by T. Frohock
“You did a good job, Nico. We’re going to take care of you.” Miquel closed the door and patted the roof.
Bernardo pulled away and Miquel finally saw them. “Hey, what the hell happened?”
Diago answered the question with a question. “That’s Guillermo’s car. Where’s Ysabel?”
He treated Diago to a grin. “Right behind you.”
Diago and Rafael whirled together.
Ysabel strode just ahead of her father and Heines. Like them, she’d taken a few knocks, but otherwise she seemed fine. Her eyes lit up and she managed to embrace them both simultaneously. “We were so worried.” Pulling back, she examined their faces. “Are you all right?”
“We’re fine,” Rafael answered. “How about you?”
“We’re okay.”
Guillermo reached them. “We have a problem. Nico says the psalm is hidden beneath the dark sounds of Strzyga’s painting. Christina is on the stage with the portrait and Edur’s body.”
Rafael stared at Guillermo. “He’s dead? I didn’t mean to kill him.”
Guillermo lifted his hand for silence. “No one is blaming you.”
Except Christina. Diago held his tongue. He couldn’t wrap his son in gauze and forever protect him from the daimon-born. And given what I just witnessed, she is in more danger from him.
Guillermo didn’t notice Diago’s distraction. “She is threatening to self-immolate and burn this whole block. We need that psalm. More importantly, we’ve got to get her out of there without setting the theater on fire. If this building goes, the mortals might not be able to contain the blaze. They’re stretched thin, too. We’re trying to clear the surrounding streets, but it’s taking too much time. Diago? Can you talk her down?”
Diago held out his hand. “Give me Alvaro’s ring.”
Rafael placed the signet in his hand. “She’s ambitious.”
Diago made a low sound in the back of his throat that sounded like a growl. “Any other daimon-born nefilim in there with her?”
Guillermo shook his head. “We’ve accounted for all of them.”
“Sigils?”
“None in the main auditorium. The balconies are warded.”
“That means no sharpshooter.”
“There’s been enough killing.”
Spoken like a king. Diago sighed, “Give me twenty minutes.”
Guillermo clapped his shoulder. “I’m going in with you. I’ll be out of sight in the lobby and so will Ysa.”
Ysa? Why Ysa? When he raised his eyebrow, she lifted her hand so he could see Die Nephilim’s signet on her finger.
Dumbfounded, Diago could only stammer. “How—?”
“Later.” Guillermo cut off the question.
“I’m coming, too,” Rafael said. “Out of sight. With them.”
Guillermo pointed to Miquel and Heines. “See what you can do to clear the area in case we fail.”
Miquel nodded and set off with Heines.
Diago didn’t waste any time. He entered the theater and went straight to the auditorium, while the others fanned out behind him.
The doors were open. Christina sat at a grand piano, her hands in her lap. She wore a silk evening gown, looking like a concert pianist awaiting her opening cue.
Edur’s body lay on the stage just in front of the portrait. His hands were folded neatly over his chest. Ruby cuff links glittered at his sleeves.
Diago rapped his knuckles against the door. “Christina. What are you doing?”
She turned her head in the direction of his voice. “If you’re here, then Alvaro is dead.”
“Probably not for long.” He held up the signet. “And Moloch will eventually return, as well. He’ll require a high priestess. That’s why you need to take this. Now.”
For the first time since he’d entered, she seemed to actually see him. Or maybe it was the glitter of the ring.
Her command was delivered with the imperiousness of a queen. “Approach.”
Strolling toward the stage, he outlined his proposal. “By birthright, dominion over the Scorpion Court is mine, or my son’s. I give it to you freely and unconditionally. If you’re smart, and I know you are, you’ll quickly consolidate your court.”
She lifted her hands over the keyboard as if she intended to play the chord that would send her into her next incarnation. “This is a trick.”
