The Adventures of Lazarus Gray [Books 1-4], page 56
part #1 of The Adventures of Lazarus Gray Omnibus Series
![The Adventures of Lazarus Gray [Books 1-4]](https://picture.readfrom.net/img/barry-reese/the_adventures_of_lazarus_gray_books_1-4.jpg "The Adventures of Lazarus Gray [Books 1-4]")
Despite her situation, Abby felt a sense of calm. She could free herself, given enough time. And once she was back on her feet and able to cast her spells, she was going to make all of these people pay.
She couldn’t wait.
Chapter V
Checkmate!
The sewers beneath Sovereign City were every bit as disgusting as Eun had imagined. The stench was nearly unbearable, even through the bandana he’d tied around his nose and mouth. The waters were knee high in places and the foul water flowed in through the tops of his boots. He almost wished that he and his employer hadn’t outfitted themselves with industrial strength flashlights—if they’d been in the dark, Eun wouldn’t have had to see the stuff that floated by in those waters.
“You sure you don’t want something to cover your nose?” Eun asked.
Lazarus gave a curt shake of his head. He seemed unaffected by his surroundings and Eun felt a twinge of jealousy. He wished he could be so stoic sometimes.
“Chief, can I ask you something?”
“Go ahead.”
“It’s never happened but it seems inevitable. What are we going to do when one of us is killed?”
Lazarus glanced over at him. “What do you mean?”
“We all know that you prefer to bring the bad guys in alive but if we get there and Abby’s dead… Are you going to let us kill them?”
“Killing them won’t bring Abby back to life.”
“No. But with the way the legal system in Sovereign works, these guys are liable to be back on the streets again sooner rather than later. Not to mention people like Femi! She’s died at least twice so far and keeps coming back! When are we going to do whatever it takes to stop that?”
Lazarus stopped and turned his mismatched eyes upon Eun. “About Femi—I think you’re right. We need to find some way to hold her in place and then I can find a spell to keep her from returning. As for the rest of them, I’d still prefer to let the justice system run its course. You remember when we met The Peregrine and he told us about his trouble with the Law, all because he was acting as Judge, Jury and Executioner in Boston?”5
“Sure.”
“Then you know why we have to temper our emotions. It’s all too easy to forget that we’re not above the law. Sometimes our foes force our hand, but we should never go into a situation expecting for lethal force to be required.”
Eun fell back in step with Lazarus as the trek resumed. If anyone else had said those things to him, he would have been angry, thinking they were somehow acting better than him. But Lazarus never had that effect on him. He knew that Lazarus never judged him and rather than growing resentful, Eun always felt inspired to be a better man after their talks.
Eun had lost a lot in his life—like everyone in Assistance Unlimited. But none of their losses could compare to what Lazarus had suffered through. He’d lost his very identity and even after his memories had been partially restored, they were vague, as if they had occurred to someone else. Eun couldn’t imagine how Lazarus was able to cope.
Lazarus held up a hand, gesturing for Eun to stop. They had reached a ladder that led up to sewer grating. If their maps were correct, they should be coming up right into the basement of the never-finished warehouse.
Eun watched as Lazarus climbed the ladder and pressed against the grate. With a grunt, Lazarus was able to shove it aside and clamber out into the basement. Eun sprinted up behind him.
“Is it just me or does it stink even worse up here?” the young Korean whispered. He moved his flashlight’s beam around, illuminating the room. There was a single exit at the far end of the room, with what he guessed were stairs on the other side.
He had just risen to his feet and started in that direction when both he and Lazarus froze in place. From up above came the sounds of gunfire.
Both men ran to the door but it was Eun who reached it first. He yanked it open and started to bound up the stairs, only to draw himself up short.
He now realized why it smelled so awful in the basement. Because on the other side of the door were seven of the rotting dead, their sallow skins peeking out from behind bloodied bandages. A fat man in a threadbare suit stood behind them, looking altogether too pleased with himself.
