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

  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.

  * * *

  I was dreaming. In my dream, I was reading Michaela Weem's diary, but I was sitting inside an old house. There was a cauldron boiling over an open fireplace, and whatever was inside it smelled delicious. The room was lit entirely by firelight and candles. It was cozy. I snuggled under a quilt, sitting on an overstuffed easy chair.

  A woman sat opposite me in a rocking chair. She had long white hair that reached down to her waist. Her face looked so young, however—unlined. Her eyes were wide and eager, like a child's. She was knitting.

  "How am I going to find you?" I asked her.

  "I have come to you," she said. "You don't have much time."

  "Why not?" I wanted to have time. I liked being in this house. I could stay here forever, I felt. It was so warm and nice.

  "They're coming for you," she said. "They're always coming for you, aren't they?"

  "Mmm," I said. They always were.

  "I had hoped you could come to me," she said. "I had thought you might. But things have changed." She smiled at me. "For two people on the run, you sure do have a tendency to come in guns blazing, don't you?"

  The guns. I shook my head. "I don't like shooting people."

  "Of course you don't." She smiled again. "But wake up, Azazel. I'm outside."

  "Can't I just stay here?" I asked.

  "Wake up," she said. "Come outside."

  I opened my eyes, and I was inside the monastery. Jason was asleep beside me. It was quiet. I sat up. Come outside? Weird dream.

  Come outside, repeated the woman's voice in my head.

  I looked down at Jason. He looked so peaceful and beautiful sleeping like that. And I eased out of the bed and put on a pair of jeans. I was going outside. Sure it was a stupid idea. Sure, it had just been a dream. But that dream about Chance and Jason had led me to the basement of the old church. And that dream about the diary had . . .

  I moved quietly through the darkened halls of the monastery. When I opened the door, I opened it onto a silent, dark street in Rome. It was after midnight. The air was cold. Goosebumps broke out on my arms. I hugged myself. There was no one out here. It had only been a dream.

  I reached for the door knob.

  "Azazel," said a soft female voice.

  I whirled. There she was. The woman from my dream. "Agnes," I said, and I knew that it was her.

  She nodded. "Walk with me," she said, reaching for my hand.

  Her hand was warm and strong. I could feel her calluses against my palm. And once I was close to her, it didn't seem nearly as cold anymore. We walked through the silent streets, away from the monastery. Everything seemed beautiful, bathed in a deep blue moonlight. And there was no one on the streets. No one at all. She led me through the streets of Rome as if she had done it many, many times.

  I was surprised when we arrived at the Roman Forum. I didn't know if we could get in at night. During the day, you had to pay to tour it. But Agnes led me over steps and around walls and before I knew it, we were inside. I stared up at the splendor of it. These buildings were thousands of years old. They had majestic columns and long staircases leading to their entrances. They were in ruins—but they were still standing. When Jason and I had visited earlier this spring, it had been awesome. But now, in the dark, standing here, looking up at what was left of ancient Rome, I felt as if the buildings were whispering to me, telling me their secrets.

  Agnes squeezed my hand. "We will sit here," she said. "In front of the Atrium Vestae." The House of the Vestal Virgins. How long ago had it been that I'd designed a Vestal Virgin Halloween costume?

  We sat down.

  "You must have questions," she said to me.

  Of course I did. What were they?

  "Are you the Agnes from the diary?" I asked her.

  "Yes," she said. "I blessed Michaela and Ted's union. I prayed to the goddess Hecate that Jason would be a powerful being, a blessing to the earth."

  "So powerful he could come back from the dead?" I asked.

  She laughed. "That would be up to him, now wouldn't it?"

  What? I didn't understand. I realized that I should probably be finding this entire experience extremely weird, but I didn't. There was something about Agnes that made me feel very, very relaxed. I trusted her. Maybe that was stupid, but I did.

  She smiled. "You want to know what happened. What I did for my part to help create Jason."

  I nodded. That was why we'd been looking for her.

