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.
“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 …
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
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 …?”
