The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two (66 page)

Hitler strode through the snow, his boots crunching the ice beneath his feet. He felt more alive than ever before, a bit of irony considering the fact that he was now by all accounts quite dead. He’d feasted repeatedly since his transformation, tearing into the throats of several young girls en route to this hidden base in Antarctica. Dracula had claimed that the hunger would dim with time, though it would be a constant companion for the rest of Hitler’s undead existence.

The first time he’d felt the urge to feed, it had been a difficult thing for him to do. For many years, he had essentially been a vegetarian, only very rarely indulging in a fondness for liver. And he’d never felt overly comfortable being intimate with women, at least not in ways that were considered traditional. But as soon as the blood had landed warmly on his tongue, all such concerns were tossed by the wayside. He had fed eagerly and wantonly.

The wind blew so hard that Hitler had to squint through his goggles. He could see the stone structure up ahead and he led his silent companion to the front door. He was frustrated that they had made it this far and encountered no resistance—here was supposed to be several of the survivors of his Occult Forces Program and a squad of S.S. soldiers dedicated to their protection. These people had carried a horde of Nazi treasures to this remote location, all under the leadership of Colonel Maximillian Hartmann. The collection of items was too valuable to allow the Allies to possess it, and one in particular had sparked the count’s interest when Hitler had told him of its presence: the Spear of Destiny. A replica lay in Vienna while the true relic was safely hidden here in the ice and snow.

Made famous by John’s account of the crucifixion of Jesus, the Spear of Destiny was the lance that had pierced Christ’s side. The lance had been a part of the imperial regalia held in the Schatzkammer in Vienna, but when Germany had annexed Austria during the Anschluss, Hitler had claimed it as his own. Hitler had felt the spiritual power that emanated from the Spear, but he had never been able to tap into its abilities, despite the fact that all of his mystics and telepaths spoke of it as a power that could turn the tide of the war. Hitler had been told by many that the spear served mysterious powers that were hostile and quite evil, leading one of his experts to actually claim that the powers of the lance would be truly unleashed only when it was in the possession of the Antichrist.

“I thought you said this would be well guarded,” the count said, coming to stand at Hitler’s side. They were staring at a massive metal door that bore no markings other than a raised swastika across its surface.

Hitler did not know what to say in response to that. Surely Hartmann would have kept the men prepared for anything—the plan had been for them to remain here until the escaping Nazi leadership could make their way there. Hitler himself had been far too weak to make the journey himself, but surely others had come here… and given the location and how secure the stronghold was, it would have been foolish for them to abandon the base so soon.

Dracula ran his hands over the door, noting that there appeared to be no point of entry. There was no keyhole of any kind. “How do you access the base?”

Hitler was obviously pleased that he had stumped his mentor. “An ingenious creation of the OFP. The base’s door can only be accessed by a series of complex mystic formulas. They must be spoken precisely and with confidence.”

Dracula gestured magnanimously. “Then by all means, Herr Hitler.”

The Fuehrer took a deep breath. He was a master orator, but he had experienced extreme difficulty memorizing some of these incantations. The phrasing was so precise and so foreign to him that he’d frequently stumbled over the words. Not wanting to embarrass himself in front of the Count, he paused for several seconds before beginning. “
Actu fradis aliptum! Entre vellupim actu
!”

For a few seconds, nothing seemed to happen, and then the sound of metal grinding on rock filled the air. Hitler and Dracula stepped back as the door swept inwards, allowing a rush of heated air to greet the newcomers. Hitler stepped inside quickly, his eyes noticing that once again there was no one here to bar their progress. The interior passages held stone floors and smooth steel walls, bright lights illuminating the hallway. The sound of an electrical generator gave the base a steady humming presence.

Dracula sniffed the air, his eyes narrowing. “Death,” he said under his breath. “This place reeks of it.”

Hitler hurried forward, his mind recalling the detailed plans he’d approved for this facility. Though he was no architect, he’d insisted on approving every passage and every room. At the time that the facility had been erected, the Reich still held high hopes for its eventual victory over the Allies, but Hitler had been persuaded by some of his aides to expect the best and prepare for the worst. So he’d made sure that his location would be sturdy enough and opulent enough to serve as his home base should the war go poorly.

