Third Book of the Fantastic Phantasmic Detective Series is now Available!

The latest installment of the youthful sleuths and their grumpy reluctant Medium is now available on Amazon. Come join the agency in the fun and excitement as they delve into the mystery of the missing ghost!

First Book of the FPDA Series is on Sale!

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To celebrate the Halloween season and the soon-to-be-released third book of the series, the first book of The Fantastic Phantasmic Detective Agency is on sale for $0.99 (e-book edition). Join the adventures of the youthful sleuths and their grumpy Medium as they solve cases from the afterlife for their ghostly clients.

A Fantastic paranormal adventure for ages 12 and up!

A New Day at the UnderWorld Black Market

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In the third installment of the FPDA series (publication pending), Medium Monsento and Zeaflin encounter Mara, an Empusa selling snakes at the UnderWorld black market. In Greek mythology, Empusas were female shape-shifting phantoms with flaming red hair and one leg made of brass, the other leg of an ass.

 

Mara stared down the dusty pennant-lined path of the UnderWorld black market, her smoky-gray eyes barely able to make out her fellow vendors through the thick misty fog that always swirled around this gloomy nether realm of the afterlife. From what Mara could tell, every ghost was busy, diligently setting up their booths of illicit wares for yet another day of haggling with the demons, ghosts and Skeletals who frequented the market. Mara hoped this day would be a better day for sales than the day before. She’d adopted the most attractive female form she could muster for today’s customers. Of course, the Demons–who often adopted false forms of their own–would probably just scoff at Mara’s attempts to flirt her way to a sale, no matter how beautiful she looked. The hooded-cloaked Skeletals were a bit more malleable than the demons, but they tended to be skittish and they often shied away from Mara’s advances. That left only the run-of-the-mill male ghosts for Mara to target and, while those were easy to wrap around her little finger, ghosts tended to be a vast minority of the black market customers. The ram-horned venomous snakes Mara sold for pets were considered pests here in the afterlife and that made them almost as difficult to sell as trying to hawk a sewer-rat in the living realm. Mara needed as many marks as possible if she was going to make even a single sale.

A low drawn-out whistle nearby drew Mara out of her thoughts. “I see you’re going all in today, huh, Mara?” the wolf-whistler remarked.

Mara turned to find Stu, the demon trap vendor, standing beside her, his beady eyes roaming up-and-down the curvaceous body Mara had chosen to entice today’s customers: a sultry, raven-haired vixen with an ample bosom and large hips, scantily clad in a two-piece dress that left little to the imagination. When Mara first arrived at the black market, she had used this exact same form to try to seduce Stu into purchasing one of her snakes. But, even though he was a ghost, Stu proved impervious to Mara’s wiles. His true love was money, not women—one of the primary reasons Stu wound up in the UnderWorld after he died.

Mara shrugged. “I sold nothing yesterday–too many demons, not enough ghosts.” She jerked her chin toward Stu’s booth. “But it looked like you had a good day yesterday.”

Stu grinned. “Yeah. The demons sure do love my novelty traps. I can try sending a few of them your way, if you make it worth my while.”

Mara glared at Stu, whose ghostly hand was now rubbing her right buttock, wondering how he’d like it if she took on her natural form right now and he was suddenly rubbing a hairy donkey rump. Would he be so bold if he could feel the searing heat of her flaming crimson hair?

Mara pushed Stu’s hand away. “Sending demons to me is a waste of both our time. I told you before, they do not buy my snakes,” she said with an annoyed snort.

“Well, they might if you’d stop trying to use a pretty face and er,” Stu’s eyes roved around Mara again, “spectacular body as your sole sales tactic. Demons aren’t dumb, Mara. They know behind all that pretty packaging, you are one of those shape-shifters with weird legs trying to play them for a pigeon.”

Mara narrowed her eyes. “So? Why should it matter what I am on the inside? I am not asking them to marry me, only to buy a snake,” she retorted.

