by T. Frohock
Made with thin legs and thin arms, Moloch was a brittle stickman who was no man at all. His elongated skull and pointed chin were more pronounced than those of his ‘aulaqs, which were merely pale reflections of their master. The daimon’s eyes were the color of smoke and nickel, white eyes, as if he had no eyes at all.
Dressed in a ragged robe, his only ornament was a leather pouch that hung around his neck. Moloch grinned around sharp teeth. “You came. Prieto said you wouldn’t, but I knew you would.” He extended one clawed hand, as if he could reach across the distance between them. “And you brought him.”
Diago glanced at the golem. Rafael looked up at him. Diago’s heart stuttered. Had he gone mad?
Then the golem blinked, its countenance listless, nothing like Rafael’s expressive features. Diago’s pulse slowed. Miquel’s magic had finally taken hold. From the top of his head down to his mismatched shoes, the golem looked exactly like Rafael. As disconcerting as the resemblance was, Diago felt a small measure of relief. This might work, after all.
Moloch tapped his long claws together and licked his lips with a pale tongue. “Oh, Diago, I’ve always known you were one of us.”
Chapter 5
RAFAEL SNIFFED THE collar of his papa’s coat and smelled the spicy odor of his sweat. Excitement tickled his belly. How many nights had he gone to sleep dreaming of being rescued from the nuns and their harsh voices full of fear? More than he could count. More than one hundred and one nights, or a thousand nights, or ten thousand nights, and more than he thought he could bear. His mamá had promised him that when he found his papa, he would finally be safe. Now they were together, and Rafael would never have to face Sister Benita or the other sisters again.
He tugged the coat around him. Something heavy caused the garment to hang to the left. Rafael reached inside the pocket and allowed his fingers to travel over the rectangular shape. The sensation of his father’s warm magic bled through the paper. Rafael peeked into the pocket to find a thin ray of silver, gleaming in the pallid light. Was his papa rich?
A quick glance at the stairwell assured him that Miquel had not returned, so Rafael enlarged the opening to reveal the box Señor Prieto had given to Doña Rosa. A drop of blood from the cut on his hand smeared across the glass. Rafael tried to wipe away the smudge, but he merely succeeded in dirtying the glass even more. He smoothed the paper over the box, then took his hand from the pocket. Maybe Papa wouldn’t notice the dirt, or if he did, maybe he wouldn’t think that Rafael had made the mess. He didn’t want to make Papa angry, so he formulated the lie he would tell about how the box got dirty. Sister Benita had taught him—indirectly—to always have a lie prepared in advance, because any hesitation on his part meant an extra whack from her ruler.
The sound of Miquel’s footsteps startled Rafael. The top of Miquel’s head came into view. He paused on the stairs and looked down as if he was examining something at his feet.
Curious to know what Miquel might be looking at, Rafael stood quietly. He was very good at being quiet, because Sister Benita could hear pins drop on angels’ heads, or something like that. Rafael could never remember exactly how the saying went, because Sister Benita usually delivered her speeches while waving a ruler in his face, and the ruler always distracted him.
Miquel’s breathing was labored like when Señor Prieto had placed the sigil over his heart, and that wasn’t good. Rafael had worried that Miquel might die, but Señor Prieto had promised that as long as Papa did the right thing, Miquel would be fine.
Miquel certainly didn’t look fine. Rafael’s heart kicked up a notch when the older Nefil stumbled over the top step. He righted himself and pressed his palm against the wall. Color returned to his cheeks and the episode seemed to pass. Rafael remembered the hourglass, and Señor Prieto telling them they had two hours. Had it been two hours? Miquel offered Rafael a wan smile that did nothing to reassure the youngster. He came to Rafael’s side without further incident and sat with his back against the wall.
A gentle tug on Rafael’s coat sleeve was all it took for Rafael to sit and lean against Miquel. He jammed his hand back into the coat pocket and fingered the mirrored casket, not caring if he tore the paper. He needed something to hold.
Miquel put his arm around Rafael and pulled him close. “Now we wait. Be very still and quiet.”
