Without Light or Guide by T. Frohock

going back to Santuari.”
    Diago turned to follow Guillermo and Miquel. A low moan caused him to pause and glance up the stairs. Another sound, delicate as a moth, crept down the banister. This one came in the guise of Doña Rosa’s voice:
    â€œI’m glad I caught you, Señor Alvarez. You had a visitor today. She hunts . . .”

 
    CHAPTER FOUR
    O n the ride home, Diago sat in the backseat with Guillermo. He tried to distract himself with the passing scenery, but had little success. Instead, he listened as Guillermo briefed Miquel and Suero.
    Miquel sat sideways in the front beside Suero, his left arm thrown casually across the seat. Although Guillermo glossed over the friction between Diago and Garcia, Miquel inferred what had happened from Guillermo’s carefully chosen words. The downward curve of his lips bespoke his concern.
    He knows Garcia and me too well. Diago avoided eye contact with his lover. He couldn’t take back his lie of omission to Garcia. It was done. Now he would have to begin anew to win the inspector’s trust. He only hoped he hadn’t shaken Guillermo’s faith in him.
    I’ll do better tomorrow. This was just like writing a song. He had to work through the keys until he found the right melody.
    Beating his self-­confidence with a cudgel of guilt would get him nowhere. It was time to release the day and look forward to the evening. He consoled himself with thoughts of Rafael. His son would be covered in cat hair and straw, his fingernails stained with finger paints, or the lead from his colored pencils, because he loved to draw almost as much as he loved to dance.
    â€œWhat now?” Miquel asked when Guillermo finally finished.
    Guillermo lit his cigar. “We’re going to move fast,” he said through a cloud of smoke. “Suero, where is Amparo?”
    â€œShe is living in El Raval, near Chinatown.”
    â€œI have a job for her.”
    Suero nodded. “I’ll find her tonight.”
    â€œWhat does Amparo do?” Diago asked.
    â€œShe is the best thief I’ve got.” Guillermo rolled down his window a few centimetres. “She’ll get the fragment. Then we can study it at Santuari.”
    The supple branches of the almond trees swayed in a light breeze. Buttery shades of sound fluttered around the limbs. Diago blinked. Another attack of chromesthesia . He shifted his gaze to Guillermo and pretended nothing was wrong.
    Like the smoke from his cigar, Guillermo’s words were soft and gray. “Can you sketch the layout to the Ferrer’s apartment for Amparo?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œGood.” Guillermo stared at the passing orchard. “Suero, while you’re there, see if Amparo has found out anything about Prieto.”
    Suero acknowledged the order with a nod. “She’s had her ear to the ground for a month and hasn’t heard anything.”
    â€œTell her to look to the skies, then,” Guillermo quipped.
    Diago couldn’t resist a quick jab at Garcia. “Garcia thinks Prieto is our friend.”
    Miquel scoffed. “Garcia is the kind of Nefil Prieto would love.”
    â€œEven Garcia knows he’s to clear any angelic orders with me first.” Guillermo rolled the cigar between his fingers. “Incidents like the one with Prieto have made me cautious.” His words lost their colorful vibrations as the episode of chromesthesia passed.
    Diago rubbed his eyes. “There have been others like Prieto?”
    â€œYes.” Guillermo took a long draw from his cigar before tossing it out the window. “I think the angels are headed toward a civil war. The signs are there and mirror our situation in this realm.”
    â€œBut why fight amongst themselves? What do they have to gain?” Diago left the most important question unspoken: and whose side will Los Nefilim take?
    â€œI don’t know,” Guillermo admitted. “Juanita has lost