hapter Twelve

Text message transcript between Jason Wodden and Hallam Wakefield, 03/15/09, 05:15 PM

Jason Wodden: any tips for cauterizing a wound?

Hallam Wakefield: are you hurt? where are you?

Jason Wodden: am fine. not my wound. have u done it before or not?

Hallam Wakefield: tell me where you are!!!

Jason Wodden: can't. i tried to do it and botched it. wound still bleeding heavily. 

Hallam Wakefield: give me your location.

Hallam Wakefield: jason?

I let out a little gasp. Muffled it immediately with my hand. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. The severed finger sat inside the stained cloth, blood still seeping from it. It was a woman's index finger. She had a long, manicured nail. "Oh," I whispered, shaking my head. "Oh, oh, oh."

Gordon pushed past Jude to see what was in the bundle. He turned on his heel and went back to Jude, grabbing Jude by the shoulders. "How did you get this? What happened?"

Jude was sobbing. Huge tears were spilling out of eyes. He didn't talk. He didn't look at Gordon. He just cried.

Gordon shook Jude hard. "Stop it," Gordon ordered. "Talk to me, Jude."

"He called me," Jude said through his tears. 

"We were all here when that happened," said Gordon. "What did he say?"

"He said . . ." Jude's sobs cut him off.

Gordon shook Jude again. "What did he say?"

"He said, 'Your mother has something she'd like to tell you.' And then I heard her screaming and screaming and screaming. And then he hung up." Jude sniffled. "When I got there, I found this. It was still warm."

"Oh," I whispered. "Oh. Oh."

"Jesus," said Noah.

He did it. He did it. He actually hurt Michaela because I didn't show up. Oh God. Oh God. Jason.

"There was another note," said Jude. "It said that if I didn't bring Azazel tomorrow, I'd find more pieces." He shuddered.

"She's his own mother," said Gordon, dropping Jude's shoulders and coming to look at the finger again. "How could do that to his mother?"

"He's evil," whispered Noah. "He's just pure evil." He looked at me. "And you won't kill him."

I stood up then. "It's a trick!" I screamed. 

"What?" said Jude.

I advanced on Jude. "It's a trick," I repeated. "It's not a real finger. It's not a real finger. You're just trying to get me to kill Jason. You're all lying to me!" I shoved Jude then, hard.

He stumbled back from me, surprised. There were still tears in his eyes and his nose was running. He recovered, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, a movement that made him look so much like Jason, it hurt. "You think I'm faking this?" he demanded. 

"You faked everything else," I shrieked, shoving him again.

Jude shoved me back.

"Hey," said Gordon, grabbing me and pulling me away from Jude. "Don't shove my sister."

Jude flipped him off. "Her fucking boyfriend is cutting up my mother!" he yelled. "I'll shove her if I feel like it."

Gordon put me behind him. "Jude," he said. "Give me the keys to the van."

"No," said Jude. Jude reached behind Gordon and grasped my wrist. He yanked me over to him. "No," he said. "No, I'm taking Azazel, and I'm taking the van, and she's going to tell me where the hell Jason is."

I tried to pull away from Jude. "I don't know where he is," I said. 

"Jude," said Gordon, "let go of Azazel." He moved forward, reaching for me. 

"No," said Jude, and he reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun. 

Gordon stopped moving.

"Shit," said Noah.

"Put down the gun, Jude," said Gordon, but his voice was shaking. 

Jude aimed the gun at Gordon, then at Noah. Then he put the gun to my temple. In a sick sense of déjà vu, I remembered Jason holding me this way, tight against his body, a gun to my head. But I'd trusted Jason. I didn't trust Jude. 

"We're going," said Jude. "Don't try and stop me."

Jude backed up, dragging me with him.

"Jude," said Noah, "let's talk about this."

"One more word," said Jude, "and I blow her head off."

I didn't think he was serious. After all, his big plan was to get me to tell him where Jason was, which he couldn't do if I was dead. But I didn't know. Jude was pretty upset. I willed Noah and Gordon to shut up. 

They stared after us as Jude led me to the car, their eyes wide and luminous. 

Once outside, Jude threw open the door to the van and forced me inside. He slammed the door after me and hurried around to the other side. I watched him as he started the car, backed up the van, and pulled away from the house. I turned away from him once, to see that Noah and Gordon had both come out on the ruined porch of the abandoned house and that they were gazing after the van as it left. Then I turned back to Jude.

Jude was steering with one hand. The other hand was gripping the gun so tight that his knuckles were white. I thought about saying something to him. I decided not to. He was the one with the gun, after all. He was in charge. 

We drove in silence for some time. The road ahead of us wound through the backwoods of Georgia. Eventually, we emerged in Shiloh, the small town where I'd met Michaela Weem just a few months before. Jude drove up and down the streets, looking around. Did he think he was just going to see Jason, walking around?

"He's got to be here somewhere," Jude said more to himself than to me. "He's close. Close enough to cut off her finger and leave it there still bleeding. Where is he?"

I didn't say anything.

"Where is he, Azazel?" he said, rage filling his voice.

"I don't know," I said softly.

"And if you did, you wouldn't tell me, would you?" he said.

It didn't really seem wise to answer that question. "I don't know where he is," I repeated.

Jude swallowed. "You understand why I'm so upset, don't you?" he asked. 

What was this? Was he looking to me for reassurance? He was the one with the gun. 

"She's my mother," he continued. "She's all I've ever had. Maybe sometimes I got angry with her. Maybe sometimes I even hated her, but I can't let anything happen to her."

"Trade me tomorrow, then," I said. "What do you care? Your mother will be safe."

"No," said Jude. "No, I can't do that. Then Jason wins. I can't let Jason win."

"Even if it means your mother gets hurt?" Maybe it wasn't a good idea to push him like this, but he seemed vulnerable. Besides, if I could focus on how Jude was feeling, then I didn't have to think about the fact that Jason had cut off his own mother's finger. My Jason. Had tortured someone. What did that mean?

"You don't understand," said Jude. "She'd never forgive me if I gave in like that." He shook his head. "If I gave you up, she'd hate me. Us finding you and getting you and convincing you to kill Jason is the most important thing in the world to her. If I ruined that for her, she'd . . ." 

"She'd what?" I asked. "She wouldn't be grateful that you saved her life?"

"Of course not. Her life isn't important. Not unless she gets you to destroy Jason." 

We'd reached the end of Shiloh. It wasn't a big town. Jude took a turn, taking us down another windy country road. I realized that he must know his way around here pretty well. 

"Did you grow up in Shiloh?" I asked, wanting to change the subject. Maybe if I could get Jude to talk about happy memories, he'd calm down enough to think rationally. Maybe then I could . . . 

I could what? Did I think Jude was still my best friend or something? He had just threatened to kill me.

"Yes," said Jude. "I've lived here my whole life. Until I went to Bradenton to find you."

Jude took another turn, this time onto a dirt road. The van bumped along the rocky road. 

"I hate it here," he said. "I was so happy to get away."

He hated it here? "But your mother is here," I said. 

"I hate my mother," said Jude.

What? "But you just said that—"

"I know what I said." Jude pulled the car over onto the shoulder. He put his gun inside his jacket. He turned the keys in the ignition and pocketed them. 

"We're stopping?" I said.

"I can't talk to you while I'm driving," said Jude. "I can't concentrate."

"Okay," I said. What did he want to talk about?

Jude shook his head. "Oh, Azazel," he said, looking close to tears again. "I don't know how everything got so screwed up."

For that matter, I didn't either. 

He looked away from me. Up, at the interior of the van. "You don't know what it was like growing up here. Everyone knew my mother was Crazy Lady Weem. Everyone hated me. I defended her, but they used to beat me up anyway. And when I got home, it wasn't much better. All she talked about was Jason. All the time. The abomination. How to destroy him. How to end the madness she'd created. 

"My mother got pregnant with me almost as soon as she'd had Jason," Jude said. "And she never told me who my father was. She always said that I was her second chance. That I was the great light. What she had brought into being to correct her mistake. But she never really seemed to love me. She never seemed to see me as anything other than a tool she could use to stop Jason. So, I was always lonely. But I didn't know that I was. I didn't know what it was that I wanted. I'd never had anyone. I'd never had any friends. Not until you."

"Jude—" I started, then stopped. What was I supposed to say to that?

"I know," he said. "We're not friends. Not really. But that time that I spent in Bradenton, with you. Hanging out. That was the happiest time of my life. And I wasn't faking everything."

"You faked a lot," I said. "You faked who you were. You're not even gay, are you?"

"No," he said. "But I thought I'd be less threatening to Jason if you thought I was."

"That worked well," I muttered.

