by T. Frohock
Dedication
For Robert Dunbar, who graciously gave me the space on one of his forums to ask questions, and for Vince Liaguno, whose responses to those questions helped shape Diago’s character.
And especially for:
Johnathan, Cushing, and Vinnie.
Thank you for letting me be a part of your lives.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Author’s Note
Prologue
Night 1
2
3
4
5
Dawn 6
7
Day 8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
Night 16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
Débuts 24
25
Epilogue
Glossary
Acknowledgments
Source Books & Inspiration
About the Author
Also by T. Frohock
Copyright
About the Publisher
Author’s Note
A quick note on the spellings used: the accepted spelling of the word is Nephilim. However, in Spanish the ph sound is replaced by the f, hence Los Nefilim.
This novel is primarily told from the points of view of my Spanish characters, so whenever I need to use the generic term Nephilim to indicate the species of Nephilim as a whole, I use the spelling nefilim (the lowercase n is intentional for plural nefilim as well as the singular nefil).
I also needed a way in which to distinguish the various nationalities of nefilim within the Inner Guard. Whenever you see capitalization—Los Nefilim, Die Nephilim, or Les Néphilim—I am referring to the Inner Guard’s different divisions—the Spanish, German, and French, respectively.
While each of the Los Nefilim novellas and the novels can be read as stand-alone works, several characters and themes do recur. Likewise, those keeping up with the series might enjoy a mild refresher, as well.
The novellas (In Midnight’s Silence, Without Light or Guide, and The Second Death) all served as an introduction into the world of Los Nefilim, as well as forming the basis for discovering the Key—the song that will enable the nefilim to open the realms as the angels do. The novels, which began with Where Oblivion Lives, concern Diago’s actual composition of the Key. Somewhat like an opera in three parts, the story follows the crucial points that lead our heroes to the next act of the movement.
I understand that people might not remember the terminology from one story to another. With that in mind, I included a glossary in the back of this novel.
To remedy any memory gaps the reader might have, I’m also including a very brief, spoiler-free synopsis of the events from previous episodes. To be clear: each of the novellas and novels can be read as stand-alone works. However, I always imagined Los Nefilim as a serial, much like the old Shadow radio serial. In keeping with that tone, here is the story so far . . .
1931 (The Los Nefilim omnibus contains the novellas In Midnight’s Silence, Without Light or Guide, and The Second Death.)
Diago Alvarez, a rarity among the nefilim in that his mother was an angel and his father was a daimon-born nefil, discovers that he has a six-year-old son named Rafael. Having never officially joined Los Nefilim, the Spanish Inner Guard, Diago has always lived as a rogue. He maintains a superficial connection to Los Nefilim through his husband, Miquel de Torrellas, who is Guillermo Ramírez’s second-in-command.
Rafael’s presence changes Diago’s priorities. The only way he can protect his son from his daimonic kin is by joining Los Nefilim. Diago swears an oath to Guillermo Ramírez, the king of Los Nefilim, who wants Diago to try to compose the Key—the song that will enable the nefilim to open the realms as the angels do.
1932 (Where Oblivion Lives)
Now a member of Los Nefilim, Diago leaves Spain in order to solve the mystery of his missing violin, which torments his dreams. It’s his first official mission as a member of the Inner Guard, and he succeeds in both solving the mystery and in confronting his PTSD from the Great War. During the course of these events, Guillermo discovers traitors within his own ranks who serve his brother, Jordi Abelló, who has returned to undermine Guillermo’s right to command Los Nefilim. At the end of 1932, Diago and Guillermo work together and finally compose the first notes to the Key.
Our story begins in 1939 . . .
Prologue
Top Secret
Inner Guard Division: Los Nefilim
General Miquel de Torrellas
Servicio de Investigación Militar
15 March 1938
SIM Report No. 49477
Summary of Events 1936–Present
July 1936. Reports are confirmed that the rogue nefil, Jordi Abelló, brother to Don Guillermo Ramírez, Capitán General of Los Nefilim, did willfully and knowingly:
Instigate and coordinate a mortal civil war in the Spanish territories held by Los Nefilim;
Use his song to cause the death of the mortal General Juan Sanjurjo on 20 July 1936 for the sole purpose of installing General Francisco Franco as the leader of the rebel army that currently identifies itself as the Nationalists.
21 July 1936. Don Guillermo Ramírez commands Los Nefilim to guard the Republican government elected by the mortals. When German combat aircraft arrives to support the Nationalist advance (see SIM Report No. 37825), Los Nefilim evacuates valuable grimoires and artifacts from the town of Santuari to the Inner Guard’s vaults at the University of Toulouse.
April 1937. Jordi Abelló succeeds in uniting the Falangists and Carlists under the Nationalist banner to form a single army under Franco’s leadership as caudillo.
26 April 1937 (Operation Rügen). The Basque town of Guernica is bombed by the German Condor Legion. The town, which served as the communications center for Republican forces, is in ruins. Number of dead: unknown.
2 March 1938. Los Nefilim receives intelligence that Santuari is the target for a Nationalist air strike similar to the attack on Guernica.
