by T. Frohock
Sometimes Guillermo wished he wouldn’t be quite so unreadable.
Heines stopped merely a few paces away.
Guillermo dispensed with both pleasantries and aliases. “Field Marshal Heines, I assume General de Torrellas has informed you of the daimonic uprising that we face?”
“He has.”
“Your presence here indicates you remain true to the Inner Guard.”
“I do. It is my understanding that if I help you, we have the beginnings of a truce. One that will definitely save the lives of both mortals and nefilim; one that might filter up to the angels?”
Guillermo shrugged. “I can’t make any promises about the angels. Insofar as the Inner Guard is concerned, I will speak well of your allegiance and make sure you lead the council to restructure Die Nephilim. Do I have your word?”
Heines extended his hand. “You have my oath that I will help you.”
Guillermo didn’t kid himself. He secured Heines’s help only because Jordi was the bigger threat. Nonetheless, he took the other nefil’s hand and shook. “I’m on my way to l’Entreprenante to meet with my brother now.”
“So am I. Abelló called me in early. He wants me on the grounds when he meets with one of the daimon-born nefilim, Alessandro Strzyga.”
One of the Council’s Nine elders. That was interesting news. “Why is he meeting with him?”
“Strzyga has been pushing for a meeting with Abelló for a week now, and it seems he’s finally found his ticket in. He petitioned Abelló to give Diago Alvarez the second death.” His gaze flickered to Miquel. “Strzyga is bringing Alvarez to l’Entreprenante this morning.”
Shit and bitter shit. Still, Guillermo didn’t panic. They had time. Giving a nefil the second death was a complicated process, and he had no doubt Jordi intended to savor Diago’s subjugation. We’re coming, my friend. Hold on. “Alvarez is one of mine.”
“And if we get there in time, you can keep him. But we’ve got to hurry.” Without waiting for Guillermo’s answer, Heines returned to his car. “I know you have safe conduct, but follow me anyway. We can go in together.” He got into the backseat, and his driver shut the door.
Guillermo and Miquel got into their car, and it wasn’t long before Bernardo followed the Mercedes to the road.
Bernardo glanced in the rearview mirror. “What’s the plan?”
Guillermo checked his pistol’s magazine. “We’re playing this song by ear. Follow orders, no questions.” He glanced at Miquel. “Has Rafael cleared those sigils?”
Miquel stared out the window. “He was supposed to call at dawn and never did.”
Guillermo winced. “We’ll find him.”
“He can take care of himself.”
From Miquel’s tone, Guillermo knew the discussion was over. Miquel was worried, but he never engaged in speculation. He had his eyes on the task ahead.
So put him to work. “When we get to l’Entreprenante, I’ll go inside with Heines and take care of business. I want Bernardo to take you back into the city.”
“What about Diago?”
“We’ve got people seeded inside l’Enreprenante. They’ll take care of Diago while Ysabel and I handle Jordi. You find Rafael, coordinate that raid, and take the Scorpion Court down.”
“What about requiring direct evidence of wrongdoing?”
“If Strzyga wants Diago dead, it’s because he’s seen too much and has evidence against them. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine. But just in case everything goes sideways, I want you to know I’ve been honored to fight at your side. I will watch for you, my good friend.”
“And I for you,” Miquel whispered.
28
24 January 1944
Château de l’Entreprenante
Fontainebleau
The ride to l’Entreprenante was a silent affair. Francisco kept his one good eye on the road. Riding beside him in the front seat, Diago pretended not to notice the other nefil’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.
He’s terrified. Whether he feared Alessandro, the Inner Guard, or if Christina had given some assignment outside the range of his abilities, Diago had no idea. He was only certain that scared nefilim made mistakes. And Francisco is a veritable bomb waiting to explode.
Alessandro rode in the backseat behind Francisco, which made Diago more comfortable. He never wanted the elder behind him and that was before Beleth was involved.
For his part, Alessandro sat ramrod-straight, the very image of nobility. It’s almost like he’s forgotten both Francisco and me.
