Tortured: Book Three of the Jason and Azazel Trilogy Page 3

  "Jason," I said.

  "No," he said. "Look, if you both still like each other, and you're both sad that you aren't together, you should get back together."

  "Chance is a jealous dick," said Palomino. She turned on her heel and stalked into the dining hall.

  Jason went after her, and I followed Jason. "Is this about that guy you were seeing? What was his name, Skylar or something?"

  Skylar. Another rich kid doomed to a weird name.

  "Because," Jason continued, "Chance is really sorry he said anything. And he totally trusts you."

  Palomino whirled. "I don't want to talk about it, okay?" She thrust the door open to the dining hall.

  Jason stopped and looked at me. "You should back me up here," he said. "He's your brother."

  "It's complicated," I said.

  Jason rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he said. "It's always complicated with girls."

  A line to the serving area had already formed. Jason and I got in line behind Palomino. We got through the line quickly and sat down at our regular table. Jason and I looked at Chance's usual seat. It was empty.

  "Where's Chance?" I asked Jason. It didn't seem fair that he had to find another seat.

  Jason shrugged. "Don't know." He turned to Palomino. "You know," he said, "Azazel and I had some issues with jealousy. She thought I was sleeping with her best friend."

  I glared at him. "And you thought I was sleeping with a gay guy."

  "He wasn't actually gay," Jason pointed out. To Palomino, "He was actually my brother, and he tried to kill me."

  He did kill Jason. At least, he put a bullet in Jason's skull. Jason stopped breathing His heart stopped beating. Until I kissed him.

  My life was too weird.

  "Anyway," said Jason, "the point is that we worked through that. We talked about how we felt. And we're still together."

  Palomino sighed. "I don't want to talk about this, okay?"

  "Why not?" said Jason. "What did Chance do?"

  She glared at him. "Did Chance put you up to this?"

  "No," said Jason, but he didn't meet her eyes.

  "I don't want to talk to him," she said. "It's over. Just tell him it's over."

  "Mina," I said, "are you sure you shouldn't just talk to Chance about—"

  She shot me a murderous look. I shut my mouth. I'd promised not to say anything. But this was huge. My younger brother had fathered a child. And his girlfriend wouldn't tell him. How was I supposed to keep this to myself?

  To distract myself, I looked around the dining hall. It was a big, open room with high ceilings. Long tables lined the room. I spotted the Weem twins, Faruza and Fairie (more hapless victims of rich people's wacky ideas of names), sauntering across the dining hall. I didn't feel sorry for the Weem twins, despite their names, however. They were awful gossips who were always rude to me. They picked on pretty much everyone except people who had the right last names. People who were related to members of the Council of the Sons.

  Since their uncle, Edgar Weem, had stepped down from his post at the Council, the Weem twins had gotten even meaner. They seemed to resent the fact that their uncle had been demoted, as if it threatened their social status. They walked by our table, casting withering glances in our direction. I seethed, imagining how satisfying it would be to let them know that Jason was actually their cousin, since Edgar Weem was his father.

  Faruza stopped next to our table, holding her tray and looking down at us. "So, Mina," she said. "I heard about the nervous breakdown in class today. I'm so sorry." She sounded about as sorry as Hitler was for killing Jews.

  Palomina glowered at her. "Thanks, Faruza," she said. "You're always so concerned and kind."

  Faruza smirked. "So is it true that you found out your skuzzy adopted boyfriend gave you herpes? Because I hear that's what you get when you date Jersey trash."

  "Chance isn't even from New Jersey," I said. I couldn't help it. The Weem twins just pissed me off so much.

  Faruza turned to me as if she'd noticed me for the first time. "Was I talking to you?" she asked.

  "I don't know," I said. "I think you were leaving, actually, weren't you?"

  "Because God knows where you and your boyfriend came from. You're probably charity cases. At least, he's definitely performing some kind of charity by dating something that looks like you."

  Jason's jaw twitched. "Don't talk to her like that," he said.

  "Ooh," said Faruza, "I guess I struck a nerve."

  Faruza's boyfriend, George Churchill (victim of being named after his super rich grandfather), slid in behind her, one arm snaking around her waist. "Hey babe," he said. "You gonna waste your whole lunch here?"

  She smiled up at him. "Just catching up," she said.

  "Actually," said Jason, "she was insulting my girlfriend."

  George shot me a look. "She'd be kind of hard to compliment, wouldn't she?"

  Jason stood up, knocking over his chair. "You should really reconsider that statement."

  I watched his fist, clenching and unclenching at his side.

  Chapter Two

  April 19, 1990

  Professor Weem stopped me after class and had me stay after. We talked for nearly an hour about ancient religions and mythology. I couldn't believe it, because he really talked to me like I was an equal, not a student. It was neat. If the other girls in class found out, they'd be so jealous. Me, hanging out with dreamy Mr. Weem.