As such, the furnishings were quite nice, though Hitler’s tastes had always run to the bland. Landscapes and watercolors of flowers dominated the walls, though there were a few obvious displays of Nazi pride, as well. Dracula found the entire affair a dreary place and thought it bore the many signs of “new money.”

Hitler led the vampire lord deep into the structure, and not once did they find a single sign of current habitation. Here and there they found scraps of food or tattered clothing, but each room that stood open was empty and still.

At last they came to the room that some of Hitler’s men had dubbed “the Grand Cathedral.” It was a circular area whose walls were lined with treasures housed in upright glass cases. A cursed set of medieval armor, a haunted iron maiden, and a mummified corpse were just three of nearly a dozen such objects, all priceless in their value to occultists. Here it was that Hitler found his missing soldiers, for they were piled three and four high upon the floor, their bodies lying naked and shriveled. Each of them looked like a raisin, as if every ounce of fluid had been drained from them. On their faces were etched expressions of pure horror, and the stench of decomposition hung thick in the air.

Hitler stared in shock, but Dracula was undisturbed by the scene, having seen—and been an active participant in—far worse. The count strode forward, ignoring the dead, and focused his attention on one of the glass cases, which was shattered and empty. Shards of glass lay on the floor and several crunched beneath the vampire’s boots. “Is this where the Spear of Destiny was kept?”

Hitler nodded, his shoulders slumping. “It was, yes.”

Dracula clenched his fingers into a closed fist, and he stood his ground, refusing to look at Hitler, lest his anger lead him to kill the man on the spot. “We came here… to find nothing save a pile of corpses and broken glass? You are going to regret this fool’s gamble, Hitler—when the hunger strikes you, where will you turn? Did you not to plan to feast on a few of your soldiers tonight?”

Adolf Hitler was momentarily speechless, and then his rage was given physical form. He had always possessed a mercurial temperament, but now he had the strength to truly express his anger. He picked up one of the corpses and literally tore it in two, blood and gore soaking his clothing. After tossing the dead man aside, Hitler let loose a stream of expletives that would have embarrassed the most hardened of sailors.

Dracula watched him coolly before finally raising his voice. The tone made Hitler freeze at once. “Enough! You act like a child! It is obvious that someone has stolen the Spear of Destiny. Who knew of this place? Who could have opened the door or convinced those within to open it for them? Think!”

Hitler frowned. A few of his closest advisors knew of the spell and the hidden base, but according to his contacts, all of them had been accounted for. The Fuehrer began to push through the bodies, trying to identify them. After several long moments, he looked up at the count and smiled grimly. “Hartmann is unaccounted for.”

“The colonel who led the expedition to this place?”

“Yes! His corpse isn’t here.”

Dracula glanced around, once again sniffing the air. It was difficult to pinpoint anything other than the scent of death, but his keen hearing did pick up something new: a moaning sound, definitely human. “I hear someone,” he said aloud.

Hitler cocked his head, obviously not able to discern the sound that his master had discovered.

“You are not as powerful as I am,” Dracula explained, heading off down a hallway in search of the noise. “And you never shall be.”

Hitler followed in silence, though he was already chafing in his new role as lackey. He had grown used to being a feared entity, with grown men and women cowering at his every display of anger, but here was a being who was centuries old and who considered Hitler to be nothing more than a child, playing at the part of a vampire.

As they neared the moaning sound, Dracula gestured for Hitler to fall back, allowing the count to handle this. Hitler did so begrudgingly, though he moved so that he could see into the next room.

Colonel Hartmann was crouched in his private room, naked and half-starved. He was holding the Spear of Destiny, the point of which was pointing towards the ceiling. The silver band added by Henry IV could be clearly seen, the words “Nail of our Lord” inscribed upon it. The lance at first glance did not look particularly awe-inspiring, but the longer you gazed upon it, the more the hair on the back of your neck began to stand on end.

Dracula stared at the man for a moment before speaking. “Are you responsible for the deaths of the other men?”

