Without Light or Guide (11 page)

Without the shelter of a physical form, Lamashtu's spirit swirled through Elena's lips. She became a mist that united all the colors of the night. Gauzy echoes of gray and white drifted around her.

Twin tethers branched away from her body, just as Diago had told Guillermo they would. The thicker of the two disappeared down the passage, leading back to her corporeal body somewhere in Sitra Akhra. The other flowed upward into the mortal realm.

Now. They had to attack now.
Diago took a shaky step and skidded on the wet floor.

Guillermo caught him. The big Nefil supported Diago with one hand and didn't hesitate. Just as they had practiced in the apartment, Guillermo formed a note in D. He drew his blade and designed the glyph that would sever Lamashtu's thread to the fragment. As his hand slashed through the vibrations of his song, he called on the power of his signet ring. Fashioned by an angel, the stone within his ring flared like an aurora borealis. The multicolored beams ensnared Guillermo's sigil and turned it into a ring of fire.

Even as Guillermo threw the glyph at the daimon, Diago saw the edges were too dull. As strong as Guillermo's ward was, it wouldn't be enough to cut the thread.

Diago vocalized, but he was hoarse and unable to reach the proper pitch. He stopped.
Let me hit the note,
he prayed to whatever god might be listening. Then he closed his eyes and sang again. This time, he began softly. As his voice strengthened, he culled the note and channeled the sound waves forward to merge with Guillermo's glyph.

Their magic reached the tether, and for a moment it seemed to hang there, halted as if running against a wall.

Lamashtu's spirit shimmered. She laughed at their feeble attempt to harm her, not understanding their intent. She floated toward them, feeding on Diago's fear.

And then their sigil snapped the thread.

Guillermo inhaled and let loose a vocalization that shook the stones. He designed a second glyph of fire and targeted the broken tether. The flames grabbed hold of the damaged thread, glowing like the fuse to a bomb, and hurtled upward into the mortal realm. The odor of burning parchment filled the tunnel. Wherever it was, the sigil burned.

Lamashtu rushed forward, still determined to possess Diago.

All he had left in his soul was a lament, one last cry to mourn the fragile hope Alvaro had broken. Diago sang his grief and shaped a ward to cut Lamashtu's life-­strand. It took all his strength, and even then he wasn't sure it would do the job.

But Guillermo lent his voice, and once more called on the power of his ring. Together, they directed the sigil, burning with Diago's sharp edges and channeled with Guillermo's skill. They directed it toward the tether.

Too late, she realized what they had done. There wasn't time for her to stop. As Lamashtu surged forward, the sigil met the life-­strand, and sliced it neatly in two.

Lamashtu's spirit vanished.

Silence fell sudden and deep. Diago wondered if he'd gone deaf.

Without Lamashtu's magic, the black water receded. Diago went to his knees, control no longer wholly his own. A spasm of nausea rattled through his body. He leaned forward. Then Guillermo was beside him, holding him while he vomited.

“Fucking morphine.” Diago spat. “Christ, I'm sick.”

“It's okay,” Guillermo whispered. “Are you done?”

Diago nodded weakly. “I think so.”

“Can you walk?”

“Alvaro . . .” He wanted to tell Guillermo everything, but another round of dry heaves rattled his frame.

“What? Is he coming?” Guillermo looked down the passage.

“No.” Diago gasped. “He is becoming something we've never encountered before. And we have to find a way to stop him. Permanently.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have to destroy his soul. Give him the second death.” The final death, the one from which no Nefil could ever reincarnate.
Otherwise, he will haunt me forever.

Guillermo was silent for a moment, clearly disturbed. “That isn't easily done. We'll talk about it at Santuari. Not here.”

Diago looked over his shoulder. “I will end him.” It was a threat. It was a sacred vow. “I will.”

Guillermo hoisted him onto the walkway. “Let's get out of here before Moloch sends us company.”

“I lost the dagger.”

“It's all right.” Guillermo got his arm around Diago's waist. “Lean on me.”

They wobbled along like a pair of drunks to the next junction. Guillermo guided them back the way they came. When they reached the ladder, he propped Diago beside the cold metal. “Can you stay awake?”

