That Last Onset Page 16

  “Whatever you have to tell yourself,” said Agnes. “I think deep down you understand that this is really about reaching your true potential. You’ve always had the capacity for this kind of greatness within you. We just had to bring it out.”

  “The capacity for murder?” said Azazel.

  “Didn’t it feel good?” Agnes asked.

  Azazel sighed, remembering. “It did feel good.” She reached for my hand. I took it, gazing at her. I loved her. She was so beautiful. And there was something amazing about the way she looked with a knife in her hand. She was terrible and wonderful. I kissed the back of her hand.

  “So, does it really matter?” asked Agnes.

  Azazel shrugged. “It was all really weird, that’s all. I don’t understand what the point of it was.”

  “The Spiritus Mundi speaks in symbols,” said Agnes. “You both connected immediately to the duality and sensuality of the Red Riding Hood story. Symbolically, when you went into the woods and let the wolves take you, you let the Darkness in. Then you showed that you wouldn’t fight your own dark urges when you killed your families, both your blood families and the families you’d adopted. Once the Darkness could see you were willing to sacrifice anything and everything for it, then you had passed the test.”

  Okay. Well, like Azazel had said, it had been weird, but it made a twisted sort of sense. Everything in this place was totally strange. I’d be happy to get out of here. “So what now?” I asked. “Now do we get to wake up for real?”

  Agnes’ expression grew sad. “I wish it were that easy. You see, we emissaries of Darkness are in an age-old struggle against forces that call themselves the Light.”

  “The Light?” said Azazel. She turned to me. “Is it me, or are you getting the distinct impression that we’re working for the bad guys?”

  I shrugged. “Haven’t we always been the bad guys?”

  “Those forces are intent on killing you,” said Agnes. “Agnes worked for them. Michaela Weem did to some extent. Azazel’s grandmother. The Sons of the Rising Sun. Everyone who’s ever caused you trouble has been affiliated with those forces. And, unfortunately, they are a very real fixture of the Spiritus Mundi. They’ve trapped you here, and they want to force you to die, even now. They’re very powerful, but you now have the currents of Darkness running through you. You can fight them. You can beat them.”

  “Okay,” I said. “And then we wake up for real?”

  Agnes nodded. “And then you wake up for real, with strong powers, powers that will enable you to destroy Kieran and Eve. To destroy anything and everyone you want to destroy. To remake the world to your own liking.”

  I smiled. Killing Kieran and Eve sounded awesome. “I was kind of disappointed that Kieran and Eve died out of nowhere in our test or dream or whatever it was. That isn’t going to happen in real life, is it? We’ll get the chance to actually snuff them out, right?”

  “Of course,” said Agnes.

  “Good,” said Azazel. “I felt cheated out of that too.”

  “The forces of Light will have difficult tests awaiting you,” said Agnes. “You must successfully navigate every single one, and then you may leave this place and return to reality.”

  “Are we going to be in more fairy tales?” I asked. “Will Azazel be wearing that sexy outfit again?”

  “Oh, you liked that, did you?” Azazel asked me. “That corset thing was so freaking uncomfortable. I couldn’t breathe.”

  “Well, you looked hot.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I have no knowledge of what the Light has in store for you,” said Agnes. “They’re tricky, however. They’ll use anything in their power to try to stop you, even your own emotions. Even your feelings for each other. Your power thrives on conflict, but you derive your strength from your deep connection to each other. You must allow your anger to fuel your desire for each other, not to rip you apart. You did a very good job of that in our test, when you were eating steak in the grandmother’s house. Fighting will make you stronger, but only if you come together afterwards. Use that anger. Turn it into passion.”

  Okay, great. I was starting to get a little nervous. For quite some time, I hadn’t felt negative emotions of any kind. I felt free and excited, mostly, eager to see blood or be with Azazel. This sounded as if it was going to take some concentration.

  “We can handle it,” Azazel said. At least she was confident.

