The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume 2

By Pro Se Press

Adventure flies high as The Peregrine soars back into Action!

Award-winning genre fiction author Barry Reese brings the classic adventures of his best-known creation to date back in two-fisted fashion! Max Davies returns in The Peregrine Omnibus Two!

Max Davies, now fully ensconced in Atlanta, Georgia, finds himself battling evil hiding behind many faces. As the Peregrine, Max takes the fight to depravity and destruction, even though it may cost the lives of those closest to him... and put his very soul at risk.

The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two brings the second three book-length volumes of this classic New Pulp hero's adventures together into one massive, action-loaded collection. Take wing with Barry Reese and The Peregrine!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pro Se Press
• Release date: Jan 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310261695

Pro Se Press

Based in Batesville, Arkansas, Pro Se Productions has become a leader on the cutting edge of New Pulp Fiction in a very short time.Pulp Fiction, known by many names and identified as being action/adventure, fast paced, hero versus villain, over the top characters and tight, yet extravagant plots, is experiencing a resurgence like never before. And Pro Se Press is a major part of the revival, one of the reasons that New Pulp is growing by leaps and bounds.

Book preview

THE PHANTOM VESSEL

An Adventure Starring the Peregrine

Written by Barry Reese

Chapter I

Voyage of the Damned

1641—Cape of Good Hope

Henry Freeman stifled at yawn as he was roused from his bunk and led to the deck of the ship. He had a small crew on board and they were all good men, though prone to drink. Normally, Henry refrained from the intake of spirits, but on this night the memory of his wife at home had proven to be too painful and he’d indulged, overly so. His head now pounded as swiftly and powerfully as the waves against the bow of the ship.

Freeman peered into the foggy gloom that surrounded the cape, his first officer—a steadfast man named Coulton—at his side. Are you sure you saw something? he asked, though he knew that Coulton wouldn’t have wakened him at such an hour without good cause.

Briggins was the first to spot her, Coulton replied, staring into the mist. Glowed red like something straight out of hell… a massive vessel, it was. I counted at least a dozen men on its decks.

Freeman sighed, running a hand through hair slick with sweat. They’d drawn the unwanted duty of playing guardian of the cape after reports of a plague ship had reached the port. Supposedly, there was a vessel containing men afflicted with some horrible pox that was going from port to port seeking shelter. The various rumors were conflicting and often downright bizarre—Freeman himself had heard that he plague ship had lain waste to towns that refused them peaceful entry—but they were enough to send the town leaders into a frenzy. Send out a ship to patrol the waters, they said, to warn away such a vessel if it came too close.

For nearly a week, there had been no traffic into the cape save for those ships that were well known to Freeman, but now, it seemed, the truth of the rumors would be coming to light.

There! Through the fog. Coulton pointed off the starboard bow and Freeman gasped as a ship emerged, floating so close that the men on each deck could see each other clearly. The crew of the damned vessel were covered with open, seeping sores, and several of them moved with a lumbering gait. The obvious captain was a tall fellow, wearing an oversized coat adorned by various medals and patches. His long black beard shone with a fine sheen and his face, which had once perhaps been handsome enough, was now marred by several open sores.

The captain of the ship bellowed across the open air, his voice carrying loud and true. We come seeking passage. Will ye admit us?

Freeman exchanged a brief glance with his shipmate. He moved to the edge of the railing and cleared his throat before speaking. I am Captain Freeman, and we’ve been tasked with informing all incoming vessels that the port is closed for the time being. I am sorry.

All incoming vessels? the captain asked with a knowing shake of his head. Then why did I see a schooner let through just a few hours ago?

Her captain was well known to us.

Then the port is closed only to strangers, then?

Freeman wrinkled his nose. Something sickly sweet was on the wind—the smell of rotting flesh. Yes. That is so. Please turn around and seek refuge elsewhere.

The captain laughed then and it was a chilling sound, full of merciless anger. "If it be strangers that you fear, then let us not be strangers any longer… my name be Captain Hendrik van der Decken, and this be my ship, The Lucky Seven. So now that you know me by name, what say you let us into port for a night or two? My men are tired and thirsty, with coin aplenty to spend!"

Freeman felt a trickle of sweat run down the base of his spine. Captain van der Decken, you know I cannot do that. Your men are cursed with the plague. My heart goes out to you and I swear by all that is holy that I wish you nothing but the best for you and your suffering men, but I will not allow you to pass into the port.

The captain looked away, his right hand drifting down to rest on the hilt of his sword, scabbarded at his hip. That be sad news indeed. Are you willing to lay down your lives to keep us from the solace we deserve? Are you willing to die so that we accursed folk can suffer at sea, without food or drink to keep us from going mad?

And there it is, Freeman thought to himself. The horrible possibility of raising arms against men whose only crime was to be afflicted with an awful death-dealing sickness… Go and wake everyone. Quickly! Freeman whispered to Coulter, who sprang into action immediately. To the captain of The Lucky Seven, he said We stand ready and willing to defend our families, yes. I ask you to reconsider this course of action, Captain. Leave here and seek shelter elsewhere.

We will not do that, van der Decken replied, drawing his sword. A dozen or more crewmembers stepped into view behind their captain, each with their weapons on display. You are a brave man, Captain Freeman, but soon you will be a dead one.

Freeman saw a flash of light as one of the red-tinged ship’s cannons was fired. A bloodbath had begun.

* * *

In the morning, the bodies of Freeman’s crew and the remains of his ship floated back to port. There was no sign of The Lucky Seven or its crew, though they appeared again and again over the next few decades, each time seeking passage into town, each time being rejected… and each time striking down those who would refuse them kindness.

The phantom vessel drifted on into legend, occasionally making appearances into the nineteenth century, when the sightings came to an end.

