by T. Frohock
“But that’s not what’s happening to Nico. Teufel has infected him with so much terror that the fear has become a part of him. He can’t escape it, not even in sleep. His mind is feeding on itself. When Miquel reached out to him, he came close to actually touching Nico’s soul by weakening Nico’s protective barrier. Miquel intended to give Nico a gesture of comfort but remember that Nico also fears Miquel to a certain extent, and because of that fear, he instinctively lashed out.”
Miquel opened his mouth to protest that he had never threatened Nico, but Diago cut him off before he could speak. “The threat you pose to him is implicit. You’re his superior, and in that capacity, you maintain a measure of control over his life. He wants your approval, you withhold it, and that leaves him in a persistent state of anxiety.”
Miquel closed his mouth. Christ, I never thought of it like that.
Diago turned back to Guillermo. “So in the dream, Nico’s fear, in the form of Teufel, lashed out at Miquel, struck the protective sigils I’d placed around Miquel, and—”
“Here we are.” Guillermo finished for him. “How can you be so damned sure it was Nico?”
Diago lifted his injured arm and pointed to his chest. “I am daimon, too. A burn like this only comes from the angel-born.”
And because of my own rage and pain, I inadvertently hurt both Nico and my husband. Feeling somewhat chastised, Miquel wanted Diago to know he understood the ramifications of his actions. “But Nico didn’t know he was doing it. He genuinely thought it was Teufel who attacked him and me.”
“Because in his mind it was,” Diago murmured. “Teufel keeps him in that condition because a nefil’s terror is nectar to the daimon-born.”
“He’s like a vampire,” Rafael said.
“More of a psychic one, but yes, precisely like that.”
Guillermo withdrew his lighter again. “Did you say that Teufel is trying to arrange a meeting with Jordi?”
Miquel nodded. “I can’t be sure, but from the way Nico made it sound, it seems Jordi is resisting the idea of either a meeting or an alliance with Teufel.”
Guillermo didn’t seem surprised. “Jordi won’t meet with the daimon-born. My brother is many things, but he is angel-born to his core. If Teufel wants a meeting, why doesn’t he offer Jordi the psalm? Diago?”
“That would be like handing Jordi a weapon. No, the daimon-born will keep the psalm a secret until they feel they’re in a position of power. Still, Teufel must have some hold over your brother that makes him believe he can force Jordi to do his bidding. What it is, I can’t imagine.”
“We need to get that psalm out of the Scorpion Court and find out what they’re up to.”
Miquel’s heart ramped up again. He glanced at Diago. He is the only person who can get close enough to gather that kind of intel. Or maybe he isn’t.
Rafael edged into Guillermo’s line of vision. “I’ll go. I can get the psalm and the information.”
“No.” Diago’s tone broached no argument. “We don’t know Teufel’s motives, but Christina is positioning herself for the title of high priestess. To her, you’re a threat.”
Rafael wasn’t deterred. “Won’t she think the same thing about you?”
Diago held firm. “No. My past betrayals exempt me from consideration.”
Guillermo put an end to the discussion. “Your father knows the politics and the intrigues. This is something only he can do. But knowing that the daimon-born intend to move on that gate gives us a weapon. It’s a violation of their treaties. That furnishes me with enough cause to put an end to their little get-together.”
Miquel reached for his pants. “That’s all fine, but our only proof is from a dream.”
Guillermo didn’t seem concerned. “If there is direct evidence to be had, Diago will get it. Where did Nico say they were staying?”
“In some hotel adjacent to the Theater of Dreams.”
Diago stood and started to dress, as well. “I know where it is. Christina gave me the address: thirteen rue de la Ville Neuve.”
“I’ll see if Suero can get any information on the building. I’m certain the daimon-born will have escape routes that give them access to the sewers, or the metro.”
“They’ll have those passages heavily warded against the angel-born.” Diago tried to lift his undershirt over his head and hissed with pain.
