Sacred Cups (Seven Archangels Book 2)

by Jane Lebak

  He sent his mind into the shimmering heat of the fireplace. It wasn’t Seraphic fire, but something homey, something friendly rather than consuming. The rice had absorbed the wine. He opened the first of the golden jars and ladled in some of the vegetable broth.

  He prayed, Is now as good a time as any?

  The Holy Spirit acknowledged.

  If Raphael ever wants to know where I am, you can tell him.

  Raphael’s presence coalesced behind him before he’d finished the last three words.

  He hadn’t accounted for this possibility, that maybe Raphael had been waiting for a go-ahead. His hands trembled, but he continued stirring the rice without turning from the fire.

  Raphael said, “I owe you an apology.”

  Gabriel ladled out more broth and let the rice continue absorbing it. Whether it would actually taste like anything he couldn’t begin to guess.

  Raphael said, “Did you call me here to ignore me?”

  “I heard you say you owed me an apology, and I didn’t actually hear an apology.”

  Raphael sighed. “Will you stop standing on ceremony about everything?”

  Gabriel’s heart tightened. His pulse raced again, and he couldn’t breathe. Deserved it.

  “I’m sorry I said all those things to you,” Raphael said.

  Gabriel could interpret that as the non-apology it certainly was. What had Michael done, pulled him aside and said “You know you’d better apologize. We can’t afford to have you two at one another’s throats”?

  Gabriel said, “But you’re still angry at me.”

  “Of course I’m angry at you. You let him die alone, and then you left him there in Sheol.”

  “I tried to bring him back with me.”

  “I know how you do those things. You went in begrudgingly and then you probably found him and said, ‘Do you want to come back? No? Well then send me home because it’s probably for the Divine Good.’”

  Grabbing the container of rice, Gabriel walked away from Raphael and into the pantry before he started shouting, crying, or hurling energy. I thought you said now was as good a time as any.

  The Holy Spirit agreed.

  In other words, this was going to be a war whenever we did it? Gabriel put the container back on the shelf and returned to the fire.

  “So we’ve established that you’re determined to believe the worst about me.” The rice had absorbed the liquid again, he poured in more broth. He took a spoonful to taste, but it was piping hot, so first he absorbed the heat into himself.

  “Sure, bond with the risotto. Maybe the rice won’t mind the constant criticism.”

  Gabriel clenched his teeth. “Then you taste that. See if they’re done.”

  He tried it. “It’s okay. Why are you cooking?”

  “It felt like the right thing to do.”

  “Bread is the time-honored comfort food,” Raphael said.

  “It’s not kosher for Passover.”

  Raphael sparkled with irritation, Legalist, but Gabriel didn’t respond.

  Gabriel sampled the cooled rice, which was still very al-dente but tasted passable. It wasn’t the same kind of rice Angela used to prepare at Tobias’s household. Hers was thinner, not as well-suited to what he was subjecting it to, and that definitely changed the consistency. This was a blander grain; the rice he remembered was wild, earthy.

  “I begged to stay in Sheol with him.” Gabriel stirred some more. “He told me he would love to keep me there. But he wouldn’t, and he said it was to God’s glory to have him remain. So he sent me back.”

  Raphael didn’t reply, but it felt more like grudgingly allowing a statement to stand than acceptance.

  Gabriel stirred more liquid into the rice. Predictable fire contained by the stove, heat in the food contained by the pot. He closed his eyes and let it work before him, trying not to think of the inferno sitting across the room. He reached for God’s hand and wondered if Raphael was doing the same but didn’t want to reach through their bond to find out.

  The kitchen smelled like vegetables. Mary’s kitchen always had some kind of scent. Whenever Jesus had caught the smell of baking bread, to him it meant home. He’d once remarked to Raphael that Heaven wouldn’t seem like home if no one baked bread there. Maybe that was why Gabriel had wanted to make something. Maybe if Gabriel had carried a loaf of bread into Sheol, Jesus would have followed him out. A lot of nonsense, all these maybes, but it made as much sense as anything happening now.