Stu grinned. “I like you Mara, so let me give you a bit of advice. Know your customers. The ghosts down here are rubes—they’ll do almost anything for a pretty face. But the demons don’t care how the merchant looks–they’ll only buy what they need or what they think will impress other demons.”

Mara frowned. “I doubt I could convince them they need a pet snake,” she replied haughtily.

“Then focus on the demon’s vanity. Take one of your snakes out of its cage, maybe drape it around your pretty neck or wrap it around one of those shapely arms. Show the demon how fashionable it can be to own a snake,” Stu’s gaze moved away from Mara to look down the street. “Customers are coming, Mara. It’s showtime,” he said.

Mara watched Stu float away toward his booth, then squatted down to pull one her snakes out of its cage. Couldn’t hurt to try, I suppose, she thought. Rising to her feet, Mara lifted her arm high, allowing the snake to curl around her forearm like a serpentine bracelet. “Come try on a snake—the very latest in UnderWorld haute fashion!” she called out to a passing demon, who paused in his stride toward Stu’s booth and abruptly veered her way.

UnderWorld Ferryman Charon vs. the Ghost, Hector Greely-The Verdict

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“You may step down, Mr. Greely,” Judge Hovrel instructed the cowering defendant. After the elderly ghost cautiously made his way back to the defense table, carefully giving Charon wide-berth, Hovrel banged his gavel once and rose from his seat.

“All rise,” bellowed the Bailiff dutifully. Hovrel paused until the spectral audience and official court members rose to their feet, then made his way slowly to the door behind the podium that led to his chambers.  After he pressed the door closed behind him, the Judge leaned against the heavy wood panel and puffed out a tired sigh.

That was a narrow escape, thought the Judge. The Skeletal only shrieked once. But what will he do if I rule against his client?  Shaking his head to clear it, Hovrel skirted around his desk and walked over to stare out the window. Not that there was anything to look at–at this height, all one could see through the perpetual gloom and fog of the UnderWorld was…well, fog and gloom.

What to do? fretted Hovrel, watching the mist eddies swirl on the other side of the window glass. In good conscience, the Judge knew he couldn’t rule for the plaintiff. If anyone should be charged with reckless endangerment, it should be the Charon, not Greely. Turning the boat beam to the waves was a rookie sailor move and, by his own admission, the ferryman has been plying his trade for over a millennium now; he should have known better. But, if Hovrel ruled for the defendant, Jeziale could erupt into full-throttle lamentation. Hovrel shuddered at that possibility. Judge Ropier’s hearing never fully recovered after he ruled against a Skeletal last year– the shrieks and screams caused so much damage that Ropier still required a hearing aid to this day.

It was a pickle, to be sure. But, thought Hovrel, maybe I can paint Jeziale into a corner and force him to drop the charges. Hovrel turned around, sat down at his desk and pushed the intercom button. “Send in Ravat via the side door, will you? And make sure the prosecution remains unaware,” he demanded.

Soon, a tentative rap on the chamber’s side door echoed out and the defense attorney stepped inside, his expression bemused. “You wished to meet with me?”

Hovrel nodded and indicated Ravat should sit in the chair across from him. Ravat quickly complied.  “We have a perilous situation here with this unsupervised Skeletal,” the Judge began.

“I’m sorry?” Ravat interrupted, appearing confused.

Hovrel raised a brow. “Have you never experienced a Bone Demon lamentation?” he asked, incredulously. Ravat frowned and shook his head. “But surely, you’ve heard tales about them?” Hovrel asserted.  Ravat shrugged. The Judge rolled his eyes and continued, “Trust me, the tales of their laments don’t do them justice. Anyway, I would like to avoid one in my courtroom today. But I need your help.”

Ravat leaned back in his seat and crossed a leg over his knee, casually. “Sure. What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“After I rule against Greely—”

Ravat sat bolt upright and gasped in outrage. “How could you possibly rule against him?”