The gun rested in Miquel’s lap, alongside a magazine that held more bullets. Entranced by the blue metal and the lingering remnants of his father’s aura around the grip, Rafael tentatively touched the gun. Miquel moved the weapon out of Rafael’s reach, but not before Rafael noticed the beat of Miquel’s pulse against his wrist. His heart pounded very fast, like Rafael’s did when he knew he was in trouble with Sister Benita, only Miquel wasn’t frightened. Nothing seemed to scare him. He had fought Señor Prieto, and although Miquel lost, he had caused Señor Prieto to be afraid for just a moment. The thin lines of silver in Señor Prieto’s eyes had constricted until they were almost nonexistent, just like Mamá’s eyes changed when she was afraid.
Rafael was sure that Miquel’s fast heart had nothing to do with fear. Something else was wrong, and Rafael suspected it had to do with the sigil. He touched Miquel’s wrist.
Instead of pulling away, Miquel hugged Rafael a little tighter. “I’m all right.”
That was a grownup lie, like when Sister Benita said that she would forgive Rafael as long as he told the truth, but then punished him anyway. The only difference was that Rafael knew Miquel wasn’t trying to trick him, so he nodded even though he could see that Miquel wasn’t all right.
Gently, so as not to disturb Miquel, Rafael pulled the box from his pocket and peeled it free from the paper. He ran his thumb over the figure of his mother and tried to remember her face, but her features were lost in the mists of his memories. His stomach ached with grief.
He hugged the box to his chest and snuggled closer to Miquel’s warmth, his gaze locked on the stairwell. He recalled summer evenings when the heat faded from the day. He and Mamá had danced to a phonograph record made more of scratches than music. Mamá taught Rafael to listen past the record’s defects to find the strains of the guitars.
Listen to the music, Rafael. The guitarist tells you what you must do. Let him move you. Trust your body.
He could almost hear the record now, a distant rhythm that pulsed quick and hard. Rafael tightened his grip on the box and closed his eyes. He dozed and dreamed that the golden serpents on the mirrored box came to life. The three snakes slithered from their places and coiled together to become one mighty serpent. The magical snake crawled off the glass and onto the back of Rafael’s hand. From there, it climbed through the folds of his ragged clothes to reach his mouth.
As the snake slipped through Rafael’s parted lips, a different music chimed through his dreams. The notes were more ethereal, like the sound of rain, or of stars sighing in the night. Rafael inhaled and, in doing so, he took the magic into his soul.
Listen, Mamá had said. Trust your body.
Chapter 6
“OH, DIAGO, I’VE always known you were one of us,” Moloch crooned again. His gaze was locked on the golem. A string of drool hung from his lower lip.
“I am nothing like you,” Diago said.
“Oh, but you are.” Moloch tilted his head and squinted at the golem. “And for that reason, I do not trust you.”
Fortunately, the golem chose that moment to move. It murmured against Diago’s shoulder. “I am your brave child. I love you.”
Diago shushed the golem and attempted to summon an expression of parental concern. Instead, he feared he showed nothing but disgust. He covered his bad acting with chatter. “Look at the child. He is suffering. Let’s make this deal and be done.”
The daimon only smiled.
What is he waiting for? “Do you really believe I would try to trick you? Do you think I’m suicidal?” Diago gestured to the ‘aulaqs. �
�I’m outnumbered. They’re faster than me. I’d never make it back to Miquel.” He shook his head and managed a conciliatory tone. “Stop playing games, Moloch. Give me Prieto’s coin and take your place. I will see to the rest.”
Moloch touched the small leather sack he wore around his neck on a thin piece of leather. “You’ll hand this death machine over to Prieto?”
“He holds Miquel hostage.”
“You’ll trade your son for your lover?” Moloch rubbed his palms. His long nails scraped together. The sound reminded Diago of roaches clicking across a floor. “Betray one to keep the other? No. This is too easy. I don’t trust you, Diago.”
The feeling was mutual. Something was wrong. Moloch was too confident.
Where is that missing ‘aulaq? Concerned that Moloch might mistake vigilance for fear, Diago didn’t survey the floor. He held Moloch’s glare with his own.
