“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 that was litered with ancient artifacts from Egypt, Persia, and other cultures he could only guess at.

Mary wrinkled her nose at him. “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 poo! You always overreact to everything.”

“So not true. Trust me. I live a life where people scream at me on an hourly basis, and take it without raising anything more than a jumbo-sized ulcer. The only thing that can make it larger is the cousin ulcer I get from the rampant stupidity on Facebook.”

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 will 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 that 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 with 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 and then got into his.

3

You have been chosen…

Zeke looked up from his meatloaf sandwich in the cozy diner they’d found a few miles away 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.”

She gave him a droll stare then ate a fry from his plate. “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 surrounding tables 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.”

She screwed her face up even more. “What are you? On crack?”

“Not yet, but I’m thinking it might behoove me to find a dealer… except that they make me take a urine test every other day for work, so no fun there.”

She snorted. “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 don’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.”

She let out an evil laugh then sipped her Coke. “You do know that when you turned sixteen Mom told me we should have kept the wagon.”

“I’ve no doubt.” It actually explained a lot about his high school years.

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, too.”

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. Dressed in 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. 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 that strange voice that wouldn’t let up. It reminded him of one of his grandfather’s tirades against hypocrites.

“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?”

He frowned at the man. “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. When the hell did I get my mad ninja skills? Definitely couldn’t be wizard powers… he’d lost his virginity at nineteen.

What evoked spontaneous shinobi?

How many hours of Mortal Kombat have I played?

He released Richard who then scurried out of the café.

“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?

Psychotic episodes?

Just what I fucking need…

“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 that was 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. 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 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 Syfy Channel.

Maybe his voices had possessed his car.

Yeah, right.