Los Nefilim Book 4 Read Online Free Page A

lies.
    Another spasm of guilt twisted his stomach before he shut Candela from his mind. Think, God damn it. The etched triptych indicated supernatural skill. That was a start, but Diago had no idea whether Prieto was angel or daimon. His motivations were just as veiled as his character.
    What can he possibly want?
    â€œHe needs me,” Diago murmured. Specifically, Prieto needed skills that only Diago possessed. But what? The answer to that question required a meeting. One that Beltran Prieto was about to regret.
    What else have I got? Diago pressed bullets into the magazine and thought of the hourglass. They used to mark time with hourglasses. There was a clock ticking somewhere. Whatever Prieto needed, time was of the essence. “Okay.” Diago inserted the fresh magazine into the Luger, then tucked the gun into his holster. “Let’s not keep him waiting.” He pulled the long sweater down over his hips to hide the weapon, then pocketed the second magazine. The knife he secured to his calf, using the wide pant-­leg to conceal the blade.
    As long he was able to avoid the police, he’d be fine. He wasn’t all that worried; the section of the Paralelo closest to the wharfs operated under its own laws, which would make Diago’s fact-­finding mission somewhat easier.
    He returned to the kitchen, where he wrapped the glass box loosely in the paper and tucked it, along with the card, into his coat pocket. From the tabletop, the brass of the magnifying glass winked in the light. Diago snapped the glass into the case, then jammed the medallion into his front pocket with his change, thinking the thing might be useful if he needed to examine the triptych again.
    He left the apartment and descended to the first floor, pausing by the phone. Instinct told him to hurry, yet he hesitated. Although he had sworn no oaths to Los Nefilim, Guillermo was his friend, and had asked Diago to let him know if anything ever happened to Miquel. The call would only take a moment, and Diago decided he would feel better if someone knew where he was going.
    The sound of a radio soap opera blared through Doña Rosa’s closed door. If he wanted privacy, now was the time to call.
    Before he could change his mind, he gritted his teeth and lifted the receiver, relieved that no one else was using the line. Even though they were only mortals, the sound of disembodied voices nattering away disturbed him more than he wanted to admit.
    He gave the operator Guillermo’s number, and she put the call through. The phone rang, a tinny sound made thin by the distance. Diago’s heart pounded three times between each of the five rings. Ten rings. I’ll give it ten rings, and then hang up.
    As he waited, he noticed a deep scuff in the wainscoting to the left of the telephone table. The pale wood stood naked against the richer shades of brown and black. The gouge was fresh. Someone had obviously knocked the table against the wall, probably José coming home after a night of drinking. Maybe. Diago ran his thumb along the groove and frowned. But the direction of the scar indicated it had been made by someone approaching from the stairwell opposite the front door.
    Before he could examine it further, a man answered the phone. “Hello, you have reached the residen—­”
    â€œSuero, it’s Diago. I need to talk to Guillermo.”
    There was a pause. The line crackled between them. Suero said, “He’s not here. He won’t be back until late.”
    â€œWhat about Juanita?” Guillermo’s wife handled any problems with Los Nefilim in Guillermo’s absence.
    â€œShe is with Guillermo.”
    â€œDamn it.” Diago breathed the words and glanced at Doña Rosa’s door.
    An announcer’s smooth baritone purred an advertisement for Myrurgia’s face powder. The noise from the radio might cover his conversation, but it also set Diago’s rigid nerves on fire. He