Rafael helped him dress. “If we can disarm the traps, the angel-born will be able to pursue any escapees without fear.”
Guillermo thumbed the lid of his lighter. “Could you defuse them?”
“Yes.” Rafael’s tone was all business. “And it’s safer if I do the job. An angel-born nefil might accidentally trip a dark sound, or trigger a scorpion attack. Because I’m part daimon, the wards will respond to the daimonic vibrations in my aura without attacking.”
Miquel glanced at Diago. “He’s right. It’s either him or Diago.”
His husband evaluated their son carefully. Though he wasn’t happy, he didn’t seem averse to the plan. “But that’s all you’ll do. Nullify those wards and join up with the main force. That’s the order. Understand?”
“I do,” Rafael answered.
Though Diago didn’t say it, the implication was clear: none of them wanted a repeat of when Rafael disobeyed orders to stand down. While Guillermo’s formal reprimand over that incident had made an impression on Rafael, Miquel didn’t underestimate his son’s proclivity to find trouble.
Guillermo opened the door and stepped into the hall. “Go down and get some breakfast. Miquel, meet me in my office in an hour. We’ll formalize the details.”
“Will do.”
Rafael followed Guillermo and paused at the threshold. “I’m going to make you proud.”
“You already do,” Diago whispered. “Every day.”
Miquel winked at him. “Go on. You’re good for this job.”
Rafael grinned and went downstairs.
Miquel grabbed his jacket. “Do you think I’ll dream of Nico again?”
Seeming more himself, Diago thought about the question. “Probably not. He delivered his message. Any other contact is an unnecessary risk.”
Miquel heard a note of uncertainty in his husband’s voice. “You’re making that up, hoping you’re right.”
“I’m afraid so,” Diago admitted.
It wasn’t the answer Miquel wanted to hear. Doesn’t matter. Better armed and wary than taken by surprise.
16
22 January 1944
The Farm
Guillermo returned to his office and picked up the phone. Silence. With a growl, he dropped the receiver back to the hook and sat at his desk.
Suero knocked and came in with a breakfast tray. “Good morning, Don Guillermo.”
He wasn’t sure it was. “You know, you’re not a maid. I can go down and get coffee myself.”
“I know.” Suero pushed the tray onto a side table. “But you won’t.” He went to his desk and picked up a pad of paper and a pencil. “What’s on today’s agenda?”
“Phones?”
“Bernardo rode out to check this morning. He said the crews are finishing repairs and everything should be working by this afternoon.”
“Is he still here?”
Suero nodded. “He is waiting until you get in touch with Ysa before he leaves.”
“Where is he now?”
“Downstairs, having breakfast.”
“Good.” He poured himself a cup of ersatz coffee and added saccharine tablets. “Reports?”
Suero went to his desk and returned with three files. “These came in last night, along with an SOE agent and two Canadian airmen, all mortal.”
“Anyone injured?”
“No.”
“Then they can leave tonight. Tell Violeta to pick someone to lead them into Andorra.”
Suero nodded and left him alone. With a sigh, Guillermo returned to his desk and read through the reports. Occasionally he lifted the phone to see if the service had bee
n restored. The action had become a nervous habit.
Miquel knocked and stepped into the office. “You wanted to see me?”
“Come in. Where’s Diago?”
“He’s still downstairs with Rafael, going over his notes on the Key.”
“Good. How’s he doing?”
“He’s holding up.”
Guillermo stared at him. “Truth?”
“He’s tired.”
“We all are.” Guillermo toyed with his lighter. He examined the sigils etched along the metal’s flanks. Wisdom. I don’t feel very wise. “This would be easier if we had support from Die Nephilim.”
Miquel winced. “Are you going to talk to Jordi?”
It wasn’t unreasonable. Regardless of how he ascended to the position, Jordi was a king of the Inner Guard. But there is more than one way to sing a song.
