The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 3: Red Reunion (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #3) (9 page)

Astaroth roared. “You mock me!” he called. “You have denied me my sacrifice! You will pay!” The serpent’s mouth opened and fire came out. Mort grabbed Weatherby and pulled him to the ground, seconds before the blaze tore through the kitchen, shattering plates and silverware and blackening the walls. Weatherby felt the floor rush up to him as fire burned above his back.

Peggy was screaming. Weatherby came to his feet, but Mort grabbed his arm. “Come on, kiddo!” Mort cried, pausing to grab his spare pistol from the table. “If we stay here, we’re fried!” He pulled Weatherby to the door. Weatherby realized he was crying too, as they went through the living room and managed to get away from the rising crimson flames.

Mort smashed the door open with his boot, and they collapsed onto the perfect green lawn. Weatherby was coughing and crying, but he stood up and looked back at the house. The flames were already rising.

“Peggy!” he cried. He turned back to Mort. “We have to go back for her. We have to go back inside.” He held tightly to his revolver as he handed the automatic back to Mort. “She could still be alive – alone in there with Astaroth, and those demons, and that monster Butch!”

“You sure?” Mort looked back at the house. “We go in there, we might not be coming back out.”

Weatherby put his revolver back into his coat. He dug into the pockets, grabbing every charm and relic he could, everything that might be useful against Astaroth and the demons. “I’m certain, Mort. I love Peggy. I’ve never been more certain of anything.”

“I know the feeling. I’ve grown to hate it.” Mort walked to the door, and nodded to Weatherby. “Stay close to me. Don’t let the demons separate us. And let’s go and get your girlfriend.”

They stepped back into the house. The odor of brimstone was everywhere, making Weatherby’s eyes water and his nose wrinkle up. He felt the pain in his chest and his face from his recent injuries, making each movement ache. But he didn’t care. Peggy needed him.

The demons charged at them from the kitchen, howling as they leapt over the couches and armchairs. Mort raised both his automatics and started firing. The heavy bullets plowed thick holes through the demons, raising clouds of reddish smoke when they hit. The demons gibbered and snarled as they died, their clubs and pitchforks falling from their hands.

“Get the girl! I’ll cover you!” Mort cried, as they hurried to the kitchen. Mort kept shooting, as Weatherby scanned the kitchen. Blue smoke was everywhere, hiding the room in a choking mist. Weatherby looked around, his heart pounding as he tried to find Peggy.

Astaroth had her. He was holding on to her slim waist with his clawed hands, his mouth open to reveal sharp teeth. On the tiled floor, the giant serpent had wrapped around Butch. Its heavy coils choked him, and Butch’s eyes bulged, his mouth open in a frozen scream.

Weatherby started toward Peggy. Butch’s two friends were on the ground, a pair of demons poking at them with pitchforks and laughing. Weatherby moved quickly, hurling a pair of crucifixes at the demons. The crosses burned as they touched red demon skin, and the fiends stepped back.

“Get outside! Get out of here!” Weatherby told the two football players. They stood up and followed his instructions, running away as they clutched their bloody wounds and sobbed. Weatherby looked up at Astaroth, and at Peggy and Butch. “Let them go!” he demanded. “Return to the Inferno! You’ll have no sacrifice tonight!”

The demon Astaroth stared up at Weatherby and the boy quaked under his gaze. Everything about Astaroth spoke of death, terror, Hellfire and despair, and looking into the demon’s eyes was seeing light and love banished forever. Weatherby held his ground.  Astaroth licked his lips, the demon’s tongue forked like that of his serpentine companion. “What do you have that could stop me, boy?” Peggy was crying as Astaroth held her, tears silently falling down her face.

Weatherby clutched tightly to the two handfuls of crucifixes, blessed coins, vials of holy water, and other magical detritus. “Just this,” he said and hurled them all at Astaroth. The trinkets struck the skin of the demon, rising thin lines of steam. In sudden surprise, Astaroth released Peggy, and she ran to Weatherby.

