Sacred Cups (Seven Archangels Book 2)

by Jane Lebak

Mary was looking across the crowd at Uriel. Their eyes met.

  Zadkiel said, “Did Mary happen to bring wine with all that bread?”

  Uriel chuckled. "She would have if she'd known."

  “It’s not demons,” Michael said. “Not our problem.”

  Zadkiel said, “Still, I could get some wine from somewhere.”

  Michael sounded shocked. “Steal it?"

  “No, I mean barter without the previous owner exactly knowing about it.” Zadkiel winked. "There's plenty of unused wine in this world, and plenty of people who would exchange it for a favor I could easily provide. I'd make sure they were very well-compensated."

  Michael shook his head.

  In mid-agreement, Uriel paused.

  Michael and Zadkiel focused their attention where Uriel had, and they found Mary speaking with Jesus. Zadkiel flashed to them in time to hear Mary say, “They have no more wine.”

  “What is that to me?” Jesus said.

  Mary called over the waiters.

  Jesus said to her in a low voice, “It’s not my hour yet.”

  The waitstaff had gathered, and Mary rested a hand on Jesus’s arm. “Do whatever he tells you.”

  They stared at him, more than a little confused. Mary just smiled at Jesus with the same mischievous smile that had kissed Gabriel.

  Jesus took a deep breath. To the waiters he said, “Fill six stone vats with water, right to the brim.”

  Michael radiated surprise. Raphael glowed like the sun.

  Zadkiel followed the waiters as they filled the vats. They all emitted a hazy stream of emotions: resentment (the things were heavy); worry (they might not get paid if the wedding was ruined); confusion (what did water have to do with wine?)

  As the men filled the stone vats, that sodden sense of the enemy dampened the air around Zadkiel. She turned, sword drawn, to find Asmodeus standing between the waiters and the wedding; a moment later, Belior sat on the well.

  “Don’t,” Belior murmured. “Guests know the difference between water and wine. Who will they blame? The groom? Certainly not. Water down the wine that much and they'll blame the waitstaff for stealing the wine and replacing it with this.”

  Asmodeus ignited, emitting a sense of danger: if the men returned to the wedding with containers of water, it would go badly for them.

  Belior said, “If you’re lucky, they’ll only withhold your wages. If you're not, the Romans have penalties for theft.”

  Asmodeus intensified the feeling of danger. The waitstaff regarded one another uneasily.

  Zadkiel sent, Saraquael! Michael! She flew at Asmodeus with her sword drawn.

  Asmodeus raised his sword and braced himself to meet her charge. Zadkiel struck, then flipped so her momentum carried her over his head and she could strike at his back. He snapped up his wings to knock her from the air, but she twisted to avoid the blow. She swung again, but he pivoted and parried.

  His eyes glowed with a double-shine: Belior was calculating her movements, giving Asmodeus the advantage of a second set of eyes as well as his power.

  Zadkiel called again for Saraquael.

  Asmodeus blasted her with his soul-energy. She threw up a Guard in time to deflect it, but the force drove her to the ground. She rolled to regain her footing before he struck again, but he blasted ahead of her, so she yanked backward and found herself staring upward at him.

  Remiel streaked directly over Zadkiel’s head, tackling Asmodeus off his feet before he could hit a third time. Behind her, Saraquael pulled her upright, then flashed her back to Jesus and his mother. He returned to the fray to help Remiel.

  Zadkiel spread her wings and leaped back into the air, her sword glowing. Asmodeus and Belior had called a dozen other demons, but Zadkiel wasn’t watching the newcomers. She kept her eyes on the waiters.

  Go on, she urged. Do whatever he tells you. You won’t get in trouble. The worst that could happen is they laugh at him—and think of the story you’ll have! This crazy guy made you fill water vats and pretend it was wine.

  The waiters, unable to see the angelic standoff, resumed carrying the stone vats to the steward.

  Zadkiel cheered, then dropped to stand beside Jesus.

  He met her eyes. Do you have any idea what’s going to happen?

  She smiled. “I only know they did what you told them.”

  Jesus smiled.