  Gabriel added broth again. “Did your message say the same thing he said to me?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “No, because it was for you, and if you opened it I wasn’t in your head at the time.”

  Raphael didn’t look at him. “And I have no idea what he said to you in Sheol because all contact was blocked at that point.”

  Yes, blessed peace.

  Gabriel said, “Jesus said, ‘Don’t turn on each other.’”

  Raphael’s eyes smoldered.

  This was maddening. Gabriel looked into the pot and wondered how much longer the risotto had remaining, and then glanced at Raphael again. The Seraph was still here, which was in and of itself a wonder. Had Michael given him an order? It was hard to tell whether Raphael wanted to find middle ground or just wanted to win.

  Jesus had said, “When one wins, both lose.” And at another point, “What hurts one hurts two.” And what can I say, Gabriel prayed. You’re right. I mean, he was right.

  The Holy Spirit reassured him.

  I can’t get used to thinking about him in the past tense. He’s supposed to be here.

  Raphael continued glaring at him. It was unrelenting.

  “What would it take to call a truce?” Gabriel said. “At this point I have no hopes for reaching an understanding. I just want to stop fighting.”

  Raphael said, “I don’t know.”

  “At a minimum,” Gabriel said, “you will not insult me in front of other angels again. Ever. That was completely out of line, especially in front of our enemies, but even if it had only been with the other Seven.” He crossed his arms. “If you want to criticize me, I’ll hear you out, but do it in private.”

  Raphael glowered. “You’re right. That was out of line.”

  Gabriel said, “And on your side?”

  “I don’t want to make up a list. You’ll adhere to every iota of it and not one bit more.”

  Gabriel bristled.

  Raphael’s eyes softened just a bit. Not soft, but softer. “You always acted like an unassigned co-guardian, so I expected you to do as much for Jesus as I would have, and you then didn’t. You let me down, and you let him down. I wouldn’t have asked you to get involved if I thought you were going to revert to being a legalist just when we both needed you to be compassionate.”

  “He wasn’t angry at me.”

  Raphael shook his head. “He wouldn’t be.”

  Gabriel pulled his wings close around himself. “He said—” Gabri’li, you have no idea how much I love you. He closed his eyes and ducked his head, tucked the wings tighter. Arrogant block of ice. Don’t cry again. Just breathe.

  Raphael said, “I guess my minimum acceptable standard would be that you can’t go running away whenever you don’t like what I’m saying.”

  “Someone had to leave in order to stop things from escalating. You weren’t about to.”

  Raphael slammed his hand into the table. “Why do you always need to win the argument? You didn’t leave to stop things from escalating—you fled. You didn’t want to be found.”

  “You’re here now,” Gabriel said.

  “I can’t have a discussion with you if you keep running away. So that would be my minimum requirement.”

  Gabriel shook his head. “It isn’t wrong to disengage if the discussion isn’t productive.”

  Raphael said, “Then you’re not willing to meet me halfway, and you might as well go hide again.”

  The risotto still needed one more ladleful of broth. He w
anted to pull it off now, throw the whole thing away half-cooked and leave, but he didn’t go. Eternity was a long time, and if it was going to be a war whenever they settled things out, they might as well do it now. Raw and in the present, before either of them had a chance to rewrite their lives and edit the other out completely.

  Raphael said, “I want to get back to the tomb before morning. Mary Magdalene is going to return to finish with the burial.”

  Gabriel nodded. “What time is it there now?”

  “We’ve got a couple of hours.”

  At least he’d said “we.” That was something, unless it was habit.

  “How is Mary?”

  “Stunned, worried. John brought her with him to stay with the twelve. Well, the eleven now.” He took a deep breath. “Nivalis is beside herself.”

  Gabriel nodded.

  Raphael said, “Michael pulled everyone back from the wall about five minutes after you left. He said if Satan wanted to keep trying to assault Sheol he was welcome to do it, but Jesus’s word was the end of the matter as far as he was concerned. We’re still on alert, but we don’t have anything to attack or defend.”

  Gabriel closed his eyes. “Michael must be livid.”

