Los Nefilim Book 4

by T. Frohock

Jaso whined behind his hand.

  “Here now, Officer,” said the mortal. “Let us help you.”

  No, no, no, Diago thought, but he saw no quick way to stop the doctor without drawing more attention.

  The mortal gestured to a petite nun. “Sister! Do you have a moment?”

  When she turned around, Diago noticed a blood spatter on her veil. She deftly folded her black robes over the blood and came forward. One look in her light cinnamon eyes told him she was Nefil.

  Two other nuns, who were clearly twins, trailed in her wake like black ghosts. The twins bore a striking resemblance to the petite nun. They are sisters in blood, not the cloth. And all were angel-­born Nefilim.

  This might work after all.

  “Sister Sofia at your ser­vice, Doctor.”

  Although her name was unfamiliar, the murderous look she gave Jaso eased Diago’s mind. Jaso, on the other hand, tried to twist free of Diago’s grip.

  The twins halted behind Sister Sofia. They folded their hands primly and bowed their heads in unison. Their names suddenly came to Diago: the Corvo sisters. Sofia was the eldest and the strongest singer of the three. Maria and Eva were the twins; although, Diago had no idea which one was Maria or which one was Eva.

  At the moment, it couldn’t possibly matter.

  The mortal didn’t notice the blood on the nuns’ habits, or their icy appraisal of Jaso. He asked, “Sister Sofia, would you have a moment to escort this officer to the infirmary?”

  She crossed herself and considered Jaso with her cold shark’s eyes. “I would be delighted to help the good officer find his way home.” Her countenance suggested she would enthusiastically escort Jaso to Hell and shove him into the fires.

  Jaso shook his head. “I don’t need her help.”

  “Of course, you do,” Diago said. “What if you fall down again?”

  Sister Sofia grinned. “Yes.” She didn’t give Jaso a chance to pull away. “What if you fall harder next time?”

  He winced and scanned the corridor for help. None of Engel’s ­people were around. Neither were the other Nefilim who had joined Garcia’s little rebellion. Jaso was all alone, and his courage abandoned him like his comrades.

  The mortal doctor patted Jaso’s arm. “Well, that’s sorted.” He nodded at them, and then blustered on his way.

  “See? It’s sorted,” said Sister Sofia. She leaned close to Jaso. “Don’t make me sing your death song.”

  Her threat was enough to subdue him. “I didn’t want to do any of this,” Jaso protested. “It was Garcia. He said he had Don Guillermo’s approval.”

  “Shut up,” Sofia said. She turned to Diago. “Get Rafael. Go to the next junction. Take a right. The elevator will be halfway down the hall on the left.” As she passed him, he discretely handed Jaso’s gun to her. She allowed her sleeve to fall over the weapon. “Sisters Maria and Eva will assist you, Dr. Alvarez.”

  “Thank you,” he bowed his head to her as she led the protesting Jaso away. He doubted she would ever know the full extent of his gratitude.

  Sisters Maria and Eva drifted over to stand beside the vent. Like Sofia, they possessed eyes the color of cinnamon, but unlike their sister, their smiles were sweet. They pretended to speak in a hushed conversation. Instead, they sang a song that masked their presence to the mortals.

  Diago slipped behind them. They used their wide skirts to shield him as he lifted the grill.

  Rafael crawled out and threw his arms around Diago’s neck. He wore his little satchel and clutched his mother’s tear. Aside from being dirty and a little bruised, he seemed fine. Diago hugged him so tight, Rafael squeaked.

  He kissed his son’s brow. “You are my brave, clever child.”

  “I knew you would come.” Rafael buried his face against Diago’s neck. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me.” He pulled back. “Did Ghost help?”

  Diago nodded. “Where did she go?”

  “Back into the picture where she belongs.”

  “Good. Now we’re going home where we belong, my little bear.” Diago rose with his son in his arms. Holding Rafael against his chest, he quickly got his bearings and set off in the direction Sofia had indicated. Maria and Eva walked with him. One twin remained two steps behind to guard their rear while the other sister increased her stride until she was two steps ahead.

