by T. Frohock
“Yes. He says Jordi is weak. That he isn’t a true king of the Inner Guard. Beleth was supposed to take over Jordi’s body.”
Rafael glanced at Nico’s chest. “I’d say Beleth and Strzyga miscalculated.” Or Don Guillermo arrived in time to handle the situation. He hoped it was the latter. “Can you unlock me now?”
Nico’s gaze grew distant. “I should feel something . . . shouldn’t I? Relief, maybe? I’m just numb.”
A common reaction for some survivors. Unfortunately, Rafael didn’t have time to empathize. “We’re going to be dead if we don’t get out of here. Can you unlock the cuffs?”
Nico snapped back to himself. “If I do, we’ll never make it to the first floor. All the exits are heavily guarded.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a key. Leaning over Rafael’s body, he pressed it against his palm. “The daimon-born are preparing for a great ceremony. I think most of them have gone downstairs. Alvaro is naming his high priest as soon as Strzyga returns and he wants you in the theater with the rest of the court.”
“Of course he does. He has always wanted to make me part of the Scorpion Court.” Rafael curled his fingers around the key. “At least Strzyga isn’t coming back. That’s one less elder to deal with.” Thank the Thrones for that small favor. “How long have I been out?”
“A few hours. I’m not sure how much longer they’ll wait. I heard one nefil remark in passing that Alvaro is becoming agitated and intends to proceed without Strzyga.”
“How are we going to get out of here?”
“We’ll play along. I’ll loosen the gag and retie it. Keep it in your mouth. We’ll let them get us as far as the main lobby. Then I’ll provide a distraction, and you run for it. Find more nefilim and return if you can.”
Rafael scrutinized the other nefil. Nico didn’t appear to be fit enough to fight his way out of a roomful of mortals, much less the daimon-born. “I’m not leaving you.”
From down the hall, they heard the elevator’s gears hum and then halt.
Nico whispered, “I won’t just slow you down, I’ll get us both killed. You run. Desperation will lend me the strength to do what I need to do.” He retied the gag before Rafael could protest again.
Nico buttoned his shirt, and then resumed his seat. He retrieved the gun and pointed it at Rafael.
Someone else walked down the hall . . . no, two or three people together. Rafael’s heart kicked up a notch as the doorknob turned.
Edur entered the room with two other nefilim in tow. They were all dressed in new suits, their hair immaculately styled and oiled. A pair of ruby cuff links glittered on Edur’s sleeves, and Rafael recalled the stud pulled from Carlos’s throat.
Most nefilim had a signature, not just the one in their songs. When they killed, they left a memento, some trinket most associated with them and known only to other nefilim.
Edur noticed the direction of Rafael’s gaze. He flicked an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve. “Alvaro’s ceremony will begin soon. It’s going to be a grand affair. Pity you won’t be attired for the occasion.”
He spoke to the other two nefilim. “Untie his legs. I’ll be damned if we’re carrying him as if he’s already the high priest.”
The resentment in Edur’s statement went like a nail through Rafael. Me? Is that who Moloch has chosen to be his next vessel?
His heart stammered at the thought. On the heels of that came another: Christina is ambitious. She wants to be high priestess, and Edur is her hand.
Rafael quickly realized that Edur intended to send him into his next incarnation before they reached the theater. Whatever he planned would have to look like an accident; otherwise, he’d incur Moloch’s wrath and destroy Christina’s chances of becoming high priestess.
Rafael wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved or frightened. Death saved him from his grandfather but also meant his father’s grief.
Not that he was ready to give up. Nico’s plan was their best move. Wait and see what Edur does.
Christina’s lover seemed to finally register Nico’s presence. “You follow us. If he tries to escape, shoot him.”
Nico winced, the pantomime of pain not quite reaching his eyes. His hand fluttered at his side as if he might lift it to his chest, where the scorpion had been burrowed beneath his flesh. He muttered a reluctant acknowledgment of the order through gritted teeth. “Yes, sir.”
One of the nefilim untied Rafael’s legs. The other dragged him to his feet.
