The Second Death (11 page)

“I am your father. A part of you will always belong to me. Guillermo will betray you just as he did when he was Solomon. And when that happens, you come home to your father. I will welcome a priest of your caliber.”

“Are you done?” Diago asked.

Alvaro smiled and withdrew a pouch from his pocket. Diago recognized it. The bag was the same one that had held the original idea—­the bag Diago had used to fool Moloch's vampires.

“Remember, my son. The true art of deception isn't in the number of lies you tell, but in the believability of a single lie. I will make Engel believe.” Alvaro tossed the pouch to Diago.

He caught it neatly and pulled open the drawstring. Inside was a brass medallion. Diago knew without removing it that the case would fit comfortably in his palm. The brass concealed a magnifying glass. It had been a gift from Miquel sometime in the late seventeenth century, and Diago had thought he'd never see it again. He had exchanged it for Moloch's coin, which contained the original idea for the bomb.

Diago pivoted the cracked glass free of the cover, closed it, and returned it to the bag. “This won't fool an angel.”

“It will by the time you return to him. Go back to your cell and wait. Then hope he keeps his end of the bargain.” Alvaro raised his arm.

“Wait! Nothing is free. What do you want in exchange?”

“Consider it a favor. And one day, we might ask you for a favor, and when we do, you will remember this day.” Before Diago could object, Alvaro made a slashing motion with his hand. The female
‘aulaq
sang another note and extinguished the fire.

The darkness descended once more, dousing even the light of Diago's sigil. He closed his eyes and when he reopened them, the world was still black. The pouch was heavy and warm in his hand. He knelt and touched the chalky dust of Amparo's bones. He was back in his cell.

Overhead, a door slammed shut.

 

CHAPTER 7

P
atience ceased to be an ally and became the enemy. Diago had arrived at the moment when he had nothing left to lose. It was time to fight, but he needed to choose the exact moment to attack. He hummed a tune and formed a barbed sigil of light, and then he brightened the ward's glow until the sharp edges were blurred.

Tracking his captors by their footsteps on the concrete, he spun the glyph to life.

The click of a key and the turning of a bolt announced Engel's arrival. The angel stood in the hallway flanked by Garcia and Adler.

Engel sniffed the air. His gaze swept over Diago, and he didn't try to hide his contempt. “Well?”

Diago tossed the bag to him, hoping Alvaro hadn't betrayed him.

The angel loosened the string and looked inside. A bright flash of white lit his features. He emptied the contents into his palm and closed his fist around the magnifying glass. Eyes shut, he tilted his head back. A tongue of spectral blue fire licked the air.

Adler aimed his flashlight at Diago's eyes, but not before Diago saw Adler's hand resting on the grip of his gun. Likewise, Garcia shifted his position, his pistol in hand.

Diago held no illusions as to how this game would play. As soon as Engel pronounced his satisfaction with the idea, Diago's execution was certain.

The only weapon left to his arsenal was surprise. Now was the time to act. With a feral cry, he sliced his ward in half and used both hands to shove the sharpened glyphs into Adler's and Garcia's eyes. Engel looked up in time to see Diago running toward him, but the German angel was too slow. Diago rammed the angel's chest with his shoulder.

Engel stumbled backward four steps before he caught his balance. He tried to push Diago back into the cell, but Amparo's bone dust had turned slick with Diago's sweat. He wiggled free and dodged to the right.

Garcia wiped Diago's magic from his eyes. Diago punched the inspector in the face. The crunch of Garcia's nose beneath his fist was the most satisfying thing he had felt in days.

As Garcia reeled from the blow, Diago grabbed his gun. He jerked Garcia's body in front of him and used the inspector like a shield.

Adler staggered to Engel's side, his pistol raised. Diago fired around Garcia's head. Adler's skull exploded.

Engel flung himself inside Diago's cell.

Diago spun Garcia around and shoved him toward the stairs. Garcia raised his hands and ran in front of Diago.

They reached the first landing. Careful to keep his hands in the air, Garcia whirled. “You can't win, Diago. Stop now.”

“Shut up before I forget why I'm keeping you alive
.
”

Engel called out. “Diago, you're making this worse!”

The angel was stalling. Already, Diago detected the shifting vibrations that indicated Engel intended to shed his mortal form. He'd have no chance against the angel once that happened.

He didn't answer. Instead, he dragged Garcia up the stairs. The stairwell was silent. None of the angel's Nephilim responded to the gunshot.
Of course, they didn't. They expected at least one shot and now think I'm dead.

At the second landing, he paused and shoved Garcia into the corner. “How many are waiting upstairs?”

Sweat beaded under Garcia's mustache. He lowered his gaze. “Two of Engel's Nephilim.”

