A Song with Teeth

by T. Frohock

  He eased his hold on her but didn’t let go.

  She sighed with relief. “Neither of you are willing to budge an inch, and that’s the problem.”

  Jordi’s voice grew cold. “Be quiet, Ysa.”

  His tone quite clearly implied that the grown-ups were talking and she should be still. Rage darkened the edges of her vision.

  Guillermo defended her. “She has a point, Jordi. Meet me halfway. Let’s put down this uprising together—Die Nephilim and Los Nefilim side by side. We can set the example for the others. Together. As brothers.”

  The conference room door opened and Strzyga entered.

  Stultz came huffing in behind the daimon-born nefil. “Apologies, Herr Abelló! He pushed right past me!”

  Jordi snapped, “Find Heines and bring him here.”

  Stultz nodded and shot from the room.

  Strzyga turned and closed the door, twisting the lock as he did.

  Why is he locking the door? Ysa wondered. She glanced at her father. He focused on Strzyga’s progress into the room.

  “Excuse me, Herr Ramírez.” The daimon-born nefil bowed to Guillermo. He acknowledged Ysa with a tilt of his head. “Fräulein.” He reserved his deepest bow for Jordi. “Herr Abelló, I was told to return another day, but I have waited far too long for this interview.”

  “Strzyga,” Jordi acknowledged him after a glance toward Guillermo. “Did you bring Alvarez?”

  “I did.” Strzyga made an apologetic noise in the back of his throat. “But unfortunately, he was abducted by your brother’s men.”

  Guillermo lifted his chin. “Alvarez is a traitor to my nefilim. He’s mine to judge.”

  Jordi clicked his tongue. “I told you that snake would eventually bite.”

  Guillermo bowed his head to Jordi. “And you were right. I should have listened to you.”

  Ysa relaxed somewhat. Papá is getting the hang of working him.

  Strzyga lifted his hands. “Alvarez is of no consequence right now. I have a proposal, Herr Abelló. One for your ears only.”

  Jordi didn’t appear interested. “My brother says he has evidence of a daimonic uprising in Paris. You’re a member of the Scorpion Court. What do you have to say about these allegations?”

  “I say they are lies. The daimon-born are engaged in nothing more than a peaceful gathering. Please, Herr Abelló, an hour of your time, that is all I require.”

  Require for what? Ysa wondered.

  Jordi kept a civil tone. “Not today, Herr Strzyga. It seems my brother has tried to entrap me into making false accusations against the Scorpion Court. That is a violation of his responsibilities as king.”

  Ysa glanced at her father. Uh-oh. She knew that look—the tightening of his lips and the narrowing of his eyes.

  He wasn’t pretending. He was furious. “You’ll believe a daimon-born nefil over me? A king of the Inner Guard?”

  To her surprise, Jordi laughed at him. “You’re angry, Guillermo, unbalanced. Your own daughter says so. How can I be sure what you’re saying is true and not part of some delusion?”

  Ysa barely kept her mouth from dropping open. She’d only meant for Jordi to underestimate her father, not be convinced Guillermo was completely unreliable. I overplayed it and he bought it.

  The question now was how to undo the damage so that Jordi would believe her father.

  As he had so often done when she was young, her father saved her. “Check with Heines, Jordi. Because of my”—he switched his glare to Ysa—“infirmities, I make sure to corroborate my evidence with reliable sources.”

  Jordi didn’t appear convinced. “I don’t know what to believe when it comes to you, brother. You’ll say whatever you need to get what you want. You and Alvarez were meant for each other—you’re both liars.”

  Ysa stiffened at the insult.

  Jordi’s aura flamed around him. It was the same kind of warning flare of power that he’d shown her in Sainte-Geneviève.

  So far, her father kept his own aura close to his body. But she registered the dangerous glitter in his eyes and knew his fuse grew shorter by the minute.

  Meanwhile, she noticed Strzyga moving on the periphery of her vision. The daimon-born nefil fed on their rage, uncertainty, and fear. He walked to the foot of the table and dragged darkness in his wake. A black shadow trailed from the hem of his jacket, like a tail. Something twitched from the corner of his lips—a second tongue . . . or a tentacle.

  With a too-wide smile, Strzyga said, “I can’t wait any longer, Abelló. An hour. No more.”

