by T. Frohock
“Make her happy with money. Arrange your visit while Señor Ferrer is home. See if you can get him to give you his thoughts on the political situation. I want to know where his allegiances rest. Don’t try to sway him. Just find out what he thinks.”
“That man hates me.”
“He’ll like you better—” Guillermo gestured at Diago bruised face “—like you are now.”
“Beaten to a pulp?”
“He thinks himself a pugilist. A man’s man. He’ll ask you what the other guy looks like and you tell him.”
“That I killed my father?” Diago wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised by the statement. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed hard, looked up at the ceiling, anywhere other than at the empathy in Guillermo’s eyes. “I don’t where that came from.”
“Came from your heart,” Guillermo said. He leaned forward and tapped Diago’s knee. “Hey. Look at me.”
Diago met his friend’s gaze.
“Your father gave his life for you the same way you were willing to lay down your life for Miquel and Rafael. You did not kill him, Diago. He made his choice. Honor him and watch for him. That’s all you can do.”
Diago hardened his heart and pushed down his emotions. Guillermo was right. “Okay.”
“Good. So you tell Ferrer you were in a fight with an anarchist and you kicked the son-of-a-bitch’s ass. You saved a little child from a crazy man with a bomb. You’re a fucking hero.”
Diago nodded. “Okay, I got it. Why is Ferrer important?”
“His family has stakes in a munitions factory that might help us when the war comes.”
“You’re sure there is going to be one?”
“I’ve had dreams, powerful dreams. I saw a column of death marching up from the south. Madrid was an open crater full of the dead. I’m afraid Spain will soon be soaked in blood.” Guillermo rose and tucked his cigar between his lips. He started for the door, then paused. “That coin Prieto wanted, did you get any idea what it was about?”
“Moloch made it.”
“That’s bad.”
That was an understatement. “It’s a bomb of some kind and it’s devastating. I dreamed it flattened an entire city.”
“In Spain?”
Diago tried to recall faces of the people. “Somewhere in the east. Korea? Maybe Japan? I don’t know for sure.” He shook his head. “But Prieto said something odd. He said that with the bomb, the war would stop after four, maybe five mortal years. He said it would be less than a minute to the angels, an hour to Los Nefilim.”
Down the hall, the clock chimed one soft note after the other. Guillermo chewed the end of his cigar thoughtfully. When the music ended, he said, “I have a bad feeling this is going to be a very long hour for us, my friend.”
“Even so, I’m glad to be in your service again.” As Diago said the words, he knew them to be true.
“And I’m glad to have you. Now rest. We’ll soon have much to do.” Guillermo slipped out of the room.
Diago relished a moment of respite. Outside the children laughed as they passed by his window on their way to the barn. The daytime music of Guillermo’s house fell around him, and he allowed himself to feel safe. Tomorrow and its worries would arrive soon enough. Today was his to do with as he pleased. Diago rose and closed the door against the ticking of the clock.
END
Acknowledgments
My family, first and foremost, always gets my deepest gratitude. For my husband, Dick Frohock, who has to share me with so many people, and for my beautiful daughter, Rhi, and her husband, Andrew Hopkins. I couldn’t do this without their love and support.
Special thanks goes to Josep M. Oriol for helping me navigate Barcelona for this story. He directed me to excellent online resources and answered innumerable questions about the city and the time period. If there any mistakes regarding history, street names or metro stops, those mistakes are mine and mine alone.
For those who read the manuscript, sometimes two and three times, and caught my many errors: Anne Lippin, who really helped me make this novella great, Justin Landon, Peter Cooper, Vincent Russo, and Glinda Harrison.
Thanks to Courtney Schafer, Mazarkis Williams, Alex Bledsoe, Helen Lowe, and Robert Dunbar for their support. I don’t know how I would have survived these last few years in the business without them. All of them are amazing authors in their own rights, and some of the kindest people that I know.
To my dear friend Lisa Cantrell for all of our Friday afternoons (and Friday afternoons to come).
Thanks goes to David Pomerico for taking a chance on my boys, but also for inspiring some of the creepiest scenes in this novella. I’m very lucky to have such an excellent editor.
Most special thanks to Marlene Stringer, my literary agent. Every time I wanted to give up, Marlene would tell me to write something new for her, and I did. Even when I didn’t believe in my writing, she did. In the end, she was right: it just took the right story to hit the right editor at the right time. Thank you for being so very patient with me.
And thanks goes to the most important people of all: you, the reader. You rock.
About the Author
T. FROHOCK has turned her love of dark fantasy and horror into tales of deliciously creepy fiction. She currently lives in North Carolina where she has long been accused of telling stories, which is a southern colloquialism for lying. Check out more of her works and news at www.tfrohock.com.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Also by T. Frohock
Hisses and Wings: A Novelette, by Alex Bledsoe and T. Frohock (featuring Bledsoe’s Tufa and Frohock’s Los Nefilim), The Story Vault, 2014
The Broken Road: A Novella, The Story Vault, 2014
Miserere: An Autumn Tale, Night Shade Books, 2011
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
IN MIDNIGHT’S SILENCE. Copyright © 2015 by T. Frohock. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition JUNE 2015 ISBN: 9780062428912
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T. Frohock, In Midnight's Silence
