Read Online Without Light or Guide by T. Frohock - Free Book Online Page A

and Asaph.
    â€œIs it asking too much to be judged on my actions in this life? Asaph died an ugly death. Diago lives and hopes for better. I can’t earn their trust if they’ve already decided I’m guilty.” He held Juanita’s gaze. “Do you see? I’m just asking for a chance.”
    She touched his scarred cheek. “I can only speak for Guillermo and me: we trust you. Miquel trusts you, and you seem to have won Suero’s faith. Small steps will lead to great strides. Just be patient.”
    The children came back downstairs, their laughter pealing through the house.
    Juanita glanced at the clinic door, then back to Diago. “I’m going to ask you again: did you have more episodes of chromesthesia?”
    â€œA ­couple. I had two severe attacks in the city and a third mild one on the way home.”
    â€œThat’s three.”
    â€œTwo and a half.”
    Miquel’s hold on him eased. “None of the attacks debilitated him. He moved through them.”
    â€œI’d feel better if you rested tomorrow,” Juanita said.
    â€œI’m going with Guillermo to Holy Cross.”
    â€œI’ll talk to Guillermo.” She put the light away. “If you like.”
    â€œDon’t. We’re hunting a daimon. The others won’t see the signs I can see. Not even Guillermo.”
    â€œAnd you think by defeating a daimon, Los Nefilim will believe in you.”
    He couldn’t tell if she thought him noble or pathetic. Not that it mattered to him one way or another. “I took an oath.”
    She considered him carefully for a moment. “The others might only see your daimonic nature, but I see the angelic in your eyes.” Then she turned to Miquel. “Make sure he rests.”
    L ater that evening, Diago woke on the couch in the guesthouse a little after sunset. Guesthouse. No. It’s our house now, he thought as he indulged in a languid stretch.
    Through the parlor window, the sky retained hints of purple. The stars were gauzy points of light through the clouds. He remembered changing clothes and sitting down to sketch the map of the Ferrer apartment. Rafael had settled on the floor, pad and pencils arrayed around his latest drawing. Having finished the map, Diago had closed his eyes, meaning only to rest for a moment.
    Judging from the light, he’d slept for a ­couple of hours. Someone, most likely Miquel, had taken off his shoes and covered him with an afghan. Diago sat up and noticed a sheet of paper on the table. Rafael had drawn a picture of their house. In front of the home, a child with dark green eyes stood between crude representations of Diago and Miquel.
    No. Not entirely crude. The drawings had a primitive appeal. The shapes of the faces and stances were good likenesses. They were all smiling and holding hands. A white kitten with one blue eye and one green eye sat at Rafael’s feet. Overhead, a bright yellow sun with angel’s wings beamed down on them.
    At the bottom of the picture, Rafael had printed “My Family” in block letters. Diago held up the paper to the light and detected the pencil marks beneath the colors. Miquel had printed the letters and Rafael had traced over them.
    Warmth filled Diago’s chest. Miquel is so unsure of himself, but he’s a better father than I am. He knows how to give.
    From the kitchen came the smell of roasting vegetables and the sound of a knife rhythmically hitting the wooden cutting board. Miquel was cooking dinner.
    Rafael’s voice wafted into the small living room. “Do you want me to wake Papa?”
    â€œNot yet.” Miquel said. “Doña Juanita said to let him rest.”
    â€œI checked him a few minutes ago and he was still breathing.”
    Miquel laughed. “That’s always a good sign.”
    â€œIt’s not funny. Sometimes Papa breathes so soft I can’t tell if he’s alive. But if I touch his cheek, he wrinkles his