by T. Frohock
In the kitchen, Lucia steadied the chair Juanita stood on in order to reach the highest cupboard.
Juanita removed a revolver from the back of the cabinet and handed the gun to Guillermo. “Keep this one out of the sewers.”
Guillermo smiled. “You are my angel.”
“I am an angel and don’t forget it,” Juanita admonished him. “I spoke with Santiago. He wanted to make some phone calls. He will call back here in a few minutes.”
“Good.” Guillermo lifted her off the chair, and she kissed him.
“Come back to me,” she whispered.
“If I don’t, you will watch for me.”
To watch for another was the Nefilim’s death-hour vow to watch for their loved one in a different incarnation. It meant to seek the shadows of the soul in the face of every stranger until they were reunited.
Miquel refused to think about Diago dying. He’s going to be fine. He’s been through much worse than this. Even as the old mantra entered his brain, he heard Rafael’s scream again, and his gut twisted with the same terror he’d felt earlier this morning. Not like this. He’s never been in a situation like this, and neither have I. Nor could Miquel dwell on that fact. If he lingered too long on his fear, it would cripple him.
The phone rang, and Lucia hurried to the foyer to answer it. “Ramírez residence.” She kept her head down as she murmured soft affirmations into the receiver.
She hung up and came back to the kitchen. “That was Santiago. Garcia has a meeting this morning at Holy Cross with a German psychiatrist, Dr. Anselm Engel. That’s all he could find out right now. He said he is going over to Garcia’s precinct to see if he can uncover anything else.”
“Anything about Diago or Rafael?” Miquel asked.
“No,” she answered.
“It doesn’t matter,” Guillermo said. “They won’t take them to the station. I’ve got too many people there, and Garcia knows it. My money is on the asylum, so that’s where we’re going.” He went to the basement door. “Is Suero still downstairs?”
Juanita nodded. “He wanted to monitor the radio.”
“Good. I’m going to have him contact the Nefilim in the city.”
Lucia folded her arms across her chest and made a sour face. “Will they be listening for their radios?”
“They’d better be.” Guillermo’s voice took an ominous tone. “Anyone caught sleeping on the job will answer to me.” He glared at Lucia until she dropped her gaze, and then he spoke to Juanita again. “We’ll meet my people at the warehouse near La Sagrada Família. It’s close enough to the asylum.”
“Do you want me to come?” Juanita asked.
Guillermo shook his head. “I’d rather have you here in Santuari. Bernardo and Mariona will need your help. Use only the Nefilim you trust.” He went to the basement door. “I’ll be right back.”
Juanita nodded. When he had shut the door behind him, she turned and seemed to notice Miquel for the first time. She glanced at the jacket in his arms.
Only then did he realize he still held Diago’s coat. He smoothed the fabric. “He gets cold so easily.”
“Are you all right?” Juanita came to him and touched his face.
He nodded and winced at her gentle probing. “I’m okay. I just want to go.”
“I know.” She stroked the back of her knuckles against his face and hummed a healing song. “We’re all worried.”
His headache dissolved and the throbbing agony in his face receded. “Thank you.”
Juanita merely smiled as she guided him into the foyer.
Movement on the staircase caught Miquel’s attention. He glimpsed a pair of golden eyes glowing in the stairwell’s dimness. Ysa. She hadn’t abandoned her vigil.
Miquel gave her a wan smile and tried to lighten his tone. “Go back to your room, Ysa. Everything is going to be fine.”
Lucia followed them out of the kitchen and glanced up the steps. “Go on, Ysa. I’ll be there in a moment.”
“I’ll take care of her, Lucia.” Juanita started up the stairs. “Come with me, dove. I’ll show you how to make a protective ward for Rafael like we did for Uncle Diago last night.”
“Will it save him?” Ysa took her mother’s hand.
“I don’t know, but he will know you are thinking of him.” Her voice faded as they moved out of sight. “And that will give him courage.”