  I stood up next to Jason. "Don't," I whispered in his ear. "Don't attract attention."

  "What did you say to me?" asked George, an arrogant smile playing on his lips.

  Jason looked at me, and I could see the unchecked fury in his eyes. He turned to George. "I don't like it when people insult my girlfriend," he said evenly. "And you don't want to make me mad."

  George laughed. "Is that a threat?"

  I grabbed Jason's hand, squeezed it.

  He looked back at me. He was struggling, and I could tell.

  Jason ripped his hand away from me and tore out of the dining hall. When the door slammed behind him, it got quiet in the room.

  Everyone looked up with startled expressions on their faces.

  The silence hung in the air for several seconds, and then conversation returned.

  George started laughing. "What the hell was that?" he asked Faruza.

  "Hey," I said. "He's serious. Don't make him mad, okay?"

  * * *

  When Jason and I were in Rome, things were easier. Things were nicer. Things were idyllic. Sometimes, I wish we could have stayed. We spent our days roaming around the city, doing tourist things. We went to the Coliseum. We ate gelato in the narrow streets. It was warm, springtime in the Mediterranean. I liked it there.

  We were staying in a cloister with the Order of Reddimus, monks who had taken us in when we'd gone on the run from the Sons. In particular, we spent time with Brother Mancini, who'd been Sutherland's contact in the Reddimus Order. (Sutherland was a creepy man who'd tried to rape and kill me, but he also had connections, so we'd been forced to deal with him.) Brother Mancini gave us advice about where to go and what to see in Rome. When we ate in the cloister, we took our meals with him, instead of in the larger dining hall where most of the monks ate. He was a friendly man, a little pudgy, but he spoke very good English, unlike some of the other monks there.

  Jason and I had separate rooms, and we couldn't see each other in the evening at all. Still, we made the most of our days together. We wandered through the streets of Rome, holding hands. It was more romantic than the movies.

  But we had to leave.

  According to Sutherland, Rome was considered sanctuary by the Sons. Sanctuary was any holy place of any kind, like a church or a cemetery or Stonehenge. The Sons wouldn't commit acts of violence in a place of sanctuary. Since Rome was the HolyCity, the whole city was off-limits for the Sons. Sutherland had told us we'd be safe there.

  But the Sons weren't playing by the rules anymore. They'd shot up a church in Shiloh,
Georgia the fall before. They were desperate to get at Jason and me.

  One day, Jason and I came back to the cloister after one of our idyllic afternoons on the streets of Rome. Brother Mancini was waiting for us. He looked worried. He told us that we needed to talk about something important and that it couldn't wait.

  Concerned, Jason and I went with him to a small meeting room in the cloister. It contained only a simple table and several chairs. We all sat down together.

  "What is it?" Jason asked, sitting on the edge of his chair. "What's going on?"

  It was bad news. I could tell.

  "We've discovered some information about the Sons," said Brother Mancini. "I'm afraid it's not good."

  "I knew it," I muttered.

  "Azazel, your great uncle, Ian Hoyt, has taken Edgar Weem's place on the Council," said Brother Mancini.

  "We know that," said Jason. "Sutherland told us."

  "It seems," said Brother Mancini, "that Hoyt has taken over to a certain degree. He's declared himself the head of the Council and is currently making decisions for the Sons at large."

  "That's bad?" I asked.

  "On the face of it, not exactly," said Brother Mancini. "It's the decisions he's making that aren't very good. He's decided that the Sons no longer officially think you're the Rising Son, Jason."

  "But that's good," said Jason. "Right?"

  "He's decided that they should kill you," said Mancini.

  "Oh," said Jason.

  "Furthermore, nearly half of the council doesn't agree with him. I'm sure you remember the summit in 2002, when the Council made the official decision that you were the Rising Son?"

  "Yeah," said Jason. "I remember that."

  "Those Council members feel their evaluation was thorough. They don't agree with Hoyt. But Hoyt is having none of it. They must either agree with him or leave the Sons. Of course, he can't really let them leave. They know too much."

  "You mean Hoyt's going to kill them?" I asked.

  Brother Mancini nodded. "Unofficially, of course. He couldn't admit to a policy of killing former Council members. But those who don't agree with Hoyt and don't want to die will escape."

  "Escape?" said Jason. "And go where?"

  "Here," said Brother Mancini. "The long and the short of it is that there are going to be about ten or fifteen former Council members seeking sanctuary here with us. We're not sure if it would be a good idea if you remained here while they did. We don't want Hoyt to figure out where you are, and we can't be sure that they won't be in communication with him."

  "Wait," I said. "If they're about to be killed by Hoyt, then they wouldn't kill Jason on his order, would they?"

  "Probably not," said Brother Mancini, "but we can't be sure that Hoyt won't have planted a rat among them. Someone who is secretly loyal to him. Even if none of them try to kill you, we aren't sure it would be a good idea for them to see you."

