Nephilim Rising
Angelic Hosts Series, Book 4, Episode 5, Part 1
A father’s secret and a demon wolf…
“Your father left you this house and all his financial assets, which amounts to $3,462.14 in the bank. There’s also a life insurance policy for $50,000. His final wish was that he be laid to rest at St. Francis Cemetery on the grounds of the Order of Assisi Mission. It’s already arranged, as you can see here in this document.” The estate lawyer, Rudy Villanueva, handed Antonio the aged sheaf. “Mr. Diaz was a member. They take care of their own.”
Antonio stared at the paper, dumbfounded. He looked at Hector, his father’s closest friend for as long as he could remember. “I don’t understand. That’s a monk monastery, isn’t it? Pops wasn’t a monk.”
Hector threw a quick sideways glance at Villanueva saying, “It is, and no, he wasn’t, not quite.”
“Then what the heck, Tio?” Antonio addressed Hector by his honorary title of uncle, confusion in his eyes. Hector stared back through the thick lenses of his black-rimmed glasses. The wrinkles in his weathered face seemed more pronounced today, deep wells of sadness and sympathy. He sighed, running a leathery hand through his steel-gray hair.
The lawyer cleared his throat. “There’s also this letter for you.”
He reached into his briefcase, pulling out a sealed envelope and handing it over. “I do not know its contents. Your father never confided that in me, but he insisted I deliver it only in the event of his death.” He sat forward on the edge of the couch. “Take whatever time you need to go over these papers. I’m available when you’re ready to make any decisions or have any questions.” He slid his card onto the coffee table, and, snapping the briefcase closed, stood.
“I’ll see you to the door, Rudy.” Hector got up and walked with Villanueva out to the front porch.
Antonio could hear them whispering but was unable to make anything out. He stared down at the letter in his hands. It had an old-fashioned wax seal binding the flap of the envelope, an unusual design pressed into it. His father’s bold handwriting greeted his eyes, familiar and beloved, and yet the ink was faded with age. It read simply, “My son.”
A tear forced its way out and slipped silently down his cheek.
Hector returned to the living room and saw Antonio still holding the letter. He placed his hand on the younger man’s shoulder and squeezed. “You’ll find your answers inside the letter, ‘Tonio. Read it, and when you’re finished, come into the kitchen and join me for coffee.”
Antonio glanced up, about to speak, but something in the way Hector ambled away told him to hold his tongue. He looked at the envelope again and noticed his hands shaking. He was afraid to open it, afraid of what it might reveal, and afraid of the fact that he was suddenly terrified his father had some deep, dark secret.
Long minutes passed before he finally summoned the courage to break the wax seal. A rolling wave of nausea hit him, passing quickly. He sucked in a deep breath, feeling as if he’d been punched in the gut. When he unfolded the paper and began to read, a sense of horror slowly dawned. By the time he reached the end of the second page, his palms were sweating, and his heart raced out of control. He couldn’t breathe. It couldn’t be true. It was too crazy, too unbelievable, and yet, his father had never once lied to him.
“Dearest Antonio, my son. If you’re reading this, I know it’s because somehow, I passed from this world before I could sit you down and tell you the truth about who….and what…you really are…”
Bits and pieces of the letter rang out like warning bells inside his head.
“Trust no one but Hector. He’s the only one who knows our history.”
And the last words.
“They’ll come for you now. Protect the key at all costs.”
Key? What key? His father didn’t tell him about any key or exactly who wanted it. All he said was Tio Hector would explain everything. But that wasn’t the nuttiest part. The truth about his mother’s death is what scared him the most. All his life he believed she’d died in childbirth, and she had, but no one had ever told him why.
A wolf attack? In San Antonio? The worst the city had was wild coyotes, but his father wrote that it was not a coyote, but a large wolf, one with fire in its eyes. And stranger still, his mother wasn’t his father’s wife. Eugenio hadn’t known the woman before the night he found her fighting off the creature.
He’d been out that day delivering food to the homeless, something the novice monks at the Order did daily. On his way back, walking along the roadway, he’d heard screaming and ran to help. It was there he saw her, on her back, arms up, desperately trying to protect her pregnant belly from a giant wolf. When it heard Eugenio approach, it lifted its massive head, sniffing the air, and growled low.
His father’s story continued.
“The demon wolf had fire in its eyes even as blood dripped from its muzzle. Fear gripped me, but I knew I had to help her, help her innocent child. I leaned down and grabbed a rock from the ground. With all the courage I could muster, I opened my mouth, screamed as loud as I could, and charged it. When I got close enough, I threw the rock as hard as I could at its head. It connected, bouncing off. Instead of running away, it turned to me, ready to attack. All I could think to do then was pray. I began reciting prayers in English and Latin, loud and long, demanding the wolf leave. To my surprise, it whimpered and ran. I thanked our Holy Father, and went to help the woman, but it was too late for her. She was bleeding out.”
“Save my baby, please. Save him.”
“I scooped her up and ran all the way back to the mission. There, I grabbed the keys to the truck that belonged to the Order and took her to the nearest hospital. By the time we arrived, she was already dead, but you were still alive, Antonio. Still kicking inside her belly trying to get out. The doctors delivered you by emergency C-section. When they asked who I was, I didn’t even hesitate. I told them I was your father. I buried your mother at the Holy Cross Cemetery near the Order. I gave her a name, Maria—gave her my surname, Diaz, because I never knew what it was. She had no identification on her at the time. She was a Jane Doe. That’s why I claimed her, why I claimed you. I knew it was a sign.”
“I hope you can forgive me, Antonio. I have loved you always.”
He sat there, tears streaming down his cheeks. Grief and anger filled him all at once. He’d never known much about his mother. All his father would ever say was that she was beautiful and brave, and full of great courage. And all he would add after that was that her only wish was that her child be saved. His entire life, he’d been told his mother died in childbirth, but not that she’d been killed by some wild demon animal, not told that his Pops wasn’t really his dad, and that his true father was unknown. His life was a lie. Nothing made sense.
Antonio looked at the doorway into the kitchen. Hector knew. He’d known all along and hadn’t said anything. Fury drove him out of his Pops’ chair. Wait. Wrong. Eugenio’s chair, Antonio corrected himself.
“Well,” he muttered to himself, “you’re going to tell me now. Everything!” He marched into the kitchen.
Hector sat relaxed in a chair at the small kitchen table, sipping coffee from a blue mug. He looked up at the angry face of his best friend’s only son and sighed.
“I’m guessing you are plenty mad right now, but as angry as you are, you need to breathe and tamp it down because right now, ‘Tonio, your anger is your enemy. After tomorrow night, it will destroy you.”
“What the hell—”
“Sit down!” Hector issued the order with force, unusual for the quiet, calm man Antonio knew him to be.
He sat. As unbelievable as his father’s letter was, the tale Hector spun for the next couple of hours over coffee was far wilder and miles more terrifying.
Hector Gonzales wasn’t just his father’s friend. Hector was something much more.
A Watcher.
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