Los Nefilim Book 4 Read Online Free

the box. Diago used his finger to manipulate the waves into a sigil of protection. Moving with confidence, he quickly traced four vertical and horizontal stripes in the air. He surrounded the lines with a circle that ended in an elaborate tail.
    The glyph spun lazily and covered his hands as he lifted the lid. Inside, settled atop a bed of white silk, was a ring that Diago had given Miquel. The wedding band was an exact match to the one that Diago wore on a chain next to his heart.
    A cold wash of fear flooded his stomach and spread down into his thighs. Did Miquel know about Candela? Had Beltran Prieto told him? Suddenly, Diago saw nothing but the hurt on Miquel’s face. The image settled against his mind like a blow.
    Diago took the ring from the box and slid it onto his index finger. Calm down and think. He couldn’t imagine Miquel taking off his ring and placing it in the mirrored box, no matter how angry he might be about Diago’s adultery. That simply wasn’t his way. Miquel was too emotional for such a cold good-­bye.
    Diago examined the silk within the box. In one corner was splash of blood. Diago licked his finger and touched the blood. He lifted his finger to his tongue and tasted silk and parchment and the bitterness of rosemary. Diago knew the taste of his lover’s blood. Miquel was hurt.
    He pressed the ring to his mouth. The metal was cold against his lips. Miquel had not left him, not voluntarily. Perhaps even now he was with Diago’s son, but where?
    The faint sound of chimes interrupted Diago’s thoughts. From the downstairs hall, in its niche beside the phone, Doña Rosa’s great clock tolled seven times.

 
    Chapter Two
    D iago switched on every light in the loft. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed, and there were no signs of a struggle. Miquel’s gun was still in his suitcase, along with his bowie knife, gifts from Guillermo. Diago closed the suitcase and shoved it back under the bed.
    In the front pocket of Miquel’s pants he found a crumpled theater bill. The heavily creased paper advertised a new bar not far from the Villa Rosa, where Miquel usually played. A large black scorpion had been drawn to dominate the top of the page. The tail formed the “S” within the club’s name and swirled to encircle the words: Club d’Escorpí. The bill proclaimed an unparalleled show filled with cante jondo —­deep song. Miquel’s specialty, Diago thought as his gaze moved down the page.
    The bill announced Beltran Prieto as the singer. The dancer was unnamed. Miquel de Torrellas was listed as the guitarist. That couldn’t be right. Miquel had made no mention of working in a new club, and the artwork indicated the handbill had been weeks in the making.
    Diago refolded the advertisement and pushed it into his back pocket. He would begin his search at the Villa Rosa before moving to the Club d’Escorpí. Perhaps one of the other performers had seen or heard something about this new club. Any information might help him circumvent more of Prieto’s surprises.
    Diago switched from his shirt and tie to a worn sweater with frayed sleeves, so he would blend in with the mortals that frequented the area. From beneath the bed he yanked out his suitcase and opened it. Inside, concealed beneath a false bottom, were his Luger and a long wicked knife.
    His hands no longer shook. Initiating a course of action steadied him. He checked his magazines. One was full, the other half full. Diago emptied a box of silver-­tipped bullets onto the bed and added rounds to the second magazine.
    Yet, even though he had a plan, it didn’t change the fact that he had no idea what was going on. He considered the clues he had so far, but he could find no way to connect them. As far as he could remember, Candela had never mentioned anyone named Beltran Prieto—­but to be fair, they hadn’t spoken beyond murmurs of passion and her whispered