Chapter II

From Hell

January 2, 1943—Atlanta, Georgia

Ronald Dempster ran until he felt like his heart was going to burst, his footsteps splashing loudly through each puddle of rain. He still held his pistol in his right hand, despite the fact that he’d fired the last of the bullets several moments before. He was the last of the gang—Tom, Bob, and Reggie had all gone down before Ronald had bolted from the scene, abandoning the nearly $10,000 worth of jewels they’d already loaded into their car. The break-in at the jewelers had gone so smoothly that Ronald was still stunned at how quickly it had started to go wrong.

Ronald whirled around the corner, realizing too late that he’d ended up in a dead-end alleyway. He started to turn around when a figure dropped from the rooftop, landing directly in front of him, blocking the only exit from the scene.

The man wore a long coat that ended past his knees with a suit and tie. A small domino-style mask adorned by a bird-like beak over the bridge of his nose helped hide his true identity, but something in his olive-complexion and wavy black hair seemed familiar to Ronald, as if he’d seen the man in the papers or around town. It was the Peregrine, a vigilante whose career had led from Boston to Atlanta over the past decade and a half, sending more than a few crooks up the river, with a bird-shaped brand emblazoned on their foreheads.

Ronald held up his hands, noticing the gun still clutched tightly in one of them. He tossed it aside quickly, smiling nervously. Hey, we can talk about this, right? I wasn’t the one who planned that heist—I was against it! They talked me into it!

You shouldn’t give in to peer pressure, the Peregrine said with the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

Max Davies had taken up arms against the forces of darkness after witnessing his own father’s brutal murder—it had spurred the young man to dedicate his life to protecting the lives of innocents. For a time, he’d been aided by a wide range of mental abilities, including telepathy and telekinesis. He was now free of those abilities, which was both a blessing and a curse. Without them, his task was much harder, but he was now spared the oftentimes painful visions of future crimes that had once compelled him to don the mask. He was his own man now and he wouldn’t trade that for the world.

I… I can give you the names of some other crooks, Ronald stammered. Just don’t brand me, okay?

The Peregrine was slowly removing one of his gloves, revealing a signet ring adorned by a bright crimson stone. The image of a bird in flight was etched in the center of the stone. Forged from the heart of a demon, the ring sometimes glowed with a mystical fire and, when pressed against the skin of a criminal, would leave an image that would brand its victims for the rest of their lives. You really should have thought about that before you decided to commit a crime in my city, the Peregrine said, shaking his head. Atlanta is going to be free from the likes of you, one way or another.

Ronald threw a punch at the vigilante, who ducked under the blow and responded with one of his own. It caught Ronald in the stomach and knocked the wind from his lungs. The Peregrine then shoved the man against the wall and placed his signet ring inches from the criminal’s forehead.

When the good is swallowed by the dark, there the Peregrine shall plant his mark! Max whispered through clenched teeth, pressing the ring’s stone against Ronald’s head. There was the smell of burning flesh and the sound of Ronald’s screams, but Max was ignoring both of those things. It was past nine o’clock, he realized, which meant he was nearly an hour late for the Policeman’s Ball.

The Peregrine turned away from the sobbing criminal, having already dismissed the man from his mind. The police had been notified and would find him soon enough, leaving Max to change clothes and find his wife at the ball… assuming she was waiting for him at all.

* * *

Evelyn Davies stifled a sigh, taking another sip from her glass of punch. She’d forgone any alcohol since she was several months pregnant, though few people were aware of it yet. She’d decided to hold off on any official announcements until she’d finished her current role in The Peril from Mars, yet another in a seemingly endless array of B-movie roles she’d assumed in her career.

Max still isn’t here? Kirsten McKenzie asked, stepping up beside Evelyn. The pretty blonde spoke with a thick German accent, testimony to the fact that she was still new to America. Raised as an Aryan racist, Kirsten had briefly worn the armor of the Iron Maiden in defense of Hitler’s Reich, but her love for Atlanta’s police chief, Will McKenzie, had led her to abandon her homeland. As Will’s wife, she was now a close friend to the Davies clan and was working hard to show that her former beliefs were no longer applicable.

Evelyn ran a hand through her auburn curls and forced a weary smile. She was wearing a black dress that left her shoulders bare but she looked almost matronly next to Kirsten, who bared a little more cleavage in her own dress than Evelyn found suitable for the event. He’ll show up soon. He probably got wrapped up in work.

Kirsten laughed, knowing full well what that meant. She spotted Will across the crowded room and waved to him. If you want to go shopping tomorrow, give me a call, she said, moving away from Evelyn.

Not likely, Evelyn thought to herself. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Kirsten, but the whirlwind romance between her and Will had gotten the women off on the wrong foot and Evelyn still felt awkward around the German girl.

Miss Davies, I presume?

Evelyn jumped in surprise. She turned to face a strikingly handsome man with jet-black hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. He wore a dark suit and was standing with both hands on the head of a walking stick. Evelyn noticed that the stick was topped by a silver wolf’s head.

I didn’t mean to startle you, the man said, bowing slightly. Something in his manner spoke of old money, like European royalty.

It’s perfectly all right, she replied. I was just lost in thought and didn’t hear you walking up.

Understandable. It’s quite noisy here tonight, and my mother used to say that I moved as silently as an alley cat.

Evelyn laughed, tossing aside the notion of royalty. He seemed far too… down to earth… for that. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, Mr. …?

Fernando Pasarin. I am very pleased to meet you. You might find this hard to believe, but I am quite a fan of your work.

Well, I’m flattered, believe me. I take it you’re not from Atlanta, Mr. Pasarin?

Pasarin chuckled gently. No. I am here on business, actually. My family owns a salvage business—romantic-sounding affairs, like finding lost treasure at the bottom of the sea. It’s not as much fun as it might seem, however. Very dangerous work, with long hours.

Not many ships to salvage in Atlanta, I wouldn’t think, Evelyn teased, throwing herself into the conversation. If Max wanted to leave her alone at an event like this, there couldn’t be any harm in a little idle chat with a handsome stranger.