  "I can tell you that," she said. She took my hand. "Eighteen years ago, a man and a woman checked into my little inn in Tuscany. That is what I do, you see. I am an innkeeper. I have run my little inn my whole adult life. My mother ran it before me. It is a charming little place. I didn't think anything of the visitors who arrived, not really. I noticed that the girl seemed much younger than the man, and that she looked tired and sad."

  As Agnes spoke, I felt like I could see what she was talking about. I envisioned the small inn, an old, old house of two stories. It was built of stone. Inside, it was rustic and comfortable. There were quilts hanging on the walls, rugs hugging the wooden floors. Each of the rooms had a fireplace. But when Michaela and Edgar arrived, it was summer. No fires were burning. Instea
d, air conditioners chugged in the windows. They arrived in the evening. The sun was hanging heavy in the sky. Edgar was carrying the luggage. Michaela hung behind him as he checked in and paid for the room.

  Agnes' words swirled into what I was seeing. I both heard her and didn't. Instead, it was as if I were there. Like my dream about the diary, I floated in the corner of the room, looking down on what was happening.

  Agnes was standing at her check-in desk. She had a feather quill pen, which she was using to mark down the number of nights Edgar and Michaela would be staying. They couldn't see me, but Agnes did. She waved at me and said, "I gave them their keys, and I wouldn't have given them a second thought."

  Edgar and Michaela trooped up the stairs to their room. Agnes opened the novel she was reading and settled back in her chair. She wore reading glasses, perched on her nose. Edgar Weem came back down the stairs.

  Agnes stood up, marking her place in her book. "Is there a problem, sir?"

  "No," said Edgar. "I wanted to ask you something, actually."

  "Certainly," said Agnes, smiling her best for-the-customer smile.

  "We heard some things about you in the village," said Edgar. "You grow herbs. I saw your garden when we arrived."

  Agnes seemed unsure of herself. "You're talking about the fact that some of the villagers think I'm a witch."

  "Yes," said Edgar. "I am. Is it true?"

  Agnes hesitated.

  "Because," said Edgar, "we are trying to have a baby, and I had hoped that if you would be willing, you could lay a blessing on the two of us."

  Agnes nodded in recognition. "I see," she said. "I do suppose there might be something I could do. You believe in the blessing of an old woman you have never met?"

  "Yes," said Edgar, smiling. "I do." He was actually a good-looking man. For an old guy.

  Agnes turned to me. "So," she said. "I agreed to meet them that night, after the evening meal. I was planning to bless their union, a similar blessing to the one traditionally made at weddings. I gathered my herbs and prepared them in my cauldron."

  The scenery around Agnes changed suddenly. She was in the room I'd seen her in in my dream, bustling about and dropping herbs into the boiling water. The fire was hot. Every so often, she would wipe her brow with her apron. She was humming to herself. Behind her, Michaela entered. Michaela looked so young. Her hair was long and black. She had braided it, but wisps of hair were coming free of the braid and framing her face. She was wearing a sundress. She clasped her hands behind her back and cleared her throat.

  Agnes turned to her. "Yes?" she said.

  "Ted said that you were a witch," Michaela blurted.

  "I prefer a different word," said Agnes. "I am only a simple woman. But I do seek the power of the goddesses and study the wisdom of the Tarot and of the stars. Are you concerned about the blessing your husband asked me to perform?"

  "No," said Michaela. "I am not concerned about this one." She looked away from Agnes and there was a haggard look in her eyes. To the floor, she said, "He's not my husband."

  "You do seem quite young," said Agnes. Agnes crossed to Michaela, touching her shoulder. "And somehow sad."

  Michaela looked at Agnes, tears in her eyes. "I said I would do this because I love him. But he doesn’t love me. I wondered if there was something . . . a charm, maybe, or a spell. To make him care about me? I could pay you."

  "Oh my dear," said Agnes. "That is not what magic does. Magic cannot force anyone to do things against his will. We ask magic to change ourselves, not to change our environments."

  Michaela shook her head. "Ted doesn't think that," she said.

  "Well, I must admit I am curious. Why, if he doesn't love you, does he want you to bear his child?"

  "Not his child," said Michaela. "Not really. This will be the child. Ted feels he's going to change the world."

  Agnes looked confused. "I don't think I understand."

