by T. Frohock
Diago ran.
The golem’s shouts grew panicked as it called after him. “Papa! I love you! Kiss me! Papa! Can I live with you? Do you promise? Do you promise? Kiss-me-I-love-you!”
Diago clattered down the stairs and almost fell when his foot hit the concrete. Too much blood. We used too much blood, and now it has taken a will of its own and doesn’t want to die.
“IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIlove . . .” Moloch took up the golem’s cries, and the horrible duet echoed off the walls of the daimon’s chamber.
Diago fled from that sound, across the massive room and back into the passageway. After he was around the first bend and well away from Moloch’s lair, he ducked into an alcove and opened the pouch with a shaking hand. He spilled Prieto’s coin into his palm and thought the angel’s designation of “coin” was highly inappropriate. The medallion was far too heavy to be a modern coin. Another bright flash radiated from its center before dimming back to a dull silver color. Diago closed his hand over the coin and searched his pockets.
All he had were two pesetas and a few centimos, each of which were too small. Sick with despair, he reached deeper until his fingers touched the magnifying glass. The circumference of the brass case was a little large, but the weight of it was close to Prieto’s coin. It would have to do. He had nothing else. Diago transferred the coin to his pocket and placed the magnifying glass in the pouch.
He clenched the pouch in his right hand and resumed his flight. The walls blurred as the tunnel narrowed again. He summoned the Nefilim’s speed, alert to the sounds behind him. The daimon’s mimicry had stopped, and silence pervaded the darkness.
The smooth floor gave way to the sewer’s trough. Diago found the concrete walkway that led back to the subway station. Overhead, the lights winked out one by one as he passed beneath them. A hitch formed in his side. He ignored the pain and didn’t slow.
Over the pounding of the machinery, Moloch’s enraged howl suddenly filled the tunnels. The sound ricocheted off the walls and seemed to envelope Diago in its wrath.
Moloch had discovered their deception. He yowled at the remaining ‘aulaqs, and while the distance obscured his words, the intent was clear: they were coming, and they were furious.
Diago drew his knife. Terror lent him speed. If he could make it to the door, he could slam it shut and bolt it—if there was a bolt, that is. He desperately tried to remember if there was one. He glanced over his shoulder. Nothing but darkness bled behind him.
The lights overhead flickered and dimmed.
And if they go out, I will drown in the dark. A sob crawled into his throat. He swallowed it and rushed onward. The time for self-pity was long gone.
The passage curved hard to the left. Diago slowed and took the turn at half speed. Meters away, the two tunnels joined together. The little footbridge was just beyond the juncture. Past the footbridge, Diago saw the door that led to the station. With sanctuary in sight, his hope surged. He summoned the last of his energy and sprinted for the door.
At the junction of the two tunnels, the scarred male emerged from the second passage. He slammed against Diago and caught him midstride. Diago was still moving when they hit the wall together in a tangled mass of limbs.
Searing pain lanced Diago’s hip and shoulder. Tumbling into the sewage, they slid through the muck, neither of them able to gain an advantage. Diago clutched the pouch in one hand. With his left, he slashed wildly with his knife and caught the ‘aulaq’s eye with the tip. The vampire screeched and fell backward.
Diago kicked the ‘aulaq in the face. His heel caught the vampire in the mouth. The move won him a brief respite. Diago didn’t waste it.
The lights flickered overhead, but they didn’t go out. Not yet. Moloch wanted him to see his death coming, of that Diago was certain.
Unable to get his feet under him, he crawled to the footbridge. He grabbed the slab and pulled himself up. Before he got to his knees, the female ‘aulaq appeared from the shadows. The ball of her foot caught his chin. He spun and dropped the knife, but the pouch remained tight in his hand.
The male ‘aulaq grabbed Diago’s fist. “Let it go. I’ll tear your fucking fingers off.” He pried at Diago’s pinky and wormed his thumb into the space between Diago’s palm and finger.
The female grabbed Diago’s other wrist and jerked his arm high against his back.
Overhead, the ceiling vibrated gently. The train. The train was coming, but Diago knew he was going to miss it. He tried to twist away from the vampires, but they held him immobile.
