Magic & Mayhem

by Susan Conley

  Cesar snarled. “Tell me Bécquer, do you prefer to die now or should I kill your ladylove first?”

  Cradling his broken arm, Bécquer said nothing.

  “This is not how it was supposed to be.” Cesar pointed at Beatriz, who was slumped on the chair, unconscious or dead I was not sure. “She was supposed to kill you.”

  “Let me guess,” Bécquer said, the effort to speak showing in the way his words came out, one by one and broken. “You will kill me now, but she will take the blame when you tell the Elders. In your version, Beatriz attacked me. You tried to stop her but were too late to save me, and in the fight that ensued, you killed Beatriz unwillingly. A dead Beatriz suits you fine because, dead, she cannot confess she stole my blood or that it was you who asked her to kill me.”

  “Precisely.”

  Cesar raised his arm once more, his flat hand a mortal weapon aimed at Bécquer’s chest, and I could do nothing but watch and wait for the fatal blow that would stop his heart. Only it never happened because someone else entered the room, too fast for me to see, and grabbed Cesar’s arm as it struck.

  Cesar turned. His eyes widened when he saw the man holding him. “Alexander,” he said, his voice slightly off.

  “You have disobeyed our orders,” the man said, “thus you will answer to us now.”

  The metallic edge of his voice broke the wall that immobilized me. Barely aware of the two immortals dressed in black who had materialized in the room and were carrying Cesar away, I ran to Bécquer’s side calling his name. But Bécquer, pale and still, didn’t stir.

  “Bécquer is not dead,” Alexander’s voice came from behind. “Just unconscious.”

  I turned. Over his shoulder, I saw two different men, also in black, carrying Beatriz out of the room. Cesar was nowhere in sight.

  “You must leave now, Carla,” Alexander said, not unkindly.

  I didn’t move. “You saved Bécquer’s life, and I’m grateful. But I won’t leave him.”

  “You must,” he insisted and his voice had the authority of an ancient king’s. “Bécquer’s sentence has been revoked for we are aware that Beatriz stole Bécquer’s blood. He’s safe with us.”

  With the uncanny speed immortals moved, he rushed by me. Sitting by Bécquer’s side, grabbed his broken arm, and snapped the bone in place. Then he bent over and kissed him on the lips.

  He’s changing him. He’s making him an immortal. The thought startled me. If Bécquer became an immortal, I could not be with him, I could not even talk to him because I wouldn’t trust him.

  I jumped forward. “No.”

  I grabbed Alexander’s arm. A lame attempt on my part, for his muscles felt like iron under my hand. Yet Alexander did stop and turned to face me. The drop of blood glowing bright red on his lips confirmed my suspicion.

  “May I talk with him first?” My voice, weak with wanting, was barely audible.

  Alexander shook his head. “I wouldn’t recommend waking him up. His body is healing too fast for a mortal’s consciousness to endure.”

  “So, he’s mortal still?”

  “For now. But if you excuse me — ”

  “Please, don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because … ” Desperate, I looked around, and my eyes met the machine that was supposed to read Bécquer’s vitals but that was now frozen displaying the numbers of its last reading. The numbers of a mortal Bécquer. What would they read, I wondered, after he was no longer human? And that gave me the answer I was looking for. “Because if you do, Bécquer would be miraculously healed by morning and that would have the doctors wondering.”

  Alexander laughed. “They won’t ask any questions, believe me. I will see to it.”

  If I had considered seeing Bécquer after his change, Alexander’s casual acceptance that he manipulated humans’ minds reaffirmed my decision to stay away from immortals. If I wanted to say goodbye to Bécquer, the only way to do so was to postpone his change.

  “What about the charts,” I improvised, “the medical records?” Had any immortal ever been at the hospital? Did the Elders have a protocol to deal with a situation such as this one?

  Apparently not, because for the first time Alexander hesitated. “It could be arranged for new records to be made. But maybe it would be better if we wait to change him until he’s home.”

