Sacred Cups (Seven Archangels Book 2) Page 7

  Asmodeus sparkled at the edge of his awareness. Belior recoiled a little, but he took some of Asmodeus’s flames into his heart, and his intellect sparked into a fury. A woman alone at night, a summons, a nominal splash of wine, a reminder, a ceremonial presentation. How else to add that up?

  Asmodeus sent, I suggest we make him drink it.

  We don’t know the way she would have done it.

  Then we capture her and make her do it in our presence.

  Belior studied Gabriel still struggling against chains of willpower. He couldn’t match Gabriel’s signature to the wine either, but maybe the cup?

  Closing his eyes, Belior sent his spirit into the cup to feel the last moments near it, the faintest signature of Gabriel’s power—and yet, that signature wasn’t the resentment of a free spirit bound up with a living soul. Instead he detected laughter, curiosity, friendship, and a fierce devotion.

  Belior kept his face down, but he raised his eyes to get a look at Gabriel.

  He felt Asmodeus’s curiosity, but that he ignored. He recast everything he knew about the situation and challenged his assumptions in light of what he felt now from the cup and even more what he felt from Gabriel.

  Gabriel wasn’t radiating nearly enough terror for him to be holding Gabriel’s will in his hands. Gabriel was angry, not afraid for himself. Perhaps, though, afraid for someone else.

  Belior sent to Mephistopheles and Beelzebub, I need you to do a little play-acting.

  Their doubled intellect replied, Why?

  He returned his irritation to the pair, who assented that when he was ready, they would do what he required. He sent a series of instructions, then assumed control over the chains holding Gabriel. As he did so, he made sure they were subtly looser.

  Gabriel quieted, and Belior recognized a Cherub biding his time. Good.

  Belior shouted, “Now that we have his seal, we can drop that woman into the Lake of Fire. Take her brat too. Go.”

  Gabriel stiffened as Mephistopheles and Beelzebub both vanished. A moment later they reappeared over the Lake, Mephistopheles holding Jesus and Beelzebub holding Mary. The humans thrashed and screamed.

  “No!” Gabriel shouted. “Please! Don’t do that!”

  “Drop them!” Belior ordered, and both figures plummeted.

  With a cry, Gabriel exploded free of Belior’s chains.

  Belior leaned forward. Yes!

  Gabriel caught Jesus in mid-air. The boy met his eyes and grinned.

  Even Belior felt the horror ripple off Gabriel as the boy turned into Mephistopheles and the image of Mephistopheles above vanished.

  “Hold him again!” Belior hurled aside the cup, even as Asmodeus shouted, “It’s the child? They were protecting the child?”

  Beelzebub, Mephistopheles and Asmodeus attacked while Belior tried to rein in the chains still loose around Gabriel’s will. The horror in Gabriel’s eyes gave Belior all the confirmation he needed.

  “Lucifer!” Belior called. “We need you here!”

  Mephistopheles dissociated, adding all his power to Beelzebub. The Seraph tackled Gabriel out of the air and flung them together onto the pebbled shore. Asmodeus grabbed Gabriel by the throat as Beelzebub/Mephistopheles tried to enchain Gabriel again.

  Gabriel shone like a star. Belior compulsively shielded his eyes, but Asmodeus drew his sword in preparation. Gabriel blew apart the chains holding him, knocking Mephistopheles into the cliff-face and Beelzebub into the Lake of Fire, and then flashed away.

  Asmodeus caught him the instant he flashed, dragging him back into Hell by strength of will, sucking all the power out of Belior in order to keep Gabriel from issuing a warning.

  Gabriel was radiating now with a frenzy Belior had never before seen in a Cherub not feeding off a Seraph. This energy was entirely his own, and the awful fact was, despite their strongest efforts, he was winning free.

  Mephistopheles struggled to his feet and summoned the armed forces. Instantaneously a legion surrounded Gabriel, but Gabriel had a Guard up so no one else could get close to them. Beelzebub erupted out of the Lake of Fire, his wings engulfed in flame, his head encircled by Seraph fury, but Gabriel’s power kept him distant too.

  Asmodeus’s control slipped, and Belior tried to get a grip of his own on Gabriel, but it wasn’t secure. He extended his soul for Beelzebub’s power, but theirs was only a weak bond to begin with.