Down the passageway, two eyes shined like lamps as Moloch strolled out of the darkness. He grinned and held Alvaro’s severed head before him like an offering.
Diago’s throat burned. I will watch for you, Alvaro. I will watch for you, and when you come in your next incarnation, we will begin anew.
Moloch’s voice interrupted Diago’s grief. “Did you really believe you could win, Diago?”
The male ‘aulaq succeeded in forcing Diago’s pinky open. He leaned down and bit Diago’s finger off.
The pain was terrible. It was as if acid flowed through his veins. Diago screamed. He bucked so violently that the female almost lost her grip on him.
Hot with nausea, Diago looked down. The wound smoked, cauterized by vampire’s poison.
Moloch positioned Alvaro’s head in the trough in front of Diago. “He didn’t resist. He knew he was dead the moment the lie fell out of his mouth. Do you see the destruction you leave in your wake, Diago? You killed him.” The daimon stepped back and admired his handiwork. “Now I need a new ‘aulaq.” He considered Diago as if seeing him for the first time. “You can take your father’s place. Come to me willingly or I will force you. Your choice, Diago. Say the words. Swear your oath to me and keep your spirit whole. Otherwise, I will make you my slave.” The daimon shoved his signet ring beneath Diago’s nose.
Diago spat on the ring.
“Break his arm,” said Moloch. “He’ll let the pouch go.”
The male grinned and snapped Diago’s arm like twig. Diago heard it before he felt it. Both times he was almost sick.
Excited by the violence, the female snapped at Diago’s face. He turned his head. Her fangs dug furrows into his cheek. The male leaned down and licked the blood away.
Overhead, the lights went out.
The darkness came down in one ugly rush.
“Soon, you will like the dark,” Moloch whispered.
The male ‘aulaq’s teeth touched Diago’s throat.
Rafael’s golden snake struck.
Rafael sat up straight when he heard the strange voice howl. His father’s scream followed soon afterward.
Rafael’s heart pounded. “Papa?”
Miquel jerked upright and fumbled for the gun.
Somewhere in the distance, a train rumbled. Rafael couldn’t tell if it was coming their way or not. He stood and threw off his father’s coat, clutching the mirrored box. He stared at the stairwell and willed his papa to come up the stairs. Nothing but blackness yawned from the depths.
“Stay here,” Miquel commanded. “He needs help. I’ll be back.”
But he was moving too slowly. The sounds of a fight echoed up the stairs. There wasn’t time to wait for Miquel. Rafael bolted for the door.
“Rafael! Stop!”
Rafael ran down the stairs as fast as he could. Just as he reached the bottom landing, Miquel appeared at the top of the stairway. The sigil writhed around his heart, twisting like snakes in a nest until the lines joined and formed an hourglass. Their time was running out.
Rafael ignored Miquel’s order to return upstairs. He had waited so long for his papa. He wasn’t going to lose him now.
He pulled the little door open and squeezed through. Light pushed back the tunnel’s blackness. The scene froze him in place.
To his lef
t, he saw his papa on his knees. Blood tangled his hair and dripped from his chin. His face was so bruised, Rafael almost didn’t recognize him. One arm hung limply at his side, the bone jutting through his flesh.
One of the vampires staggered away from Papa. Rafael’s golden snake was wrapped around his head, blinding his eyes. The ‘aulaq clawed his face and made little grunting noises.
The female ‘aulaq used her stump to hook the cord of a small sack off the ground. She draped the string over her head, and the pouch swung between her flabby breasts. She narrowed her eyes at Rafael and the light behind him. Unconcerned about his presence, she did little more than growl while tightening her fingers on Papa’s wrist.
The creature in front of his papa was the worst. He could only be Moloch, the daimon that Señor Prieto wanted to appease.
Moloch smiled with the same kind of gotcha smile that Sister Benita used whenever she caught Rafael doing something bad. “There you are, my pretty child.”
The daimon’s mellifluous tones surprised Rafael. He had imagined Moloch’s voice as being both loud and hard. Instead, the daimon’s timbre made Rafael think of the sea. He imagined waves gently lapping at the beach. Lulled by the serene beats, Rafael lowered the box and took a step toward Moloch.
