Los Nefilim Book 4 by T. Frohock

had probably been scavenged from Barcelona’s tombs and graveyards. The male stopped next to the statue’s massive hands. The female helped him load the body parts onto the upturned palms. When the hands were full, the two ‘aulaqs pulled the chains that lifted the sacrifice into the open furnace.
    Moloch needed to feed, and while the dead did not give him the same energy as a living sacrifice, the corpses prevented him from starving to death. The daimon was out of sight, but Diago had no doubt he was somewhere near the effigy, where he could inhale the smoke from the burning corpses.
    The tall scarred ‘aulaq that had almost followed them off the train was absent. Diago looked around the room. The missing vampire bothered Diago. The ‘aulaqs traveled in packs, so the third one should be somewhere close. But where? Diago stared into the darkness. Nothing moved but shadows. If the third ‘aulaq had backtracked to Miquel and Rafael, Miquel would deal with him; of that, Diago had little doubt.
    As it was, he couldn’t linger any longer. Not with time ticking against him. The metal walkway shuddered beneath his feet as he climbed the steel steps and mounted the catwalk. Far ahead, the female ‘aulaq stepped away from the effigy, and Diago finally saw Moloch. Unmindful of the heat, the daimon stroked the statue’s knee and cooed in a language so ancient that even Diago didn’t recognize the syntax.
    Halting halfway between the stairs and the statue, Diago waited for the daimon to recognize his presence. Moloch took his time. When he finally turned around, he trailed his fingers over the effigy’s knee as if they were lovers interrupted.
    Made with thin legs and thin arms, Moloch was a brittle stickman who was no man at all. His elongated skull and pointed chin were more pronounced than those of his ‘aulaqs, which were merely pale reflections of their master. The daimon’s eyes were the color of smoke and nickel, white eyes, as if he had no eyes at all.
    Dressed in a ragged robe, his only ornament was a leather pouch that hung around his neck. Moloch grinned around sharp teeth. “You came. Prieto said you wouldn’t, but I knew you would.” He extended one clawed hand, as if he could reach across the distance between them. “And you brought him.”
    Diago glanced at the golem. Rafael looked up at him. Diago’s heart stuttered. Had he gone mad?
    Then the golem blinked, its countenance listless, nothing like Rafael’s expressive features. Diago’s pulse slowed. Miquel’s magic had finally taken hold. From the top of his head down to his mismatched shoes, the golem looked exactly like Rafael. As disconcerting as the resemblance was, Diago felt a small measure of relief. This might work, after all.
    Moloch tapped his long claws together and licked his lips with a pale tongue. “Oh, Diago, I’ve always known you were one of us.”

 
    Chapter Five
    R afael sniffed the collar of his papa’s coat and smelled the spicy odor of his sweat. Excitement tickled his belly. How many nights had he gone to sleep dreaming of being rescued from the nuns and their harsh voices full of fear? More than he could count. More than one hundred and one nights, or a thousand nights, or ten thousand nights, and more than he thought he could bear. His mamá had promised him that when he found his papa, he would finally be safe. Now they were together, and Rafael would never have to face Sister Benita or the other sisters again.
    He tugged the coat around him. Something heavy caused the garment to hang to the left. Rafael reached inside the pocket and allowed his fingers to travel over the rectangular shape. The sensation of his father’s warm magic bled through the paper. Rafael peeked into the pocket to find a thin ray of silver, gleaming in the pallid light. Was his papa rich?
    A quick glance at the stairwell assured him that Miquel had not returned,