by T. Frohock
The guard ventured to the edge of the alcove and leaned against the peeling plaster. “Have you seen him?”
“Feran?” Diago asked.
“Yeah. He got hit bad.”
Guillermo feigned surprise. “By what?”
“Sigil. Shit. It’s incredible. He’s got these red fingers growing out of his neck.” The guard shuddered. “What kind of sick bitch would create something like that?”
Oh, Carme, you were a piece of work.
Undeterred by their silence, the guard continued, “And he keeps spitting out needles.”
Diago exchanged a glance with Guillermo. “You mean like metal needles?”
“Yes! They just . . . ooze out of his gums.”
Diago was genuinely astonished. The needles were a new twist. He wondered how she’d managed that.
“Shit,” Guillermo murmured. “That’s got to be painful.”
Don’t sound so pleased about it. Diago shot him a warning glare.
The guard nodded. “Looks like it hurts like hell, and the stink! Mother Mary, I’d shoot myself just to get away from the stench.”
Wondering if the guard knew of Feran’s whereabouts, Diago eased forward. “I’ve got to see this. Do you know where he is?”
“Infirmary. Dr. Bianchi is trying to remove the latest boil. Hey.” He motioned them closer and whispered, “We’ve got a pool betting on how long Feran will last. You want in?”
Daimons stick together better than this lot. Diago clicked his tongue. “I’d love to, but I’m broke.”
“Yeah, me, too.” Guillermo patted the nefil’s shoulder. “And we have to go. I’m just sorry I can’t see that.”
“Maybe you can. There’s a shortcut to the infirmary.” He pointed down the corridor. “That way. Straight ahead and around that bend you’ll see a door. On the other side is a corridor. Dr. Bianchi uses it all the time to get to the prisoners in case of an emergency, so he leaves the door unlocked. If you slip through real quiet, you might get a peek at Feran as he’s leaving Bianchi’s office.”
Diago glanced at Guillermo, but he didn’t say anything. It was the first good luck they’d had since they’d fled into the mountains, because even if Feran didn’t have Carme’s notebook, he’d know where to find it.
Guillermo glanced down the hall and then shook his head. “Oh, but we shouldn’t. We’ll get in trouble.”
The guard shook his head and pretended to cover his eyes. “I never saw you.” He dropped his hand and winked. “Go on.”
Diago nudged Guillermo. “Let’s do it.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“Come on. We’ll never get another chance.”
Feigning reluctance, Guillermo finally nodded. “Okay. I guess we could. This shortcut, is anyone there?”
The guard shook his head. “Bianchi keeps an office in the corridor for supplies, but he’s rarely there. Otherwise, there’s nothing between here and the infirmary. Go on. Hurry. My relief will be here soon, and I want to hear what you think.”
Guillermo put his finger to his lips and the guard grinned at him. Diago started walking down the hall.
They’d barely turned their backs before the jovial smiles faded from their faces. They found the door and went through.
The corridor was dimly lit. They slowed and eased around a curve. A passage masked in shadows continued for another sixty paces before taking a sharp right.
The sound of footsteps reached them as they neared the corner. Three, maybe four men. Diago lifted his hand and sidled forward. Guillermo flattened himself against the wall.
At the corner, Diago leaned around the edge. A single bulb hung over the storage room’s door. The rest of the corridor remained heavy with shadows, much like the one in which they stood.
A nefil wearing a white lab coat and carrying a rucksack walked toward the storeroom. As he reached the pool of light, Diago instantly recognized Jordi’s lover, Nico.
A youth trailed behind Nico. The boy was barefoot and shirtless. His bruises and torn pants testified to a hard fight. A pair of guards flanked him.
With that wild hair and the slouch, he could be my Rafael. Then the boy stepped into the light. Diago sucked air between his teeth and ducked back around the corner.
It is Rafael.
The ramifications of seeing his son this far from Paris whipped through his brain. Are we too late? Has Jordi already attacked France? That would explain Rafael’s appearance. He’d fought them hard, that much was apparent. But where are they taking him? And what about Ysa and Juanita?
