Los Nefilim Book 4 (15 page)

Diago turned his attention to his task and touched the wall, hoping to pick up some vibrations left behind by the daimon. The sounds within the magic were almost dead now. Too much time had elapsed since the daimon had possessed José.

Perhaps José's cramped script held an answer. The same expressions were scrawled over and over. Bits of Latin were superimposed atop Spanish and Catalan. It was as if something had scrambled the language center of José's brain.

Let me in OUT in Let me in tell me his name a name give me his name

the son will follow let him follow his father the son will follow the father

Garcia picked out one phrase. “ ‘The son will follow the father.' ” He sniffed. “It's almost like José is talking about you, Alvarez.”

The statement spread glacial claws of fear through Diago's limbs. Were the daimons trying to turn Los Nefilim against him so he would return to their side? Or did they mock him?

Stop it. José's ramblings have nothing to do with me. Garcia is using a random phrase to goad me.

Then what
did
José's writing concern?
Tell me a name. Give me a name.

“ ‘She hunts,' ” Diago murmured.

Guillermo shut the lid of his lighter. “I don't see that phrase.”

Because it wasn't there. Another round of uneasiness washed over Diago. The information about the bridge and Alvaro had suddenly become urgent. “I have to talk to you. Alone.”

“Garcia is your partner; anything you say to me, you can say in front of him.”

“Guillermo—­”
Please. I've made a terrible mistake.

Guillermo pinned his glare on Diago. “What's going on?”

Garcia raised his eyebrows.

Diago considered lying. He actually contemplated saying, “Nothing,” in order to circumvent the humiliation of admitting he saw the bridge and Alvaro yet remained silent in the face of Garcia's questions.

Then he thought of Alvaro, standing on the bridge with the word LIAR carved into his forehead.
Will Los Nefilim give me the same brand? Liar? Because that is what I am.

The room was suddenly too warm.

If the events here at Doña Rosa's house and the appearance of the bridge were linked, Diago would be seen as hiding crucial information. Garcia would gleefully twist the facts and make it appear as if Diago was protecting his father, and by extension, the daimons. His life as one of Guillermo's Los Nefilim would be over before it started.

No. One lie of omission was enough. He swallowed his pride and said, “During the metro ride, I found a new bridge, which wasn't there in October. Alvaro stood on the mortal side.”

“I knew it,” Garcia said. “I knew something happened and you were holding back.”

“I wasn't sure what I saw at first.” The lie was a bad one, nor did it mitigate the damage. Diago deduced from the narrowing of Guillermo's eyes he was simply digging himself deeper. “Alvaro sketched a few words with the train's smoke: ‘help me . . . she hunts.' I don't know what he's trying to communicate to me.”

Guillermo thumbed the lid of his lighter open and shut, and it sounded like the banging of a gavel to Diago. “Why didn't you tell Garcia?”

It was time for honesty. “I knew he'd make it sound as if I was attempting to collude with Alvaro and the daimons.”

“Well?” Garcia's grin returned. “Aren't you?”

“No. I am not.”

Guillermo sighed and shook his head. He was disappointed but not angry. Not yet.
He will be if I don't learn how to work with the other members of Los Nefilim.
Diago would have preferred anger. He knew how to react to rage, but Guillermo's frustration was harder to bear.
He took a chance on me and this is how I repay him.

“I'm sorry. I should have said something.”

“You're damn right you should have.” Garcia snapped. “I even cornered him about it after the ride and he—­”

“That's enough.” Guillermo scowled at Garcia. “Stop with the insinuations about Diago working for the daimons. You make goddamned sure you've got some kind of proof to back up your allegations, or just shut up.”

“And this admission isn't proof enough?”

“It's proof he can't trust you to represent the facts accurately.”

Garcia's self-­satisfaction vanished.

“Now”—­Guillermo stabbed his finger at the wall—­“you said, ‘she hunts.' Tell me how Alvaro's message is linked to José's ramblings.”

Relieved the momentum of the conversation moved away from him, Diago clarified his line of reasoning. “This, here.” He touched the phrases:
Tell me a name. Give me a name.
“She is seeking a name, she is hunting, but as much as Garcia would like for this to be about me, I don't think it is. I believe the daimons are looking for Prieto and the idea for Moloch's bomb. The phrase ‘the son will follow the father' could have come from José's mind.”

“And what if it didn't?” Garcia asked.