Mort stepped into the kitchen, holding the smaller demons back with his pistols. “Let’s go!” he cried. “We ain’t got the time and I ain’t got the lead!”

As he held tightly to Peggy, Weatherby looked down at Butch. Astaroth was still writhing from the effects of the holy devices, and was stepping back into the smoldering oven – the portal to Hell. His snake was coming with him. Weatherby reached down and grabbed Butch’s shoulder. He kicked at the giant serpent, trying to free Butch from its coils. But it was like kicking a brick wall, only hurting his foot.

Butch looked up at Mort. “Tell them it was a fire!” he managed to say. “Don’t tell my parents… about this. I don’t want them to be… disappointed.” The serpent pulled him away, following Astaroth into the glowing portal. Weatherby’s hand fell away from Butch’s shoulder.

Then Peggy and Mort were pulling him through the kitchen and the living room. They got outside, through the door and onto the lawn. Weatherby looked back at the house and saw that the fire had spread. The suburban palace was turning black under the flame, sending up thick gouts of smoke as it started to shift and crumble.

But they were alive. Weatherby breathed a sigh of relief and looked at Peggy. “God,” he whispered. “We made it.”

But Peggy just shook her head. “Was he telling the truth? Are you really some private detective, sent to spy on us?”

“Yes,” Weatherby said. He didn’t want to lie to her. “But that’s no reason to—”

“You jerk!” Peggy’s slap was sudden. It cracked across Weatherby’s cheek, making him look away. “Butch would never have tried to contact bigger demons if you didn’t make him jealous! If you didn’t poke your nose in Silver Hills, none of this would have happened! I hate you! Go back to the road and your cases, you little detective, and leave me alone!” She turned around, storming off before Weatherby had even a chance to respond.

The boy took a step after her, but stopped. “She’s right,” he whispered. He felt hot tears growing in his eyes and buried his face in his hands. “Good Lord. She’s right.”

“No.” Mort put his hand on Weatherby’s shoulder. “I know how you feel. I’ve felt it plenty. But she ain’t right. Butch was a psychopath. He’d have done something awful sooner or later, and I know you didn’t mean to antagonize him.” Mort looked at the burning house. “It’s this lie, this damn big suburban lie, that everyone and everything’s gotta be the same and everyone and everything’s gotta be perfect. Butch couldn’t do it alone, and he turned to demons for help.” He looked back at Weatherby. “How do you want to play this, kiddo?”

Weatherby wiped his eyes on his sleeve as he considered the question. “We’ll tell the parents that we didn’t find anything and there was no Black Magic going in Silver Hills,” he said. “That Butch was just killed in a fire, instead of being dragged to the Inferno by a Crowned Prince of Hell.  Let the lie live.”

“All right.” Mort put his arm around Weatherby’s shoulder and helped him down the sidewalk. “Come on, kiddo. I got the auto parked around the corner.” They walked along in silence. Behind them, fire trucks rolled down the street to the Waller house, as doors opened for neighbors to see what was going on.

Mort looked down at Weatherby and sighed. “I’m sorry you had trouble fitting in with those kids,” he said. “I know it meant a lot to you, and now it’s gone. I’m sorry about that and about everything.”

“Yes,” Weatherby said. “I should have known better.” He allowed himself a small smile. “But at least I have one true friend.”

“Yeah,” Mort agreed, grinning back. “You do have that.”

The two of them walked back to the automobile, and got inside. They drove away from Silver Hills, and left the suburbs behind them.

Lounge Lizards

W
eatherby didn’t tell me we’d be meeting his sister at the Royal Crown Lounge until we reached Lake Tahoe. We were there on a case, and maybe I would have been pissed at the kid for arranging to meet her when we were on a client’s time, if I didn’t know how much he cared for her, and how rarely they saw each other. Selena brought out a subtle change in Weatherby. The mask of a superior, confident, arrogant genius aristocrat cracked like porcelain under a baseball bat when he saw her. The fifteen-year-old kid in Weatherby got to take a peek outside.

