Sacred Cups (Seven Archangels Book 2) Read online

  “We need to find Beelzebub!” Michael called.

  Gabriel at his side said, “Look for Asmodeus too.”

  Michael said, “Beelzebub commands the army.”

  “I’m betting he doesn’t any longer. Look.” Gabriel directed Michael’s sight toward Beelzebub, and at his side Mephistopheles — with no more downy feathers, but instead a smug expression. “That’s a promotion. Satan just shook up the ranks.”

  Michael swallowed hard. “So we’ve got four Maskim trying very hard to make an impression right now. Where’s Satan?”

  Although Satan’s power surrounded them, they hadn’t yet found him. He might well have been dissociated and directing his forces without concentrating his presence in any one place, a tactic that made him simultaneously stronger and weaker. He couldn’t focus that way, but on the other hand, within this limited area he could be omnipresent almost the way God was. They couldn’t stop that. Michael looked around, livid. “I want him located. I want him forced into one place.”

  You couldn’t battle this way, with demons never in one spot for longer than it took to recognize they were even there. On highest alert you still had only a microsecond during which to act. Michael’s forces couldn’t leave: they had to stay in this area to protect the humans, and they had nowhere to evacuate them to. And in the meantime, every so often, one of Satan’s forces would get lucky and nab a human and carry it elsewhere.

  Michael called Israfel and put her in charge.

  Next he dissociated so he permeated the whole battle, just as Satan had, and he felt for that dark power spreading like an oil stain through a lake. It was everywhere and nowhere, but now so was Michael, and he spread himself thinner and further. Satan had a battle to coordinate, but Michael had one target, one focus. He tried to push past the panic streaming from the humans, their terror, their grief. The frenzy of guardians whose charges had gotten snatched. The anger of guardians trying to keep their human souls safe. The predator’s focus of their enemies. And there, finally, among all that, he felt that slick double-shine over reality that he’d come to recognize as Satan’s signature: making darkness brighter but a lie, always a lie.

  Michael prayed. Prayed for the same power he’d received back at the Winnowing, for the same authority and for the same reason: because this was God’s enemy, and someone had to stop him, but only the power of God could possibly combat this one. Please, Michael prayed. Please.

  God’s permission bloomed in his heart, and Michael snapped down like a steel trap.

  Satan flared up under him as if he were wrestling an electric eel long enough to wrap around the world. Michael pushed, forced, ordered, and the harder Satan thrashed, the stronger Michael became until his strength was nothing and God’s was everything. Michael forced Satan down into the fabric of reality, and as Satan went so did Michael until they were both there, focused, in spiritual forms again in the middle of the battle field.

  “Now!” Michael called.

  The first to join was Israfel, her eyes a brilliant double-shine with Gabriel’s power. Satan met her charge, although he didn’t break her blade. She redoubled her attack, but he kept going. A moment after, Raphael had joined, his own eyes alight with power from Ophaniel.

  Satan fought off both at the same time. “These are mine! These souls are of Earth, and the Earth is mine! You have no authority here! No right!”

  Michael tried to get near, but the undiluted soul-energy of the combat pushed him back. It wasn’t enough, though. Even now, with more Seraphim joining the fight, he could tell it wasn’t enough.

  He flashed to Gabriel, who watched the fight to guide and empower Israfel. “Why are you in Israfel? I need you boosting Raphael.”

  Gabriel looked at him, suddenly terrified. “I can’t!”

  “I need you at your strongest. That means you and Raphael. Now. That’s an order!”

  Ash-white, Gabriel closed his eyes, and the primary pairs swapped: Ophaniel empowering Israfel, Gabriel with Raphael.

  Michael grabbed a team of Archangels and went after the the Maskim. Four of them, but effectively two. Locate the two Cherubim and you could disarm the Seraphim, but it never worked in reverse. The Maskim wouldn’t bother targeting Gabriel and Ophaniel, since Satan had his own battle well in hand, but take down Belior and Mephistopheles and that left Beelzebub and Asmodeus wide open.

