Tortured: Book Three of the Jason and Azazel Trilogy Read online

  "She's reliable," said Jason.

  "She's your weakness," said Agricola. "Women always make men weak."

  Sexist bastard. I clamped my mouth shut. No wonder he didn't know Michaela's name.

  "No," said Jason. "You're wrong about that. Before Azazel came along, I didn't have anything to fight for. Fighting without purpose makes a man weak. Having a purpose strengthens your resolve."

  I shot Jason a grateful smile.

  Agricola raised an eyebrow.

  "Besides," said Jason. "She held her own." He nodded to Agricola's shoulder.

  "Touché," said Agricola. "So your mother's diary, then."

  "It explains how she and Edgar Weem went about trying to conceive me," said Jason. "Azazel and I thought that if we knew more about where I came from, we could figure out . . . Do you believe in the Rising Sun?"

  "Of course not," said Agricola. "But I do have my beliefs. They are older than those of the Sons. And they are far less democratic. I don't believe all gods are the same god. I don't believe that all religious traditions are equally valid. No. I worship Mithras, and I worship Mars. I am a warrior and a soldier, and those are my patrons. I believe that the power I summoned to bestow on you, Jason, was very real indeed."

  "I guess that's why we're here," said Jason. "We want to know what exactly that power was. The diary is pretty vague on what actually happened."

  Agricola raised his eyebrows. "I'm not sure the details of the ritual are really a good dinner conversation."

  "Because they're gross?" I asked.

  "Not gross," said Agricola, giving me a withering look. "They are sacred, powerful actions. But they might not be appetizing."

  "Did you make her drink the bull semen?" I asked.

  "I thought you didn't know about the ritual," said Agricola.

  "It's vague," said Jason.

  "So you did?" I said.

  Agricola sighed. "Maybe I should start at the beginning," he said.

  "Okay," said Jason.

  Agricola took a deep breath. "I've known Ted for quite some time, as I said. For years, I was on the Sons' payroll, because I trained the Brothers in hand-to-hand combat. Ted and I spoke often during this period. He and I talked about ancient religions, which was his deepest interest. He sometimes shared with me concerns about the organization he worked for. He was worried that the Sons were losing their faith. He didn't feel that they were following the true path anymore, but had been seduced by the call of power and money. In those early days, he used to talk to me about the Sons' messiah. The Rising Sun. He said that the way things stood, if the Rising Sun were to arrive, he'd clean house in the Sons, in much the way that Jesus did with the moneymakers in the temple.

  "A few years later, he contacted me again. He was a teacher now, at a school the Sons ran for rich kids. But now he had a crazy idea in his head. He said that the Sons needed to be stopped. Destroyed. They were too corrupt. And he was going to do this by bringing forth the Rising Sun. When I asked him how, he started spewing all this ridiculous nonsense about King Arthur and genealogical lines."

  "Yeah," said Jason. "We've heard that too."

  "The long and short of it was that he wanted my help to perform a fertility ritual on him and some girl he was bringing with him. He wanted the blessings of Mars and Mithras on the child, because he felt that the Rising Sun would need to be a great warrior in order to destroy the Sons.

  "I told him that I worshipped the gods of soldiers, and I didn't know much about fertility. He suggested an initiation of sorts into the Mithraic mysteries for both him and the girl. I told him this was blasphemous. Women weren't allowed in the Mithraic mysteries. We worked out a compromise. I initiated Ted, but not the girl. She was however, bathed in the blood of the sacrificial bull and as a measure of fertility, drank the bull's semen."

  "Sacrificial bull?" I said. "You killed a bull?"

  "The mysteries are mysteries for a reason," said Agricola. "I can't tell you what transpires in the ceremony. It is a sacred secret."

  I guessed I knew enough about that ritual anyway. Bathed in bull's blood? Eeww.

  "Further," continued Agricola. "I consecrated you to Mars and blessed you with a warrior's spirit. Or rather, I consecrated their union, should it produce offspring. Which it apparently did."

  Jason was quiet for several seconds. Then he said, "Did you do anything that might make me, like, come back from the dead?"

  Agricola raised his eyebrows. He did that a lot. "You died?"

  "I got shot in the head," said Jason. "I wasn't breathing. I didn't have a pulse. And then Azazel kissed me, and I woke up."

  Agricola laughed. "Well, it sounds like something Ted would want his Rising Sun to do. No. I don't have access to power like that. I have no idea."

  "I thought Mithras was a dying god," said Jason.

  Agricola shook his head. "No Mithras sacrifices a bull, which he is tied to symbolically. But he himself does not die. And the bull doesn't come back to life. It's not a seasonal religion, you see. It isn't intended to explain why the crops die. Instead it is about fighting always against the evil that surrounds us."

  I couldn't help laughing a little.

  "Why are you laughing?" asked Agricola. "I don't think that was funny."

  "It's just that Brother Mancini told us you were evil."

  "That is because Brother Mancini serves the Catholic Church, which is the most evil institution in the world. I fight against it. Brother Mancini doesn't appreciate that."

  Oh. Well, with everyone thinking everyone else was evil, it sure made things confusing, didn't it? I guessed this was why my parents hadn't believed in evil, just constructive and destructive consequences. Maybe fighting against evil was really the only evil that existed, because it allowed people to do things they wouldn't otherwise do. If their enemies were evil, then all bets were off. They had to do whatever they could to get rid of those enemies. It all seemed so primitive.

  "But this warrior power stuff," said Jason. "That could easily be explained by the fact I was trained by the Sons. And the fact I was able to beat you is probably because you used to train the Sons, so I know your techniques. Overall, how is there any proof that what you did to Michaela and Edgar had any affect on me?"

  "Proof? Is that what you're looking for?"

  "I don't want to be this Rising Sun thing," said Jason. "I don't care if I'm supposed to be establishing a global government or destroying the Sons. I just want to be left alone. And I told myself that the Sons were just nuts. That there was no Rising Sun. But this weird stuff keeps happening. And I just want to know why."

  "You think I can answer that question?" asked Agricola.

  A rock sailed through the window in Agricola's dining room. It shattered the glass and landed in the middle of the pasta dish.

  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 fo
und 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.