Centuries of hiding his homosexuality from others helped him knuckle down on his emotions. Diago knew the rules: Never let them taste your fear. Never let them know you’re different. People saw what they wanted to see and heard what they wanted hear. They made assumptions based on their personal beliefs, which often blinded them to the truth. Daimons were not unlike mortals in this respect. All Diago had to do was give Moloch the ritual words, and then let the daimon’s mind do the rest.
“I am the father of Rafael Díaz de Triana,” Diago said. “And as his parent, I vouch for this sacrifice in order to gain peace for our people. The parent guarantees the child, Moloch. Those are your rules.”
“Any blood relative can give the child.”
“I have no blood relatives in this life.”
“Yes, you do.” The daimon exuded triumph.
Beneath Diago’s feet, the walkway quivered as someone mounted the platform behind him. His heart hammered. He tightened his grip on the golem and felt something brittle puncture his palm. The sticks. Jesus, he had to be careful or he would break the thing apart. He loosened his hold on the creature and affected a calmness he didn’t feel.
Diago turned to face whatever horror Moloch had summoned. He wasn’t surprised when the third ‘aulaq finally arrived. But he still didn’t know what the daimon had in mind.
The vampire crept forward until only a couple of meters separated them. He narrowed his eyes at Diago, but his words were directed at Moloch. “You promised me, Moloch. You swore he’d never know what happened to me.”
“No, Alvaro.” There was no mistaking the glee in Moloch’s voice. “That is what you wanted to hear. I only swore that he would never seek you out.”
Alvaro. His surname of Alvarez was the only clue Diago ever possessed about his father’s name. Alvarez meant the son of Alvaro.
His son. . .
“No,” Diago said. The smoke crawled into his throat and threatened to choke him. “I’ll not be the butt of your jokes, Moloch. This is a lie.”
“Look closely, Diago,” said Moloch. “Look very closely, and tell me it’s a lie.”
The vampire didn’t flinch away from Diago’s examination. They bore no resemblance to one another, or none that Diago could see. Moloch had twisted the ‘aulaq’s flesh into a parody of humanity. Only the dark green eyes retained the slightest hint of mortality . . . and something more. In those irises, Diago thought he glimpsed the same strange lights that illuminated his own gaze. His blood turned to ice.
Jesus, his eyes—they are like mine.
“This is the truth, Diago.” Moloch cackled, high and thin, like nails on glass.
Alvaro took a step forward, and Diago backed away before he caught himself and stopped. He glanced over his shoulder and gauged the distance between him and Moloch. They were less than fifteen paces apart. Flight was impossible. Diago had nowhere to go. He faced Alvaro again and he saw the truth in the ‘aulaq’s face. Alvaro was his father.
Stunned, he almost strangled on the questions he wanted to ask. There were too many. Why did you do this yourself? was one he kept coming back to. And deep inside his heart, the child within him cried, Why did you leave me? But Diago locked those words behind his teeth. He wouldn’t show either Alvaro or Moloch his vulnerability. Not here. Not now. All he could push through his lips was, “Why?”
Alvaro gripped the railings on either side of the walkway, his knuckles white and hard. “Because I couldn’t stand to watch you suffer anymore.”
Diago scoffed. “Me?”
“Yes. You. I know what they did to you in your firstborn life.”
Diago shook his head. “No. The past is dead. Leave it in its grave.”
Alvaro had no intention of doing so. He advanced slowly, as if he approached a dangerous animal. “You can deny the truth all you like, but the angels, the daimons, Solomon—they all destroyed the good inside of you. They cursed you, Diago! Every incarnation after your firstborn life was a misery.” He spoke haltingly at first, but as he articulated his grief, his words grew like a terrible flower and bloomed with his wrath. “You fought the world, and you fought alone, full of helpless rage. You forgot how to love. I stayed by your side as long as I could. Call me a coward if you like, but the day came when I knew I couldn’t bear to watch you go through another life in such sorrow.”
“So you just walked away.” Diago flung the words like a blow.
Shame flushed Alvaro’s cheeks until they were as ruddy as the effigy’s flames. “Why should I continue to suffer when you refused to change?”