You’re quite right, Pasarin agreed. But I am going to be speaking to various groups about some of our most recent finds. We believe they date back to the seventeenth century and will be quite the spectacle for men with an eye for history.

May I ask what these relics are? Or do I have to buy a ticket to find out?

Pasarin’s grin widened. I think I can make an exception for a woman whose work has brought me such joy. He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a small nautical compass. "This belonged to a man named Hendrik van der Decken. He was captain of The Lucky Seven, a vessel that became the basis for the story of the Flying Dutchman."

A ghost ship? Evelyn asked, her interest rising.

Exactly. Van der Decken and his crew were victims of a plague—they could find no port that would accept them and so they died, maddened and starving, at sea. Their spirits roamed the oceans for nearly two centuries after, slaying nearly all that came across their path. We found their ship at the bottom of a deep ocean crevice.

You make it sound like they were actually ghosts…

I believe they were. This is the exact ship that was sighted more than a thousand times over the course of two hundred years. Pasarin held the compass up in front of her eyes. The needle spun about madly, stopping occasionally before resuming its rotation. The fissure in the ocean floor where we found the ship… it seems to go on forever. We tried to drop things down into it to test its depth, but nothing was capable of measuring its true expanse. Pasarin stared at Evelyn, the intensity of his gaze sending shivers down her spine. I believe we found van der Decken’s ship lodged in the entrance to hell.

Are you serious? she asked, though she knew that he was.

Quite.

Aren’t you worried what you might unleash by tampering with it, then?

Pasarin’s eyes twinkled in a way that made Evelyn uneasy. This was a handsome but dangerous man. Not worried, Mrs. Davies. Excited, perhaps.

Evelyn spotted Max making his way towards her and she stepped back from Pasarin. I see my husband has finally arrived. Would you like to meet him?

I wish that I had the time, but I really must be going. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Pasarin started to leave but stopped himself. Perhaps you and your husband would like to attend one of my lectures… free of charge? I will be at the Douglass House tomorrow at three. I hope to see you there.

Pasarin bowed low and moved away with an easy grace. Max watched his departure and kissed his wife on the cheek. Make a new friend? he asked.

Sort of. What kept you?

The usual.

Evelyn continued staring after Pasarin, watching as he left the building through one of the exits. Do you have plans for tomorrow afternoon?

No. Why?

Evelyn looked at her husband and hooked her arm in his. Because we’re going to hear a gentleman talk about a boat.

Chapter III

Of Ghosts and Men

Fernando Pasarin entered his hotel room, carefully latching the door behind him. He was a man of expensive tastes and his penthouse suite was the finest in Atlanta. A bottle of wine was waiting for him, of a vintage that would have broken the bank accounts of most in the city, but for Pasarin, it was simply one of life’s little pleasures. He set the compass down on a table and poured himself a glass of wine, savoring its bouquet before taking a small sip. He kept picturing Evelyn in his mind, her firm body and full lips… a shame she was no longer quite as young as she had been when he’d first encountered her on film. Still, she was a fetching young woman, more than capable of fulfilling Pasarin’s desires.

Be careful when it comes to dealing with married women, a voice warned from the shadows. Their husbands sometimes come bearing swords and guns.

Pasarin glanced over into the darkness, seeing the silhouette of a man moving forward. The fellow was dressed like something out of Treasure Island, though nothing in Robert Louis Stevenson’s classic quite compared to the horror of seeing a buccaneer covered in dripping sores and bearing the odor of rotting flesh. Captain, Pasarin purred, taking another sip of the wine. Would you like a glass?

Aye, that I would… but I can’t taste it, so it would be quite the waste. Captain van der Decken sat down in a nearby chair, water dripping from his boots. His hair was matted and dirty. Mark my words: stay away from the married wenches. Find yourself a nice whore and get your satisfaction that way.

I appreciate the interest in my love life, but I can handle that side of things without you.

The captain grinned, revealing blackened and yellowed teeth. I’ll bet you can, a handsome devil like you… Such nice unmarked skin. Not a pockmark on you.

Pasarin found that his wine was not tasting quite so delicious anymore. Why are you here, Captain?

To remind you of your end of the bargain! the pirate said, leaning forward to jab at the air with a finger. I want the rest of me crew up and about… I want my ship to sail the seas!

Your men were granted continued existence by a demon. When your time was up, the ship sank into the depths of the sea and your men went to hell. Pasarin crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the undead seafarer with thinly-disguised disgust. I found your ship and I revived you by giving up a blood sacrifice… but to bring the rest of your crew back, that’s not quite so easy. It takes time and planning.

Don’t play games with me! van der Decken exploded. You’re a swift one, with your pretty words, but I know what you are. You’re a power hungry little killer. You sought us out on purpose. You knew how to bring me back to this world, but I won’t be a hired hand for you, no ways, no how. You give me back my ship or I’ll do nothing else for you!

You don’t have the power to refuse me, Pasarin pointed out. You’re bound to serve me, remember? And I do have work for you tonight, so it’s good that you decided to crawl out from the rock you live under. Do a good job and I’ll continue researching what it’ll take to get your ship up and running again.

You’re playing me for a fool, aren’t you? The seaman rose from his seat and took two quick steps towards Pasarin, coming nose-to-nose with him. But you’re right about one thing: I can’t do a thing about it. Not yet. But someday this spell of yours will weaken and when it does, you’ll be begging for mercy. Oh, yes you will.

The only mercy I’m asking for is from your stench, Pasarin answered with a sneer. I want you to kill a man for me. His name is Max Davies.

The husband of that little trollop? Didn’t know you fancied her so much.

Pasarin turned away from him, moving to look out the window. He saw Atlanta lit up in all its nocturnal glory. Actually, my desire to see Max Davies dead has little to do with his wife. Certainly, I’d love to give her a shoulder to cry upon… she’d be a lovely distraction for me until I tired of her. But that’s mere coincidence. No, I want Max Davies dead for quite different reasons.

Van der Decken drew his sword and the hunger for violence was palpable in his voice. Then tell me where to find the lad, and I’ll slice him from head to toe.