“I knew it,” Davis hissed. “I knew you’d come in through the sewer, Lazarus Gray.” He shoved the nearest mummy in the back. “Go ahead. Kill them.”
***
Just moments before, Morgan Watts had stepped out from behind the wheel of his car. Sporrenberg and Samantha followed suit, having both been riding in the back. The German kept one hand under his coat, hiding the gun he was holding, while the pretty blonde was tensed, ready to throw herself to the ground if gunfire rang out.
Morgan, for his part, appeared completely at ease. He tipped his hat in the direction of the warehouse, easily spotting Constance as she leaned out to look at them.
The veiled woman yelled out, “Where is Gray?”
“Back at the home office,” Morgan replied. “You didn’t want him here, wasn’t that right?”
“Quite.”
“Good. So… we’ve done as you asked. Now you can show us Abby, so we know that you’re on the up and up.”
“What have you done with Abraham?”
“Lazarus is going to do what he can to help his condition and then we’re going to turn him into the authorities. Since he gave us so much information about your gang, though, Lazarus is going to put in a good word for him.”
“You’re lying. He wouldn’t have betrayed us.”
Morgan shrugged. “He told us that your HQ is on Holder Way and the other members of your team are Femi, Davis and Pemberley. Am I wrong about anything so far?”
Constance vanished from the window and Morgan smirked. He’d thrown her for a loop and now she was uncertain how to respond. Maybe, he mused, she’d realize that her goose was cooked and throw in the towel.
When she reappeared, she held a machine gun in her hands. She pulled the trigger, riddling the car with bullets. Both Sporrenberg and Samantha took refuge behind the vehicle, the German occasionally rising up enough to return fire.
Morgan, meanwhile, did the exact opposite thing: he sprinted towards the warehouse, lowering his shoulder so he could barrel into the front door. It gave way, the wood splintering as it did so. He tumbled into the foyer, rolling up into a crouch, a pistol having seemingly materialized out of his coat and into his hand.
Standing before him was a shocked looking Doc Pemberley. The physician held a scalpel in his left hand but he never got the chance to use it. Morgan fired three rounds, two of which found homes in the doctor’s chest. The third one caught him in the left leg, sending him to the floor in a whining heap.
“No,” Pemberley hissed. “This can’t be happening. I didn’t trade it all away to lose it like this…”
Morgan moved over him, not knowing what Pemberley was talking about… and then he thought back to how the doctor had gotten out of prison. He crouched next to the man, keeping an eye on the other exits. “Did you trade your soul for freedom, Melvin?”
Pemberley’s eyes were filled with tears. “It’s worse than that. I promised him anything… and everything.”
Morgan slammed the butt of his gun against the man’s head, knocking him out. “Might have known your soul wouldn’t have much value.”
After searching Pemberley’s pockets and finding nothing of value, Morgan found the stairs and headed up, towards Constance.
***
Femi stood just outside Abby’s room, a look of amusement playing across her beautiful features. She appreciated that Constance had aided The Undying in reviving her, having found the remaining members of the ancient cult and providing them with the means to find Femi’s remains. But beyond that, she had little loyalty to this woman or the other members of Murder Unlimited.
The Egyptian princess was here for two reasons: to finally gain revenge on the hated Lazarus Gray and to locate someone who could not only become her lover, but her guide to this strange new world. Femi thought she might have found both in the form of Melvin Pemberley. He was handsome enough to suit her physical lusts but so morally degenerate that she felt confident she could bend him to her will.
The sounds of gunfire filled the warehouse, echoing loudly off the bare walls. Femi flinched, still not accustomed to these deadly new weapons that men possessed. Though she felt a thrilling desire to know more about such modern inventions as the cinema and radio, the art of warfare was now so terrifying that even one of her power had to be awed.
Femi froze in place, having heard something in the brief pause in gunfire. She whirled about and came face-to-face with Abby. The brunette smiled coolly and tilted her head to one side. “You’re the team’s magic expert, right? The one who can raise the dead?”
