the riches from a variety of benefactors flowed continuously into his office.
The demon examined a colored photograph in front of him and drummed his black claws against his chin. “This is him?” Hoonga asked the lesser demon seated cross-legged on the corner of the desk. “You’re sure this is his picture?”
Trutti’s floppy bat ears shook as he vigorously nodded his head. “Yes, master. The shades assured me this is the one you’re looking for.”
Hoonga lifted the photograph off the desk and squinted his single eye. “Doesn’t look like much, does he?”
Trutti shook his head. “He seems like an easily squashable child to me.”
Hoonga raised his eyebrow and smirked. “And yet he has somehow acquired the most powerful book in the Underworld and bested a fully formed banshee. Not to mention a whole squadron of shades.”
Trutti discovered an annoying itch on the back of his neck and immediately went to work at it. “He didn’t do that alone, master. He had the help of his Agent.”
“His Agent,” Hoonga muttered under his breath. “That’s what bothers me.”
“You know what you should do?” Trutti snapped his fingers. “You should send some hired muscle. Someone to get the job done. The shades can be so unreliable.”
Hoonga began to nod in agreement, but then he narrowed his eye and glared at Trutti. “Are you trying to tell me how to run my post?”
“Oh no! Never!” Trutti bowed his head low. “I was merely making a suggestion, I would never dream of—”
Hoonga held up a finger to cut Trutti off, and the lesser demon instantly fell silent. The Cyclops pondered his options and then pressed the call button on the intercom.
“Yes?” a sniveling voice asked above the static of the receiver.
“Send word to Gorge,” Hoonga instructed. “Tell him to come to my office at once. I’m in need of his services.”
“Of course, master,” the voice responded.
Hoonga tossed the photograph aside and heaved himself up from his chair. Trutti stood as well, but even standing upon the desk, the tiny creature was dwarfed by Hoonga’s massive frame.
“Excellent choice, master,” Trutti squeaked. “Gorge is a frightening spectacle.”
“He’s an idiot,” Hoonga said. “But he’s a powerful idiot. And if what you say is true”—once more, he raised the photo of the boy for a closer look—“Gorge should be just enough muscle to capture this easily squashable child.”
C harlie had a horrible night’s sleep. There had been actual shades in his bedroom! Things Charlie had only read about in his magazines were now happening to him. But that wasn’t the worst of it. For a dead guy, Walter sure had a lot of things on his mind. After only about an hour of silence, save for his breathing, he didn’t stop talking until early in the morning. Before Charlie knew it, the blaring shrill of his alarm woke him up for the day.
“So, let’s get started,” Walter said, once Charlie had sat up and stretched. “What exactly were you doing last night? Before I showed up?”
“What do you mean? I was sleeping.”
“No you weren’t. Were you playing with a Ouija board or something?”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “I was just in my room. I got ready for bed and started looking at— Oh my gosh!” He stared at the object lying on the floor next to his bed. “The book!”
“What book?”
“I found some weird book buried behind the shopping mall yesterday. I was looking at it after dinner when all this started.”
“Do you still have it?” Walter’s voice grew louder.
“Yeah, it’s”—he gulped and pointed to the floor, where the old leather book rested beneath a pair of his dirty socks and a few of his magazines—“right there. It must’ve fallen off the bed during the, you know, the whole shade…thing.”
“It just looks like some dumb book.”
“It’s not dumb. But Wisdom Willows said that books don’t generally register readings on EMF detectors, so
The demon examined a colored photograph in front of him and drummed his black claws against his chin. “This is him?” Hoonga asked the lesser demon seated cross-legged on the corner of the desk. “You’re sure this is his picture?”
Trutti’s floppy bat ears shook as he vigorously nodded his head. “Yes, master. The shades assured me this is the one you’re looking for.”
Hoonga lifted the photograph off the desk and squinted his single eye. “Doesn’t look like much, does he?”
Trutti shook his head. “He seems like an easily squashable child to me.”
Hoonga raised his eyebrow and smirked. “And yet he has somehow acquired the most powerful book in the Underworld and bested a fully formed banshee. Not to mention a whole squadron of shades.”
Trutti discovered an annoying itch on the back of his neck and immediately went to work at it. “He didn’t do that alone, master. He had the help of his Agent.”
“His Agent,” Hoonga muttered under his breath. “That’s what bothers me.”
“You know what you should do?” Trutti snapped his fingers. “You should send some hired muscle. Someone to get the job done. The shades can be so unreliable.”
Hoonga began to nod in agreement, but then he narrowed his eye and glared at Trutti. “Are you trying to tell me how to run my post?”
“Oh no! Never!” Trutti bowed his head low. “I was merely making a suggestion, I would never dream of—”
Hoonga held up a finger to cut Trutti off, and the lesser demon instantly fell silent. The Cyclops pondered his options and then pressed the call button on the intercom.
“Yes?” a sniveling voice asked above the static of the receiver.
“Send word to Gorge,” Hoonga instructed. “Tell him to come to my office at once. I’m in need of his services.”
“Of course, master,” the voice responded.
Hoonga tossed the photograph aside and heaved himself up from his chair. Trutti stood as well, but even standing upon the desk, the tiny creature was dwarfed by Hoonga’s massive frame.
“Excellent choice, master,” Trutti squeaked. “Gorge is a frightening spectacle.”
“He’s an idiot,” Hoonga said. “But he’s a powerful idiot. And if what you say is true”—once more, he raised the photo of the boy for a closer look—“Gorge should be just enough muscle to capture this easily squashable child.”
C harlie had a horrible night’s sleep. There had been actual shades in his bedroom! Things Charlie had only read about in his magazines were now happening to him. But that wasn’t the worst of it. For a dead guy, Walter sure had a lot of things on his mind. After only about an hour of silence, save for his breathing, he didn’t stop talking until early in the morning. Before Charlie knew it, the blaring shrill of his alarm woke him up for the day.
“So, let’s get started,” Walter said, once Charlie had sat up and stretched. “What exactly were you doing last night? Before I showed up?”
“What do you mean? I was sleeping.”
“No you weren’t. Were you playing with a Ouija board or something?”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “I was just in my room. I got ready for bed and started looking at— Oh my gosh!” He stared at the object lying on the floor next to his bed. “The book!”
“What book?”
“I found some weird book buried behind the shopping mall yesterday. I was looking at it after dinner when all this started.”
“Do you still have it?” Walter’s voice grew louder.
“Yeah, it’s”—he gulped and pointed to the floor, where the old leather book rested beneath a pair of his dirty socks and a few of his magazines—“right there. It must’ve fallen off the bed during the, you know, the whole shade…thing.”
“It just looks like some dumb book.”
“It’s not dumb. But Wisdom Willows said that books don’t generally register readings on EMF detectors, so
Similar Books