  Zadkiel froze. Satan appeared beside Belior. At a standoff, the angels remained with swords drawn, everyone on highest alert.

  The servers returned to Jesus. He said, “Now draw some out and take it to the steward.”

  They regarded Jesus uneasily.

  “Do it,” Zadkiel murmured, putting angelic pressure on them. “Do it.”

  Satan began applying counter-pressure, and she urged them again with her heart.

  The server filled a cup and brought it to the steward.

  Zadkiel said, “What happens now?”

  Jesus folded his arms and tucked down his chin, hiding a smile. He samples it.

  “And then if an ordinary man or angel had given the orders,” Zadkiel said, “he spits it out and gets angry.”

  Jesus looked coy. And because I gave the orders…?

  Zadkiel said, “A miracle occurs?”

  As she said this, the steward sampled the wine. He paused, took another swallow, and then turned to the groom, surprised. The waiters looked worried, but the steward stopped, as if confused. “Oh, yes,” he said, “you can distribute it. This is fine.”

  Zadkiel shot a smug look to Satan, who hadn't reacted. He'd gone from watching the steward to studying Jesus.

  The steward approached the groom, so Zadkiel flashed to his side. The steward said in a soft voice, “Most people serve the better wine first, and then when people have been drinking a while, bring out the lesser wines. But you’ve saved the best for the end.”

  The groom looked shocked. “What?”

  The steward put a hand on his shoulder. “There's plenty. Don't worry. There's more than plenty.”

  Back with Mary and Jesus, Zadkiel watched a waiter pouring more wine for both of them, and Mary held it so she could see better. But wine was more than seeing. Wine was in the taste, the smell, the feeling on the tongue and in the throat. It was a physical thing, and she was only in a subtle body.

  Zadkiel whispered, “Can I try some?”

  Jesus kept his voice low. “Haven’t you had wine before?”

  “Once.” Zadkiel looked up. “The only time I ever took on a human body."

  Jesus shrugged. “It probably tastes like that."

  “I want the wine you made.” Zadkiel stepped closer. “I want to taste wine expressed the way it only can be when my Lord says wine.” She wrapped her hand around his, and he looked her in the eyes. “If I give you a sense, will you give me a sense? What if I give up my sight?”

  Jesus pulled back. “Zadkiel, no.”

  “How about only when I’m solid?” Zadkiel nodded. “I could retain my angelic sight, but I would be blind when I’m human.”

  Jesus still looked troubled. “That’s not fair unless you would forever be able to recreate the experience.”

  Zadkiel brightened. “I would do that! I’ve only ever been solid once before. I can’t imagine a future where I’d be missing out on much.”

  Zadkiel asked permission, and God made her solid. Among the tumult of the wedding she found herself wearing a wedding garment, her long hair loose and her pale wings gone.

  She took the cup from Jesus’s hands, and he let it go. She ran her fingertips over the smoothness of the pottery, the way it remained warm from his human touch. She swirled the wine in the cup and inhaled the aroma just as the steward had done. The bouquet permeated her, and she thrilled to be here, right here in this moment. She tilted the cup so the sunlight struck the wine’s rich red tones.

  “Don’t be afraid.” Jesus put a hand on her shoulder. “Do what you want.”

  Zadkiel closed her eyes like a bride expecting her first
kiss, and she sipped.

  Darkness overtook her the moment the wine met her lips. The cool liquid, the alcohol’s heat, the bitterness of grapes and its contrast with fermented sugar, the scent of vineyards and the taste of ceramic – they mingled until they’d seared themselves into her heart with a joy that made her smile. Her eyes flared open as she turned to Jesus, but she couldn’t see him. She could feel his hand on her, but although she opened her eyes, nothing changed. Not blackness, not swirling grey, simply nothing at all, as if her eyes no longer existed.

  Other angels clustered around her with curiosity, concern. But there was that warmth of Jesus at her side, so she glanced toward him again with a pang because she couldn’t see him with human eyes any longer. She drank again from the cup and allowed the flavor to wash through her.

  Jesus sounded gentle. “You don’t have to drink the cup to the bottom.”

  Zadkiel pivoted toward his voice. “It wouldn’t be fair to back out after I’ve gotten what you promised.”