  “He is, and he isn’t.” Raphael knit his fingers. “He’s furious at Pilate, at the Sanhedrin, at the Roman soldiers, but at the same time, he’s taking it on God’s word that it was all necessary. Jesus asked the Father to forgive them, so he’s trying to ignore it, even if he can’t forgive them himself. But he’s not happy about it. I think he’d bring down the Roman empire right now, given his choice.”

  The rice was just the right consistency. Gabriel stirred in the fried mushrooms, then a large portion of parmesan cheese and a chunk of butter. He put the lid on the pot and set it to the side, noting with interest how Uriel had done something to the kitchen that suspended the food in time: it wasn’t going to go bad; it wasn’t even going to cool down. He put away the ingredients and cleaned the bowl, then turned to Raphael.

  Raphael wasn’t looking directly at him. “Are you ready to head back now?”

  “I suppose so.”

  They stood outside Jesus’s tomb, and Raphael walked through the stone. Gabriel checked out the Roman soldiers, playing a game of pig’s knuckles. Their guardians all watched with concern.

  Inside the tomb, Raphael sat beside Jesus’s shroud, his mouth twisted. Gabriel looked away before he felt the urge to reach into the fire and share the pain.

  “This isn’t fair,” Raphael whispered.

  Agreement from Gabriel.

  Raphael stroked his hand over the shroud where Jesus’s head was, not reaching through, just touching the linen.

  Gabriel pulled one of the long feathers from the tip of one wing. Raphael nodded, and Gabriel pulled one of Raphael’s as well, then tied them together with a strand of hair, and making himself immaterial, tucked the grey and almond feathers beneath the shroud, just over Jesus’ hand.

  Raphael’s eyes were utterly hollow, and he wasn’t even praying. Saying nothing, they just sat for a long time in the tomb’s unmoving air.

  Nivalis appeared, her eyes dim, her power surging. Raphael opened his arms, and she pushed past Gabriel to cry against him. Gabriel tried to meet Raphael’s eyes, but Raphael was looking only at her, so Gabriel exited the tomb.

  Outside again in the breeze, he looked at the full moon and then made his way to a cluster of trees out of sight of the Romans and their guardians. He settled himself on his stomach along one of the low branches, feet crossed at the ankles so they braced his semi-solid form against the trunk. He folded his arms and laid his head over his wrists.

  Insects hummed and chirped, and rustlings in the grass told Gabriel where animals moved. Two nighttime hunters soared overhead. The Roman guard continued their gambling.

  “You’re back again,” said a voice Gabriel recognized as Mephistopheles.

  “Did your team get in, or have you given up?”

  “Belior and Asmodeus are still at work because Satan wants them to come up with an alternative, but I can’t imagine they’ll find a way to remove God from somewhere he wants to stay. So I’m here.”

  Gabriel chuckled.

  “You made me lose a bet.” Mephistopheles sounded miffed. “When you carted Raphael off, it was a sure deal that you were going to beat the life out of him. No one could believe it when he returned without you, and without being noticeably thrashed.” He paused. “Raphael did me a favor back there, so let me give you some advice.”

  Gabriel turned to regard Mephistopheles directly.

  The other Cherub kicked at a stone, his arms folded and his head bowed. “Seraphim will turn on you. Every Seraph will at some point. We’d all been surprised the honeymoon had lasted for you two as long as it did. But at some point, every Seraph is going to turn, and when he does, he goes for your heart. He’ll find the one place you’re most vulnerable and hit you right there, usually in public, and he’ll do it again after that.”

  Gabriel squinted.

  Mephistopheles cracked a stick with the heel of his boot. “There’s nothing you can do to prevent it. The only thing you can do is not share anything with them.”

  Gabriel said, “Bonding is all about sharing.”

