He means it. Someone had put a spine on the boy. That had to be his father’s gun. Pistols were at a premium, and Alvaro knew members of the militia who would take the weapon if they could. Where is Diago?
The Nefil in the center raised his rifle and aimed it at Rafael.
The angel stink grew stronger: stardust and fire and ice.
Alvaro wrinkled his nose. Moloch recoiled from the scent.
Ysabel paled, but that was her only sign of distress. Her back was ramrod straight and a snarl curled her lip. “This is sedition, Antonio! Stand down and I will ask my father to forgive you.”
The Nefil in the center, who was apparently Antonio the seditionist, spat on the sidewalk. “Guillermo is finished, little girl. Los Nefilim doesn’t need a king anymore. Come on now. We’ll make a place for you in a new order of Nefilim.”
The skinny boy grinned and made an obscene gesture.
Rafael’s eyes went hard and dark. The barrel of his Luger wavered.
“The one with the gun,” Alvaro murmured. Never look away from the gun.
Antonio took a step forward.
Rafael targeted Antonio and pulled the trigger. The dry click of an empty chamber was loud in the sudden silence.
Antonio laughed. He lifted the rifle to his shoulder and took careful aim.
Without warning, Ysabel produced a note both clear and strong. Her song blazed in coppery hues. Beside her, Rafael added his voice to hers. Deeper vibrations of amber and jade wound into the resonance of her melody. Together, they shaped the pulsations into a sigil. Rafael whirled and kicked his heel against the pavement. A spark ignited their glyph and charged it with cold white fire. Ysabel spun the ward toward the trio with a flick of her wrist.
Antonio lowered his Mauser until the barrel pointed at the ground. A bullet was useless against a song. He led the other Nefilim into a defensive chord and counterattack with vibrations of blue and gray. The borders of their sigil were brilliant with sharp strands of ivory. It was a killing glyph—one that would shatter the children’s ward with one hard thrust.
And those spikes will take our grandson too, Moloch warned.
Alvaro danced into the street, the tails of his long scorpion coat flying behind him. Twirling once, he cried out a vicious note, the sound roiling into the street like a drum. He grasped the children’s sigil and reinforced it with Moloch’s ancient power. Catching the dazzling ward seared his mind and drove Moloch deep within him, but Alvaro didn’t let go. He threw the glyph toward the trio.
The ward struck them before they completed their song and instantly killed two of the Nefilim. Their bodies struck the concrete and twitched. Antonio went down last, his arms reflexively yanking the Mauser’s barrel upward. His finger jerked on the trigger and the gun went off. The ugly noise bit the air hard as a scream.
Alvaro raised his hands and blew across his palms. Scorpions flew into the street like a cloud of locusts. They managed to slow, but not stop the bullet, which burst through Alvaro’s hurried spell.
Rafael rammed Ysabel out of the way. She fell, rolled, and regained her feet just as the projectile struck Rafael. He took two backward steps and stumbled against the corner of a bench. He caught his balance and kept his feet. Four horrible seconds passed before the bud of a deep red flower blossomed on his abdomen. Ysabel went to his side and steadied him in her arms.
Alvaro turned back to the other Nefilim. Blood leaked from their noses and ears. Antonio convulsed and then became still. Alvaro’s spell had crushed their brains to jelly within their skulls. They wouldn’t be any further trouble.
By the time he returned his attention to the children, Ysabel supported Rafael and dragged him toward Carrer del Notariat. The narrow side street was lined with closed shops, their steel shutters drawn tight against the shooting.
“Rafael! Ysabel!” Alvaro shouted. “Stop!”
She kept going and didn’t look back. Rafael, on the other hand, did. He spoke to Ysabel, who shook her head, buoying him at her side.
An older Nefil might survive such a wound, but Rafael was too young, and Alvaro had no wish to hear Diago’s dirge. “We will lose them both if the boy dies,” he told Moloch. Alvaro’s sins against his son were great and left no margin for error. Diago would never forgive Rafael’s death, nor would he believe Alvaro had no hand in it. “We’re going after him.”
Still burning from the fire of the angelic sigil, Moloch didn’t answer. Alvaro stepped into the sunlight. The rays smoldered across his body. The scorpions writhed around him, agitated by the light.