Diago nodded. “But I can't climb.” His arms were like jelly.

Guillermo patted Diago's shoulder. “You let me worry about the climbing.” He ascended the ladder.

While Diago waited, peace suddenly descended over him. The morphine. He had no idea how long the euphoria would last before it was followed by the next round of panic. He would cycle like this for several hours—­his emotions rolling up and down with a velocity that terrified him.
Might as well enjoy the good while it lasts.
Diago's eyelids slipped shut and he fell into a light doze.

“Diago?”

He started awake. Disoriented, he tried to remember where he was. From the cold and damp, he wondered if he'd drunk too much and stumbled into an alley. He looked up at a disheveled handsome man staring down at him with concern.

The man spoke with a low rumble. “Put your arms around my neck.”

Diago blinked at him drowsily. “I would, but I'm attached to someone else.”

Guillermo's shock last for merely a second. He grinned. “That's good, because so am I.”

Consciousness came forward in a rush. Horrified, Diago realized what he'd said. He noticed the gray light and the open manhole cover overhead.
Put your arms around my neck.
Guillermo intended to carry him up the ladder.

A blush set Diago's cheeks on fire. “I'm sorry. I was . . .”

Guillermo turned his back and simply stared over his shoulder.

Diago coughed. “I realize what you meant . . .” He put his arms over Guillermo's shoulders and closed his eyes. “It's the fucking morphine.”

“Ya, ya, ya,” Guillermo murmured as he used his belt to lash together Diago's wrists. “You're just trying to let me down easy.”

“Can you please forget I said that?”

Guillermo chuckled. “Never.”

Diago buried his burning face against Guillermo's sweater. He managed to hold on to consciousness until they were only four rungs from the top. When he awakened again, he was lying on the ground with the rain falling against his face.

A ragged girl not much older than Rafael stood near the wall and assessed Diago with eyes far too cunning for a child her age. “Did you kill him?”

“Don't be stupid,” Guillermo's voice came from Diago's left. He moved the manhole cover back over the hole. “If I'd killed him, I'd be putting him down there, not bringing him up.”

The girl asked, “Did he get drunk and fall down in the sewer?”

“Yeah. That's what happened.” He tossed a ­couple of
pesetas
at her as he hummed a song of forgetfulness. “You found some money on the ground. Buy yourself some shoes.”

She caught the coins and dashed off.

Guillermo pulled Diago to his feet. “Feel like walking, lover?”

Diago smoothed his rumbled sweater in an attempt to regain his dignity. “Stop teasing me.”

“Never.” Guillermo took Diago's arm and steered him in a more or less straight path.

“Where are we going?”

“Home. Where we belong.”

“Are we going to walk?”

“I'm not calling Suero to bring the car. Not after we've been wallowing in a sewer.” Guillermo gave Diago's arm a gentle squeeze. “The walk will do us good. It'll be like old times.”

“Fuck old times.” The edginess had returned. His nerves were on fire. “I hated walking everywhere. It was always cold. Or raining. I hated shitting in the woods. I want indoor plumbing and furnaces.”

Guillermo laughed. “I'm taking you to those luxuries now.”

Diago stared ahead. Black as a vulture, depression swooped down on him. He was suddenly weary, so very weary. “I'm scared. What if I'm not strong enough to be a member of Los Nefilim?” He leaned on Guillermo, who merely supported him just as he always had.

“You? Not strong enough?” Guillermo scoffed at the statement. “You've always eaten your fear and spit it back at them. You're strong enough, Diago. After all you've lived through, you are strong and wise, and I need you at my side.”

The depression didn't immediately fade away, but it was made slightly more bearable by Guillermo's faith in him. They walked in silence through the winding streets and cut across empty lots. When they reached a construction site, they found an outside spigot and managed to wash the worst of the stink off themselves.

By the time they left Barcelona behind, the clouds had departed and night had fallen. Guillermo led Diago into a field. There, he called down an owl from the sky. He cooed to it in the language of birds and sent it off.

“What did you do?” Diago asked.

“I told it to fly ahead and tell Juanita we are safe, and that we're coming home.”

