Los Nefilim Book 4 (11 page)

“Fine. I say: ‘How's that working out for you?' And you always respond with: ‘Fine,' like you're biting the word in half. But now you're not saying that it's fine to be a loner.”

“I'm rethinking my position.”

“I see.”

“Rafael changes things.”

Diago glimpsed Guillermo's crooked teeth as he smiled. “You're right about that. Ysabel is why I've settled here and let the younger Nefilim be my eyes and my ears across the land. One day, she'll be old enough to take care of herself. For now she needs protection.”

“So does Rafael.”

Guillermo nodded. “Yes, he does, more so than you know. Miquel told me what that child can do. He's powerful, Diago, and the daimons will try to take him while he is young so they can shape his allegiance to their needs.”

“I know.”

Guillermo lifted the cigar to his lips and took two puffs before he realized it was out. “Stay here at Santuari as long as you need to.”

“Because of Miquel.” The others wouldn't protest Miquel's place in the small town Guillermo had spent years building with his most trusted Nefilim, and they tolerated Diago for Miquel's sake.

Guillermo seemed to read his thoughts. “You know if anything ever happens between you and Miquel, I will make a way for you to stay here.”

“I make my own way.”

“There's that fucking pride of yours,” Guillermo muttered. He found his matches and relit his cigar. Again the flame illuminated his ring. He met Diago's gaze before he shook out the match and plunged them back into semidarkness. “What do you want to do?”

On the bedside table, tucked between two bottles, was Candela's tear. Diago relinquished the glass and took the carmine teardrop in his hand. A thin line of gold flashed once from the depths of the stone, and it brought to mind Rafael holding up the mirrored box. Guillermo was right. Once Moloch spread word of the child's power, the daimons would come for his son as they had come for him.

“It's time I picked a side.”

Guillermo frowned in the glow of his cigar. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes. If I swear allegiance to you, Los Nefilim will have to watch over Rafael, too.”

“You don't have to swear your fealty to me so I'll watch over your son.”

“I trust you, but what about the others? What if something happens to you, or me, or Miquel? What then? The daimons and angels will treat him like they treat me: a battleground in the flesh.” He raised his fist to his lips and clenched the marble so hard, he feared it would break. “They'll manipulate him and maim him because the end justifies the means.” Diago wiped his mouth, uncertain how the rage that normally burned so deep within him had suddenly risen up like molten lava.

Guillermo extinguished his cigar in the saucer and leaned forward to touch Diago's shoulder. “Hey. You need to rest.”

Diago got out of the bed.

“What are you doing?” Guillermo started to rise.

Diago held his hand up, staying him. “Don't move. I can do this.”

“You don't have to do it tonight.”

“Yes, I do.” He knelt before Guillermo and almost lost his balance beneath a wave of dizziness.

Guillermo caught his arm and steadied him. “You are proud and stubborn, Diago Alvarez.”

“You should know. They're your qualities, too.” Diago pressed Candela's tear between his palms and waited.

Guillermo sighed in defeat and placed his hands over Diago's, so that they looked like a priest and supplicant praying together. “Pledge your magic to me. No one or nothing else.”

“I pledge my body and my magic to you, Guillermo Ramírez de Luna, the one true King of the angel-­born Nefilim. I swear to uphold your laws and remain true and faithful to you and the angel-­born Nefilim in this life, and in all my lives to come. This I do swear.” He took Guillermo's hand and pressed his lips against the signet ring that bore the multicolored stone.

Guillermo leaned down and kissed Diago's cheeks, careful of the bandage that covered his stitches. “And I accord you, and your family, all of the protections and privileges and rights of Los Nefilim.” He kissed Diago's cheeks again. “Now please, for the love of Christ, get back in the bed before my wife comes in and kills us both.”

“You will arrange a formal ceremony. With witnesses. They all must know.”

“Yes.” Guillermo helped Diago back into the bed.

“And Los Nefilim will watch over Rafael.”