He pulled his visor cap low and strode across the street. Following the trail of blood, he cried out again, “Rafael! Ysabel! Wait!”
At the sound of Alvaro’s voice, Rafael twisted in Ysabel’s arms. Tears of pain ran down his cheeks. His legs buckled beneath him, and Ysabel was unable to hold him upright.
Rafael went to his knees. “Stop, Ysa. I can’t go on.”
She placed herself between Alvaro and Rafael, raising her palm against Alvaro. “Stay back!”
He slowed his pace and approached her cautiously. “We can save him, Ysabel.”
She narrowed those tawny eyes to slits and spit at him. “Crawl back into your hole, you bastard.”
Lovely child. “You have your father’s charm, but I must say no.”
Rafael pressed his hands over his stomach and licked his lips. Blood seeped over his fingers and dripped to the ground. He looked from Alvaro to his friend. “He saved us, Ysa.”
“You don’t know that. You can’t trust him. He’s daimon.”
Rafael winced as if she’d struck him. “So am I.”
“Ya, ya.” Softening her tone, she knelt beside him and eased him into a prone position. “You’re not like him, Rafael. You know what I mean.”
Another tear slipped from the corner of Rafael’s eye, though whether it was from his pain, or Ysabel’s thoughtless words, Alvaro didn’t know.
Cruel girl. He eased forward. “You were raised on lies, Ysabel.”
She tore a strip from her shirt and pressed the cloth against Rafael’s wound. Humming, she conjured fiery notes that grew luminous. “Uncle Diago has told us about your evil ways. Does he lie?”
Cruel and melodramatic. “Diago often...misinterprets my motives.”
“Leave!” She hissed at him. It was clear by the direction of her gaze that the girl’s panic had nothing to do with Alvaro’s presence and everything to do with the pool of blood spreading under the boy.
Rafael placed his hand over hers. A tremulous smile touched his mouth as he tried to brush off the seriousness of the injury. “Don’t be afraid, Ysa. It is nothing. You will see.”
She pressed her lips against his forehead. “Heal yourself. You can do this, Rafael. I won’t leave you.”
Such love between them—not as siblings, no, there was more here, something deeper. Alvaro considered Ysabel again in a different light. This, too, was useful. We can encourage our grandson’s love. What better alliance between the daimons and Los Nefilim but through a marriage?
Although Moloch remained very still, Alvaro sensed the daimon’s approval.
Stepping to the edge of Ysabel’s light, he adjusted his voice to become a convincing purr. “He cannot heal himself, Ysabel, not in time. He is too young.” He opened his hand and allowed a scorpion to drop from his signet ring to the ground. The arachnid scuttled across the ground toward the circle. “This is a small piece of my heart song—the most precious gift I have. Let it touch him. It will draw out the bullet and heal him.”
Ysabel’s answer came in the form of a dissonant chord. Drawing down the vibrations of the sun, she twisted the light with her voice until her glyph flared, encircling them with a protective ward. A tongue of flame lashed the scorpion and turned it into a cinder.
White-hot pain blinded him. Alvaro cringed. “Don’t be a fool! He’s dying!” The boy was ashen. And terrified, Alvaro thought, blinking against black te
ars of agony. “Don’t lie to yourself, Ysabel, or to him. That is not what leaders do. It’s Rafael’s life that hangs in the balance, not yours. It’s his right to decide. Let him.”
Before Ysabel could speak, the glint of the sun on steel caught Alvaro’s attention. The ugly eye of a rifle peeped from a recessed doorway a few buildings away. It was aimed at Ysabel’s head.
“Ysabel!” Alvaro pointed. “Take cover!” Not trusting her ward, he placed himself between the sniper and the child. Certainly Rafael would appreciate a sacrifice such as this.
The sound of a shot echoed against the buildings’ walls. The sniper’s gun fell to the street. The sniper slumped to the ground, his torso obscured by the wall. All that was visible were two legs protruding across the cobblestones as if the man had decided to take a rest.
Alvaro glanced across the street. Diago stood in a small churchyard, a rifle in his hands. A youth close to Rafael’s age joined him.
Alvaro waved for them to hurry.
Diago didn’t need further incentive. He ran toward them with the younger Nefil on his heels.
