The Second Death (3 page)

The pain was sudden and vicious, like someone touching a live wire to his flesh. Diago cried out and tried to twist free of Engel's grip.

“Be still.” The angel's command drifted through the agony.

Taking deep breaths, Diago stopped moving.

Engel relaxed his grip but didn't move his hand. “I have a job for you,” said the angel.

Diago stared at the back of Fierro's head and made no response.

Undeterred by Diago's silence, Engel went on. “I need you to find your friend Prieto.”

“We're not friends.”

“Ah! You speak!” Engel laughed.

Jaso snorted and tugged at his beard.

Fierro's bony knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

“This heartens me,” said Engel as he patted Diago's thigh.

Diago's skin crawled at the angel's touch.

Engel used his handkerchief to daub at the blood on Diago's face. “Maybe Prieto isn't your friend, but you know him. He shows himself to you, and Prieto has something that I need. I want you to convince him to turn the idea for the bomb over to me.”

“Fuck you.”

“I don't know that word.” Engel tapped Jaso's shoulder. “What is that word?”

Jaso gave it to Engel in German. Now Diago understood why Jaso was involved. He was one of the few Nefilim fluent in German.

Engel frowned. His good humor evaporated. “Do you love your son?”

“Yes.”

“And you want to keep him safe.”

“Take him home. I'll take a binding sigil if that is what you want.”

Fierro twitched behind the wheel, clearly disturbed. A binding sigil was the equivalent of becoming the angel's slave. Last night the thought of encountering Engel and taking a binding sigil had terrified Diago, but that was before he'd seen his son manhandled by the likes of Garcia. Now it seemed a small price to pay for Rafael's safety.

Engel shook his head. “No, we can't have that. Prieto would know I was involved if there was a binding sigil. We must use discretion in these circumstances. You see, I know Prieto is hiding at the lunatic asylum, Holy Cross.”

Diago and Guillermo had been there yesterday to question Doña Rosa's son, José. While they were there, Prieto had revealed his presence to Diago. How much did Engel know about that meeting?

With a grin, Engel shifted his weight and leaned close. “Prieto thinks he is sly, hiding beneath the cries of the insane, but he is running out of time. His American counterpart is late, and he has yet to transfer the idea to her. You are going to convince him to give the idea to you so you can relay it to Guillermo.”

“Why Guillermo?”

Engel shrugged. “Make something up. The important thing is that you acquire it and bring it to me.”

“And if I can't?”

“What is this word, ‘can't'?”

Jaso translated.

Engel scowled at Jaso. “It was a rhetorical question, you idiot.”

Diago persisted. “If I can't?”

Engel smiled and oozed benevolence. “Then I will let you kiss your son before I give him the second death.”

And he will do it.
Diago looked into those cold eyes and did not doubt for a moment that the angel would murder his son. “Why do you think Prieto will just hand it over to me?”

“Because you are half daimon. You are the deceiver.” Engel released Diago and relaxed in his seat. “
Deceive
.”

Diago clenched his jaw and tried to ignore the throbbing headache crawling behind his eyes. He rested his head against the window and let the cool glass absorb some of his pain. If he angled his head just so, he found he could see Garcia's car in the side view mirror.

The road behind Garcia's car remained empty. Surely Guillermo would send someone for them. He would take the abduction as a personal affront, because Diago was now a part of Los Nefilim. And Miquel . . . Miquel would come.

Wouldn't they?

A pebble of doubt nudged Diago's certainty. As much as he wanted to believe rescue was on the way, the evidence pointed in the opposite direction. The road behind them remained empty.

Miquel bragged that Los Nefilim watched out for their own, but Garcia wasn't watching out for Los Nefilim, and he had convinced four other members to desert with him. What if there were more? Santuari—­the one safe place—­had been breached. What if Guillermo had an insurrection on his hands? His first priorities lay with Los Nefilim and securing Santuari. And no matter how strong Miquel's love, as Guillermo's second-­in-­command, he would be forced to remain at Guillermo's side until they stabilized the situation.

The pebble of doubt became an avalanche. The empty road stretched behind them as barren as Diago's hope.
We're on our own.