  The problem? Seraphim were fast. They had the speed and the reaction time to zip in and out of Sheol taking whatever they wanted and any human soul they had authority over, beginning with the ones they “owned” but extending outward to every human who’d ever sinned.

  In other words, all of them.

  Michael had Seraphim too, and he deployed them, but even their reaction time was still a reaction, and humans were getting snatched.

  He sent for Saraquael and Zadkiel. “Find Mephistopheles,” he ordered, and they vanished into the fray. It took them three minutes, three minutes too long, but they found him, and Michael went in for the attack while they searched next for Belior.

  Satan, though. Even while working to subdue the others, Satan’s protests could be heard through the entire field: that these humans were his, won according to God’s own terms. They were sinful, disgusting, filthy, depraved and they had chosen evil over God time and time again.

  And he was right. Michael couldn’t object, except that they needed protection, and until God stepped in and said not to, that’s what he would do.

  Satan blew back Israfel and then turned on Raphael, who narrowly resisted the same. Wherever Gabriel was, he must have channeled all his energy into Raphael to keep him steady, but even so, Raphael looked dazed. Michael ordered in more soldiers, but before they could arrive, Satan broke free again, and this time he pulled.

  He pulled, and the souls came to him.

  Michael shouted, but even as the angels rallied around him, there was no way to stop that inexorable tug of the souls toward the lord of their world. Satan had told Jesus the world was his and he could give it to whomever he wanted, and now he was giving it to himself. They couldn’t fight that.

  They couldn’t fight. But they could try. As the humans responded to the call of Satan’s ownership, they did it all at different rates depending on how often they’d served evil during their lifetimes. The angels did their best to stem the tide, but some angels lost hold quicker than others. And in response to Satan’s call, they came toward him as if toward a gravity well.

  God, what do I do? Michael prayed constantly, and he could tell the other angels were praying as well. Help us! These are your people! They’re sinful, but they’re yours, and you died to save them. Please…

  Jesus appeared before Satan. “Hold!”

  Satan spun to face him, flames around his wings and eyes. “These are mine! I demanded the right to sift and test them all, and they’ve failed. Every human soul that’s exited this world through death has done so in failure and disgrace.”

  “Except mine,” said Jesus. “And I’ve destroyed death.”

  Satan said, “They are mine. They rejected your Father, and they rejected you. What more do you require?”

  Jesus said, “Silence.”

  He turned toward the human souls dotting the field like so many stars. “Be still,” he said to the fragments of Sheol, and the storm bits hung in the air. “Gather.”

  The human souls came close, forming around him in groups the way they had on the plains and in the mountains. Touching Michael on the shoulder, Jesus said, “Go into Hell and retrieve the ones taken there. No one will stop you.”

  Michael took Saraquael, Remiel and Zadkiel to the gates of Hell, where they did just walk in without any resistance. Unsure how to proceed, Michael shouted, “Come out! Your Lord is calling.”

  That was, apparently, all it took. The kidnapped souls flooded out. Remiel darted further in with Zadkiel, making sure no one remained trapped, but Saraquael stayed beside Michael, watching the demons who remained frozen at the gates.

  The o
ther two returned. “All clear,” Remiel said, and they returned to Jesus.

  Archangels had begun sweeping up the Sheol material, gathering it away from the human souls, and Michael realized with relief he could see further and feel emotions clearer from all around him. With Raphael at his side, Jesus was moving from group to group of human souls, speaking to them, touching, kissing, embracing, encouraging. Satan still burned like a torch, but he’d simmered down, as if biding his time.

  Michael approached Gabriel. “What’s he doing?”

  Gabriel looked shaken, and only shook his head. At his side, Ophaniel said, “He’s telling the good news to the spirits who were in prison.”

  Michael said, “And…they can come to Heaven with us?”

  Ophaniel said, “As best I understand, they have to believe him and want to go with him.”

  Michael said, “While he’s doing that, let’s get the enemy secured.”

  They went through the ranks of fallen angels, pulling out the commanding officers and chaining them. Gabriel worked at Michael’s side without speaking, but Michael could feel him strangely non-present, as if insulating himself from the action around him.