Miquel thought of last night and the song he and Rafael had used for Diago. Over space and distance, they could do little more than remind Diago he was loved. However, that small magic had been enough to center Diago so he could save himself from the daimon Lamashtu. Sometimes a little courage is just enough.
Lucia sidled up beside Miquel. “Are you hurt?” She reached up to touch his swollen nose.
Driven from his thoughts, he jerked his head clear of her fingers and blurted, “Are you happy they’re gone?”
Miquel wasn’t sure which of them was more taken aback by his outburst.
Lucia recovered quickly. “I’m not happy they’re gone.”
“Then why are you so horrible to Rafael? Diago, I understand, but not the child.”
She blinked in surprise. “I’m not horrible to Rafael.”
The insolence in her tone grated against his already jangled nerves. “You said something about turning him into a jinni. He said you made fun of him because he is dark.”
“If I didn’t like dark men, why would I be after you?” she shot back.
Her reply took the wind from his assault. He hadn’t considered that at all.
She snorted at his confusion and folded her arms across her chest. “The truth is: Rafael is very sensitive. I didn’t realize how much until after I made the joke, and that was all it was—a joke. I tried to tell him I was sorry, but he started crying and wouldn’t speak to me again. I never meant to hurt him, Miquel.” She glanced back toward the basement door. “He’s moody, like his father.”
“He’s six years old. He doesn’t know that you’re joking. And Diago isn’t moody. You just don’t know him.”
She pursed her lips as if she intended to spit. “I know he is daimon, and your excuses for him will never change that.”
“And he is angel, too.” Miquel retorted, suddenly tired of the argument. “He is Los Nefilim. He took the oath. You don’t have to like him, but he is one of us now.”
“He has you wrapped around his finger.” Contempt dripped from her voice.
“And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ve always loved him, Lucia.”
“That kind of love isn’t natural.”
“Fuck you.”
“Why don’t you? Diago cheated on you.” Her eyes narrowed until Miquel thought of weasels in the fields. She caressed his throat with her finger. “Who knows? Maybe he liked it. Maybe he’s just trying to figure out how to let you down easy. You should make the first move.” When he didn’t resist her touch, she moved closer until her breast touched his arm. “Fuck me,” she whispered. “Show him how it feels when he sleeps around on you.”
She made Candela’s rape sound like a dalliance. Miquel resented the implication. “You are disgusting.”
Lucia sighed as if dealing with a simpleton. “There was no rape, Miquel. A woman cannot rape a man. Diago had to have wanted her.”
Christ, she was ignorant. Diago still refused to talk about the weeks he’d been held under Candela’s spell. Miquel saw the torment in his lover’s eyes as they sat together in the evenings. Twice over the last month, Diago had attempted to broach the subject, only to retreat behind silence before his hesitant words could become a conversation. Miquel didn’t push him. Juanita had cautioned him to be patient with Diago.
Lucia seemed hell-bent on destroying him.
Miquel stared down into her dark eyes. “Garcia seems to hold your views about Diago being daimon
, and he has defected to the Germans.” He leaned down and put his lips against her ear. “Whose side are you on?”
Lucia jumped back as if scalded. “How dare you imply my loyalty lies anywhere but with Guillermo?”
“Then be careful of what you say, and who you accuse.” He put his finger over her lips and smiled at her horror. “I’m watching you.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits, but before she could respond, Guillermo emerged from the basement. He carried a small pack that no doubt contained more ammunition.
Miquel brushed past Lucia and followed Guillermo back to the truck. He’d caught her off guard, but this was merely the first feint in a potentially long war. Lucia was more dangerous than Miquel had first surmised and needed to be reassigned somewhere far from Diago. The problem was knotty, because she was under Juanita’s protection. Miquel didn’t know the details of their arrangement, but moving Lucia out of Santuari would take diplomacy. He knew the game of intrigue, too, and he had Guillermo’s ear.
Guillermo tossed the bag onto the seat and got behind the wheel. “Diago said that we have a traitor in our ranks. He implied that Garcia was feeding information to the daimons. I disagreed with him. I could see Garcia working with Engel, but not the daimons.”
