The Judas Line (16 page)

I nodded sagely, wondering if Leslie realized how much he cared for her.

A few seconds later Leslie gave Jude a tight hug, her face bright and happy, while he surreptitiously rubbed his nose.

“Thank you very much for your generosity, Ms. Winchester,” Jude said with false good cheer. “I’m sorry for any ruckus we might have caused.”

“Nonsense, Jude!” she said, dimpling prettily. “I’m sorry for all the screaming. And please, it’s Leslie.”

“Leslie it is, then.”

“Hey, I still have to call Alexander for you, just a sec.” She began toward the castle, but Jude put himself in her way with one swift move.

“No need, Leslie, I’ll find him. I have my ways and it will be just fine.”

Nigel and I gave each other a puzzled look but kept our traps shut.

“You still owe me some more magic,” said Leslie.

“Right you are!” Jude ran his slender fingers though her hair and said a Word.

I’ve heard Jude use Words and, like all the others, this one slipped into my ear and nestled in the frontal lobe like a happy cat before screeching and tearing off out the other ear. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant.

Whatever Word he whispered in her ear hit like an electric shock, causing her to tremble violently. Her eyes grew so round, so wide I thought that they would pop out.

Nigel rushed forward, body poised to lash out with lethal force, but suddenly the tension went out of Leslie as if someone had blown out the candle of her rigidity.

“Oh, wow … what a rush,” she breathed, face flushed and streaming with sweat.

“You all right, mum?” Nigel asked, voice tight.

She grabbed him by the shoulders and planted a long wet one on him that carried so much heat that even the neighbors must have felt it.

“Good lord,” I said, crossing myself and pulling Jude away from the two and their frantic embrace. “Jude, what did you do?”

“Hit her with a Forgetting, erased the memory of the conversation with Alexander.” The happy couple continued their clinch, Nigel giving as much as he got and adding a bit of interest. “I also gave her Vigor, which is a lot like a super dose of caffeine without the tremors.” He eyeballed the two for another moment. “I think it tore down the barrier that has kept those two apart.”

I whispered out of the corner of my mouth, “Was a Forgetting necessary?”

“You saw how broken up she was,” he whispered back. “This is much better, although I hate messing with peoples’ minds. The smell of licorice makes me want to barf.”

“How’s your ear, by the way?” I asked, pointing to the notch right above the lobe of his left ear.

He fingered the gap. “I wish Healing would regenerate lost tissue. But I’m okay, man.”

The two lovebirds hadn’t come up for air yet, so I grabbed Jude (who seemed enthralled by their embrace) and led him out the gate. “You need to find a nice girl, Jude.”

“If I find one, I hope she can hold her breath like
that
,” he remarked with a smile.

“Don’t be a perv.”

The smile slid from his face. “Least of my sins.”

Jude did the driving from there, heading out toward 25 North, but before that we stopped at a Circle K, where he asked me to gas the truck while he went inside to pay. As the digits on the pump climbed, Jude exited the store with a small plastic bag and a donut in one hand.

“You got twenty bucks for gas,” he slurred through a mouth of day-old pastry.

“Cool. Get me one?”

He shook his head. “Last one, but I did you one better.” Smiling through powdered sugar, he handed me a Mountain Dew. “I know it’s not sacramental wine, but—”

“It’ll do.” Ah, the sweet caffeinated brew caressed my throat like an old lover. I so missed the buzz of stimulants, the only vice I really subscribe to. “That hit the spot,” I belched. “Now what?”

“Now we drive a while.”

“Then?”

“We make a phone call.”

Lovely. Great time to get all mysterious on me, but pushing him wouldn’t get me jack-squat, so I sat next to him, basking in a comfortable silence that only good friends can generate.

Before too long we passed a wide spot in the middle of the road called Socorro, a flash of neon and halogens that met our eyes briefly before it became a quickly fading memory. It was about five miles north of that little town that Jude pulled over and eased out of the car, taking the bag with him. He left the engine running and the headlights on.

“Jude, what is it?” By the dim light of the sliver moon and the stars, I saw him hold up a plastic case and drop the bag to the ground.

“Don’t litter,” I snapped, picking up the bag.

“Saint Michael.” The smugness in his voice was thick enough to cut.

“Smartass. Now what gives?”

“Phone call.” He turned toward me and ripped the plastic case open and held up a disposable cell phone. “I have some things to tell you that are going to seem rather … fantastic. You have to stay strong.”

Uneasy, I nodded. “I think I have heard a few fantastic things already.”

“Oh, and get my duffel, please.”

After I set the duffel at his feet, he rummaged through, pulling out the liter bottle of holy water, a plastic sleeve of Dixie cups and a small make-up case. Opening the case he removed a small fat jar with a white label.

“What’s going on, Jude?”

He unscrewed the cap and took a sniff. “This, my friend, is a mixture of dill seed, edelweiss and foxglove. Mixed properly they provide protection from magic.” The bottle flew through the air and I caught it reflexively. Inside was a whitish paste. I brought it to my nose and smelled a kind of electric tang. I tossed the bottle back.

“You see,” Jude continued, setting the bottle carefully on the ground and picking up the sleeve of Dixie cups. “Herbs are at their most potent when fresh; however, keeping a greenhouse with you wherever you go puts a damper on your travel plans. So I mixed these while fresh and made a paste out of them using a mixture of agar agar and holy water.” He pulled seven tiny cups from their sleeve. “Can’t use corn starch or tapioca starch to thicken the mix—they unbalance the ingredients—but agar agar is almost perfect.” A slim finger dipped into the jar of paste and emerged with a tiny glob, which he smeared on the top inside inch of the first Dixie cup.