  Mephistopheles managed to ensnare Gabriel in a Guard, but it encompassed too much space to be strong. Gabriel expanded his own Guard against it, trying to crack the thing open.

  Power swirled into form beside him. Lucifer shouted, “Quit screwing around with him!”

  He ensphered Gabriel within a Guard of his own, then slammed it tight so it cracked Gabriel’s in pieces. Next he locked Gabriel in place with his will.

  Immobilized, Gabriel could only watch wide-eyed as Lucifer inserted his hand through his Guard and discharged an inferno.

  Mephistopheles shrieked as his Guard got consumed by flame, and Belior howled as his own chains got shredded away from his heart. Asmodeus fell from the air, his soul raw where Gabriel had been ripped out of his grasp, and Belior dove alongside him, covering him with his wings.

  Lucifer’s Guard enclosed the flames, a sphere ablaze above the shore of the Lake of Fire like a white dwarf star. All the demons but Lucifer had hands and wings covering their eyes. Half a minute later, the firestorm died, and Lucifer released the field.

  Something dropped from it, but it took Belior a moment to realize it was Gabriel.

  Belior tried to scream. He tried not to scream. Gabriel was charred to the point where it took imagination to recognize any of his form as part of an angel, and Cherubim are notorious for having little imagination. There was the curve of a wing, a bend that might have been an elbow or a knee. At the last second he must have been able to break the chains enough to draw up his wings and legs, but that hadn’t spared him. Where he’d thudded to the ground was a ring of black dust: ashes. He’d been burnt almost to the point of cindering.

  Belior extended a hand to finish the job.

  “Leave him as he is.” Lucifer folded his arms. “It’s time to go after the boy.”

  Still trembling from the ripped chains, Belior fixed his gaze on Lucifer, on his blond hair and green eyes, on his twelve white wings.

  Lucifer gestured to Beelzebub. “Secure him if you like.”

  Beelzebub called a Seraph-Cherub pair from his officers. “Place a Guard around him. Make sure it’s unbreakable.”

  Mephistopheles had made his way to his knees, palms massaging his eyes. Belior helped Asmodeus to a stand. Through their bond he felt how the Seraph ached.

  Lucifer looked at Belior and Mephistopheles. “I don’t hold you culpable for being fooled by their charade. They made it seem plausible enough. But we’ve lost a tremendous amount of time, and I need you two working on the child as your top priority from this moment.”

  Belior and Mephistopheles nodded.

  Lucifer put his hands on his hips, wings half-spreading. “I’m going before the throne to demand my rights from God and get us iron-clad permissions as far as testing him. Maybe a communication blackout on the child’s guards.” He fixed his green eyes on the two Cherubim. “Go after the child. Challenge him. I want to learn what he does if we push.”

  They left Gabriel on the shore.

  #

  Mary sat at the table in tears. Raphael was vibrating enough to shake the walls of the house. Michael and several of his top officers had been coming through the house all night, but they never had any better news to report. They simply couldn’t locate Gabriel.

  When Mary started shaking, Uriel pressured her to go lie down, even if she wasn’t going to be able to sleep. Then Uriel laid a hand over Mary’s eyes and forced her to.

  The Throne returned to the courtyard where Michael stood looking drawn.

  They’re around, Michael sent. I can feel all four Maskim, but they’re on the peripheries, and they�
�re totally dissociated.

  Raphael just looked worried.

  Michael faced him. You cannot leave Jesus right now. You and Uriel must—absolutely must—remain with your charges. They’re bound to attack either or both of them.

  “I know,” Raphael whispered. “But—”

  You don’t stand any better chance of finding him than Israfel, Michael sent.

  Saraquael drew closer to Michael. They’d begun projecting rather than speaking because of the oppressive sense of watching. Saraquael projected his own frustration.

  Michael agreed. Then he looked back at Raphael. You’re going to have to leave for Jerusalem with them. Jesus is your first priority. Regardless of anything they might do to Gabriel, his soul could never be in jeopardy. He’d tell you as much.

  Raphael looked aside. The only glimmer he’d gotten from Gabriel had been hours earlier, an indistinct warning, followed a minute later by a flash of pure fear.