Pasarin laughed softly. Two things before I tell you where to go, my good captain.

Yes?

One: Don’t harm his wife, not if it can be helped. And two… make sure that Mr. Davies suffers.

Chapter IV

Attacked in the Peregrine’s Nest!

Max yawned as he worked in his lab, a workshop hidden in the storm cellar beneath his home, a former plantation estate that rested just outside Atlanta. The Peregrine’s Nest, as he had dubbed it in a moment of unusual jocularity, provided him a place of his own, where he could work in private on the many inventions that had saved his life again and again.

He thought about his wife and son, both sleeping in the house above, and yearned to join them. But something kept eating at him, preventing him from relaxing enough to consider sleep an option.

It had been several months since his mental powers had been lost in a battle with the master criminal Doctor Satan, an event that had in many ways liberated him. He was now the Peregrine because he chose to be; there were no visions forcing him to take up arms. Those visions had originally been sent from beyond the grave by his father, Warren Davies, but since the loss of his mental abilities, his father’s visitations had ceased entirely, which both pleased and pained Max.

Max stared down at his handiwork—a small handheld device that would deliver a powerful electric shock when applied to the flesh of an enemy—and realized that he was too tired to adequately finish the project.

He set the device aside and started to head towards the door that led outside, but something stopped him in his tracks. Through the small crack where the door met the wall, Max could see a shadow moving past. A half second later, the door to the Nest rattled ever so slightly as someone tested to see if it was locked.

Max looked around, trying to decide with which weapon he should arm himself. His pistols were specially modified, allowing him to fire nearly a hundred rounds without reloading, but for some reason his eyes were drawn to the Knife of Elohim that rested on a tabletop. The blade glowed with a soft yellow light and had once, according to legend, been dipped in the blood of Christ, giving it unearthly powers against the forces of evil.

Clutching the knife in hand, Max took a position near the door. He was curious to see if the intruder would walk away, in hopes of getting inside the main house. If it was a simple thief, they were in for quite a shock.

To his surprise, the stranger didn’t walk away. Instead, they rammed a rapier clean through the wooden door, drawing it back before beginning to hack away at it. Max backed away as the door splintered to pieces, allowing a foul-smelling man dressed like a seventeenth-century pirate to lumber down the stairs, sword in hand. The man’s face was pocked with a number of weeping sores and his beard was matted with blood, grime, and sweat.

The Peregrine jumped back as the pirate leaped into the room, spittle flying from his lips. It’s the last night of your life, bucko! Van der Decken proclaimed, taking a mighty swipe with his blade. The Peregrine ducked under it and the sword momentarily embedded itself in the wood over his head.

Van der Decken yanked it free with a growl and continued his violent assault, stabbing at the air, each time growing closer and closer to hitting his target. There was no doubt in Max’s mind that this man was fighting not to wound, but to kill.

The Peregrine responded in kind, wielding the Knife of Elohim with consummate skill. He drove the blade deep into his attacker’s shoulder, but was shocked to see not blood but rather brackish seawater flow from the wound.

Van der Decken laughed heartily at the look of shock on his foe’s face. I’m not as easy to dispatch as you’d thought I’d be, eh? The pirate stepped back, twirling the blade and behaving like a cat toying with a captured mouse. I don’t see why he fears you so much but he does… Oh yes, I could see it in his eyes. Kill Davies, he says, but he’s really telling me to kill this thing that terrifies him so.

The Peregrine moved towards a nearby work bench, hoping to put it between himself and the intruder. He hoped to occupy the man long enough to find a weakness that could be exploited—and victory was essential, since Evelyn was sound asleep in the house above.

Mind telling me why you’re trying to murder me? Max inquired, successfully gaining some space from his opponent. The sea captain followed him slowly, a malicious grin on his pockmarked face. With every step, the man’s boots squished on the floor, water trailing from the leather.

No harm in answering a few questions from a dying man, van der Decken laughed. "My name be Hendrik van der Decken, captain of The Lucky Seven, the man stated, pausing a moment to take a stately bow and to briefly remove his hat. I am currently in service to a most dreadful lord, and it is he that has sentenced you to your fate. I am but a humble servant. The pirated suddenly leaped up onto the workbench separating him from Max, kicking a chemistry set to the floor, where the glass shattered, spilling a pinkish fluid across the wood. So nothing personal, mate."

The Peregrine cried out as the captain stabbed downwards with his sword, catching Max on the side of the neck. Blood spurted, red and hot, against the wall. The Peregrine felt certain it wasn’t a fatal strike, but because of where it hit, the blood was going to flow fast and free.

Max grunted as the man threw himself off the table, landing hard atop the Peregrine. They fell against the wall, where van der Decken slammed his forehead against Max’s.

You can’t win in this fight, van der Decken hissed. I can’t be harmed like a normal man.

Max glanced down at the mystic blade he wielded. It had barely hurt the sea captain the first time it had found home, but the Peregrine wondered if the blow would have been more successful if it had found the villain’s heart…

The Peregrine drove the dagger straight into the captain’s chest, piercing the flesh and bone that would have been covering his heart. The blade, once dipped in the blood of Christ, embedded itself deep in the pulsating tissue. Water and a greenish-black fluid oozed from the wound, and van der Decken howled in a manner that he hadn’t since he was a living man.

The captain shoved Max away, one hand clutched over the seeping wound. His features were twisted in an expression of agony, and he gazed at Max through narrowed eyes. That wasn’t a very nice thing you did, the pirate hissed. "You hurt me. I didn’t think I could be hurt like that anymore…"

The Peregrine held up his blade, which was glowing brighter now. Having come into contact with evil flesh, its powers were renewed. I can destroy you with this, no matter what you are. It’s not an ordinary weapon.

Van der Decken studied him for a moment before backing away. Aye. That I can see. There’s more to you than first meets the eye.

