Blood Lite

Where Angels Fear to Tread Sherrilyn Kenyon

"From humble beginnings come great things." Zeke Jacob-son rolled his eyes as he read the strip of paper he'd just fished out of his broken fortune cookie. "Well, you can't get more humble than me," he muttered before the phone rang.

His stomach clenching in dread of the latest complaint, he picked up the receiver and glanced around his pale gray cube walls where he spent an average of fifty hours a week. There were times when he swore he could hear his life ticking away with every swipe of the second hand on the Transformers clock he'd inherited from his older brother. Optimus Prime stared at him from his perch next to Zeke's drab gray monitor.

"Good afternoon. Taylor Transportation. Claims Divi­sion. Zeke speaking. How may I help you?" The worst part of the job ... he sometimes heard those words even in his sleep.

The irate woman on the other end laid into him over the fact that he'd rejected her dubious claim that their delivery truck had mowed down her mailbox and kept going. If she'd spoken to the driver the way she was speak­ing to him, she was lucky the driver hadn't mowed her down first.

Her voice held that high-pitched, nasal quality that went down a man's spine like a shredder. "You're a pathetic idiot if you don't believe your driver did that."

Zeke didn't speak as she continued shrieking at him.

And for the glorious honor of being bitched at con­stantly and the esteemed title of Claims Investigator, he'd given up five years of his life as he went to college, created a debt his great-grandkids would curse him over, and got the holy honor of MBA. More Bullshit Allowed. Unlike his more intelligent counterparts, he'd actually studied and graduated with honors, thinking he'd have a bright future ...

Yeah, this was his life and he hated every minute of it.

Well, not every minute. But enough that he dreaded what more wondrous developments the future would hold.

You know, as a kid, I just didn't see this one coming.

When he'd dreamed of his future, never once had he seen himself sitting in a cube ten hours a day having peo­ple yell at him while he glibly took it for fear of losing his thirty-thousand-a-year salary.

The highlights of his life? Drinking beer and playing basketball on the weekends with his friends.

Damn, the woman's right. I am apathetic idiot.

"Are you even listening to me?" she droned.

"Yes, ma'am. I understand what you're saying. But there's no evidence that our driver did that. I have a sworn statement from him that he didn't hit the mailbox."

"Fuck you, you stupid bastard!"

"Yes, ma'am. You have a good day, too."

She slammed the phone down hard enough for it to ring in his ear.

Zeke sighed before he put his head to his laminated desk and beat it against the cold, granite-look finish. Maybe I'll get a concussion ...

The phone rang again.

He lifted his head to glare at Optimus Prime. It was only eleven in the morning. Was it too much to ask for one little brain aneurysm? Just one.

His stomach churning, he picked the phone up and repeated his work litany.

"Am I speaking to Ezekiel Malachi Jacobson?"

Zeke cringed at the name with which his grandfa­ther, a devout Baptist preacher, had cursed him, the only grandson, at birth. God, how he hated hearing all that said at once. It was a name that had gotten his ass kicked on many an occasion at school. It had even caused one col­lege roommate to move out of his dorm room before he arrived.

"That would be me." God, don't let this be someone I owe money to.

"My name is Robert West. I'm the attorney for your granduncle Michael Jacobson."

"Who?"

"He was your grandfather's youngest brother."

That was weird. He'd thought all of those relatives were long gone.

"I'm sad to say that your granduncle passed away a few weeks ago and named me as the executor of his will. Since he wasn't married and didn't have children, he's left every­thing to you."

"To me? What about my sister?"

"He only named you."

Oooo-kay . . . Zeke listened as the lawyer gave him more details.

"Can you imagine how lonely he must have been?" ,

Zeke paused at his sister Mary's question. At five ten, she was only a couple of inches shorter than him. And like him, she had straight black hair and creepy topaz-colored eyes that their grandmother used to call "the devil's gold." He indicated the brass bed behind her that was covered with an old-fashioned quilt. "Yeah. The lawyer said he died in his bed. Three days before anyone found the body."

She jumped away from the footboard and scowled at him. "Ew! Thanks, Zeke. You're such a sick bastard."

"Apparently so, since that's all anyone ever says to me."

She ruffled his hair. "Oh, poor baby. We have to find you a better job one day."

