by T. Frohock
Tracking his captors by their footsteps on the concrete, he spun the glyph to life.
The click of a key and the turning of a bolt announced Engel’s arrival. The angel stood in the hallway flanked by Garcia and Adler.
Engel sniffed the air. His gaze swept over Diago, and he didn’t try to hide his contempt. “Well?”
Diago tossed the bag to him, hoping Alvaro hadn’t betrayed him.
The angel loosened the string and looked inside. A bright flash of white lit his features. He emptied the contents into his palm and closed his fist around the magnifying glass. Eyes shut, he tilted his head back. A tongue of spectral blue fire licked the air.
Adler aimed his flashlight at Diago’s eyes, but not before Diago saw Adler’s hand resting on the grip of his gun. Likewise, Garcia shifted his position, his pistol in hand.
Diago held no illusions as to how this game would play. As soon as Engel pronounced his satisfaction with the idea, Diago’s execution was certain.
The only weapon left to his arsenal was surprise. Now was the time to act. With a feral cry, he sliced his ward in half and used both hands to shove the sharpened glyphs into Adler’s and Garcia’s eyes. Engel looked up in time to see Diago running toward him, but the German angel was too slow. Diago rammed the angel’s chest with his shoulder.
Engel stumbled backward four steps before he caught his balance. He tried to push Diago back into the cell, but Amparo’s bone dust had turned slick with Diago’s sweat. He wiggled free and dodged to the right.
Garcia wiped Diago’s magic from his eyes. Diago punched the inspector in the face. The crunch of Garcia’s nose beneath his fist was the most satisfying thing he had felt in days.
As Garcia reeled from the blow, Diago grabbed his gun. He jerked Garcia’s body in front of him and used the inspector like a shield.
Adler staggered to Engel’s side, his pistol raised. Diago fired around Garcia’s head. Adler’s skull exploded.
Engel flung himself inside Diago’s cell.
Diago spun Garcia around and shoved him toward the stairs. Garcia raised his hands and ran in front of Diago.
They reached the first landing. Careful to keep his hands in the air, Garcia whirled. “You can’t win, Diago. Stop now.”
“Shut up before I forget why I’m keeping you alive.”
Engel called out. “Diago, you’re making this worse!”
The angel was stalling. Already, Diago detected the shifting vibrations that indicated Engel intended to shed his mortal form. He’d have no chance against the angel once that happened.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he dragged Garcia up the stairs. The stairwell was silent. None of the angel’s Nephilim responded to the gunshot. Of course, they didn’t. They expected at least one shot and now think I’m dead.
At the second landing, he paused and shoved Garcia into the corner. “How many are waiting upstairs?”
Sweat beaded under Garcia’s mustache. He lowered his gaze. “Two of Engel’s Nephilim.”
Liar. There are at least three. Adler had accompanied them downstairs while the other three had remained behind. “Face the wall. Hands behind your head.”
Garcia did as he was told.
Diago rifled through Garcia’s pockets until he found two more magazines. “How many more are in the hospital?”
“Eight.”
That might be the truth. Eight Nephilim singing, three watching, plus Guillermo’s five traitors—he had to find Rafael and hope that Guillermo had a comparable force somewhere on the grounds by now. “Where is Rafael?”
“Jaso has him.”
Jaso. Diago might kill Jaso without waiting for Guillermo. “Let’s go.” He propelled Garcia toward the stairs again. “Put your hands down and walk normally.”
Garcia obeyed him.
Diago stayed behind the taller Nefil. When they reached the top step, he rammed Garcia aside and yanked open the door. As he’d suspected, Engel’s two Nephilim flanked the exit. He shot the Nephil on the left first. The one on the right threw a punch. Diago ducked and rolled. The Nephil’s fist struck the wall.
Diago rose to his knees and fired two rounds into the Nephil’s body—chest and face. Blood sprayed the industrial green walls with a merry shade of red.
Through the closing stairwell door, Diago glimpsed Garcia running back down the stairs. Going for Adler’s gun.