“I was thinking of a different approach.” Guillermo tapped the file at the top of the stack. “Sofia Corvo sent a message last night that corroborates Diago’s information. It seems that Ulrich, the Messenger assigned as Jaeger’s consort, was killed in a battle at the Russian front in December. Very soon afterward, Jaeger fell ill and died.”
Miquel had no trouble putting the pieces together. “Jordi saw his opening with Ulrich’s death and made his move.”
Guillermo winked. “All before Jaeger was assigned another angelic protector to replace Ulrich.”
Miquel lit a cigarette. “That explains why Jordi hasn’t made a move against us. Without an angelic consort, he won’t pit his nefilim against Juanita’s power.”
“And given the stress of the war on the angelic ranks, he won’t receive a consort until after an armistice is reached.”
“So we’ve got a sliver of time.”
“Just a little. Now we need to widen the gap. In this same report, Sofia noted that Erich Heines has been meeting with Claus von Stauffenberg. He was severely injured in Tunisia and has been reassigned as a staff officer to the Ersatzheer.” What the German mortals called their replacement army. Training more young men to throw at the Russians.
Miquel didn’t seem impressed. “Stauffenberg being part of the German resistance doesn’t necessarily mean Heines is working with them.”
“Do you really believe Heines is behind Jordi’s scorched-earth policy? Burn the dissenters and rule those left behind? He’s already shown some queasiness at Jaeger’s policies.”
Miquel scoffed. “Why? Because he argued against the concentration camps at one time? He seems just fine with them now.”
“Maybe.” But Guillermo wasn’t entirely convinced. While he was stuck at the farm, his spies were in the field, taking photographs, noting who attended important Nazi party events, catching the murmur of unrest sometimes heard at parties. It was from those photographs that Guillermo registered Heines’s disgust in the pull of his lips, or how his gaze slid away from the lens. Jaeger’s second-in-command now strictly avoided camp tours and steadily pulled from the limelight, as if he didn’t want his image associated with the events unfolding around him.
Guillermo continued his argument. “Even a token objection from someone of his station would raise alarms with me. He has never seemed quite at ease with all their policies, but Heines is a soldier. He’s sworn himself to the Inner Guard, and while I never doubted his loyalty to Jaeger, I wonder if he holds those same feelings for Jordi, especially considering this information.” He tapped Sofia’s report about Ulrich’s death and Jaeger’s subsequent demise. “What if Heines suspects foul play regarding Jaeger’s death? You’re my second, what would you do if Jordi pulled the same maneuver in Los Nefilim?”
“I’d cut his throat—but I’m Spanish.”
Guillermo laughed in spite of the seriousness of the issue. “Pretend you’re German.”
Miquel considered the idea. “It’s not unrealistic to think that Heines is working to undermine Jordi through the mortals. That particular methodology gives him time to make adjustments, calculate whether the risk is worth the outcome. At the same time, expecting him to help us is a long shot into the dark.”
Guillermo agreed. “It’s not something I would broach under normal circumstances, but Alvaro gathering the daimon-born in Paris gives us an opening with Heines.”
“How so?”
“We can appeal to his higher nature; the call of the Inner Guard over the more secular positioning of divisional territories. We’re here to prevent the daimon-born from taking back the mortal realm. In this matter, we must set aside our political differences so that we can join together and answer our oaths to the Thrones.”
Miquel put out his cigarette. “What are you suggesting we do?”
“I want you to talk to Heines—one commander to another. You have a rapport with him from the Great War. Use it. Feel him out and see if he can be swayed, and if he can, pull him to our side.”
“How do you know he won’t arrest me on the spot?”
“Because you’ll be wearing the uniform of a Spanish general with the accompanying sidearm. If he makes a move against you, shoot him.” Guillermo tossed the folder to the edge of the desk. “Sofia made a list of his favorite cabarets.”
Miquel scanned the names. “A jazz fan.”
Guillermo drew a cigar from the box. “What do you think?”
“Jazz is fine.”
“About the meeting, Miquel.”
“I don’t mind feeling Heines out, or shooting him, for that matter. What happens if I run into a problem?”