Jude laughed. "Yeah, I guess he was still pretty threatened."

"He knew," I said. "He saw through you." And I hadn't. And what was I doing now? Was I comforting Jude? Jude, who'd betrayed me? I sighed. "You drugged me, performed Satanic rituals on my sleeping body, hit me with a baseball bat, and most recently threatened to blow off my head."

"I know," said Jude. "And I'm kind of sorry about that. I don't know. I wish that . . . that it could be real. The way things were. The way we talked. All of that stuff."

He looked at me with sad eyes, and he was my old Jude again. Was this an act? Was he trying to get something out of me by acting like this?

"I don't know where Jason is," I said. "Saying this stuff isn't going to make me tell you where he is."

"I know that," said Jude. "I know you don't know where he is."

"So, then, why'd you take me away?"

Jude looked at his fingers. "I don't know," he said finally. "I didn't really think about that. I was really angry and upset. I didn't know what to do."

This wasn't the way that Jude should be acting after he'd captured me. He wasn't supposed to get all vulnerable and honest. How was I supposed to react to that? If he'd been cruel, if he'd been angry, if he'd waved the gun in my face, then I would have known how to act. After all, I'd been in that situation before. But now, with Jude so unsure of himself, I suddenly felt unsure of myself. 

"You liked me, didn't you?" Jude asked. "You trusted me?"

I looked at him. I half-smiled. "Of course I liked you, Jude. You were my best friend. I told you everything."

"Not everything," said Jude. "You kept your secrets. Yours and Jason's. You were very loyal to that."

"I wanted to keep you safe," I said. "Back then, I thought that you didn't know anything about all of this. I thought if you knew, you'd be in danger."

"You were worried about me?"

"Of course."

"No one's ever been worried about me before," Jude said.

"That can't be true," I said. "I'm sure your mother—"

"No," said Jude. "She doesn't worry about me. She expects me to worry about her, but she doesn't care if I live or die."

"Jude—"

"No one cares if I live or die," he said.

We were quiet for several long minutes. Then finally, I said it, because it was true. "I care."

"No, you don't."

"I do," I said. "God knows why. You've done nothing but betray me." 

Outside, twilight was stealing over the Georgia landscape. The sun was sinking slowly into the trees. I gazed out over the fields. "I guess everyone I ever cared about has betrayed me. My parents. Lilith. My brothers. You." I paused. "Even Jason. Jason went after Sutherland. He cut off your mother's finger. For all I know, he's actually a cold-blooded killer. Everyone's betrayed me." I turned back to him. "But it doesn't mean that I don't still care about those people. Maybe I shouldn't care about them. But it's like if I stopped, I wouldn't know who I was anymore. I'd lose my connection to the world. I'd stop being me. Maybe I'd stop being human. I care about you, Jude. I think I always will."

He smiled at me through the darkening interior of the van. "Thank you," he whispered.

We didn't speak again for quite some time. Outside, it got darker. The stars began to peek through the blackening blanket of the sky. 

"I'm sorry about your mother," I finally said. "I don't . . . I don't know why he did that."

Jude didn't respond at first. Then he said, "I do."

"You do?" I was confused.

"He did it because of you," said Jude. "He did it because he'd do anything to get you back. Don't you remember what you said to me back in Bradenton? You said that if Jason knew someone had hurt you, he'd kill that person. Do you remember that?

I did. "Yes," I said. "But—"

"You said it scared you."

I turned away.

"Does it still scare you?"

I hesitated. "Yes," I said. 

"It scares me when you're scared," said Jude. "You're so brave, Azazel. I saw you take down Sutherland when he tried to carry you off outside the shooting range. I couldn't believe you actually went after him the next day. You're brave."

"I was scared," I said. "You saw me after I ran away from Sutherland."

"Yeah," he said. "You were crying. I held you."

I remembered. I remembered the feeling of Jude's arms around me and how similar they'd felt to Jason's arms. How obvious it should have been to me then. They were so similar. Why couldn't I have seen that they were brothers? 

"I liked that," Jude said.

"You were very comforting," I said.

Jude's hand snaked across the van to snatch mine. "But I'm not him," he said.

"Jude?" I asked. 

"I'm not as comforting as he is," he said. "I can't protect you the way he does."

I squeezed Jude's hand. "I'm not sure if I particularly like the way Jason is protecting me these days."

"Because he scares you?"

"Yeah."

"Do I scare you?"

I cocked my head, trying to look at him in the scant light, considering. "No," I said finally. "You don't scare me." 

"Good," he said. "I don't want to scare you."

"Really?" I said. "Is that why you dragged me off at gunpoint earlier?"

"I just wanted to get you away," Jude said. "I don't know. I wanted to talk to you." He sighed. "It's weird. But I was upset, and the only person I could think of that I wanted to be around was you."

He was still holding my hand. It was dark inside the van, and I could barely make out his outline as he leaned closer to me, his face inching nearer and nearer to mine.

Was he going to kiss me? 

Jude kept leaning in towards me. 

He couldn't be trying to kiss me, could he?

His nose brushed mine.

He was trying to kiss me. 

I hesitated for a second, and then I let him. I held my breath as his lips touched mine. They were warm and soft. I slid my hands inside Jude's jacket, tracing the outline of his ribcage.

And grasped his gun, drawing it out of his pocket. 

Jude pulled back, surprised, but I already had the safety off and my finger on the trigger. I whipped the gun up, resting the barrel under Jude's chin.

"That was very, very stupid, Jude," I said softly. 

His eyes were wide. "Azazel?"

"You couldn't have really thought that I wanted to kiss you, could you?" He'd bought it. He'd actually thought that I was feeling sorry for him. He'd thought that I had romantic feelings for him. I didn't. Jude disgusted me. I might sort of half-pity him, like a wounded dog or something. But he wasn't my friend. 

I smiled, feeling pretty damned proud of myself. "Here's what's going to happen, Jude. Very slowly, you're going to give me the keys to the van. I'm going to take them. Then you're going to open the door and get out of the van. You're going to start walking away from the van. While you're walking, you're going to count. You'll keep walking until you've counted to, I don't know, a hundred. And you're going to keep walking and counting, even if you hear the van start and you hear me drive away, because if you do turn around, I'm going to shoot you. And you were with me when we went to the shooting range, Jude, so you know that I could very probably hit you, even if I'd driven the van away. You might think that maybe I'd be paying attention to driving and that I wouldn't see you turn around, but you aren't going to want to take that chance, so you're going to keep walking and keep counting. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," Jude said hoarsely, still looking astounded at this turn of events.

"Good," I said. "Give me the keys."

Jude reached into his pocket and handed them to me. 

"Now open the door and get out of the van," I said, moving the gun away from his chin and aiming it at his forehead. "Slowly."

Jude tried to move slowly, but he lost his balance and tumbled out of the van. As he got up and brushed himself off, I moved into the driver's seat. I rolled down the window and pulled the door shut, aiming the gun at Jude through the open window. "Now turn around," I said. "And walk."

Jude started walking, his back to me.

"Count to a hundred!" I yelled after him as I started the van. 

And I peeled out of the dirt road as fast as I could, without one look back at Jude. Back on the main road, I turned back towards Shiloh. 

It was harder to drive the van than I'd imagined. I'd never driven a car that was this high above the ground before. Also, it was disconcerting not to be able to see the nose of the van. I didn't feel bad at all for leaving Jude out in the middle of nowhere. It was only a few miles out of town, after all. Plus, he'd taken me away at gun point. 

Mostly, I guessed I was grateful. An emotional Jude had been much easier to get away from than both of my brothers and Jude. I also now had wheels. Things were definitely looking up for the first time since I'd been captured in Bradenton.

It was odd that Jude had bared his soul to me in so much detail, but I really didn't care. There were much more important things to worry about, like where Jason was. If I could get to him, then I could get him to stop hurting Michaela Weem. The both of us could get out of here.

Would we go back to Bradenton? Would we be safe there? What if Gordon and Noah tried again? Was I going to spend the rest of my life on the run from my brothers? 

It didn't matter right now. I needed to find Jason first. We'd figure out the other details later. Right now, the only thing I should be focusing on was where Jason might be. And that was the problem, because I had no idea. We didn't have anywhere to stay in Shiloh. When we'd been here before, we'd stayed in a hotel outside Shiloh. I couldn't picture Jason checking into a hotel with a hostage. So, where was he? Was he in another abandoned house like we were? Wherever it was, Jude was right, it had to be relatively close. By the time Jude had returned, the blood on the cloth binding her finger had still been wet.

I blanched inwardly at the thought of Jason cutting off someone's finger. How could he have done that? What was happening to him? But I shook it off. I didn't have the luxury of worrying about that either. I had to find Jason.

