The Accidental Summoning (Kitchen Catastrophes #1)

Chapter 1

Demonic Uber Eats

“Why did you summon me?” Zachariel demanded, glowering at the frazzled-looking young man who was standing in the dingy kitchen.

It had been centuries since he’d last been summoned, and he’d honestly thought all the magic users strong enough to overrule Oberon’s restraints had long died out.

He wasn’t exactly opposed to a summoning—it’s not like he got out much anymore—it was just that he hadn’t been expecting it.

That tended to make him grumpier than normal and he’d ended up almost snarling at the poor guy.

A kid, really. If he was older than twenty, Zach would kiss the Devil’s rosy-cheeked ass.

Said kid was now flipping hurriedly through a well-worn notebook, his wide eyes darting up every now and then as if checking he wasn’t hallucinating the demon standing in his kitchen. His floppy brown hair fell over his pale-blue eyes and freckled nose.

“Well?” Zach asked, arching one brow. He was trying to tone down how menacing he appeared but judging by the yelp that was audible all the way across the admittedly small room, he didn’t succeed.

“I don’t know!” the kid wailed, holding the book up and shaking it like he hoped something would fall out. “You were supposed to be chicken noodle soup!”

“Excuse me?” He surely didn’t hear that correctly.

“I was just trying to make dinner,” the kid said, utterly dejected now as he slumped down onto a chair at the table.

Curious, Zach strode over to the table and plucked the book from his hands. He flipped through it and grunted in surprise. “This is a book of spells,” he announced.

“What?” The kid’s head shot up from the table and he looked up at Zach in surprise. “My Aunt Harriett found it in my parents’ things after they died. It was my grandmother’s cookbook, so she gave it to me when I moved out here for university.”

Zach noted way too late just how close he was standing to the kid, when he realised that from this angle, looking down on wide, liquid eyes and a pretty pink mouth .

. . well, time to put that thought from his head before he embarrassed himself with a surprise hard on for the first time in centuries.

“No, it’s definitely a spell book. Cleverly disguised as a cookbook, I’ll grant you, but there’s no denying the power behind it. ”

“Are you saying Grammy was a witch?” the kid yelped.

Zach snorted. “Grammy is a ridiculous name to describe someone with such obviously strong magic.”

The kid rolled his eyes. “Oh, my bad . . . Are you saying Winifred Edith Phillips was a witch?”

Unable to help but grin at the snark, Zach nodded. “Most assuredly.”

There was a deep rumbling noise and the kid’s face went red as he grasped at his stomach.

He then grimaced. “Well, that’s good to know and all but it doesn’t really help with my dinner situation.

” He looked sadly at the pot of what was going to be soup—which was now sloshed over the stovetop—and then rather hopefully over at Zach.

“I don’t suppose you brought any food with you? ”

Zach didn’t think it was a very sophisticated look for a demon to have his jaw drop open like that, so he quickly shut his mouth. “Are you being serious right now? You get that I’m a demon, yeah?”

“Well, now I do, but you didn’t exactly introduce yourself when you appeared in my kitchen.”

“You summoned me!”

“Well, I didn’t mean to! The least you could have done is bring me my chicken noodle soup!”

“I am not Hell’s version of Uber Eats!” Zach thundered.

“How the heck does a demon know what Uber Eats is?” the kid snapped.

“We have the internet!” Zach snapped right back.

They both froze for a moment as the ridiculousness of their conversation became apparent, and then as one, they snorted with laughter.

It had been a long, long time since Zach had laughed, and he’d forgotten how good it felt.

The kid’s stomach grumbled again and that set them off into another gale of laughter until they were both clutching at their stomachs.

“Ow, it hurts,” the kid gasped between guffaws.

It took effort but Zach finally got his wits about him. “Okay, look—sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Drew,” the kid wheezed, finally calming down. “Drew Phillips.”

“Right, well, Drew Phillips, you can call me Zach.”

“Zach? What sort of a demonic name is that?”

It isn’t, he thought, but didn’t say it. “I doubt you could pronounce the name they have for me in the deepest pits of Hell,” he offered vaguely instead. “Anyway, that’s beside the point. Why don’t we head out somewhere so you can get some food?”