With a soft laugh, Femi nodded. “I am a Mistress of the Lost Arts. I have conquered Death. I am the Giver of Pain.” She gestured contemptuously towards Abby. “You wish to test your powers against mine?”
Abby shook her head. “No. Not really. I just want to see you bleed.”
Before Femi could respond, Abby punched her right in the nose. Blood spurted from each nostril, dripping off the Egyptian’s chin. Abby finished the other woman off with a hard elbow to the top of Femi’s head.
Abby tied Femi in the same manner that she’d been bound, though she took the extra precaution of placing a spell on the ropes. She had just finished doing so when Morgan bounded up the stairs. He stopped short when he saw her and then his eyes twinkled.
“The dames on this team,” he said with a chuckle. “You take all the fun out of rescuing you.”
***
Eun Jiwon was a happy man.
When fighting, he was lost in the deadly ballet. His body was his instrument and he wrote a chilling symphony of death.
Battling Femi’s mummies had its pros and cons, however. The combats were long, which pleased him, but it was hard to do serious harm to the undead, which lessened the joy that Eun felt.
Even so, he threw himself into the fray with wild abandon, kicking and punching two or even three of the monsters at a time.
Lazarus, meanwhile, bypassed the mummies entirely. He threw himself into the air, displaying a gymnastic prowess that would have pleased even Samantha. He landed flatfooted beside Davis, who squawked in terror. Lazarus grabbed the fat man by the collar and slammed his head against the wall. He did this three times and then tossed the unconscious villain aside.
“Go on, Chief!” Eun yelled, slamming together the heads of two of the slow-moving mummies. “I’ll be along in a minute!”
Lazarus hesitated only a moment before his faith in Eun won out. He ran up the stairs and glanced out the ruined front door. He saw Sporrenberg and Samantha were pinned down outside and the unconscious form of Pemberley lay in the foyer.
He was about to head upstairs when something caught his eye: a small stack of dynamite hidden against the wall. A small detonator lay on top, the second hand counting down to doomsday. Now he saw the ultimate scheme: lure the members of Assistance Unlimited into the building and then allow the explosives to end their lives. If that was true, then the other villains would be planning their escapes at this moment.
Sure enough, the gunfire from above ceased and hurried footsteps took their place.
“Everyone! Get out! Now!” Constance yelled.
The veiled woman skidded to a stop when she saw Lazarus. She turned, intending to head back up, but found the path now blocked by Morgan and Abby.
“The game’s over,” Lazarus said quietly. “We’ve just captured the Queen.”
***
It had been an easy task for Abby to disarm the explosives. In fact, she’d simply transformed the material into something inert and harmless. With the threat of an explosion now removed, the members of Assistance Unlimited were able to turn over their enemies to the authorities at their leisure. Lazarus assured both Klee and Constance that he would see to it that their conditions were cured, or at the very least eased.
Only Femi remained at 6196 Robeson Avenue, a permanent guest of Lazarus Gray’s, at least until they could figure out what to do with her. A simple execution seemed obviously ineffectual, in light of her continuing resurrections. The Egyptian was provided with a small room on the top level of the building, where Lazarus normally had the entire floor to himself. Her room was barred with all the mystical force that Abby could bring to bear and Lazarus felt confident that they would not have to worry about her escaping anytime soon.
Forty-eight hours later and Melvin Pemberley was placed back into the very same cell from which he had escaped. The foul physician had sat on his bunk long after lights out, staring into the darkness, his heart hammering in his chest. He had gone through surgery to remove the slugs that Morgan had fired into him and he ached terribly. But that wasn’t the reason for his insomnia. He was expecting a visitor.
An awful, terrible visitor.
Then a voice finally spoke up from his right, its owner invisible in the stygian darkness of the prison. “Well, that didn’t take long, did it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re back in jail so soon. I figured you’d make the most out of your freedom, Melvin. Especially given how much you gave up to get it.”
Pemberley swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly very dry. “What did I give up?”