“Mike, when God created the world, he used a Word.
The
Word. First there’s nothing, then
poof!
God says the Word and there was light. Then he says the Word again and
poof!
Our happy little planet. All the Words are mere reflections of the Word, like copies of a copy of a copy
ad nauseum
until all you can see are a few smeared, broken letters.

“Elemental and Botanical magic are different, man. They are leftover divine sparks when God spoke the Word bringing life to this world. The elements had their Primals to keep the balance just so, while plants grew into their potential, each one with a capacity for a kind of magic … Protection, Purification, Healing, Wisdom, Strength, etc.”

Soon all seven cups had their smears of paste and he laid six in a circle with the seventh in the center. Then he poured the holy water into each cup until it barely touched the white paste.

“Botanical magic is the most versatile,” he said quietly. “The subtlest. So many uses for the spark of divine magic in each plant. The Family has always regarded Botanical magic as the weakest, because it requires so much preparation and the ingredients aren’t conveniently located in one spot. However, with a little discipline, a little patience, you can achieve miracles Words or Elemental magic can never touch.

“Now, as you’ve read in my … memoir, only males in my family can use the Words. In fact, the magi not related to my Family are all male, at least as far as I know, my exposure to magi outside the Family has been rather limited. However, the use of Botanical magic is not gender specific, nor does it require you to be a magus. All you need is a slight …
sensitivity
to magic. Male or female, if you have that sensitivity to magic, you have the ability to use Botanical magic.”

Like firecrackers on a string, words popped out of his mouth faster and faster while I listened, rapt. “That’s where Wiccans come from, you know. Back in the day someone stumbled onto their magical heritage, usually by accident, and formed a religion based on nature.” The words trailed off. He looked up at the clear sky, staring at the slew of stars overhead. “Nature’s not a bad thing to worship, really. It’s all about balance and acceptance, realizing that things have their time to live and die. There are worse things to worship … much worse.”

I couldn’t keep quiet any more. “Why are you telling me this, Jude?”

“I love the stars, man. Always have. People look at the stars and think that Heaven must be there, despite what the Hubble telescope shows.” He laughed and the sound was like cracking ice. “Did you know that Christ had two brothers and a sister?”

The conversational whiplash nearly spun my head about. “What?”

“God used the Word to impregnate Mary and she was still infused with the divine spark when she gave birth to the other three children. Not surprising really, considering zero birth control and what kind of a loving God tells people to go forth and multiply, but leaves her without the ability to have more? That doesn’t make sense, considering she was married. So that little bit of divine spark got passed to her kids. The line of Joseph and Mary has some of the most powerful magi that have ever existed. The Sicarii have been trying to eliminate them for two millennia, man. And failing miserably.”

“Jude—”

“No, you have to hear this, man. Please. It’ll prepare you for what’s to come.” A deep sigh. “You know Luke 22:3-6 and John 13:27 … the Gospels that said Satan entered Judas and that led to the betrayal of Jesus?”

“Of course.”

“Of course … look who I’m talking to. Think about this: Satan never enters anyone else in the Bible, does he? Not until Revelations. Whom does Satan merge with in Revelations, Mike?”

An easy one. “His son, the Anti-Christ.”

“Good. Now put two and two together here, man … Satan only enters his son, or relative maybe because they are strong enough to be entered, to be able to contain Satan’s might. Reasonable, yes?”

“Yes, but—”

“So logic dictates,” Jude broke in. “That he can
only
enter a family member, like his son, or grandson, someone with resilient flesh.”

I stroked my moustache. “That’s possible, I guess.”

“When Christ comes at the end times, who comes to oppose him?”

“The Anti-Christ.”

“Good, we’re getting somewhere. Okay, big question here … so who opposed Christ two thousand years ago? Who betrayed him? And who is most likely to be seen as a kind of Anti-Christ?”

Oh, my ... his words tumbled about in my head like pachinko balls ding ding dinging against my skull and knocking about everything I’d ever learned in Seminary. “Judas …” I breathed.

His look was bitter as vinegar. “Yeah. And because he was entered by Satan and, in the end, opposed Christ …?”

I wanted to puke. “The Anti-Christ?”

Jude nodded. “Yeah, he was Satan’s first born son, the one sent to betray Christ.”

The ground was warm and sandy under my butt; however, something prickled my left cheek. A thorn perhaps, but I didn’t feel it, not as pain, more as a minor irritation. That pachinko ball continued to bounce off the soft gray matter, scattering my thoughts, so I fell back on the only thing that could offer any comfort.

“’Our father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name …’”

I guess it was a kindness that Jude let me finish.

“You okay, Mike?” he asked when my voice trailed off.

Centered again, I nodded. It came to me that anyone else would haul Jude away to the laughing academy, even if they believed in magic, but in all my time in the army, as a priest, I
know
when someone is lying to me or delusional. Jude was neither. I just wished he were. “I’m fine.”

“Good, because here comes the fastball. Judas Iscariot … do you know the origin of the name Iscariot? It’s not a family name. Judas claimed to be the son of Simon. No, the name comes from the band of rebels he formed, fanatics who would do anything to drive out the Romans, led by a man who practically foamed at the mouth. A group of assassins called the Sicarii.”

“Judas Iscariot is—”

“The Founder. Founder of the Sicarii and of my Family. Except the spark that created the magi in the Family is not quite divine, is it?”

“Oh, dear Lord.” Ding ding ding. Why was he hitting me with all this? Was the sand shifting under me? No, I was lying flat on my back, staring at the stars. They winked at me, impervious to the shock my system had just received.

“Trust me,
He
has nothing to do with it.” There came a soft
thump
as Jude sat down beside me. “Sorry to hit you with all this, Mike, but you had to know. It wasn’t all in the memoir and we’re about to enter the lion’s den. It’s here, right before the plunge that you have to decide whether to fish or cut bait, man.”