  Jordi’s hand hovered over his pistol. “Get out, Strzyga. Come another day.”

  “No.” The room’s temperature noticeably decreased. A thin line of blood squirted from Strzyga’s jawline. Another tentacle squirmed just beneath his flesh.

  Her father’s eyes widened. “Jordi—look! The evidence is in the room before us. That is no nefil. It’s a daimon, and it’s shedding its mortal form.”

  The panic in Guillermo’s voice jettisoned Ysa from the chair. She no longer tried to hide the scalpel. This time, Jordi didn’t stop her. Fuck, fuck, fucker, it’s becoming right in front of us.

  Jordi drew his pistol and fired three shots at Strzyga. In the midst of withdrawal or not, he was still an expert marksman. The bullets tore neatly through Strzyga’s chest. The nefil staggered backward with each impact. He hit the wall and slid down to sit against the wainscoting. The tentacles emerging from Strzyga’s wounds wriggled frantically.

  “Let that be a lesson to you, Ysa. Kill the host before the daimon fully emerges and you can stop it from manifesting.”

  That is ridiculous. She’d never heard of such a tactic. A quick glance at her father’s scowl told her he didn’t buy the explanation, either.

  More, the mass of thin organs showed no sign of dying. In fact, they seemed to be growing stronger. She turned to say so and saw that Jordi aimed his pistol at Guillermo.

  “And now you, my brother.”

  Guillermo lifted his hands. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Eliminating a problem. Why do you think I allowed Strzyga to arrive here at the same time as you? So I would be able to rid myself of both a daimon-born nefil and my traitorous brother.”

  “Uncle Jordi, no.” Ysa stepped forward but halted when she saw his finger tighten on the trigger. “Please. The Inner Guard will try you for murder.”

  “How can they, when it’s so simple? Strzyga shot Guillermo, and then I killed Strzyga.”

  Christ, did he really believe she would go along with that? Or does he intend to eliminate me, too? She could barely find enough of her voice to whisper, “Jordi, no. Please.”

  Guillermo said softly, “So you kill me. Tell me, then, Jordi, how do you explain poisoning Jaeger?”

  Jordi shook his head. “That is a lie Heines is spreading.”

  But it wasn’t. Now she understood why Jordi was so upset that Jimenez had talked to Heines—not because of a lie. If anyone poisoned Queen Jaeger, it was Jimenez, and he did the deed on Jordi’s orders. And Jordi shot Jimenez, because two men can keep a secret when one is dead.

  Ysabel didn’t let herself think. She charged her uncle. Hit him low—at the waist.

  Jordi whirled, aiming the pistol at her, but he was too late. Her shoulder took him in the abdomen. The pistol fired, the shot loud and close, just over her head.

  Jordi’s back hit the wall. Remembering the scalpel, Ysa slashed wildly. The thick wool of Jordi’s uniform saved him from a deeper cut, but the blade sliced into his hip. Ysa gouged another furrow on his thigh.

  Jordi cried out, more in shock than pain. He brought his fist down on her back.

  The blow stunned her but she didn’t let go. The gun! Where’s the gun? Then she saw where it had hit the floor, less than a meter away.

  Suddenly her father was there. He kicked the pistol out of Jordi’s reach. With one huge hand, he grabbed Ysa’s collar and yanked her free of Jordi’s grip.

  He shoved her back
ward, toward the door. “Go!”

  Ysa’s momentum carried her into a chair. She tripped, falling to the floor. Behind her, she heard the meaty thump of a fist striking flesh.

  Outside the room, someone pounded on the door. Heines? Is it Heines who keeps yelling?

  A muffled voice shouted, “It’s locked! Get an ax! I want nefilim here now!”

  The shutters slammed across the windows. The electric lights dimmed until the room was cloaked in shadows.

  From her position, she glimpsed movement on the floor. Something thin wriggled like a snake. No. Not a snake . . . a tentacle. She looked back toward Strzyga’s body. More of the limbs were bursting through his flesh, like a fungus blooming from a rotten flower. Jordi’s bullets might have killed the host, but the daimon was alive and well. And it’s still becoming. “Papá! The daimon!”

  Guillermo whirled. “Oh shit.”

  Jordi saw the threat coming for them at the same time. His eyes went wide. “Ysa! The gun!”