“You told me I could have anything and everything, remember?”
“Yes… So what is it that you want?”
The voice laughed softly before answering. “I gave it a lot of thought and in the end I decided that the only thing you had worth taking was the only thing you ever really valued.”
Pemberley’s voice cracked. “Just tell me, damn you!”
“No, Melvin. Damn you.”
Pemberley felt a gloved hand touch his scalp, massaging it. He shivered but made no move to defend himself.
“I’m going to take that mind of yours,” the voice hissed. “Your intellect. I’m going to take it and put it to good use.”
Pemberley’s eyes opened wide but he never made a sound. He couldn’t, even if had wanted to. All the knowledge, all the vocabulary, was flooding out of his mind, like someone had removed the cork. His jaw fell slack, a bit of saliva dripping from his bottom lip. His handsome face would never be attractive again, not with that vacuous expression upon it.
He was an Idiot now, better suited for the sanitarium than a prison.
The gloved hand left his scalp and its owner stood up, allowing himself to become briefly illuminated in the cell. He wore a long red cloak over broad shoulders and a hood hid his features, though curved horns atop his skull gave a clear indication that he was not quite human. He looked through the bars of the cell, his eyes falling upon the staring eyes of the prisoner across the hall.
The man licked his lips in terror, whispering the name, “Satan,” under his breath.
The hooded figure grinned. “Oh, come now, give me some credit. Given all the information I just absorbed, I think a better non de guerre would be Doctor Satan.”6
The mocking laughter carried through the prison and even the brain-dead form of Melvin Pemberley shivered in its wake.
THE END
EIDOLON
AN ADVENTURE STARRING LAZARUS GRAY AND ASSISTANCE UNLIMITED
by Barry Reese
Chapter I
Slayer of Satan
Peru, 1930
The jungle’s heat was oppressive. The sunlight that streamed in through the twisted trees was an odd color, filtered through the verdant canopy. The air was so thick that moving through it was like passing through some invisible curtain of humidity.
The two men who moved along the narrow trail were as close as brothers. In the lead was a tall man with blond hair, blue eyes and a horribly scarred face. Walther Lunt could have been handsome if not for the horribly misshaped flesh on the right side of his face, which was the result of a nasty encounter with a vial of acid.
Behind him came Richard Winthrop. He was an athletically built young man in his mid-twenties. A graduate of Yale University, Winthrop had an intelligent look to his face and mismatched eyes—one was a dull brown in color, the other a sparking emerald. Several days’ worth of beard and tiny droplets of sweat marred what would have otherwise been a handsome face.
“How much farther?” Winthrop asked, adjusting the backpack that he was wearing.
“Anxious, are we?”
“I’m ready to grab the rock and head home,” Winthrop responded.
“If I had a beauty like Miya waiting for me, I’d probably feel the same way. It should be just up ahead.”
Winthrop nodded. Though he was younger than Lunt, the German seemed unperturbed by either the humid conditions or the long trek that had brought them here. Of course, in the three years since they’d first met, Winthrop had come to consider Lunt’s placid nature par for the course. The German had a furious temper when roused but he always seemed too lofty to be brought down by mere physical exertion.
“Are you certain that you can handle this, Richard?”
Winthrop glanced at his friend, noting the challenging tone to the words. “If I need your help, I’ll give a yell, believe me.”
Lunt nodded, smiling softly. He pressed forward, as if sensing that their destination lay within reach.
They had come here to find The Temple of Pain, where cultists had practiced human sacrifice for centuries. It was rumored that the devil himself would join them for drug-fueled orgies… until the night that a warrior, stoked by alcohol and bloodlust, stabbed Satan with a sacred knife. The warrior had carved out the devil’s heart and it had become the most unholy of trophies, housed in the very center of the temple.
The Illuminati, the shadowy organization to whom both Winthrop and Lunt belonged, wanted The Devil’s Heart. It was hoped that they could keep it from the hands of evil men, thus protecting the world.
At least that’s what they said.
