten years younger, with wavy dark hair and an olive complexion that spoke of a Mediterranean heritage.

Nathaniel glanced over at the criminal and flicked his wrist at the man. A small magical burst of energy struck the man, knocking him out and wiping his memory of the last ten minutes. No one bothered catching the man as he fell to the ground.

“Are you sure?” Nathaniel asked. “You know better than anyone how dangerous they can be.”

Max nodded, surveying the scene around him. “He gets his feelings hurt if we don’t let his police force handle some of this stuff.” The Peregrine’s friendship with William McKenzie, the Chief of Police, was a source of great aid in the vigilante’s war on crime, and he was always careful not to step on his friend’s toes. “Not bad,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “The property damage was kept to a minimum but there was still too much of it. All of you need to watch that in the future.”

Sally put away her gun and asked the question that was on all their minds. “How long do you want us to do this? You called us together three weeks ago, saying you wanted us to help you take down the Ten Fingers… but it’s pretty obvious you’re prepping us for something else. You act like you want us to stay together permanently.”

The Peregrine pursed his lips thoughtfully and then nodded. “I do owe you answers, all of you. You’ve done a wonderful job the past few weeks and I suppose I got a little ahead of myself. Let’s turn these men over to McKenzie and go back to the Peregrine’s Nest.” Max smiled teasingly. “That’s where I’ll tell you all about my offer. I’d like you to become the Peregrine’s Claws.”

CHAPTER II

The Claws of the Peregrine

Max Davies lived on an old plantation farm, located several miles outside of Atlanta. The house was a lovely example of the best of Antebellum architecture but it was what lurked beneath the home that was perhaps most impressive. Where once there had been a storm cellar, there was now the hidden lair that Max had dubbed “The Peregrine’s Nest.” A laboratory filled with all the files, experimental weaponry, and crime detection equipment he used to wage his war on crime, the Nest had become his private escape from the rest of the world.

In the center of the room was a large circular table. There were half a dozen chairs seated around it, and to the amusement of Rachel Caine, five of the chairs had symbols on their backs, giving a visual cue as to who was to sit there: for the Peregrine, it was a bird in flight; for herself, it was a human brain with strange lightning bolts coming out from it in all directions; Nathaniel’s chair featured a stylized green symbol that resembled the one on his uniform; Revenant’s was a pistol, superimposed over a map of Africa; and for Vincent, it was a human heart. The sixth chair was empty and had no symbol at all.

As the group took their assigned seats, Rachel caught the eye of her husband and smirked. He returned the expression but seemed to find it all somewhat less funny than she did. He was a London cop by nature, though, and was used to such things.

The Peregrine slipped off his mask and set it on the tabletop. Upstairs, his wife Evelyn was sleeping soundly, as were their two children. The soundproofing in the Nest made it very unlikely that any of them would be disturbed by the meeting going on below.

“The past few weeks I’ve been watching all of you,” Max said, leaning across the table. “I’ve been studying how you interact, how your abilities mesh together, how you resolve crisis situations. I want you to become a team.”