Rafael didn’t have to pretend to be wobbly. The circulation returned to his legs with a vengeance. His feet felt like sponges.
Edur grabbed his arm and dragged him into the hall. He motioned to a door near the elevator. “You two take the stairs.”
One of the nefilim was smart enough to question the plan. “Why us? Make the queer take the stairs.”
Edur formed a quick sigil. The spark flashed from his fingertips. He snapped it at the nefil. A hole in the shape of a scorpion appeared in the wall beside the man’s head.
The nefil flinched a second too late and then seemed to realize that Edur had simply fired a warning glyph. Closing his mouth, he hustled his companion toward the stairs.
Edur took Rafael’s arm again. He motioned at the elevator. “You first,” he said to Nico.
The angel-born nefil opened the gate and got inside. Edur shoved Rafael in next. Then he entered and selected the lobby. While they were between floors, Edur pulled the emergency crank.
The elevator’s gears grinded to a halt. Rafael used the noise as cover to spring the lock on the cuffs. He kept his hands behind his back and gripped the metal bracelets in his fist. They were heavy enough to make a decent weapon.
The daimon-born nefil didn’t turn. “Shoot him,” he commanded.
“What?” Nico’s confusion was real.
“Shoot him in the back of his head. He’s trying to escape.”
Rafael ducked his chin and spit out the gag. “I expected a more elaborate plan from you.”
As the other nefil turned to gape at him, Rafael punched him. The cuffs worked like brass knuckles and pushed more weight behind the blow. Edur went down. Rafael knelt over him and gave him two more quick jabs to the temple.
Nico stared at the blood pooling beneath Edur’s head. “Did you kill him?
“I don’t know.” And right now, I don’t care. His regret was always a delayed reaction. He put it down to the adrenaline pumping through his body.
All Rafael knew for certain was their chances of escape had marginally improved. They might be able to make a run for it, depending on how many people were in the lobby. Another glance at Nico’s emaciated form told Rafael his comrade wouldn’t make it far.
An idea suddenly formed. The angel-born might still be coming to raid the theater. And if they do, they need to know I failed to clear the wards from the door. He turned to Nico. “Listen carefully, go to the Backstage Café. Order black coffee and a roll. They’ll know what it means. It’s imperative they get the message. They’ll be able to hide you.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll draw the more dangerous nefilim after me. I’m fast, and I know the city. I can lose them. Ready?”
Nico’s lips were tight with fear. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Desperation,” Rafael whispered and winked.
Nico rewarded him with the shadow of a smile.
Turning back to the emergency crank, Rafael released it. As the car began to descend again, he formed a concussive sigil. The ward seemed too thin at the center.
“You’re tired,” Nico murmured.
“We’ve got surprise on our side. When the door opens, I’m hitting whoever is standing there with this glyph. Be ready to run.”
Nico stepped beside him. “On your mark.”
Feeling somewhat in control again, Rafael watched the dial as it indicated the floors. Two . . . one . . .
The car stopped. He threw open the gate. The two nefilim who’d been forced to take th
e stairs were waiting for them.
One of the men stared at Edur’s inert form even as the other one snarled at Nico, “What the fuck took you so long?”
Rafael stamped his foot and sang out, charging his sigil with his voice. The men barely had to time to register that their captive was free before the ward hit them. They were thrown backward and slammed against the far wall. One nefil groaned and tried to rise, groping at his jacket, probably for a gun. The other man lay still, blood trickling from his nose and ears.
Rafael quickly assessed the area. The only other nefil was the woman at the registration desk. The others must already be in the theater.
The woman wasted no time. She ducked beneath the counter before returning with a tommy gun in her hands. “Don’t move!”
Nico stepped around Rafael and shot her in the chest. As she fell backward, she loosed a spray of bullets across the ceiling.
The nefil by the wall tugged his pistol free. Nico wasted no time putting a bullet in him, too.
That will bring them running. Rafael shoved Nico toward the street doors. “Go!”
A second elevator descended next to theirs. Four pairs of feet were already visible through the gate.
