We looked at each other.
“What right do we have to kill them?” I asked.
“None,” Jesus said. “Nor do we have to. They are not immortal.”
We all swiveled our stares to Jesus.
“Say what?” Viper asked.
“The Grayel is mine. Pieces of it are from Atlantis, but I built it with the power of myth and belief assisting me. Human belief empowers it, and they believe the Grayel is the cup that I used at the Last Supper, the same cup that caught my blood when the Establishment crucified me.”
“The Establishment?” Viper asked.
“I believe he means the Romans,” Odin said.
“Is it the cup that caught your blood?” I asked.
“No, I was never crucified.” Jesus made a face. “As if I'd let them do that nasty shit to me. They came for me, and I traced away, but they didn't want everyone to know I beat feet, so they put some other criminal up on a cross.” He shook his head. “Poor guy.”
“I've heard you talk as if it happened to you,” Odin said. “I thought perhaps you allowed it so that you could appear to rise from the dead later.”
“I like to honor the myth; a little ohhh-mahge to my roots.” Jesus shrugged. “But no, there's not enough weed in the whole world to get me high enough to agree to crucifixion. Not happening.”
“So, your followers just made up those stories about you coming back to life?” Pan asked.
“First off, they were my friends, not my followers. Second, it's totally on me.” J grimaced. “I went to hang with them after escaping the Romans—I really needed to smoke a bowl, you know?—and they thought I'd come back from the dead.” He made the sound of an explosion and flicked his hands out from his temples. “Blew their minds. I couldn't bring myself to tell them the truth. So I gave them a partial truth; I told them I was the son of God and he brought me back. I thought that would make Dad happy, but no-o-o-o, he got all butt-hurt that they started worshiping me. As if I even wanted to be worshiped.”
“He's such a dick,” Cid said. “His son nearly gets strung up by humans but he's not mad about that; he's upset because they started worshiping him.”
Horus rubbed at his temples and asked, “Can we get back to how the humans who drank from the Grayel aren't immortal?”
“Oh, sorry, man. Totally got off track there. Uh, the Grayel. Yeah. The cupismagic. But that magic is attuned to me. Calibrated to Christ.” Jesus grinned. “Only I can wield it properly, you dig? Dad can use it, of course. Anyone who knows how it works can. But you won't get true immortality out of it.”
“But that guy he stabbed, healed,” I said.
“Yeah, and he'll keep healing like that for a few days, maybe a week at most. Then the power will fade away,”—Jesus waggled his fingers as he lifted them—“and he will become mortal again. The Man knows this.” Jesus looked at Lucifer.
“Which means he's planning to act soon,” Luke concluded. “He'll want his army as strong as possible, so he'll attack us before the week is out.”
“How?” Azrael asked. “He'd have to draw me out of the God Realm.”
“You mean like we did to him?” Horus drawled.
“He could attack an embassy,” I said. “It doesn't have to be the one in Texas. There's a Fey embassy in London. Pretty close to Buckingham Palace actually.”
“We need to strike now,” Trevor said. “How many should we take with us?”
“I like Vervain's plan,” Samael said. “We should all go.”
“Should I bring the Intare?” I asked.
“No,” Trevor said. “And I'm not calling my dad either. It'll be easier to sneak through the palace with a smaller group.”
“Do we really have to sneak?” Luke asked.
“If we don't, Jerry could trace away before we find him,” Azrael said.
“All right, just those of us in this room then.”