I just had no idea where to look. If only I had my cell phone. I could just call him. But I didn't have a cell phone. Sutherland had taken it. And even if he hadn't, I was sure my brothers would have taken it when they captured me. I'd look for a payphone, but I still didn't know Jason's number. Was there any real point in trying to find a payphone, then? And where did they even have payphones these days? Convenience stores? 

So what was I going to do? Drive up and down the streets looking for Jason? Go looking for other abandoned houses? Go door to door asking, "Have you seen a teenage boy and a fingerless woman?" 

That was ridiculous.

I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel, willing myself to think. Think. I didn't have anywhere to go, except back to Florida. Could I do that? Was Hallam there, or had he gone out looking for us? If I could call Hallam, he would have Jason's phone number. Of course, I didn't know Hallam's phone number either. God. This was so stupid. When I'd been back in Bramford, I'd had everyone's phone numbers memorized. Back before I'd had a cell phone. They were nice and all, but there were definite drawbacks. 

Suddenly, I was beginning to feel as if things were not exactly looking up now that I was away from Jude. Sure, I wasn't being held captive anymore, but I didn't know what I was going to do. And what about Lilith? Sure, I hated her, but could I really leave her at the hands of my brothers? 

As if to add insult to injury, a car abruptly pulled out in front of me, a few hundred feet up the road. It halted in the middle of the road, blocking my lane and just stayed there, like it was a police roadblock or something. I swore and slammed on my brakes, screeching to a halt just a few feet shy of colliding with the car. It was dark, but I could see that the car was a shiny, new expensive one. 

I leaned out my still open window, hurriedly stowing the gun inside the waist to my jeans. "Everything okay?" I called.

The door to the car opened, and Noah stepped out. "Azazel?" he said. "Where's Jude?"

Jesus! How had he gotten that car? 

I threw the van into reverse and backed up at full speed, putting as much distance as I could between their car and the van. When I saw that Noah was getting back in the car and they were starting to pursue me, I immediately put the car in drive and turned around in the middle of the road, my tires squealing. 

I took off at top speed, frantically checking my rear view mirror. They were in hot pursuit. And their car could go much faster than the ratty old van.

Damn. Damn. Damn. 

Where had that car come from? I'd thought they were stranded back at that abandoned house. They'd gotten a really, really nice car lightning fast. How had that happened? How?

I had to slow down for the turns in the road, because I wasn't used to driving it. With every passing second, Noah was gaining on me. I tried to go faster, but I was losing control of the van as I rounded the curves. I pushed myself to take them faster and faster, not to worry about being able to navigate the road. 

But then it happened. I hit a turn way too fast and when I turned the steering wheel and braked a bit, I skidded. Panicking, I pressed harder on the brake, realizing belatedly that was exactly the wrong thing to do. The skid deepened and the van wobbled. It tumbled off the road, falling on its side.

I wasn't wearing my seatbelt, so I was thrown to the other side of the van—hard. I thudded against the passenger side door. The crank for the window jabbed my thigh. My head cracked against the window. Pain shot through my body, bright like carnival lights. I bounced, collided again, and was still.

I groaned.

I knew that I needed to get up and run, but everything hurt so, so bad. 

"Azazel?" Noah's voice.

"Zaza, are you okay?" Gordon's voice, getting closer.

I felt in my pants for the gun. It was still there. 

Oh God. That had really, really hurt. I'd never wrecked a car before. I knew it was supposed to be a normal teenage experience. Trust me to make sure I had it in the most abnormal way possible, running from my crazy Satanist brothers who were trying to get me to murder my boyfriend. Could this possibly get any worse?

Oh yeah. They'd found me. I'd escaped, and now I was getting recaptured. 

The driver's side door to the van opened. It was funny, watching it open above me like that. Open onto the night sky.

Noah and Gordon peered in at me.

"Are you hurt?" Gordon asked.

"I'm fine," I managed. 

"We've got to get you out of there," said Noah.

"So you can tie me up again? No, thanks," I said. This really, really sucked. 

"Zaza, you must realize we're just trying to help you," said Gordon.

"You're not helping me," I said. "You're ruining my life."

"How can you say that?" asked Noah. "We're saving the world."

"By sacrificing your baby sister?" I demanded. "You two stood by while Toby almost raped me. Brothers who cared would have stopped that."

"Well, it wasn't exactly rape, now was it?" said Noah. "Honestly, Azazel, you're overreacting."

"Really, Zaza," said Gordon. "Do you have any idea how much time I've had to take off of work to be here?"

That was the last straw. His work?! Really?

I ripped the gun out of the waist of my pants. I didn't think. I didn't speak. I didn't threaten. It was quick. It was easy. It was very, very simple. And it felt natural too. Like the most obvious, most normal thing in the world to do. 

I shot them both very neatly in the forehead. Their bodies toppled over into the van. They hadn't even had time to cry out. 

For a few very strange seconds, I felt calm and relieved. I felt proud of myself. I'd just fixed everything.

Then I looked into their faces, dangling over mine, blood dripping over their eyebrows and down their noses.

And I convulsed.

What had I just done? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirteen

To: Renegade Son 

From: Edgar Weem 

Subject: (none)

Fine, Hallam. We'll play it your way.

011-44-020-5555-7032

Lilith was in the back of the car, tied up and gagged. I opened the door and looked at her. "You okay?" I asked.

She made a muffled noise. I reached in and pulled the gag out of her mouth. 

"Fine," she gasped. "Are you?"

"I'm great," I said. "Come over here so that I can untie you."

"Zaza, what—?"

"If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand fucking times. Don't. Call. Me. Zaza." I waved the gun in her face for emphasis.

She shrank from me. "Sorry," she mumbled. 

"Now, come over here," I said, exasperated. She scooted over, and I untied her hands and feet.

"Azazel, you're head is—"

"It's fine," I said. "You wanna sit up front?"

"Uh . . ."

"Stay in the back, then," I said. I closed the door, and got in the driver's seat. I sat down. Buckled my seat belt. Felt the ignition.

And burst into laughter. I turned back to Lilith. "Keys!" I said to her. "I forgot the keys."

Still laughing, I got out of the car and ambled over to the bodies of Noah and Gordon. Noah had been driving, so he probably had them. I felt in his pockets. Sure enough. Keys.

Before I could think much about the fact that I'd just shot and killed both of my brothers, I went back to the car. 

I jammed the keys in the ignition and started the car. I pulled the car back on the road and headed towards Shiloh.

"Now," I said to Lilith, "before I was interrupted, I was thinking about where the fuck I was going to go. Now that I've just committed murder, I'm even more confused." I looked back at her. "Where do people go after they kill people?"

"Watch the road," she said, her voice shaky.

I turned back to the road. "Sorry," I said breezily. "I think sometimes people go hide out. They need . . ." I paused, feeling exactly like a cartoon light bulb had lit up above my head. "Sanctuary," I breathed. 

I grinned at Lilith, but in the rearview mirror, not by turning around. "We're going to see Father Gerald."

"Father who?" asked Lilith.

"Gerald," I said. "At Christ is King Catholic Church. Hallam stayed with him for months before we found him in November. I know he'll know how to contact Hallam. They're friends. And if I can get in touch with Hallam, I can get in touch with Jason."

"Okay," said Lilith. "Great. I guess."

"Hey," I said. "How about a little gratitude? I just rescued you."

"You shot them," she whispered.

Right. Well, there was that. But I wasn't thinking about that right now. I couldn't think about that right now.

* * *

Christ is King Catholic Church was boarded up. There was a big sign on the front of the church which said, "Reopening in April." Hmm. I guessed that the big shoot-out between us and the Sons really had destroyed the sanctuary. I felt kind of guilty for a minute. I hoped that Father Gerald didn't blame us for the destruction of his church.

The lights were on in the rectory, where he lived, so I supposed I would find out in a few minutes anyway. I dragged Lilith with me, and together we knocked on his door.

There was no answer at first, so I knocked again.

After the second knock, the door opened. Father Gerald peered out at us.

"Hi Father Gerald," I said meekly.

"Azazel Jones?" he said in recognition. "What happened to you?"

"Happened to me?"

"Your head is bleeding."

"Is it?" I gingerly touched my head and looked at my fingers. Yep. Red. I shrugged. "I was in a car wreck. I was wondering if we could use your phone?"

"Come in," said Father Gerald. "Come in, come in."

Lilith and I stepped inside the rectory. It was sparse and functional. White walls. No decoration except for a crucifix on one wall. 

"Your friend?" he asked.

"This is Lilith," I said.