“No trick. Or it is, but not against you. It’s entirely from self-interest. Take the ring, keep it from my father’s hand for this incarnation and all others. Break his hold over the Scorpion Court and lead the daimon-born into a new century.” He reached the foot of the stage and offered her the signet. “The old ways are dying. Let them go. When I look to the future, I see you, Christina.”
Still in midair, her fingers twitched over the keys. “My Edur is dead.”
“He died trying to help you achieve your dream. Would you have his sacrifice be in vain?” Diago turned the ring so that the stone gleamed beneath the house lights. “He will come again. Be ready to receive him, as high priestess of the Scorpion Court.”
Her hands didn’t move, but Diago sensed a shift in her demeanor. Her shoulders relaxed and the muscles in her neck seemed less tense.
Christina Banderas wanted many things, but Diago always knew she never wanted to die. Still, this was her grand finale, so he didn’t rush the moment.
She met his gaze. “Freely and unconditionally?”
“Freely and unconditionally.”
As her fingers hovered over the lower notes, she murmured, “I want to speak to Guillermo.”
“I’m here.” His baritone carried over the seats to reach them.
A knowing smile quirked at her lips. “I thought you’d be eavesdropping.”
Guillermo spread his hands. “You know us too well.”
“There are glyphs already embedded in the painting. All I have to do is strike the right chord to set it on fire. If I turn this psalm over to you, will that enable me to negotiate good terms for my nefilim?”
“It will.”
Christina held out her hand. “Diago.”
He glanced at Guillermo, who nodded.
Mounting the stage, he went to her and slipped the ring onto her finger.
She gripped his wrist, and her expression turned ugly. “I’ll have Rafael’s head on a platter for murdering my Edur.”
Diago’s countenance showed no emotion, but his heart twisted. Had I really expected her to do anything different? Christina was daimon-born to her rotten soul.
Diago leaned close and whispered in her ear. “We will watch for you.”
It was a promise.
It was a threat.
32
3 February 1944
Château de l’Entreprenante
Fontainebleau
The large conference room was full by the time Diago got there. Ysabel, Juanita, and Guillermo conferred with Miquel and Heines in one corner. Rafael and Violeta were engaged with a stern woman in a sergeant’s uniform, who looked up when he crossed the threshold.
Esser . . . Sergeant Esser is her name. Diago nodded to her as he entered.
She returned his silent greeting with a bow of her head.
Ysabel noticed him and quickly wrapped up her conversation with the others. “Okay, we’re ready to get started. Please take your places.” She indicated the table. When they were seated, she turned to her right. “Field Marshal Heines, we’ll begin with you. Progress report?”
“I have instructed our nefilim to begin disabling the protective sigils that line the beaches of the Atlantic Wall. Unfortunately, it’s a massive project, and we’ve lost an enormous number of nefilim to the war.”
Guillermo spoke up. “Can the members of Los Nefilim help?
Heines shook his head. “The wards are keyed to the vocal ranges of specific nefilim, not all of whom are completely comfortable with the shift in leadership.” He gave Ysa an uneasy glance.
Rather than be perturbed by the statement, Ysa elaborated. “We have member
s of Die Nephilim who question my legitimacy as queen. Some of them seem to have been quite in line with Jordi Abelló’s vision for the Reich.
“Currently—because as Heines pointed out, we’ve lost so many nefilim—we’re attempting to bring our more reluctant members on board; however, it’s been difficult. Some will have to stand trial for war crimes. Others have promised allegiance only after the Thrones provide me with a Messenger.” She exhaled and touched the heavy signet on her finger. “It’s a delicate situation right now.”
Heines agreed with her assessment. “So we need to prepare ourselves, and the Allies, for the reality that Die Nephilim’s wards may not be entirely disabled by the time they begin their invasion. We’re gathering coordinates on the locations of specific wards to pass along to the Allied nefilim.”
Diago felt his breakfast lurch in his stomach. That wasn’t the news he’d hoped to hear. Because if Heines couldn’t disable all of Die Nephilim’s wards, that meant Guillermo would still need the psalm.
