by T. Frohock
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, ya, 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 moving 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.”
Guillermo interrupted him. “Who are we, Garcia?”
“We are Los Nefilim. We were created to serve as the angels’ warriors in the earthly realm.”
“And I do,” said Guillermo. “I serve Sariel’s will. I swore my oath to her. If I usurp her rule, then I will be a traitor—like you.”
Garcia’s cheeks reddened. “You have polluted yourself and Los Nefilim!”
Sparks of rage flew from Guillermo’s eyes. “I’ve done no such thing.”
Garcia pointed a shaking finger at Guillermo. “You consort with daimons and have inducted them into your ranks.” He spat in Diago’s direction. “Sariel’s negligence has allowed you to lead Los Nefilim amok.” He lowered his hand. “Well, that is done. Prince Aker is taking over the principality of Spain, and he has designated me to lead Los Nefilim in his name. Hand over the child. We’ll determine whether or not he’s been contaminated by the daimons.”
Diago asked, “And if he has?”
Guillermo shot him a sharp look, but Diago ignored him. In any other confrontation he would take a subservient role to Guillermo, but not when it concerned his son.
Garcia didn’t hesitate with his answer. “If the boy is unclean, we’ll give him the second death.”
“Christ,” Miquel whispered.
Guillermo said, “You’re not getting the boy. And we’re not handing ourselves over to you. I will not abdicate my rule to you or anyone else. Stand down.”
A slow rain started to fall. Garcia seemed unperturbed by Guillermo’s refusal. “You have allowed the abomination of daimons to infiltrate Los Nefilim.”
From the corner of his eye, Diago saw his son flinch. He clenched his pistol’s grip.
Guillermo touched his wrist. “No guns. We settle this like Nefilim.”
Diago nodded and allowed his hand to fall away from the weapon.
Garcia shouted, “Bow before me! I am the new king of Los Nefilim.”
Thunder crashed overhead.
Garcia reached up and grabbed the thunder’s black vibrations in his fists. He sang a note and twisted the
noise into a sigil. Behind him, the German joined his voice with Fierro and Moreno to create a concussive glyph.
If he hits us with that, it will be enough to stun us. Diago didn’t need to know what would happen next. Garcia wanted them alive. Probably for the same reason Guillermo wanted Garcia—information.
The skies opened up and the rain poured from the heavens.
Garcia fired the glyph with his Nefilim’s voices. He threw the ward upward.
A bolt of lavender lightning struck the sigil. Engel. Even while fighting Prieto and Yellowcloud, the angel assisted his Nephilim.
The lightning shattered the glyph into six bolts of sound. One for each of us, Diago had time to think before Guillermo’s deep voice ruptured the air.
Eva and Maria joined their melody with Guillermo’s song. Miquel picked up the thread of the music and added his voice to their choir. Diago listened for the music’s weakness. There. Between the chords of Guillermo’s bass and Eva’s soprano, the register was thin.
Diago caught up with them on the refrain. He sharpened the song with his tenor. Behind him, Rafael added his boyish soprano to the chorus. Eva and Maria opened their hearts to Diago and Rafael. They saw Diago’s darkness and did not flinch. They wrapped Rafael in acceptance and joy, and drew the child into their song. Rafael leapt into the air and executed a twirl, adding his amber vibrations to their sigil.
Guillermo took the combined vibrations of their voices and formed a shield designed to absorb Garcia’s sound. When Garcia’s thunderous noise struck Guillermo’s buffer, Diago’s head rocked. But he didn’t falter in his song, nor did the others. Together they held the shield, and Garcia’s bolts of sound died.
Diago didn’t wait to recover. He stepped past Guillermo and into the torrent of rain. He skimmed the sole of his foot over a puddle. Water sprayed in his wake, leaving droplets of sound. Diago sang a note and formed a sigil. Miquel joined his song and they created a ward to catch the wind. Eva, Maria, and Rafael twirled like dervishes. The skirts of the twins’ habits raised the wind and water, turning it into a miniature tornado. Rafael shaped the tempest between his palms. Guillermo charged the ward with his voice and sent it flying.