I also didn’t mind because I knew Selena wasn’t some airheaded college girl, worried about clothes, shopping, boys and not much else. Selena could take care of herself. She was studying anthropology in New York, and was almost as big an expert on the occult and folklore as her baby brother. She was brave, too. Selena had been at boarding school in the States when the Nazis had taken her family as hostages for Hitler. Weatherby was all she had left, and it wasn’t hard to see the affection they had for each other. Call me a sap, but I didn’t mind seeing her.

I spotted her when I pulled the cherry red Roadmaster up to the curb of the Royal Crown Lounge. It was a brisk day in Tahoe, where the mountain air slid into your lungs like a sharpened switchblade. The Royal Crown was a round structure, made of polished, shining wood, with a fat neon sign glowing gold before the doors. Like most joints in the town, it had gambling in the open and girls if you looked a little, but the main draw – for the rich mugs that flocked here – was entertainment.

‘Tommy Gabriel – Live Every Night!’ the sign declared. Gabriel was a lounge singer and seemed more popular than God. I had listened to him. I didn’t see the appeal. But Tommy Gabriel and his sappy love ballads meant big money, and the owner of the club had some problem with him, which only the Stein and Candle Detective Agency could solve. We hurried over, and Selena was there to meet us.

“What’s she doing up here anyway?” I asked, as I opened the door. “Studying the habits of the rich? This place is lousy with them.”

“I think she’s on vacation,” Weatherby said, stepping carefully onto the curb. “She did not provide much of a reason for her presence, but she was decidedly delighted that I was here. I think she said she wanted me to meet someone.”

We walked onto the sidewalk as I tossed the keys to a valet. That’s when I saw Selena Stein. She was standing in the shadow of the Royal Crown, and hurried over to us, arms outstretched for Weatherby. There was somebody with her. I got a good look at him as he stood next to Selena while she embraced her little brother. I didn’t like what I saw.

Selena chattered away, patting Weatherby’s shoulder. “Oh, Weatherby, you look wonderful! Have you gotten taller? I’m sure you have.” She wore dark jeans and a collared shirt under a neat leather jacket, a backpack slung over her shoulder. She shared Weatherby’s thin nose, dark hair and bright eyes behind spectacles. “And I can’t wait for you to tell me about your adventures in Europe with our ancestor, and everything else you have been up to.” She paused and stepped back, standing next to the fellow who had come out with her. “But first, you have to meet someone. This is Chad Albright. He’s my boyfriend.”

Weatherby looked at Chad Albright. He was a thin guy, with straight dark blonde hair and matching moustache and goatee. He had sunglasses on, and he pushed them down his nose to look at Weatherby. He wore a tight black sweater under a black leather jacket. I could tell right away what he was – a beatnik, a bohemian, one of those fruity kids who liked coffee, poetry and communism in equal measure. Weatherby’s eyes went wide.

Then Chad made it even worse by opening his mouth and talking. “I’ve heard all about you, little man. It’s great to finally meet you.” He held out his hand and Weatherby took it, as gingerly as if he was handling a rattlesnake. “I gotta say, Weatherby, your sister is one swell girl. She’s real nice, and if she’s to be believed, you are too.”

“T-thank you, sir,” Weatherby said. “Pleased to meet you.”

“No need to be so formal, little man!” Chad laughed. “I dig that coat of yours too. So, you mind if we just tag along while you do your work?”

I stepped in front of Weatherby and looked down at Chad. His smile slowly faded. “I think we do, pal,” I said. “And ain’t you got some juice bar to clutter up? Or a protest to go to?” I glared at Chad, and balled my hands into fists. “I don’t know if Selena’s told you about me, but I’m Morton Candle, Weatherby’s best friend, and I don’t like some prick with a good haircut and some Mary Jane cigarettes trying to seduce his sister. How about you scram before I beat the hair tonic out of you?”