 

CHAPTER 2

M
iquel awoke to find Guillermo's concerned gaze hovering inches over his face. He closed his eyes against the pounding in his skull. Rafael's scream still reverberated through his mind, and Diago . . . he remembered seeing Diago fall, just before the world went black.

“Look at me.” Guillermo's voice was a low growl.

Miquel opened his eyes. “Did you see them?”

“I saw them.” One large callused hand cradled Miquel's face. With the other, he held up two fingers. “How many?”

“Why are you so fucking calm?”

“Somebody has to keep his head. Today it is me. How many?”

“Two.”

Guillermo patted his cheek. “You're okay.”

Miquel allowed Guillermo to help him rise. He wiped his bloodied nose and winced. “I'm going to fucking kill Garcia.”

“Nobody touches Garcia until I'm done with him.” Guillermo cautiously released Miquel. “Are you dizzy?”

Miquel shook his head and then wished he hadn't. Sharp pain hammered his skull and his face. He distracted himself by surveying the damage in the house. The couch sat askew and the coffee table was overturned. At some point during his scuffle with Garcia, he'd knocked over the bookcase. Books were scattered across the floor, their spines broken and their pages spread like the wings of dead birds.

He picked up a button that had come off Rafael's coat. “They were finally starting to feel safe,” he whispered. Rafael had just begun to sleep through the night, and Diago . . . Miquel's heart twisted in his chest. Twice this morning he had kissed Diago without his lover glancing nervously at the windows. “He'll never believe me again.”

“About what?” Guillermo asked.

“I promised to protect him. I told him if he stayed with me, then they couldn't take him.” Every argument he'd used to bully Diago into moving north was rendered insubstantial by this attack. He kicked the couch. “What a fucking mess.”

“You shouldn't make promises you can't keep.” Guillermo put his hand on Miquel's shoulder. The tension in his fingers belied his calm façade. When they found Garcia, Guillermo was going to tear him apart. “Quit beating yourself up and get your gun.”

Yes, his gun. He would definitely need his gun. Miquel pocketed the button and went into their bedroom. At the back of their wardrobe was the box that contained his and Diago's pistols. Miquel retrieved his weapon, along with two magazines filled with silver-­tipped bullets.

He tucked his pistol in the waistband of his pants and returned to the living room, where he grabbed Diago's jacket off the floor. Someone, probably Garcia, had left a footprint on the back of the coat. Miquel slapped the mud from the fabric as he followed Guillermo to the old farm truck.

Guillermo said over his shoulder, “We're taking your truck and going back to my villa. I want to pick up more ammunition and see what Juanita found out from her conversation with Santiago. She was calling him as I left.”

Miquel was certain he meant Carlos Santiago. Guillermo kept several Nefilim embedded in Barcelona's Urban Guard, and like Garcia, Carlos Santiago was an inspector, although Santiago covered the rougher La Ribera district near the docks. Santiago was wily enough to maneuver around Garcia's ­people, but whether he could do it quickly enough to find Diago and Rafael was another matter altogether.

As if reading the worry etched on Miquel's brow, Guillermo opened the truck's door and fished the keys from under the floor mat. “We're going to get them back.”

Miquel nodded even though Guillermo's confidence did nothing to soothe the sick feeling lodged in his gut. He wouldn't have been as afraid if Diago was alone, but Rafael's abduction changed everything.

Diago could be reckless with his own well-­being—­the risk he'd taken by going after Lamashtu last night was a classic example. But with Rafael?
No. He will be careful with Rafael, maybe too careful
. If anything happened to that child, Diago would blame himself.
And if anything happens to either of them, it is on my head.

Miquel jerked open the rusty passenger door and got inside. “Is Suero here?”

“He's at the villa.” Guillermo cranked the truck and shifted it into gear. “Yesterday I told him to watch Garcia. He got as close as he dared. This morning, Engel and Garcia gathered the others and left the city before dawn. They picked their time well. There weren't many vehicles on the road. Suero was forced to trail them at a distance; otherwise, they would have seen him. Since they were coming to Santuari, he guessed that Engel and Garcia intended to talk to me. His miscalculation cost us time. This is my fault.” He slammed the clutch to the floor and upshifted gears. “I never saw this coming and I should have. I want you to stay here and coordinate the others.”

