Everything in the spacious garden of Ravenwood Manor was gray and dead, including the house’s master and his wife. Baron Edwin Exham and Lenora Exham sat at a glass table around dead grass, dead flower beds and skeletal dead trees. They were still as a painting with their mammoth bodyguard standing behind them. I was there to meet them for a job, and they insisted on seeing me in the twilight around sundown. I knew what they were. I didn’t mind.
My name is Morton Candle and I’m a private dick. My fists and my guns work for whoever pays the most money, and investigation is usually only half of the job. The other half involves violence and blood. I take the bad jobs, the weird jobs, the jobs that pay well because there are so few people willing to do them - and even less who know what they’re dealing with. You see, I tore across Europe with the Screaming Eagles in the Big One, parachuting down into the black heart of the Black Forest - and right into the center of Hitler’s occult workshop. I won’t tell you what I saw there, but consider my eyes open and my trigger finger itchy.