Hovrel held up a hand. “Hear me out,” he commanded, glowering sternly at the now abashed lawyer, before continuing, “After I rule for the plaintiff, I will need you to immediately file a motion against Charon for assault. Every ghost in the courtroom witnessed Charon’s attack on Greely today, so you will have a very strong case.”

“And?” Ravat prompted, furrowing his brow.

“I will accept the motion, then you will offer Charon a bargain. If he drops his charge of reckless endangerment, Greely will drop his charge of assault.  As you are well aware, assault is a much more serious crime than reckless endangerment. Jeziale will have no choice but to advise his client to accept the bargain,” Hovrel explained.

“That should work,” Ravat replied, sounding impressed.

Hovrel smiled grimly. “Indeed it should,” he agreed, then motioned for Ravat to return to the courtroom via the side door. After the ghostly lawyer exited, the Judge proudly chuckled to himself. The head prosecutor, Darvon, thought he was so clever dropping this Skeletal into my courtroom. But I out-witted him, oh yes, I did. Darvon will definitely think twice before trying another stunt like this on me again. 

 

 

UnderWorld Ferryman Charon vs. Ghost, Hector Greely: Part 3

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Horace Greely slowly rose from his seat at the defense table and shuffled his way to the witness stand located just off to the side of Judge Hovrel. Once the frail elderly ghost was settled in, defense attorney Ravat began the proceedings. “Please state your name and living profession for the court,” he requested.

“My name is Horace Greely. In life, I was a boatswain,” Greely answered.

“Ah, a boatswain,” Ravat cooed with a smile, then turned and swept his hand at the ghostly audience seated in the back of the room. “Mr. Greely, please tell the court what a boatswain is and what he does.”

Greely nervously pushed his wire-rimmed glasses a little further up his nose, before answering, “A boatswain is a petty officer responsible for the ship and its equipment, like rigging and anchors and such.”

“So, it’s safe to say you’re an experienced seaman, then?” Ravat asked. Greely nodded.

Hovrel leaned over to address the defendant. “You need to use your words, Mr. Greely.”

Greely fidgeted with his glasses again. “Yes. I am an experienced seaman,” he said.

“An experienced seaman,” Ravat repeated for emphasis, his smile widening to a broad grin. “Now, please share with us your version of the events of November 18th–the day of your ferry ride to the UnderWorld.”

Greely glanced at Charon and pulled his thick sweater tighter against his ghostly body, as if sensing a sudden chill.  “The ferryman had a few things right in his recollection. It was a cold blustery morning the day he came sailing up to take me to the UnderWorld gate and, yes, I only had one silver coin for passage and a squall did rise up half-way to the gate and I did wrest the pole from his hands.” A murmur rippled across the spectral spectators. Hovrel banged his gavel twice to restore order and they quickly quieted down.

“Please continue,” Hovrel said to the defendant.

Greely glanced at Charon again and played with the top button of his sweater apprehensively. “I agree I wrestled the pole from the ferryman’s hands and took control of the boat. But I only did it because the he was driving the boat beam to the waves and wouldn’t listen to my warning that the boat was going to capsize if he didn’t turn the bow.”

“Been sailing the Styx for over a millennium and this ghost thinks he knows more than me?” Charon grumbled. Hovrel immediately banged his gavel. “Jeziale, keep your client quiet during testimony or I’ll call for a postponement,” he warned the assistant prosecutor with a dark scowl. The Skeletal nodded curtly and leaned over to whisper into the ferryman’s ear.

Ravat turned back to his client. “How did the ferryman fall out of the boat?” he asked.

Greely shrugged. “He slipped on the water in the bottom of the boat, I suppose.  From what I could tell, his sea legs weren’t all that good.”