Miquel covered the pack with Diago’s coat and shut his door. “You were right about Garcia.”
“But we still don’t know who is working with the daimons.” Guillermo cranked the truck and moved it out of the yard.
Miquel frowned. This new development temporarily ejected Lucia from his thoughts. “It’s not Diago.”
“I know it’s not,” Guillermo said. “I’m worried the others will think it is him if we don’t find the individual soon, though. I sent Amparo to Valencia last night. She was supposed to come to Santuari for supplies before she left. Bernardo told me this morning that she never got here. Suero just confirmed through his sources that she is no longer in the city.”
“Are you saying Amparo is working with the daimons?”
“I am saying that I don’t know. I put Mariona on the hunt for the informant.” Guillermo turned the vehicle onto the main road and drove in silence.
Miquel took advantage of the lull. “We’ve got a problem with Lucia, too.” While they rode, he relayed his conversation with her. “She should be reassigned,” he concluded.
Guillermo withdrew a cigar from his breast pocket. “We need to integrate Diago into Los Nefilim. Give him a job.”
“Did you hear what I just said?”
“I did. And that is my solution. Integrate Diago into Los Nefilim with a job.” He snipped the tip off the cigar and tossed it out the window. “I’ll take care of Lucia. Trust me to do that.”
Reluctantly, Miquel nodded. “And Diago?”
“Needs to start pulling his weight. We’ve got to get them to accept him.” He clamped the cigar between his teeth and lit it. “I want him to start working on compositions again. I need him to find the Key.”
Miquel withdrew Rafael’s button from his pocket and held it in his hand. The Key was the thing that made Diago so special to both the angels and the daimons. All angels possessed three sets of vocal chords that enabled them to form their sigils with the distinctive sounds they produced. Because Diago was dually born, his unique vocal range allowed him to harmonize with Guillermo and Miquel in order to form a melody no other group of Nefilim could reach. Those notes allowed them to mimic the sounds of an angel, and with that music, they commanded the ability to shift the realms.
Unfortunately, the Key was an arrangement that Diago had buried deep within his psyche and was unable to produce on a whim. Neither Guillermo nor Miquel had ever pressed him to remember the music, primarily for Diago’s safety. If either the daimons or the angels believed Diago recalled the composition while remaining a neutral player in the war, they would have taken action. The daimons would have murdered him to keep the secret safe, or the angels would have forced a binding sigil on him. Now, as a member of Los Nefilim, he had some measure of protection from both sides.
Or did he? Miquel wondered. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. We can’t protect him.”
“Yes, we can.” Guillermo insisted.
“We certainly fucked up this morning.”
“The day is not over. I’m not worried . . . do I look worried?”
“You look pissed.”
He sucked on his cigar and blew smoke through his nostrils. “Pissed is an understatement. I’m fucking furious. But I’ve dreamed the future and Diago is with us. Today is not his day to die.”
“There are worse things than dying,” Miquel whispered.
“Keep to the positive, or you’ll go insane. We need to use this problem to our advantage.”
“You’re using him.”
“I use all of you, and don’t you ever forget it. That’s the way the worlds work, Miquel . . . all of the worlds, the supernatural and the mundane . . . they are filled with the users and the used. At some point in our lives, we all get used. At other times, we’re the users. No one is exempt. Not even the angels.”
“That’s depressing.”
“Welcome to my world.” Guillermo blew a cloud of smoke at the windshield. “Has Diago picked up an instrument?”
Miquel shook his head. “He says his arm hurts, or it’s more important to help Rafael. He uses any excuse to avoid making music. I think he’s depressed. The thing with Candela . . .” He leaned his aching head against the glass and let the coolness soothe his brow.
“He blames himself,” Guillermo said. “And he’s afraid, because the memory of those notes will resurrect the trauma he doesn’t want to recall.”
“He claims the maiming has ruined his music.”
Guillermo grunted. “Bullshit. When he gets ready, he’ll figure out a way to play. What about the violin? Have you tried getting him a new violin?”