  "Why not?" I asked.

  "If they're disagreeing with Hoyt, it's because they think Jason is the Rising Sun. They might fawn over you."

  I had a quick flashback. Jason and I were leaving Michaela Weem's house in Shiloh. There were members of the Sons everywhere. As we walked by them, they dropped to their knees and whispered, "He's the one." Fawning, indeed.

  "That might suck," I said.

  Jason looked thoughtful. "Why are they coming here?" he asked. "Why would they seek sanctuary with you? Aren't you the enemies of the Sons?"

  "The enemies," said Brother Mancini, "and the origins."

  "Origins?"

  "Did you think the Sons simply materialized out of thin air?" asked Brother Mancini.

  "I didn't think they came from the Church," I said.

  "Actually," said Jason, "it makes sense. The Brothers, the celibacy . . . They're like monks."

  Brother Mancini nodded. "The Order of Reddimus is an old order," he said. "We were founded sometime in the fifth century, in order to spread the gospel throughout Europe."

  "The gospel?" I said.

  "Christianity," said Brother Mancini. "During the fifth century, very little of Europe was actually Christianized. Only the Mediterranean—Greece and Rome—and even their hold was tenuous. The leaders at the time knew that if they could bring the barbaric countries in the north to Christianity, then they could expand the empire."

  "So they wanted to convert people because they wanted to control more land?"

  "In essence," said Brother Mancini. "I'm certain there were some devout men in the lot, who truly were concerned with the souls of the Celts, but for the most part, they wanted to expand their power.

  "They created the Order of Reddimus, a special group of missionary monks, whose sole purpose was to go to the furthest reaches of the unknown world and witness to the people there. The monks were instructed to make it as easy as possible for these barbarians to come to know Christ. They were taught to find out the religion of the place, learn its lore, and attempt to mix the pagan ideas with the Christian, to ensure a smooth transition between the two."

  "You're kidding," said Jason. "I've always know that certain Catholic saints have a great similarity to pagan gods, and that pagan traditions were adopted by early Catholics. But you're saying that this kind of thing was Church policy?!"

  Brother Mancini smiled. "In the fifth century, it absolutely was. The Order has ancient records indicating the same. We, however, can't and won't share these records with the world. You can imagine what kind of negative impact such an admission would have on the faithful."

  I raised my eyebrows. "You think it's better to lie to the public than to tell them the truth?"

  "No," said Brother Mancini, "but I think that the most important thing for the world is a united MotherChurch. I think that certain transgressions are overlookable in the service of that idea."

  "But," I said, "there are a whole bunch of people who aren't even Catholic."

  "But there are many people who are," countered Brother Mancini.

  I chewed on my lip, but I didn't say anything. I didn't want to offend Brother Mancini. We owed him a lot for letting us stay here.

  "Do all of the members of the Reddimus Order believe in Catholic doctrine to the letter? Of course not," Brother Mancini continued. "Not all of this order's members even believe in Christ, per se. We've all been exposed to too many ideas in other religions that are similar and that seem to resonate just as deeply for us. But we are devoted to the Church, and the Church is loyal to us."

  "Yeah," said Jason, "because if they aren't, you could go public with the whole history of your order, which would look bad."

  Brother Mancini chuckled. "You are so cynical for one so young, Jason."

  Jason shrugged. "I'm not cynical," he said. "I'm realistic."

  "Call it what you'd like."

  "So," I said, "the Sons will seek refuge with you guys because they were originally an offshoot of the Reddimus Order?"

  "Exactly," said Brother Mancini. "Long ago, our Order pledged that we would welcome our wayward brethren back to the fold if they so chose. We think it's likely that, since they will be in fear for their life, they will choose us."

  "We have to leave, don't we?" said Jason.

  "We aren't going to just send you out into the street," said Brother Mancini. "That wouldn't be very charitable. But for your own safety and comfort, we don't think it would be wise if you remained here."

  I looked across the table at Jason. He shrugged at me, looking defeated. This was the story of our lives. Whenever we found someplace that we could stay and be happy, whenever things seemed to have calmed down, we had to leave. People were always chasing us. People were always trying to do us harm. I wanted to reach for him, but Jason and I had decided to chill out our displays of affection in front of the monks. It just seemed improper.

  "I understand," said Jason. He stood up.

  I wasn't just going to take it, however. I addressed Brother Mancini. "So, you have any ideas where we can go?" I asked him.

  "There
might be one way that the two of you could free yourselves from the Sons once and for all," he said.

  Jason sat back down. "How would that be?" he said. "They either think I'm the messiah or they want to kill me."

  "If," said Brother Mancini, "you could prove to everyone that you weren't the Rising Sun, then Hoyt and his followers might not see you as a threat any longer. And those who believed in you might see reason and stop trying to worship you."