Liar. There are at least three.
Adler had accompanied them downstairs while the other three had remained behind. “Face the wall. Hands behind your head.”

Garcia did as he was told.

Diago rifled through Garcia's pockets until he found two more magazines. “How many more are in the hospital?”

“Eight.”

That might be the truth. Eight Nephilim singing, three watching, plus Guillermo's five traitors—­he had to find Rafael and hope that Guillermo had a comparable force somewhere on the grounds by now. “Where is Rafael?”

“Jaso has him.”

Jaso. Diago might kill Jaso without waiting for Guillermo. “Let's go.” He propelled Garcia toward the stairs again. “Put your hands down and walk normally.”

Garcia obeyed him.

Diago stayed behind the taller Nefil. When they reached the top step, he rammed Garcia aside and yanked open the door. As he'd suspected, Engel's two Nephilim flanked the exit. He shot the Nephil on the left first. The one on the right threw a punch. Diago ducked and rolled. The Nephil's fist struck the wall.

Diago rose to his knees and fired two rounds into the Nephil's body—­chest and face. Blood sprayed the industrial green walls with a merry shade of red.

Through the closing stairwell door, Diago glimpsed Garcia running back down the stairs.
Going for Adler's gun.

Ignoring the shouts around him, he scanned the hall for the third German, who was nowhere to be seen. Diago rose and pocketed the gun.

Mortal orderlies hurried in his direction.

He formed a sigil and blinded them to his appearance. “Quick! It's Inspector Garcia! He shot the orderlies. He's hiding on the stairwell!”

Their eyes went wide at the sight of the dead Germans.

“Go on,” Diago sang to the mortals. “Garcia is out of bullets.”

The fear left their eyes and they approached the stairwell more confidently.

Diago ran.

Shouts echoed ahead of him. More orderlies were coming.

Diago turned left at the next intersection and ducked into a bathroom as another group of nuns and orderlies ran past. The mirror reflected a madman covered in bone dust.

Damn it. He was a mess, and he couldn't enchant every person he saw. Without wasting a second, he washed his face and combed his fingers through his hair. With a towel, he brushed the worst of the dust from his clothes. By the time he was done, his eyes were still bloodshot and his face bruised, but his appearance was such that he could easily deflect a causal inspection by a mortal. That was better.

Time to move again. Finding Rafael was going to be a problem. Diago didn't have the first clue of where to look. Where the hell would Jaso have taken the child? An office? But whose? Vales's? Was there a children's ward in the hospital?

Diago's heart steadied. That was the answer. Find Vales and charm him, undo Engel's damage on Vales's mind, and elicit the doctor's help. Vales might know where Jaso had taken Rafael.

Diago went to the door. A glance into the hall assured him that it was empty. Noise and confusion echoed from the direction of the stairwell. Diago thought he detected Engel's voice in the fray. The angel spoke in rapid German, and from the gruff nature of his speech, Diago was certain he wasn't speaking to the mortals. Twice he thought he caught the phrase, “Meine Nephilim . . . mord . . . mord.”

Definitely time to move on.
Diago set a fast pace in the opposite direction. He passed a row of offices. One of the doors was open. Diago peeked inside. The secretary stood in front of a filing cabinet. Her back was to the door. A doctor's white jacket hung on the rack by the door.

Diago lifted the coat and put it on as he walked away. The wide pockets held a stethoscope, but nothing else.

He passed a window and looked at the sky. The sight halted him in his tracks. Pressing his fingertips against the window sill, he leaned forward, checking the heavy clouds in disbelief.

Die Nephilim's sigils had disappeared. Their net of magic was gone, utterly gone. Diago glanced back the way he had come. Engel's voice was louder. He shouted commands.

Meine Nephilim.

My Nefilim . . . but what was the other word? Mord.
It sounded a little like
muerte
. Dead? Murdered? Diago had no idea. All he knew for certain was that the bombastic glyphs, which had covered the asylum grounds, could have only been destroyed by Nefilim.

“Guillermo is here,” Diago murmured.
He is here.

As Diago turned to go, the whisper of a kitten's breath touched his fingers. He looked down to find a flicker of white emerging from the shadows along the window sill. The figure of a kitten took form.

But not a real one.
No, that was impossible. One ear was taller than the other, the mouth was slightly off kilter—­it was a cartoonish creature, almost as if a child had drawn it.

With a thrill, Diago recognized it. It possessed one blue eye and one green eye.
Rafael's kitten!
Diago had no trouble summoning the kitten's name, because Rafael told anyone who would listen about Ghost.

The kitten leapt from the windowsill and trotted to a metal door. Ghost gave a silent meow.