"Never happen, sis. I sold my soul to the devil for thirty thou a year." Zeke glanced around the room, which was covered in ancient artifacts from Egypt, Persia and other cultures at which he could only guess.

"What was it Grandpa used to say? 'You may pawn your soul to the devil, but the good Lord will always bail you out'?"

"Something like that."

She paused at the desk by the door before she picked something up to look at it. "What's this?"

Zeke moved to peer over her shoulder. It was a round medallion with what appeared to be an angel and ser­pent fighting. There was some old-timey script that he couldn't read. "Looks like one of those things from a horror movie that someone uses to summon a demon or something."

She snorted. " 'Back, Manitou, back.' Do you remem­ber that old movie?"

"I remember you making me watch it, then telling Mom it had a naked woman in it and getting my ass busted because of it."

Mary gave him a sheepish grin. "Oh, never mind. Forget I said anything." She handed him the medallion. "Maybe you should chant something over it."

"O great Manitou, I want another life. Something completely different than this one."

"Wouldn't it be freaky if the two of us exchanged places? You'd have to go home to my house and make out with Duncan."

Zeke covered his ears with his hands in mock horror. "Ah gah! Eye bleach. Don't put that shit in my head. You're my sister, for Pete's sake. Now I'm going to have to beat your husband the next time I see him for defiling you." He cringed. "I'd rather be at work."

"Oh, pooh. You always overreact to everything."

"So not true. Trust me. I live a life where people scream at me on an hourly basis and I take it without raising any­thing more than an ulcer."

She pressed the medallion to his chest. "One day, your life will change."

"Yeah." He took the medallion as she walked back toward the living room. "One day I'll also be in a pine box, six feet under." He followed her out of the bedroom and had to admit their granduncle was a weird old man. "The lawyer said Gramps here spent his younger years as an archaeologist and the last few decades as a total recluse."

Mary nodded as she scanned the bookshelves and tables, which were littered with even more artifacts. "It looks like he spent a lot of time bringing that stuff home. You could probably make a killing on eBay."

Zeke didn't really hear her as his attention was taken over by an odd coin that was partially covered on the cof­fee table. Frowning, he walked over to it. Bright and shiny, it looked brand-new and yet the markings on it appeared as ancient as everything else.

More than that, it actually felt warm to the touch. "What do you think this is?"

Mary shrugged. "More junk."

Maybe. Then again, a strange sensation went over him. "You think any of this crap could be possessed?"

"No. I think you're possessed of the spirit of creepiness. Put that down and let's go get dinner. This place makes me depressed."

Zeke nodded. He reached out to drop it, but couldn't make himself let go. It was as if the coin somehow called out to him. Whispered to him.

And before he knew what he was doing, he put it in his pocket and followed Mary out to her car.

You have been chosen ...

Zeke looked up from his meat loaf sandwich in the cozy diner they'd found to see Mary chowing down on her burger. "What did you say?"

She swallowed before she spoke. "Nothing. I'm eating."

You have been chosen ...

"You're not funny, Mary. Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Throwing your voice."

"I'm not throwing my voice, but if you don't stop irri­tating me, I might be throwing a fry at your head."

You have been chosen ...

Zeke looked around the small restaurant. All the tables around them were empty. The only other customers were seated at a bar, talking to the waitress. "You didn't hear that?"

Mary scowled at him. "Hear what?"

"You have been chosen."

"What are you? On crack?"

"Not yet, but I am thinking it might behoove me to find some, except that they make me take a urine test every other day for work, so no fun there."

"You're not right, are you? God, I hope that's not genetic since Duncan and I are trying to get pregnant."

"Again with the ick stuff. Stop!"

You have been chosen ...

Zeke growled at the voice. "And that means you, too. Damn. My life is bad enough. The last thing I need is to be schizophrenic."

"I don't know. Given your job, schizo could be fun ... 'No, lady, I didn't turn you down. That was the voices in my head telling you to shove that claim where the sun doesn't shine.'"

"I really hate you," he said with a laugh.

"I know. It's why you tried to feed me Drano when we were kids."

He shook his head at the memory. "Yeah, but you're the one who traded me for a wagon."

"You do know that when you turned sixteen, Mom told me that we should have kept the wagon."

"I've no doubt."

You have been chosen ...