From the other car, a voice shouted, “What the hell is going on down there?”
Rafael recognized his grandfather’s voice. He froze, his heart slamming against his chest.
The people in the elevator shuffled as Alvaro’s bodyguards moved to stand in front of him. An authoritative voice led the nefilim in the creation of a ward.
Rafael didn’t wait around to see what form that sigil might take. He jogged after Nico, who was already at the glass doors. The Italian paused.
“Go!” Rafael picked up speed.
Nico turned left and ran. Frightened mortals scattered around him. Whether they were alarmed by his gun or his prison uniform, Rafael neither knew nor cared. Nico didn’t have far to go.
“Rafael?” Alvaro’s voice rolled through the lobby like thunder. “Is that you?”
Rafael didn’t answer. He hit the door at a run, shoving it open with his shoulder. Don’t look back, don’t look back, Papá always says don’t look back.
The mortals on the street hurried out of his way. They inadvertently cleared a path for his escape.
As he turned right, he glimpsed his grandfather’s rage manifest as a vindictive glyph. The concussive mass roiled across the lobby in the form of green sounds so dark they appeared to be black.
Rafael stumbled and then got his feet under him, sprinting away from the entrance. Behind him, the glass doors shattered, bursting outward in a thousand daggers of crystalline light. He instinctively ducked even though he was no longer in danger of being hit.
Several mortals weren’t so lucky. Screams and moans of pain suddenly filled the street.
At the next block, the curious began to gather. Rafael burst through a cluster of people and turned left. The only thought in his mind was to get to the metro. I can lose them in the tunnels.
He went one block and executed a hard right into an alley. The click of claws against the pavement caused him to turn. A black wave of scorpions flowed over the bricks.
With a cry of horror, Rafael increased his speed. Don’t look back! he chastised himself. But at the same time, he was glad he did—he couldn’t lead that pestilence onto a metro platform filled with mortals. Those who didn’t die from the sight of his grandfather’s song would be driven insane.
Saint-Martin. The station was empty and he could access it from the street. From there I can get into the other tunnels without risking the mortals’ lives.
Rafael got his bearings and aimed himself for the maintenance entrance Louis had used last night. He ran so fast, he almost passed the metal door. Skidding in the alley’s refuse, he grabbed the latch and swung it open, launching himself down the stairs.
At the deserted platform, three lights still functioned, but the station remained shrouded in gloom. The door to the empty ticket box stood open. Monique’s rolling chair was parked beside it.
Rafael was on the fourth stair from the platform when something hard struck his ankles. It was Alvaro’s walking stick.
He lost his footing and crashed to the concrete floor. The jewelry box burst from his pocket and slewed against the wheel of the chair. The lid popped open. Crawling on his hands and knees, Rafael snatched the velvet that wrapped the glass shard of his mother’s etching.
Clenching it in his fist, he got his feet under him and stumbled toward the platform’s edge. He wasn’t moving fast enough.
A cyclone of scorpions surged past him. The arachnids flowed upward to build a wall between him and the tracks, cutting off his escape.
Fine. This is fucking fine. If he wants a fight, I’ll give him one. Doubled over by the stitch in his side, Rafael gasped and backed away from the grille that led to the stairs. He needed his wind in order to sing, but his throat was tight with fear. Relax, relax, try and relax.
Alvaro descended to the platform and retrieved his cane. His black jackboots were polished to a high sheen. He wore an officer’s uniform with a pistol and a knife at his belt. Golden epaulets adorned his shoulders and the Scorpion Court’s device—Moloch’s sigil nestled within a double circle—rested on his breast. He removed the dark glasses he wore among the mortals and tucked them into a pocket. His eyes shone whitely in the station’s gloom.
“There you are, my pretty child.” Alvaro’s mellifluous tones echoed against the tiles.
Miquel had taught Rafael to watch the daimon-born for tricks. They use a verbal sleight of hand and deflect with words . . . listen for their tone of voice. That’s your clue.
The scorpions composing the wall buzzed like a high-tension wire. Alvaro soothed them with a motion of his hand.