“He hasn’t played a violin since his Stradivarius was stolen.” The truck hit a rut and Rafael’s button bounced into the air. Miquel caught it and gripped it in his fist. “You know how obstinate he is.”
“So am I. Keep working on him. His magic is coming back to him. You should have seen him last night.” Guillermo guided the truck around a small herd of goats. “The power, Miquel. He was fucking magnificent.”
“He’s always been magnificent,” Miquel said.
“Yes, yes. But last night—“
“Be careful with him.”
“Why? You think he’s going to break?” Guillermo scoffed. “You listen to me: Diago is a warrior. He’ll be fine,” Guillermo nodded to himself. “We’ll get him back.”
Miquel wasn’t sure if Guillermo meant today’s rescue or something deeper. He tightened his fist over Rafael’s button, suddenly afraid for his lover. “Be careful with him,” he repeated.
Guillermo reached over and squeezed Miquel’s shoulder. “I will. I swear to you, I will. I love him like a brother. Besides, Rafael needs both of his fathers.”
Miquel lifted his fist to his lips and kissed his wedding band. Hold on, my star. We’re coming.
CHAPTER 3
Blue-black clouds hovered over Holy Cross. The humid air was tinted in sallow shades of yellow and green. Tornados dropped from skies like this.
A song rose around the asylum. The sound waves had been sculpted into razored sigils, which were interlinked like chains of mercury and ash. The wards created a dome stretching from one end of the grounds to the other.
Diago’s skin crawled with the foreign sounds. He glanced at Engel.
The angel smiled; his countenance simultaneously beatific and horrifying. “Die Nephilim,” he answered Diago’s unspoken question. “If Prieto tries to leave the asylum, we will catch him.”
Maybe, Diago thought as he returned his attention to the side view mirror. Garcia’s car still followed them. Diago wasn’t sure whether to be r
elieved or worried. He settled for relieved. At least if Rafael is close, I can find him easier. If I manage to get away from Engel, that is.
They skirted the main drive and followed a narrow lane that ran between the buildings. He gauged how close they were to their destination by Jaso’s nervousness.
Jaso constantly picked at his facial hair, rubbing his chin. By the time they reached the back entrance of the hospital, he had switched to worrying the cuticle around his thumb until he bled. Diago couldn’t help but think of an animal chewing off its leg to escape a trap.
Fierro twitched like a rat. He kept turning his head in a vain attempt to check the rearview mirror, but Engel had never reversed his spell. The glass remained clouded.
Engel, on the other hand, grew more and more relaxed, almost jovial as Fierro brought the car to a halt at the rear entrance. Diago looked up at the barred windows overhead. He knew the building. These were the wards for criminally insane. No one would question his handcuffs here, and any protests of innocence would be ignored.
Diago recalled the locked wards and the needles used to quiet the men. The smell of his own fear choked him.
Get it under control, he told himself. He didn’t have time for hysterics. If Engel had no intention of using a binding sigil in order to secure Diago’s assistance, he wouldn’t resort to drugs. Not when he has the perfect hostage to extort my compliance.
Four orderlies emerged from the building along with a young doctor, who carried a clipboard. Diago recognized Dr. Vales. The mortal had been in charge of José Iniguez’s care, at least until José’s untimely death from an overdose of strychnine.
Vales had seemed to like Diago—had seen him as a colleague. With a little charm, he might be able to convince Vales to take charge of Rafael. If he could get his son away from the angel, he could buy time.
Just as the thought crossed Diago’s mind, the rearview mirror cleared. At first he didn’t recognize the disheveled person staring back at him, and then, with dawning unease, he realized the wild eyes in the mirror belonged to him. His hair was in disarray from his scuffle with Acosta and Engel, and his clothing torn. The cuts and bruises from his fight with the daimon Lamashtu paled behind the bruise Engel had left on Diago’s face. Blood smeared his chin and throat. He looked as though the officers had beaten him into submission.