  “Is it worth what it costs?” Jesus said.

  Zadkiel nodded. “More than that.”

  Mary stayed on Zadkiel’s other side as she finished the cup. Her head reeled, but not enough to worry her. Saraquael joined her, but she didn’t speak to him, only lived in the moment. This wedding, this empty cup, this man at her side, this solid body thrilling with joy because of the gift she’d just received.

  Saraquael felt worried, so she turned toward him. It’s wonderful!

  His spiritual fingers brushed over her soul. She stepped forward, tilted her head toward where she knew his face would be.

  Are you happy? he asked, and she assented. Then I’m happy for you too.

  Taking her arm, Mary guided Zadkiel through the crowd. The noise lessened, and then she found herself with her hands on the back of a chair.

  Mary said, “Do you want to sit?”

  “No.” Zadkiel smiled. A glorious wedding. Glorious wine. “I want to dance.”

  Ten

  The next stop was Capernaum. On the Sabbath, Jesus brought his disciples to the synagogue and read the daily prayers, and then started talking about the scriptures.

  Raphael settled in to listen. Flush with power, Jesus right now didn’t need a guardian angel the way most people did. With the Spirit directing and guiding Jesus in his ministry, Raphael found his own job changing to more of a supporting role. All the same, he could sense the demonic attention and warned Jesus when they got too interested.

  For example, Raphael sent, that one.

  Jesus looked toward the door just as a man charged in, eyes wild. His soul was wrapped tightly by a demon, and the demon crackled with a dark electricity. “Leave us alone! What have we ever done to you, Jesus of Nazareth?”

  Jesus stood, but the man shouted, “I know who you are! You’re the holy one of God!”

  “Be quiet!” Jesus pointed at the man, and Raphael felt Jesus enwrapping that black spirit with his will. “You! Get out of him!”

  Raphael cringed as Jesus ripped the demon right off the man’s soul, both the demon and the man screaming as they separated. The man collapsed into a fetal position, hands over his face. The demon snapped out of the world, back into Hell.

  Raphael drew closer to Jesus, for all the good that did. Clearly he had the situation under control. But the onlookers had backed away, shocked. Who was this? How did he do that?

  Jesus crouched on the ground beside the man and helped him to sit up. “It’s gone.” Then he put an arm over his shoulder, and while seated beside the man, he spoke in a lower voice to the crowd about Isaiah. About deliverance. And the people pushed closer to hear better.

  #

  Jesus stayed at Simon’s home, but people began flocking to the house. Rabbi, my daughter is sick. Rabbi, my sister has a demon. Jesus had healed Simon’s mother-in-law, and she was trying to show him gratitude and hospitality by making a meal, but Jesus had no time between visitors to enjoy the food.

  You have to eat something, Raphael sent.

  Have you been talking to my mother? Jesus replied with a smile.

  Raphael grinned at him. For about thirty years, yes.

  After a few hours, it seemed the whole city had gathered at Simon’s front door, so Jesus moved away from the house to give them some space. He healed as many as they could bring to them. “But we need to keep the demons quiet,” Jesus told Raphael. “They know who I am, and I’d rather they not try twisting the truth around.”

  A man came up to Jesus. “I need you to come to my home. My wife is sick. She can’t get up. She stays in the dark. She might have a demon.”

  Someone with him said, “She’s been like this for years. There’s a curse on her.”

  The man’s guardian took Raphael by the hand, and they flashed together to the wife’s side. Her guardian sat with her, radiating hope. “Can he come?”

  Raphael couldn’t detect anything demonic on the woman. He rested his hand on her head: healthy enough, although a bit weak. Nothing wrong enough to keep her bed-ridden.

  Raphael returned to Jesus and sent him the information. Jesus said, “I’ll go with you to see her after we send the crowd away.”

  It took another hour, but Jesus managed to work through the crowd of people. Then the man led Jesus to his home. His wife’s darkened room had a dank odor, like yeast and dust untouched by sunlight for years.

  “I brought the healer,” the man said.

  “Tell him to go away. I don’t want him.”

  Jesus settled at the foot of her bed. “There’s no demon, and you aren’t sick.”