He raised an eyebrow. "Lilith and Azazel?" He shook his head and crossed himself, mumbling something about never thinking he'd see the day he was opening his door to those two. He started out of the room we were in, which was the kitchen, heading back the hall. "I'll get something for your head," he said.

"It's okay, really," I said. "I just need to call Hallam. You have a number for him, don't you?"

Father Gerald stopped. "Well, yes. I was just about to call him myself, actually. Some strange events have recently unfolded. I thought he'd want to know."

"Strange events?" I said.

"With the Sons of the Rising Sun," he explained. "It's a little convoluted."

I waved it away. "The Sons aren't actually a problem for me this time. Can I just call Hallam, please?"

"Certainly," he said, pointing at the phone. He gave me the number. As I dialed, he said, "I'm going to go get some bandages. If my guest wanders out here, don't be alarmed."

Guest? Priests had guests?

Whatever. The phone was ringing on Hallam's end. Lilith stood behind me, looking frightened. If I still liked her, I would have grabbed her hand or done something reassuring. But I didn't like her. Not at all. She felt scared? Good.

For a few terrible seconds, I was convinced that Hallam's phone was going to go to voicemail, but at the last second, he picked up.

"Father Gerald, what is going on?" he said. "Did you release the email without telling me? Why does Edgar Weem think that I'm playing games with him?"

"Edgar Weem?" I said. "You're in communication with Edgar Weem?"

"Who is this?"

"It's Azazel. And why the hell are you talking to Weem?"

"Azazel, Jesus, where are you?"

"I'm in Shiloh," I said. "I got captured by Satanists. Now you answer my question."

"Oh, Christ, Azazel, it's complicated. Look, I'm actually on my way to Shiloh. I should be there in an hour or so. Hang tight where you are, and I'll fill you in when I arrive. I don't want to talk about it on the phone."

"Hallam, are you still working for the Sons?" I was floored. Shocked. Appalled. After all this time, after I'd trusted Hallam as much as I did, was he betraying us? 

"No, of course not. Please, just stay with Father Gerald. When I get there, I'll explain everything."

Behind me, Lilith screamed.

I whirled.

A man had just walked into the kitchen. He was bruised and beaten, his face swelling in odd places. Bandages decorated every part of his exposed skin. "Azazel," he said, his damaged mouth curving into a sly smile. 

I dropped the phone. "Sutherland," I breathed. 

He took a step toward me. 

I grabbed Lilith's hand. "Let's get out of here," I said to her.

We tore out of the kitchen, out of the rectory, back into the car. As I drove away, I glanced in the rearview mirror to see that Sutherland had followed us outside. He was standing outside the church, in front of the re-opening sign, grinning like a jackal.

* * *

"How did he get there?" Lilith was asking.

She was sitting next to me in the passenger seat. We were driving aimlessly in the dark. Through the streets of Shiloh. Out into the surrounding country roads. Back into Shiloh. I didn't know where we were going. I didn't know what we were doing.

"I don't know," I said. "I thought he was dead."

Sutherland was alive. Jason hadn't killed him. Hallam had been wrong when he'd asked Jason where Sutherland's body was. It looked like Jason had beat him up very, very badly, but he hadn't killed him. As frightening as it had been to see Sutherland, the news made a part of me sing. Jason hadn't done that. He wasn't the killer that Noah and Gordon had claimed he was.

Of course, I'd killed . . . I shuddered again.

"He's not dead," Lilith said.

"Maybe . . ." I said, turning it over in my head, " . . . maybe he was following us. Following me. Maybe he followed us into the rectory."

"No," said Lilith. "I saw him come into the room. He didn't come through the front door. He came from the hallway."

"He was waiting for us? He knew we'd go there?"

"He sounded surprised to see you. Pleasantly surprised, but surprised."

She was right. He did. 

I didn't like this one bit. First there was this car we were driving. This car that had come out of nowhere. Then there was Sutherland appearing also out of nowhere. So many unanswered questions. "There are too many things I just don't understand," I said. "How did Noah and Gordon get this car?"

"Gordon called your grandmother," said Lilith. 

"Grandma Hoyt?" I said. "Why?" I couldn't even finish the thought, it was too preposterous. But I guessed it made sense. Grandma Hoyt had money. She could get them a car fast. "Why was she helping them?"

"I don't know," said Lilith.

More unanswered questions. More things that didn't add up. My mind was reeling. Chance had said that Gordon and Noah had gone to see Grandma Hoyt, and then she'd consented to pack Chance off to Italy. Could they have told her what they were planning to do? Had she decided to send Chance away so that it would be safe for him? But why was she helping the Satanists out? My grandmother hated the Satanists. She'd disowned my parents because of their Satanist ties.

But none of this was important right now, because . . . Because . . . 

"We have to find Jason," I said. 

We were driving through the streets of Shiloh. Impulsively, I turned onto Spring Street. Drove the car past Michaela Weem's house. I stared at it. And suddenly, it came to me. Last week.

Jude was driving Jason and me home. We were talking about the kidnapping of the Lindbergh baby. And Jason had said . . . 

"I always thought," said Jason, "that would be a good way to pull off a kidnapping."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I mean, kidnap someone in their own house," said Jason. "Tie them up and knock them out, and keep them in their own attic."

I yanked the wheel to the right and turned into Michaela Weem's driveway. Of course, of course, of course. This was the place close enough to cut off Michaela's finger and leave it downstairs, still warm and wet with her blood. This was the place that Jason could leave notes. It was a safe place. Not a hotel. Not an abandoned house. And it was the last place anyone would think to look for him, because it was too obvious. Jesus. 

"What are you doing?" asked Lilith.

"I know where Jason is," I said.

"You do?"

Quickly, I explained to her what I thought, as I parked the car and turned off the ignition. 

"He's been keeping her here in her own house?" Lilith was incredulous. 

"Brilliant, isn't it?" I said. 

She shook her head. "Yeah," she admitted. 

Lilith sighed. Then—she moved. She pulled me close against her body, her forearm going around my neck, making it tough for me to breathe.

"Lilith!" I protested.

Then I felt it. The cold, sharp point of a small knife at my neck. "Lilith?" I said. 

"You really are way too trusting, Zaza," said Lilith, her voice ugly. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Fourteen

Text message to Hallam Wakefield, 11:12 P.M.: 

We've got a trace on the car, thanks to Hoyt. We should know where they are in a matter of minutes. Coordinates to follow.

"But-but—" I sputtered. "They tied you up. And you kept trying to make Jason suspect Jude."

"Well, I did want to bang Jason. I'm not gonna lie about that. I figured any path in a storm, right?"

"You're mixing your metaphors," I said.

"AP English rears its ugly head," she mocked me. "As for the tying up part, I was supposed to keep an eye on you that way. Monitor what you were feeling. They thought you'd trust me."

"I didn't trust you," I said.

"Which is why you untied me."

"Fuck you," I growled.

"Tisk, tisk. It's not a good idea to be rude to the girl who has a knife to your throat."

Ugh. She was right. I was stupid. I was way too trusting. 

"Noah and Gordon had no vision," Lilith said. "They thought they could convince you to kill Jason. I know better. You're never going to think it's the right thing to do."

"It's not the right thing to do," I said.

"Like I said, you're never going to think that," said Lilith. "When Jason is dead, Michaela is going to see just how special I am. I'll make her eat those words. Someone will love me."

"I don't get it," I said. "You want Jason dead too? You just said you wanted to bang him."

Lilith chuckled. "Boys aren't good for much other than sex, Zaza. They're all expendable, really."

"But you think Jason is evil incarnate, like they do?"

Lilith didn't answer for a few seconds. "Stop talking," she said. "I'm calling the shots here. I've got a knife at your throat. I could kill you at any second. You shut up, okay?"

I didn't say anything, but I could tell I'd gotten to her. 

"Look," she said, "I figure it doesn't really matter how it goes down, as long as you kill Jason. So, we'll go inside. We'll find Jason. He'll do whatever I say as long as I've got a knife to your throat, right? Even take a gun, put it in your hand, hold it to his own head, and make you pull the damned trigger. He'll do that. Won't he?"

She was right. He would. He'd die for me. I didn't like Lilith's plan at all. For someone who didn't do very smart things very often, she'd put together a pretty good plan. I had to keep pushing. She could threaten to shut me up all she wanted, but if she killed me now, then I couldn't kill Jason. And if things were really about to go down the way she'd just explained, I far preferred to die for Jason than for him to die for me. Not when there was some way I could stop it.

"You sure you want Jason dead?" I asked. "I was listening when you flashed Jason, you know. It got quiet for a long time." This was killing me, but it was more important that Jason lived than anything. Than anything. "And when I walked into the room, I could swear he looked guilty. How do you know that he doesn't want to be with you anyway? Maybe that's how you could show Michaela she was wrong."