Hartmann looked up at him, his eyes growing wide. His once-full face was now so slender that he had a cadaverous look to him, and his eyes were deeply sunken. “Are you the dark lord? The stalker of shadows? The man who lives in death?”

Dracula’s lips curved into a smile, and he reached up to stroke his moustache with his right hand. “Those titles accurately describe me, yes.”

Hartmann continued speaking, his words spilling forth in a rush. “Then this is yours! The Spear called to me and told me to make you an offering, but I couldn’t control it! It drained them dry!” The colonel crawled forward, his maleness dangling between his legs. It looked like he’d roughly shaved his groin, causing numerous cuts that had crusted over with blood. “Take it, my dark master! Take it and make the world scream!”

Dracula reached out and took the unholy lance in his hand. He felt a terrible rush of power, one that made him sway on his feet. The spirits of hell itself called out to him, and the vampire realized that with this weapon, he could summon forth any denizen of hell that he chose, and they would be bound to his will.

Hitler had crept into the room by this point, and he saw the look of amazement in Dracula’s expression. The vampire lord didn’t appear to even be aware of his surroundings at present, and this led the German to wonder if he should strike now and claim the Spear for himself.

Just as he tensed to take action, Dracula turned his head towards Hitler, eyes blazing. “Kill him,” he hissed.

Hitler blinked in confusion and then realized that Dracula was telling him to kill Hartmann.

“Do it!” Dracula ordered, turning away and exiting the room. “We have to leave this place so that I can begin my ascendance. Slake your thirst, if you feel the need.”

Hitler turned back to Hartmann, who was staring after Dracula with a loving expression.

“The dark lord,” Hartmann whispered. “I brought you a great gift, my master. So great!”

Hitler bared his fangs… and then ripped out Hartmann’s throat.

CHAPTER XII

Full House

Evelyn Davies was massaging her temples when her husband found her sitting quietly in the kitchen. The room was a bit of a mess, and Max considered that they were really going to miss Nettie’s influence on household affairs. The sounds of raised voices and laughter gave the house the feeling of a Christmas party, which was in stark contrast to the recent somber mood that had hung over the household like a shroud.

In the study, an eclectic mix of people had gathered: Zadak and his sister Belladonna, the oddly-appealing Jenny Everywhere, Leonid Kaslov, and Will McKenzie and his wife Kirsten. Josh was busy with the kids upstairs, his mood having been lightened somewhat by the knowledge that his cousin’s former tormentor was now dead.

“You okay, honey?” Max asked, rubbing the back of Evelyn’s neck.

Evelyn laughed. “No, I’m not okay. There’s a girl in there who’s telling everyone that she’s here from the future to help you fight Adolf Hitler, who’s become a vampire. That’s the definition of ‘not okay,’ I think.”

Max smiled in response. He’d found Jenny’s words almost unbelievable, but there was something in the girl’s manner that made her impossible to dismiss. She’d launched into her spiel—which hadn’t made much sense, to be honest—as soon as Max had stepped into the house, and he’d finally agreed to hear her out more fully after he’d rested. That time was now fast approaching, and he’d called over Will and Kirsten because he wanted them to give their advice.

“If you want to go on to bed, I’ll make sure the kids are put down.”

Evelyn shook her head and stood up. Max noticed a few streaks of grey that had begun to appear in her auburn tresses, but he was smart enough to not mention them. She was no longer the bewitching young woman he’d fallen in love with, but she still made his heart speed up with desire. The bloom of youth was being slowly replaced by the erotic maturity of a full-grown woman, and Max hated every second he was away from her.

Evelyn caught his attentive stare and smiled uncertainly. “What is it?”

“I was just thinking how incredibly lucky I am to have you.”

Evelyn kissed him and sank into his embrace. “I’m just tired, Max.”

“When all this is over, how about you, me, and the kids take a long vacation?”

Evelyn pulled back and looked into her husband’s eyes. “We’d only run into some mad scientist in Paris trying to conquer the world by creating an army of clones or something…”

“That was last summer,” Max said with a grin. “What are the odds it would have happen twice?”