Summoning Trouble: Nephilim Narratives, #5

By Hadena James

Soleil Burns and the investigators of Angel Investigations are on a job when someone breaks into their office and destroys their files. Figuring out who broke in and why is just the beginning of a personal investigation.

 

During her hunt for who broke into her office and why, she will discover her former business partner, Janet has disappeared. Determined to find Janet, Soleil will reveal the life Janet left for was a lie, but why wouldn't Janet come back home when she realized it was a ploy unless she can't.

 

Soleil's quest for answers will uncover a larger conspiracy of evil that wants to take BEDRs goal of making people and demons live together on Earth and go beyond. This group believes demonic possession is the ultimate state of being; all the powers of the demonic along with the benefits of being alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hadena James
• Release date: May 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201783327

Book preview

Chapter One

For May, it was still chilly out once the sun went down. The night’s low was 40 degrees Fahrenheit and I hoped I didn’t have to sit in my car long enough to see the sun rise. I also hoped Remiel was having better luck than I was. We’d been asked to investigate a possible insurance fraud case. This was pretty standard fare for private investigators, and we did our share because they paid well and ensured all the bills would be paid that month. Not that this was a sincere concern for us. My parents and uncle, who were part owners of Angel Investigations, were super rich, because they were ancient. It was easy to accumulate wealth over millennia. Even if I wasn’t earning enough to pay all the monthly bills, they would get paid.

Usually, it took less than a week to determine if someone was scamming an insurance company. This guy, though, was good. Normally after a week with no evidence of a scam, we reported that to the insurance company and closed the case. But Remiel and I both agreed this was a scam, and the scammer was simply better than most at not slipping up, so we were persevering. Remiel had followed the man and his wife out to dinner, and I was watching the house while my father, Raphael, was inside performing an illegal search.

Mr. Howard and his wife reported a break-in of their home, with the only thing stolen being an antique statue insured for more than ten million dollars. The police investigation cast some doubt on the break-in story, as not only was the alarm disabled with a code, but the glass from the broken window was outside the house. Police had searched the house and their offices once before, but hadn’t found anything, which is why we were illegally searching for the statue. I wasn’t sure what we would do if we found it, but Remiel said he had a plan and I trusted him.

Remiel messaged me and my father that the couple was leaving the restaurant. Jerome had cooked up a few useful potions for us to use tonight; one of them was an invisibility potion for my dad. Raphael is close to seven feet tall and has enormous wings, so it takes effort to not notice him. With the potion, at least the neighbors wouldn’t see him break into the house. The car door opened, and my car rocked as if someone large had just entered it. I had a potion I was supposed to use that allowed me to see through magic such as the invisibility potion, but I was afraid to use it because I’d made it myself with Jerome’s supervision and was sure it would cause bad things to happen to me, because I still wasn’t good with most magic. The door closed and the seat belt went across my invisible father’s body and clicked into place. Things like invisibility potions were tightly regulated—if someone discovered Jerome had made one, he and I both could get in trouble.

Well? I asked.

He has a well-hidden magic vault, Dad said.

I don’t know what that means. Is the vault hidden by magic or does it shield magic that’s inside it?

Both, he answered.

Was the statute hidden inside? I asked, pulling out of the neighborhood.

Probably, but I couldn’t get into it.

Jerome gave you...

Jerome’s potion would have worked if the vault weren’t magically boobytrapped, but it was, Dad interrupted.

That’s suspicious, I commented as I drove. My dad’s phone began to buzz, and he answered it while pulling out the antidote to the invisibility potion and drinking it. Eventually the effects would wear off, but it could take a day or longer. I heard him tell the caller no, we weren’t at the office, and then he began gesturing to me to turn. He told the caller we’d meet them there.

Our office alarm has been triggered, head there. The police are responding, as well as Remiel, Dad told me. I picked up speed and changed direction, heading toward our office in Chesterfield.