He was a tenacious bastard, Diago had to give him that. “Or the daimons are playing on the distrust already seeded within our ranks by creating agents provocateurs from gullible Nefilim.” He nodded at Garcia, whose face darkened with fury.
Good. Let him be angry for a change.
“Maybe they're hoping to keep us off-­balance and fighting among ourselves while they widen the bridge.” Anything was possible at this point.

Guillermo twice flipped the lighter's lid open and shut. “Let's go with the first premise. Why would a daimon be hunting Prieto?”

The answer was blatant to Diago. “If Moloch can't have Rafael, then he will seek the return of his idea. It's a matter of honor. The vibrations I saw holding Alvaro indicate Moloch is still too injured to leave his realm. But he isn't going to let a lot of time pass before he hunts what is his.”

Garcia said, “So he's hired a bounty hunter to bring back the idea.”

“Exactly.” Diago touched the wall again.

Guillermo asked, “Can you tell who she is?”

“Her magic is almost gone. It left with the fragment.” But she hadn't completely vanished. Traces of her song remained like the residue of a madman's dreams. Diago allowed his fingers to rove over the letters, especially seeking those written in blood, because that was where the daimon's magic would be the strongest. He thought of patterns.

“What did you say?” Guillermo asked.

Diago hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud. “Patterns,” he said again, louder this time. “Magic, songs, stories—­they all follow patterns.”

“And what is the pattern here?”

That was the problem. He couldn't detect one. Her true essence eluded him, dancing just beyond his reach like a leaf blown by the wind.

He traced his finger over the word “father” again. “She wears many faces. All of them mortal. So she is entirely spirit. Without a corporeal form, she has no voice with which to open the realms and sing her way across a bridge. That explains why she needs the fragment. She uses it as an anchor to the mortal realm. The song that opens the way must be inscribed in the glyph.”

Guillermo said, “Then she uses the mortals to transfer the fragment from one location to another so she can possess her next victim.”

“Exactly,” Diago said. “She must utilize whatever ability the mortal owns in order to communicate her will, but sometimes when you pour hot liquid into a corrupt vessel, the cup can break. When she ordered José to murder his mother, I think the slaughter unhinged him. José was a terrible person, but he was not a killer, and he adored his mother. His emotional instability would have then disrupted the daimon's ability to communicate its will.”

“So the daimon left José and moved to a more viable host,” Garcia mused. “If Prieto is the target, then we should summon him.”

“Christ's blood, Garcia.” Guillermo shot the inspector a dour look. “You know it's not that simple.”

Because otherwise, Guillermo would have done it weeks ago. In order to summon Prieto against his will, they would have to know how to sing his true angelic name. From what Diago had been able to discern by listening to conversations between Guillermo and Miquel, Prieto was something of an enigma, even to the other angels. None of the members of Los Nefilim found any trace of him. Juanita had even failed to find another angel who would admit to knowing him.

Garcia persisted. “We have a duty to warn him. He is a Messenger angel. He is on our side.”

Guillermo frowned at the wall as if he could divine the answers from José's script. “We really don't know whose side he's on.”

“I know this,” Diago said. “The fragment José delivered to Ferrer was here first, and look what happened. We've got to get it out of the Ferrer apartment.”

“I've got someone who can take care of that.” Garcia was quick to offer.

“So do I,” Guillermo said. “Leave it to me.”

Garcia tried not to show his disappointment.

Interesting. Guillermo evidently didn't trust Garcia in all things.

Guillermo pocketed his lighter and checked his watch again. “Anything else?”

Whatever this daimon was, José fought it. Maybe he could shed some light on how he came by the fragment in the first place. “I need to see José.”

Garcia shook his head. “You won't get anything useful out of him.”

Four loud knocks jarred them into silence.

Garcia said, “The other officers won't question my presence here. I can tell them I'm wrapping up the investigation for Mieras, but all of you must go. Where is the car?”

Guillermo answered. “Els 4 Gats. Is there a servants' entry?”

“Behind the downstairs kitchen,” Diago said as they moved toward the stairs.

Wasting no time, they were at the first floor within moments. Suero had already left.

Miquel turned to them. “Two other policemen were here. I managed to get the guards to put them off but they'll be back soon.”

“We're done.” Guillermo turned and looked down the hall.

Garcia took Miquel's place by the door. “I'll handle them when they return. I'll need a written report from you,
Doctor
.”

