Page 50 of Into the Fire

“That’s what audiobooks are for.” Donnelly turned his attention to the storage building. Even though they were outside and halfway across the parking lot, Donnelly’s expression darkened. “I can feel the negative energy all the way out here. It’s amazing that anyone, with or without magic, would go near it.”

The closest analogy Simon could think of was getting a whiff of a long-dead and rotting carcass.

“At least some of them do get a bad feeling,” Simon replied. “There have been complaints, and that’s why the building owner gave us permission to intervene.”

Donnelly rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get started.”

They got to the lobby, and Donnelly signaled to stop. “Give me a minute. I can sense the spells from here, and I want a clearer idea of what we’re dealing with.”

Simon remained protectively alert as the older man closed his eyes and lifted his face as if he were scenting the wind. When he looked back to Simon, he was clearly disturbed by what he found.

“I’m glad you didn’t attempt this on your own,” Donnelly told him. “There are some nasty death magic wards. That makes me more concerned about what’s inside and confirms that whoever set those wards is very bad news.”

“How can I help?” Simon felt out of his element.

“Watch my back,” Donnelly replied. “I can handle the dark magic, but it will take all of my concentration, so don’t let anyone sneak up on us.”

“I can do that.” Simon felt uneasy but mustered his nerve. He had already called ahead and gotten the owner to temporarily close the building, claiming a need for urgent repairs. That should ensure no one blundered into the hallway in the middle of their working.

Donnelly laid out a protective circle large enough for himself and Simon with salt, grave dirt, bone ash, and some other ingredients Simon didn’t want to guess about.

“Spirits of light, I entreat you to lend your aid. Spirits of darkness, by all that is holy, by bell, book, and candle, I abjure you and command you to depart this place.” Donnelly’s voice rang with authority, reinforced with old, strong magic that sent a chill down Simon’s spine. While the words by themselves were not arcane, the sheer power he imbued into the conjuration created a powerful order.

The air stirred around them, although it didn’t shift the protective circle. Simon caught glimpses of gray spirits and dark shapes, ghosts, and shadow people. He steeled his will and called on his own protective magic to buttress Donnelly’s wards.

Simon sensed a mix of emotions from the ghosts: fear, relief, anger, uncertainty. Some seemed to have been bound against their will, while others might have volunteered for what they considered to be a sacred duty.

“In the name of all that is sacred, of light and life, I break your bonds and order you to depart!” Donnelly shouted.

The sudden shift in air pressure gave Simon a raging headache. A blast of freezing cold drove all the warmth from the corridor, raising a slight frost on the metal scrolling doors.

As quickly as it came, the change ended. Simon’s heart thudded, but the air regained its warmth, and his temples no longer throbbed.

“That’s the first step.” Donnelly sounded rather pleased, but Simon picked up deep caution beneath the surface.

“I don’t know what’s in there, but it’s bound up with some very dark magic.” Donnelly bent to retrieve items from the bag he had brought with him. He handed Simon a silver scythe that looked wickedly sharp, a set of old rosary beads, and an intricately forged amulet of a symbol Simon didn’t recognize.

“Take these. Wear the amulet and the rosary. I know you’ve got protections already, but these are stronger,” Donnelly ordered. “Keep the scythe ready. Just in case.”

Edged silver weapons could be used to dispel spirits and demons but were more often wielded against a corporeal foe. That didn’t put Simon’s worries at ease, but he did as Donnelly said and gripped the handle of the scythe tightly. Donnelly withdrew a silver short sword for himself, as well as an iron dagger.

“Here we go.” Donnelly stretched his hand, palm out, toward the door and blasted it wide open. Simon winced, knowing they had the key.

One look inside explained why the necromancer had chosen a frontal assault.

At least half a dozen corpses stood at attention, gray-skinned but not decomposed. Anything else in the unit lay behind them, and Simon’s heart dropped when the dead men opened their eyes.

Holy shit! Zombies!

The undead guardians moved fast, coming at them at a run. Donnelly felled two with bursts of lightning. Simon slashed with his scythe, beheading one of the creatures before he spun and ripped the curved blade through the spine of another one. He did his best not to think about the greenish ichor that sprayed from the reanimated corpses, or the way their limbs twitched even after being severed.

Runes Simon had not noticed blazed on the blade, as if it hungered for combat. Glowing script on Donnelly’s sword cast a hellish glow in the darkened unit. Step by step, he and Donnelly advanced, leaving a trail of dismembered bodies behind them.

The zombies were quick, but not as fast as in the movies, and while they clearly intended to kill Simon and Donnelly, they did not seem capable of any plan except frontal attack.

Thank heaven for liquefied brains.

When the last of the undead attackers had been felled, Donnelly and Simon paused, breathing hard. The storage unit stank. Simon fought the urge to retch, between the smell and the evidence of the battle.