“You’re old and you’re fast. Take care of it however you see fit. Negotiate with him, or not. I’ll leave it up to you, and I’ll back your decisions.” For Guillermo to give one of his nefilim a promise like that was the ultimate sign of trust. And there aren’t many I trust like Miquel.
Miquel snapped the folder shut. “Okay. When do you need me to go?”
“I want you to leave in the morning. I’ll have Suero radio our Parisian contacts today. I’m hoping they can get us blueprints of this Theater of Dreams and the hotel. We have a uniform that should fit Rafael, too. We’ll get him into the city as your driver. While you’re working Heines, Rafael can make contact with our nefilim and take care of the theater’s wards.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, get your asses back to me safely. I need you both. Diago needs you more.”
“I’m on it.”
“Good. Send Diago up when you get a chance.”
Miquel lifted the file in farewell and headed down the hall.
Guillermo lit his cigar and watched him go. He wished he had the luxury to gauge the risk of a maneuver before moving forward with a plan. Nothing to do but keep going. He needed the psalm, or the Key, but more than anything, he wanted his daughter safe at home.
“Where are you, sweetheart?” He touched the phone and closed his eyes.
17
22 January 1944
The Farm
In the music room, Diago packed his notes on the Key into an accordion file. He placed it on a table and spoke to Rafael in a near-whisper. “Take it and hide it. If something happens and I don’t come back, I want you to finish it.”
“You’re coming back,” Rafael said, but no longer with the same insistence he had used as a child.
If war taught his son anything, it was how quickly a life could be extinguished and for such little cause. Diago didn’t contradict him, though. He wanted to believe he was coming back, too.
But in case I don’t, my son needs to know the truth about me. He closed the doors and drew the curtains to give them privacy. Taking his son’s hand, he led him to the couch. He had to do this quick before he lost his nerve. “We need to talk.”
“You’re coming back, Papá.”
“Then you can say, I told you so. Until then, there are some things you must know.”
“What kind of things?”
“About me, about my firstborn life,” he blurted before he could change his mind. Twisting his wedding band on his finger, he hesitated
, suddenly unsure if this was the right time, or the right place. If not now, when? Rafael is a man. He deserves to know the truth from my mouth. “When we escaped Spain, you were too young to hear this. Or I was too much of a coward to explain . . .”
He bowed his head and looked down at his hands. I’m doing this badly. Using the relaxation techniques Miquel had taught him over the years, he centered himself before he continued. “But there is no excuse for me not to tell you now. If I die, people will recall whatever portions of my life might have touched them. Some will remember only half-truths. I want you to know what happened.”
There, that sounds better. He glanced at Rafael to gauge his expression. The compassion in his son’s eyes almost broke him.
“You don’t need to do this to yourself, Papá. I’ve heard Miquel and Don Guillermo reminisce.”
Diago shook his head. “Those are their memories. You deserve mine.”
Rafael took Diago’s hands in his own. “I’m listening.”
Gathering his courage, Diago met his son’s gaze. “In my firstborn life, as Asaph, I made many mistakes, primarily because I allowed my daimonic kin to manipulate my feelings. They knew how to incite my fear and make it grow. They twisted my hurt into rage. And I allowed them to do so because I thought that if I did what they asked, then they would love me.
“So when my father told me to seduce Benaiah in order to work my way into Solomon’s inner court, I did. Only no one expected me to fall in love with Benaiah, least of all me. Nor did they anticipate that Solomon and I would become friends.
“And the more time I spent with Benaiah and Solomon, the more my kin demanded that I choose a side. Their side. When I refused, they twisted Solomon’s heart against my relationship with Benaiah, so much so that Solomon and I quarreled. I was furious, because I saw Solomon’s intolerance as a betrayal of our friendship. We said things to one another . . . . terrible words we could never take back . . . and when I glimpsed myself through the veil of his prejudices, I was ashamed of the man I saw. I used our argument as my rationale to break with him, but I wasn’t done with him.