  Los Nefilim had come for them, just as Miquel had promised. Overwhelmed with gratitude, Diago’s eyes burned. But we aren’t free, yet, not even close. And he wouldn’t feel safe until they were in Santuari again. Blinking rapidly, Diago picked up his pace.

  Sisters Maria and Eva had no difficulty matching his stride. Their heels struck the concrete. The rhythm was a battle march.

  They reached the corner.

  Rafael whispered, “Papa, he’s coming.”

  “Who?”

  “Inspector Garcia.”

  Diago turned right. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed Garcia, along with the German orderly Diago hadn’t killed. They were searching every face, stopping nuns and orderlies alike, only to release them again. Both Garcia and the German had murder in their eyes.

  And Engel? Where the fuck was Engel?

  Then the sister just in front of him—­whether she was Maria or Eva, he didn’t know—­touched his arm and pointed. A few metres ahead, Miquel stood beside the elevator. Guillermo held open the door.

  Diago’s heart pounded. So close. We are so close.

  “Papa?” Rafael tightened his hold on Diago’s neck. “He’s coming!”

  From behind them, Garcia shouted. “Stop! Stop them!”

  “Run,” whispered Sister Maria.

  “Run,” murmured Sister Eva.

  Diago didn’t look back. He ran.

  Mortals scattered from their path and ducked down adjacent passages, or into workrooms. The hall that had seemed so full only moments ago was now deserted but for the Nefilim.

  “Don’t shoot!” Garcia warned the German. “You might hit the boy! There are other ways . . .” His words ended in a low note that caused the air to shimmer.

  The German harmonized, and Diago’s pulse hammered in time with the song. The air became oppressive. Overhead lights crackled and buzzed, flickering with black shadows.

  Maria and Eva whirled and chanted together. They twisted golden vibrations into a bright ward that flared into a miniature sun to drive back the dark.

  From his place beside the elevator door, Guillermo sang out a note and traced a protective sigil in the air. He thrust the ward toward Diago and the Corvo twins.

  Diago’s mouth went dry. Our luck is gone and now it will go bad for us.

  He didn’t see Garcia’s ward, but he felt the effect. A hot wind rushed down the corridor. Diago’s feet left the ground. Rafael’s body locked against his. This was how it felt to be swept out to sea. For one terrifying moment, he thought he and Rafael would be crushed by the vortex of sound. When he hit the floor again, he stumbled.

  Miquel dashed out of the elevator and caught him before he fell. “Quick! Get inside!” He shoved Diago toward the car.

  “Eva!” Maria cried out.

  As Diago reached the elevator, he saw Eva on the ground, Maria standing behind her. Maria ran to her sister and pulled her to her feet. She supported Eva, who stumbled as if she was drunk. Blood poured from her nose and mouth. She must have taken the brunt of Garcia’s spell.

  Guillermo got between the twins and Garcia. He lifted his revolver.

  Garcia and the German ducked around the corner.

  Guillermo spun on his heel without shooting and joined the twins. He swept Eva into his arms and carried her to the car.

  When they were inside, Miquel threw the gate shut and jabbed the button as if he wanted to kill it. Gears churned to life and the elevator rose.

  Guillermo eased Eva to the floor. “Ya, y
a, ya,” he sang softly.

  Diago put Rafael down. He took off his stolen coat and used the sleeve to gently wipe the blood from Eva’s lips and chin.

  Maria knelt beside her sister and cradled her head. “Can you save her?”

  “She is not going to die,” Guillermo said. It wasn’t a diagnosis, but a vow. “Hear me, Eva Corvo. Take my song as your own.” He hummed and twisted the fiery notes into the sigil for life. The ward whispered between her lips and down her throat.

  Nothing happened. If she had slipped too far into death’s realm, she might not answer his call.

  Guillermo created two more sigils. He placed one over her heart and the other on her brow. As the wards penetrated her flesh, the elevator seemed to slow—­time itself crawled as if they’d passed into another realm.

  Death, thought Diago. Guillermo is pulling her back from death’s realm.

  Guillermo pressed his thumbs against her temples. Red-­gold light bathed his hands and her face.

