Tortured: Book Three of the Jason and Azazel Trilogy (20 page)

Chapter Eleven

To: Arabella Hoyt
From: Ian Hoyt
Subject: Working on it
Arabella
,
I assure you that we are as concerned about the situation as you are. The two
of them loose on the world represents a serious threat to the organization. We
had a lead that they were on an island of the coast of
Africa
,
but that seems to be a dead end.
 
I'm checking out a report that they're in
Rome
.
I'll be sure to give you updates on the situation.
 
Ian

Through the hole in the window, we could hear shouts.
"Let him go!"
 
Agricola stood up and went to the window. He looked out. "It's the
Sons," he said.
Jason and I were also on our feet.
"The Sons?"
I said. "Since when do they throw rocks? They always come in
shooting."
"Not the Brothers," said Agricola. "Those ridiculous ex-Council
members that are taking refuge with the Reddimus monks." He turned to us.
"How exactly did you find me?"
"We asked Brother Mancini for your address," I said.
"Yeah, but he didn't want anyone to know we were there," said Jason.
"Apparently, they found out," said Agricola.
I stepped over to the window. Below us, in the courtyard were a throng of about
twenty aging men. They were wearing suits. "Release the Rising Sun!"
one of them yelled.
"I believe your public
awaits
," said
Agricola.
Jason and I just looked at him.
"Well, go on," he said. "I'm not hiding you here while they
cause further damage to my property. You'll have to leave."
"Is there a back door?" Jason asked.
Agricola snorted. "Out," he said. "Sorry we weren't able to
finish dinner. And that I wasn't more help."
He ushered us through the dining room and down the stairs, depositing us in the
courtyard. When the men saw us, they all fell to their knees.
 
Jason and I rolled our eyes. This kneeling thing was getting so old.
 
"We're fine," said Jason. "And stop kneeling to us."
"Yep," I said.
"On your feet.
All of
you."
Jason took my hand, and we started for the gate. It was dark outside now. I
hoped we'd go to a hotel. I needed to read more of the diary to figure out what
our next move was. Of course, maybe my idea wasn't panning out so well.
Agricola hadn't been much help. We didn't know anything else that was useful,
and Jason had gotten his face beaten in.
 
The Sons swarmed after us.
Lovely.
Outside the gate, I
paused to look at them. "Okay," I said. "Thanks for coming after
us and all, but as you can see, Agricola didn't hurt us. He isn't even evil.
So, why don't you guys go ahead home, and we'll catch up another time."
"We can't let you wander off," said one of the Sons. "It's too
dangerous."
"Yes," piped up another one, "Hoyt is looking for you. He wants
you dead."
"Somebody always wants one of us dead," said Jason. "We're used
to it." To me, "Don't talk to them. Let's just go."
The Sons formed a circle around us. "You must come to sanctuary,"
they said. "Not even Hoyt would dare to harm you in the Reddimus
monastery."
We were surrounded. Jason sighed. "We should just shoot our way out,"
he said.
"We don't have guns anymore," I said.
"Dammit," said Jason. He looked out at the Sons. "Can you guys
get us guns?"

* * *

They brought us guns. They also brought us wine and
food and gave us a private room together. They managed to find us laptops with
internet access. They brought in beautiful, expensive sheets and intricately
woven rugs. When I mentioned that I was sad to have lost all my clothes,
someone took our measurements and arrived later with shopping bags full of
clothes for both of us.
 
Brother Mancini was not happy with this turn of events. "This is a
monastery!" he raged as they piled the luxurious items into our room. He
stood in the doorway, his hands on his head.
"This is the Rising Sun and his consort," said one of the Sons.
 
"We offer you sanctuary and you repay us in this way? I should just turn
you all out in the street!" Mancini raged.
"Try it, and we'll throw you out," said another of the Sons.
 
"Sorry Brother Mancini," I tried.
"You don't speak," he said to me. "The both of you are the
spawns of Satan, with your guns and your threatening and striding out of here
earlier without worrying about who might see you or what they might do. You've
brought this upon us, and may God forgive you for your sins!"
Then he stalked off.
The Sons who'd been bringing us stuff bowed low. "What else can we do for
you?"
"Stop bowing?" I said.
"But we must show our respect."
I sighed. They weren't going to stop bowing.
"We're fine," said Jason. "Leave us for the night. We'll speak
more in the morning."
The Sons nodded their assent and trooped out of the room, closing the door
behind them. Jason flopped down on our bed, which was swathed in pillows and
silk comforters. He grinned. "Well," he said. "This isn't all
bad."
I lay down next to him. It wasn't bad. It was nice. "So we're going to
stay here tonight?" I said.
"Definitely," he said, putting his arm around me.
 
I opened the diary. "Let's see where we're headed next," I said.
 
"What, you don't want to stay here and be bowed to and waited on hand and
foot?" he teased me.
"I want to find someone who knows more than Agricola did," I said.
Jason sighed. "Maybe we're just barking up the wrong tree here. Maybe it
doesn't matter how I was created. Maybe it's not me. Maybe it's you."
"What?" I put the diary down. "Me?"
"You know, you've been there too, when all the weird things have happened.
And God knows some weird Satanist mumbo-jumbo rituals have been done over you
too. I mean, we're considering the possibility here that being consecrated to
Mars or making love in the moonlight of the Colosseum while chanting Latin is
what's causing us to be able to do what we do. Why not being the Vessel of
Azazel?"
"
Because . . . Because Michaela Weem made me happen.
It wasn't Satanism they believed in, it was just
her,
and her obsession with Rabbit and whatever else she thought."
"Edgar Weem made me happen," said Jason.
 