“That’s right, sweetness,” the daimon cooed. “Come to me. I will give you peace.”
Papa twisted hard in the vampire’s grip. The motion broke Rafael’s paralysis.
“Run, Rafael!” Papa shouted. “The train! Get to the train!”
The female vampire slapped him, but she was too late. Moloch’s illusion fell away, ruptured by his papa’s fear. The hair on Rafael’s arms rose. He lifted the mirrored box and sang like his mamá had taught him.
A loud boom shook the air. Sparks flew when the bullet nicked the tunnel wall just over the male vampire’s head. Rafael lost his song and looked over his shoulder.
Miquel had finally come. He lowered the gun and sang a chord of his own. His magic brought forth a white sigil borne of rage. The lines sawed the air and left blades of light in its wake. Miquel channeled the glyph at the male ‘aulaq. The sigil struck the vampire’s chest, and he shrieked like he was on fire.
Deafened by the reports in the enclosed space, Rafael panicked. His mother had told him to listen and now he couldn’t hear! He shook his head but sound eluded him.
Two more shots thundered through the tunnel. The female yowled like a burning hound and clutched her eyes. Cordite filled the air and tickled Rafael’s throat.
Listen to your body, his mother had said.
Moloch shoved Papa aside with his foot. Rafael raised the mirrored box a second time and focused on the daimon. Buried within the tinnitus caused by the shots, he found his mother’s ethereal tones once more. The stars sang their lonesome song, and Rafael caught the notes one by one with his boyish soprano. He exhaled, and in doing so, released his mother’s magic from his soul. Mist traveled through his lips and turned into a mighty golden serpent, ten times larger than the little magic he had sent with his papa. The snake from his dreams. It touched the mirrored panels of the box and transformed into a million golden snakes. They struck Moloch as one.
The serpents wrapped the daimon in their shimmering scales. Moloch twisted and tried to bat them aside. One snake slithered into the daimon’s mouth. His flesh smoldered and smoked. He tore at the serpents, but they bit him and ripped his thin flesh from his hooked black bones.
Rafael felt his father’s tenor lend strength to his fledgling song. Together they sang their spell to life.
The rumble of the train provided the bass.
The female ‘aulaq fled back toward Moloch’s lair, clutching the pouch as she ran.
The decoy had worked, but Diago felt no triumph at the deception. His only concern was for Rafael. Darkness feathered his peripheral vision. He fought to remain conscious.
Suddenly, hands were on his collar—it was Miquel. He dragged Diago away from Moloch, jerking him to his feet. Miquel shoved him toward the door. “Go!”
To Diago’s horror, though, he saw Rafael standing in the center of the trough. The boy faced Moloch, who was merely meters away. Rafael sang with his angel’s voice, and his spell rose straight from his heart.
Shards of glass and golden light flew out of Rafael’s hands. Diago barely had time to sing a chord of his own. He lent his fading strength to his child’s magic, pushing his own sigil behind his son’s spell. Splinters of light pierced Moloch’s flesh.
The daimon’s shrieks cracked the walls.
Stunned by effect of his magic, Rafael staggered back and looked at his empty hands in wonder.
Diago started toward his son—my brave, magnificent son—but Miquel caught his arm. “Go!” he repeated. “I’ll get him!”
Diago cradled his injured hand and didn’t argue. He was in no condition to carry Rafael. He lurched toward the door.
Overhead, the train was slowing.
Miquel grabbed Rafael around the waist and lifted him. “Hurry!”
They got through the door and slammed it shut as Rafael’s spell died. They half fell, half staggered up the stairs where the train awaited them. No ‘aulaqs peered from the windows. The train’s doors whooshed open.
Miquel pushed them inside. They had barely entered the car when the doors closed and the train rolled away. Moloch’s howls followed them down the tracks.
Diago hooked his good arm around a pole and spun into a seat. He reached into his pocket and withdrew Prieto’s coin. He expected relief, only to be confounded with sorrow. He’d won, but the price had been dear . . . and he wasn’t thinking about his arm.