“I'm going with you.”

“I have a rule.”

Miquel knew the rule: Guillermo never paired two Nefilim who were romantically involved in an assignment. It was too easy for them to be used against one another, as this morning had unfortunately shown.

“Fuck your rule.
We're
not paired. Unless you're going to kiss me.”

“You're not going.”

“Suero can coordinate the Nefilim. Besides, if it were Juanita or Ysabel, would you stay behind?”

Guillermo didn't take long to think about the question. “Okay, you're coming.” He wrenched the steering wheel to guide the truck around a rut in the road. “But no kissing.”

“Don't worry. You're not my type.” Miquel relaxed. It was better this way. He rarely disobeyed Guillermo and always felt like a deserter when he did. “Do we even know where to start looking for them?”

“My guess would be Holy Cross.”

The lunatic asylum. “Didn't Garcia arrange for Diago to examine José Iniguez at Holy Cross?”

Guillermo nodded and pulled a cigar from his pocket. “Yes, and while Diago and I were waiting, Diago saw Garcia chatting with Engel.”

Diago had told him some of the events over breakfast, but he had skimmed over quite a bit because of Rafael's presence. Miquel hadn't pressed him for details, because he had anticipated hearing the entire story at the council meeting this morning.
Unfortunately, it appears as if that meeting has been cancelled.

Miquel asked, “Did Diago hear what Garcia and Engel said?”

“No, and Garcia made no mention of the meeting to me. Later on, Diago and I met with Amparo—­I wanted to know why she hadn't stolen that fragment like I told her to. She said she was arrested. While she was in jail, Engel spoke with her. He told her to give me a message: he wanted to talk to Diago. The whole thing was unorthodox. I had no intention of sending Diago to Engel and said so. I thought that would force Engel to make arrangements through a Spanish angel, or directly with me. It never occurred to me that he would just show up on our doorstep and take Diago hostage.”

“All of this is unprecedented,” Miquel said.

“There's more. At the asylum, José died of a strychnine overdose before Diago could examine him. Garcia and Diago split up to look for the nun who might have given him the shot. Diago didn't find the nun, but he did find our friend Prieto.”

“He is no friend of mine.” Miquel unconsciously rubbed his chest where the angel had placed a binding sigil on him during their first meeting.

“Prieto is hiding from Engel, and the asylum is the perfect place.” Guillermo leaned over the steering wheel and lit his cigar. A cloud of smoke momentarily obscured his face. “The mutterings of the insane conceal Prieto's presence from the German.”

All of the random events fell into place. “And Engel thinks Diago and Prieto are connected.”

“Exactly. So my guess is that they're heading to the asylum.”

The lump of fear in Miquel's stomach grew heavier. The angels didn't mind leaving Nefilim casualties in their wake. “Engel will use Rafael as leverage.”

Guillermo nodded. “And when Diago fails to perform . . .”

“You mean
if
Diago fails.”

“I mean when.” Guillermo downshifted the truck as his villa came into sight. “Engel is most likely after the idea for the bomb, and Prieto isn't going to give it up in exchange for a child. You know it, and I know it. That is not how the angels conduct their wars.
When
Diago fails, Engel won't hesitate to carry out whatever threats he's made against Rafael.”

Miquel fingered the collar of Diago's coat. He looked down and found a black hair on the fabric.
We're a family of bears,
Diago had said to Rafael, but that was wrong. They were a family of wolves, because wolves watched out for their own. “Why didn't they shoot me?”

“My guess? This is about control. Shooting you would merely enrage Diago and provoke him into a rash act. Engel wants him compliant, not defiant.” Guillermo clamped his cigar between his teeth. “There is more you need to know. Suero says that our friend Engel didn't come alone. He brought members of Die Nephilim with him.”

Miquel frowned. Having the German Nefilim on Spanish soil was nothing new—­the Nefilim from other countries traveled as mortals did and often passed through Spain. However, they never failed to notify Guillermo, or another high-­ranking member of Los Nefilim, whenever they were in the area. It was a courtesy they all practiced whenever they passed through another country.