  She curled around herself. “Make everyone go away. Just make them go.”

  Jesus said, “Talk to me.”

  Whenever he’d told the demons to be quiet, they’d quieted right up, but telling a woman to talk didn’t have a similar result. She started crying, and her husband held onto her.

  “When did this start happening?” Jesus said.

  Neither responded.

  Jesus said, “Let me touch you.”

  The man eased his wife’s hand from her face, and Jesus clasped it, not recoiling from the tears. He said, “It’s been two years.”

  The man drew a sharp breath.

  Jesus said, “You had a baby. But at the end of the labor, the baby died.”

  The woman kept crying, but now her sharp breaths were audible.

  “But it’s more than that. They said you were cursed.”

  The man whispered, “The baby. The baby was…horrible.”

  Jesus said to the woman, “And they didn’t let you see your son.”

  She sat up. “A boy? The child was a boy?”

  Raphael had gone cold, but Jesus only moved closer. “They took the child from you, and they wouldn’t let you see him, only told you he was a monster and you must be under a curse, and they wouldn’t tell you anything else about him. You never held your firstborn son. And…you haven’t had any children since.”

  The man said, “How can she? She’s cursed.”

  Jesus stroked the tear-stained hand, and the woman leaned closer. “They blamed you. And you accepted that blame, but I’m telling you now, it wasn’t your fault.”

  She whispered, “I’m a sinful woman.”

  Jesus put a hand on her forehead. “Your sins are forgiven you. The child didn’t die because of your sins or because of your husband’s sins. There is no curse.”

  Tears streaked her cheeks. “I want my baby.”

  Jesus squeezed her hand. “Do you think I can give you back your baby?”

  She swallowed hard. “I just want to see him.”

  The man exclaimed, “He was a monster!”

  Jesus turned to the man. “Would you keep a mother from her child? Doesn’t God love people despite their sins? And don’t men’s sins leave them uglier than the worst monster?” He turned to the woman. “Open your arms.”

  Raphael gasped as Jesus formed an image of light, and the woman reached forward. “It’s just a picture,” he sa
id, “like a sculpture, not your baby. But it’s just how he looked.”

  She touched him. “Just like this? Exactly?” She rested her hand on the image. “I can feel him! Can I hold him?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, just gathered the light-baby into her arms. Her attention was riveted to the tiny boy. “Is this how he looked? This?”

  Her husband, ashen, nodded.

  “This isn’t so bad.” She stroked the face with her fingertips. “He’s not so bad! You told me he was terrible to look at, that he’d give me nightmares. That I couldn’t see him for my own good.” She pressed the baby to her chest and looked at him again. “Light the lamps. Let me really see him.”

  She explored the baby. “He had fingers! He had toes! You said he was a monster. I thought, what if he had claws?”

  The baby’s face bore the worst of the deformity: he had only one eye, no nose, and a deep cleft through his upper lip. The mother traced his cheeks with her fingers, tears splashing through the light-image onto the arm under the baby’s back. “He wasn’t so bad,” she whispered. “He’s perfect. The shape of his head is just like my brother’s. And how flat his ears were.” She looked up at Jesus. “It wasn’t so bad.”

  Jesus shook his head.

  She cuddled the baby up to her chest, just staring at him.

  Jesus got to his feet. “Stay with him for a while. When you’re ready, tell me.”

  In the next room Jesus sat at the table, resting his head in his hands.

  Raphael said nothing because he could feel Jesus praying. Praying about grief. Praying about a woman with the light flushed from her heart because well-meaning people tried to protect a mother from her own child.

  Jesus looked up after a moment. “I want you to remember this.”

  Raphael said, “I will, but why?”

  “Protecting people from themselves. You can’t do it.” He shook his head. “In the future. Keep that in mind. Imagination is almost always worse than reality. Look at what is rather than what you fear.”

  Jesus and Raphael prayed together as the night drew on. The lamp burned lower. Eventually the woman emerged from her room. Her hair was ragged and her clothes rumpled, but she was standing and had light in her eyes. “I’ll never be ready,” she whispered, “but it’s time. Thank you. Thank you so much.”