  Has he forgotten he is nefil? She scrambled to her feet and gave a shout. Using the scalpel, she sliced the red-gold vibrations of her song and formed a sigil shaped like an ax. She sent it against the tentacle, slicing the organ in half. Two more slivers of flesh emerged from the wound to create another set of slender arms. Fuck.

  “Ysa! To me!” Her father got to his feet.

  A thick black tentacle sped past Guillermo’s foot and latched onto Jordi’s leg. An acidic odor filled the room. His trousers smoked and melted against his flesh. Her uncle screamed.

  The tentacle aimed its tip for the gash Ysa had gouged in his side. But why?

  Guillermo formed a glyph for fire. It was obvious he couldn’t strike the appendage wrapped around Jordi’s leg without further injuring Jordi. He aimed the sigil to hit the tentacle halfway between him and Strzyga’s body.

  Sparks flew from the ward as it consumed the limb in a blaze. Strzyga’s body jittered on the floor, as if an electrical current ran through him.

  Jordi screamed. The tentacle released him. Whatever acid the daimon had released on his thigh continued to burn. Half-mad from the agony, Jordi pushed himself backward as if he might somehow escape his own leg.

  Guillermo turned to his brother. “It’s seeking a way into your body. It wants to possess you.”

  Ysa came to her uncle’s side. “But how?”

  “The tentacles. The daimon enters through a wound. Once inside Jordi’s body, it’ll wrap itself around his brain. Using his memories, it’ll pass itself off as him, controlling his every thought, his every move.” Guillermo knelt next to his brother so that Jordi was between them. Placing his palm over the knife wound with his right hand, her father called on the power of the Thrones. Coals of red-gold light smoldered from the stone in Guillermo’s signet to seal the gash on Jordi’s side and thigh.

  Sweat fell into Jordi’s eyes. “We’re kings of the Inner Guard! We can kill it.”

  Guillermo agreed. “Kill it or send it back to the daimonic realm.”

  “Kill it.” Jordi growled through gritted teeth.

  Ysa barely heard them. Across the room, Strzyga’s body continued to writhe on the floor. Black tendrils snaked from his mouth—first three, then four, then five, then too many to count—headless snakes that swayed hypnotically, seeking prey. Strzyga’s jaw cracked with a sickening crunch.

  Guillermo glanced at the horror show across the room. “We must sing together to destroy it. Jordi, use the power of your signet.”

  Jordi lifted his right hand. A glimmer of panic shadowed his eyes. The Thrones’ tear in his ring didn’t glow as Guillermo’s did.

  Ysa stared at it. Something is wrong with the stone.

  Jordi’s nostrils flared. His lips were white. “I’ll join my song with yours when it’s time!”

  Guillermo formed a ward. “It’s time!”

  “Come on, Uncle Jordi, you can do this.” She took his hand and touched the cold stone within the ring’s setting. Jordi tried to pull free, but Ysa gripped his wrist and wouldn’t let go. “What the hell is wrong?”

  Jordi’s fingers curled into a fist. “It’s Jaeger! She was corrupt and damaged the stone. I have to work through her sabotage. Begin, Guillermo! I’ll join you in a moment.”

  Before Guillermo could answer, a wet ripping noise drew their attention back to the daimon. The tentacles tore the last of Strzyga’s flesh away from its triangular head. Jaws filled with multiple rows of needle-sharp teeth snapped at the air.

  “Oh shit,” Ysa breathed.

  “Recognize him?” Guillermo pointed to the daimon’s six red eyes. “See the brow ridges, how they angle upward?”

  She gaped at her father. “I can’t believe you’re giving me a lesson on daimons right now.”

  “You have to know his name so you know which sigil banishes him.”

  The heavy head turned to face them and she instantly recognized him from her father’s drawing in Ars Goetia. “Beleth.” She whispered the daimon’s name through numb lips.

  A daimon of war. Beleth coupled with a mad scientist like Moloch, who exulted in the creation of weapons of mass destruction, meant the Scorpion Court would burn the mortal realm and everyone in it. Including us.

  Ysa glared at Jordi. “Fucking Beleth, and you invited it here for your own selfish ends.”

  He didn’t flinch from her accusation but met her glare boldly with one of his own. “I don’t have to justify myself to you.”