Diago didn’t kid himself. When the time came to act, the elder would do so with ruthless precision.
The gates of l’Entreprenante finally came into view. Francisco eased the car to a halt. “What do I say?”
Oh Jesus Christ. “Just roll down the window.”
Francisco worked the crank and lowered it halfway.
The young Nazi bent low to examine them. “Your papers?”
They all passed their identification to the guard. He examined them and nodded. “Follow the drive. You’ll be directed as to where to park.”
Francisco nodded, his lips white.
The guards neutralized the wards and then opened the gates. Francisco drove through. He glanced in the rearview mirror.
“We’re trapped,” Francisco muttered.
Diago ignored him. Alessandro didn’t even dignify the comment with a reply. His gaze was locked on the drive as the château came into view.
On the front steps, Erich Heines watched their approach. He rested his hand on his holster in a seemingly casual gesture.
Two staff cars were parked in the circular drive. The second vehicle had Spanish flags on the front fenders.
Bernardo opened the rear passenger door, and Guillermo got out. Another figure remained inside. Diago recognized his husband’s profile.
Francisco parked and got out to open the door for Alessandro.
Diago emerged from the vehicle. Now was the time to break his cover. He stepped toward Guillermo.
A hand landed on his shoulder and whirled him around. “You fucking traitor!”
Diago found himself facing Bernardo’s broad chest. He looked up and whispered. “Not now. We’ve got to—”
“What is this?” Alessandro demanded. “Release him.”
Through gritted teeth, Diago hissed, “Do it.”
Bernardo’s fingers relaxed slightly as he looked toward Guillermo.
Diago twisted toward his old friend, who shook his head.
Guillermo scowled. “He is a traitor to Los Nefilim. We’ve been hunting him, and he is ours to deal with. Get him out of here.” The order seemed to be aimed at both Bernardo and Diago.
But why? What the hell was going on? “Wait—”
Alessandro motioned for Francisco to intervene while he attempted to distract Guillermo. “He is a gift for Herr Abelló. He stays with me. Francisco, bring him with us.”
Francisco gauged Bernardo’s height and girth—any match between them would be even. Already jittery from the number of angel-born surrounding them, Francisco took one hesitant step forward, and then halted in the face of Bernardo’s glare.
Guillermo didn’t back down. “He’s our prisoner.”
Heines motioned to two young Nazis. “If that one moves”—he pointed at Francisco—“shoot him.”
They lifted their guns and aimed them at Francisco. The huge nefil raised his hands in the air.
Shit, this is all going wrong. “Guillermo, please, a moment. Just one word and then I’ll go.”
Guillermo nodded at Bernardo. “Get him out of here now.”
Diago jerked away from Bernardo and took two steps toward the stairs. “You’ve got to listen—”
Bernardo’s hand landed on his shoulder again. This time when he spun Diago around, the huge nefil’s fist caught the side of Diago’s face.
A blast of white light burst across his vision a
nd then he was falling. The next thing he knew, he was in the backseat of a car. He smelled his husband’s aftershave.
From a distance, he heard Miquel’s voice. “You don’t know your own fucking strength, Bernardo.”
From the front came a grumble that sounded similar to an apology. Then the car was moving. The last thing Diago remembered seeing was Guillermo, following Heines into the building.
By the time he woke, they were almost in Paris. Diago stared upward and out the window, where streetlamps had replaced the branches of trees. He felt Miquel’s palm, warm on the side of his face.
“We’ve got to go back,” he mumbled. “Strzyga is possessed by a daimon.”
Miquel looked down at him. “And Guillermo is a king of the Inner Guard. He destroyed a Grigori—an angel—with the power of the Thrones. Do you think he’s afraid of a daimon?”
“I know its name.”
Miquel placed his thumb over Diago’s lips. “Guillermo knows the daimons and their names. He can take care of himself.”
“But—”
“Rafael left last night to clear the daimonic wards around the Theater of Dreams. He was supposed to check in with me this morning. He didn’t call.”