  "Ted believes this child is going to save the world. There are prophecies. He thinks we are fulfilling them. He thinks we're conceiving some kind of messiah."

  "And you?"

  "I used to think so too. But last night . . ." Michaela shook her head.

  The sound went away, even though their lips still moved. Agnes' voice came up, like a voice-over on a movie. "She began to tell me things," said Agnes. "She poured out the whole story to me. It was tragic and heartbreaking. She was young. I could see that her innocence was breaking. That she was becoming embittered. And the man she was with was responsible for it. I began to wonder if it would be the right thing to do to bless the two of them. I began to wonder if I shouldn't instead try to find some way to get the girl away from the man she traveled with.

  "After she left me, I turned to my cards." I saw Agnes sitting at a table, turning over Tarot cards. "I had quite a strange reading. Every card I turned over was from the major arcana. When this happens in a reading, it means that the subject of a reading is in play, and that there is little you can do to change it. It means that powerful forces are at work." Agnes looked over her shoulder, where I was hovering next to her. "Let me show you the reading," she said.

  I settled close to her and stared at the cards. They were arranged in rows. The center looked like a cross. Agnes turned over the first card, the one in the very center. "The World," she said. "This card tells what the reading will concern. The present situation. The present situation in my reading was the world. Generally, this card means that one cycle of life is ending and another is beginning."

  Agnes turned over another card and placed this one over the first card. "This card," she said, "represents the immediate challenge to the present situation. I drew The Tower. That card refers to a situation in which a structure must be demolished to make way for something new." She pointed to the illustration. "You see how the tower is falling apart in the picture? How the people are falling out of it?"

  I nodded.

  "I wasn't sure what this meant. The immediate challenge was that the entire world needed to be destroyed to make room for something new? I turned over the next card." Agnes turned over the card. I looked at it. It said, "The Emperor." But the card was upside down. "This card represents the mind," she said. "It represents the structured world. The world of rules. It is upside down. In this position, the position of the distant past, it indicates that the perversion of the structured world has influenced the need of the world to change radically."

  Agnes turned over the next card. "This is the position of the recent past," she said. The card was the Magician. "This card represents the ability of the individual to transform things through his will. I surmised that this card represented Ted. According to Michaela, he had decided to create the Rising Sun. To bring about change."

  The next card was the card that revealed the best outcome of the situation. "The Sun. Clearly, here it represents the Rising Sun, I thought. Also, it is a card of extreme optimism and positivity. So it seemed that in regards to the immediate situation, the best outcome was that the Rising Sun did indeed emerge."

  The last card in the cross revealed the immediate future. "The Wheel of Fortune," said Agnes. "Meaning that destiny and fate were in play. And that in the immediate future, I would play my part."

  She moved to the final four cards, which were in a row to the right of the cross. "This seventh card reveals factors affecting the situation," she said. She turned it over. "The Devil, upside down. The Devil is the representation of the dark side with humanity, or within yourself. It represents desires, or lusts, destructive forces that lurk within each of us."

  I interrupted her. "What does that mean, it affects the situation?" It was pretty obvious this Tarot card reading had as much to do with Michaela and Edgar as it did with Jason and me.

  "Simply that," said Agnes. "It will come into play. It does not mean that it will overcome the situation and destroy the final outcome. But it could. It is part of the whole."

  She turned over the next card. "External influences. Things out of control
," Agnes explained. The card was the Hanged Man. "This card refers to the idea that one must make sacrifices—like the Hanged Man's sacrifice of freedom—to gain knowledge and wisdom."

  Agnes turned over the next card. "Hopes and fears," she said. "Death. The card that represents a shift or transition to a new level of life.

  "Finally," said Agnes, "is the outcome of the situation. Overall." She turned over the last card. "The lovers," she said. Agnes looked over the cards, her brow furrowed. "At the time," said the voice-over of Agnes, "I wasn't entirely sure what to make of the reading. I knew it strongly directed me to take part in something which was directed by Fate. I knew that implied that great good could come from the situation. But there were aspects of the reading that did not make sense to me. Why did the reading say that the final outcome of the situation was the Lovers? Where Michaela and Ted to become the lovers?