Angel Investigations took up three storefronts in a strip mall. We’d done some modifications to ensure only one storefront had an entrance and windows. We’d been in this section for three years now, and Dad and Remiel were discussing having a building built specifically for us. Right now, one of the closed off storefronts was dedicated workshop space for Jerome. He made potions and charms we frequently used in our work. The other closed off storefront was file storage space. Remiel had worked in law enforcement or investigative work for more than 200 years, and he had a lot of files. With the great Remiel at my side, Angel Investigations was becoming well known and we were picking up a shit ton of cases, both investigative and exorcism related. We were also growing. In the last six months, my sister Helia, who had been our receptionist since we opened, had decided she needed help and we now had a billing agent, a second receptionist, and my father had curtailed his speaking engagements to help us in the office full time.

I’d started the business four years ago with a witch named Janet. Janet had decided to get married and run away to a commune in Oregon last year with her new husband, and we hadn’t filled her spot yet, so Jerome had taken her office and at sixteen occasionally helped us when we needed a witch on location. At the time, she’d thought she was pregnant, but one of the few messages I’d gotten from her was that it was a false alarm.

I had mixed feelings about Jerome working for Angel Investigations part time. He was incredibly smart and immensely powerful, but he was still young. He had several millennia ahead of him, and I didn’t want him to get stuck in a rut when he was just starting to experience life. On the other hand, he enjoyed working with Raphael, Remiel, and me.

There were about two dozen squad cars in the parking lot of the strip mall, most parked in front of Angel Investigations. Remiel was talking to a uniformed officer and a man in a rumpled suit. My dad was visible again and when I parked, he was first out of the car. All five windows on the front of our building were broken, the door hung from the frame awkwardly and was also missing the glass. Smoke slowly rolled out a few of the broken windows.

Is it also on fire? I asked.

Yes and no, Remiel shouted to me. Dad and I walked over to him. There is a trash can on fire in the reception area. The cops are using fire extinguishers on it, but it won’t go out. I suspect you’ll have to do it, he told me, which meant the fire was hellfire. I had some control over things in the Stygian, including summoning and extinguishing something called Stygian flame, also known as hellfire. It burned incredibly hot and was impossible to put out with things like water or fire suppressant foam, because it was fueled by magic. Once the fire is out, they want us to do a walk through to see if anything’s missing or if it was just an act of vandalism.

It took me less than a minute to put out the fire in the trash can. Stygian flame was rare on Earth; I only knew a handful of people who could conjure it, including myself. Remiel and my father began walking through their offices and I began going through mine. I immediately noticed a missing item in my office—my grimoire. I’d only been keeping a spell book for a few years, and most of the spells in it were related to demons and the Stygian. I wondered if that was how they’d set the fire in the trash can. I did have a spell for conjuring hellfire in my grimoire. I checked my desk and found nothing missing. My checkbooks for both the business and my personal account remained untouched. Also, the business’s debit and credit cards were still in the drawer right next to the checkbooks. Everything else in my office seemed untouched. The things of value had alarm spells and tracking spells on them, and they hadn’t been touched. Jerome had performed the spells, so I knew they were good, strong magic.

I moved to the file storage room. All the cabinets were open, and all the files were gone. Remiel and Raphael joined me as I stood open-mouthed and staring at the fifteen open filing cabinets, several of which were the extra-wide ones that would hold thousands of files.

They took the copy of my grimoire that I keep here, Remiel said, after a moment.

Mine too, Raphael said.

And mine. I sighed. Jerome kept a copy of his in his workshop and that was one grimoire that didn’t need to be available to just anyone. Jerome, even at sixteen, was perhaps the strongest practitioner of witchcraft the world had ever known. He had a lot of spells that could do great things or truly awful ones, depending on who was using them. I walked through the file storage room to the door at the back that led to Jerome’s workshop and opened the door. The room was empty, or so I thought at first glance. Then I realized all the furniture had levitated and was upside down, attached to the ceiling as if the ceiling were the floor.

Well, that’s going to make it difficult to check, Remiel said, as he spread his wings.