Diago struggled to sit up. He remembered walking with his son while Rafael told him about his dream:
Except in my nightmare, the snakes didn’t tear into Moloch’s body. In my nightmare, he brushed them aside and laughed at me. He grabbed my throat, and when I screamed, he turned into mist and rushed into my mouth and suddenly he was me.
Miquel was talking again, but Diago couldn’t make sense of his words. The car was moving too fast and not fast enough and he felt sick, but there was nothing in his stomach. He rolled down the window and let the cold air clear his head.
The car was suddenly quiet. Miquel reached around Diago and cranked the window up. He spoke slowly and Diago held on to every word.
“Guillermo has ordered me to raid the Theater of Dreams. He believes we can take the Scorpion Court down based on the fact that Alessandro petitioned Jordi to give you the second death. Guillermo said that was proof you found something.”
Diago’s mind lurched into gear again. So that’s how Alessandro finally got his meeting with Jordi. And my father was just fine with the trade-off. He didn’t allow himself to dwell on his father’s betrayal. “Guillermo’s reasoning is too thin. I have the proof he needs.” Then he proceeded to tell his husband everything he’d learned while he was with his family.
When he finished, Miquel tapped Bernardo’s shoulder. “Step on it.”
The streets flew by one by one. Once, he’d shunned the idea of patricide, but if a decision came between saving his father or saving his son, Diago didn’t have to think twice which it would be. But only if we’re there in time.
29
24 January 1944
Château de l’Entreprenante
Fontainebleau
Ysabel carefully added saline solution to the vial of morphine for Jordi’s late morning dose. A knock at her door almost caused her to drop both the syringe and the medicine to the floor. Shit.
“Yes?” she called out cheerfully. “Who is it?”
“Stultz, fräulein.”
Of course it’s Stultz. Stultz knocking on doors, pulsing like a heart, lurking in the shadows, always following her. Stultz and Esser were her constant companions and only visitors. Of the two, she preferred Esser. Everything about Stultz gave her the willies; from his constant fawning to the way he always turned up unannounced at her door.
“Herr Abelló requires your presence in the conference room. Now, please.”
Has Jordi figured out that I’m tinkering with his medication? She checked her watch. Or had her father arrived?
Heart beating faster, Ysa cleaned the syringe and capped it. No one had thought to search Jimenez’s bag before giving it to Ysa, not even the formidable Sergeant Esser.
To her delight, she’d found a scalpel and a small pair of scissors. Ysa slipped the scalpel in one pocket and the scissors in another. She checked her image in the mirror to make sure that neither object bulged, and then hurried to the door.
Stultz’s normal air of smug confidence had been knocked askew. He fidgeted and seemed disconcerted.
Something was definitely going on. “What’s wrong?”
“Please follow me.” He didn’t wait but immediately set off toward the stairs.
Ysa hurried after him. In the entry hall, she noted Strzyga had arrived. He was agitated, pacing before the entrance and scowling. When he saw her, he froze. His gaze locked on her face before she turned her back on him and followed Stultz to the conference rooms.
She didn’t see Diago. Had Jordi’s nefilim already arrested him? She had no way to know and no time to find out. I need to play the hand I’m dealt. Wherever he is, Diago can take care of himself until Jordi is under control.
Stultz opened the door and snapped to attention. “Fräulein Ramírez.”
Composing herself, she entered the chamber and found Jordi standing before the large table. A thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead. He patted it dry with a handkerchief. She didn’t fail to notice the pistol on his hip. He was never without it.
She remembered how quickly he’d shot Jimenez. Be ready for anything.
“Uncle Jordi.” She went to him. “Are you all right?”
“Your father has come. He is being searched and then Field Marshal Heines will bring him here.”
Ysa knew better than to let her relief show on her face. Jordi has to believe I’m on his side. “You don’t look well. Let me go back and get my bag.”
“No time.” He gripped her arm and pushed her onto the chair farthest from the door. “Sit.”
