Free The Edge of Temptation: Gods of the Undead 2 A Post-Apocalyptic Epic by Peter Meredith Page A

shadows and a wheezing breath.
    Before he could answer, Jack said: “You know what? There was…there was a spell. Damn! It’s on the tip of my tongue. It was in Truong’s mind. It was for light, but how did it go? Sha-shi nai something. It was in Mandarin, I think.”
    As usual, Timmons was uncomfortable being so close to Jack, and he especially didn’t like it when Jack spoke about what he called his “pagan practices.”
    “We’re getting more flashlights,” he said, “so, you can keep your witchcraft to yourself. We have quite enough of that down here already to last a dozen lifetimes. My goodness, those spells the demon cast are doozeys. It’s like trying to pray away an iron wall. Even the bishop is having his troubles and the man is a veritable fountain of power. The Holy Spirit is great within him.”
    Timmons then paused, looking uncomfortable, and smiled a smile that was the closest thing to a lie that would ever pass his lips. “Speaking of the bishop, uh, he’s not a man who puts up with much nonsense. He’s very old school.”
    “Meaning what?” Jack growled.
    “Meaning that maybe it’s best if you come back another time. Your brand of magic, though it may not stem from a place of evil, surely doesn’t stem from God’s love and soooo...uh, it’s not, a uh...”
    “It’s not what?” Jack demanded, an unhealthy gleam in his eye.
    The priest gave a little shrug and finally admitted: “It’s not welcome. I tried to explain the situation to his Excellence, but there is a certain stigma to what you are doing. In his view and in others as well... and mine as you know, it’s thought that at best you are mistreating the gift of your soul that the Lord has given you. At worst, you are little more than a witch. Do you understand why I’m telling you this?”
    Jack didn’t answer; his eyes were narrowed in anger. Father Timmons, a very brave man, put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I don’t mean to anger you. I mean to save your soul. That’s why I joined your team. I didn’t come here to fight demons, I came here because of you, Jack. Your soul is as valuable as any other, and I think we both know that witchcraft will destroy it.”
    “I’m not a witch,” Jack said, momentarily taken back. He seemed uncertain what to say in the face of Timmons’ stark admission. “I-I’m a sorcerer. It’s different.”
    “Fine, you are a sorcerer. From an outside perspective, there isn’t that much difference between a sorcerer and a necromancer. It’s not the discovery of God’s love that moves you. And it isn’t the thirst for wholesome knowledge or understanding or wisdom you are after. That’s why I wonder if you’ve changed. I have to wonder what brought you down here. Is it the spells? Are you hoping to add them to your repertoire?”
    Jack glared and Cyn started pulling on his arm. “Maybe we should go,” she whispered.
    He resisted. He had his back up and his chest puffed; he was spoiling for a fight. “You think I need to see those spells? Hardly.” A knife, deadly sharp was suddenly in his hand and Cyn was sure he was going to cut himself and do something he would later regret, but instead he dropped down, and in the glow of the candles, drew out both of the spells that were found in the pits.
    The necromancer in Cyn flared up and she found herself staring at the spells, the glyphs slowly etching into her memory. Before she could finish memorizing them, Jack had her by the arm and was dragging her back toward the first of the ladders. “Can you believe that? I thought I was here to help,” he griped. He gestured for Cyn to go up ahead of him but she hesitated, her eyes slipping back to where Father Timmons stood over the circle of glyphs and the arc within it.
    She stared until he kicked dirt over the symbols. She then gave Jack a weak smile that went unseen. They were both shadows and she was glad for that. She hated the thing in her and at times like this she feared that Jack