  Saraquael rested a hand on Raphael’s arm. They were doing their best.

  Raphael looked at Jesus through the house walls.

  “There’s no conflict of interest,” Michael said. “You stay with him.”

  Raphael’s wings trembled. Michael sent him back inside.

  Saraquael indicated that Michael should follow him, and they flashed together to the Ring of Seven.

  “The only thing we know for certain,” Saraquael said, “is that Belior must have seen Mary give Gabriel the cup of wine and assumed that’s how she enthralled him. When he grabbed it, Gabriel followed because that’s what you’d expect if it was really his seal.” Michael nodded. Saraquael said, “They couldn’t have had much time to plan, so Gabriel might have been trapped, but he should have been able to escape.”

  Michael said, “I assume Belior ran to somewhere in Hell with the cup, since that’s the best possible place for an ambush.”

  Saraquael said, “But unless Gabriel makes contact on his own, I’m not sure how we’re going to track him. Zadkiel and I could take in teams to search for him, but Hell has so many nooks where someone could be hidden. Especially in the dark areas or in the ice fields, you could pass within a wingspan of someone and never feel anything.”

  Michael said, “I’m willing to hear any better ideas.”

  Saraquael said, “We’ll try to capture any officers that might have an inkling of where he is. But beyond that—”

  “Beyond that,” Michael said, “assign a contingent of angels to the family while they travel. They’re our top priority. Gabriel was involved at all only to shield Jesus from their notice. This isn’t the first time he’s tangled with them over this.”

  Saraquael shook his head. “You know this is more serious than them throwing insults or trying to get Mary to sign him over.”

  Michael folded his arms. “It’s a danger he was prepared to face. We’ll do our part to free him. But the family comes first.”

  Saraquael sighed. “I’ll get a force together to guard them on the route. I want your permission to keep searching Hell myself.”

  “Denied,” Michael said. “I’ll appoint Zadkiel and Remiel to coordinate the search. But you’re one of my most dependable officers, and I need you with Jesus.”

  Saraquael’s eyes lowered. “I’ll do it. But note my protest.” And he vanished.

  Michael looked toward the throne of the Most High, then dropped to his knees and prayed for the wisdom to guard Jesus the best way possible.

  #

  Raphael didn’t want to travel to Jerusalem. It was ridiculous, but the house was the last place he’d seen Gabriel, so there he wanted to stay.

  Jesus picked up his restlessness, but Raphael assured him they’d remain together. After that, Raphael called for Ophaniel, another Cherub with whom he had a primary bond, and worked hard to keep the worry battened down.

  The demons had changed tactics. Without question now Jesus was the focus of their attacks, so the angels dropped the pretense that Mary was the point of it all. Even so, she didn’t escape their attention. Uriel dispatched a dozen attacks an hour to the tune of “Gabriel is suffering because of you” and “Your son is going to die because of your mistake.”

  “It was my mistake,” Mary whispered to Michael as she trudged toward Jerusalem.

  Michael said, “There isn’t any guilt on you. You tried to do something nice.”

  Mary said, “You warned me not to be nice, that it would take only one slip for them to figure things out. You were right.”

  Michael touched her hand. “But it took twelve years for that one slip.”

  Mary looked over Raphael walking with Jesus, his eyes a hard shine and an unfamiliar Cherub at his side.

  Days passed. Israfel and Raphael both insisted they could feel nothing from Gabriel at all, meaning he must be under a Guard powerful enough to depress a primary bond.

  They reached Jerusalem for the festival, Mary subdued and Jesus concerned.

  #

  Eight more days. No Gabriel.

  Mary traveled with the family caravan back to Nazareth, her mind not on the conversation of the women around her. Jesus traveled with Joseph. It was better that way. She hated seeing the haunted look in Raphael’s eyes.

  She felt keenly but couldn’t express her admiration of him, how he stayed with Jesus even when the boy slept because that was where he belonged despite how Mary knew—and Jesus had confirmed—that Raphael wanted more than anything to be part of the search. But it had been two weeks of relentless spiritual attack. Even the angels looked drawn, and the rare times when she caught sight of Michael, he was stretched thin with strain.