As they neared Alvaro realized that, unlike Rafael and Ysabel, this youth was not in his firstborn life. He was slender as a reed with eyes blacker than his hair, and his mortal lineage was clearly Asian. Alvaro recognized the rich ochre vibrations of the Nefil’s song and immediately knew his name: Xyrus Tsang. They had met on other battlefields in the past. The Tsangs were an ancient family that traced their incarnations to the days of Cyrus the Great.
Alvaro wasn’t surprised by Xyrus’s presence. Caught between the angels’ civil war and the daimon-born Nefilim, Guillermo’s Los Nefilim were in dire straits. He had clearly called on assistance from other Nephilim, regardless of country, and if he had aligned himself with the Tsangs, surely there were others. These war-torn days made for strange and dangerous alliances.
Xyrus raised his rifle at the sight of Alvaro. He hummed a series of chromatic notes and brought to life a sigil the color of a tiger’s eye: brown and ochre and tinged with black.
Diago glanced at Rafael and Ysabel, then back to Alvaro. He slowed his pace and approached warily. Alvaro could tell that Diago wanted nothing more than to go to his son, but he would neutralize any hazards first.
And that is how he sees us...as a threat. In order to put Diago at ease, Alvaro raised his hands in a gesture of peace and backed away from the children.
Still stinging from Ysabel’s attack on his scorpion, Alvaro talked fast, hoping to quickly reassure them. “Finally! Where the hell have you been?” Alvaro admonished his son. “These two shouldn’t be on the streets alone.”
“We were separated during an ambush.” Diago fixed his glare on Alvaro. “What did you do?”
“This isn’t our fault,” Alvaro protested.
Xyrus gave a small grunt of disbelief.
“Papa? He is telling the truth.” Rafael lifted his head. His face was ashen from the loss of blood. “He saved us.”
Diago picked up his pace and said, “Drop your wards, Ysabel.”
The urgency in his voice had the desired effect. She obeyed him instantly. Diago gave her the rifle, and she held it like a seasoned soldier.
But that is what she is, no? She is her father’s daughter. Alvaro glared at the girl until she returned his stare. He quickly changed his countenance to mirror that of a concerned parent. Not that his ungrateful son noticed.
Rafael grimaced as Diago examined the wound. “Is it bad?”
“It’s bad,” Diago whispered.
A shower of pebbles rained down on Alvaro. Someone ran across the rooftop. “Diago, we’ve got to get them off the street.”
Xyrus lifted his rifle and fired a shot toward the roof. The footsteps retreated. He lowered the weapon. “Ysabel, come with me. I’ll take you to your father.”
Stubbornness washed over the girl’s face. “I’m not leaving Rafael, and Uncle Diago can’t work alone with him here.” She nodded at Alvaro. “I will stay with them. Bring my papa here.”
Cruel, melodramatic, and imperious, Alvaro thought as he assessed Ysabel again. If she was ours, we’d take a stick to her. He bridled his frustration and affected patience, insincere though it was.
Xyrus didn’t argue with her. “Where will you be?”
“I can’t move him far like this,” Diago said. “Sing out when you come, and I will answer.”
Xyrus nodded. “I’ll be back soon. Very soon.” He backed away ten paces before he dropped his ward. With a final cold stare aimed at Alvaro, he turned and jogged back the way they had come, keeping to the shadows.
Alvaro asked, “They no longer question your allegiance?”
“They know whose side I am on.” He lifted Rafael and nodded toward a basement door down the street. “Can you open it, Ysabel?”
She ran ahead, down a short flight of steps, and tried the door’s handle. Locked. The child was wise enough to know that shrouding her magic was no longer an issue. She sang a soft note that threaded through the lock, tripping the mechanism, and then she slipped inside.
Diago carried Rafael into the darkness. When Alvaro neared the threshold, she threw her weight against the heavy door and tried to slam it in his face.
His palm took the brunt of the blow. Scorpions dribbled down the steel as Ysabel shoved. Alvaro pushed harder and squeezed inside.
He locked the exit and glowered at her. “That wasn’t nice.”
She raised the rifle and backed away until she was beside Diago. “How do I make him go away, Uncle Diago?”
“Put the gun down,” Diago said. “You can’t kill him with it.”
Nevertheless, the girl’s finger hovered over the trigger.
Alvaro ignored her. He sent a cloud of scorpions under the door and into the stairwell. Let the angel-bastards try to sing their way past that.