Ignoring the shouts around him, he scanned the hall for the third German, who was nowhere to be seen. Diago rose and pocketed the gun.
Mortal orderlies hurried in his direction.
He formed a sigil and blinded them to his appearance. “Quick! It’s Inspector Garcia! He shot the orderlies. He’s hiding on the stairwell!”
Their eyes went wide at the sight of the dead Germans.
“Go on,” Diago sang to the mortals. “Garcia is out of bullets.”
The fear left their eyes and they approached the stairwell more confidently.
Diago ran.
Shouts echoed ahead of him. More orderlies were coming.
Diago turned left at the next intersection and ducked into a bathroom as another group of nuns and orderlies ran past. The mirror reflected a madman covered in bone dust.
Damn it. He was a mess, and he couldn’t enchant every person he saw. Without wasting a second, he washed his face and combed his fingers through his hair. With a towel, he brushed the worst of the dust from his clothes. By the time he was done, his eyes were still bloodshot and his face bruised, but his appearance was such that he could easily deflect a causal inspection by a mortal. That was better.
Time to move again. Finding Rafael was going to be a problem. Diago didn’t have the first clue of where to look. Where the hell would Jaso have taken the child? An office? But whose? Vales’s? Was there a children’s ward in the hospital?
Diago’s heart steadied. That was the answer. Find Vales and charm him, undo Engel’s damage on Vales’s mind, and elicit the doctor’s help. Vales might know where Jaso had taken Rafael.
Diago went to the door. A glance into the hall assured him that it was empty. Noise and confusion echoed from the direction of the stairwell. Diago thought he detected Engel’s voice in the fray. The angel spoke in rapid German, and from the gruff nature of his speech, Diago was certain he wasn’t speaking to the mortals. Twice he thought he caught the phrase, “Meine Nephilim . . . mord . . . mord.”
Definitely time to move on. Diago set a fast pace in the opposite direction. He passed a row of offices. One of the doors was open. Diago peeked inside. The secretary stood in front of a filing cabinet. Her back was to the door. A doctor’s white jacket hung on the rack by the door.
Diago lifted the coat and put it on as he walked away. The wide pockets held a stethoscope, but nothing else.
He passed a window and looked at the sky. The sight halted him in his tracks. Pressing his fingertips against the window sill, he leaned forward, checking the heavy clouds in disbelief.
Die Nephilim’s sigils had disappeared. Their net of magic was gone, utterly gone. Diago glanced back the way he had come. Engel’s voice was louder. He shouted commands.
Meine Nephilim.
My Nefilim . . . but what was the other word? Mord. It sounded a little like muerte. Dead? Murdered? Diago had no idea. All he knew for certain was that the bombastic glyphs, which had covered the asylum grounds, could have only been destroyed by Nefilim.
“Guillermo is here,” Diago murmured. He is here.
As Diago turned to go, the whisper of a kitten’s breath touched his fingers. He looked down to find a flicker of white emerging from the shadows along the window sill. The figure of a kitten took form.
But not a real one. No, that was impossible. One ear was taller than the other, the mouth was slightly off kilter—it was a cartoonish creature, almost as if a child had drawn it.
/> With a thrill, Diago recognized it. It possessed one blue eye and one green eye. Rafael’s kitten! Diago had no trouble summoning the kitten’s name, because Rafael told anyone who would listen about Ghost.
The kitten leapt from the windowsill and trotted to a metal door. Ghost gave a silent meow.
Diago almost wept with relief. Jaso and Moreno would never allow Rafael to use his magic. He’s escaped them. Dear Jesus, he’d somehow gotten away from them. “Where are you?”
The kitten sat in front of the door.
Diago hurried over. Through the glass window, he saw a stairwell, but the door was locked. “Shit.”
The heavy slap of feet indicated someone hurried toward him. It was a nun with a face like an ax. If her dour expression was any indication of her personality, she’d cut him, and be happy to do it.
Thinking quickly, he patted his pockets as if searching for the key to the door. He didn’t have to feign his frustration. “I can’t believe this.”
“Is there a problem, Doctor?” The nun’s voice grated like nails on tin.