“Tell Mieras I have to see José before I can give him a preliminary report. Call the doctors at Holy Cross and tell them to suspend any medications. I need him in the same frame of mind as he was when he committed the murders.”

Garcia pursed his lips so hard, his mustache bristled.

Probably because he doesn't like taking orders from me.
Too bad
. “I want to delve his mind. If we can find out where he got the fragment, we might be able to determine who or what this daimon is. From there, we can figure out how to stop her.”

Guillermo pointed at Garcia. “Good idea. Get us both in there.”

“I won't be able to get you inside today.” Garcia protested. “Calling the doctors and circumventing Mieras takes time.”

“Then schedule the visit for tomorrow morning. Call me when you have it arranged.” Guillermo touched Diago's shoulder. “Let's go. We're going back to Santuari.”

Diago turned to follow Guillermo and Miquel. A low moan caused him to pause and glance up the stairs. Another sound, delicate as a moth, crept down the banister. This one came in the guise of Doña Rosa's voice:

“I'm glad I caught you, Señor Alvarez. You had a visitor today. She hunts . . .”

 

Chapter Four

O
n the ride home, Diago sat in the backseat with Guillermo. He tried to distract himself with the passing scenery, but had little success. Instead, he listened as Guillermo briefed Miquel and Suero.

Miquel sat sideways in the front beside Suero, his left arm thrown casually across the seat. Although Guillermo glossed over the friction between Diago and Garcia, Miquel inferred what had happened from Guillermo's carefully chosen words. The downward curve of his lips bespoke his concern.

He knows Garcia and me too well.
Diago avoided eye contact with his lover. He couldn't take back his lie of omission to Garcia. It was done. Now he would have to begin anew to win the inspector's trust. He only hoped he hadn't shaken Guillermo's faith in him.

I'll do better tomorrow.
This was just like writing a song. He had to work through the keys until he found the right melody.

Beating his self-­confidence with a cudgel of guilt would get him nowhere. It was time to release the day and look forward to the evening. He consoled himself with thoughts of Rafael. His son would be covered in cat hair and straw, his fingernails stained with finger paints, or the lead from his colored pencils, because he loved to draw almost as much as he loved to dance.

“What now?” Miquel asked when Guillermo finally finished.

Guillermo lit his cigar. “We're going to move fast,” he said through a cloud of smoke. “Suero, where is Amparo?”

“She is living in El Raval, near Chinatown.”

“I have a job for her.”

Suero nodded. “I'll find her tonight.”

“What does Amparo do?” Diago asked.

“She is the best thief I've got.” Guillermo rolled down his window a few centimetres. “She'll get the fragment. Then we can study it at Santuari.”

The supple branches of the almond trees swayed in a light breeze. Buttery shades of sound fluttered around the limbs. Diago blinked.
Another attack of chromesthesia
. He shifted his gaze to Guillermo and pretended nothing was wrong.

Like the smoke from his cigar, Guillermo's words were soft and gray. “Can you sketch the layout to the Ferrer's apartment for Amparo?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” Guillermo stared at the passing orchard. “Suero, while you're there, see if Amparo has found out anything about Prieto.”

Suero acknowledged the order with a nod. “She's had her ear to the ground for a month and hasn't heard anything.”

“Tell her to look to the skies, then,” Guillermo quipped.

Diago couldn't resist a quick jab at Garcia. “Garcia thinks Prieto is our friend.”

Miquel scoffed. “Garcia is the kind of Nefil Prieto would love.”

“Even Garcia knows he's to clear any angelic orders with me first.” Guillermo rolled the cigar between his fingers. “Incidents like the one with Prieto have made me cautious.” His words lost their colorful vibrations as the episode of chromesthesia passed.

Diago rubbed his eyes. “There have been others like Prieto?”

“Yes.” Guillermo took a long draw from his cigar before tossing it out the window. “I think the angels are headed toward a civil war. The signs are there and mirror our situation in this realm.”

“But why fight amongst themselves? What do they have to gain?” Diago left the most important question unspoken: and whose side will Los Nefilim take?

“I don't know,” Guillermo admitted. “Juanita has lost two of her contacts among the Messengers. No one is talking. The only thing I know for certain is the angels are using Los Nefilim to carry out assaults on one another. I've lost two good Nefilim to bad orders and angels' games, and our numbers aren't so great that I can afford to throw Nefilim into battle. What Prieto did to you, Miquel, and Rafael was unconscionable.”