It should be in that locked cabinet, I told him. Remiel nodded and flapped once, sending a wash of wind over my face that was strong enough to blow my hair back. He moved to the cabinet and opened it. The grimoire was still inside and when Remiel tried to take it out, all the furniture suddenly plunged back to the ground and the book began to glow white. Remiel dropped it and it thumped to the floor, the linoleum under it began to smolder. Dad reached down for it, and it scooted away from him, melting the floor under it as it scurried under a metal cabinet. We waited for the metal cabinet to start glowing with the heat or melting. Remiel came down and showed us his hands; they both had third degree burns, which was an impressive injury for an angel to incur. I lay down on the floor and looked under the cabinet. I had to turn on the flashlight on my phone because the book had stopped glowing. I reached for it and the glow returned, and I could see it begin to heat up the metal. Then all the furniture lifted up and stuck to the ceiling again.

I’ll call Jerome, Dad said.

Even I’m impressed, Remiel said as he blew on his burned hands. I mean, I logically know he’s powerful, but this, this isn’t just an incredible display of power, it’s creative.

Jerome said he’d be here soon, but Soleil can grab the grimoire, if she tries. Dad told me as he put away his phone. I pointed at the furniture in disagreement. Jerome had been out on a date, and I hated to interrupt his night, but we really needed to get control of his grimoire. The officer and detective that Remiel had been talking to when Dad and I arrived came into the room.

Well? they asked.

They took all our grimoires except Jerome’s, possibly because they couldn’t get his, and our files are missing, all of them. Jerome’s grimoire was levitating a few feet above the ground, at about eye level with me. It still glowed. I stared at it for a few moments and then grabbed it. The glow instantly faded out and it was cool to the touch. I tucked the book under my arm and the furniture slowly came back down and put itself back in place. The stuff that had been on the tables joined it a moment later, and the door to the cabinet where Jerome kept his grimoire opened and shut several times, as if it were a hungry mouth. I walked over and put the book back where Jerome kept it. The cabinet shut and I heard the lock turn. There were scratches on the lock.

I don’t think they got into the cabinet, which is sad, because we could have gone looking for someone with severely burnt hands if they had, I said, examining the lock.

A human wouldn’t have hands after grabbing that book. How did you grab hold of it? Remiel asked. I shrugged. I knew, I just wasn’t going to tell him with an audience.

The magic may have been trained to know Soleil, Dad suggested. It’s Jerome’s magic, after all.

Chapter Two

Jerome and his date , Tara, showed up while we were answering the police’s questions. I was pretty sure our files were the ashes left in the trash can. The police didn’t think that was possible, because we had thousands of files and the ash pile was only about two feet deep and there wasn’t any metal. I tried to point out that hellfire burned hot enough to melt metal and the paper might have been completely consumed by it, leaving only a few pieces of ash per file.

Tara was the same age as Jerome, and she was a fairy. She was the niece of my friends Walter and Megan. This was their fifth date, and things kept going wrong during their dates that I felt were a bad omen. On their first date, Angel had eaten Tara’s purse. During the second, they’d been in a car accident; thankfully neither of them had been hurt, but the car had been totaled. The third one ended when Jerome, who is capable of mimicking other people’s magic, turned into a troll because Tara was capable of glamour and Jerome wasn’t skilled with its usage. The fourth one, they ran into Walter and Megan at the movie and Walter, who was human, had an allergic reaction to something he had eaten and had to be rushed from the movie to the hospital halfway through.

Jerome was grinning as my Uncle Michael focused on healing Remiel’s hands, which were healing incredibly slowly despite his being an angel. Tara was walking around the reception area with a look of horror on her face. The police had tried the fire extinguishers and when that hadn’t put out the fire, they tried water. Finally, they called in their consultant witch, who tried to magic it out, but all any of it managed to do was leave a huge mess. The only reason the trash can hadn’t melted was because all the trashcans in our office were specially made, in case Jerome had to throw something away that was dangerous. I had them crafted by a demon out of Stygian rock, which could withstand the extreme heat of hellfire.