Home. Tranquility finally chased away Diago's depression. Just the thought of their little house with its cramped rooms warmed his heart.

As they walked up the country road, Diago told Guillermo about his encounter with Alvaro and all the things he learned about his father. He left out nothing, especially not his pain.
Guillermo is right. I've carried too much alone for too long.

And Guillermo, for his part, listened with his customary patience. He kept his hand on Diago's arm, not because Diago's step was unsteady, but as a friend. His touch lent Diago the strength he needed to get through his tale.

It was late by the time they reached the lane to Diago's house. He had sweated most of the morphine out of his system. Peace, which had nothing to do with the drug, settled over him.

Guillermo paused at Diago's door. “Come to the church tomorrow at nine. That will give me time to call a small council. I want you to tell them about Alvaro. I'll break the news about Garcia and Engel. Then we'll figure out what to do. Get some rest.” Guillermo started to walk away but when he saw Diago lingering by the window, he paused. “Do you want me to go in with you?”

“No,” Diago murmured. “I just want to look at them for a moment.”

Inside, Miquel stretched out on the couch, his arms around Rafael. The child rested his head on Miquel's shoulder, his stuffed horse clenched under one arm, and his thumb in his mouth.

Rafael's body heaved with hiccups. A few tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. Miquel wiped the child's nose and murmured to him.

“Diago?” Guillermo whispered.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For believing in me when I didn't believe in myself.” Diago opened the door and went inside.

Miquel sat up and smiled. “See? I wasn't worried.” The dark circles under his eyes testified otherwise. He placed Rafael on his feet. “Look who is home.”

Rafael blinked at Diago. His lower lip trembled, and he pointed at his drawing, which was on the table. The ghost-­Diago was vibrant and brightly colored again. All three of the figures held hands beneath the angel sun and smiled.

“You started to disappear and you scared me, Papa.” Rafael stumbled and bumped into the table. “You shouldn't scare me like that. I thought you were dying.” Then he started to cry.

“Hey.” Diago shut the door. “Don't cry, Rafael.” He went to his son and picked him up. “Ya, ya, ya,” he sang the soothing words. “Everything is all right. I'm home.”

“You scared me.” Rafael hiccupped his way through a sob, but his tears were slowing. He made a face. “And you smell bad.”

“Ew, Jesus, yes.” Miquel rose. “I'm going to run a bath. Get out of those clothes so I can burn them.”

Rafael wrinkled his nose, then put his arms around Diago's neck and kissed his cheek anyway. “I don't care if you stink. I'm glad you're home.”

“I am, too.” He carried Rafael to his bed and tucked him under the covers. No crumbs surrounded his pillow this night. He'd been too worried to steal a slice of bread.

“Ysa said you were fighting daimons with her papa. She says I worry too much. She says we are Los Nefilim and we always win, but you weren't winning, because you started to disappear in the picture, and Miquel and Doña Juanita helped me bring you back, and then an owl came, and Doña Juanita said it was okay for us to come home. Did you fight a daimon, Papa? Is that why you stink?” Rafael paused for a bone-­cracking yawn. “Do Los Nefilim always win?”

Diago found a handkerchief and wiped Rafael's nose. “Yes, I fought a daimon.” He skirted the other questions for now. “And I will teach you how one day.”

“Then I won't be afraid anymore, right?” Rafael's eyelids drooped.

The time to indoctrinate his son about life's realities would come soon enough. For now, he deserved to be a child. “You don't have to be afraid now. Miquel and I are here, and we won't let anything happen to you. Go to sleep, and when you wake up, we'll have breakfast together.”

Rafael closed his eyes, and within moments, his breathing deepened.

Diago brushed back his son's curls. “And I will not let them hurt you. I will not let them take your sweetness away.”

Miquel returned and touched his shoulder. “Come on. Let's get you cleaned up.”

Diago rose and followed him into the bathroom. With Miquel's help, he peeled off his clothes and slipped beneath the warm water.

Miquel took off his own shirt and knelt beside the tub. He soaped the washcloth. “Lean forward.” His words fell as white as almond blossoms into the water.