Trembling (20 page)

* * *

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.