Charon jumped up from his chair, pushing it back with a loud screech. “That’s a lie! That ghost pushed me!” Before Jeziale could stop him, Charon leapt over the prosecution desk and lunged toward Greely, who cringed and quickly ducked behind the podium.  Ravat darted in front of Charon and threw up his hands to intercede, only to be shoved roughly aside by the furious ferryman.

“Bailiff!” Hovrel cried out in alarm, banging his gavel desperately. Startled into action, the bailiff rushed for the front of the courtroom, tugging out the nightstick at his belt while Charon dove into the witness stand to attack the cowering ghost.

Just as the hearing looked to be turning into complete chaos, Jeziale suddenly erupted with an ear-piercing shriek, freezing everyone in place. Shaking his head and moaning softly to himself, the Skeletal floated to the witness stand, grabbed the ferryman’s shirt with his boney hand and yanked him off Greely.  Every spirit in the courtroom watched in stunned silence as Jeziale hauled his client back to his seat by his collar like he was a disobedient schoolboy. There Jeziale rose one finger in front of the shocked ferryman’s face and waggled it back and forth in warning, his eyes narrowed to tiny slits of orange light inside the depths of his hood. Cowed, Charon immediately plopped down into his chair and folded his hands on the table in front of him. The Skeletal crossed over and took his seat next to Charon, waving a skeletal arm at Ravat to continue.

“No further questions, your honor. Your witness, Jeziale,” Ravat managed to squeeze out in a strained voice.

Jeziale shook his head. “No questions for this witness,” he said with a low moan.

Coming up: The Verdict…

UnderWorld Ferryman Charon vs. Hector Greely: Part II

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Assistant Prosecutor Jeziale rose from his seat—a unique specimen for a Skeletal. Taller than most bone demons, at six-foot five, with glowing orange eyes—instead of the usual yellow–he was indeed an intimidating figure.  Judge Hovrel wondered, not for the first time, if that wasn’t the reason the Head Prosecutor recruited this particular Skeletal to his team.

Jeziale motioned with a bony hand for his client to take the witness stand and waited silently until the ferryman was settled in. Then, in a gravelly voice common to his species, due to their penchant for the occasional spontaneous wail and shriek, Jeziale asked the plaintiff to relate the events of November 18th, the date Hector Greely arrived on the shores of the Acheron and requested passage to the UnderWorld gate.

“Well, it were a slow day for customers that cold blustery morn,” Charon began. “The only one waiting at the dock when I sailed up was that ghost over there.” Charon pointed a gnarled finger at the elderly ghost seated at the defense table.

“Let the record note the plaintiff indicated the newly deceased spirit, Hector Greely,” Jeziale rasped.

Charon nodded. “Aye, that’d be him all right. When I took him aboard, he seemed harmless enough.  We made a little idle chit-chat; you know, standard stuff about the weather, how we’d died–that sort of thing. We were almost half-way to the gate when I realized Greely had yet to pay his fare for the ride.” A low grumble suddenly erupted across the ghostly audience seated in the back of the courtroom and Judge Hovrel quickly beat his gavel to call for order. He was fully aware there could be a few disruptions–a significant fraction of the spirits here had experience with the ferryman and his inflated fees for passage to the UnderWorld. Hovrel felt a pang of regret he hadn’t delayed the hearing until tomorrow. If he had, he could have arranged a closed proceeding for this case.

“The audience will remain silent during the testimony,” Hovrel warned the restive spirits in the spectator section, before turning to Charon. “You may continue.”

Charon seemed unperturbed and picked up where he left off. “So, I stopped me boat and asked politely for the two silver coins to complete the passage. Greely told me he only had one silver coin to pay for his ride.” Charon snorted in disgust. “One coin! Where has this bloke been? The ferry ride hasn’t cost one coin since the time of Odysseus!”

Another angry buzz from the spectators interrupted Charon again. With a frustrated sigh, Hovrel banged his gavel twice and looked at the Bailiff, a burly gray phantom, standing watch in the far-left corner of the room. “If members of the audience cannot remain silent, I request you remove them from my courtroom,” he said. The Bailiff nodded curtly and walked over to stand behind the spectator box.