12 March 1938 (Operation Vernichtung). Los Nefilim’s forces evacuate to Barcelona mere hours before a blitzkrieg attack by the German Condor Legion bombards Santuari. The rebel, Jordi Abelló, offers amnesty to any members of Los Nefilim who decide to join the Nationalist cause. Forty nefilim defect to the Nationalist ranks (names and profiles are listed in the attached addendum). To date, twelve have been captured and executed. We will watch for them.
Comment: All diplomatic efforts to acquire official intercession by the British and American nefilim have failed. The Republican mortals are losing the war. On behalf of Don Guillermo Ramírez, Capitán General, Los Nefilim, I have been instructed to request permission to establish a base camp for Los Nefilim in France in the event the Nationalist rebels temporarily take Spain.
Inner Guard Division: Les Néphilim
Madame Sabine Rousseau, Capitaine Général
Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure
20 March 1938
DGSE Report No. 12301
To the Honorable Don Guillermo Ramírez, Capitán General, Los Nefilim:
Members of Les Néphilim have finally persuaded the mortal government to reopen the French border on 17 March. The bearer of this report, Madame Lucile Perrault, possesses the seal to create the necessary passports and identity papers for your nefilim. Send your family and the closest members of your council with her to Paris.
do not delay.
Madame Perrault bears the diplomatic cred
entials that will ensure your family is allowed to proceed across the border unhindered. The French mortals grow restless beneath the wave of Spanish refugees. After April, I cannot guarantee your nefilim will escape internment in the camps.
May the Thrones watch over you.
Inner Guard Division: Los Nefilim
Don Guillermo Ramírez, Capitán General
Servicio de Investigación Militar
26 April 1938
SIM Report No. 49495
To the Honorable Madame Sabine Rousseau, Capitaine Général, Les Néphilim:
At your urgent request, I am sending the closest members of my court into your safekeeping through Madame Lucile Perrault. It is in Los Nefilim’s best interest that Juanita accompany our daughter, Ysabel Ramírez, with the retinue so that Ysabel can benefit from her mother’s angelic guidance.
Until I can reach Paris, Ysabel is my voice in all matters regarding the Inner Guard and serves as my proxy. I’ve instructed her to establish a base of operations for Los Nefilim in Paris in order to facilitate the resettlement of nefilim displaced by the war. She will have my personal staff at her disposal. Although she is fifteen years old and in her firstborn life, she has trained for this role and exhibits sound acumen. Trust her as you would me.
The Republican mortals have planned one last offensive in the hopes of turning the war in their favor. We have advised them to pursue a different course, but the Popular Front suffers from continued infighting within its leadership. Achieving any form of accord between the groups grows more remote by the day. I will remain with Los Nefilim’s milicianos to offer the mortals support for as long as we’re able.
Inner Guard Division: Les Néphilim
Madame Sabine Rousseau, Capitaine Général
Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure
7 February 1939
DGSE Report No. 12595
To the Honorable Don Guillermo Ramírez, Capitán General, Los Nefilim:
The French mortals are overwhelmed with Spanish refugees. They are separating families at the border checkpoints and placing them in internment camps. Soldiers and able-bodied men are currently being sent to Argelès-sur-Mer. Conditions are horrific. Prepare your nefilim for this eventuality. Les Néphilim will watch for them and liberate them at the first opportunity.
Inner Guard Division: Los Nefilim
General Miquel de Torrellas
Servicio de Investigación Militar
10 February 1939
SIM Report No. 49785
To the Honorable Madame Sabine Rousseau, Capitaine Général, Les Néphilim:
Catalonia has fallen. Los Nefilim is in retreat.
Our intelligence has uncovered Jordi’s plot to send assassins after Don Guillermo and his daughter, Ysabel. Diago Alvarez, Carme Gebara, and Feran Perez are assigned to escort Don Guillermo to the French border via an undisclosed route. We severed communications with Don Guillermo on 5 February 1939 for his own safety. His whereabouts are currently unknown.
Even in retreat, our unit remains under heavy artillery fire. The Germans and Italians bomb civilians as they flee the Nationalist advance.
My unit will continue to provide support to the mortal refugees in the eastern sector as they cross the Pyrenees. We will approach the border at Le Perthus.
Watch for us.
Night
la retirada
(the retreat)
15 February 1939
1
The Pyrenees
Near the Tavascan Pass, Spain
Winter hit the Pyrenees hard with ice as treacherous as postwar loyalties. Both could kill with a single slip.
Dark clouds smoldered over the jagged peaks, threatening a storm before the twilight ended. The wind blew in savage gusts, ready to rip all four nefilim from the old chamois trail and toss them into the valley far below.
As Guillermo navigated a difficult climb to the summit, Diago waited on a narrow ledge with Feran and Carme. Barely sixty centimeters separated the trio from a sheer drop. Three hundred meters below, coniferous trees hid the valley’s floor. At their backs was a wall of stone that offered them no cover from either the wind or their enemies.