Diago couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You abandoned me, and that is my fault?”
Alvaro stopped in front of Diago. His gaze flickered from the golem back to Diago. “How dare you judge me!” He spat on the ground. “Look at yourself, Diago. Nothing’s changed. You’re going sacrifice your child. And for what? Your lover? Your happiness?” Alvaro snorted in derision. “We are the same. Look at me and see your future.”
“I will never be like you.” He wanted to wipe Alvaro’s smugness into Moloch’s fires, but he knew he couldn’t say a word without destroying both Miquel and Rafael.
Alvaro held his arms out. “Give me the child. You’re not worthy of him.”
Diago hesitated. What would Alvaro do when he discovered the golem wasn’t Rafael? If he really reviled Diago for offering his son as a sacrifice, he might play along with the deception. Maybe. Could he even disobey the daimon? Diago couldn’t take the chance.
“The boy is mine,” he said as he whirled on Moloch. “Trust me or not, Moloch.”
“I choose not. Give him to Alvaro. If Alvaro says the child is true, I’ll give you the pouch. Then you can go. Alvaro can make the offering in your stead. At least he is a true child of the daimons, unsullied by angel.”
The golem whined. Diago shushed the creature and turned back to his father. He had no choice. If he lingered here much longer, he would never make it back in time to Rafael and Miquel.
As he passed the golem into Alvaro’s arms, he met his father’s gaze and said, “I learned to love.” It was the only defense he had.
Alvaro sneered. He cuddled the golem and muttered reassurances to it as he measured its dull gaze. Alvaro’s motions slowed. Comprehension slowly morphed over his features. He ducked his head so Moloch couldn’t see and whispered to Diago, “I misjudged you. And I am glad.”
Relief washed over Diago. He might save Rafael, after all. He gave no indication that Alvaro had spoken, had no idea what he would say if he could’ve answered without Moloch hearing his words.
Moloch’s voice shattered the moment. “Is the child true, Alvaro?”
Alvaro nestled the golem into the crook of his arm. “The child is genuine.” Fury returned to sparkle in his eyes as he glared at Diago. “You are dead to me.”
Diago made no sign the words meant anything to him one way or another. His father’s curse was meant for Moloch, not him. Alvaro had chosen to shield his family over
servitude to the daimon. They both knew that Alvaro wouldn’t live to see another nightfall. Whatever else his faults, Alvaro had just attempted to save his grandson’s life. Whether they actually made it out of the tunnels alive was now up to Diago.
He held out his hand. “The coin, Moloch.”
Moloch lifted the pouch over his head and threw it to Diago. He caught it neatly and opened the bag. Inside, a silver medallion rested at the bottom of the pouch. White light spun and flashed brilliantly in the center of the coin before it dimmed. Diago closed the pouch and clenched the prize in his hand.
“Run, coward,” said Alvaro as Diago passed him. “Run fast.”
Diago took his father’s warning to heart. When Moloch discovered he’d been cheated, they would come for Diago next. He wouldn’t let his father’s martyrdom be in vain.
The golem reached out for Diago as he passed. “I love you.” It sounded so much like Rafael, Diago almost went back. “I am your brave child,” cried the golem. “I am brave, Papa.”
Diago ran.
The golem’s shouts grew panicked as it called after him. “Papa! I love you! Kiss me! Papa! Can I live with you? Do you promise? Do you promise? Kiss-me-I-love-you!”
Diago clattered down the stairs and almost fell when his foot hit the concrete. Too much blood. We used too much blood, and now it has taken a will of its own and doesn’t want to die.
“IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIlove . . .” Moloch took up the golem’s cries, and the horrible duet echoed off the walls of the daimon’s chamber.
Diago fled from that sound, across the massive room and back into the passageway. After he was around the first bend and well away from Moloch’s lair, he ducked into an alcove and opened the pouch with a shaking hand. He spilled Prieto’s coin into his palm and thought the angel’s designation of “coin” was highly inappropriate. The medallion was far too heavy to be a modern coin. Another bright flash radiated from its center before dimming back to a dull silver color. Diago closed his hand over the coin and searched his pockets.