When Winthrop had been recruited into their fold three years before, he’d accepted The Illuminati’s good works at face value. But in the last year or so, he’d begun to have some doubts. He still wanted to believe that the majority of the organization was trying to live up to its stated ideals but he was no longer the devout follower that he had once been.
She couldn’t wait.
Chapter V
Checkmate!
The sewers beneath Sovereign City were every bit as disgusting as Eun had imagined. The stench was nearly unbearable, even through the bandana he’d tied around his nose and mouth. The waters were knee high in places and the foul water flowed in through the tops of his boots. He almost wished that he and his employer hadn’t outfitted themselves with industrial strength flashlights—if they’d been in the dark, Eun wouldn’t have had to see the stuff that floated by in those waters.
“You sure you don’t want something to cover your nose?” Eun asked.
Lazarus gave a curt shake of his head. He seemed unaffected by his surroundings and Eun felt a twinge of jealousy. He wished he could be so stoic sometimes.
“Chief, can I ask you something?”
“Go ahead.”
“It’s never happened but it seems inevitable. What are we going to do when one of us is killed?”
Lazarus glanced over at him. “What do you mean?”
“We all know that you prefer to bring the bad guys in alive but if we get there and Abby’s dead… Are you going to let us kill them?”
“Killing them won’t bring Abby back to life.”
“No. But with the way the legal system in Sovereign works, these guys are liable to be back on the streets again sooner rather than later. Not to mention people like Femi! She’s died at least twice so far and keeps coming back! When are we going to do whatever it takes to stop that?”
Lazarus stopped and turned his mismatched eyes upon Eun. “About Femi—I think you’re right. We need to find some way to hold her in place and then I can find a spell to keep her from returning. As for the rest of them, I’d still prefer to let the justice system run its course. You remember when we met The Peregrine and he told us about his trouble with the Law, all because he was acting as Judge, Jury and Executioner in Boston?”5
“Sure.”
“Then you know why we have to temper our emotions. It’s all too easy to forget that we’re not above the law. Sometimes our foes force our hand, but we should never go into a situation expecting for lethal force to be required.”
Eun fell back in step with Lazarus as the trek resumed. If anyone else had said those things to him, he would have been angry, thinking they were somehow acting better than him. But Lazarus never had that effect on him. He knew that Lazarus never judged him and rather than growing resentful, Eun always felt inspired to be a better man after their talks.
Eun had lost a lot in his life—like everyone in Assistance Unlimited. But none of their losses could compare to what Lazarus had suffered through. He’d lost his very identity and even after his memories had been partially restored, they were vague, as if they had occurred to someone else. Eun couldn’t imagine how Lazarus was able to cope.
Lazarus held up a hand, gesturing for Eun to stop. They had reached a ladder that led up to sewer grating. If their maps were correct, they should be coming up right into the basement of the never-finished warehouse.
Eun watched as Lazarus climbed the ladder and pressed against the grate. With a grunt, Lazarus was able to shove it aside and clamber out into the basement. Eun sprinted up behind him.
“Is it just me or does it stink even worse up here?” the young Korean whispered. He moved his flashlight’s beam around, illuminating the room. There was a single exit at the far end of the room, with what he guessed were stairs on the other side.
He had just risen to his feet and started in that direction when both he and Lazarus froze in place. From up above came the sounds of gunfire.
Both men ran to the door but it was Eun who reached it first. He yanked it open and started to bound up the stairs, only to draw himself up short.
He now realized why it smelled so awful in the basement. Because on the other side of the door were seven of the rotting dead, their sallow skins peeking out from behind bloodied bandages. A fat man in a threadbare suit stood behind them, looking altogether too pleased with himself.
“I knew it,” Davis hissed. “I knew you’d come in through the sewer, Lazarus Gray.” He shoved the nearest mummy in the back. “Go ahead. Kill them.”