Guillermo frowned at him and raised his eyebrows.
The empty hall carried Nico’s command to them. “Face the wall.”
A flash of rage hit Diago’s chest. That was probably given to Rafael.
Guillermo started to move. Diago signaled that enemy soldiers were around the corner.
If they moved too soon, they endangered Rafael. The boy was unarmed, and Diago wasn’t sure if they’d somehow weakened his ability to form a sigil. He seriously doubted they’d allow him to move uninhibited through the halls.
Diago drew his pistol and risked another glance around the corner.
Nico fumbled with the rucksack and then unlocked the door. “Get inside.”
Rafael obeyed him. One of the soldiers started to follow, but Nico got in front of him. “I need you two to wait out here for a moment.”
Diago frowned. What’s he up to?
The taller soldier appeared concerned about Nico’s motives, as well. “The generalissimo said not to let either of you out of our sight. And you said you needed us to hold the boy.”
Diago didn’t like the sound of that.
The second guard stood just behind the first. He stared into the room, presumably watching Rafael.
Nico struck like a snake, pushing something against the first guard’s thigh. When he pulled his hand away, Diago thought he glimpsed a syringe.
The soldier swayed on his feet. “What did you just do?”
“Nothing.” Nico’s hand disappeared into the rucksack. “You look tired. Have you been taking your Pervitin?”
The shorter nefil looked to his companion. “Rana?”
Rana choked. A line of foam emerged from between his lips and dribbled down his chin.
“Quick!” Nico dropped the rucksack and gestured to the other soldier. “He’s having a seizure. Get him on the floor.”
The soldier did as he was told. As soon as his back was to Nico, the doctor withdrew a full syringe. He slipped the needle into the back of the second soldier’s neck and rammed the plunger home.
“You son of a bitch!” The guard fumbled for his pistol, but his reflexes couldn’t outrace whatever poison ran through his veins. Soon he was twitching beside his comrade.
Nico capped the empty syringe and tossed it into the storage room. “Quick! Help me get them out of the hall!”
Rafael emerged from the room and grabbed the taller nefil’s ankles. “Is he dead?”
“He’s dying.” Nico took the guard’s arms.
Guillermo started. “Is that . . . ?”
Diago nodded and stepped around the corner. He lifted his pistol. “Get away from my son.”
The pair froze and stared at Diago as if he’d popped up through the floor.
And in some ways, I guess I did. As Diago advanced on them, Rafael dropped the soldier’s feet.
“Papá?” Blood seeped through the bandages on his wrists. Three claw marks decorated his cheek.
What the hell did he fight? And then he remembered the photograph and that strange four-fingered hand. Grigori.
Guillermo caught up to Diago. His freckles were stark on his pale skin.
He’s worried he’s going to find his Ysabel here, and frankly I am, too. Rafael’s presence led to more questions than answers. Where is Juanita? She’d never let either of the children out of her sight for long.
Nico didn’t release the nefil’s arms or dive for a gun. Keeping very still, he monito
red their approach the way a rabbit watched wolves.
Calculating his next move. Diago glanced at the dying soldiers and easily recognized the signs of strychnine poisoning. Nico had hit them hard and with a full vial if their convulsions were any clue.
Rafael gave a hoarse cry and took a staggering step toward Diago. “It is you!”
He caught his son before Rafael could fall. Holding him tight with one arm, he kept his pistol trained on Nico.
And I thought I’d never hold him again. Diago pressed his lips against Rafael’s cheek. Choking on a combination of relief and fear, he murmured around the lump in his throat, “Hush. I’ve got you.”
Guillermo pulled Rafael away from Diago. “Is Ysa here, too?”
Rafael wiped his eyes and shook his head. “No. She is in Paris. She’s safe.”
Nico hissed for quiet. “This hall isn’t used often, but it is used. Help me get them out of sight, or we’re all going to the pit.”
Surprising Diago, Rafael left his side and grabbed the smaller soldier’s ankles again, pulling as if his life depended on it.
Guillermo lifted the shoulders of the biggest nefil and indicated that Diago should take his legs. “Why would they send us to the pit?”