Hovrel waved a hand at Charon. “Continue.”

Charon shrugged. “So, I handled it the way I’ve always handled short-fares; I told him he were going to have to swim the rest of the way to the gate.”

“And then what happened?” the assistant prosecutor croaked.

The ferryman smiled grimly. “Charybdis got a bee in her bonnet and mustered up a squall, nearly swamping us.” Charon leaned forward and pointed an accusatory finger at the defendant. “And that’s when this mutinous ghost tried to take control of me vessel. He grabbed at the pole in me hands, trying to wrestle it away. I fought hard, but he was a strong bugger, stronger than he looks, mark you!  As we struggled, a rogue wave crashed over the bow, drenching us both. Greely wrenched the pole from me dripping hands and gave me a hard shove backwards. It was then that I lost me footing and toppled into the river.” A pleased murmur rippled across the courtroom. This time, Hovrel ignored the disruption and it quickly died down.

“Luckily, the squall passed as fast as it rose up and I were able to swim back to the boat,” Charon continued, “But before I reached it, one of those nasty horned vipers you sometimes find swimming in the Acheron, broke surface and bit me.” Charon held up his arm for the court to see the bandage wrapped tightly around it.

“What happened next?” Jeziale grated.

“I decided I better cooperate or be stuck in the water and risk another bite, next time somewhere a little more tender. Those snakes usually go for the juicy bits.” Charon said, barking out a harsh laugh. Judge Hovrel grimaced, doing his best to push away the image of a snake latched onto Charon’s nether regions. “Anyway, I told the ghost I’d take him to the gate for the one coin if he’d help me get back aboard me boat. He agreed and on we sailed. But when we reached the UnderWorld, I ran straight to the local constabulary and reported the assault.”

Jeziale’s cloak hood bobbed in a nod and he turned toward the defense attorney. “You’re witness,” he rasped and returned to his seat at the prosecution table.

The defense attorney known as Ravat, a hazy gray specter in a pinstripe suit, leapt from his chair enthusiastically and strode over to the ferryman. “You say you reported the assault?” he asked, leaning on the podium in front of the witness, a strange smile on his face.

“Aye,” Charon answered. “That I did.”

“And you decided to press charges?”

Charon nodded. “Aye, I did.”

Ravat swiveled on his heels and swept his arms dramatically. “And yet, I see no snake here in this courtroom.” He turned back to Charon, his head tilted to one side, smirking. “Do you?”

Charon frowned at the lawyer. “No,” he said slowly.

“But didn’t you just state it was the snake who caused the injury?” Ravat asked.

“Aye, it did. But it was Greely who pushed me into the water. The snake wouldn’t have bit me if he hadn’t done that,” Charon replied.

Ravat laughed lightly. “Ah, I see. So the charge is ‘aiding and abetting a snake’, then?”

“The charge is reckless endangerment,” the Skeletal rasped from the prosecution table.

Ravat looked at Jeziale and rubbed his blurry chin thoughtfully. “All right. Reckless endangerment.” he said, with a short concessionary nod. Ravat turned to address the Judge. “I have no further questions for the plaintiff, your Honor. I’d like to bring my client, Horace Greely, to the stand.”

To be Continued…

 

UnderWorld Civil Court Case #102039: Charon vs. Greely

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Judge Hovrel grabbed his robe off the hook on the back of his chamber door and tugged it on, bracing himself for yet another day of administering justice for the UnderWorld.  If it wasn’t gremlins picking-pockets or demons running amok in the Dicken’s World Emporium, it was bootleggers running counterfeit Elixir of Life in speedboats across the river Styx.  With a weary sigh, the judge reached for the list of cases assigned to him today and scanned it over.  First on his docket was a civil case with the UnderWorld ferryman, Charon.  Hovrel let out a small groan.  It seemed every few months, Charon was back in court, either accusing a spirit of underpaying for the boat ride to the UnderWorld gate, or himself being brought to court under the accusation of overcharging for the ride.  Shaking his head in disgust, Hovrel read over the details.

