Twilight draped the city in a soft veil when the roar of a hellish bike engine tore through the silence. The muffled rumble echoed between the mansion's walls, reverberating like distant thunder. Tires wreathed in fmes left charred marks on the cobblestones, like burns upon the flesh of the earth.

  The Ghost Rider stopped the bike right at the front porch. A slight motion of his foot—and the motorcycle stilled, like a tamed beast. He climbed the steps and pushed the heavy door, which creaked open with a reluctant groan. The fmes engulfing his body cast flickering shadows on the walls, turning the room into a bzing arena.

  The study was shrouded in dim light, filled with the scent of old pages and wax. Behind a massive oak desk sat Zadkiel, hunched over a book. His quill froze mid-stroke, as if attuned to the presence of an uninvited guest. Lifting his gaze, the angel regarded the bzing Rider with a cold curiosity, thinly veiling his contempt.

  "If a fming skeleton roams my house," he said coolly, as if commenting on the weather, "I'll have to expin it to the neighbors. They'll start asking questions I'd rather leave unanswered."

  "Your neighbors aren't my problem," Johnny snapped, stepping inside. His boots scraped lightly against the polished floor. "I’m here for work, not to chat about your gossip enthusiasts."

  The angel's lips twitched into a faint smirk.

  "Problems are a privilege of mortals. Angels are born to solve them," Zadkiel replied without flinching, his gaze sweeping over Johnny with more disdain than interest. "But before we get to business, tell me—why did your cousin decline my modest invitation?"

  The Rider let out a loud, rumbling sound, more of a growl than a ugh.

  "Melissa doesn’t like posers, snobs, angels, and arrogant bastards. Guess which one you are?"

  "She is blind to true greatness," Zadkiel answered serenely, raising his hand as if to summon silence. "Tell me, Johnny, does Melissa see only the surface, or can she recognize the greatness behind my deeds?"

  "I don’t give a damn about your celestial romances," Johnny muttered, dropping into the chair opposite him. "I’m here for a contract."

  "Of course you are," Zadkiel drawled, pushing aside a stack of papers. "Riders have always been known for their impatience."

  He slowly retrieved a folder from beneath the pile and pced it on the desk. Johnny reached for it, his hollow eye sockets scanning the first pages. The angel’s handwriting was surprisingly neat and elegant, almost divine. The file also contained impeccably detailed illustrations.

  "Did you draw these yourself?" Johnny asked, examining the portraits, which were nearly indistinguishable from photographs.

  "Among the many talents of angels, art has always held a special pce," Zadkiel replied curtly. "But let’s not waste time. Your target is Deacon Frost. Born in Germany, 1846. Once a man, now a vampire."

  One of the pages had a portrait attached. Johnny gnced at the face—far too youthful for the stated age.

  "Judging by the ck of wrinkles, he must’ve been turned right after graduating from university."

  "Deacon wasn’t bitten like ordinary vampires," Zadkiel expined. "He became the first man to turn himself."

  That caught Johnny’s attention. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

  "Go on."

  "Deacon possessed a brilliance from birth rarely seen in humans. He earned his doctorate before most finish their studies. But it wasn’t enough for him. He craved not knowledge, but greatness. For years, he delved into myths and legends of superhumans—demigods, demons, vampires. He lured a vampire like a rat into a trap, locked it in his basement, and turned an immortal creature into a b experiment."

  "Did he find out anything interesting?"

  "More than that," Zadkiel replied, intercing his fingers. "Deacon is the foremost expert on vampirism among humans. He was the first to discover that vampires can evolve with the right nourishment. You can read more about that on page seven of my report. As for Frost’s earliest experiments—let’s just say he discovered that the cssic method of turning via a bite is far from perfect. He opened his captive’s chest with the cold precision of a surgeon, extracted the heart, and squeezed out the st drops of life. Then—he injected them into himself. In this method, the carrier of vampirism is guaranteed to die."

  "An evil doctor killing bloodsuckers," Johnny’s voice lost its edge of interest. "And what he earned divine wrath?"

  "Mortals aren’t meant to comprehend all realms of darkness," the angel replied. "For hundreds of years, Deacon has continued to evolve. He’s now on the verge of his final stage—becoming the king of vampires."

  "Now that sounds like a threat on my level," Johnny nodded slowly. "And what does Deacon’s royal ascension threaten us with?"

  "Once he achieves his goal, he’ll be able to shroud the sun forever. The world will be plunged into eternal night, and humanity will become livestock for a nation of vampires. Your duty is to cleanse this world of filth even Hell has rejected. If, of course, you consider yourself worthy of being the fist of God."

  "There’s no address here," Johnny tapped the folder with his finger. "Where do I find him?"

  "That’s your concern," Zadkiel replied, rising to his feet. "Use all your talents, Johnny Bze, and prove Heaven not for nothing time with you. Justify the trust pced in you."

  Johnny took the folder and headed for the door.

  "Oh, by the way, Johnny…" Zadkiel pretended to shuffle some papers on the desk. "Tell me, does Melissa prefer seafood or Italian cuisine?"

  Johnny replied without turning around:

  "If you manage to convince her not to burn the restaurant to the ground, I might actually start respecting you."

  With those words, he left, leaving behind the scent of scorched air and the faintest trace of a smile on the angel’s face.

  ///

  Writer notes:

  Visit my patreon!

  Subscribers get early access to chapters (30 chapters ahead!) and exclusive illustrations that enhance the story's atmosphere.

  Thank you for reading and supporting!