He turned around to find Diago kneeling beside Rafael, leaning forward with his ear close to the boy’s lips.
Stepping deeper into the room, Alvaro wondered: what are they whispering about?
When Ysabel noticed Alvaro watching them, she cleared her throat. Diago sat back on his heels and stared into his son’s face with respect.
Rafael said, “Please trust me. He saved us.”
Alvaro drifted closer. Diago’s glare turned murderous. Raising his hands in a gesture of conciliation, Alvaro halted his advance.
Diago shrugged off his pack. He sang a small silver light into existence and opened his son’s shirt. Frowning at the wound, he said, “Ysa, I need you.”
“Who is going to watch him?” She shifted the gun’s barrel in Alvaro’s direction.
“He is a ghost to us. Forget him and maybe he will die.” Diago gently wiped the blood away from Rafael’s stomach. “I need you to sing to Rafael and numb his pain. If you know your mother’s healing magic, now is the time to use it.”
Keeping the rifle close at hand, Ysabel sat next to Rafael and gently placed his head in her lap. After a final scowl in Alvaro’s direction, she turned her attention to Rafael. Stroking his black curls, she hummed a soft tune that sent halcyon notes drifting into his eyes.
Yes. They will make a beautiful match. “We can save him, Diago.” Alvaro inched closer.
“Stop.” Diago held up his right fist. He wore a signet ring carved with ancient symbols.
Alvaro recognized Guillermo’s metalwork in the band, but it was the center stone that drew his attention. The jewel was a crimson angel’s tear shot through with streaks of silver, and more dangerous than a thousand bullets. Alvaro knew of only one angel that could produce a tear like that: Prieto, Rafael’s uncle.
Diago hummed, and from the stone spun a golden serpent with ruby eyes. His warning came soft but clear. “Don’t even try.”
Alvaro turned his head sideways, away from the light. “You misunderstand.”
Rafael raised a trembling hand and covered Diago’s knuckles, concealing the snake’s power with his pal
m. “He saved us, Papa. Let him help me now.”
As the room dimmed once more, Alvaro lowered his arm.
Diago glanced at Rafael. The hard lines of his features dissolved beneath the weight of his love for his son. “You must never trust him.” Nonetheless, he lowered his hand.
It was enough. Alvaro seized his son’s indecision. “Let us help him, Diago.” He released another scorpion from his ring. The arachnid scuttled to the floor and waited beside Alvaro’s boot. “It’s a portion of our heart song—a measure so pianissimo, he will barely know it is there, but enough to speed his healing.”
And just like that, Diago’s eyes glittered hard and cold once more. “And what is in this for you?”
Calculating...he is judging the risk. Heartened by his son’s question, Alvaro said, “He is our grandson. We love him too.”
“You never loved anything but yourself.”
“You say your incarnations have changed you. Why can’t being a god change us?”
Diago barked a harsh laugh.
This wasn’t going well. “When you came to us to help you trick an angel, did we not give you the item you needed?”
“You bartered for a year of Rafael’s life.”
“But in the end, we capitulated to your demands. We gave you the magic to deceive an angel and asked for nothing in return. It was a favor. We make no barter now.” Alvaro spread his hands. “Consider this another favor.”
“That will be two that I owe you.”
Alvaro shrugged. “Who is counting?”
Diago wore the face of a man done with lies. “Leave us.”
Rafael retained his grasp of Diago’s fist and shielded Alvaro from the golden snake. The boy’s skin was gray. He didn’t have long. “Please, Papa. I’m scared.”
Alvaro glided forward one step. The scorpion’s claws clicked against the concrete floor as it moved with him. “Do you want him to pass into his next incarnation so soon?”
Diago didn’t answer. He gently rotated his fist free of Rafael’s grip and spoke a word more ancient than Barcelona. Now he used the golden snake to trace a ward over Rafael’s abdomen.
Alvaro sighed. “Even with Prieto’s magic, your glyphs can’t save him, and neither can hers.” He gestured at Ysabel, who wrapped Rafael in a blazing shroud of sigils. “We know you think us evil, Diago, but we are not. We loved him enough to let him go with you to Los Nefilim. You cannot deny that.”
Evil is a Matter of Perspective: An Anthology of Antagonists Page 5