***
Just moments before, Morgan Watts had stepped out from behind the wheel of his car. Sporrenberg and Samantha followed suit, having both been riding in the back. The German kept one hand under his coat, hiding the gun he was holding, while the pretty blonde was tensed, ready to throw herself to the ground if gunfire rang out.
Morgan, for his part, appeared completely at ease. He tipped his hat in the direction of the warehouse, easily spotting Constance as she leaned out to look at them.
The veiled woman yelled out, “Where is Gray?”
“Back at the home office,” Morgan replied. “You didn’t want him here, wasn’t that right?”
“Quite.”
“Good. So… we’ve done as you asked. Now you can show us Abby, so we know that you’re on the up and up.”
“What have you done with Abraham?”
“Lazarus is going to do what he can to help his condition and then we’re going to turn him into the authorities. Since he gave us so much information about your gang, though, Lazarus is going to put in a good word for him.”
“You’re lying. He wouldn’t have betrayed us.”
Morgan shrugged. “He told us that your HQ is on Holder Way and the other members of your team are Femi, Davis and Pemberley. Am I wrong about anything so far?”
Constance vanished from the window and Morgan smirked. He’d thrown her for a loop and now she was uncertain how to respond. Maybe, he mused, she’d realize that her goose was cooked and throw in the towel.
When she reappeared, she held a machine gun in her hands. She pulled the trigger, riddling the car with bullets. Both Sporrenberg and Samantha took refuge behind the vehicle, the German occasionally rising up enough to return fire.
Morgan, meanwhile, did the exact opposite thing: he sprinted towards the warehouse, lowering his shoulder so he could barrel into the front door. It gave way, the wood splintering as it did so. He tumbled into the foyer, rolling up into a crouch, a pistol having seemingly materialized out of his coat and into his hand.
Standing before him was a shocked looking Doc Pemberley. The physician held a scalpel in his left hand but he never got the chance to use it. Morgan fired three rounds, two of which found homes in the doctor’s chest. The third one caught him in the left leg, sending him to the floor in a whining heap.
“No,” Pemberley hissed. “This can’t be happening. I didn’t trade it all away to lose it like this…”
Morgan moved over him, not knowing what Pemberley was talking about… and then he thought back to how the doctor had gotten out of prison. He crouched next to the man, keeping an eye on the other exits. “Did you trade your soul for freedom, Melvin?”
Pemberley’s eyes were filled with tears. “It’s worse than that. I promised him anything… and everything.”
Morgan slammed the butt of his gun against the man’s head, knocking him out. “Might have known your soul wouldn’t have much value.”
After searching Pemberley’s pockets and finding nothing of value, Morgan found the stairs and headed up, towards Constance.
***
Femi stood just outside Abby’s room, a look of amusement playing across her beautiful features. She appreciated that Constance had aided The Undying in reviving her, having found the remaining members of the ancient cult and providing them with the means to find Femi’s remains. But beyond that, she had little loyalty to this woman or the other members of Murder Unlimited.
The Egyptian princess was here for two reasons: to finally gain revenge on the hated Lazarus Gray and to locate someone who could not only become her lover, but her guide to this strange new world. Femi thought she might have found both in the form of Melvin Pemberley. He was handsome enough to suit her physical lusts but so morally degenerate that she felt confident she could bend him to her will.
The sounds of gunfire filled the warehouse, echoing loudly off the bare walls. Femi flinched, still not accustomed to these deadly new weapons that men possessed. Though she felt a thrilling desire to know more about such modern inventions as the cinema and radio, the art of warfare was now so terrifying that even one of her power had to be awed.
Femi froze in place, having heard something in the brief pause in gunfire. She whirled about and came face-to-face with Abby. The brunette smiled coolly and tilted her head to one side. “You’re the team’s magic expert, right? The one who can raise the dead?”
With a soft laugh, Femi nodded. “I am a Mistress of the Lost Arts. I have conquered Death. I am the Giver of Pain.” She gestured contemptuously towards Abby. “You wish to test your powers against mine?”
Abby shook her head. “No. Not really. I just want to see you bleed.”