Interesting, thought the judge.  It wasn’t about ferry fare this time.  This time, Charon was levying an assault charge against one of his ghostly passengers.  That had never happened before.  Well, the judge supposed, it really was just a matter of time before a ghost resorted to violence.  Despite Charon’s assertations that he was an honest ferryman, every spirit in the UnderWorld knew, firsthand, that simply was not true. Unfortunately, no ghost has ever been able to prove Charon’s swindling, and so nothing ever came of their complaints.

Grabbing his gavel, Hovrel entered the courtroom to the usual, “All rise for the Honorable Judge Hovrel,” bellowed out by the bailiff.  After taking his seat at the podium, the judge responded, “You may all be seated,” and placed his gavel onto the well-worn wooden circle he banged on whenever he needed to call the courtroom to order. Hovrel knew he was well overdue for a new one; the wooden base had been beaten nearly to a pulp.  Keeping order in an UnderWorld courtroom was almost impossible–not at all like the courtrooms when Hovrel was a living judge.

Hovrel looked at the prosecution table and grimaced.  It appeared the head prosecutor decided to assign this case to his assistant: A Skeletal named Jeziale. If Hovrel failed to rule in his favor, the bone demon would likely go into full-out lamentation, especially without his boss here to calm him down. Hovrel wondered if that wasn’t perhaps the prosecutor’s motive all along—to sway the verdict his way through sheer intimidation. The prosecutor knew full well how greatly the judge hated the high-pitched shrieking and wailing of an unhappy Skeletal in his courtroom.

With an annoyed grunt, Hovrel’s eyes moved to Charon, seated next to Jeziale and leaning casually back in his chair, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. The ferryman was wearing the same outfit he always wore–baggy brown pants with a red tunic, topped off with a green conical hat. What was new, however, was the white bandage wrapped around the ferryman’s right forearm. That must be the injury the ghost allegedly caused.

Hovrel swiveled his gaze to the defendant: a frail elderly phantom with round spectacles perched precariously on the end of his nose, clad in a thick cardigan sweater.  Hardly looks the violent type, thought Hovrel. Looks more like somebody’s sweet old Grandpa. Still…Charon did have a reputation of pushing spirits to their limits.  Maybe he finally met one willing to fight back physically.

His curiosity piqued, Hovrel motioned to the assistant prosecutor. “You may begin.”

To be continued….

A New Case for The Bureau of Spectral Recovery

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Agent Roc strode briskly up the white marble steps of the OtherWorld Bureau of Spectral Recovery building to join his partner, Asij. Earlier that morning, the agents received an urgent call from the bureau’s head Supervisor, Mr. Trent, who carped on about a demon trap that had been recently activated in some small mid-western burg in the living realm.

Asij gave Roc a brief handshake after he reached the top of the staircase. “You get the message about the demon trap?” he asked.

Roc nodded. “Yeah. Living Affairs said the signal came from a small community called Rupert Town.”

Asij frowned. “Isn’t Rupert Town near Morton Town? You know, where those kids with the detective agency for ghosts live?”

“Yeah, not too far from there. That entire area seems to be a hotspot of spectral activity,” Roc replied.

“What’s that agency called again? You remember?” Asij asked.

“The Fantastic Phantasmic Detectives, I think,” Roc answered, then glanced at his watch. “The boss expected us about fifteen minutes ago. He’s a stickler for promptness so we’d better hustle.”

With a shrug, Asij opened the door for Roc and followed him to Supervisor Trent’s office. His secretary, an attractive phantom called Greta, looked up from her nail-painting as the two agents entered the room. “You’re late,” she said. “Better hurry inside. The boss is pretty stirred up over this illicit demon trap.”

