Mark Stone - The Judas Line

One thing puzzled me. “Why the upper-crust dialect?”

“Americans expect the snooty, snide type of talk they see in Merchant Ivory productions,” he said as if that explained everything. At my look of incomprehension, he said, “I must of watched Remains of the Day at least a dozen times so I could sound like Anthony Hopkins.”

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.