  As Gabriel secured Mephistopheles, the dark Cherub said, “It’s amazing how incompetency rises to positions of power.”

  Gabriel flinched. Michael said, “Many of us might wonder the same thing. Didn’t you just get a promotion?”

  Behind Mephistopheles, Beelzebub said, “Don’t argue with Gabriel. Remember, he knows it all.”

  Mephistopheles looked Gabriel right in the eyes. “Not bad for an arrogant block of ice.”

  Michael snapped, “Quiet.”

  A smirk distorted Beelzebub’s voice. “Do you think I’m going to make him cry?”

  Michael commanded every last demon to silence. He turned to Gabriel, eyes ablaze, and he projected fury about Raphael.

  Gabriel moved closer. Michael, no. You don’t understand,

  I am not oblivious to the fact that he robbed me of one of my best officers at a time when I need him at the top of his game. Michael clenched his fists, then said aloud, “You are under orders to instantly chain, gag, cook, cinder or otherwise punish anyone who says anything disrespectful to you.”

  Gabriel projected, It’s not Raphael’s fault.

  Despite his words, Gabriel was projecting a scorching shame, and more. A rawness. Michael wondered for the first time how draining it was for a Cherub to power a Seraph. But Gabriel didn’t look drained. Only numb.

  Do you need to leave?

  No, just don’t be angry at him.

  The demons quieted down, but several cast unsubtle glares at Gabriel as he worked. Gabriel did his job, but again his attention seemed far away, as if he’d applied a tourniquet to his heart. Cherubim weren’t just ammunition for Seraphim to fire, and Michael considered how fragile Gabriel had been before. Maybe he’d ordered Gabriel to open his heart. Michael sent, I’m sorry I forced you to pair off with Raphael. You weren’t ready for that.

  Gabriel made no response whatsoever.

  When Jesus finished moving through the crowds of human souls, he released his hold on Satan and on the souls, and he lit up the void himself. He sorted the souls, ranked and ordered them, and at the same time, Satan called all of them toward himself. Not all of them came this time. This time, it was only a portion, but the ones that went toward him flew.

  “These should all be mine,” Satan shouted. “You changed the rules. The world was given to me, and these things belonged to the world. They could have chosen you, but instead they chose food and sex and pretty baubles. Employers defrauded their workers and workers defrauded their masters, and that makes them mine.”

  “They chose death. I died for them.” Jesus regarded Satan. “That makes them mine. You can have the world. Mine no longer belong to the world.”

  Jesus pointed to Michael, who moved in fast to secure Satan. “Now,” Jesus said, “take your own. The ones who chose you can, indeed, stay with you. But for forty days I bind you and secure you. Your time of testing is over for these.”

  Michael had Satan chained despite the flames rolling off the Seraph. Jesus said, “Remove him,” and Michael brought him into Hell and secured him on the beach at the Lake of Fire. He tied down the Maskim as well.

  Satan said, “When forty days are done, beware.”

  Michael said, “When forty days are done, I’ll just trounce you again.”

  At Hell’s gate, Jesus left an Archangel guard to secure it. “Keep the human souls here,” Jesus said. “Work with the ones who still need settling. I need to present myself to the Father, and then…” He beamed. “And then I can bring them home.”

  Twenty-Three

  Gabriel flashed to the upper room where Mary was staying with John. She saw him, then looked up at Raphael when in the next second he arrived. Gabriel looked awful; if anything, Raphael looked worse.

  Gabriel staggered to a corner and sat, wings up around himself, his knees tucked. Hesitant, Raphael moved to sit near him.

  Mary said, “Is it over?”

  Gabriel didn’t raise his eyes.

  Raphael projected, For now.

  Mary got a series of images from one or both of them, Satan chained down, her son rebuking all of Hell at the same time, angels engaged in battle, and flames that made her gasp in fear.

  Uriel came up behind her. That’s why I asked you to pray. One of the reasons.

  Mary said, “Will you two be all right? Is Michael okay?”

  “Michael is fine.” Raphael looked at Gabriel. “You need to sleep.”

