Free The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 3: Red Reunion (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #3) by Michael Panush

approached.
    “I am well aware of that.” Weatherby looked up from the bowl. “Right,” he whispered. “Let’s hope this works.” He grabbed the end of the punch bowl and lifted it up. His thin arms strained under the weight and the cut glass felt rough against his fingers, but he eventually got the bowl above his head.
    Weatherby turned around and faced the imps. “All right, you demons!” he cried. “Have something to drink!”
    He upended the bowl and sent the punch spilling down, washing into the imps like a crimson flood. The holy punch burned through them, and their voices rose in a chorus of high pitched squeals. As the punch washed away, the imps were nothing but piles of soggy ashes. Weatherby stepped carefully around them.
    “They’ve been returned to Hell,” he said, walking to the door. Peggy stayed close to him, and Weatherby had a desire to protect and shelter her. “Don’t worry. We’re safe now.”
    They reached the door and Weatherby forced it open. He stepped out, blinking in the bright moonlight. While other students ran away in terror, he spotted Butch and his friends standing calmly in the hall, their arms folded. Butch smiled as Weatherby hurried to him.
    “You monster!” Weatherby cried, rage rising inside of him. “Innocent people were seriously injured! You played with demons and you could have doomed us all!” He pulled back a fist, about to slam it into Butch’s smug face, when he caught himself. He stepped back, reaching into his coat for the handle of his revolver. He knew how terrible he was with the gun, but perhaps he could use it to frighten Butch, instead of relying on his weak fists.
    But Butch merely smiled. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, Jewboy,” he said. He pointed down the street. “Remember yesterday when I said I was planning to summon Astaroth to do my bidding, and you told me he wouldn’t bite unless I gave him a human sacrifice? Well, guess what? I got me a human sacrifice. My parents are out of town, and I’m all set for a major party.”
    “Butch, you wouldn’t murder someone just to—”
    “Well, why don’t you come to my place and find out?” Butch asked. He grinned at Weatherby. “Unless your new boyfriend is chicken, of course.”
    “You’re as fiendish as the devils you wish to deal with!” Weatherby cried. “Take me to your house, then. I’ll do whatever it takes to stop you from harming an innocent.”
    “Figured you’d say that. Let’s go.” Butch turned on his heel and started down the street, even as sirens wailed in the distance.
    His two friends fell into step behind him, and Weatherby and Peggy followed. They walked down the sidewalk, past the rows of identical suburban palaces. Weatherby thought back to Castle Stein and the Black Forest. Butch’s victim was probably some poor vagrant drifter, a hobo he had captured and tied up in his house. Weatherby couldn’t let whoever it was die. After what he had gone through in Castle Stein, he refused to allow cruelty to go on unopposed.
    They reached Butch’s house before Weatherby realized it. Butch made a show of holding the door open for them, and ushering them inside his spacious house. They walked over the hardwood floor to the kitchen. Weatherby kept his hand in his coat, fastened on the handle of his revolver. As soon as he had the opportunity, he would draw the gun and force Butch to release his prisoner, then call the police and put an end to this whole sorry incident.
    They crossed the living room and reached the kitchen. Butch pointed to the table and Weatherby gasped, weakness filling his knees and a cold weight settling over his chest. Morton Candle sat in the middle of the kitchen, strong ropes tying him to a high-backed chair and a gag in his mouth. He had a purple bruise on his forehead, and his pistols and knife rested on the kitchen table, along with the pentagram-inscribed book of spells.
    Mort looked up at Weatherby. The gag stopped him from talking, but he