“Yes.”

“And you and Juanita will be his godparents.”

“We will be honored.”

“I need Miquel.”

“I'll get him. Now rest. We will talk more tomorrow.” He drew up the quilts to Diago's chin. “You've done the right thing, Diago.” He turned, and for such a large man, left the room without a sound.

Moments later Miquel slipped inside and shut the door. He came straight to Diago and took his hand. “Christ, you're frozen.” He went to the open window, pulled the shutters closed, and shut the window before he returned to the door.

Diago heard the lock click into place. “What are you doing?”

“Giving us some privacy.” Miquel slid under the quilts and wrapped his arms around Diago.

He smelled of cigarettes and soap and beneath it all, a fragrance all his own, a scent both hard and sweet for which Diago had no name. Diago rested his head on Miquel's chest and closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of him.

Miquel murmured, “Guillermo said you swore fealty.”

“Why do you sound sad? I thought you'd be happy.”

Miquel arms tightened with his frustration. “I wanted so badly to prove that I could take care of you.”

“You do. You give me what matters.”

Miquel relaxed somewhat, but he was still upset. Diago heard it in his pounding heart. “I just wish you had talked to me first. It was a big decision. I should have been a part of it.”

Diago traced the tattoo on Miquel's bicep. The intricate seal of Solomon matched the one engraved in Guillermo's signet ring. Sensation was slowly returning to his numb fingers, and he felt the power of Guillermo's binding within the tattoo's ink. “All this time together, and we still manage to hurt each other.”

Miquel made no answer, but his heartbeat slowed as his anger left him.

“And I'm sorry,” Diago said against his chest. “I should have told you about Candela. I just felt like a fool when it was over. And I was ashamed.”

Miquel's arms tightened around him. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. The angels bewitch us into thinking that we make our own decisions so we'll do their will. She used you badly. They all have.” Miquel stroked Diago's hair. “But they won't use you anymore.” His voice turned hard and made him sound angry, even though his heart beat calmly. “Now you are one of us, and we watch out for our own.”

“It doesn't matter. I think that is what I finally realized. Even under Guillermo's protection I would've had to submit to Candela, if that is what they wanted.” He lifted his head and was surprised to see Miquel smiling.

“Oh, my bright star.” Miquel gently smoothed the tape that had loosened on the bandage covering Diago's cheek. “You're not the only one who has been keeping secrets.”

“What do you mean?”

“Guillermo has plans, and you were the only missing piece. No matter how much the others have pushed, he said he would never force you to take the oath because of a promise he once made to you. Now that you've joined us, we can move forward.”

“Move forward into what?”

“Be still and sleep. We'll talk in the morning.” Miquel hummed a tender song.

Diago fought the pull of his magic. Guillermo had insisted that Diago pledge his magic to him and no one else . . . and something clicked. What Diago couldn't do alone, they might do as a group.

“He is going to rebel.”

Miquel stopped humming. “Not rebel. We can't do that without harming the mortals, but neither will we follow the angels blindly anymore. That was why I defied Prieto.” Miquel whispered against Diago's hair, “And I will do it again for you. Never doubt that.” He resumed his tune.

Diago closed his eyes. His pain dissipated beneath Miquel's magic and sleep crept over him. Down the hall, a grandfather clock ticked the seconds away, one majestic minute after another. Diago lost track of the beats and eventually fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

 

Chapter Seven

V
oices murmured outside his door.

“Is he awake?” It was Rafael.

“Shh, I'll look.” Ysabel answered him.

“Your mamá said don't.”

Ysabel sighed with as much exasperation as a seven-­year-­old could muster. “I know what I'm doing. Now you be quiet and let me work.”

Diago sat up and blinked against the midmorning light. Miquel had left him. The spot where he had slept was cold. Sometime during the night Miquel had placed Candela's tear back on the bedside table.

Diago ached all over, but not nearly as badly as he had last night. He was never sure which hurt worse: the actual injury, or the rapid healing that came afterward. Either way, the pain set his teeth on edge.