“Inside,” Nico whispered as he and Rafael hauled the guard into the storage room.
Diago wasted no time helping Guillermo drag the bigger soldier through the door.
A desk and a rolling chair commanded the center of the room. Boxes clearly marked as medical supplies lined the back wall next to two filing cabinets. Squat bookshelves filled with fat binders occupied the space next to another door.
Nico tossed his rucksack to the desk and went to the door. He fumbled with a set of keys and finally found the right one. Jamming it into the lock, he opened the door to reveal more boxes of medical supplies, some of them marked the same as the ones in storage below: Pervitin.
“Get them in here.” He shoved boxes aside to make room for the dying nefilim.
And dying they are. Their convulsions were ceasing. The strong odor of urine suddenly filled the room as one of the soldiers lost control of his bladder.
Nico pried open a box containing towels. He went to the corridor and swiped the floor. Then he returned and locked the door.
In the office, he wiped up the trail of urine, and tossed the towel into a corner. Humming softly, he fashioned a sigil that produced gentle violet tones. The glyph enveloped the stinking towel, burning it to ash, but instead of charred cotton, the room smelled of lavender.
“Nice trick.” Guillermo complimented Nico before he hefted the guards’ rifles and brought them to the desk. “What have we got?”
Diago surveyed the ammunition. “All total: two rifles, four pistols, and I’ve got four extra magazines for the pistols.”
Guillermo nodded. “With mine, we have seven for the pistols.” He placed four stripper clips, each holding five rounds, beside the Mausers. “And four for the rifles.” He shot the bolt of each rifle in turn. “Both have a full load.”
Rafael opened the rucksack and produced a handgun. “Five pistols.”
Nico placed two more magazines on the desk. “That’s all I’ve got.”
It would have to be enough. Diago turned to his son. “If everyone else is safe in Paris, how did you get here?”
“It’s complicated.”
“He came through the French portal,” Nico said. “It opens in Paris.”
Of course, and somehow his enterprising son managed to get sucked through it—which, when he thought about it, also felt like an “of course.” He didn’t ask how. But if we survive this and I find out that he disobeyed Juanita . . . He shut down the thought and noted the bruise over his son’s kidney. “What happened to your back?”
Rafael withdrew a uniform from the sack along with a pair of boots. “Jordi wants respect.”
Guillermo scoffed. “Then he should try earning it.”
Rafael pulled on the shirt and buttoned it. “I’ll let you tell him that after we save Miquel, because that’s where we’re going . . . to get Miquel, and then we’re getting out of here. Right, Nico?”
Guillermo froze. “What?”
Diago’s knees felt weak. He leaned against the desk. Jesus. Jesus Christ. How close did I come to losing both of them? He shut off the thought. They were all still in danger, and the chances of losing one or both were still too high. “Miquel is here?”
“Yes, and we have to hurry.” Nico adjusted Rafael’s collar.
Diago resisted the urge to tell the other nefil to get his hands off the boy.
Nico seemed to notice Diago’s glare. He cleared his throat and stepped away from Rafael. “Jordi is expecting me to bring Rafael to his chambers”—he checked his watch—“in two and a half hours. When we don’t show up, he’s going to come looking for us with a squad and Samyaza on his heels. He already suspects me.”
Watching Nico carefully, Guillermo asked, “What exactly does Jordi suspect you of doing?”
Nico took one of the pistols and checked the chamber. “That I tried to help Miquel.”
“And did you help him?” Diago straightened, not liking the spike of jealousy piercing his heart. “Or were you just concerned with helping yourself?”
Nico held his ground. “Both.”
Guillermo cleared his throat and shot Diago a warning. “Gentlemen, let’s focus on the situation.”
Rafael reached for the pants. “Don Guillermo is right, Papá. We have to get to Miquel quick. I’m afraid he’s given up.”
Could that be? Had they broken him? He searched Rafael’s countenance, hoping for some reassurance that they weren’t too late.
He found himself staring into the eyes of a man. They’d been apart for only ten months—a bare blink of time to the nefilim, yet Rafael had grown three inches and the mischievous child Diago had nurtured in Spain was forever gone. The war stole lives in more ways than one.