Miquel collapsed beside him. Rafael worked his way between them. Diago barely noticed when the small golden snake slithered down his arm and into Rafael’s waiting palm where it once more became a perfectly round angel’s tear.
Rafael closed his fist over the teardrop. “My ears hurt.”
Miquel made a sound that was lost somewhere between a sob and a laugh. He covered his mouth with a shaking hand.
Diago glanced down at his arm. Bone glimmered wetly beneath the torn skin. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths until his nausea subsided. He promised himself he wouldn’t look again. “Hold on, Miquel. We’re almost there.” He reached over and touched Miquel’s thigh.
Rafael looked at the sigil on Miquel’s chest. He lifted Candela’s tear to the angel’s glyph, and hummed a song that was almost inaudible beneath Diago’s tinnitus and the rumble of the train. To Diago’s surprise, Prieto’s sigil weakened beneath Rafael’s magic.
Color slowly returned to Miquel’s face. He opened his eyes and regarded Rafael with wide eyes. “Diago?”
“I see it.” No other Nefil could untangle a sigil created by an angel, not this easily, and Rafael was just a child.
What would he become when he learned his song?
The train slowed, and another question leapt to his mind:
What would Prieto do when he saw I cheated Moloch? Diago’s heart quickened. He remembered Prieto’s threat: You can’t hide him. I found him once, I’ll find him again.
We’ll see about that, you son of a bitch. “Rafael, hide.”
“I’m not done.”
“I’m better, Rafael.” Miquel took the boy’s wrist. “Do as your father says. Now!”
Rafael ran down the car and scooted under a row of seats. He curled up in the shadows. Prieto’s sigil slowly gained strength again, but not so much as to prevent Miquel from standing. He helped Diago rise, and together they moved away from Rafael’s hiding place.
The train stopped and the doors opened. Prieto waited on the platform. He glanced at Diago’s hand. “What happened?”
Diago threw the coin at him.
Prieto caught it and flipped it once before making it disappear within the folds of his clothes. Without tak
ing his eyes off Diago, he gestured for Miquel to step forward. When Miquel was before the angel, Prieto placed his hand on Miquel’s chest and, after several moments, the sigil disappeared. Only then did Diago breathe somewhat easier.
Prieto repeated his question. “What happened?”
Diago had his lie prepared. “Moloch tried to cheat me. He wanted my son, then refused to give me the coin. I fought him for it and won.”
“You’re lying.”
“I am the deceiver.”
“I can force you to answer.”
“You got what you wanted. Leave me to my pain.”
Prieto considered Diago, and for a terrible minute, Diago thought that Prieto would push his advantage. Instead, the angel surprised him and said, “Get off at the next stop. I summoned Guillermo. He’ll be waiting for you with a car.”
“Does he know what happened?” Miquel asked.
Prieto stepped back, away from the train. “He knows what I told him, and I told him less than I told you.”
Which meant he had informed Guillermo there was trouble that involved Diago and Miquel, but little else. Prieto waved his hand and the doors closed. The train eased away from the station.
Diago remained standing until Prieto was out of sight. He watched his own reflection in the glass and tried to see his father’s face in his own. All they shared were the same haunted eyes.
Miquel stroked the back of Diago’s neck. “Come. Sit and rest.”
Diago obeyed him. He didn’t have the strength for anything more. Suddenly, he wanted Rafael’s warmth near him. “Rafael? You can come out now.”
The boy scrambled from beneath the seat and settled in between them. Diago put his arm around his son and hugged him close. While Rafael dozed, Diago told Miquel about Alvaro. Twice his grief choked him so hard, he couldn’t go on. But he didn’t cry. Diago’s tears had abandoned him long ago, and left nothing but a desert in his soul.
They emerged from the train into an empty station. Diago had no idea where they were. On the far wall, a clock moved its hands toward the hour of three.
Diago leaned heavily on Miquel as they followed the stairs up to the surface. Between his injuries and his trauma, he could barely lift his feet to navigate the endless steps. Every footfall sent bolts of agony through his body. The ‘aulaq’s poison had settled in his veins. He clenched his teeth together so hard, his head hurt. He was cold, and couldn’t remember what he did with coat or his hat, or even why he was out so late.