Lilith pushed the point of the knife a little deeper into my neck. "You think you're so smart, don't you?" she hissed at me. "You think you can play mind games with me, but I'm not as dumb as you think I am."

"I'm not saying your dumb," I said. "I'm just not sure what you're motivation here is. Why are you still working for the Satanists? I mean, what have they ever done for you?"

The knife stabbed at my neck. It broke the skin. I let out at little yelp. 

"I said shut up, Zaza," said Lilith, "and I meant it."

Suddenly, this little exercise in trying to manipulate Lilith seemed really, really difficult. I wanted to see Jason. I wanted this nightmare over.

But I didn't want to hurt Lilith. I'd done enough damage for one evening. I knew that. I also knew that there were things I'd done in the past hour that would haunt me for the rest of my life. I didn't want to add to that. I remembered the way Jason had sobbed in my arms after killing the members of the Sons. I knew the way Jason's eyes always looked. There were depths in them. Depths of pain and guilt and confusion. I didn't want to go there myself. But I was frustrated, and I couldn't help but want to do things the easy way.

As I hesitated in those few moments, I saw it all so very clearly. This way was seductive. It was simple. It was quick. It made the immediate problems go away. There were obstacles in the way of my goal. I needed to eliminate them. I saw that. I saw that I was starting down a path of simplicity. A path of casual violence. And I also knew that if I took that path, it would be harder to resist it in the future. I saw all of that. 

And I made my choice. Because, in the end, no matter what anyone said about fate or Shiva or the power of Azazel, it was all about my choices. In the end, I wouldn't be able to blame ancient religions for my life. I'd have to take responsibility for it. 

I moved as quick as Lilith had, and it meant that her knife took a pretty nice-sized chunk out of my neck. The pain was sharp, and I felt blood begin to trickle from the wound. But in one movement, I got the gun out of my pants with one hand, slapped the barrel against Lilith's temple, wrenched the knife away from her with my other hand, and twisted so that I could see her face.

I smiled at her. "Lilith, if you're so smart, why didn't you take my gun?"

"I-I—" Lilith was startled.

I didn't let her finish. I just pulled the trigger. 

Her blood got on my face.

I looked at her for a while after it was done. The bullet didn't cause too much destruction going in. Sure there was a big bloody hole. But it was the exit wound that was so bad. Blood spattered all over the interior of the car, an exploded firework of red fluid and brain matter. The other side of Lilith's head caved in. It didn't really look like a skull anymore. Instead it was a broken Easter egg. A shattered Christmas ornament. 

I don't know why I looked as long as I did. I think I just needed to see what I'd done. To understand that I'd killed her. I needed to look at it, look at the utter horror of it, the gore of it, the incomprehensible, repulsive reality of it, and make sure that I understood that I was responsible for it. Because I'd decided that my life and that Jason's life were more important than hers, I'd taken her life. I needed to recognize that, force myself to face it and acknowledge it. 

I wasn't telling myself that it was the right thing to do. I wasn't trying to excuse it. I was just facing it. Taking responsibility for it. 

As I got out of the car, my heart clanged against my rib cage. My legs trembled. I stood outside the car and closed the door behind me, shutting away the dreadfulness of the remains of Lilith.

Gripping the gun tightly, I started forward. Halting steps carried me over the threshold of Michaela Weem's house and inside.

* * *

Inside the house it was dusty and dark. I stumbled over shadowed shapes of furniture, looking for the staircase. I remembered that it was in the foyer, just as you entered the house. I wanted to go upstairs because I figured Jason was in the attic.

I felt blindly ahead of me and connected with the railing to the stairwell. As my eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness, I eased up the steps. I wanted to go faster, but I felt sluggish. Gingerly, I reached up to touch my head. How much blood had I lost? Could I have a concussion? If I had a concussion, I wasn't supposed to go to sleep, right?

I labored up the steps, gazing around me in the scant light. The steps opened onto narrow hallway. Moonlight came in a window at end, illuminating an antique wooden table overflowing with burnt candles and several framed photos on the wall. My feet creaked as I moved forward. Could Jason hear me? If he could, would he come down to investigate?

I had a horrible thought. Maybe Jason wasn't here at all. Maybe the comment he'd made in Jude's car had been nothing more than an offhand remark, and he wasn't even in the house. I didn't move, biting my fingernails nervously. If that were true, then the only thing I'd be able to do would be to get back in the car . . . But I couldn't sit next to Lilith's body. No. No. 

I looked up. How did I get to the attic? Was there a pull-down set of stairs in the ceiling somewhere? Or was there an actual built-in staircase? 

Then I heard a woman moan.

Above me.

They were here.

She moaned again. She sounded so close. Where were they? How did I get to them?

"There's someone here," said the woman's voice.

"Shh," hushed a voice. Jason?

"I won't be quiet," said the woman. "Help m—" she yelled, but her voice was muffled before she could finish.

"Shut up," said Jason's voice. It was his, unmistakably, even though it had a threatening tinge to it that I'd never heard before. "If you make one more noise, I'll kill you. I can cut parts off your dead body just as easy as your live one."

I shuddered. Jason sounded ugly. Hard. Cruel. And I couldn't believe he was talking about cutting off body parts. 

Michaela Weem was his mother, no matter how awful she was. Jason shouldn't—

But did I have any right to judge him? After my evening?

Noah's and Gordon's empty eyes danced in front of my face, dangling inside the van's open door, staring at me. 

"Go on, kill me," said the woman. "Do it. It's what I've always known you'd do. Evil spawn. Abomination."

"Shut up!" Jason insisted. "I'm not going to warn you again."

"Kill me!" shouted Michaela Weem.

"Jason!" I yelled. "Jason, it's me!"

Michaela Weem shrieked.

"No!" I yelled. "I'm here. Stop!"

From above me, the shrieking died off. There was a gurgling noise, like there was blood in her throat.

"Jason!" I called, my voice hoarse.

Behind me, a square of light appeared in the ceiling. A set of steps folded down and settled against the floor.

"Azazel?" said a voice. Jason's voice.

I flew to the stairs, scrambling up them as fast as I could. "Jason?" I said. "Jason?"

He caught me in his arms at the top of the steps. I dropped the gun I was holding to wrap myself around him. He smelled like sweat and blood, but I didn't care. He smelled like Jason. My Jason. I kissed his lips. His cheeks. His forehead. His chin. His neck. I couldn't stop kissing him.

"Jason, Jason, Jason," I murmured between kisses, feeling his arms tight around my waist. 

But Jason was pulling away from me.

He held my face in his palms and forced my face away from his. "You're hurt," he said. "You're bleeding."

"I'm fine," I said, tears starting to stream down my face. He was here. I'd found him. Nothing else mattered right then. I'd found Jason. We were together. Everything else was just periphery. I didn't care about anything except the fact I'd found him. 

"What happened to you?" he said.

There was so much. "I got away," I said. "I had to shoot people. They're dead."

"Jesus," he breathed. "But your head . . ."

"I was in a car accident."

"We've got to get you to a hospital."

I shook my head. "No. I'm a murderer. I can't go—" I broke off. Speaking of being a murderer. "Where's Michaela?"

"Who cares about her?" said Jason. "Let's just go. Both of us. Let's just go. Now."

I peered around Jason, actually looking at our surroundings for the first time. The attic was low-ceilinged. It had exposed rafters. It was lit entirely by candlelight. At least twenty candles squatted on the floor, between boxes and broken pieces of furniture. There was an old sewing machine, the kind with a pedal. In the corner, lying on several bloodstained rags was Michaela Weem.

She lay on her back. Her hand was bandaged, but the bandage was crusted with dry blood. Her head twisted towards me at an unnatural angle. Her eyes were wide and staring.

"Oh, Jason," I whispered. "What did you do?"

He touched my face again, turned my chin to face him. "I didn't know where you were," he said softly. 

Slowly, I disentangled myself from Jason. I went to Michaela. Kneeled next to her. She looked so old, lying there. Old and broken.

I looked at Jason. "She's your mother," I said.

Jason shook his head. "I don't have a mother," he said.

Suddenly, Michaela moved.

I leaped back, but not in time. She reached over, with her good hand and grasped my wrist. She sat up, gasping for breath.

I struggled against her grip, but she held me fast.

Jason rushed towards us.

Michaela pulled me top of her. I was lying with my back on top of her body. She snaked her arm around my neck. She tightened it.

"Stop, Fiend," she said to Jason.

Jason stopped, his eyes murderous. 

I could breathe, but it wasn't comfortable. And to think I'd been feeling sorry for this woman. I really was an idiot.

"That's your Vessel you're strangling," he rasped.