“I don't know, Ysa.” Rafael continued. “What if Papa gets mad?”

While the children argued, Diago found the bottle of aspirin Guillermo left. He dry swallowed three. After a brief moment of consideration he tossed a fourth into the mix.

“Uncle Diago won't get mad,” said Ysa. “Sometimes he gets cranky. Then he looks at you from the side of his eyes like this.”

Diago knew precisely what kind of look she meant. He was making it as she spoke.

“He is really very nice once you get to know him.”

“Thanks a lot, Ysa,” he mumbled as he looked across the room.

Someone must have gone to Doña Rosa's house to retrieve their belongings, because his suitcase and guitar were beside the wardrobe. At the sight of the guitar, a tremor passed through his hand, but Diago didn't look to his missing pinky.
I'd do it again. I would do it all over again to keep them safe.
He curled his remaining fingers around the edge of the cast.

Rafael lowered his voice. “I'm scared, Ysa. I don't want to go back to the nuns.”

Shadows moved beneath the threshold as Ysa moved closer to Rafael. With a child's innocence, she misinterpreted Rafael's angst. “You don't need to be scared of nuns. Do you know what my papa says?”

Draped over the chair Guillermo had used last night was Diago's old dressing robe. Miquel must have put it there for him. Diago managed to stand and put on the garment without too much difficulty.

“My papa says—­” There was another pregnant pause, during which Diago imagined Ysa checking both directions to make sure no grownups were near. “We are the sons and daughters of angels. We are Los Nefilim. Nobody fucks with us and wins.”

Diago made a mental note to discuss that statement and its particular phrasing with Rafael. He limped toward the door.

“I don't know what that means, Ysa. What are fucks?”

“Shh! Not so loud.”

Rafael whispered, “I just want my papa to love me.”

Diago paused with his hand on the doorknob and breathed his son's name.
I know how now, Rafael. I know how to love, and that I can give you.
Diago exhaled past the knot in his throat and opened the door. “Good morning.”

Both children jumped back from the door in surprise. Ysa's cheeks turned almost as red as her long auburn curls, which were wild around her face. She quickly read the disapproval in his eyes. “That's the face,” she whispered to Rafael.

Rafael went white.

“What face would that be?” Diago raised an eyebrow at her.

Obviously, figuring the best defense was a solid offense, she filled the hall with chatter. “Are you feeling better, Uncle Diago? You look much better. Doesn't he look better, Rafael?”

Diago raised his hand, and she stopped talking. “Would you do me a favor, Ysa?”

She nodded. “Anything for you, Uncle Diago.”

“Would you find Miquel and let him know I'm awake?”

Relief washed over her countenance. “Yes!”

She whirled and was halfway down the hall before Diago called her name. “Just to let you know: if your mother heard that language, she would be very angry. At both you
and
your papa.”

Ysa paused and considered this. “Okay, Uncle Diago. You won't tell, will you?”

“Not this time.”

She grinned at him before she turned and thundered down the hallway to find Miquel.

Diago turned his attention to Rafael, who had backed against the opposite wall. The boy was nothing like the urchin Diago had rescued from Prieto, yet he seemed even more delicate without all the dirt shadowing his face. His hair had been brushed until it gleamed. He wore a pair of Ysabel's trousers and one of her old sweaters. The clothing swallowed his small body. In his arms was one of Ysabel's rag ponies.

Before Diago could speak, Rafael blurted, “It's-­one-­of-­Ysa's-­old-­toys-­she-­said-­I-­could-­have-­it-­I-­didn't-­steal-­it.” Then he burst into tears.

The sudden onslaught of emotion took Diago off guard. “Good God, what is this? Why are you crying?” Although it was an effort, he knelt and held out his arms. “Come here, Rafael. It's all right.” He coaxed the child into his arms and hugged him. “I believe you. Ysa has a good heart, and she gives a lot of her toys away.”