What did they take? Jerome asked.

Grimoires, and they destroyed all our files, I said, taking him and one of the crime scene techs to our file room. I had gaped at the storage cabinets, but not really examined them the first time I’d come into the room. After the incident in the workshop, I had taken a moment to examine the files and noticed scorch marks and file damage inside the file cabinets. My thought was they had attempted to burn the files in the cabinets, but when the cabinets started to melt, they moved it to the trash can that was kept in the room. This was the trash can now in the reception area. I showed Jerome and the tech the scorch marks, and the trails of molten metal that had started to run down the inside of the cabinets.

Whose grimoire? Jerome asked.

All of them except yours, I said, giving him a smile. Yours was too secure for them to access. I think when they tried to pick the lock on the cabinet where you kept it, things became topsy-turvy, and they fled.

How long did they have from the time the alarm was triggered until the police showed up? Jerome asked.

We aren’t sure. In theory only a few minutes, but I don’t think all this was done in a few minutes. I think they originally managed to bypass our security system and it was triggered later, possibly as they left, I told him, looking up at him. Jerome was now over six feet tall. I didn’t consider myself short at 5 feet 9 inches, but I seemed surrounded by men I had to look up at when I spoke to them, and Jerome had joined the gang. The crime scene people and most of the uniformed police were leaving when Magda the Red showed up with another person I didn’t know. It was obvious the person was an investigator of some sort, because he had a small notebook and pen in the front pocket of his shirt, which honestly looked like a pajama top. Magda looked impeccable and was in a cocktail dress with impossibly high-heeled shoes. Magda was born to Norse parents around the turn of the first millennia. She looked like a Viking princess with bright red hair that contained a few silver streaks throughout, a stout but feminine build, and was taller than me, even without the high heels.

She surveyed the damage and then her eyes fell on me. I felt underdressed. I was in jeans and a t-shirt, with my tiny wings folded up at my sides. My wings had been damaged by a hell prince several years ago and while they had grown back, they had grown back too small to be used, so I tried to keep them folded up because they looked ridiculous. She didn’t take her gaze from me as she introduced the guy in the suspected pajama top to Remiel and Raphael.

These are St. Louis’s problem children, Jerome Dusdain and Soleil Burns; Soleil is Jerome’s adopted mother, she said, looking briefly at Jerome and then coming back to stare holes in my soul.

This is Miguel Smith, my replacement in Magical Crime Investigation, Magda told us. She had taken a position last year heading up a new department at the AESPCA that dealt with demon and Stygian affairs. She led the investigative division of the AESPCA for a long time which meant it had taken a long time for them to find her replacement.

We are not problem children by choice, I said, offering my hand to Miguel. He stared at it like it was a snake.

Uh, he doesn’t shake hands or touch people if he can help it, he’s an empath, Magda said after a moment. Empaths felt the same emotions as the people they touched, and sometimes the memory of what caused the emotion. It was a rare talent, not quite as rare as mimicry, but rare enough that I’d only met one or two empaths my entire life.

Well, Mr. Smith, what can we tell you? I asked. I know you’ll get the Chesterfield PD’s report, and I don’t know if we have anything else to add.

Please, call me Miguel. Uh, Chesterfield contacted me when they heard the only things stolen were your grimoires. Can you expand on that? he asked. Magda frowned and looked at Jerome. She was about to say something, but Jerome spoke first.

They didn’t get mine. I had mine booby-trapped, Jerome clarified. Magda’s mouth closed and she frowned harder.

Anyone looking to steal grimoires would be after yours, not Soleil’s. Magda knew I was a slacker when it came to magic.

They may have been after Remiel’s or my father’s, and mine was just a bonus, I suggested.

No one is stealing my grimoire for what’s in it, Raphael said from where he and Remiel were leaning against the counter of our reception desk.

Why? Miguel asked.

It’s in angelic script, Raphael said.