As if she sensed his uneasiness, Ysa turned her attention to him next. “Diago, what do you have for us?”
“Nothing good, I’m afraid.” He glanced at his son.
Rafael rose and distributed the photographs they’d taken of the damaged psalm. Due to their ability to manipulate the dark sounds, he and Rafael had been working to remove the psalm from Strzyga’s painting. But it was painstaking—and, as with any restoration, there were gaps.
Diago cleared his throat. “Rafael and I managed to extract what was left of the psalm from the portrait. Unfortunately, Strzyga damaged portions of the page.”
Guillermo chewed his cigar and muttered, “Damaged them how?”
“He used the dark sounds to tear the parchment into strips.”
Rafael resumed his seat. “And then the strips into fragments. It was a continual process.”
Diago clarified. “The dark sounds were essentially breaking the document apart, like dropping a piece of paper into water.”
“Or chewing it,” Rafael said. “Definitely like chewing it to bits.”
Diago conceded the analogy with a tilt of his head. “That’s a more accurate description of what we’re dealing with. Guillermo’s protective wards are the only reason fragments have survived at all.”
Miquel lit a cigarette. “So we’ve still got Die Nephilim’s protective wards to deal with and we’ve lost the psalm.”
Diago tapped the glossy photo with one finger. “We haven’t entirely lost the psalm. It’s just a delicate process. But we can recover it. Over time.”
Juanita pushed the photograph aside. “How much time?”
“With no distractions? A year? Maybe two?”
Violeta leaned forward. “But we have the other four pieces of the song. Surely we can rewrite the last part?”
Guillermo smiled sadly. “It wasn’t the last part of the song; it was the most critical section of the spell. That’s why it was in Sainte-Geneviève. The psalm outlined complex sigils and the coordinates necessary to make them work.”
Miquel took an angry draw from his cigarette. “Christ, Alvaro and Jordi reach from the grave to throttle us.”
Beneath the table, Diago touched his husband’s thigh. “Will the Allies stop the invasion?”
“No.” Guillermo shook his head. “We’re getting those mortals across that channel if I have to ferry them on my back one by one.”
Ysabel smiled wearily as if she had heard that vow before. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” She nodded to Violeta, who stood and retrieved a map. Ysabel spread it on the table. “The Germans are convinced that the Allies will try to gain land at Pas-de-Calais. We’re doing everything we can through Die Nephilim’s resources to reinforce that idea. We’ve also spread additional disinformation that the attack will come via the Strait of Dover. And another round of deception indicates the Allies will proceed through Norway.”
Guillermo glared at the map. “But the matter remains that we need to bring them around Die Nephilim’s protective wards in Normandy.”
Diago caught Rafael’s eye and nodded.
His son took his cue. “Papá and I have been working on the Key. We may have made a breakthrough that will allow us to utilize the song to disable Die Nephilim’s wards and hide the armada from the mortals’ eyes.”
Guillermo stared at him. “What do you mean, may have?”
Diago answered. “We haven’t been able test it, because the song will require many voices in order to be effective.”
Juanita’s eyes sparkled with angelic fires. “What was your breakthrough?”
Diago glanced around the table and decided to keep his explanation as simple as possible. “When I first arrived at the Theater of Dreams, a young cellist was attempting to play a song designed to evoke strong emotions in Nico. The cellist failed, not because he played badly, but because he couldn’t feel the meaning behind the song.”
Rafael grew more animated as he told of his contribution. “And in the metro, when I fought Alvaro, I realized the same thing. We’ve been trying to hammer out this song based on technique and style. In doing so, we neglected the most important part of music . . . our feelings. And in this particular piece we hear three primary emotions: the angels’ anguish of leaving their home, which then segues to trust before the final and most important chords emerge to revolve around hope.”
