Los Nefilim Book 4 (29 page)

Just as pain tends to be, given enough time.

Diago took two short steps, twice striking his heel against the concrete. He turned, raising his arms over his head, wrists touching back-­to-­back, hands open, fingers joined close together. Where he was supposed to extend his pinky, he extended the ring fingers of both hands so the gesture was uniform.

He held the pose and disregarded the ache in his right shoulder. His body had moved into the dance, muscles remembering what the brain had forgotten. On the third practice move, an electric smell entered the cell. Diago felt the charge snap from his heel on the second strike.

Almost there.
How much longer did he have? How many minutes had passed?

“Too many,” he murmured.
Don't think about it.

Closing his eyes, he forced himself through the dance. His flesh warmed with the exercise. The next strike produced a spark.

Before he could doubt himself, Diago took his place in front of the skull. “And now, my beautiful Amparo, you will knock on Heaven's door while I break down the gates of Hell.”

She grinned sweetly as he raised his arms over his head. He cupped his right hand and used the fingers of his left to strike his palm. His wedding band flashed streams of silver in the air. The beats grew faster as he closed his eyes. Reaching deep within himself, he thought of the stars and the endless void. He sent forth a cry, both wild and sweet, and as he did, he kicked his heel against the floor.

Green fire flew between the skull's teeth. Amparo's bones vibrated with the fury of Diago's song. As they clacked against the concrete, the last remnants of her magic flew free and took the form of a glyph. The music rose upward through the floors until it reached the upper levels of the asylum—­high-­pitched like whale song, the perfect tone for an angel's ear.

With the remnants of Amparo's voice entwined with his, Diago danced around her bones. His feet moved him without disturbing the arrangement. And as he leapt, he drew on his daimonic nature and sang a lament aimed at the caverns beneath the earth. His voice resonated through the vaults.

The power of his desperation blew out the naked bulb overhead. In the corridor, the other light exploded in a shower of sparks.

Other than the silver glow of Diago's wedding band, the basement cells were plunged into darkness. Diago didn't pause. He danced by the light of Miquel's love and sang for his son's soul.

 

Chapter Four

R
afael pulled against Jaso's grip, but the Nefil held him tight, dragging him down the corridor. Inspector Garcia and the bad angel had disappeared through another door with Papa. Jaso was going the wrong way.

“Where did they take Papa?”

“To a quiet place,” Jaso said.

Moreno laughed like it was some kind of joke, but this wasn't funny.

Rafael knew about Holy Cross's quiet places. His mother had hidden him in the asylum. She had enchanted Sister Benita into taking Rafael into the children's ward. Likewise, he had learned how to charm his way into every nook and cranny of the hospital. During his first days in the asylum, he was sure Mamá hadn't gone far, so he had looked for her everywhere. As he'd grown older, and realized she wasn't coming back, he had wandered the grounds out of boredom.

Rafael knew about the quiet rooms where Papa's screams wouldn't be heard. This was the ward where they put the bad men who hurt ­people.

The farther they went, the longer it would take him to get back to Papa.
And I won't be able to find him.
Rafael dug his heels in and threw his weight backwards. “Let go!”

Jaso jerked Rafael forward and flung him at Acosta. “Here, you drag him for a while. I'm sick of the brat.”

Acosta caught Rafael's arm. “Why me? Fucking Alvarez busted my knee. Look at me!” He gestured at his leg. “I can barely fucking walk.”

“You were ugly and crippled before Alvarez ever touched you,” said Fierro, who was nothing but bones and teeth.

Moreno picked at a scab under his chin and grinned. “You better watch him, Acosta. The little daimon might kick your other kneecap.”

Fierro giggled and slapped the back of Rafael's head.

Rafael hated them and their mean laughter. He struck like a snake and sank his sharp teeth into the flesh just above Acosta's wrist. The Nefil tasted like bitterness and sweat, but Rafael didn't let go. He clamped his jaws and chewed.

Acosta stumbled into a row of chairs lining the hall, dragging Rafael along with him. “Christ! He's biting me! Get him off!”

The other Nefilim stopped laughing. Maybe it was the blood running past Rafael's mouth and onto the floor. Rafael worked his teeth into the Nefil's muscle. A blow to the side of his head sent bright lights spinning across his vision, but he didn't release his grip. Acosta howled.

Fierro grabbed Rafael's hands and growled at Acosta. “Stop jumping around!”

“Fucking Christ! He's eating my flesh, little fucking devil!”

Moreno edged between them. He pinched Rafael's nostrils. Unable to breathe, Rafael released Acosta so he could inhale.

Acosta jerked free and collapsed into a chair, mewling and cradling his injured hand.

Rafael took a deep breath. Then he bit Moreno's arm. Moreno was skinnier so Rafael had to bite harder.

Moreno shrieked.

Fierro flinched at the sound. “God damn it, Moreno! You sound like a toddler!”

Jaso entered the fray. He grabbed Rafael by the waist and tried to wrench him off Moreno.