Mine too. Remiel added. But it’s not just angelic script, it’s ancient angelic script. Aside from us, no one would be able to read it.

And they would have known that if they opened it before they left, Raphael said.

I encrypted mine too, Jerome said, and I felt like a complete idiot. You have to know the spell to decipher it and only Soleil and I know the spell, but the cyphering of it is only a portion of the magic I have imbued in mine. They didn’t even get to the opening stage of mine.

How can you be sure? Miguel asked.

It’s protected by hellfire. If someone other than myself or Soleil tries to take hold of the grimoire without taking off the spell, it begins to radiate heat from the hellfire. Jerome pointed at Remiel. Ask him.

Ah, Remiel said with a nod. That’s why she could take hold of the book and I got burned.

Yes, Jerome answered. Jerome and I both had Stygian magic in our DNA and were immune to hellfire. If a human were to grab my grimoire without the spells being disarmed, it would probably melt their hands off in just a few seconds; a supernatural might have hands afterward, but they would need magical healers to repair the damage.

Exhibit A, Michael said, holding up one of Remiel’s hands.

Soleil’s grimoire is also protected to some degree, even though she doesn’t know it, Jerome said.

How so? I asked, raising an eyebrow.

It has a tracking spell on it.

So, we can just follow the tracking spell? Miguel asked.

I would say yes, but I’ve looked and didn’t find it beyond the reception area. I think they put it in a shielding box, Jerome said. But when they take it out, we’ll know where it is.

Realistically, I have less than twenty total spells in my grimoire. I suspect they used the hellfire summoning spell from it to burn our files, but I can’t imagine any of the other spells would be useful, I said.

Why? Miguel asked.

Because the majority of the spells deal with exorcism, I commented dryly. I am a terrible magic user, and I don’t have a lot of magical experience beyond exorcism. I shrugged.

I’m sorry, maybe I’m confused, but I thought you were an archangel? he asked.

I am. I nodded.

It is a very long and complicated story, but Soleil is not well versed in magic of any kind beyond the Stygian magic she was born with, and it’s that magic that makes her an archangel, Magda said, finally tearing her gaze from me to look elsewhere. I intended to ask her about the death glare later, but not in front of Miguel.

Miss Burns, is there a reason you are uncomfortable with my questions? Miguel asked.

My office has been broken into and my grimoire stolen, do I need another reason to be upset? Oh, and we are discussing the fact that I am an idiot.

You’re not an idiot, just lazy, Magda said defensively, and it was my turn to glare at her. I think it’s probably safe to assess the situation as follows; they were after Jerome’s grimoire and the others were collateral damage.

That doesn’t explain why they burnt our files, Remiel commented.

Are you sure they burnt them? Magda and Miguel asked simultaneously. In response, I grabbed some of the ashes out of the trash can that had been on fire when I arrived and held them out to them.

The file room looked full, are you sure that’s all the files? Miguel asked.

Hellfire burns so hot it will melt metal. When it comes to wood products, it can totally consume them, not even leaving ash, Jerome said. When it burnt down our neighborhood a few years ago, it took out two houses completely, leaving just a small layer of ash and hardened puddles of metal. I dug around in the trash can for metal chunks, although small bits of metal like staples might have been consumed in their entirety. I did not find any metal chunks in the bottom of the trash can. I could believe the staples were consumed, but would the paper clips and binder clips be consumed? I had doubts about that. I grabbed a handful of each and put them on the reception counter. I then emptied the ashes out of the trash can and dropped the metal bits inside. It only took a moment for Stygian flames to start dancing above the rim. A few moments later, I had a full-on fire going, and it was burning really hot. We all took a step back and could still feel the heat. I let it burn for ten full minutes. The others asked me questions and I ignored them, focusing on my experiment. After ten minutes, I pulled the magical fire back into me and looked in the bottom of the trash can. There was a puddle of metal cooling.

Jerome looked inside with me and tutted. He then grabbed more binder clips, paper clips, and even a package of staples. He