Diago touched his chest, leaving his finger to linger over his heart. “And we can empathize with all of those feelings. We know the sound of our own anguish, of being forced to leave our homes. We sang it in our hearts as we fled over the Pyrenees when the Nationalists drove us from Spain. But in that sorrow, we discovered the underlying harmony of trust. We relied on one another. We held true to the principles we believed in and we unified our voices to sing as one.
“And the last part, the very final movement, is one of hope. In spite of the horrors this war has wrought, we still hope to bring peace to the mortals and to ourselves. That desire to make the world better is what drives us. And right now, what we hope is for the Allied invasion to succeed, right?
“So maybe we can divert the fleet around the worst of Die Nephilim’s remaining wards while we shift the realms to hide the bulk of the ships from the mortals’ view.”
Guillermo studied the composition. “Like pulling a veil over the Germans’ eyes.”
“We’re not angels, so we won’t be able to sustain the illusion for long.”
Juanita smiled. “Once we have the right notes, I can help sustain the ripple in time and space for a few hours.”
Violeta whispered, “We just need to hold up for one night.”
Guillermo flicked the lid of his lighter. “The Allies are shooting for a May invasion date. I’ll give you until the end of April to make this work. That’s your assignment. Pick your people.”
Diago turned to Juanita. “Guillermo gave Nico the code name Nightingale because of the beauty of his voice. Do you think he’ll be well enough to help soon?”
“He’ll need another month. At least.”
“Could we confer with him?”
“Just don’t tire him out too much.”
Diago gathered the photographs and nodded to Rafael. “We’ll get started now.”
Rafael collected his things. “Will you join us later, Doña Juanita?”
“I’d be honored,” she said.
Diago left the room with his son at his side. A list of names rattled through his head. In their hearts, they carried the Key to the Allies’ success.
33
4 June 1944
Overlord
Ysabel sat beside the radio with the headset on, listening to the white noise of static. The apartment she’d secured for them in Douvres placed her group of nefilim within range of the beachheads designated as Gold, Juno, and Sword by the Allies.
Her father commanded a unit stationed at Sainte-Marie-du-Mont with Rafael as their conductor. Their group was responsible for singing the Key from the beach the Allies
had dubbed as Utah.
Juanita positioned herself in Saint-Laurent. From there, she would bring the nefilim’s glyphs together over the Omaha beachhead.
Because Ysabel’s force was the largest, Diago remained with her to conduct the nefilim when the time came. The balcony door opened and he entered.
“High seas and a heavy wind. They’ll never make it through this storm.” He shook the rain from his coat and placed the binoculars on a side table.
Nico sat close to the heat and cradled a hot cup of tea. Although he’d gained some weight, he was still far from well. Even so, he’d insisted on remaining with Diago. “I’m amazed you can see anything out there.”
“One of the nice things about being daimon is the excellent night vision.” He turned to Ysa. “Any word?”
She shook her head. “Rousseau will give the signal when they’re ready.”
Nico nursed his tea. “It’s the perfect time. Wehrmacht commanders are at the war games in Rennes, Rommel has gone to Hitler to beg for more tanks . . . the Nazis are ripe for the taking. I hope the Allies don’t delay.”
The radio clicked in her ear. Ysa hissed for quiet. She jotted down the message and looked up. “Not tomorrow. They’re pulling out because of the storm. However, the weather is predicted to improve, and they’ve rescheduled the landing for six June.” She took off the headset.
Diago made himself a cup of tea. “We’ve got the fifth column in place. The guns are in the church’s cellar.”
Ysabel rubbed her tired eyes. “Will you need to rehearse the chorus tomorrow?”
Diago had been relentless about training the nefilim to carry the right notes. With his ability to feed on their emotions, he instinctively knew if they faltered in their interpretation of the Key. That very skill was why he and Rafael were chosen to conduct the singers.
Diago didn’t open his eyes. “Tomorrow we rest. We save our voices for the sixth.”
Ysa held her notes over a trash can and set the paper on fire. The flames curled the page, turning it to ashes. “I’m scared, Diago.”
“Open your heart. The Thrones will lead you.”
