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

gave the boy a quiet nod.
    Butch laughed as he sat down in one of the chairs and put his feet on the table. “I found him snooping around, and hit him with a baseball bat. Put him right out. He woke up and told me everything.” He pointed to Weatherby. “They’re private detectives. Peggy, your new boyfriend is some shamus, and he’s only hanging around with you to get more dirt on me.” He reached out and yanked the gag from Mort’s mouth. “Tell them.”
    “I never said that,” Mort muttered. “You’re making things up, kid. You’ve gone screwy with jealousy. Do yourself a favor – untie me and call the cops. A stretch in the county jail is the only thing that can cure you now.”
    “Oh, I don’t think so. I’m getting Astaroth on my side. And then, there will be nothing I can’t do. The Silver Hills Centurions will win the championship. I’ll graduate with full honors, get to be elected president – anything. And Peggy and me will go steady.” He grabbed Mort’s Ka-Bar and nodded to his friends.
    They moved faster than Weatherby. One slugged Weatherby in the chest, and the boy felt something explode in his midsection. His eyes burned as he tumbled backwards. He managed to get the revolver half out of his coat before they grabbed his wrist and pulled the gun away. Weatherby was slammed against the wall, and held there by strong arms. Peggy screamed, but Butch’s other friend grabbed her.
    “Butch?” the kid holding Weatherby asked. “You sure about this? I mean, isn’t it murder?”
    Butch had already taken up the book. “Shut up, Petey,” he said, and started to read.
    Outside, the only light came from the full moon, which suddenly passed under a cloak of clouds. The ancient words grew in volume as Butch read, and the electric kitchen lights began to glow a faint blue. Peggy stifled a scream and pointed to the stove, as more blue smoke emerged. The oven fell open, and the demon Astaroth emerged.
    He seemed bigger than the kitchen, the top of his head brushing the ceiling. Smoke poured around him, and his eyes glowed like dying coals. Astaroth was a naked man, with curling horns emerging from his head and a long bristly beard like steel wool reaching down to his waist. He carried a great serpent in his hands, which curled and writhed around his shoulders and neck, its big forked tongue flicking in and out endlessly. His demonic servants, lean creatures resembling the imps but big as a man and armed with pitchforks and red hot cudgels, followed him into the kitchen.
    Astaroth pointed at Butch. “You have summoned me.” His voice was like the crackle of a roaring fire. “For what purpose?”
    “I am Butch Waller, your infernal majesty, and I would have you do my bidding, in return for the blood of an unwilling sacrifice,” Butch said, carefully reciting each word. He walked over to Mort, and raised the knife. “Let me just get that blood for you now…”
    Weatherby felt the thick hands of the football player, around his neck and chest. He saw the flat blade of the Ka-Bar knife coming down, aiming for the center of Mort’s face.  He had to do something. He glanced at the football player holding him. Quickly, Weatherby reached down and bit the wrist of his captor. He bit down hard, tasting skin and then blood.
    With a strangled cry, Butch’s buddy let go of Weatherby. The boy dashed for the table and grabbed one of Mort’s automatics and his revolver. He started shooting, squeezing hard on the trigger until he heard the sudden explosion of the gunshot. It shattered a plate in the one of the cupboards, and did nothing more. Weatherby didn’t know what to do, so he swung the gun to face Butch.
    But Mort was already moving. Mort rammed his head forward, delivering a painful head butt to Butch’s chin. Butch went down, and Mort managed to grab his knife. He cut his ropes and sprang up, running for Weatherby.
    Astaroth roared. “You mock me!” he called. “You have denied me my sacrifice!