Diago almost wept with relief. Jaso and Moreno would never allow Rafael to use his magic.
He's escaped them. Dear Jesus, he'd somehow gotten away from them.
“Where are you?”

The kitten sat in front of the door.

Diago hurried over. Through the glass window, he saw a stairwell, but the door was locked. “Shit.”

The heavy slap of feet indicated someone hurried toward him. It was a nun with a face like an ax. If her dour expression was any indication of her personality, she'd cut him, and be happy to do it.

Thinking quickly, he patted his pockets as if searching for the key to the door. He didn't have to feign his frustration. “I can't believe this.”

“Is there a problem, Doctor?” The nun's voice grated like nails on tin.

“Oh, Sister, maybe you can help me. I'm new here, and I've left my keys in my office. Is there an elevator nearby?”

She frowned at him, and for a moment, he thought she would summon the orderlies. The commotion down the hall grew louder.

Sweat formed on Diago's upper lip. He forced himself to focus on the nun.

“You would need your key for the elevator on this floor.” To his relief, she rooted through her keys and chose one. “You should be more careful. We have more important things to do than shepherd negligent young doctors around.” She unlocked the door. “Make sure you shut it firmly. There is a madman on the loose. We want to keep him contained on this floor.”

“Of course, Sister . . . ?”

“Benita.” She snapped her name at him and sucked her teeth.

The shock of the information dropped Diago's jaw.
My son wasn't in an orphanage. He was in a madhouse.
He shut his mouth a moment too late.

Her eyes narrowed. “You look familiar. Something about your eyes. Do I know you?”

“No. We've never met.” He grasped at a straw and asked, “Didn't you used to work on the children's ward?”

“Yes, yes, I did, but I was recently reassigned here.”

Jesus, this was
the
Sister Benita. She was more terrifying than he had imagined.

She cocked her head and he half expected her to peck out his eyes. “Are you certain we haven't met?”

“No, we have not met, but they speak very highly of you in the children's ward.”

She blinked at him, and he realized it was her turn to be stunned. “They do?”

“Yes,” he assured her, relieved that his flattery had worked. “Thank you, Sister.” He moved to the landing and shut the door before she could ask another question.

Through the window, he saw her wipe her eye. Then she lifted her head and strode grimly down the corridor.

Diago shuddered and turned to the staircase. The kitten, which appeared to be grinning, had already reached the first landing. Diago followed Ghost to the basement. The wide corridor, utilized by the staff to quickly access the wards, bustled along with its usual traffic, happily unaware of the chaos above.

A quick glance in both directions indicated nothing but mortals. Ghost moved to the right, along the baseboards. Diago hurried after the caricature, bowing his head as if deep in thought. He was so intent on the kitten, he didn't see Jaso coming from the opposite direction until it was almost too late to hide.

Fortunately, Jaso had spotted the kitten and was so focused on the animal dashing into a ventilation grill that he didn't see Diago either. Grinning like a hunter who had flushed out his prey, Jaso knelt in front of the grill.

Fucking son of a bitch.
Diago didn't try to contain his rage.

Jaso laughed. “I've got you now, you little fucker.”

Diago walked faster.

And just as it had that morning, everything began to happen fast and hard . . .

Diago put his hand on the grip of Garcia's gun, but he didn't draw the weapon. Instead, he walked right up to Jaso and kicked the other Nefil in the face.

Jaso grunted and fell backward, holding his nose. “What the fuck?”

“Are you all right?” Diago bent down. As he did, he caught a glimpse of his son, huddled in the filthy vent. He put his finger to his lips. Rafael's grin lightened Diago's heart just enough that he decided not to kick Jaso again. He grabbed Jaso's collar and jerked him upright. With a smooth move, Diago also liberated the other Nefil of his pistol. “That looked like it hurt.”

Jaso's eyes went wide. “You fucking—­”

Diago slammed his fist into Jaso's face. He felt the cartilage of Jaso's nose break.

Jaso screamed.

Diago hustled him across the corridor and against the opposite wall. If Jaso tried to sing a glyph, Diago didn't want the fight close to Rafael's hiding's place.

Diago put his lips against Jaso's ear and whispered, “Shut your mouth, or I'll kill you where you stand.”

Jaso shut up.

Mortals were pausing to gawk at them. Diago gave them a reassuring smile. “Everything is fine,” he crooned. “I'm a doctor.”

A mortal doctor with a mustache as heavy as his paunch hesitated beside them. “What happened?”

“I don't know,” Diago said. “He was walking along and just collapsed. I think his nose is broken.”

“Can you fix it?” The mortal asked.

“I'm not that kind of doctor,” Diago said.