Zeke raked his hands through his hair. "Call the shrink. I've lost my mind."

"Sweetie, you lost that a long time ago. Now eat your sandwich. The voices in your head are probably hungry."

Zeke rolled his eyes at his sister's curt dismissal. He'd just turned back to his sandwich when something that felt like an electric current went down his spine. It truly felt like a razor blade skimming his soul.

And something inside him raised up like the hackles of a dog. He turned toward the door at the same time a well-dressed man entered. Wearing a suit and tie, he looked completely respectable.

Cheats on his taxes and wife. Misappropriated funds from his clients earlier tonight. Beats his kids. Total douche bag. Will eventually spend ten years in jail for fraud. Damned to hell on his deathbed. Nothing will redeem him. His ego won't let it.

Zeke shook his head to clear out the strange voice that wouldn't let up.

"Richard Cheatham."

The man stopped next to him. "Do I know you?"

Zeke looked up and blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You just said my name. Do I know you?"

"I didn't say anything."

"Yes, you did. You said 'Richard Cheatham.' I heard you." His dark blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "Did my wife hire you?"

"Dude, I don't know you and I have no idea what you're talking about."

Richard started to grab him.

Zeke caught his hand and whipped it around, twisting Richard's body as he rose. He held Richard against him while the man struggled and cursed.

Stunned, he glanced to Mary, who was as shocked as he was.

He released Richard, who scurried out of the diner.

"What the hell was that action?" Mary asked.

Zeke had no idea. He didn't know how to move like that. How to defend himself. God knows his ass had been kicked enough in his life to prove it to him.

You have been chosen ...

Chosen for what?

"I don't feel good, Mare." He pulled out a ten and dropped it on the table. "I think I need to go home and rest. Thanks for coming with me." He didn't give her time to say a word before he bolted.

He quickly got into his silver Nissan, parked beside hers, and headed home. For the entire two-hour trip back, he kept waiting for the voices to return.

They didn't.

But his car radio was whacked out. The CD player wouldn't work and every time he changed the station, some weird-ass song would play. AC/DC's "Highway to Hell." "Hells Bells." "Evil Walks." Godsmack's "Releasing the Demons." Papa Roach's "Roses On My Grave." "What the hell is up with my radio?" Every single station had something weird to do with death, demons or hell.

"Well, I know this damn car ain't Bumblebee." For one thing, he'd been driving it for over nine years. If it was an Autobot in disguise, surely it would have transformed before now.

No, this was like one of those Twilight Zone episodes they showed on the SciFi Channel.

Maybe his voices had possessed his car. Yeah, right.

By the time he reached his house, he was really starting to freak himself out with psycho fears that the devil was after him or that aliens were about to pull him on board for an anal probe. His heart racing, he parked the car in the driveway and got out. Before he reached his door, the neighbor's dog came running up to him to hump his leg. "What in the world is wrong with you?" He pulled the dog gently from his leg, then ran like hell to his door. He fumbled for the keys while Tiny was trying to make time with his shoes. Opening the door, Zeke slid inside, then slammed it shut. The dog whimpered on the other side. "This is the weirdest day of my life."

"Just wait. It gets stranger." Eyes wide, Zeke turned toward the deep, scary voice behind him to find what had to be a man who was so beautiful he would have made a hot woman. Tall, thin and blond, he had eyes so blue they could only be called celes­tial. "Who the hell are you?"

"Wrong direction, actually. But my name is Gabriel."

Zeke tightened his grip on the doorknob, ready to bolt outside again. "And you would be in my house to ..." Rob me blind and kill me, was the thought in his head.

"Explain the weirdness that surrounds you."

Call the cops, Zeke. Now.

That would only be a waste of your time.

He gasped at the sound of Gabriel's voice in his head.

"You have been chosen," Gabriel said in that same spooky voice he'd been hearing.

"For what?"

"To be an avenger."

Zeke tried to open the door, but before he could, it vanished. Anger and fear mixed inside him. "Yo, Hotel California, I want my door back."

"And so it'll return once we have this settled."

"Settled, my ass. I'm not Emma Peel and I'd look like shit in a black catsuit. Find her for your avenger. Now let me go."

Gabriel tsked at him. "You can't fight your destiny, Ezekiel. Besides, you asked for this. We couldn't have ful­filled Michael's choice had you been unwilling."