  “I’ll be all right.”

  “I really think—”

  “I’m fine.”

  Mary asked for more details, and Raphael reassured her that Jesus was fine (nothing would ever hurt him again) and caught her up on who was where. They prayed together, although she did note that Gabriel didn’t move from the corner.

  After an hour, an Angel appeared and asked Raphael to come help with some angels who had been injured. Raphael touched a wing to Gabriel, then departed.

  Watch, Uriel sent, and when Mary looked at Gabriel, she found him asleep.

  I didn’t think it would take longer than thirty seconds. Uriel settled on the floor alongside the Cherub, touching his hair.

  Mary whispered, “He was too tense with Raphael here?”

  Uriel nodded. “That was why I wanted you to pray for them especially. I’m afraid this isn’t going to work out well at all.”

  #

  Gabriel slept for two days. Mary wanted to move him, but she had no idea how, so every so often she would check on him. The way he leaned against the wall, head tucked, chin on his knees, she wished she could settle a blanket around him, but of course he was insubstantial. Raphael stopped by every now and again, but other than commenting early on that he’d known Gabriel was exhausted, he said nothing else.

  When Gabriel awoke, he made a noncommittal comment about being out for a while and apologized to Mary if he’d worried her. She told him Raphael wanted to see him, and Gabriel’s eyes lowered. He thanked her for giving him the message and left.

  Later she learned he hadn’t gone to Raphael.

  #

  Raphael stopped by the upper room and talked briefly with Mary, kissed her cheek as a message from Jesus, and then prayed with her.

  Just before Raphael left, Mary said, “Uriel doesn’t want me to ask, but what’s happening to Gabriel?”

  Raphael tensed. “I’m giving him some space to recharge.”

  “He looks different.” Mary seemed concerned. “He’s quiet.”

  A coldness crept over Raphael’s heart. “Looks different?”

  “The shape of his face. His eyes.” She shrugged. “I know you can look like whatever you want, but I never saw any of you do it.”

  Raphael called up a light-image of Gabriel, then tried to change it, only he’d never seen Gabriel masculine before the winnowing, so instead he wiped that out and formed Gabriel female
from back then.

  Beside him, Mary gasped. “Not quite like that, and not female. But kind of like that.”

  Raphael made the image vanish and flashed to Gabriel.

  In the library, Gabriel worked at a tremendous desk, writing furiously with his left hand while tracing words on another page with his right, looking from one to the other without breaking rhythm. He flipped open another book and paged through until he found a line graph. Raphael could feel him working hard at the problem, maybe biology, so he sent an impulse announcing his presence.

  Gabriel looked up. Mary had definitely detected a subtle change. It knifed through Raphael, but Gabriel’s eyes were wrong, reverting to the way they’d been pre-winnowing. Angels grow to resemble what they love. A long time ago, Gabriel and Raphael hadn’t looked alike, and now here was Gabriel drifting back again.

  Raphael stood stiffly by the window. “What are you working on?”

  Gabriel huffed. “Zophiel wrote a paper about genetics that sounds nice on first reading and is absolute garbage if you bother to scratch the surface, so I’m taking it apart point by point.”

  That kind of thing would drive any other angel insane; being a Cherub, Zophiel would love it. No doubt there would be a thesis dropped off on Gabriel’s desk in return. These would be distributed among the Cherubim and spark hundreds of debates. At some point Zophiel would swing to Gabriel’s side, Gabriel would take Zophiel’s original position (though modified) and someday they’d both reach an agreement and move on to the next question.

  “Would you like to come with me on rounds?” Raphael struggled to find words. “It’s been a while.”

  “I’m busy.” Gabriel went back to the book. “Maybe some other time.”

  Raphael said, “Could I help with your research?”

  Gabriel shook his head.

  Raphael hated this. He hated every moment. They’d never been awkward around one another. Tense sometimes, sure; a couple of times hostile. But always they’d had something to say and been comfortable enough to say it. This... He couldn’t deal with this. And Gabriel hadn’t let go of his little genetics problem the entire time they were talking.