  “Sharing power, yes. But you don’t have to share your thoughts, your desires, the places where you’re vulnerable.” He chuckled ruefully. “It’s a shame you didn’t find this out ages ago, but he’s only doing what Seraphim do. Now he knows all the ways he can hit you hardest. So if he knows, for example, you pride yourself on being effective, he’s going to find the one thing you weren’t able to do and completely ignore the fifteen impossible things you did accomplish.” Mephistopheles looked at Gabriel with his eyes sparkling, his hair even more unruly than usual. “Look at what happened: you got into Sheol, you did it without getting yourself demolished, and you located Jesus among half a billion souls. Even Satan said he’s never seen you so effective, but Raphael looks at you and notes only that you failed to bring him out with you, so he calls you incompetent.” He looked back at his hands. “If you had any other vulnerable point, Raphael would have hit that too, given a chance.”

  You deserved it.

  Mephistopheles had a very soft voice. “So I’ll just pass this along. You have to come up with the worst thing you could say to him, the one thing it would hurt worst in the world for him to hear. Ideally you want two, but one will suffice. Something that strikes him right in the heart. Then you hold it at the ready like a cocked crossbow in your throat, because at some point he’ll do it again, and you’ll want to fire back on the spot.”

  Gabriel’s eyes widened.

  Mephistopheles swallowed. “He’ll escalate then, which is why you want two. But he won’t try it a third time because he’ll know it’s not worth it.”

  Gabriel felt nauseated. “Doesn’t that destroy trust?”

  “Being prepared does not destroy trust. Trust has already been destroyed.” Mephistopheles shook his head. “After they cut out your heart, it never goes back to the way it was. You’ll always know what he’s capable of, and a part of you is always going to wonder about everything you share, is this the weapon he’ll use against me next time?”

  Gabriel rested his forehead on his wrists. Legalist. “And this horrible thing to say, what happens if you say it first?”

  “It’s ineffective.” Mephistopheles sounded surprised. “You have to hold it back because counterstrikes are all in the timing.” He looked up. “It probably took you three seconds to come up with it, but you’ll want to go over it in your head a hundred times until you’ve got it needle-sharp and it penetrates like an arrow to the heart.”

  Gabriel shivered.

  “It’s best not to give him a second chance.” His amber eyes looked haunted. “At some point he’ll give a sincere apology, and it will melt you. You’ll want to believe it because you want everything to go back to normal, but this is normal. What came before was just honeymoon, and it en
ds for everyone.”

  Gabriel couldn’t find the moon through the clouds that had drifted overhead.

  “You didn’t deserve that.” Mephistopheles started stripping the leaves off a branch. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when you got into Sheol. None of us has ever come up with even a theory of how to do it, and you popped in half an hour after you decided it was necessary.”

  Gabriel chuckled. “You never needed to as badly as we did.”

  “I can tell you never had Lucifer give you an order.”

  Gabriel felt the world around him, the approaching morning, the night creatures beginning to resettle but the diurnal lives not yet stirring. He felt the cells tearing as Mephistopheles pulled the spine from a leaf. Raphael was probably still with Nivalis, but Gabriel checked the impulse to reach for him.

  A moment after, Raphael’s voice said, “How are the wings?”

  “They’re fine.”

  Gabriel looked up to find Mephistopheles showing Raphael the inner right-hand pair of wings.

  “You’re downy!” Gabriel couldn’t stop himself from grinning.

  “Not for long.” Mephistopheles huffed. “Anyone comes up to me, and it’s this—” He made a twist and a yank with his wrist. “‘Mephistopheles, how cute!’ I had to blast a few of them away, but the ones above me I can’t stop.”

  “That’s awful,” Raphael said.

  “It doesn’t hurt. It’s just annoying.” Mephistopheles turned to Gabriel. “Remember.”

  He vanished.

  Gabriel said, “What favor did you do for him? He was drenched in your energy.”

  “His wings got caught when the fissure closed. I patched him up.” Raphael shook his head. “I couldn’t do anything about the down.”

  “I’m sure he’s just glad not to be mangled.”

  “He never said thank you,” Raphael said, “so I wouldn’t know.”

  Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Didn’t you realize they’re entitled to anything that makes their lives easier?”

  “Naturally.” Raphael took a deep breath. “Was he bouncing an idea off you on how to get back into Sheol?”

  “He was telling me all Seraphim are predators.”

  Gabriel let that statement sit for a moment.