Michaela's mouth was close. I could feel her breath on my neck. I heard her voice in my ear. "Azazel," she said. "Oh Azazel. It's all gone wrong. My visions . . . they're swimming in confusion. Muddied. Swirled up. What have you done?"

I swallowed.

"I remember," Michaela continued, "what I saw when I first put my hands on your mother's belly and knew you were growing inside her. How delighted I was. You stood, strong and proud, clutching a spear of fire. You would vanquish the abomination. And your mother a Hoyt. It was too perfect."

"Hoyt?" I managed. "What's my mother's family got to do with this?"

Michaela Weem laughed, a high-pitched maniacal sound. "You don't know, do you?"

Jason shook his head. "Not those Hoyts," he said. 

"Yes," said Michaela Weem. "Yes."

"You're twisted," said Jason. "You and my father both. You claim it's got something to do with ancient power or fate or destiny or anything like that, but it's all about you—your revenge—your ability to do what you want."

"I don't understand," I said.

"Your great uncle is Weem's successor," said Michaela. "Where did you think all that Hoyt money came from? It comes from the Sons of the Rising Sun. To use their own blood against them. To use you . . ." She laughed again. "It was too perfect."

Wait. My mother's side of the family had ties to Sons? That would make sense, considering my grandmother hadn't wanted anything to do with the Satanists. But . . . "But the Sons killed my Aunt Stephanie," I protested. 

"The Sons are very rarely concerned with women's lives," said Michaela. "Very rarely concerned. And you, my dear sweet Azazel, you were going to be a thorn in their side. You were going to strike a blow to their foundations. Such a blow . . . But now . . . now I can't see. It's all a haze." Michaela's grip on my throat loosened a little bit. "It was so clear before. Two figures. One an agent of Chaos. One an agent of Order. One light. One dark. But now I can't see which is which."

What was she talking about? And she had to be wrong anyway. The Hoyts had nothing to do with the Sons. They couldn't. "Why was my grandmother helping Noah and Gordon, then?" I asked. "Why did she send them that car?"

Michaela cackled. "Oh, there are many, many things you don't know about Arabella Hoyt, Azazel. Many things." She smiled, humming to herself for a second. Then she stopped. "The Sons never would have noticed you, you know," she continued. "If you'd just struck. Smote him down. But now they know who you are. And they must control their precious Rising Sun. Oh, they must, mustn't they? But I can't see anymore, Azazel. I can't tell who you serve. Or who he serves. Do you use the power of Rabbit for evil, girl? Which of you, which of you, which of you should die? Which one?"

If my grandmother had ties to the Sons, then that would mean that the car that I drove to the house was a car that belonged to the Sons.

I looked up at Jason. "Jason," I said. "The Sons, they—"

And I was cut off by the sounds of several cars outside the house, all pulling to a stop. 

"They know where we are," I finished.

"Oh, I know, I know that only you can kill the abomination. But if you won't kill him, and both of you live, what worse things could happen? One of you must die!" And she pulled her arm tight around my neck. 

I gagged, my eyes going wide. Frantic, I scrabbled at her arm with my nails, raking her skin, drawing blood.

Jason raced to us, fishing out a gun. He put the barrel against Michaela Weem's head. "Let her go," he said.

Michaela only laughed. "Must die, must die, must die!" she squealed.

Jason shot her.

Immediately, her arm fell away from me lifelessly. Her body thudded back against the floor behind me.

I crawled away from her, into Jason's waiting arms.

I didn't look back, but Jason was staring at her. He didn't look away.

And the Sons were entering the house. We could hear their footsteps as they mounted the stairs, their voices as they opened doors.

"Jason?" I said. 

He didn't look away from Michaela. 

I only looked for a second. I only peeled my eyes away from the entrance for one moment, to look at what he was looking at. Michaela's body, frail and twisted, a sick smiled still on her lips.

A second was all it took.

I heard the gun shot, and I turned, but it was too late. 

Jason didn't even make a noise. He just collapsed against me, blood seeping out of his forehead.

"Jude?" I said.

He was standing at the opening to the attic, holding the gun I'd dropped. 

He smiled at me. "Hi Azazel," he said.

"Jude," I repeated. I'd left him alive. Of all of them, I'd left him alive. And it was funny. He'd seemed like such a bad shot at the target range. But he hadn't had any trouble this time. Right on the mark.

I looked back at Jason, his head slumped against my chest. His blood was flowing onto my shirt. He was— But no. No, that—

"Mother's gone," said Jude. "But so is he now. And now, Azazel, there's no reason we can't be together."

I started to tremble, then to shake. Spastic jerks. No. No. NO. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Fifteen

From: Arabella Hoyt 

To: Michaela Weem 

Subject: Is it done?

Michaela, you've been out of touch with me for days now. I just received communication from my grandsons. You promised me that this would be quick. I need word and soon. I'll only keep my end of the bargain if you keep yours.

Arabella

I could still hear the Sons scrambling through the house. Someone was coming up the steps behind Jude. 

It was Hallam. He tackled Jude, knocking Jude flat on his face on the floor of the attic. 

Behind him came a swarm of men dressed in black. Men toting guns. 

But it was like it was all moving in slow motion. Like reality had just snapped whatever hold it had on me. I couldn't grasp the thread of events that had transpired. I couldn't make my brain put them together.

"Jesus, Azazel," said Hallam, "why couldn't you have waited for me?"

I looked at him. I looked through him. What was going on? I shook Jason. "Jason," I said. "Wake up."

Jason's body jerked lifelessly with the force of my shaking. His head lopped forward. His chin bounced against his chest. I shook harder. "Jason!" I said insistently.

Hallam came to me. Behind him, the Sons were restraining Jude. Tying his hands behind his back. Hallam knelt. "Azazel," he said. "Stand up."

I glared at him. "No," I said.

I turned back to Jason. I guided his head back. I placed it in my lap. I cradled him, and I rocked. "This didn't happen, did it?" I asked Hallam. "He isn't . . ." I couldn't make myself say it.

Hallam reached across me, taking Jason's wrist. He was feeling for a pulse.

"Azazel," he whispered. "He's gone. Come away from the body."

"NO!" I shouted. I clutched Jason to me tighter. "No."

I gazed down at Jason's face. Unlike Lilith's, it still looked so perfect. There was only one small hole marring the beauty of his face, high on his forehead, just below his hairline. It wasn't even bleeding that much. There was no exit wound. I traced his nose and chin with my forefinger. 

He couldn't be dead. I'd just found him. It had been so hard to find him, and I'd had to go through so much. I'd shot three people in the head to find him. I'd faced the darkest part of myself. Resigned myself to future nightmares. Done things I'd never believed myself capable of. So, he couldn't be dead. After all of that, it just wouldn't be fair. It wouldn't be right. 

"No," I whispered, caressing his cheek with the back of my fingers. 

Hallam stood up and crossed the attic to the other members of the Sons. I heard him giving them orders, telling them what to do with Jude. Telling them to leave us alone for awhile. But I couldn’t really focus on the words. Everything still seemed fuzzy. There was a gauzy curtain between the world and me. I couldn't see straight. This couldn't be reality. Because Jason couldn't die. That wasn't the way things were supposed to go!

I loved Jason. He and I were supposed to ride off into the sunset together. He and I were supposed to live happily ever after. He wasn't supposed to die! And how, how, how, how could I possibly face the idea of being alive if he wasn't? It just wasn't true. It couldn’t be true. It couldn't be true!

I looked down at his face. It was true. Jason was dead.

The realization settled over me with icy certainty. Its truth seemed to crystallize the air in front of me. Things began to move at the proper speed. Things began to look clear again. That almost made it worse. Because everything was still going on, moving on, and Jason was dead. I felt like the world should stop. Like everything should stop functioning the way it usually did. How could everyone just keep going when Jason was dead?

Hallam sat down next to me again. We watched as the Sons left the attic. Then it was just me and Hallam. And the bodies. 

"I'm sorry, Azazel," said Hallam.

"Yes," I said. 

"But I'm glad I didn't have to do it," he said.

The statement should have made me angry. It didn't. I didn't really think I had the capacity for emotions right now. "You thought you'd have to kill Jason?"

"I hoped I wouldn't," said Hallam.

I held Jason close to me, still rocking his quiet body. My brain was still putting pieces together, even in the face of this. Would nothing stop me? Wasn't the death of Jason enough to stop me, even if it was enough to stop Jason?

"You've been working for the Sons this whole time, haven't you?" I said. 

"No," said Hallam. "I don't work for the Sons."

"You brought them here," I said.

"It's complicated," he said.

"Were they coming to capture Jason?" I asked. 

"I don't know why they were coming," said Hallam. "I just know that Weem put me in touch with them."