  “Eva Corvo! I command you to return!” Guillermo’s voice ruptured the strange silence.

  Time snapped into motion again.

  Eva gasped. Her body convulsed as if she’d been electrocuted.

  The thought of electrocution revived the image of Amparo in Diago’s mind, and he flinched just as Eva opened her eyes.

  “Don’t be afraid.” Eva smiled at Diago as she took Guillermo’s hand and kissed his ring. “This is why he is king.”

  The tension loosened in Diago’s chest. He was wrong. Luck was still very much with them.

  Guillermo rose and brushed the dirt from his knees. His freckles stood out against his pale skin and his hands trembled. The power he’d exerted to reverse Garcia’s spell had taken a toll on him, but a lesser Nefil would have failed to bring her back.

  Diago reassessed his old friend in a new light. Guillermo’s power had grown immense over the centuries, yet his countenance lacked Solomon’s old bravado. He remained humble in a way that Solomon could never imagine.

  The opportunity to change was forever denied to Amparo. Diago felt her loss even more profoundly. I will not be so quick to recommend the second death, not even to Alvaro—­although if anyone deserves it. . .

  Rafael wiggled in beside Diago and touched Eva’s forehead. “Will you be okay?”

  “Oh, yes.” She stroked the child’s cheek. “I am old and full of magic. Don Guillermo guided me back, and now I will heal.”

  They helped her to her feet. Her skin was still ashen, but she could move on her own power. Maria took the coat from Diago and fussed over her twin, wiping the last vestiges of blood from her face.

  Miquel leaned forward and gave Diago a light kiss.

  Lips tingling from his lover’s touch, Diago was barely aware of Rafael working his way between them.

  “Eww, no kissing.” Rafael scrunched his face in disapproval. “Ysa says kissing is gross.”

  “Not if you do it right,” Guillermo said. He glanced at Diago. “Where’s Engel?”

  Maria said, “He didn’t come to see his Nephilim die.” She sounded disappointed.

  “I don’t know where he is,” Diago admitted. “I heard him barking orders at Garcia, but I didn’t see him after I left the cell. He may think he has the idea for the bomb.”

  Guillermo turned around. “Why would he think that?”

  Diago met his friend’s questioning stare. “I summoned Moloch to ask him to create a replica of the idea. I told him the truth: Engel intended to give Rafael the second death if I failed to obtain Prieto’s idea for the bomb. Rather than see Rafael destroyed, Moloch gave me a facsimile.”

  “You negotiated with the daimons?” Guillermo raised his eyebrows.

  Diago’s heart stammered. “I had an hour to procure the idea. I didn’t know what was happening at Santuari. For all I knew, you had a full scale insurrection on your hands. I did what I thought was right. I gave Moloch nothing. I also discovered more about Alvaro. He and Moloch now inhabit the same body. They have become a new god.”

  “He what?”

  “They’ve become—­”

  Guillermo cut Diago off with a gesture. “No, we’ll talk more later. Don’t worry, though—­you did fine. You might have purchased us enough time to get back to Santuari before Engel discovers the deception.”

  “We’ll make it,” said Miquel. “We’ve been through far worse than this.”

  “So you always say,” Diago muttered.

  Rafael touched Diago’s palm.

  Diago knelt beside him. I let him go once. It won’t happen again. “Do you want me to carry you?”

  Rafael shook his head. “I can run very fast.”

  Diago kissed his cheek. “So can I.”

  Maria checked her gun and hummed the “Flight of the Valkyries” as the car climbed to the next floor. Eva joined in her sister’s song.

  “Okay, my Valkyries, our floor is next.” Guillermo put his hand in his pocket where Diago detected the outline of his revolver. “Remember, no shooting unless it’s life or death. Mortals might get caught in the cross fire. Dead mortals make questions and questions cost me money. Everyone understand?”

  The chorus of affirmations died just as they reached their floor. Guillermo opened the gate. Maria and Eva exited first, one going left, the other going right. They checked both directions before they signaled all was clear.

  Guillermo went next and motioned for Diago to leave the car. “Miquel—­”

  “I’ve got the rear,” Miquel said.