Rafael snatched double handfuls of Moreno's sleeve and chewed on the Nefil's arm. Moreno was sweeter—­his blood was wine and copper—­and he kept making that interesting noise, somewhere between a squeal and scream.
But he isn't laughing. None of them are laughing now.

Footsteps came from both directions. Men and women shouted in their flat mortal voices.

Someone ordered the officers to watch their language. Rafael's heart accelerated. He'd know that screech anywhere. It was Sister Benita, coming at them with God's righ­teous fury in her eyes. Her flesh hung loose on her sinewy limbs. Her lips, which always reminded Rafael of liver, were pulled back over her thick teeth. A curl of dark silver hair had worked free of her veil.

A new round of anxiety almost blinded him. Would Sister Benita recognize him with his fine clothes and his combed hair? Of course she would. Nothing escaped her piercing scrutiny.

The memory of his days in the children's ward and Sister Benita's sharp fingers were still all too fresh in Rafael's mind. If she caught him misbehaving, she might lock him in that dark room behind her office where she said she could keep an eye on him.

He never quite understood how she could see him behind the closed door in the dark.

Quick and supple as a mongoose, Rafael released Moreno's hand and kicked Jaso's knee like he'd seen his father kick Acosta.

Surprised by the sudden move, Jaso dropped Rafael.

Moreno flailed. “Mother-­fucking-­Christ! My fucking hand—­look at my fucking hand!”

Sister Benita bellowed loud enough to rattle the windows. “God will strike you dead for that language!”

Moreno leapt backward, whether to get away from Rafael or Sister Benita, Rafael didn't know. Nor did he care. This was the time to go. He ran back the way they had come, keeping his head low just in case God decided to strike Moreno dead. He kind of hoped it would happen, and then felt a little guilty, but not too much. Moreno was a bad Nefil.

Rafael easily dodged the adults who were running toward the commotion. A man stepped into his path and tried to catch him, but Rafael threw himself flat and skidded between the man's legs. An orderly with mean eyes reached down, but Rafael regained his footing and took off again. He had always been the fastest boy in the children's ward.

Rounding a bend, he saw a stairwell door closing. He put on a burst of speed and barely slipped through in time. Something big hit the door. Rafael whirled to see Jaso's enraged face on the other side of the mesh window. He rattled the door in its frame. Rafael smiled. He knew the doctors locked the stairwell doors to prevent the inmates from accidentally falling down the stairs.

Turning his back on Jaso, Rafael ran. He clamored down two flights of steps and into the tunnels beneath the hospital. Here, the hospital's staff could move quickly from one wing to another without having to navigate locked wards.

Here he knew he could lose them.

Staying near the wall, he kept to the shadows and sang his quiet hiding song. The orderlies, nuns, and doctors who used the wide corridor didn't see him. Dodging from one shadow to the next, he soon found the mesh grill that led to a vent.

Working his small fingers behind the metal frame, he quickly dislodged the grill and scooted into the opening. He had just replaced the grate when he heard Jaso shouting at the other Nefilim.

Rafael slid backward until the darkness enveloped him. The metal popped beneath his weight and he froze. Now was the time to become very still and quiet.
Like a mouse,
he thought. He would become a mouse, all brown and silent, not even twitching his whiskers.

He sat perfectly still and watched the legs of the various ­people as they moved toward Jaso's shouts.

A man wearing fine trousers stopped in front of Rafael's vent. “Inspector! What is all this noise?”

Rafael recognized his voice. It was the mortal doctor his papa had spoken to outside.
What had Papa called him? Vales. Yes, his name was Dr. Vales.

Jaso was still out of sight but approaching fast. “We've lost Alvarez's son.”

“Do you know which way he went?” Vales sounded alarmed. “This is no place for a child!”

“We understand,” Jaso said. “We're looking for him.”

“This low profile arrest of yours is getting out of control, Inspector.”

“Everything is under control.” Jaso's voice lost its edge and became soothing. He stopped in front of the doctor. Rafael was gratified to see blood spatters on Jaso's trousers. “As soon as Dr. Engel has evaluated Alvarez, we will remove him from your institution.”

“I don't think you have the right man for the Ferrer murders. I spoke with Alvarez yesterday. He is as sane as I am.”

Rafael smiled and loved Dr. Vales. He was a nice mortal. Maybe he would help Papa.

“We've been through this, Doctor,” Jaso said gently. “Alvarez was seen at the Casa Milà the day before the Ferrers were killed. Inspector Garcia has enough evidence to prove that Alvarez and the maid were seeing one another. His hypothesis is that they murdered the Ferrers in order to rob them.”

Rafael glared at Jaso's legs. He wanted to tell Vales the truth. Papa wasn't seeing a woman. He was married to Miquel, but Rafael didn't say anything. Papa thought the mortals wouldn't understand his relationship with Miquel, and Rafael didn't want to make life hard for Papa. If he did, then Papa might send him away. Rafael worried that thought like a loose tooth while Jaso continued talking.