Tell me who you work for, Max said, refusing to be baited into losing his train of questioning. He feinted another attack and was pleased to see that the sea captain flinched in response.

Why not? I’ve no love for him, and it might be amusing to see him squirm a bit… His name is Fernando Pasarin.

Max fought to keep the surprise off his face. Evelyn had mentioned Pasarin’s name in conjunction with the speech she wanted them to attend tomorrow. All of a sudden, the seemingly innocent conversation between Evelyn and Pasarin took on new meaning. It was then that he recognized van der Decken’s name, as well, for Evelyn had briefly summarized the findings that Pasarin had shared with her.

Why would he want me dead? Max pressed, hoping for more information.

I don’t have any idea, van der Decken admitted, moving towards the shattered remains of the door. Max made no move to follow him, for his head was beginning to ache terribly and the loss of blood from his neck wound was making him dizzy. But, the sea captain continued, backing up the stairs that led to the outside air, if I were you, I’d keep watching my back… because you haven’t seen the last of him… or of me.

Max saw the figure dissipate into thin air, leaving behind only a thin trail of ethereal smoke. The Peregrine quickly moved towards a table and grabbed a cloth, which he pressed against the wound.

Mr. Davies? You okay?

Max turned to see Josh, the burly farmhand who worked the fields for him, peering into the Peregrine’s Nest. Normally, he kept details about his vigilante career away from Josh and his housekeeper Nettie, but Max knew they both suspected more than they would ever admit. I’m okay, Max said, though he knew how he must have looked, blood pouring from his neck. Help me upstairs, would you?

Josh practically carried his employer, effortlessly lifting the smaller man in his massive arms. What happened down here? Josh wanted to know, looking around to see if there was any trace of Max’s attackers.

It was an opening salvo, Max said under his breath, growing ever more dizzy. I think somebody just declared war on me.

Chapter V

Pasarin’s Speech

The Next Day - The Douglass House, Downtown Atlanta

Max wore a small bandage on his neck as he moved through the crowd towards a couple of reserved seats for Evelyn and himself. The bandage’s presence attracted a few comments, but Max had been able to laugh them off with several witty comments about his ineptness in doing chores around the house.

At his side, Evelyn clung to his arm. They were both dressed well, though neither was ostentatious enough to flaunt their wealth. Max’s fortune was frequently tapped by his war on crime, but his business holdings retained enough financial power to keep them agreeably affluent.

I can’t believe you actually brought us to this, Evelyn whispered, casting a sparkling smile at one of their friends across the room. It was a university professor who sometimes attended parties at their home, but no one that she felt required a personal hello. The man sent an undead pirate to kill you. That pretty much rules out going to his public appearances in the future, I’d think.

He made a point of telling you where he’d be, Max answered. I want to know how he reacts to finding out I’m still alive.

Evelyn pursed her lips, well aware that Max didn’t want her with him at all. Normally, he wasn’t quite so protective, but with her pregnancy, he was worried that she might end up in the middle of a potential firefight. She’d steadfastly ignored his attempts to talk her into staying at home, however, and he’d eventually given up the argument.

They took their seats amid the gathering, which was made up primarily of academics and a few members of the media who were there to gawk at all the talk of ghost ships and buried treasure.

The Douglass House was a late nineteenth-century home that now served as the meeting place for the Giffen League, a conversational group dedicated to topics typically outside the norm: mediums, clairvoyance, and the like. The fact that they were playing host to the event would normally have been enough to turn off any serious academics, but Fernando Pasarin was well known in the field of ship reclamation and so the event had transcended the normal group of League members.

The speech was being held in a large circular room with a high ceiling. The walls were decorated with stately-looking portraits of the group’s members, all of whom were dressed and posed like members of the Victorian upper crust. It was the way they wanted to appear, of course, and was sadly different from the disheveled and irksome expressions they wore in real life—remnants of years of being scoffed at, Max mused.

A podium stood at the end of the room, where Pasarin would be addressing the group. Behind it lay another area, which was hidden behind a dark curtain. Max caught movement behind it and wondered if Pasarin was aware of his presence yet.

He was… and he was not at all pleased.

* * *

Pasarin stood behind the curtain, resting his weight on the walking cane he nearly always carried with him. He had his eyes closed, his lips moving nearly silently. He was not speaking to any of the League members who buzzed about him, their excitement an almost palpable thing. For them, this was a major coup, bringing in more audience members than a year’s worth of normal meetings.

For Pasarin, however, today was a day of annoyances. You should have told me you’d failed, he whispered under his breath.

From slightly beyond the mortal veil came van der Decken’s reply, tinged with amusement. It’s painful not to get what you think is fair, isn’t it? the pirate teased. My men and I only sought safe haven from the stormy seas… a place to die like men, with dignity. But we were turned away, again and again.

I really don’t give a damn about your problems, Pasarin said, raising his voice slightly. You’re long dead, and your crew was cursed not just by chance, but by fate—all of you disturbed a temple belonging to Mother Hydra and Father Dagon, lords of the Deep Ones. For your crimes, you were given a pox that ate you from the inside out, so everyone was right to turn you away. You were all monsters, even before you came down with the plague.

The sea captain did not reply at first, seething as he was at his master’s words. And what does that make you, Mr. Pasarin, to be a man who reawakens monsters and sends them to do your bidding? If we are monsters, then what are you?

Pasarin grunted and opened his eyes, dismissing the man from his thoughts. He knew that this entire affair was a dangerous game and any mistake, no matter how slight, could ruin his life forever. He couldn’t afford to let van der Decken goad him into recklessness.

Mr. Pasarin? It’s time to begin.

Pasarin glanced over at Theodore Hadleigh, the League’s current president. He was an aged man, with stooped shoulders and an unkempt white beard.

Pasarin masked his inner turmoil, smiling at his host. Then let’s not keep them waiting, shall we?