The scalpel poked her hip. She bit her lip and hoped it didn’t break the skin. A spot of blood on her uniform might give away the weapon’s presence.
Jordi didn’t take his seat. He stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder.
It felt heavy, that hand.
And possessive. She made no sign she noticed.
Another knock came to the door. Heines entered and saluted Jordi. “Herr Guillermo Ramírez, Capitán General, Los Nefilim.”
While Jordi was distracted by Heines, she reached into her pocket and withdrew the scalpel, concealing it on her lap beneath her palm.
Her father entered the dining room alone. He wasn’t armed.
The hand on Ysa’s shoulder pressed harder, holding her in her seat. Had she made some attempt to rise? Possibly. It was an ingrained gesture. She always ran to her papá.
A quick glance at Jordi’s free hand assured her that he still clutched his handkerchief. A spasm seemed to shudder through him.
The withdrawal. He’s in pain. My dosage and timing . . .
The fact that it worked gave her some hope.
Her father’s gaze snapped to the remnants of the bruises on her face and then to Jordi. She couldn’t read him. That frightened her. She was always able to read her father.
Guillermo stood at ease. “Jordi.”
Jordi’s fingers dug into her shoulder. “Guillermo. Please join us.” He gestured to the chair at the far end of the table.
Guillermo ignored him. He looked at Ysabel. “Are you hurt?”
“No, Papá. I hope you are well and not having one of your bad days.”
She glimpsed a flicker of his usual amusement in the turn of his lips before his expression closed again. “I took my medicine today. I’m fine.”
Jordi spoke from behind her. “What kind of medication, Guillermo?”
He shrugged and batted the question aside. “Something my Juanita gives me. It helps me remember.”
“Good. Good. Do you remember asking for my forgiveness for the sins of your firstborn life?”
“I do, I do. As a matter of fact, I asked your forgiveness right before I blew your fingers off. In that tunnel. In ’39. I remember that.” He tapped his temple with one finger and winked. “It’s all still there.”<
br />
“Papá, you’re rambling.”
Jordi’s fingers tensed on her shoulder. “It’s all right, Ysa. Let your papá talk.” He turned his attention back to her father. “Didn’t you admit you were wrong for how you treated me in our firstborn lives?”
“I think the discussion was more nuanced than that.”
Jordi’s grip tightened. “Nuanced in that you lied. You didn’t mean it. And so now we stand as kings opposed.”
“We can’t.” Guillermo inched closer. “Jordi, we must work together.”
Jordi lowered his free hand closer to the flap of his holster. He didn’t release the handkerchief.
Yet. Ysa tried to catch her father’s eye. But he was focused entirely on his brother.
Guillermo halted and laid out his case. “The Scorpion Court is gathering in Paris, and we have reason to believe they are preparing to stage a daimonic uprising. Dissension within the Inner Guard has caused millions of innocents to die. We’ve fed the daimon-born nefilim until they have grown in power, and now they’re ready to seize the mortal realms. We allowed this to happen.”
“Are you blaming me?”
“We’re all at fault! Don’t you see? We’ve become like mortals, bickering over territorial lines and forcing our ideologies on those weaker than us.”
Ysa wanted to cry. Her father was attempting to do what he did best, rally the nefilim around a common cause, but she could have warned him that Jordi was immune to this approach. She recalled his speech to her shortly after she arrived. He believes we are gods.
Jordi interrupted Guillermo with an abrupt gesture. “That is our purpose, Guillermo. We were born to rule the mortals. It’s the weaker nefilim like you who are holding us back.”
Her father’s cheeks reddened with his anger. “No! We were created to protect the mortals from the daimonic realms. But all we’ve done is instigate wars that feed the very enemy we’ve been commanded to restrain.”
Jordi’s grip tightened on her shoulder with his rage.
“Gentlemen, please. Papá, calm down before you have one of your episodes.” Her father’s glare narrowed at her, but she didn’t back down. These two would never come to an understanding of any kind. She flinched and tried to move away from Jordi’s hand. “Uncle Jordi, you’re going to break my collarbone.”