Right. He'd been talking to Weem. "Why were you in touch with Edgar Weem?"

Hallam didn't speak for a moment. His eyes darted from Jason's head in my lap to my eyes. "Are you sure you want to talk about this now?" he asked.

"No," I said. "Not sure about much of anything right now. But you might as well tell me."

"It's a long story," said Hallam.

"Guess I'm not going anywhere," I said. All my captors were dead or captured. The threat to me had been neutralized. Overall, I guessed I was safe. But the price . . . the price had been Jason's life, and the victory felt empty.

Shouldn't I be crying now? Shouldn't I be a mess? Why was I so calm? Dry-eyed? Was this the price I'd paid for killing my brothers and Lilith? Had I lost my ability to grieve? I remembered just minutes ago, when I'd been crying in joy at the sight of him. Now, when I'd never get to do that again, I was a stone. I didn't understand.

"Tell me," I said to Hallam, not looking away from Jason's face. 

"Okay," said Hallam. "In November, you remember, I went to talk to Edgar Weem, to work the deal for you and Jason."

"Yes," I said.

"I arrived in Weem's office that evening after flying to England. Weem was waiting for me. He already knew that I had documents about Michaela, so I figured that he was sure of the scale of what I'd discovered about him. During our phone conversation, he'd seemed worried and confused. By the time I arrived, he seemed even more so. I chalked this up to my impeccable detective skills. But once I got settled and we began talking, he started to tell me things.

"He seemed very contrite and very sad. He seemed very old. He told me that the whole business with Jason had happened when he was a younger man. He said that he'd been stupid then, thinking he could create the Rising Sun. He should have known that he couldn't mess with forces like the ones he'd been intending to mess with.

"I didn't understand what he meant. I told him frankly that I didn't believe in any forces anymore. I had evidence that the entire Rising Sun debacle had been engineered by him, and I wasn't inclined to listen to anymore mumbo-jumbo about ancient powers and magics and whatever other ridiculous nonsense he wanted to spew at me. I told him that I'd had enough of that while I was working for the Sons thank you very much, and I didn't want anymore of it now. I was here to work a deal, plain and simple.

"He said that I was mistaken. He said that yes, it was true that he had manufactured Jason, that he had fathered him. But, he said, I mustn't think that because he'd engineered the entire thing that there weren't very powerful things that had transpired in Jason's creation. He told me that I didn't know what depths he'd plummeted to in the search for that kind of knowledge. Then he went on some kind of extended comparison between him and Faust, about making deals with the devil for knowledge.

"I was starting to tune him out. Look, I said to him, it didn't matter whether or not he thought Jason was actually the Rising Sun or not. The fact was that once everyone else in the Sons found out what he'd done, they wouldn't think that Jason was the Rising Sun. I had the power to destroy the organization and to destroy him if he didn't cooperate with me. 

"He laughed then. He said that I shouldn't assume that he was trying to tell me that Jason was the Rising Sun. Quite the opposite, he said. He'd done awful, terrible things when creating Jason. He and Michaela had participated in rituals that were illegal and immoral and repulsive. He told me about some of them. I don't want to repeat much. He invoked powers dark and mysterious, powers that slumber in ancient texts, too horrible to be named, let alone be awakened. He said that he didn't think Jason was the Rising Sun at all. 

"He said, 'No, Hallam, I think I've created a monstrosity.'

"I told him he was insane. I'd spent years with Jason. He wasn't monstrous in any way.

"Weem began to give me examples of things. He pointed out the work Jason and I had done for the Sons. Violent work. He said that Jason had taken pleasure in it. I denied that. Jason hadn't. I said that I'd never even witnessed Jason taking another human life.

"Weem said that Jason had killed members of the Sons in New Jersey. He told me how efficient it was. He said Jason's work was the work of a trained assassin, one who has killed many times. He hinted that I might not know how many people Jason had killed or when.

"I still didn't believe him, and I said so.

"He said that finally, there was the fact that Jason had killed his mentor, Anton.

"I was appalled. 'You people killed Anton,' I said. After all, it was that action which had been the impetus for my leaving the Sons. I couldn't believe he would pin the event on Jason. It was low, I thought. Low and ridiculous. And I couldn’t figure what it was Weem wanted to accomplish by lying to me in this way.

"Weem shook his head. He insisted that Jason had actually killed Anton. And he could prove it."

I interrupted Hallam. "He could prove it?" I said. "But Jason didn't do that. There's no way. He loved Anton."

Hallam sighed. "This isn't a good time for me to be explaining this to you," he said. "We should wait. Later, when you're calmer—"

I silenced him with a look. "I'll never be calmer than I am now."

He nodded once. "He had a video, Azazel."

"He faked it!" I said.

Hallam shook his head. "I don't think so. Faking a video is a pretty tricky business. No, I'm sure it was Jason in the video. It was a security video. Grainy and black and white, but very convincing. If you could have seen it . . . Jason and Anton were clearly arguing. They were shouting at each other. There wasn't any sound, but I could tell they were both upset. Then Jason pulled out a gun and shot Anton. Over and over. And the expression on his face . . . Azazel, I've seen that expression. The first time I saw it was at that sorority house. He was just unloading his gun into Anton and he was . . . Azazel, he was smiling. Smiling.

"After, Jason stood over Anton for a long time. He crouched over the body. He started crying. But, there's no doubt in my mind that he killed Anton.

"After I saw the video, I was completely stunned. Weem told me that he was frightened about what he'd unleashed on the world. He said he was more than happy to sever the ties the Sons had with Jason. He wanted to wash his hands of the entire business. But he asked me to watch Jason. To see if this kind of behavior continued. To see if Jason was dangerous. And that's what I've been doing.

"I know you're hurting right now, but I think this was for the best," Hallam said to me. "I think that there was a side to Jason that maybe neither of us knew about. There was a part of him—a violent, dark part. It was starting to surface within him. All the fighting he was doing in Bradenton. It was just a matter of time before it got worse. After he killed Sutherland, I was worried that I was going to have to do something. Stop Jason somehow."

"Sutherland's alive," I said to Hallam.

"What?" Hallam said, looking genuinely confused.

"I saw him," I said. "At Father Gerald's rectory."

Hallam's look of confusion switched to a look of alarm. "Sutherland was with Father Gerald?"

"Yes," I said.

Hallam furrowed his brow. "It doesn't make sense. Why would Jason leave Sutherland alive?"

"He wasn't what you said he was," I said. "That's why. He wasn't violent or evil or dark. Sutherland knew that. He showed me emails he intercepted from the Sons. I'm Kali. Jason was Shiva. He was the good one. I was the dark one." I stroked Jason's face. "You were all wrong. All of you."

I leaned close to Jason. "I'm sorry," I said to him. "I'm so sorry. I love you. I love you forever."

Things had to be dealt with. I couldn't sit here forever, cradling Jason's dead body, listening to Hallam's stories. Instead, I had to get moving. My captors might be out of the way, but the Sons were here, Weem was still alive, and Sutherland was still out there. From the look on Hallam's face, that wasn't a good thing. 

Tenderly, I pressed my lips against Jason's, for what I knew would be the last time. I had to leave him, let him go. If nothing else, I had to make sure that everyone understood that he wasn't what they thought he was. Not a monster. Not the man who would enslave the world. Just Jason. My Jason.

I lingered on his lips for too long. I didn't want to let go. This was the final step in accepting the horror that had just occurred. Once I stopped kissing him, stopped holding him, his death would be real. I didn't want to face that.

But I had to. I broke away from Jason. I turned to Hallam. "What do we need to do?" I asked.

And Jason coughed in my lap. 

Coughed.

We both jerked our heads to look at him. His eyes were fluttering. He was coughing, as if air had just filled his lungs after a long break. 

"Jason?" I whispered. 

Was I dreaming?

"Hey," he said, looking around. 

"No," said Hallam. "He was dead. I felt his pulse."

Jason struggled into a sitting position, putting his hand to the wound on his forehead. "I'm not dead," he said. He smiled at me lopsidedly. "Didn't Michaela Weem say that only you could kill 'the abomination?' It's not the first time she's been right."

"He was dead," Hallam said.

I touched my lips. "I thought you were dead," I said.

"Who could be dead through a kiss like that?" said Jason. He pulled me close and kissed me again. My heart stopped in my chest. 

Hallam scrambled to his feet. "Isis and Osiris," he muttered. "You are the Rising Sun. Your consort breathed life into you. It's one of the signs."

Jason stood up too and helped me to my feet. He shrugged at me, taking my hand. "Well," he said, "gotta say it's good to be a dying god. But I really think this bullet didn't do much damage. It doesn't even hurt."