* * *

Max sat through the speech, nearly forgetting why he was there. Pasarin was a consummate speaker and he managed to enthrall his audience with a variety of tales, mostly focusing on deep-sea excursions that had turned up a fortune in buried treasure. The allure and romance of the sea was evident in every word, and Pasarin made steady eye contact with nearly every member of the audience, making them feel as if he was directing his speech to them personally.

But for Max and Evelyn, there was no direct eye contact. Pasarin’s gaze swept past them each time, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge their presence. Evelyn found the entire experience quite surreal. Just yesterday this man had showed her a massive amount of flirtatious interest, then later that night he had masterminded an attempt to murder her husband… and now here she sat, listening to him give a lecture.

My life with you is so bizarre, she murmured.

Max glanced over at her and arched an eyebrow. What brought that on?

This. Everything. Evelyn shrugged, keeping her voice low so as to not disturb the people around them. Do you think if we moved away, the craziness would follow us?

Max thought about it for a moment and then reluctantly nodded. "Yes. I think it would. After I left Boston, things quieted down considerably… I’ve never known if I attract weirdness to me or if I was drawn to where it would be anyway."

Evelyn took her husband’s hand in her own and gave it a squeeze. If you draw weird things to you, that explains why I fell for you so fast.

Max laughed gently and looked back at Pasarin, who was wrapping up his talk. "And so, my esteemed ladies and gentlemen, that brings me to why I am here. I have told you of the discovery of The Lucky Seven, and my belief that it has inspired the legends of the Flying Dutchman. But what you may not realize is that to fully retrieve the entire vessel—to actually raise it from the depths of the ocean floor—is far too expensive an enterprise even for my company. I need assistance. Financial backing can come in the form of even minor donations, but everything will help. To bring this ship to the surface will allow us to investigate the many claims of the ship’s powers… and further educate us on a terrible tragedy from years past. Are there any questions?"

Evelyn was surprised to see Max’s hand go up immediately. Pasarin called on several others first but eventually was forced to acknowledge Max. Yes? he asked, keeping his face bereft of anything but polite interest.

You mentioned in your speech that you believe the ship might be lodged in the doorway to hell. Assuming you were being honest and not just using hyperbole, why in the world would you want to bring the ship to the surface? Who knows what sort of undead monsters might be shambling around on the decks, corrupted by years of being so close to the infernal realms? I mean, why even old Captain van der Decken might come calling for you, ready to claim your soul for Satan.

A number of chuckles filled the room and Max smiled in such a way as to imply that he was casting serious doubt on the claims of Pasarin.

For the first time, Pasarin’s façade seemed to crack. With a slight sneer, he leaned over the podium and addressed Max directly. I’m not afraid of the creatures that slink around in the dark, Mr. Davies, and I suspect neither are you. Mankind never achieves anything without braving a few dangers. If this ship is the one that popped up throughout the centuries, don’t you think that’s worth exploring, regardless of how risky such an investigation might be?

I think that a man has to choose his battles carefully, or else he’ll get into a situation he can’t hope to win.

Pasarin laughed, shaking his head. Oh, I quite agree. It’s just a shame when I see a man who doesn’t realize that he’s wandered into dangerous waters.

By now, people in the audience were beginning to wonder if they were missing part of the conversation. Evelyn shifted uncomfortably, wondering if Max knew what he was doing.

Her husband seemed unaffected by the rising furor around him, however. Do you believe in ghosts, Mr. Pasarin? I mean, do you think that a man could bind one to his will?

Pasarin’s eyes flashed and he looked away, visibly calming himself. I think that’s all for today. The League can tell all of you how to contact me if you’d like to make a donation.

As Pasarin turned to leave, Max rose from his seat, shouting at his back. Where did we meet each other, Fernando? I can’t place it, but I do know you, don’t I? Isn’t that why you want me dead?

Evelyn rose and grabbed her husband’s shoulder. Wow. Very subtle. She gestured around to several members of the media, who were quickly rushing towards them, pads and pencils in hand. Don’t think that’s going to make the front page? Local socialite accuses speaker of wanting him dead?

Max saw Pasarin duck behind the curtain. Sorry. Lost it a bit there.

You really think so? Evelyn asked sarcastically.

Max took her by the hand and hurried towards the door, pretending not to hear the shouts of the reporters from behind him. He needed to find out all there was to know about this Fernando Pasarin. Max was positive that he knew the man from somewhere, and that the reasons behind Pasarin’s obvious hatred for him would be found in that shared past.

Chapter VI

To Raise the Dead

Pasarin returned to his hotel room in a flurry of agitation. Immediately upon entering, he tossed both his coat and his walking stick to the bed and glared at Hendrik van der Decken, who was standing in the center of the room with a sickly grin upon his undead face.

You look a little green around the gills, my good landlubber, the captain teased.

Pasarin’s nostrils flared in anger. You were an incompetent captain in life and you’re no better to me now.

Van der Decken waved off the insult, placing one hand on the hilt of his sword. Send me to finish him, if that’s your will. I’m just anxious for you to keep your side of the bargain and free my crew.

"There is no damned bargain! Pasarin exploded. I did the blood sacrifice that brought you forth from the ship—you’re bound to my will! I will choose whether or not to free your crewmates and you have no say in the matter!"

That may well be, sir, but you have seen what happens when you do not parlay with me. I may not give your little jobs their full due.

Pasarin moved to the bed, picking up his walking stick. The wolf’s head gleamed in the light. You’re like a rotten child, Hendrik. Sometimes you need to be reminded who wields the rod.

Van der Decken started to speak, ready to back down and recognize his master’s power, but it was too late. Pasarin pointed the head of his walking stick at the ghost, the eyes of the wolf beginning to glow a bright green. Van der Decken felt his spirit begin to fray apart, drifting back into the watery abyss that had been his private hell for so long…

Stop! he managed to shout out from between clenched teeth. I’ll do whatever you command! Just leave me be!

Pasarin allowed the torture to continue for a few moments before lowering the walking stick. The captain was on his knees, his ectoplasmic body looking battered and torn. I should just destroy you, Pasarin whispered. You’re too much trouble.