  “Because you can’t!” she screamed in his face.

  The warning in her father’s voice barely penetrated her rage and fear. “Ysa. Focus on the task at hand.”

  He was right. As usual. She’d take care of Jordi later. Right now, Beleth was their common enemy, and even though they outnumbered him, they didn’t hold the advantage in this fight.

  Beleth was a king himself, newly reborn after centuries of rest. She had only to gauge the lines of her father’s face to know he hadn’t slept. A tired nefil against a fully powered daimon.

  In normal circumstances, it took two bearers of the Thrones’ tears to engage a daimon such as Beleth—one to form the killing sigil and the other to distract the daimon with constant attacks.

  “Papá?”

  “You stay where you are.” Guillermo bravely stood and faced the daimon alone. He spoke to his brother. “Jordi, even without the ring, you’re still powerful. Lend us your voice.” Guillermo gave them the opening note and established the song’s key. He gestured for Jordi and Ysa to join their voices with his.

  Ysa parted her lips and harmonized with him, adding the colors of her song to those of her father. After a moment’s hesitation, Jordi joined them, but Ysa sensed he held back, in essence giving them sotto voce.

  She couldn’t decide if it was because he was ashamed and didn’t want his brother to see the Grigori’s essence, or if he truly wanted them all to burn. Nor did it matter. A partial effort was better than none.

  At least for now.

  Guillermo formed the first lines of his sigil, guiding the vibrations of sound with care. His brow furrowed and sweat trickled down his temples.

  Across the room, Beleth finally succeeded in freeing itself of Strzyga’s body. Wrapped in the nefil’s viscera, the daimon stood on two legs. Four thick tentacles extended from its torso. Smaller limbs shot from its head.

  Now Ysa knew what inspired the legends of Medusa. The image was so horrifying, she felt as if her body had turned to stone.

  But her father’s hands never wavered. His baritone remained consistent as he formed each curl of the ward’s design.

  Beleth struck without warning. A tentacle carried a band of darkness that sliced through Guillermo’s ward, shattering it. A bruise spread across her father’s face and he was thrown against the wall with enough force to crack the plaster.

  Another of Beleth’s limbs shot toward Jordi, scoring the floor with its acidic touch, while a third slithered toward Guillermo. The big nefil groaned and rolled to his knees.

&nb
sp; But he’s not moving fast enough.

  Jordi yanked his hand free of Ysa’s grip and frantically designed a protective ward. The light struck the gold of the signet’s band as his hands moved.

  But not the stone. The Thrones’ tear remains dark. Without considering the ramifications of her actions, Ysa grabbed Jordi’s wrist again, and this time she wrenched the ring from his finger.

  “No!” Jordi screamed. He tried to rise, but his wounded leg wouldn’t support him.

  Ysa clasped the ring in her hand and stepped over him. His fingers snatched at the hem of her skirt, but she easily pulled free to position herself between the brothers. With her proud song, she created sigils of fire that flew upward between them and Beleth.

  It was a distraction, one that wouldn’t last, but she’d bought them a little time. The signet burned hot against her palm. She didn’t put it on. To do so meant she accepted the responsibility to rule Die Nephilim.

  And I’m destined for Los Nefilim. She had no desire to reign cold Germany. Spain is my home.

  Beleth’s tentacles scraped against her wards, extinguishing the flames with claws of darkness. Icy fingers raked her flesh and left behind welts of frostbite on her forearms.

  Her wards were failing beneath the daimon’s onslaught.

  “Papá?” She risked a glance over her shoulder.

  Her father groaned. He’d gotten one foot under himself. He pressed his palm against the wall. Plaster crumbled beneath his fingers and his hand slipped. He crashed back to his knees.

  To her right, Jordi crawled toward her, his tormented gaze locked on her fist. If he reached her and she was forced to struggle for the signet, Beleth would kill them all.

  “I’m so sorry, Papá,” she whispered. She jammed the signet onto her finger.

  A bolt of agony rushed up her arm. The metal chewed into her skin as if the band had teeth. Tendrils of light burst into the gashes and left electric tremors coursing through her veins. The hair on her body rose in response to the shocks. Ethereal chords exploded in her mind. She felt her body rising as if carried upward on the current of the song. Her toes left the floor.