Another reason to hate Jordi. Yet he couldn’t completely blame Guillermo’s brother. Rafael was no mortal child. He was nefil. And Miquel is right, I’ve got to stand aside and let him grow.
The uniform was a close fit. Rafael would have no trouble blending in with the other soldiers, except for those wild curls around his face.
Shit. Now for the fight of my life. Diago went to the desk’s drawer and rummaged past rulers and pencils to find a pair of scissors. “We’ve got to do something about that hair.” He grabbed another towel from the box. “And for once, don’t argue with me about cutting it, because—”
Rafael took the towel and wrapped it around his shoulders as he sat. “Hurry. Miquel offered to translate Carme’s notebook for Jordi if I was spared from the pit.”
Diago met Guillermo’s gaze as the realization of what Miquel intended to do hit them at the same time. Miquel would never give their secrets to Jordi.
“Jesus Christ, he’d only offer to do that if he thought he had a chance to blow the compound,” Guillermo said, echoing Diago’s thoughts.
Nico suddenly went white. “They wouldn’t give him enough freedom to create such a sigil.”
“They wouldn’t have to.” Diago snipped his son’s hair in short savage bursts, dropping the curls into the wastebasket beside the desk. “Carme already created the sigil. It’s somewhere in that notebook and he intends to find it.”
Guillermo nodded. “From there, all he has to do is augment it with his song.”
Diago finished with Rafael’s hair.
The youth stood and tucked his shirt into the pants. He reached for one of the gun belts. “Now I understand why he wanted me to find a way home so I could tell Los Nefilim about this place. He never intended to leave. Since they’re keeping him in the interrogation rooms over the pit, he’s probably hoping to rebury Samyaza’s kin.”
Guillermo stuffed two magazines into his pockets. “Someone needs to explain to me precisely what is going on in that pit.”
“We’ve got to get moving,” Diago snapped.
“And we’re damn well going to know what we’re moving into. The guard said his relief was due soon.”
Nico checked his watch. “He’s right. It won’t be safe for another fifteen minutes.”
“Good.” Guillermo pointed at Rafael. “Talk fast.”
Rafael quickly told them how Jordi and Samyaza had taken them to the Grigori’s prison. Diago’s blood turned to ice. He looked at the bandages on his son’s wrists.
Rafael didn’t seem to notice his father’s horror. “And there is a mirror over the pit that takes nefilim’s souls.”
“That’s no mirror; it’s a sigil.” Diago turned to Guillermo. “That explains why the nefilim’s dark sounds flicker and vanish. I thought it was because this is a portal realm, and they were reemerging in the mortal world.” A chill stampeded down his back. “Their souls disappear because anyone that dies here goes straight to the Grigori.”
Numbed by the realization, he thought of Martinez. Jesus Christ. I sent that child to a second death.
Guillermo removed the papers they’d stolen from Dr. Bormann’s office and looked at his seal drawn within the ugly blue triangles. Slamming the pages onto the desk, he grabbed Nico’s collar and forced him to look. “These are my nefilim . . .”
“Were your nefilim,” Nico whispered through pale lips.
Diago’s heart sank another notch. Those milicianos were never coming back.
Guillermo’s fingers tightened. The fabric of Nico’s white coat ripped.
The Italian flinched but made no effort to escape. “I couldn’t stop what was happening, and I can’t bring them back. But I can help you make sure no more die.”
Diago placed his hand on Guillermo’s arm. The big nefil’s muscles trembled beneath his hand. “We need him.”
“Maybe,” Guillermo growled. Slowly, as if it took every ounce of his willpower to let go, he released the Italian.
Nico backed away, rubbing his throat.
Diago ignored him. “Now I understand why Sitz and his nefilim herded us in this direction. Can you imagine a nefil with your power in that pit?”
Guillermo tucked the papers back into his shirt and glared at Nico. “I’ve had it with traitors, Nico. You’ve been with Jordi since before he started this war. Before I trust you, I need to know why you’re turning on him.”