I can kill ’im for you, the pirate whispered, his eyes looking watery and unfocused. Just give me another chance and I’ll run him through…

Yes. You will get another chance. But not without more ammunition. Speaking at the Douglass House gave me the opportunity to look through some of the League’s belongings. Most of their so-called artifacts are worthless trinkets or forgeries. But they had one thing that might work for us.

The sea captain stood up, regaining his strength. Tell me what it is—and you’ll have it!

I want you to bring me the Vladios Talisman, Pasarin declared. And with it, we’re going to kill Max Davies once and for all.

* * *

Theodore Hadleigh was feeling especially proud as he ambled through the League’s archives. Today had been arguably the most successful event in the group’s history, and even the little scuffle at the end would do nothing other than make sure the coverage ended up on the front page of the papers.

For far too long the residents of Atlanta had scoffed at the League and its members, considering them eccentrics at best and lunatics at worst. Hadleigh had even suffered scorn from his own family, who thought he was wasting the family fortune on expeditions to find proof of the Yeti or other similar things.

But after today, they’ll see, he whispered to himself. They’ll all see. We’re doing important work.

Hadleigh rounded a corner, stepping into his favorite room in the archives: the antiquities collection, where the members stored the finds of their various trips and investigations. Hadleigh meant to spend a few moments looking at the Vladios Talisman, the greatest treasure that he’d ever discovered.

The talisman was a circular piece of gold-colored metal that hung on a slender chain. The talisman was painted with several runic symbols that had been successfully translated, though the woman who had sold it to Hadleigh had assured him that it was in the language of the Shambling Ones, extradimensional entities who could somehow tap into the fundamental energies of life and death.

Hadleigh came to a sudden stop when he realized that he was not alone: the glass case that normally contained the talisman had been shattered, shards of glass laying across the floor. A man was standing in front of the case, holding the talisman, and for a moment Hadleigh could scarcely believe his eyes. The man looked like he had crawled from between the pages of a dime-store pirate novel, though his features were marred by hideous sores and pockmarks.

The pirate looked at Hadleigh’s shocked expression and laughed aloud. Well now. Looks like we have a volunteer to help me test this trinket.

Who are you? Hadleigh stammered, trying to look as fearsome as his stooped body would allow. This is a private club! You’re breaking the law!

Won’t be the first time… nor the last, Van der Decken replied. He held up the talisman and Hadleigh saw the ancient relic begin to glow brightly, forcing the old man to shield his eyes with an upraised arm.

When the glare died down, the old man squinted, trying to get his eyes to return to normal. Through the haze, he thought he saw more figures now, joining the man in pirate garb. There were four… creatures… moving towards him, and Hadleigh backed away quickly. They were all nude and male in gender, their skin looking bloated and blue-tinged. Their eyes were vacant and their lower jaws hung slackly open. From their throats emerged sounds of deep guttural moaning.

Tear him limb from limb, my boys! the captain shouted, terrible glee lacing his words. And feel free to feast upon his beating heart!

Hadleigh turned to flee, but his feet lost their grip on the floor and he tumbled down. Pain flared through his left side and Hadleigh realized that his hip had shattered upon impact. He rolled onto his back as the four zombies approached slowly, a horrible hunger making their moans ever louder.

No! Please! Hadleigh begged, raising his hands in supplication. The zombies gave no sign of pause, however, and within seconds his voice had given way to screams of panic.

Captain van der Decken watched them at work and nodded. Though he was loath to admit it, Pasarin was right: he was going to need help against this Davies fellow and his magic knife. It looked like these zombies might be exactly what the situation required: some good cannon fodder to weaken Davies until van der Decken could deliver the coup de grace.

Eat up, my boys, the sea captain mumbled. But save some room for the main course.

Chapter VII

The Pasarin Connection

2:25 A.M.

Richard Nova carefully inserted the pin through the butterfly’s back, affixing it to the small piece of wood upon which it would be mounted. Nova’s collection of flora and fauna was the envy of many natural museums, with some of his findings being extremely rare. Some of them were so unique that the local Giffen League wanted to hold some of them in their archives, but Nova had little regard for them and their pretentious ways.

Nova’s home was filled with bits of oddity, making it a modern day cabinet of curiosities. Nova was the proud owner of a set of scrolls dating back to the time of Cleopatra, a section of giant squid that had washed up on the shores of Massachusetts, and a life-size iron maiden device.

But none of those treasures were as odd as Nova himself. He stood over six feet tall, with a thin frame that belied the great strength he possessed. His skin was so white that he was often mistaken for an albino. His eyes were extremely sensitive to light, leading him to wear dark sunglasses even at night. His hair was cropped short and was a dark black in color, coming to a widow’s peak in the front. He wore finely tailored suits, always black, and had the air about of him of a good-natured undertaker. For these reasons and more, he was sometimes dubbed The White Ghost.

Nova’s family was full of eccentrics and outright madmen, with his father becoming obsessed with exploration and adventure. The Nova Alliance, a famed club for men who loved danger, had been founded by Henry Nova several decades ago and now had branches in three cities. Richard himself was a member in name only, preferring to keep his exploits known to only a few, but there was no doubting that he, like his father, was drawn to the sorts of things that might have given other men reason to tremble.

Mr. Nova, as most men and women addressed him, was a troubleshooter by trade. His phone number was known only to certain people, who tended to come into contact with those in great danger. They would, in turn, pass the information along to Mr. Nova, who would sometimes set aside his own affairs to make sure that innocent people were safe.

Over the sounds of Mozart, drifting up from the phonograph near his work table, Nova thought he heard a rapid sort of pounding on his front door. Nova glanced over at the clock, noting the hour, and straightened up with a grimace. His back creaked a bit and Nova felt suddenly much older than thirty-two.

He descended the stairs, carefully peering out through the peephole to see who was knocking at his door. When he saw the masked visage of the Peregrine, a soft smile touched his lips and he unbolted the lock immediately.