Suero and Miquel's calm acceptance of Guillermo's suspicions told Diago Los Nefilim had suspected such a war for some time.
And because I wasn't a member of Los Nefilim, Miquel couldn't talk to me about either the situation or his fears. He'd carried his burdens alone.
Now Diago understood why Miquel spent so much time with Suero. He needed someone who understood his troubles, and Suero fulfilled a role Diago had consciously avoided.
I had purchased peace for myself, only to drive Miquel into Suero's confidence. I can do better by him now and be the kind of partner he has always been to me.

Shamed by his selfishness, Diago glanced at Miquel as the yard came into view. The shadow of a beard darkened his cheeks. The top button of his shirt had come undone, revealing the hollow of his throat. He turned his head and said something to Suero, and as he did, his dark eyes caught Diago watching him. His mouth broadened in a smile meant for Diago and no one else, unleashing a flood of desire low and deep in Diago's stomach.

Diago touched his chest where he wore his wedding band on a chain beneath his shirt and returned his lover's smile.

Miquel winked at him, and then their moment of intimacy ended as he returned his attention to the grounds, but the vigilance he'd exhibited in the city was tempered here. Wards and sigils protected Santuari, so most of the Nefilim's patrols were cursory at best.

But he watches anyway.
What was it Miquel had said?
We watch out for our own.

Suero stopped the car and cut the engine. The villa's doors opened to reveal Lucia, Ysabel's governess. In truth, she served double duty as the child's bodyguard during the day when Guillermo was absent from the grounds. Between her presence and Juanita's, Guillermo had surety of his daughter's safety.

He insisted on the same protection for Rafael. Diago would soon have to choose a “governess” for his son. One thing he knew for certain: he didn't want Lucia watching Rafael any longer than necessary. She made no secret of her hatred for daimons . . . or of her love for Miquel.

Lucia patted her light brown hair, which was coiffed into fashionable waves. She smiled at Miquel and stood sideways in the doorway. After making sure she had Miquel's eye, Lucia smoothed her dress. Her palm moved flat against her stomach and traveled down to fall away just before touching her crotch.

The maneuver looked like something he'd seen in one of those lurid American films Miquel loved. Diago recalled Señora Ferrer and her almost identical attempts to seduce him. Did they all watch the same movies? Lucia possessed all of the subtlety of a cat in heat.

He clamped a sharp comment behind his teeth and did well to hold his tongue as he and Miquel passed her. No need to antagonize her; not when the object of her desire was devoted to him. He positioned himself to block her view of Miquel and gave her his most charming smile.

Her glare should have turned him to stone.

“Papa!”

Diago whirled, forgetting all about Lucia.

Rafael ran down the stairs as fast as he could, and Diago held his breath, hoping the boy wouldn't fall. He was small for a six year old, and Guillermo's house was old, with tall narrow steps.

“Look at what I can do!” Sure-­footed as a goat, Rafael jumped to the flagstones from the second step, lifted his arms, and twirled. He stamped one foot and simultaneously slid the other, executing the chufla, a flamenco dance step, like a professional. He brought down his arms until his hands rested by his hips, then looked up at Diago. “Are you proud?”

All of the horrors and failures of the day faded in the face of Rafael's hopeful smile. “Yes. I am very proud. Come see me.” He lifted the boy in his arms.

Rafael hugged Diago. Just as he'd suspected on the ride home, his son smelled of horses and hay and sunshine. He pressed his cheek against Rafael's curls and inhaled the boy's warmth. “Did you have a good day?”

Rafael nodded against Diago's shoulder.

“Did you draw me pictures?”

Another nod.

“He's been kissing kittens.” Miquel teased.

“Have not!” Rafael lifted his head, and his grin shook the last remnants of the day from Diago's heart. “Are we going home now, Papa?”

Home. Diago liked the sound of the word better every time he heard it. He nodded. “Where are your shoes?”

“Ysa's room.”

As if summoned by her name, Ysa pounded down the stairs.

“Papa!” She jumped off the fourth stair from the bottom, and Guillermo caught her. She opened his coat and patted his breast pockets. “Did you bring me something?”

“You want a cigar?”

Ysa made a face. “Yuck.”

“Then I have nothing for you but myself.”

“You didn't bring me a sweet?” Ysa pouted as he set her down.

“You're sweet enough.” Guillermo tugged her braid. “Where is your mamá?”

