The passion and serenity came later. After I returned from the war. After I began seminary.
After I swore to fulfil Charlie’s calling in honor of his sacrifice and death.
I am still a believer now, with every fiber of my being, and fear hammers alongside the brutal beats of my heart.
First she walks into my church and reawakens my desires of the flesh.
Now . . . that awful vision.
It’s a test. Definitely a test.
But a test sent by whom?
Shaking, I raise my eyes to stare up at the cross above my head.
Even if I had retained an ounce of doubt—a doubt that infects the modern populace more and more these days—the current state of my life washes it away in a deluge of certainty and terror.
This woman named after a daughter of Jezebel came into my church to try me.
Perhaps to ruin me.
A logical corner of my mind scoffs at the thought, wondering how any woman could ever have the power.
Yet God works in mysterious ways, right?
As a matter of fact, so does the Devil.
To which does she belong? Which of them sent her my way?
Or is she just a regular, Earthly woman that stumbled onto my path and showed me that I’m still a regular, Earthly man with the base desires of one?
A knock on my bedroom door interrupts my feverish thoughts. “Father Logan, are you in there? I-I’m sorry to intrude. We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
Sister Evelyn.
I wipe the sweat off my forehead with my sleeve and hurry to stand. “Yes, Sister. I’ll be just a moment. Is everything alright?” It’s a surprise how steady my voice sounds considering my eyes continue to dart about, seeking signs of blood on the walls.
“Father Raul sent me to get you. There seems to have been an incident during mass tonight. We need you right away.”
Two days later
The incident turned out to be Mr. Harris, an eighty-four-year-old devotee to our church. He stood up at the end of mass, made it out of the pews into the nave, and collapsed.
Ms. Garza said she heard him slurring during the last lines of his prayer. Most people engage in silent prayer, yet Mr. Harris usually mumbled it to himself.
What she claims left us worried it might be a stroke. His health has been on a serious decline the last six months.
No news, yet. We haven’t heard anything since the ambulance took him from here two nights ago.
I send up another prayer on his and his family’s behalf. In the end, however, it’ll be up to our Lord. Especially with Mr. Harris’ advanced age. Something tells me only divine will can save him now.
Opening the side door that leads to the space between the apse and the altar, I step out into the open, eyes moving over the mostly empty interior of that—
Lord save me.
She’s back.
Thali is a lonely figure at the far back of the church, which seems to be usual for her, and my entire world shakes at the sight of her.
Or perhaps it’s the church that rocks on its foundations, the massive columns swaying before my eyes.
More madness.
Is that what’s happening to me? Am I going insane?
History and the Bible speak of such enchantments. Of women capable of bringing a man down to such depths.
Doesn’t matter. The point is that she’s here. She’s eyeing me. She’s focused on me.
And I’m due inside the confessional in minutes.
When, to be honest, I’m the one who should be giving the confession, not the one taking them.
Chapter Three
I ignore her. Doing so turns out to be a test in and of itself, but I succeed.
At least in actuality. I’m currently sitting within the dim confines of the confessional, waiting for the first penitent of the night, and I swear my skin itches with the urge to go to her.
Athaliah.
Thali.
Both versions entice me. I’ve only rolled them around in my head, haven’t had a chance to taste her name on my tongue, yet I find myself loving her name the more I think about it.
My legs bounce with pent up energy. My entire body is buzzing with it. In mere days, I’ve shamed my calling in ways that are unimaginable, and I haven’t even committed the ultimate sin, yet.
Yet.
As if it’s a far gone conclusion.
Have I given up already?
No. I haven’t. That’s a certainty. Although my experience with women didn’t extend far, there’s one thing I do remember about the old me: when he wanted someone, he went after that woman. No holds barred.
I wouldn’t be shaking like a fool in this confessional if I had given up.
I’d be walking toward her. Sitting in that pew. Leaning into her and running my nose along her ear, inhaling that delicious scent and following the same path with my li—
It’s happening again. I’m having those thoughts inside my church. No. Worse. I’m sinning inside the confessional as I await a repentant parishioner who is supposed to unload their own sins to me.
I shift on the seat, stifling a curse as I swell in my pants. Within moments, they’re too tight, the material pulling taut along my length.
It’s been so long. So, so long. I had forgotten how powerful the urge can be. How the mind goes blank and focuses on only one thing—the need to come.
I wipe my brow with my sleeve. Grind my teeth. Squeeze my eyes shut and count to ten.
When I open them, I’m frozen with terror anew.
There’s blood in the confessional.
Blood leaking from the ceiling down the walls.
Blood . . . on me.
I raise my shaking hands and see the red drops sliding down toward my wrists—
The curtain on the other side of the confessional opens.
I blink, startled, and the blood is gone once again.
It’s a disorienting turn of events, followed by another sucker punch to the senses. My nostrils flare with that scent that I’ve already come to associate with her.
I stare straight ahead, but out
