I, Angel by JC Andrijeski

Some angels don’t get harps. We hunt demons. I never asked to be an angel. Truthfully, being an angel kinda sucks. This gig didn’t come with an instruction manual. No one told me about the mess of powers I’d inherit, with no idea how to control. Or that I’d black out when I fly, waking up naked in random places. Or that I could only sleep in windowless rooms. Or that every time I pick up a weapon, there’s a good chance someone dies. Oh, and I can’t drink alcohol anymore, since I randomly start fires. Pretty hard to maintain a social life, given that––much less date. But I, Dags Jourdain, do good. Sort of. I mean, I try. When I’m not hunting demons, I work as a P.I. in Hollywood, California. One night, I get in a demon fight in an alley, and accidentally save the life of a movie star, and everything changes. Meanwhile, someone opened a hell portal under the Hollywood sign, a dead guy left me his dog, and a homicide detective who hates me from high school is trying to decide if I’m a serial killer. Did I mention being an angel kinda sucks?