Malachai Harte

Malachai sat in his worn leather chair in his downtown studio apartment, toying with an odd little relic he'd found under the seat of some beater that had been abandoned and towed into the mechanic shop. He was staring at the TV, some random show on that he wasn't really paying attention to as he nursed a cold beer and waited for his pizza to arrive. Unpaid bills sat on the coffee table, but he was trying not to think about those.

He let out a hiss as something pricked his finger, his blood smearing across the little relic. He frowned, holding it up for closer inspection as it started to smoke. He cussed, dropping it. The damned thing rolled under the couch, and he was halfway underneath it, cussing up at storm as he pressed against the floor, failing to notice that a demon now stood in the middle of his apartment behind him. "Shit! Georgina will have my damned head if I start another fire..."