Rafael sniffled and clutched the pony to his chest. “You're not mad?”

“No. I'm not angry, and no one is sending you away.” Diago stood and offered Rafael his hand. “Come inside and let's talk.”

Rafael held onto Diago as if he was afraid to let go.

Diago guided him into the room, then closed the door. As he did so, he realized the child must have been worried sick over an uncertain future these last few days.

“Come up here.” Diago sat on the edge of the mattress and patted the coverlet.

Rafael climbed onto the bed as gentle as a kitten.

“Look at me.” Diago drew him close. “You are so important to me, I was willing to face a daimon. And you, Rafael Díaz, saved my life. Now after all of that, do you think I'm going to send you back to an orphanage and that awful Sister Benita?”

“Are you?”

“No. Not ever.”

“Am I in trouble because of the fucks?”

Diago laughed before he could stop himself.

Rafael's lips trembled with a smile. “What's funny, Papa?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “No, you're not in trouble, but don't use that word.”

“Okay,” he wiped his eyes. “We weren't expecting you to be up. You just scared me when you opened the door so fast.”

“Maybe.” Diago conceded the point, although he suspected Rafael's fright came from someplace deeper. “Maybe you're frightened because you're in a new place with ­people you don't know?”

“I know you and Miquel. And Ysa is nice to me and lets me play with her toys. Don Guillermo is loud but he is very kind, and Doña Juanita likes it when we're quiet.”

Diago smiled. It all sounded very apt. “But?”

Rafael plucked at the pony's mane and admitted, “But I don't know how to act here.”

“Why don't you be yourself?”

“Because being myself makes grownups angry.”

“You mean grownups like Sister Benita?”

Rafael nodded.

“Hmm, well, we are going to do things differently. I know it's frightening for you to be in another new place, and you and I, we barely know each other. This is very hard for all of us. But we're going to work at understanding one another.” Diago took Candela's teardrop and placed it in his palm. “Now, I promise to be patient with you while you get used to living in Santuari.” He kissed the tear, then placed it in Rafael's hand. “Can you promise to be patient with me while I learn how to be a father?”

Rafael nodded solemnly. “I promise, Papa.” He kissed the teardrop and handed it back to Diago.

“No. You keep it.”

Rafael wrapped his fingers around his most prized possession. “Are you sure you don't need it anymore?”

“I'm sure. You keep it safe.”

A relieved smile brightened Rafael's face. “That means you're going to be okay, right?”

“For now.” Diago smoothed the child's hair, glad to see him calm and smiling again. “No more staying away from each other. If you get scared, you come find me, and we will talk. All right?”

Rafael deposited the teardrop in his pocket and hugged Diago. “Okay.”

“Good. Tell me what you've been doing.”

“Ysa showed me the farm. Her cat had kittens, and she said I could have one. Can I have a kitten, Papa?”

“Let's think about that.”

“Is that a maybe or a no?”

“Maybe.”

Rafael searched Diago's face with the intensity that only a child could have. Diago had no idea what kind of internal debate the boy entertained, but he eventually decided that let's-­think-­about-­it-­maybe was the best answer he was going to receive. “Okay.”

A knock came on the door and Miquel entered, cradling a tray. “Ah, you found him.” He brought the tray to the bed and set it beside Diago.

Rafael said, “I know I'm not supposed to bother Papa while he's getting well, but he said I could come in.”

“Well, I'm not the doctor, but—­” Miquel pressed his palm against Diago's forehead and pretended to assess his temperature. “I think you've made him better. His eyes look brighter and I thought I heard him laugh a little while ago. He's not so gloomy when you're around. We'd better let you stay with him all the time.”

A slow smile spread over Rafael's face at Miquel's teasing.

Miquel lifted the cloth napkin and feigned surprise. “Oh, look at me. I forgot the spoon. Can you go to the kitchen and get one from Lucia?”