  “I’ll take you as far as I can,” Agnes said. She snapped her fingers, and the room we were in dissolved around us. We were again outside, at the edge of the woods. But it wasn’t the same place we’d been before. Instead, the woods were at our back, as if we’d already walked through them. Ahead of us was a tall stone wall. Agnes pointed to a crumbling opening. “If you safely navigate this maze, you’ll come to the edge of the world spirit. There you’ll be able to break through into your world, where you can use your powers to demolish and destroy. First you must move through the maze, tackling whatever danger you find in each room. You may lose your sense of where you are or what is happening, just as has happened to you already. Stay steady and stay close to each other. You will succeed.”

  Azazel and I exchanged a glance, looking to each other for reassurance. Then we joined hands and walked towards the opening in the stone wall.

  “Stay steady!” called Agnes.

  We ducked inside the stone hole.

  Everything around us phased out of sight, eclipsed by a blinding white light.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “All I’m saying is that the guy’s a total wuss,” I said, pushing around my home fries on my plate with my fork. I had an accent, something vaguely twangy, as though I was from Texas or something.

  Azazel took a drink of coffee. “You only saw the movies. You didn’t even read the books.” She had an accent too.

  We were sitting in a booth at a diner. The window next to us was shrouded in slat blinds. The table we sat at was scratched and gouged around the edges. I gestured with my fork. “So, you’re saying that if I spent months of my life reading those damned books, I’d somehow discover that the main character ain’t a complete pussy?”

  Azazel rolled her eyes. “Edward is romantic, okay? And he’s not a pussy. I mean, he killed a bunch of people when he first became a vampire.”

  I used my fork to cut off a bite of my sausage patty. The food here was greasy, but good. It had that kind of All-American diner flavor you can’t recreate at home no matter how hard you try. “Ooh, he killed people.” I popped the sausage in my mouth and chewed. “That doesn’t make up for the fact he spends the whole time trying to not have sex with that chick. What kind of guy does that?”

  “The kind of guy who’s romantic. Besides, he was afraid he was going to lose control and kill her if they did it.”

  “So let me get this straight.” I took a bite of sausage and chewed. “Guys who don’t want to screw their girls are romantic?”

  Azazel poured ketchup onto her plate. She dipped one of her French fries into it. “He wants to have sex with her. He just can’t because he’ll hurt her. It’s all tense and tortured and stuff. She’s like begging him for it, and he’s holding himself back. That’s romantic.”

  “Got it,” I said. “So the next time you’re all hot and bothered, I should say no.”

  She threw a french fry at me. “We’re not seventeen, Jason.”

  The French fry settled in a fold in my t-shirt. I picked it up and ate it. “But we used to be. Should I have said no then? Would that have made me more romantic?”

  Azazel shrugged, picking up her half-eaten burger. “Maybe.” She took a bite.

  I set down my fork. “You have got to be kidding me. Do you have any idea how hard it is for a teenage guy to turn down sex?”

  Azazel was still chewing her burger.

  “And with you, for God’s sake. There is no way on earth I could have ever said no to you.”

  She swallowed. “Yeah, but see, Edward is a vampire who’s
a hundred years old, so he’s not exactly a teenager. He’s developed a lot of self-control.” She set the burger back down. “And Bella’s not me.” She raised an eyebrow suggestively.

  I laughed, spearing some home fries with my fork. “I still think the guy’s a pussy.”

  Azazel drank some more coffee. “Yeah, I was always Team Jacob myself.”

  “The werewolf? The kid from that Lava Boy movie? No way. He’s even girlier.”

  Azazel sat back in the booth, folding her arms over her chest. “You, on the other hand, are the most ungirly man in the history of the universe, I guess.”

  I leaned forward. “That a challenge, babe?”

  She laughed. “You think saying I’m daring you makes you more masculine?”

  I took a swig of my Coke, and turned to survey the diner. “How can I prove my masculinity to you, darling? What if I shot everyone in this diner in the head from right here in less than a minute?” I grinned at her. “That do it for you?”