“Oh, Sister, maybe you can help me. I’m new here, and I’ve left my keys in my office. Is there an elevator nearby?”
She frowned at him, and for a moment, he thought she would summon the orderlies. The commotion down the hall grew louder.
Sweat formed on Diago’s upper lip. He forced himself to focus on the nun.
“You would need your key for the elevator on this floor.” To his relief, she rooted through her keys and chose one. “You should be more careful. We have more important things to do than shepherd negligent young doctors around.” She unlocked the door. “Make sure you shut it firmly. There is a madman on the loose. We want to keep him contained on this floor.”
“Of course, Sister . . . ?”
“Benita.” She snapped her name at him and sucked her teeth.
The shock of the information dropped Diago’s jaw. My son wasn’t in an orphanage. He was in a madhouse. He shut his mouth a moment too late.
Her eyes narrowed. “You look familiar. Something about your eyes. Do I know you?”
“No. We’ve never met.” He grasped at a straw and asked, “Didn’t you used to work on the children’s ward?”
“Yes, yes, I did, but I was recently reassigned here.”
Jesus, this was the Sister Benita. She was more terrifying than he had imagined.
She cocked her head and he half expected her to peck out his eyes. “Are you certain we haven’t met?”
“No, we have not met, but they speak very highly of you in the children’s ward.”
She blinked at him, and he realized it was her turn to be stunned. “They do?”
“Yes,” he assured her, relieved that his flattery had worked. “Thank you, Sister.” He moved to the landing and shut the door before she could ask another question.
Through the window, he saw her wipe her eye. Then she lifted her head and strode grimly down the corridor.
Diago shuddered and turned to the staircase. The kitten, which appeared to be grinning, had already reached the first landing. Diago followed Ghost to the basement. The wide corridor, utilized by the staff to quickly access the wards, bustled along with its usual traffic, happily unaware of the chaos above.
A quick glance in both directions indicated nothing but mortals. Ghost moved to the right, along the baseboards. Diago hurried after the caricature, bowing his head as if deep in thought. He was so intent on the kitten, he didn’t see Jaso coming from the opposite direction until it was almost too late to hide.
Fortunately, Jaso had spotted the kitten and was so focused on the animal dashing into a ventilation grill that he didn’t see Diago either. Grinning like a hunter who had flushed out his prey, Jaso knelt in front of the grill.
Fucking son of a bitch. Diago didn’t try to contain his rage.
Jaso laughed. “I’ve got you now, you little fucker.”
Diago walked faster.
And just as it had that morning, everything began to happen fast and hard . . .
Diago put his hand on the grip of Garcia’s gun, but he didn’t draw the weapon. Instead, he walked right up to Jaso and kicked the other Nefil in the face.
Jaso grunted and fell backward, holding his nose. “What the fuck?”
“Are you all right?” Diago bent down. As he did, he caught a glimpse of his son, huddled in the filthy vent. He put his finger to his lips. Rafael’s grin lightened Diago’s heart just enough that he decided not to kick Jaso again. He grabbed Jaso’s collar and jerked him upright. With a smooth move, Diago also liberated the other Nefil of his pistol. “That looked like it hurt.”
Jaso’s eyes went wide. “You fucking—”
Diago slammed his fist into Jaso’s face. He felt the cartilage of Jaso’s nose break.
Jaso screamed.
Diago hustled him across the corridor and against the opposite wall. If Jaso tried to sing a glyph, Diago didn’t want the fight close to Rafael’s hiding’s place.
Diago put his lips against Jaso’s ear and whispered, “Shut your mouth, or I’ll kill you where you stand.”
Jaso shut up.
Mortals were pausing to gawk at them. Diago gave them a reassuring smile. “Everything is fine,” he crooned. “I’m a doctor.”
A mortal doctor with a mustache as heavy as his paunch hesitated beside them. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Diago said. “He was walking along and just collapsed. I think his nose is broken.”
“Can you fix it?” The mortal asked.
“I’m not that kind of doctor,” Diago said.
“Neither am I.” The mortal frowned.
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 al
one, 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.