The gesture came a moment too late. Alvaro is nervous.
That knowledge changed the dynamics of their encounter. The pain in Rafael’s side began to ease. He straightened. Focus. Whole mind. Whole heart.
Alvaro stopped beside Monique’s chair. “This is, perhaps, good that we meet together in private before the ceremony. I would much prefer that you accept your new vocation willingly.”
“What vocation?” Rafael clutched the velvet so tightly, the glass shard wrapped within punctured his palm and drew a pearl of blood. He loosened his grip. “To be your high priest?”
“It’s what you were bred for. I negotiated with the angels for an infant—one whose aura contained their ethereal tones. Your father’s line ties you to my court. When Moloch joins his soul with yours, you will be a god, Rafael.”
“I don’t want to be a god. I want my family.”
“We—the Scorpion Court—are your family. Your real family, Rafael. Even Diago has seen the error of his ways. Los Nefilim turned on him, just as I knew they would. He has rejoined the court, my dear child. He is here, with us. Nothing would make him happier than to have his son at his side.”
The wall of scorpions rattled, a swirling mass of bodies rasping over one another. Alvaro lifted a finger and they quieted.
He’s lying. Rafael decided to call him on it. “Then why didn’t he ask me to come with him? Why did he leave me with Los Nefilim if he’s so happy to have me at his side?”
Alvaro brushed the concern aside. “Your father always looks after himself first. He’s been selfish like that since his firstborn incarnation.”
The rationale made no sense. He can’t describe how one person cares for another, because he doesn’t understand love.
Behind Alvaro, a shadow moved at the top of the stairs. His grandfather’s goons had obviously followed him.
Then I’ve got nothing to lose. “You’re lying.” He glared defiantly at his grandfather. “My papá loves me, and he has always put my welfare first. You don’t know what love is.”
His attitude piqued Alvaro’s anger. The scorpion wall whirred with the intensity of a band saw.
Alvaro made no effort to quiet the arachnids. He eased forward,
closing the distance between them.
A nasty edge seeped into his voice. “Your papá is incapable of loving anyone but himself. I know, because I worked to stamp the emotion from his soul. I personally saw to his upbringing. Everything that happened to him—from his birth to his Gloaming to his placement within the court—happened with my approval.”
The figure at the top of the stairs descended to the platform. Rafael’s eyes widened. It was his father. “Papá?” A spark of hope ignited in his chest.
“That explains why you didn’t speak for me, Alvaro. When Alessandro called me an abomination and demanded the court give me the second death, that was all part of your master plan, too. Is that so?”
Alvaro positioned himself so he could see both son and grandson. “You misunderstand.”
“No, no . . . it’s all crystal clear now. You wanted to punish me for the infractions of my firstborn life. So you groomed me to love you, and then you cast me aside, knowing it would break me. You turned me over to . . .”
Rafael waited, but his father didn’t complete the sentence. He seemed to choke on his words. He’s trying not to cry.
Diago snapped his fingers and quickly regained control of his voice. “And then you sent me to l’Entreprenante with Alessandro, knowing he petitioned Jordi to give me the second death. No. I understand everything, Father.”
With a shout, Diago directed his rage to become a rush of green fire that enveloped the scorpion wall. The scorched arachnids burst, their bodies popping and sizzling as they died. The flames receded; Alvaro’s wall was gone.
Diago indicated the tunnel. “Go, Rafael, run. I’ll find you.”
Rafael kicked the debris out of his way. “I’m not leaving you. You never left me. I’m not leaving you.” At his father’s severe look, Rafael shook his head. “I’m not.”
Alvaro placed his palm over his heart. “This is so touching.”
“Oh fuck off,” Rafael muttered.
Diago’s glare should have reduced Alvaro to a pile of ash. “So what now, Alvaro? What is the next step in your master plan?”
Undisturbed by Diago’s anger, Alvaro smiled. “My grandson is going to become my high priest, and my son is going to pay for his crimes against the Scorpion Court.” He sang a high note and formed a glyph as he drew his knife.