Before Femi could respond, Abby punched her right in the nose. Blood spurted from each nostril, dripping off the Egyptian’s chin. Abby finished the other woman off with a hard elbow to the top of Femi’s head.
Abby tied Femi in the same manner that she’d been bound, though she took the extra precaution of placing a spell on the ropes. She had just finished doing so when Morgan bounded up the stairs. He stopped short when he saw her and then his eyes twinkled.
“The dames on this team,” he said with a chuckle. “You take all the fun out of rescuing you.”
***
Eun Jiwon was a happy man.
When fighting, he was lost in the deadly ballet. His body was his instrument and he wrote a chilling symphony of death.
Battling Femi’s mummies had its pros and cons, however. The combats were long, which pleased him, but it was hard to do serious harm to the undead, which lessened the joy that Eun felt.
Even so, he threw himself into the fray with wild abandon, kicking and punching two or even three of the monsters at a time.
Lazarus, meanwhile, bypassed the mummies entirely. He threw himself into the air, displaying a gymnastic prowess that would have pleased even Samantha. He landed flatfooted beside Davis, who squawked in terror. Lazarus grabbed the fat man by the collar and slammed his head against the wall. He did this three times and then tossed the unconscious villain aside.
“Go on, Chief!” Eun yelled, slamming together the heads of two of the slow-moving mummies. “I’ll be along in a minute!”
Lazarus hesitated only a moment before his faith in Eun won out. He ran up the stairs and glanced out the ruined front door. He saw Sporrenberg and Samantha were pinned down outside and the unconscious form of Pemberley lay in the foyer.
He was about to head upstairs when something caught his eye: a small stack of dynamite hidden against the wall. A small detonator lay on top, the second hand counting down to doomsday. Now he saw the ultimate scheme: lure the members of Assistance Unlimited into the building and then allow the explosives to end their lives. If that was true, then the other villains would be planning their escapes at this moment.
Sure enough, the gunfire from above ceased and hurried footsteps took their place.
“Everyone! Get out! Now!” Constance yelled.
The veiled woman skidded to a stop when she saw Lazarus. She turned, intending to head back up, but found the path now blocked by Morgan and Abby.
“The game’s over,” Lazarus said quietly. “We’ve just captured the Queen.”
***
It had been an easy task for Abby to disarm the explosives. In fact, she’d simply transformed the material into something inert and harmless. With the threat of an explosion now removed, the members of Assistance Unlimited were able to turn over their enemies to the authorities at their leisure. Lazarus assured both Klee and Constance that he would see to it that their conditions were cured, or at the very least eased.
Only Femi remained at 6196 Robeson Avenue, a permanent guest of Lazarus Gray’s, at least until they could figure out what to do with her. A simple execution seemed obviously ineffectual, in light of her continuing resurrections. The Egyptian was provided with a small room on the top level of the building, where Lazarus normally had the entire floor to himself. Her room was barred with all the mystical force that Abby could bring to bear and Lazarus felt confident that they would not have to worry about her escaping anytime soon.
Forty-eight hours later and Melvin Pemberley was placed back into the very same cell from which he had escaped. The foul physician had sat on his bunk long after lights out, staring into the darkness, his heart hammering in his chest. He had gone through surgery to remove the slugs that Morgan had fired into him and he ached terribly. But that wasn’t the reason for his insomnia. He was expecting a visitor.
An awful, terrible visitor.
Then a voice finally spoke up from his right, its owner invisible in the stygian darkness of the prison. “Well, that didn’t take long, did it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re back in jail so soon. I figured you’d make the most out of your freedom, Melvin. Especially given how much you gave up to get it.”
Pemberley swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly very dry. “What did I give up?”
“You told me I could have anything and everything, remember?”
“Yes… So what is it that you want?”
The voice laughed softly before answering. “I gave it a lot of thought and in the end I decided that the only thing you had worth taking was the only thing you ever really valued.”
Pemberley’s voice cracked. “Just tell me, damn you!”