Rafael scooted off the bed and paused. He returned to pat Diago's hand. “I'll be right back, Papa.” Then he left them.

When Diago was sure Rafael was out of earshot, he turned to Miquel. “How is he doing?”

“If he becomes afraid in the night, he goes under the bed and sleeps there. He gave Juanita a hell of a scare the first time she went in to check on him and she found him gone.”

“He probably feels safe there. Ask her not to chastise him for it. We'll teach him he doesn't have to be afraid anymore, but it'll take time.”

Miquel poured Diago's coffee and added some hot milk. “I know. We're still working on you.” He gave Diago a sweet roll. “Eat something for me.”

Diago accepted the plate but didn't touch the food. “Are you sure you're all right with this? With Rafael?”

“Honestly?” Miquel's movements slowed as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “I don't know how to be a parent and the thought of it scares me.” He met Diago's gaze evenly and lowered his voice. “But I do know this: I love you. And because I love you, I will try to be a good father to him.”

Relieved, Diago squeezed Miquel's shoulder. “I couldn't ask for more.”

Miquel smiled and spread a thick coat of jam across a piece of toast. He nodded at Diago's untouched sweet roll. “Eat. Guillermo said we can have the guesthouse out back. Lucia has aired it out for us. We can sleep there tonight if you like.”

“I would like that.”

“I'm going into town this afternoon.” He wiped the crumbs from his fingers. “Juanita has taken Rafael's measurements, so I thought I'd pick him up some clothes. He needs new shoes.”

Diago put down his coffee. “I don't have money for all of this. Sell my guitar. I can't play it anymore.”

Miquel made a face. “I'm not selling your guitar. You'll play again. Just be patient with yourself and don't worry about money.”

“Miquel—­”

“Don't worry about money.” He dropped the napkin over the spoon just as Rafael entered, triumphantly bearing a spoon from the kitchen. “Everything is going to be all right. Isn't it, Rafael?”

The child looked from Miquel to his father and back again before he smiled and guessed the correct answer was, “Yes?” He almost upset the tray as he climbed back onto the bed and presented Miquel with the spoon. “Is Don Guillermo rich?”

Diago fixed him a plate. “Yes.”

“Are we rich, Papa?”

Diago chuckled. “Us?”

“See?” Miquel finished his coffee. “You come back and he smiles. You make us rich, Rafael.” Miquel winked at Diago. “I'll be back this evening. Don't overdo it. Juanita said you took some very bad hits.”

“I'm fine.” Diago waved away Miquel's concern and glanced at Rafael. “Leave the tray. I'll take it in when we're done.”

“Are you sure?”

He gave Rafael a sweet roll. “Yes, I'm sure.”

Miquel barely made it to the door before Guillermo arrived to peek inside. “Ysa is shouting to the heavens that you've returned to us.”

“He'll be back to his old surly self in no time,” Miquel said as he passed him.

Guillermo laughed and slapped Miquel's back. “Rafael, I need to talk to your papa. Can you help Ysa count the kittens again and make sure they're all still there?”

Rafael brightened at the mention of the cats. “Can I, Papa?” he asked around a mouthful of food.

“Swallow, then go.”

Rafael grinned. “Thank you, Papa!”

Once Rafael left, Guillermo shut the door and turned to Diago. They measured one another, and Diago instantly recognized the sly look in his friend's eye.

“What are you up to, Guillermo?”

He sat in the chair and took out a cigar, composing himself into the very picture of innocence. “Me?”

Diago wasn't having it. “Los Nefilim aren't obeying the angels blindly anymore. Prieto questioned me about it.”

“Ah, that.” He rolled the cigar between his fingertips, but he didn't light it. “You're not ready for that information yet. First we have the ceremony, then you take my mark, then we talk. For now, I can't treat you any differently than I do the others. Meanwhile—­” Guillermo took out an envelope and handed it to Diago.

Diago opened it to find more money than he'd made in a year while working in Sevilla. “I can't take this. I've done nothing to earn it.”