Feran, a Galician with light brown hair and fair skin, shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he stood between Diago and Carme. On the other side of him, Carme crouched and watched the opposite ridge with the studied gaze of a professional killer.
Above them, Guillermo caught hold of the ridge’s crest. He pulled himself upward, digging the toe of his boot against the sheer wall.
Feran twitched and tightened his grip on his rifle’s strap. Diago followed the lanky nefil’s gaze, half expecting to see soldiers on the opposite ridge. To his relief, the trail remained empty. Fucking Feran is infecting me with anxiety.
Not that the younger nefil’s skittishness was entirely unfounded. If the Nationalists caught up with them now, they made perfect targets.
A smattering of loose stones tumbled down the incline. Diago looked up in time to see Guillermo’s heels disappear over the ledge. Finally.
Feran shifted his weight left again. In doing so, he managed to step on Carme’s last nerve.
“If you’ve got to piss, Feran, just whip it out and go.”
“Looking for a golden shower?” he shot back, terror sending his voice and his bravado soaring into the higher registers.
Not even the wind could tear the menace from Carme’s words. “Just one nudge.” She pointed down. “A quick push and over you go.”
Feran’s cheeks paled. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Carme’s cold smile said otherwise.
“Don’t test her,” Diago warned. “From this height, your skull will burst like an overripe melon.”
Feran squeaked, “Fuck you, Carme.”
She lifted her finger in an obscene gesture and half-heartedly waved it in his direction while never taking her gaze from the opposite ridge. “Fuck Diago. He likes men.”
“Are you crazy?” Feran’s flush had nothing to do with the wind. “Seriously, Diago, no offense—”
“Jesus Christ, you two, pipe down,” Diago muttered. He tuned out the bickering pair and wondered if his husband, Miquel, had reached France.
With communications cut, news had grown as thin as the mountain air. Rumors and carrion birds were all that followed battlefields. Their last missive from Queen Rousseau indicated Republican soldiers were being taken to an internment camp at Argelès-sur-Mer, although it was just as likely that Miquel might be in Paris when they reached the French border.
One step at a time. They would be together again soon . . . another week, maybe two.
Guillermo tossed down a rope. “Okay, lovebirds, Diago is next.”
With a deep breath to steady his own jangled nerves, Diago stepped around a puddle of ice and pressed himself against the wall. Fissures zigzagged over the limestone beneath his feet. A small section near the toe of his boot crumbled and vanished into the thin air.
Diago froze. Fear sent a trickle of sweat down his back. He remembered dying in his last incarnation, a lingering death wrought by an insane angel. At least this will be quick.
Behind him, Carme’s voice rose over the howling wind. “Keep moving, Diago.”
The command snapped him out of his daze. He shuffled along the trail again and removed his gloves. The wind threatened to tear them from his hands before he could stuff them into his pockets. The incline grew steeper. Reaching up, he sought a handhold in the crevice between two stones. The icy rock leached the feeling from his fingertips.
He pictured his son, Rafael, waiting for them in Paris. I promised him that I’d join him there. Gritting his teeth, he dragged himself upward, bringing his body a few centimeters closer to the French border and his family.
As soon as he was within reach, he seized the rope and pulled himself upward. When he neared the crest of the hill, Guillermo reached down, grabbed his pack, and hauled him onto level ground.
“Do you
think we’ve lost them?” Guillermo asked.
Rolling free of the precipitous drop, Diago scrambled to his knees and unshouldered his rifle. The scree bit through his worn trousers and into his knees. He scanned the opposite ridge, looking for any sign of movement, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw none. Jordi’s squad still hadn’t caught up to them.
“No. We haven’t lost them. They’re just being more cautious after Carme shot one yesterday. Besides, it’s almost dark. They may have decided to camp for the night.”
Guillermo coiled the rope. His lips barely moved with his reply. “They’ve had multiple chances to take us down and they haven’t. They’re herding us, and that means they have a plan. The question is, where? And why?”
“Not for anything pleasant, I can assure you of that.”
“No argument there.” Guillermo returned to the ledge and tossed down the rope. “Move it, Feran!”
Diago surveyed the area with a glance. A few pines clung to the stony ground in defiance of the wind. The trees and rocks gave them a smattering of cover. Otherwise, there wasn’t much to distinguish this hill from the one they’d just left.
Diago took shelter behind a wide outcropping. Dropping to his stomach, he balanced his Mauser’s barrel on the rock’s rim.
Through the scope, he observed a male figure creeping wraithlike along the thin trail on the opposite ridge. The man’s red-tasseled infantry cap and the heavy wool poncho belted tight around his waist identified him as a Nationalist soldier.
Diago didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was a nefil. The grace of his movements gave him away.
“We’ve got company.”
“How many?” Even as he continued to pull Feran upward, Guillermo lowered himself to his belly to make a smaller target.
“One. Looks like a scout.” Diago lined up his shot and squeezed the trigger. Just as he fired, the Nationalist skidded on a patch of ice and crouched to keep his balance. The bullet skimmed the top of his hat. The nefil dived behind a nearby boulder.