"You were dead!" Hallam said. "You didn't have a pulse!"

Jason laughed. "Right, Hallam. It's a miracle." He grinned at me. "Of course, I guess we did drive a bunch of men mad a few months ago. Maybe we really are, like, magic or something." He laughed again. "Come on, Azazel, we've got to get out of here."

"You can't leave," said Hallam. 

"Got to," said Jason. "Don't you know that I must be about screwing up my father's business?" He took his phone out of his pocket and hit a few numbers. Holding it to his ear, he said, "I've got her. Meet me out front. When can you get here? . . . Good." Jason hung up his phone. He turned to Hallam. "You double-crossed me. You've been in touch with Weem all this time."

"Did you overhear while you were . . . dead?" Hallam said.

"No," said Jason. "No, I've got a source. Listen, Hallam, you and I have a history. Just let me and Azazel walk out of here, okay? I'm willing to just let you go. You were my friend."

Hallam looked confused. "Where are you going?"

"I never want to see you again," said Jason. "If I do, I'll have to kill you."

Jason took my hand and led me through the house. When the Sons saw us, they dropped their guns. They fell to their knees. They whispered amongst themselves things like, "He's alive" and "He is the one." On the front porch, two of the Sons were wrestling with Jude. When Jude saw us, he went nuts.

He yelled after us, "This isn't over, Jason! You killed Mother! I won't ever forget that, and I'll make sure you don't either!"

But in the tired darkness of the wee hours of the morning, with the moon sagging in the sky above us, a car pulled up in front of Michaela Weem's house. Jason led me towards it.

"Jason," I said, "who . . .?"

"You'll see," he said, opening the door for me.

We slid into the back seat together, and Jason slid his arm around me, holding me tight against him. It felt so good to be close to him.

The driver in the car turned around. "Where to, kids?" he said.

I looked at Jason in alarm.

The driver was Sutherland. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Epilogue

Twenty hours later, Jason and I were standing at the Trevi Fountain in Rome, Italy. It was midmorning in the eternal city. Bright sunlight filtered through the ancient buildings and a crowd of tourist had already gathered around the fountain. The water cascaded over the statues, which were so life-like, I thought the stone horses were going to leap out at us over the frothy water and gallop across the square. Of course, that might have been just because I was ridiculously sleep deprived.

I hadn't slept—really slept anyway—since the night that I huddled with Lilith in the abandoned house. Instead, Sutherland had taken both Jason and I to the airport, where we'd caught a flight to Rome, prepaid by the Catholic Church. I was confused. I tried to ask Jason questions as we waited for the plane, but it wasn't until we boarded and got settled that we really got to talk. 

During the long flight to Rome, Jason had explained as best as he could what had happened. "First of all," he said. "I owe you an apology. I kept saying you were paranoid, and that there wasn't any danger, and you were right all along."

"No," I said. "I thought it was the Sons. I was wrong. And I was totally clueless about Jude. I should have listened to you."

"I should have listened to you," Jason said. "I can't keep running away from this stuff. It follows me everywhere. It's part of who I am. I won't forget that again. Okay?"

I kissed him. "I'm just glad you're alive."

He grinned. "Well, so am I."

Jason began to explain. After beating Sutherland to an inch of his life, Sutherland had begged Jason to let him live, promising to tell Jason information that he knew about the Satanists and Jude. Disgusted, Jason had left him, coming back to me that night, dazed from his violence. After I'd disappeared, Jason remembered what I'd said to him about the Satanists. He'd hunted Sutherland down and beaten the information out of him. 

"Sutherland and I made a deal," Jason said. "In return for his cooperation and any information he knew about me or you, I told him who my father was."

Sutherland, in return, had told him that Michaela Weem had engineered the capturing of me. He'd been doing Michaela a favor by watching me. That was why he'd been in Bradenton. Sutherland also told Jason that Jude was actually Michaela's son. Further, he told Jason that Hallam was in contact with Edgar Weem. 

Armed with this knowledge, Jason had gone to Michaela's house, tied her up, and left the note for Jude to find. Sutherland had used his knowledge to contact the biggest enemy of the Sons that existed—the Catholic Church.

I was surprised. Jason said that he was too. Since Jason knew that Hallam was working for Weem, he got Sutherland to work a deal with the Church. In exchange for sheltering us, we'd help them fight against the Sons. That was why we were in Italy now. We were guests of the order of Reddimus, here in Rome. It seemed that it was our lot in life to stay with people who wouldn't let us have sex.

Because of Sutherland's actions, big changes were going down in the Sons. Weem had purportedly stepped down and had been succeeded by Ian Hoyt, my great uncle, who I'd never heard of. There were things I didn't understand about the connection between the Hoyts and the Sons. Was Grandma Hoyt working with the Sons? Was she working with the Satanists? Now that we were in Italy, I also fully intended to visit my younger brother Chance at his boarding school. I thought it was strange that my grandmother had sent him away right before everything had gone down with Gordon and Noah. I didn't know what was going on with my grandmother. 

Then I'd spent some time catching Jason up on everything that had happened to me. I was breezing past some of the things at first, like how Noah and Gordon had showed me hours of videotape and documents proving that Jason was actually a cold-blooded killer. Jason stopped me and asked me about it though.

"They showed you what?" he asked.

I explained again, but slower. He wanted to know about the video of the girl from the sorority house. He made me explain it in excruciating detail. I felt embarrassed, frightened that Jason would think that just because I was telling him the story, I also believed it. I didn't. But I was confused. I wasn't sure what to think.

"She said I was smiling?" Jason repeated.

I toyed with the tray table—the remains of the snack that the flight attendant had yet to collect from us. "A lot of people said that about you. That you were smiling."

"Really?" said Jason. He looked disturbed. He settled back into his chair and looked into the aisle of the plane. 

"And Hallam said it too. He said that he saw you kill Anton on a video tape and that you were smiling when you did it."

"Really," Jason repeated, still not looking at me.

"I don't believe it," I said. "Or . . . even if it is true, it doesn't matter."

He turned to me then. "You mean that?" he said. 

"Of course I mean it," I said.

"No matter what I've done."

"No matter what you've done, I'll always love you," I said. "I overheard you saying something like that about me to Lilith."

He nodded. "I did. It's true."

"Did you . . . did you kill people before you met me?"

Jason stared down at his fingers. He shook his head. "No," he said. "No, of course not."

I nodded. Of course, he hadn't. How could I have believed . . .? I hadn't, though. I hadn't believed. We were quiet for a little bit, then Jason prompted me to go on.

I finished explaining what had happened to me, everything, including shooting Noah and Gordon and killing Lilith. Jason squeezed my hand tight when I thought I might cry. And I didn't.

"It's good that we're talking about all of this," Jason said. "I don't think we've been communicating enough lately. We've been avoiding things that are true. We never talked about what happened in Shiloh. About the Sons going nuts."

I was glad he said that. I'd been thinking about that too. In the house with Noah and Gordon. "I know," I said. "We've been running from who we are. From what we are."

"We tell each other everything from now on," he said.

"Yes," I said. "And it doesn't matter what it is. Because I trust you, and I want to know you. And I want to know everything you've ever felt or done been."

"Then we tell each other everything."

"Everything."

* * *

Once in Rome, our wounds bandaged, we'd gone sight-seeing. The monks of the order assured us that the Sons wouldn't bother us in Rome. The entire city was a sanctuary of sorts, considering its history and ties to the Church. We wandered freely through the streets, feeling a kind of liberty we hadn't felt in months. 

Next to us, a tour guide was telling her tour that throwing one coin over your shoulder into the fountain would ensure you returned to Rome, two would mean that you'd find new love, and three would mean your current lover would break up with you. Jason and I didn't have any coins, so we didn't throw any. 

But it wouldn't have mattered anyway. We were going to be in Rome for quite some time. Returning wasn't an issue. As for love, we had exactly what we wanted. True love. Honest love. Forever.

* * *

Later, as twilight was falling on Rome, we wandered through the stone streets, hand in hand. We paused and sat down on the Spanish steps. I lay my head on Jason's shoulder. And he took my hand. Then he whispered in my ear, "I lied to you."

I started, moving to look at him.

"One thing," he said. "And I guess I've been lying to myself about it for a long time too, because I didn't want to face it. But when I'm with you, I don't feel like I'm who I used to be. And when I'm with you, I feel like . . ."

"You can tell me anything, Jason. You know that."

"He called me an abomination," said Jason. "The same words Michaela Weem used. When she said them, I thought of it. That night, he came to me, and he said that I was a thing of great evil. He was all I ever had. And he wanted me dead."

I took Jason's hands in mine. "You killed Anton, didn’t you?"

He nodded.