Drew frowned, his cheeks tingeing pink once again. “Oh, well, you see, the thing is . . . I, um . . . the reason I was cooking . . . ”

Zach looked around the tiny kitchen and his eyes were drawn to what appeared to be the rest of the apartment beyond the door— nothing more than a single room with a bed, a television, and a rickety free-standing cupboard.

It was certainly not a luxurious space, and he realised that the reason why Drew was trying to cook was because he couldn’t afford to eat out.

He waved a hand magnanimously. “It’s on me, of course. ”

Drew threw him a sceptical look. “What, you have Mastercard in Hell?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. And then paused before adding, “We use Amex.”

Drew snorted. “Of course you do.” He then shrugged and averted his gaze, looking embarrassed. “I’m hungry enough that I’m not gonna turn down free food. Where do you wanna go?”

“I don’t actually know where we are, so I have no idea what’s available.

” Zach would never admit it, but he was eager to get outside and look around.

He’d been trapped down below for so long now and he’d missed Earth.

He hadn’t been lying, they did have the internet—it was Hell, not a two-star hotel—but it was torture to see the world develop, to learn of the new technology, but not be able to play with it.

To be forced to watch from afar. Demons who had returned from a summoning often brought back gadgets and toys with them, so it wasn’t like he’d never experienced modern conveniences, but they weren’t widespread.

He was itching to discover things for himself, and he hoped Drew wouldn’t discover the spell to send him back for a long time yet.

“We’re in Nanaimo,” Drew said. “Are you familiar with Vancouver Island, Canada?”

Zach nodded. The last time he’d been in Canada was well before it was even known as Canada, but he’d watched almost every season of every version of The Amazing Race, so he had a passing familiarity with the modern island.

“There’s a little diner down the road,” Drew told him, pushing back his chair and standing up.

One of his feet caught on the leg of the chair and he stumbled a little, but he recovered and picked up the threadbare coat that was slung over the back of the second chair at the table.

“They do awesome coffee there. Much better than Tim Horton’s anyway. ”

Zach made a small, pained noise. “Oh, I haven’t had coffee for ages.”

“How long is ages?” Drew asked, pocketing his phone and keys.

“Oh, let’s see . . . three hundred and four years, I think.”

Drew raised a brow at that. “Man, the double-shot peppermint mocha is going to blow your mind.”

“It sounds . . . interesting.” He glanced up at the ceiling.

“What?” Drew asked, looking up as well.

“I’m just waiting for the lightning bolt to hit,” Zach said. “I thought a Canadian not liking Tim Horton’s was an automatic smiting offence.”

Drew snorted. “Timmy’s has its place, but you’re offering to pay so I want something a little better than stale Timbits and lukewarm coffee.

This place isn’t a chain store but it has been run by the same family for generations.

The food is good, the coffee is even better, and it might be more expensive than Timmy’s but not by too much. ”

“Fair enough.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Drew glanced around the tiny kitchen, double-checked the stove was off, and then led the way to the front door.

Zach watched him as he followed behind, admiring the juxtapositions that were Drew Phillips— lean angles and soft features, an innocent face and biting sarcasm, the body of a dancer and the grace of a baby dodo, the power radiating from him and the complete ignorance regarding its presence.

Yes, this summoning was going to be delicious.

Drew sat across the cream formica table from the demon as they waited for their order, a small frown tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Zach arched a brow at him. “Yes?”

Drew flushed a little at being caught staring but was secretly glad that he had—the eyebrow thing was damn sexy.

In fact, all of Zach was sexy, and Drew wasn’t exactly sure what to make of that.

He’d never been what you’d call religious, but he also didn’t live under a rock.

He’d seen artistic depictions of demons, and none of them had ever looked like they’d just stepped off a catwalk.

Looking at Zach there was no red skin, no horns, and no smell of brimstone.

Instead, there were smoky eyes the colour of fine whiskey, an immaculate suit that clung to the demon’s ass and thighs, and the spicy, alluring scent of expensive cologne.

If he hadn’t appeared suddenly in front of the stove, Drew would never have believed Zach wasn’t human.

A tall, dark, and extremely handsome human, but human nonetheless.

“I’m seriously beginning to think I have something on my face,” Zach said as he turned to the window and peered at his faint reflection.

“Sorry, what?” Drew asked, finally surfacing.