  The angels promised Gabriel couldn’t be killed, but in some ways might that not be worse, if Gabriel were being tortured? Could demons torture an angel? Uriel wouldn’t say.

  Mary wondered when the angels would give up hope, when the tension would resolve into grief, and why God wasn’t answering their prayers with a very direct answer: find Gabriel here. Or, “Gabriel needs you to look harder.” Anything other than silence. Uriel said God didn’t always answer their prayers the way the angels wanted. Uriel said expecting that would be an attempt to control God.

  But surely you could give them a hint, Mary prayed.

  Mary prayed a lot while she traveled.

  That night she met up with Joseph and set up camp, and when he asked if Jesus was with the other children, a sword went right through her heart.

  #

  Zadkiel called Remiel rather than Israfel because Israfel would never hold off long enough to devise a watertight plan. Atop a cliff, she and Remiel lay on their stomachs overlooking the Lake of Fire. On the beach, a Cherub-Seraph pair watched over a knee-high stone cairn with a Guard over it. Curious.

  Remiel had all her senses extended toward the structure. “I don’t feel him.”

  “What else could they be Guarding?” Zadkiel whispered. The heat from the lake felt blistering even this far in the air, and she continually resisted the urge to fan her wings. Her feathers spread, and sweat trickled between her shoulders.

  Remiel murmured, “It’s too small for Gabriel.”

  “How far does it extend underground?”

  Remiel shrugged. “I’m game to attack if you want. Your intuition is better than mine when it comes to searches.”

  Zadkiel formed her sword. “You take the Seraph. I’ll handle the Cherub.”

  The pair ostensibly on duty paid no attention to their Guard. They had angry flashes in their eyes by turns, backs to one another, and tension rolled off the Cherub even as fury emanated from the Seraph.

  Remiel appeared behind the Seraph and in the same second ran her sword through him, but Zadkiel had a momentary struggle with the Cherub. With both unconscious, the Guard came down.

  Remiel was flashing the pair out into the Lake of Fire when Zadkiel lifted the paneling over the rocks and got her first look.

  She started to scream, but abruptly Remiel had her chained with her will. “Not a sound!”

  Zadkiel do
ubled forward, her face in her hands. Beside her, Remiel was saying, “Michael, we’ve got him. Raphael, we need you here. Now. I don’t care. We need… Then bring him with you!”

  Michael appeared beside Remiel, stepped around Zadkiel, and the shock roll off him as well. Zadkiel tightened up, afraid she was about to start sobbing.

  Michael said, “Raphael, now.”

  #

  It was nighttime in Jerusalem. Jesus had convinced one of the priests to let him have a room. Raphael stood by the window, looking at Jesus. “I can’t leave him, Michael. The attacks were vicious today.”

  From Michael, I need you here. We have no idea what to do.

  Jesus touched his arm. “Let’s go together.”

  Raphael let Jesus climb up his back, legs wrapped around his waist and arms locked around his shoulders. He put a Guard around himself, and he flashed them both to wherever Michael was.

  They landed in Hell, and Jesus flinched as the wall of heat penetrated the Guard.

  Michael transferred the Guard around himself, then took Jesus from Raphael. “You’ll be all right as long as you’re holding one of us.”

  Raphael didn’t have time to protest. Remiel grabbed his hand and dragged him past Zadkiel tearlessly crying on the sand.

  She showed him the husk of an angel, and he knew.

  Raphael tore the stones from the rock cairn they’d built to make a stronger Guard. Eleven days—burnt to a cinder—left alone—here in Hell—oh, God, why?—I hate them—how could they have done this?

  He sent his heart into Gabriel, but he felt nothing.

  “He’s not suffering,” Raphael whispered.

  “I didn’t think he was,” Remiel said.

  “We have to get him out of here so we can heal him.”

  “I didn’t want to try moving him.” Remiel showed Raphael her ash-covered palms. “He crumbles.”

  Raphael drew back. No, he couldn’t touch him. Not if Gabriel was breaking apart.

  Michael came closer with Jesus across his hip and his wings wrapped around the boy. “All our resources are at your disposal. If you want to stay here, I’ll call down a legion of Archangels to cordon off the beach.”