Juanita emerged from the small room she used for a clinic. Her long black hair was pulled back into a bun against her neck. Eyes the color of indigo and gold flashed at Guillermo. “Did I just hear you offer your daughter a cigar?”

“Absolutely not.” Guillermo pointed Ysa toward the stairs. “Run before she starts to question you.”

Ysabel giggled and escaped up the stairs.

Diago put Rafael down. “Go and get your things.”

He ran after Ysa as Juanita turned her attention to Diago. “How is your arm?”

Diago flexed the fingers of his right hand. Although the compound fracture he had sustained in his fight with Moloch's
‘aulaqs
had healed in three weeks, his arm was still weak. “It's getting better. I've been resting it like you told me to do.”

“Good. I had time to examine Rafael today. Come inside so we can talk.”

Diago followed her into the room and gestured for Miquel to come, too. If Juanita had bad news, he didn't want to hear it alone.

Guillermo stuck his head inside and rapped the wall gently to get Diago's attention. “Listen, in spite of everything, you did well today.”

Diago felt a flush of shame warm his cheeks. “No, I didn't.”

Guillermo waved Diago's denial away. “You know what went wrong and you'll fix it. I know you will. Don't give up. I trust you.”

Warmed by Guillermo's faith in him, Diago picked at the bandage around his right hand and said nothing.

Guillermo said, “I've got to talk to Suero for a minute. I'll send him up for the map after dinner.”

“I'll have it ready.”

Guillermo pointed at Diago. “Get some rest tonight.”

Lucia came to the door after Guillermo departed. “I put the applications for Rafael's governess on the table by the door. Pick them up on your way out.”

Diago answered her. “Thank you, Lucia.”

She smiled sweetly and lowered her voice. “Thank Miquel. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't care what happened to you or your bastard.”

Miquel slammed the door in Lucia's face and whirled on Juanita. “Why don't you do something about her?”

Juanita didn't spare him a glance. “We all have promises to keep, Miquel. Guillermo made his to Diago, and I have mine to Lucia. If you can't respect her, respect my oath.”

Diago stood with his back to the examining table. “What if Rafael hears her call him a bastard?”

“She says things like that to upset you, not Rafael.”

“She'll move to him next.”

“I will speak to her. I promise.” She picked up the small handheld light she seemed to love shining in his eyes of late. “I had more time to work with Rafael today.”

Miquel sat on the examining table and put his hands on Diago's shoulders.

Diago leaned against him. “He can't read or write. Did you find something wrong with him?”

She shook her head. “Wherever he was, they simply didn't bother with even the most rudimentary education. I spoke with Father Bernardo, and he gave Rafael some books. Bernardo is going to visit you later this week.”

“He can't go to school if he's so far behind. The others will torment him.”

“That's why Bernardo is going to visit. He'll show you what to do. Meanwhile, read to him and encourage him to focus on letters and words. Make it fun.”

“So . . . he's not . . . you know . . .”

“Mentally deficient? No. Rafael is a bright boy, Diago. He'll catch up to the others in no time.” She assured him as her cool fingers touched his chin. “Wish I could say like son, like father . . .” she mused, a playful smile on her lips, which fled at the dark look Diago gave her. “Bad day?”

Diago shrugged.

Miquel chided him. “Not as bad as he thinks. He's always harder on himself than anyone else.” He blew on Diago's ear. “It's part of his charm.”

“Stop it.” Diago swatted at Miquel, but his fingers only touched air. Any annoyance at his lover was feigned. Between his relief for Rafael's good health and Miquel's playfulness, he managed a smile.

“That's better.” Juanita smiled and flicked on the light. “Look straight ahead.”

“Do I have to?”

Miquel poked him in the back. “Yes.”

Diago sighed and tried not to blink when Juanita shined the light in his eyes.

“Did you have more episodes of chromesthesia?” she asked.

“Nothing serious.”

She snapped off the light and stepped back. “Don't lie to me, Diago. You're no longer a loner. A mistake on your part could take all of us down.”

Diago instantly saw the word LIAR tattooed on Alvaro's forehead. The memory punched him harder than it should have.
Don't lie to me.
Did they all think him a liar just like his father?

“I'm not lying, and I haven't made a mistake.”
But I am lying and I did make a mistake today.
He sighed and rubbed his eyes, trying to calm himself. With a conscious effort, he softened his tone so he didn't sound so waspish. “I just wish everyone would stop questioning my loyalty.”

Miquel's hands massaged his shoulders. “Easy.”