  They moved as a unit. Maria and Eva hummed a veiling song. In response, the mortals parted to let them pass, barely glancing at them.

  This was what Miquel had described to him merely two nights ago. Los Nefilim moves as a unit . . . stop thinking of yourself as being separate . . . you are a part of us now.

  Eva turned a slow circle as she walked, scanning the hallway behind them. She smiled at Diago as she traced a sigil of protection in the air. Already the color was returning to her cheeks.

  He gave her a tentative smile of his own before she finished her spin and faced forward again. For the first time since his life as Asaph, he felt as if he belonged to something greater than himself, and Los Nefilim were slowly becoming a part of him.

  Amid the soft soles of the mortals, Los Nefilim’s footsteps created a sharp beat: one, two, and a hard stamp on three.

  Rafael picked up the rhythm and ran in time to the adults. “Bulerías,” he chanted the name of the dance step under his breath, and then he counted out loud. “One, two”—­he stamped on three—­“four, five”—­another stamp on six. A spark scorched the floor beneath his heel.

  They marched to the double doors and went outside. Guillermo halted them on the porch. Arcades shielded them from the open courtyard. Only a few mortals moved around the yard.

  Beneath the cloudy sky it was even more apparent to Diago that Die Nephilim’s song was gone. Not a single note lingered in the air overhead.

  “The kitchens,” Guillermo said.

  Eva pointed to the right. Then they were walking again, faster now, their movements still synchronized. A hot wind cut through the autumn chill and gusted down at them.

  “It’s too warm,” Diago said.

  Guillermo scanned the darkening sky.

  Lavender light burned behind the clouds. Streaks of sangria and silver poured across the heavens, followed by streams of orange that left tails tipped in black. A burst of thunder crashed overhead. Blood-­colored notes dripped into the yard.

  Just like that, Diago’s chromesthesia had returned.

  The profusion of color and sound disoriented him. Dizziness smacked him like a club. He almost stepped on Rafael, but Maria snatched the boy from Diago’s path. Miquel grabbed his sleeve and barely prevented him from colliding into one of the pillars. He was vaguely aware of Guillermo mo
ving to his side.

  Guillermo took Diago’s arm and steadied him. “Can you keep walking?”

  Diago nodded and forced himself forward. “Angels.” He pointed at the sky. “I saw Engel and Prieto. They are in the sky. A third one is there. They’re fighting.” That explained Engel’s sudden departure. He must have realized Prieto was gone. He also must have discovered my deception. Diago swallowed hard and ignored the fear creeping into the pit of his stomach.

  Guillermo hesitated by a column and looked up at the sky. “The third is probably the American, Yellowcloud. It’s out of our hands now.”

  “Are we ever really out of it?” Diago asked.

  Guillermo spat. “Never.”

  As suddenly as it began, the episode of chromesthesia passed. Diago rubbed his eyes. The occurrences were becoming less frequent and of shorter duration. “I’m okay,” he announced. He picked up his pace.

  Guillermo slapped his back and moved to the front of their small company again.

  Miquel squeezed his arm before releasing him and dropping back to the rear.

  Diago strode to Maria’s side and placed Rafael between them.

  His son looked up. “Are you okay now, Papa?”

  “Yes. Are you tired?”

  He shook his head and danced alongside Maria with a determined look on his face.

  Eva scouted ahead, weaving in and out of the arcades. She moved with the grace of a great black butterfly with wings of crimson and white. Her elegant dance came to an abrupt halt at the edge of the porch. When they reached her, they all saw why.

  Garcia stood in the courtyard. Fierro and Moreno were behind him, along with the German orderly.

  Guillermo’s group automatically formed a protective circle around Rafael. Eva and Maria flanked the child. Miquel held his place at the rear of their group. Diago stood beside Guillermo.

  Overhead, the angels warred in a clash of thunder and lightning. A hot wind tore at the fronds of the palm trees.

  The lid of Guillermo’s lighter clicked twice.

  “You’re all under arrest,” said Garcia. “The Princess, Sariel, has lost her ability to guide Spain. Her own angels are bartering with daimons. She has forgotten who we are.”