Peregrine, he said, moving aside so the vigilante could enter. A rare pleasure. I don’t believe you’ve ever visited in person before.

Max stepped inside, his eyes scanning the furnishings . Sorry about the late hour, he said, turning to face Nova. Normally you’re right—I would have just given you a phone call. But this is too important and I’ve exhausted all the traditional resources.

Ah. You need information and the good sheriff’s been unable to give you what you need?

Exactly.

Nova moved into the study, the Peregrine following closely. He knelt in front of the fireplace and began taking steps to get it lit. Can I interest you in some tea?

No thanks. I need information on a man named Fernando Pasarin.

Nova stood up and smoothed down the legs of his slacks. He rarely received company and so he was disappointed that the Peregrine was apparently so adamant about avoiding small talk. But then again, Max was not known for being a social butterfly—at least not when he was wearing the mask. The Pasarin family are known to me. They’ve been involved in ship salvage since the late eighteenth century. Gotten quite wealthy off their finds, in fact. Fernando took over the company after his father’s death on a salvage mission about five years ago.

Max nodded. He knew all of that already. There’s a connection between him and me. He hates me… I can see it in his eyes.

Nova pursed his lips thoughtfully. I may be able to give you more detail on his life. Have a seat. I’ll return in a moment.

The Peregrine sat down, wincing a bit as he did so. His neck was still bandaged, though he was trying to hide it by keeping the high-necked collar of his coat pulled close. He hated to leave Evelyn at home, given that Pasarin had sent an assassin there just the night before, but McKenzie had posted a watch detail on the house and Evelyn was equipped with an instant messaging device of Max’s own device: if she were in danger, he’d know about it within seconds.

Nova returned a few moments later, holding a thick leather tome in his hands. He sat down near Max and began flipping through the pages, which Max could see were blank.

What… are you doing? Max finally asked, unable to hide the skepticism from his voice. He’d called upon Nova’s services in the past, paying him for information on a wide variety of topics, but he’d never seen this blank book before.

This is one of the Books of Fate, Nova replied, stopping near the final third of the book’s pages. There are about a half dozen of them in existence, though I only know the whereabouts of this one and one that’s in the possession of Ascott Keane, the well-known detective. Max nodded in response—he was close friends with Keane and had worked with the man on numerous occasions. The paper is charged with psychic energy. You focus your question on it and the pages ‘write’ the answers for you.

"Can you ask it anything?"

Yes, but it doesn’t always answer… at least not as thoroughly as you might desire. The books were supposedly a gift from Destiny himself to some of his most devoted followers. Since they’re all dead now, the rest of us are just interlopers, using gifts meant for someone else. Hence, the books don’t always function as they were meant to.

No wonder you’re able to answer just about any question I’ve ever sent your way, Max said with wonder.

Actually, I rarely call upon the book’s powers. It’s said that repeated usage will gain Destiny’s attention, and that he’ll come seeking his gift’s return.

Max found himself breaking into a grin. When he saw Nova’s look of consternation, he held up a hand to soothe his friend’s feelings. I’m not laughing at you—it’s just that earlier today my wife and I were talking about how bizarre our lives had become. I wonder what she’d say if she knew you and I were talking about Destiny and his gifts…

Nova glanced back down to the pages, which were rapidly filling with writing. Well, it looks as if the gods have decided to answer our questions for today.

Max leaned forward with interest, curious to know how he’d made an enemy of a man he thought he barely knew. There was no doubt that he’d made many foes in his lifetime, but for most of them there were clear reasons why they would hate him.

Pasarin’s father had many enemies of his own, rivals in the field of stealing from the past. He hired a man named Ted Grossett to deal with some of them, a killer known to the world as—

Death’s Head, Max finished for him, staring off into space.

You’ve heard of him, obviously, Nova said.

He… he was the man who killed my father. Gunned him down in front of my eyes when I was eight years old. I finally tracked him down back in ’32… he was old and near death. I let him live after finding out that he’d repented.

Well, apparently Mr. Grossett had an affair with Mrs. Pasarin, and a child was born out of that adulterous episode.

Max shook his head in confusion. So Fernando Pasarin is actually Grossett’s son? But why would he hate me so? I didn’t kill Grossett.

No, but you did inspire him. Nova turned the page and continued. After you met with Death’s Head, the former killer spent the last years of his life telling anyone who would listen that he’d helped give birth to a hero, a man who righted the wrongs of the world and prevented monsters like him from getting away with their crimes. Pasarin, who had uncovered the truth about his heritage and who sought a relationship with Grossett as a result, grew to hate you. His father never spoke of him with the same respect that he held for you.

There was a little boy with Grossett when I found him. A boy of mixed race that Grossett said was his grandson…

One of Pasarin’s children. That little boy has grown up to worship you just as much as his grandfather did at the end. Another reason why Pasarin can’t stand you.

So all of this is because he’s jealous? Max stood up and shook his head. He was so used to dealing with men who wanted to conquer the world or gain ultimate power that discovering Pasarin’s true motives were so petty and personal unnerved him. I can’t believe he’s wasting his time and money trying to murder me when he should be working to mend whatever fences have been broken with his son.

There’s a good chance he’s mad, Nova said, closing the Book of Fate. The man who raised him—Antonio Pasarin—was an occultist with a particular interest in legends related to the sea. Fernando grew up surrounded by relics of the Deep Ones and their related gods. He sees them as tools he can use in his war against you.

Wonderful. Thanks for your help, Richard. I appreciate it as always.

Nova waved away the compliment. It was nothing. Do you need me to try and find Mr. Pasarin’s residence for you?

I was able to get that one myself, actually. He’s staying at a hotel not far from downtown. I don’t want to confront him there, though. This has the potential to get really nasty, and I don’t want any innocents caught in the crossfire.

Do you mean to kill him? Nova asked, curious as to what fate Max had in store for the villain.

If it comes to that, Max grimly answered, I won’t hesitate.