  Azazel ran a finger around the edge of her coffee cup. “I thought we decided not to shoot up any more restaurants, baby. I thought we were going to go for some class. Banks or country clubs or something.”

  “We’ll do that,” I said. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, sweetheart. I’ll let you shoot anyone you want.”

  “But you still want to kill everyone in the diner.”

  “Well,” I said, “we do have a slight problem. We ain’t got any money.”

  “What happened to the cash we got from that liquor store back in the desert?”

  I considered. “I think I forgot to clean out the cash register.”

  “Baby!”

  “I got distracted carving our initials into the cashier’s chest.”

  She sighed, picking up the napkin off her lap and throwing it over her unfinished burger. “Well, I guess we don’t have much choice, then, do we?” She reached into her purse and took out her gun.

  I leaned over the table. “I love you, Azazel.”

  She kissed me. “I love you too, Jason.” Then she leapt up onto the seat of the booth, her arms outstretched, aiming her gun in a wide circle. “No heroes, okay?” she bellowed. “This is a robbery. Any of you try one fucking thing, I’ll put a bullet straight in your skull.”

  That was my girl.

  * * *

  We tore out of the parking lot of the diner, tires squealing, dust billowing up behind us. Ahead, the road stretched out flat and straight through the desolate Midwestern landscape. I gunned the engine and off we went.

  Azazel fidgeted with her dress in the seat next to me. “Goddamn it, Jason, there’s blood all over this.”

  I shot a look over at her. “It’s one stain. It’s hardly all over it.”

  “It’s still ruined,” she said. She looked out the window, pouting. “You said that I could get some nice clothes. Something pretty.”

  I reached over to rub her thigh. “Hey, sweetheart, we’ll get you some clothes. Whatever you want. Next store we see, we’ll stop. You can have all the pretty things your little heart desires.”

  She looked back at me. “Really? You promise?”

  “Have I ever lied to you?”

  She smiled, throwing her arms around my neck. “No.”

  “Don’t I always take care of you?”

  She kissed my neck. “Yes.”

  Ahead, through the clouds of dust, on the side of the road, I spotted a church. It was small, nothing more than a simple square building, white paint peeling off its walls, with a cross sticking out of the top. I slowed the car. “I’ve got an idea.”

  “What are you doing?” Azazel demanded.

  I pulled the car in next to the church, screeching to a halt. I turned it off and grabbed both of Azazel’s hands. “Azazel Pandora Jones, will you marry me?”

  She squealed. “Oh, I thought you were never going to ask me that!”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Of course, it’s a yes.” She kissed me.

  I pulled her over onto my side of the car so that she straddled me. The car horn bleated briefly. We kept kissing.

  Azazel pulled back. “I am going to be Mrs. Jason Wodden.”

  “You surely are,” I agreed. “Right here, right now.”

  She climbed off me, a worried expression on her face. “Jason, I don’t have a dress. We don’t have any rings.”

  She was right. That was a problem. I stroked my chin, considering. “Well, I guess we’ll have to keep driving until we find a shopping mall or something, then, won’t we? Because you’ve got to have a dress.”

  “Well, I can’t get married in this one,” she said. “It’s all covered in blood.”

  At that moment, the doors of the church burst open, and as if by divine providence, a man and a woman walked out, arm in arm. He was wearing a suit. She was in a white dress and holding a bouquet of flowers. I threw open my car door. “We are in luck!”

  I sprinted in the direction of the church, already firing my gun.

  Azazel was behind me. “Jason, don’t you dare get any blood on that dress!”

  “Don’t you worry, darling,” I called over my shoulder. “You can strangle her yourself.”

  My first bullet drilled into the man’s stomach. He stopped moving, a comically confused expression on his face as he inspected the red liquid seeping out of his body. I pulled my trigger again and hit his neck. He sputtered. His eyes bulged. And then he fell.

  Beside him, his new bride was screaming. She fell to her knees next to him, her hands fluttering over his lifeless body.