“No, Melvin. Damn you.”
Pemberley felt a gloved hand touch his scalp, massaging it. He shivered but made no move to defend himself.
“I’m going to take that mind of yours,” the voice hissed. “Your intellect. I’m going to take it and put it to good use.”
Pemberley’s eyes opened wide but he never made a sound. He couldn’t, even if had wanted to. All the knowledge, all the vocabulary, was flooding out of his mind, like someone had removed the cork. His jaw fell slack, a bit of saliva dripping from his bottom lip. His handsome face would never be attractive again, not with that vacuous expression upon it.
He was an Idiot now, better suited for the sanitarium than a prison.
The gloved hand left his scalp and its owner stood up, allowing himself to become briefly illuminated in the cell. He wore a long red cloak over broad shoulders and a hood hid his features, though curved horns atop his skull gave a clear indication that he was not quite human. He looked through the bars of the cell, his eyes falling upon the staring eyes of the prisoner across the hall.
The man licked his lips in terror, whispering the name, “Satan,” under his breath.
The hooded figure grinned. “Oh, come now, give me some credit. Given all the information I just absorbed, I think a better non de guerre would be Doctor Satan.”6
The mocking laughter carried through the prison and even the brain-dead form of Melvin Pemberley shivered in its wake.
THE END
EIDOLON
AN ADVENTURE STARRING LAZARUS GRAY AND ASSISTANCE UNLIMITED
by Barry Reese
Chapter I
Slayer of Satan
Peru, 1930
The jungle’s heat was oppressive. The sunlight that streamed in through the twisted trees was an odd color, filtered through the verdant canopy. The air was so thick that moving through it was like passing through some invisible curtain of humidity.
The two men who moved along the narrow trail were as close as brothers. In the lead was a tall man with blond hair, blue eyes and a horribly scarred face. Walther Lunt could have been handsome if not for the horribly misshaped flesh on the right side of his face, which was the result of a nasty encounter with a vial of acid.
Behind him came Richard Winthrop. He was an athletically built young man in his mid-twenties. A graduate of Yale University, Winthrop had an intelligent look to his face and mismatched eyes—one was a dull brown in color, the other a sparking emerald. Several days’ worth of beard and tiny droplets of sweat marred what would have otherwise been a handsome face.
“How much farther?” Winthrop asked, adjusting the backpack that he was wearing.
“Anxious, are we?”
“I’m ready to grab the rock and head home,” Winthrop responded.
“If I had a beauty like Miya waiting for me, I’d probably feel the same way. It should be just up ahead.”
Winthrop nodded. Though he was younger than Lunt, the German seemed unperturbed by either the humid conditions or the long trek that had brought them here. Of course, in the three years since they’d first met, Winthrop had come to consider Lunt’s placid nature par for the course. The German had a furious temper when roused but he always seemed too lofty to be brought down by mere physical exertion.
“Are you certain that you can handle this, Richard?”
Winthrop glanced at his friend, noting the challenging tone to the words. “If I need your help, I’ll give a yell, believe me.”
Lunt nodded, smiling softly. He pressed forward, as if sensing that their destination lay within reach.
They had come here to find The Temple of Pain, where cultists had practiced human sacrifice for centuries. It was rumored that the devil himself would join them for drug-fueled orgies… until the night that a warrior, stoked by alcohol and bloodlust, stabbed Satan with a sacred knife. The warrior had carved out the devil’s heart and it had become the most unholy of trophies, housed in the very center of the temple.
The Illuminati, the shadowy organization to whom both Winthrop and Lunt belonged, wanted The Devil’s Heart. It was hoped that they could keep it from the hands of evil men, thus protecting the world.
At least that’s what they said.
When Winthrop had been recruited into their fold three years before, he’d accepted The Illuminati’s good works at face value. But in the last year or so, he’d begun to have some doubts. He still wanted to believe that the majority of the organization was trying to live up to its stated ideals but he was no longer the devout follower that he had once been.