Zeke swallowed as he turned around slowly to face Gabriel. "How did I choose this?"

"You asked for your life to change. You wanted to be special. To make a difference. Michael heard and so he chose you to be his replacement."

"Michael's dead."

Gabriel shook his head. "After all these centuries of fighting, he's retired. You're the new seraph who will take on his duties."

Yeah, the dude was on crack. "What duties?"

"To maintain the natural order of the universe. Good versus evil. We allow evil a certain latitude to fulfill its part, but whenever the demons take their duties too far, we are the ones who rein them in."

"Bullshit!"

Zeke ran for his bedroom. He slammed the door shut and locked it, then froze as he caught sight of himself in the mirrored door of his closet.

His short black hair was now snow white and long. His clothes were gone, replaced by a black shirt and pants and a long, full, black leather coat. Three spikes stood out on each shoulder and a red chain was wrapped around his left arm.

On his right hip was the cross hilt of a sword that looked like an ancient cross. As he watched the hilt in the mirror, the center opened to reveal two pale blue eyes and a small mouth.

"You can call me Jack."

Zeke screamed, ripping the hilt off and throwing it to the ground. He turned to run to the window only to find Gabriel there.

"I see you met Jack. Don't worry. Most people scream like girls when he does that."

"This is a whacked-out dream. I'm going to wake ..." He trailed off as "Jack" mutated from a cross hilt into a large metallic man.

"All seraph have a minion and a guardian. I'm yours."

Zeke's head whirled at what was happening.

"Breathe deep before you hyperventilate," Jack said.

"What are you?"

"I told you. I'm your guardian and your minion. Any­thing you need that's metal, from transportation to weap­onry, I can be. When you need a hand fighting, I look like this." He indicated his armored human form, then pounded his hand against his breast. "The best armor in the world. Nothing, except a handful of demonic weapons, can mar me."

Gabriel clapped him on the back. "Welcome to the fold, Ezekiel."

Suddenly something warm swept through Zeke. It felt as if his very blood was on fire. His breathing ragged, he turned back toward the closet. His eyes were a vibrant red and his face was every bit as perfect and ethereal as Gabriel's.

Zeke lifted his armored arm to make sure it was him.

It was.

"What about my job?"

Gabriel looked a bit sheepish. "There's no payment for being a seraph. Sorry. But you will have a whole new set of skills. Just wait."

That sounded ominous.

"And there's one more thing."

Of course there was. "And that is?"

"Michael notwithstanding, the average life expectancy for a seraph is ... two years."

Zeke laughed nervously. "Oh no, I definitely decline. You can take this crap and stick it."

Gabriel reached behind his ear and pulled out the coin Zeke had taken from his uncle's house. "The minute you willingly took the medallion, you sealed your fate. You have been chosen, my brother. The only way out now is death."

"You're shitting me."

Jack clapped him on the back. "But on the upside, your seraph form will never age. And the only way to die is by a demon blade. As long you survive fighting them, you're immortal to the things that would kill a normal human. Think of the money you'll save on medical bills."

That was so not an upside.

Gabriel gave him a gimlet stare. "And there's one more thing."

"Neutering?" That would be Zeke's luck.

Gabriel grinned. "No." He snapped his fingers. An instant later, a black mist appeared by his side. It swirled into the small form of a raven. No sooner had the bird appeared than it exploded into the form of a tall, gorgeous woman with long black hair and coal black eyes. Dressed all in black, she was striking and tough. "Ravenna is also your helpmate."

"Oh yeah, baby." He reached for her, only to have her grab his wrist and flip him onto the ground, where he landed with a painful oof.

She wrenched his arm and put one perfectly spiked heel on the center of his chest. "Keep your hands to your­self or lose them." She pressed the heel in, making him grimace. "And don't call me 'baby.' "Then she released him and moved away.

Gabriel's eyes danced with humor. "Ravenna is your contact with the other side. She's also your eyes and ears, both to me and to Lucifer's posse. You guys get acquainted. I have duties to attend." He vanished.

"But—"

"There are no buts," Jack said, laughing. "You, my friend, have been chosen."

Ravenna nodded her agreement. "Always be careful what you wish for. You just might get it."

Yeah, and in this one wish, Zeke had definitely been screwed.