Giving Greta a curt nod, Roc crossed the room and rapped on the supervisor’s door. A muffled “Come in” immediately echoed out from inside.

“Roc. Asij,” Supervisor Marvin Trent greeted, rising from his desk as his two best Spectral Recovery agents stepped inside his office. “Glad you could make it here on such short notice.” Trent motioned for Asij to close the door behind him, then indicated for the two agents to take a seat in the two chairs across from his desk.

After they were all settled into their seats, Marvin opened a folder in front of him and put on his reading glasses. Then he pulled out a thick report, stamped with the word “Confidential” in red ink. “At 0-200 hours, the pulse from an activated demon trap was detected in a field behind a farmhouse on Cherry Lane in Rupert Town,” he read, then peered at Asij and Roc over the top of his glasses. “There is a Satanic cult reportedly in that area. I’m guessing they’re the culprits.”

“How’d they get their hands on a genuine demon trap? The UnderWorld stores all of those in their Bank of Relics, don’t they?” Asij asked.

Marvin leaned back in his chair with a squeak and sighed. “Unfortunately, the UnderWorld Bank has a few shady employees who are more than willing to help themselves to the wares. Demon traps command a high price in the UnderWorld black market. The common ghost folk in that realm like to have a few of the traps on hand in case one of the demons down there escapes Tartarus and runs amok,” he explained.

“Okay. But how’d one of the traps make it to the living realm?” Asij asked.

“The ferryman, Charon, probably. He’s the only spirit with easy access in and out of the UnderWorld,” Marvin answered. “Why don’t you two pay him a visit after you confiscate the illegal trap from the cult? He’s more than due for another warning about the consequences of smuggling items out of the UnderWorld.”

‘No problem,” Roc replied.

Marvin pulled a form from the folder in front of him and passed it to Asij. “Here is the search warrant for the farmhouse on Cherry Lane.  I recommend you start your search in the barn. There’s reports of a Satanic circle there; they’re likely storing the trap inside the circle.”

“Is there anybody inside the trap?” Roc asked.

Marvin shrugged. “The UnderWorld performed a census after the trap was activated and they assert no demons are missing from their realm. However, a demon trap is just an innocuous metal orb with a lid unless a demon is nearby and the pulse of this particular trap activation was very strong. Either the UnderWorld is trying to cover up that they have an escaped demon on the loose or there was an undocumented one roaming around the living realm,” he replied.

“What do we do with the trap after we confiscate it?” Asij asked.

“Return it to the UnderWorld; let them deal with the occupant. Demons aren’t allowed in the living realm and we certainly have no place for one here in the OtherWorld,” Marvin responded.

The orders delivered, Asij tucked the search warrant into his coat pocket and the two Spectral Recovery Agents disappeared in a puff of blue smoke to begin their newest case.

 

The FPDA Series is now on NetGalley

Well, thought I’d give it another go and post the Fantastic Phantasmic Detective series on NetGalley again in hopes to obtain a bit more feedback from avid readers.  NetGalley is a site where many authors post their books for reviews from bloggers, teachers and book reviewers. My first go around provided a few nice reviews for my series but I hope to obtain more. Never hurts to try, right? 🙂

If you’re a member of NetGalley, below are the links to my fun paranormal detective series. I’d be most grateful if you’d check it out and let me know what you think!

http://netgal.ly/A0jhok

http://netgal.ly/ddZV4w

A Lovely Professional Review

I am most grateful for the wonderful review of my first book, The Fantastic Phantasmic Detective Agency and The Rebel Realm, recently posted in Self-Publishing Review. It is always nice to hear that someone appreciates your work and doubly-nice to receive positive feedback from a Professional Reviewer.  If you’re interested in reading this latest review, here is the link:

https://www.selfpublishingreview.com/2018/07/the-fantastic-phantasmic-detective-agency-and-the-rebel-realm-by-d-l-dugger/