“ . . . now the maid is missing, and Alvarez appears to have been in another fight. We're afraid he murdered her, too.”

That wasn't true, either. Papa had fought a daimon, but Rafael knew from his experiences with Sister Benita that mortals didn't understand the angels and daimons.

“It's Alvarez's
modus operandi,
” Jaso continued with a voice both smooth and soft as he lured the mortal into a trance.

Rafael didn't know what a
modus operandi
was, but he understood the kind of magic Jaso worked on Dr. Vales—­he'd sometimes used it on Sister Benita when she waved her ruler around. Rafael wondered if she used her ruler on Moreno for saying bad words. He was kind of sorry he'd missed it if she did.

Rafael's fantasy of Moreno holding out his hand for a smack from Sister Benita's ruler was interrupted by Jaso's explanation. “Alvarez secures a wealthy patron, ingratiates himself with them, and then cases their homes. When he knows where they hide their valuables, he murders the family, steals what he can, and moves on.

“He pulled off a similar crime in Berlin. That's how Dr. Engel got involved. Engel came to us, and we started putting the pieces together. Based on Alvarez's interactions with Doña Rosa Iniguez and her son, Don José, then with the Ferrers, we established a pattern. Now he has moved to Don Guillermo's household and is seeking protection there. It's possible we've saved the Ramírez family from a similar fate.” Jaso moved closer to Vales and murmured, “You have to understand, Doctor. We went to question Alvarez. He attempted to flee. When we caught him, he started raving about angels and demons just as Engel said he would.”

Your tongue is black with lies,
Rafael thought. He hoped Jaso's black tongue fell out of his rotten head.

“Our concern,” Jaso said and gave his words a sense of urgency. “Our concern is the boy. We must find him, Dr. Vales. I understand he used to live here. Perhaps one of the sisters might help.”

Poor Dr. Vales.
Mamá once told him that mortals possessed their own magic, but they had neglected it for so long, they had forgotten how to use it. That made Rafael sad for the mortals.

“Of course, Inspector,” said Vales. He sounded sleepy. “Sister Benita will know Rafael's hiding places.”

She only thinks she does
. Rafael hugged his satchel and held his breath, remembering to be small and quiet like a mouse. Sister Benita never found him unless he wanted to be found. Besides, Sister Benita didn't know everything. Miquel said so, and Miquel was a lot smarter than Sister Benita.

Jaso led the doctor away. “Let's keep our focus,” he purred. “Look for Rafael.”

Their voices faded beneath the sound of a rumbling cart. Rafael waited until the traffic in the corridor resumed its normal rhythm. Orderlies pushed food carts to various wards, joking about the patients and their strange ways. Nuns swished by, their rosaries dancing in their long black skirts. Every now and then, the sharp click of a secretary's heels clattered against the soft footsteps of the hospital staff.

Rafael slowly counted to one hundred. Then, just to be safe, he counted to two hundred. When all that time had passed and he still hadn't sensed another Nefil nearby, he opened his satchel. He withdrew his mother's carmine tear and the neatly folded picture he'd drawn of Papa and Miquel. Rafael had drawn himself standing between them in front of their little house. They were all smiling and holding hands. A white kitten with one blue eye and one green eye sat at Rafael's feet.

Ghost,
Rafael thought with a smile.
Her name is Ghost, and Papa said she could live with us.

Overhead, a bright yellow sun with angel's wings beamed down on them. At the bottom of the picture, Miquel had helped Rafael print “My Family” in block letters.

Rafael placed his mother's tear over the picture. He tapped the teardrop twice with his index finger before turning it clockwise and whispered, “
Gólpe, gólpe, vuelta . . .”

Strike, strike, turn . . .

Golden light swirled up from the depths of the stone and became the veins of color within an angel's eye. The teardrop split neatly in half, like a pair of carmine eyes. Rafael hummed a mellow note. His aura passed through his lips in shades of green and amber. The breath of his magic swirled around the ruby eyes and became a small golden snake.

“Find my papa.” Rafael used his index finger to guide the snake around the figure of Diago.

The snake curled through Papa's hair and whispered over his skin. The lines of the house squiggled free and changed shape until they took the form of a scorpion, drawn upon the ground. The caricature of Papa began to dance among the lines, his heel struck the paper, and sent miniature sparks into the scorpion's mouth. Then Papa disappeared.

Rafael blinked and bit his lip. He knuckled down on his fear and thought about what he'd just seen. This wasn't the same as last night when Papa had begun to fade away. Wherever Papa had gone just now, he had meant to go there. He had danced into the mouth of the scorpion, but no one had made him go. Maybe he had escaped Engel. Maybe he was looking for Rafael right now.

Because he promised. He promised not to go. He promised I could stay with him, and he said he would find me.
Rafael chanted this mantra in his heart until his thoughts slowed. Recalling the fire in his father's eyes as they'd taken him away, Rafael grew certain that Papa hadn't left him.
We're a family of bears. He will find me, and then he will eat that bad angel up.