  “Don’t touch him!” I yelled. “You’ll get blood on the dress.” And then I tackled her.

  She looked up at me, pinned under my body, her eyes wide. “Don’t hurt me, please.”

  More people were coming out of the church, all also dressed up. They surveyed the scene in front of them with horror. There were shrieks from the women, yells from the men. “Azazel, shoot them,” I yelled. I wrapped my hands around the neck of the bride.

  Azazel’s gun went off. A wedding guest went down. “I thought you said I could strangle her.”

  “Well, get your skinny butt over here, then,” I told her.

  She ran over to me, still shooting. A few more wedding guests bit the dust.

  “Please,” said the bride. Tears were leaking out of her eyes.

  Azazel knelt down next to me.

  “Don’t let the bride get away,” I said to Azazel, slowly releasing my hands on the bride’s neck.

  “I won’t,” said Azazel. “You never trust me to do anything right.”

  I didn’t have time to argue with her. We switched. Azazel started strangling the bride, and I started shooting the wedding guests. There were only about twenty of them. I made short work of the lot of them. When I was finished, bodies lay strewn across the front of the church. Azazel had turned the bride over and was unzipping her dress.

  The preacher toddled out of the doorway. He had a bald head with several strands of white hair clinging to it. He held his hands up over his face when he saw my gun.

  “Oh, don’t you worry, Reverend,” I said. “We need you.” I took him by the arm and led him back into the church.

  Inside, there were dark wooden pews, narrow glass windows, and an altar covered in white flowers. This would work just fine. The preacher was wearing one of those purple stole things. I used it to tie him up. As I finished, Azazel came inside the church with the wedding dress bundled up in her arms.

  “You need me to help you put that on?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “You can’t see me in it until the ceremony, you idiot.”

  Right. I’d forgotten about that.

  “I just need someplace to change.”

  I nudged the pastor. “Reverend, is there a bathroom in here?”

  While Azazel was putting on the dress, I sat the pastor down and explained what was going on. Gesturing with my gun, I told him he had to marry us, or I’d kill him. I didn’t tell him that af
ter he was done performing the ceremony, I was going to shoot him anyway. Knowing stuff like that tended to make people pretty uncooperative.

  Finally, I heard Azazel’s voice outside the sanctuary. “I’m ready.”

  I walked the pastor to the front of the church.

  “I wish we had some music,” said Azazel.

  “You shot the organist,” said the pastor with a shaky voice.

  “You hear that sweetheart?” I called. “I’m real sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she called back. And she stepped into view.

  I hadn’t paid much attention to that dress when it had been on the other bride, but now that I saw Azazel dressed in it, I couldn’t take my eyes off of it.

  Azazel strolled down the aisle, a serene expression on her face. Her rich chestnut hair was free and unbound, flowing over her bare shoulders. The dress had no straps or sleeves. It cinched around her torso, lacing up in the front, and opened into a full skirt that trailed behind her. The afternoon sun was coming in through the narrow windows of the church, and it lit her up, made the edges of her glow golden. She floated towards me, and she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I was going to spend the rest of my life with this woman. I felt as though my heart was going to burst open. She was too gorgeous.

  When she arrived next to me, she gave me a little smile.

  “You’re beautiful,” I told her.

  She beamed.

  We faced the preacher. I had a moment of panic, because, even though I’d had a gun on him the whole time, I’d been so distracted by the radiance of my beautiful bride that I hadn’t been keeping an eye on him the whole time she’d been walking up the aisle. But the preacher was still there, trembling and pale, but not going anywhere.

  The preacher didn’t say anything.

  I gestured with my gun. “Get on with it.”

  He cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved,” he began, his voice shaking, “we are gathered here to witness the union of... uh...”

  “Jason Wodden and Azazel Jones,” Azazel said.

  At the mention of Azazel’s name, he grew noticeably paler. “In holy matrimony. If there is anyone here who knows of any reason why these two should not be joined, speak now or forever hold your peace.” The pastor paused for a long time.