"True," I said. "I don't know." I was quiet, flipping
through the pages of the diary. "So, are you saying we should just give
up? Stop following the diary? Stop trying to find this stuff out?"
"No," said Jason. "I don't know." He sighed. "Where
did they go next?"
I looked at the diary, flipping past the entry on Agricola. I read quietly.
"
Tuscany
,"
I reported.
"A woman.
Her name was Agnes. There's
no last name." I kept reading. "She had a cauldron, apparently."
"Does it say anything else about where this woman was?"
"No," I said. "It's a short entry."
"Maybe we can skip her," said Jason. "Who's next?"
"I don't think we should skip anyone," I said.
"How are we are going to find this lady? You propose we just go to
Tuscany
and start
knocking on doors? You know how big
Tuscany
is?"
I sighed. I flipped the page. "No way," I said.
"What?" said
Jason.
"After
Tuscany
, they went to
New Jersey
." I
handed him the diary.
"Oh my God," said Jason.
"Your
grandmother?"
He kept reading. "Your grandmother's a
gypsy?"
"We can't go there," I said. "She doesn't like you. And she has
ties to the Sons. To my great-uncle who's like the head of the Sons.
Dammit!"
Jason gave me back the diary. He got off the bed and began pacing in front of
it. "Who's next?"
"That's it," I said. "She was only fertile for four days. That
was their four days. The rest of the entries are about going to
Shiloh
. It says that she and Edgar waited two weeks to
see if it took, and she was pregnant. After that, she starts talking about
morning sickness and hating Edgar.
Which is weird, because
she liked him before."
"Great," said Jason.
I tossed the diary on the floor and rolled over, burying my face in a pillow.
Well, so much for that idea. I lifted my head. "Next time I have an idea,
Jason, remind me that they're always bad."
He came back to the bed and sat down next to me. "Your ideas are not
always bad."
I sat up, and began ticking them off on my fingers. "Ms. Campbell. Aunt
Stephanie.
Florida
—"
"
Florida
was great."
"No, it wasn't."
"Well, bad stuff happened there, but it wasn't because of
Florida
."
"Going to see Sutherland," I said.
"After he
carried me off from the target range.
That was a great idea."
"Look, I've had bad ideas too," said Jason.
"Like?"
"
Like the prom," he said. "And I thought you were
paranoid in
Florida
."
"I
 
was
 
paranoid."
"But you were also right. People were out to get you."
I flopped back on the bed. "What are we going to do now?" I asked the
ceiling.
 
"Do a Google search for Agnes in
Tuscany
?"
he suggested.
I glared at him.
 
"Maybe," he said, "we should wish really hard for all the
answers to come to us while kissing heavily."
I laughed. "That was another of my ideas that didn't work!"
"It might have worked," said Jason. "He did come back. And after
we beat him senseless, he was actually kind of nice."
I wacked him with the pillow.
He yanked the pillow
away from me. "What?" he said. "Don't you want to kiss me,
Azazel?" He began tickling me and kissing whatever part of me he could get
his lips on—my elbow, my shoulder, my nose. I struggled away from his hands,
laughing and gasping for breath.
"Stop!
Stop!"
I told him, trying to push him off me.
 
Jason pinned me down with his legs, forcing himself on top of me to keep
tickling me. I punched at his chest, grabbed at his hands, still laughing.
"Stop!"
I said again.
 
"No, no," he drawled, imitating a redneck accent. "I'm going to
learn you, woman. If you don't kiss me, you get tickled." He caught my
hands, which weren't having any effect on him anyway and pinned them above my
head. Then he kissed my lips, long and sweet. And he stopped tickling me.
My giggles faded into sighs. Within a few seconds, his hold on my hands
loosened, and I was free to let my hands roam over his back and to play with
the stubble on his head.
 
"I like the way your head feels," I said.
 
He broke the kiss, propping himself up to look at me, one eyebrow raised.
I playfully punched him again. "You know what I meant," I said. Then
I couldn't suppress a slightly wicked grin. "But I guess you could take it
the other way too."
He rolled over next to me, pulling me into his arms. I snuggled against his
shoulder.
"Last night," he murmured, "I was kind of . . . I mean, I know
you didn't . . . finish. I'm sorry. I didn't even try."
I ran my fingers lightly over the stubble on his head, trying to think of how
to respond.
Jason started talking again. "I want you to—"
 
Impulsively, I grabbed Jason's hand and moved it onto my body.
"Azazel?" he said.
"Shh," I said to him.
I put my hand over his, guiding him over my skin, showing him where to put his
fingers. For a couple of seconds, I was frightened, because it felt like
before, when Jason had tried to do this. It felt like nothing. I closed my
eyes, trying to listen to my body, ask it where it wanted to be touched. And
then, together, we found it.
The place.
I moaned.
"Like that?" Jason asked. He sounded surprised and turned on all at
the same time.
"Yeah," I breathed, moving my hand and letting Jason's stay there.
"That's good?"
"Yeah," I said, half choking on it. That was
 
very
 
good.
It took forever. It felt really good, but it took forever. Several times, I was
just kind of lost in the sensation of it, floating in this warm, sweet feeling,
and I suddenly remembered how long it had been going on. I snapped my head a
few times up to ask Jason if he was getting bored or if his fingers were
getting tired. The third time I did it, Jason growled in my ear, "Shut up,
Azazel. I'm not bored. And I love those little noises you're making."
But then, several centuries later, it happened. It was a bursting feeling. It
was like flowers opening up or a sweet crescendo of thunder across the sky. It
was lovely. I opened my eyes and saw Jason looking at me, and I started crying.
He brushed the tears away from my cheeks. "Was that okay?" he asked.
Like he
had to ask.