Free The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 2: Cold Wars (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #2) by Michael Panush

fish and blood. Above him, his manor burned, sending dark clouds billowing up into the darkened sky.
    Gillman looked back at his troops, who let out a shrieking gurgle of victory. “So perish the enemies of the true gods!” Gillman cried, with the shrieking sincerity of the true fanatic.
    “You’re a regular Billy Sunday, Gillman!” Verona laughed. “Where to next?”
    “The cliffs around town – the marsh country.” Gillman stared into the distance, his tongue sliding across his flat lips. “There, we shall bring the world to its knees.” He paused to look at me. “And the traitor shall watch.”
    “Sounds good!” Verona clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, Morty. I’ll be sure we get ringside seats.”
    “Swell,” I muttered. It was a struggle to stay conscious, but I would. I had to get free, put a stop to the raising of evil gods – and get some vengeance on Joey Verona before he could do the same to me.

    After finishing off Mayor Marsh’s goons and burning his mansion to the ground, Gillman and his boys headed up into the cliffs, with Joey Verona and me to keep them company. Verona stayed behind me all the way, a pistol pressed to the back of my head, just in case the ropes binding me and the brutal beating he had handed out weren’t enough. Each step on the slippery cliffs set a bolt of pain rocketing through my body. I gritted my teeth and took it, wishing to God that Weatherby hadn’t taken off, and that I had listened to his warnings.
    The land around Innsmouth was a mix of jagged cliffs above the roaring sea and marshes fat with fetid water. Gillman selected a wide cliff overlooking the ocean for the ceremony. Standing stones covered in strange curving marks stood in the center of the plains, and the Deep Ones created a small, smoldering fire from dried seaweed and driftwood. They threw some strange coral into the fire, causing the flames to rise green and greasy into the sky.
    “Here we are, gents!” Verona said, pushing me down on a fallen log. I sat down heavily, breathing hard as I stared into the fire. “Looks like the perfect atmosphere for a little bit of the old apocalypse rag, eh Morty!” He sat next to me and put his arm around my shoulder. “Ain’t this just great! A couple of old friends watching the world go blam-o!”
    “You’ve lost it, Verona,” I rasped. “If you ever had any sense to begin with.”
    Joey Verona paused. His merriment strained out of him and he stood up. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe you’re right. But it doesn’t really matter, does it? Soon as old Cthulhu goes wakey-wakey, everyone’s gonna be just as kooky as me, right before the final curtain falls on the whole miserable human race.” He walked away from me, grumbling to himself out of the corner of his mouth.
    I looked back at Gillman, who had flipped through to the back of the Necromicon and started to read. A score of his Deep Ones stood behind him, sitting on their haunches and watching the fire intently. One of his remaining, sort-of human guards stood near me, a Browning Automatic Rifle clutched in his hands. Gillman started his chant, a slow mutter that rose in intensity as he continued.
    The fire roared higher and higher, rising like a flickering tower into the black sky. Thunder rolled in the distance, and lightning flared off, like the ground under our feet was cracking and splitting open. The ocean roared, waves pounding into the cliffs like angry fists. I slumped my head, staring at my boots. There was nothing I could do except wait for the end.
    It was all because I wanted dough and revenge for Vernon Partridge. I had gone blood drunk, stupid with my need to inspire more violence. Now it seemed that all of existence would pay the price.
    “Mort.” The voice was quiet and came from behind. I looked around. Weatherby crouched in the briars behind the fallen log, trying his best to make himself unseen. The kid was drenched from the rain, with drops of water raining down his