by T. Frohock
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
On 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.”
Juanita said, “I’m not questioning your loyalty, Diago.”
Of course she wasn’t. Juanita had always spoken up for him, even when the others wouldn’t.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” He sighed again and wished he could start this day over. “It’s just that all day, I’ve listened to Garcia second-guess my every motive.”
“Ah. Now I see,” Juanita murmured. “I understand your frustration, but you have to remember: the others recall you in your firstborn life. When you were Asaph, you swore an oath, and then you betrayed your king.”
And not a single one of them acknowledged that Solomon and Asaph had begun as friends. During our youth, we had loved one another like brothers. They had rarely argued until the daimons managed to drive them apart. Pride and a desire for revenge had turned their final days to ashes. But that was the past, and the past was as dead as Solomon and Asaph
.
“Is it asking too much to be judged on my actions in this life? Asaph died an ugly death. Diago lives and hopes for better. I can’t earn their trust if they’ve already decided I’m guilty.” He held Juanita’s gaze. “Do you see? I’m just asking for a chance.”
She touched his scarred cheek. “I can only speak for Guillermo and me: we trust you. Miquel trusts you, and you seem to have won Suero’s faith. Small steps will lead to great strides. Just be patient.”
The children came back downstairs, their laughter pealing through the house.
Juanita glanced at the clinic door, then back to Diago. “I’m going to ask you again: did you have more episodes of chromesthesia?”
“A couple. I had two severe attacks in the city and a third mild one on the way home.”
“That’s three.”
“Two and a half.”
Miquel’s hold on him eased. “None of the attacks debilitated him. He moved through them.”
“I’d feel better if you rested tomorrow,” Juanita said.
“I’m going with Guillermo to Holy Cross.”
“I’ll talk to Guillermo.” She put the light away. “If you like.”
“Don’t. We’re hunting a daimon. The others won’t see the signs I can see. Not even Guillermo.”
“And you think by defeating a daimon, Los Nefilim will believe in you.”
He couldn’t tell if she thought him noble or pathetic. Not that it mattered to him one way or another. “I took an oath.”
She considered him carefully for a moment. “The others might only see your daimonic nature, but I see the angelic in your eyes.” Then she turned to Miquel. “Make sure he rests.”
Later that evening, Diago woke on the couch in the guesthouse a little after sunset. Guesthouse. No. It’s our house now, he thought as he indulged in a languid stretch.
Through the parlor window, the sky retained hints of purple. The stars were gauzy points of light through the clouds. He remembered changing clothes and sitting down to sketch the map of the Ferrer apartment. Rafael had settled on the floor, pad and pencils arrayed around his latest drawing. Having finished the map, Diago had closed his eyes, meaning only to rest for a moment.