Free Los Nefilim Book 4 by T. Frohock

old shirts. He took the mud and paper that Diago brought and shaped a crude head.
    Rafael cast furtive glances at the stairwell and chewed his lower lip as he handed the mismatched shoes—­one black, the other brown—­to Miquel. Miquel tied the shoes to the sticks and inspected his work.
    Diago’s heart sank. “No one is going to believe that’s a child.”
    â€œOh, ye of little faith,” Miquel muttered as he concentrated on his work. “Give me a few locks of his hair.”
    Diago exhaled slowly and gestured for Rafael to come to his side. He took out his knife and cut three locks from Rafael’s curls. The boy watched with interest as Diago handed the hair to Miquel, who sprinkled the shorn tresses over the golem’s head.
    â€œNow his blood. Not too much. Feed them too much and they take on a will of their own.”
    â€œGive me your hand,” Diago whispered.
    Rafael clenched his fingers into fists and backed up two steps.
    Diago couldn’t blame him. The knife must seem huge to him. “Please trust me, Rafael. It will only sting. Just a little.” He held out his hand and was surprised when Rafael returned to him with no further coaxing. Diago took the stuffed horse away and set it aside. He opened Rafael’s hand and hummed a short spell against his palm to numb the nerves. The song was too quiet to relieve all of Rafael’s pain, but it would keep him from feeling the worst of the cut. “I’m going to prick your hand, and it might hurt. Don’t cry out.” He held Rafael’s palm over the golem’s head.
    The child’s face was white, but he gave Diago a tight nod nonetheless. As quickly as he could, Diago sliced a shallow gash across Rafael’s palm. Tears leaked from the boy’s eyes, but he made no sound.
    â€œYou are my brave child,” Diago said as he moved the boy’s hand back and forth over the golem’s head. Rafael’s blood dribbled over the misshapen brow.
    Miquel used a sliver of wood to carve the symbols for life in the golem’s forehead. The strands of hair took root, and grew until they were an exact replica of Rafael’s thick hair.
    Rafael was so intent on the changes within the golem, he barely noticed Diago binding his hand.
    Miquel put his mouth on the golem’s and hummed a low note. The pearlescent hues of his aura divided the air and flowed between the golem’s mud lips. The golem lifted its eyelids and blinked slow and heavy.
    Rafael gasped and took a step backward.
    The hair on Diago’s arms went up and he fell back with Rafael. “Jesus, that’s creepy.” He could have sworn the creature looked hurt by the pronouncement. The lopsided mouth merely amplified the eerie expression.
    Miquel examined it critically and kept his voice low. “It’s missing something.”
    â€œIt’s missing a lot.”
    Miquel took Rafael’s hat and carefully adjusted it on the golem’s head. “There. That’s better.”
    Only because it shadowed the eyes, but Diago didn’t say that. The sand was slipping through the hourglass. He had to hurry. “I have to carry it, don’t I?” he asked, dreading the answer.
    Miquel sat back on his heels and studied his handiwork. “Of course you do. He doesn’t have knees.”
    â€œJesus.”
    â€œWill you stop whining?”
    â€œAll right, all right.” Diago stuck the knife in his belt and knelt before the golem.
    The golem turned its bulbous head and looked from Miquel back to Diago. It whimpered.
    Diago gritted his teeth. “What’s wrong with it?”
    â€œHe senses you don’t like him.”
    â€œJesus.”
    Rafael glanced at the stairwell. “Sister Benita says we shouldn’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”
    Miquel made a face. “I hate Sister Benita.”
    â€œEveryone else does, too.” Rafael came to stand beside Diago and