Miquel asked, “Is Engel coordinating them?”

“That is Suero's guess.”

“That's practically an act of war.”

“And then he abducts two members of Los Nefilim,” Guillermo reminded him.

“Fuck him. That
is
an act of war.” Miquel clenched the collar of Diago's coat in his hands. “Do we know how many members of Die Nephilim are with him?”

“Suero counted five. There may be more.”

“How did Garcia get involved with this group?”

“He thinks I'm too lenient with the daimons, that I give them more rights than they deserve or need.” They pulled into Guillermo's yard. “From what Suero has been able to piece together, Engel managed to convince Garcia that I am a traitor to the angels and their cause.”

“He convinced him because Garcia already believed it in his heart. All he'd needed was validation from a higher authority. And you
are
too lenient with your own Nefilim.”

“Everybody is a critic.” Guillermo parked the truck beside his Mercedes and cut the engine. Quick as a viper, he reached over and grabbed Miquel's wrist. “Just remember,
Señor Crítico,
I'm the one that sanctioned your marriage to Diago over the other Nefilim's objections. You're also coming with me to find Diago. So as a beneficiary of that leniency, don't bite me in the ass.”

Miquel felt his cheeks warm with shame. “I'm sorry. I just meant—­”

“I know what you meant. I can't control every Nefil. I have to give them room to work, and that means trusting them.” Guillermo released him. “I'm not omniscient.”

No, he wasn't, but his sagacity and firm management of Los Nefilim often gave that impression. Miquel chided himself for his assumptions and his loose tongue. It was times like these—­moments of failure—­when Guillermo needed support, not a critique. “You know I've got your back.”

Guillermo opened his door. “I'm counting on it.”

Father Bernardo walked toward them, cradling a Mauser in his arms. Bernardo might wear the collar, but he was no priest. It was a ruse in case outsiders penetrated Santuari. With Bernardo, the town maintained the illusion of a village priest, and Guillermo had a Nefil embedded inside the Church, which still wielded too damn much control in Spain if anyone ever asked Miquel. Not that anyone did. Most of Santuari's inhabitants avoided the subject around him—­Miquel wasn't even sure Diago listened to his tirades anymore.

Bernardo, on the other hand, still gave Miquel a sympathetic ear when he needed to voice his frustrations. The “priest's” heavy black brows and beard shadowed a pleasant face. Usually his light brown eyes were smiling, but not today. His anger seemed to suck the light out of the air. “Everything is quiet here, Don Guillermo. I've got a small force patrolling the fields.”

“Good,” Guillermo said as he walked to the villa. “Wait for Mariona. When she gets here, I want the two of you to strengthen the wards around Santuari. Juanita is going to help. Then you and Mariona assign some Nefilim for permanent patrols. Nobody gets in without us knowing it.”

Bernardo nodded and held the door open for them. Then he resumed his guard duty on the porch.

They crossed the foyer and Miquel saw Ysa hesitate on the stairs.

“Papa?”

“It's all right, dove,” Guillermo said. “Go upstairs.”

Her demeanor possessed none of her usual liveliness. “Is Rafael okay? I heard a gunshot.”

“Everybody is fine.” Guillermo didn't wait to see if she obeyed him. He went to the kitchen.

Ysa remained on the landing, switching her questioning gaze to Miquel. “Is he, Miquel? Are Rafael and Uncle Diago okay?”

“The last time I saw them, they were fine. We're going to get them back.” Painfully aware of the lies he'd told Rafael about Diago last night, Miquel wanted to bite his tongue in half. There had to be a better way to reassure children than to lie to them. He ducked his head and followed Guillermo, feeling like a coward.

In the kitchen, Lucia steadied the chair Juanita stood on in order to reach the highest cupboard.

Juanita removed a revolver from the back of the cabinet and handed the gun to Guillermo. “Keep this one out of the sewers.”

Guillermo smiled. “You are my angel.”

“I
am
an angel and don't forget it,” Juanita admonished him. “I spoke with Santiago. He wanted to make some phone calls. He will call back here in a few minutes.”