Los Nefilim Book 4 by T. Frohock Page B

face, but her features were lost in the mists of his memories. His stomach ached with grief.
    He hugged the box to his chest and snuggled closer to Miquel’s warmth, his gaze locked on the stairwell. He recalled summer evenings when the heat faded from the day. He and Mamá had danced to a phonograph record made more of scratches than music. Mamá taught Rafael to listen past the record’s defects to find the strains of the guitars.
    Listen to the music, Rafael. The guitarist tells you what you must do. Let him move you. Trust your body.
    He could almost hear the record now, a distant rhythm that pulsed quick and hard. Rafael tightened his grip on the box and closed his eyes. He dozed and dreamed that the golden serpents on the mirrored box came to life. The three snakes slithered from their places and coiled together to become one mighty serpent. The magical snake crawled off the glass and onto the back of Rafael’s hand. From there, it climbed through the folds of his ragged clothes to reach his mouth.
    As the snake slipped through Rafael’s parted lips, a different music chimed through his dreams. The notes were more ethereal, like the sound of rain, or of stars sighing in the night. Rafael inhaled and, in doing so, he took the magic into his soul.
    Listen, Mamá had said. Trust your body.

 
    Chapter Six
    â€œO h, Diago, I’ve always known you were one of us,” Moloch crooned again. His gaze was locked on the golem. A string of drool hung from his lower lip.
    â€œI am nothing like you,” Diago said.
    â€œOh, but you are.” Moloch tilted his head and squinted at the golem. “And for that reason, I do not trust you.”
    Fortunately, the golem chose that moment to move. It murmured against Diago’s shoulder. “I am your brave child. I love you.”
    Diago shushed the golem and attempted to summon an expression of parental concern. Instead, he feared he showed nothing but disgust. He covered his bad acting with chatter. “Look at the child. He is suffering. Let’s make this deal and be done.”
    The daimon only smiled.
    What is he waiting for? “Do you really believe I would try to trick you? Do you think I’m suicidal?” Diago gestured to the ‘aulaqs . “I’m outnumbered. They’re faster than me. I’d never make it back to Miquel.” He shook his head and managed a conciliatory tone. “Stop playing games, Moloch. Give me Prieto’s coin and take your place. I will see to the rest.”
    Moloch touched the small leather sack he wore around his neck on a thin piece of leather. “You’ll hand this death machine over to Prieto?”
    â€œHe holds Miquel hostage.”
    â€œYou’ll trade your son for your lover?” Moloch rubbed his palms. His long nails scraped together. The sound reminded Diago of roaches clicking across a floor. “Betray one to keep the other? No. This is too easy. I don’t trust you, Diago.”
    The feeling was mutual. Something was wrong. Moloch was too confident.
    Where is that missing ‘aulaq? Concerned that Moloch might mistake vigilance for fear, Diago didn’t survey the floor. He held Moloch’s glare with his own.
    Centuries of hiding his homosexuality from others helped him knuckle down on his emotions. Diago knew the rules: Never let them taste your fear. Never let them know you’re different. ­People saw what they wanted to see and heard what they wanted hear. They made assumptions based on their personal beliefs, which often blinded them to the truth. Daimons were not unlike mortals in this respect. All Diago had to do was give Moloch the ritual words, and then let the daimon’s mind do the rest.
    â€œI am the father of Rafael Díaz de Triana,” Diago said. “And as his parent, I vouch for this sacrifice in order to gain peace for our ­people. The parent guarantees the child, Moloch. Those are your