to guess she was drunk. âSalvador!â she cried out. âWhy have they canceled our account at Santa Eulalia?â
Santa Eulalia. No wonder Ferrer was going broke if his wife shopped at such high-Âend stores.
In the foyer, Elena juggled the packages. One thin box slid from the pile. The maid knelt to retrieve it and glanced toward the office.
Diago ducked back inside; in doing so, he jarred a picture on the wall. He caught the rosewood frame and righted it. Encased behind the glass was a manuscript fragment. Judging from the reddish color of the ink and the amber coloration of the paper, the document was ancient.
The fragment was small, no more than eight centimetres wide and ten tall. The edges were charred, as if someone had tried to push it into a fire with a poker.
A sigil was drawn in the center of the page. Scorch marks obliterated most of the details, yet Diago clearly made out an âXâ superimposed over a cross. The left and right arms of the cross bore crescent moons facing away from one another. The position of the opposing moons told Diago the glyph was for a daimon.
But which one? And why would Ferrer have a daimonic sigil hanging in his house? Very few mortals knew or cared about the Nefilim, and of those that did, none hung glyphs openly in their homes. Mortals who engaged in supernatural activities were more secretive than Los Nefilim.
Intrigued, Diago reached out with his left hand to lift the frame from the wall.
âSeñor Alvarez.â Ferrerâs voice was loud and close.
Diago started and looked up at the industrialist. Ferrer was built like a bull, broad-Âshouldered and still somewhat narrow at the hips in spite of middle age thickening his paunch. He towered over Diago.
This is awkward. Think of something. He pointed at the fragment. âThis is an extraordinary piece. I didnât know you collected antiquities.â
Ferrer was nonplussed by the compliment. âI donât. It was a gift from one of the old families in the Gothic Quarter. Iniguez was the name.â
âDon José Iniguez?â
âWhy, yes. He stopped by yesterday and presented me with the fragment as a gift. He is interested in investing in Ferrer y Esperanza. Do you know him?â
Clearly not as well as I thought. Diago never imagined José would be interested in investing money in anything other than whores and gambling. He realized Ferrer was waiting for an answer. âI rented a room from his mother Doña Rosa. I had very little contact with Don José, but Doña Rosa is an honorable woman.â
Ferrer nodded. âGood to know.â
âWhy hang such a lovely gift in the dark?â
âDon José said to keep the fragment in the shadows in order to preserve the ink.â
Iâll bet he did, Diago thought. Nothing rendered a daimonic sigil impotent like too much sunlight. âItâs an intriguing document. Did he say where he found it?â
âNo.â Ferrerâs tone indicated he didnât care either. Heâd probably only accepted the gift and given it a token place in his home in order to court José and his money.
Diago wondered how José had come into possession of the document. Prieto? Maybe. The angel had paid José to trick Miquel. Heâd also promised Doña Rosa he would divert José from his self-Âdestructive behavior. Maybe Prieto had made good on his agreements. But why give José a daimonic sigil? Was Prieto trying to hide it from the daimons or for the daimons? And why here?
So many questions . . . and not nearly enough answers . . .
Ferrer interrupted Diagoâs speculations. âElena said you wanted to see me.â
âAh, yes.â Diago reined his questions under control. There would be plenty of time to puzzle through the mystery later. âI came to repay you.â He withdrew an envelope from his breast pocket. âYou gave me a most generous advance, but