  His eyes narrowed on me. “Talking to Bécquer will change nothing,” he said, his words confirming my suspicion that he had sensed my feelings. “Bécquer will choose to be immortal.”

  “I only want to say goodbye while he is still human.”

  “I’ll let him know. But you must promise you won’t wake him up tonight.”

  I swallowed hard. “I promise.”

  “All right, then. I’ll leave now. When Federico comes, tell him we’ll reconvene at Bécquer’s house by noon tomorrow.”

  I nodded, a useless gesture because Alexander was already gone. The pressing beeping of the machine announcing it had been disconnected told me time had resumed its course for us.

  Soon a nurse came in — the night nurse I had not met before. I told her Bécquer had broken his arm struggling against the straps that bound him to his bed. The fact that she didn’t question the unlikeness of my explanation, nor argue when I told her he didn’t need a cast, just to have his arm set, made me guess Alexander was controlling her mind.

  When Federico arrived later that night, Bécquer was still unconscious. The immortal blood healing his body had raised his temperature so that his skin was hot to the touch, and the few times he opened his eyes, he had not recognized me. But Federico reassured me Bécquer would be better by morning.

  “You should go now,” he insisted. “You shouldn’t be present when I talk to them.”

  He didn’t explain further and I didn’t ask. Instead, I asked him to tell Bécquer that I wanted to talk with him before he became immortal.

  Federico promised and, out of excuses to stay, I left.

  I left, reluctantly, because I knew quite well as I closed the door that Bécquer would be immortal the next day and I would never see him again.

  It hurt to walk.

  Chapter Twenty-One: Red Roses

  I called Ryan from the hospital. He was home, I knew, because he had left a voice message before, telling me so and demanding to know whether I had stayed at the hospital. For once, I didn’t resent his challenging me, because his call had distracted Beatriz and saved Bécquer’s life and mine.

  It was after midnight by the time Ryan arrived to pick me up. Exhausted physically and mentally, I wanted nothing more than to go home. But my car was at Bécquer’s and if I didn’t retrieve it now, I risked running into the Elders the next day. I didn’t want to meet the Elders nor Bécquer unless he asked for me before being turned immortal. I had no choice but to get the car now.

  Ryan frowned when I asked him to drive me to Bécquer’s house. “We can go together to see him tomorrow. Your car will be safe there till then.”

  I shook my head. “I’d rather go now.”

  “Why?”

  I recognized the tension in his voice, a clear warning that he was ready to fight were I to forbid him to see Bécquer. I was too tired to argue with him. So I didn’t. I didn’t tell him he couldn’t see Bécquer. I told him the truth instead.

  Yes, I still believed any relationship between humans and immortals was unwise, dangerous even, but Ryan was eighteen, no longer a baby for me to cradle and protect. And if I couldn’t stop him from seeing Bécquer, I owed him the truth so he could make a more informed decision on his own. So, on the way to Bécquer’s house, I told him what I knew about the immortals.

  “You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?” Ryan asked me when I finished.

  I shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

  “
It’s absurd.” With the same determination he had shown at six when he argued that Santa Claus did not exist, he argued now that immortals did not, could not be. But the very fact that he was arguing told me a part of him believed already. The part that questioned my explanation of what had happened when Beatriz kidnapped him on Halloween.

  By the time we reached Bécquer’s house, he had run out of questions.

  “Drive safe,” I told him as he stopped the car. Ryan didn’t answer and when I bent to kiss him, he withdrew his face from me. By the time I reached my car, the screech of tires on gravel had faded away.

  • • •

  Bécquer didn’t call the next day, or the following, and my hope of seeing him before he became immortal dissipated as the days passed. On Tuesday, when I was certain he would not call, I took his diary out of the envelope and read it in one sitting. Based on the dates of his entries, he had written it the previous week, when he was human.

  It was the Bécquer of his Rhymes and Legends, the one who came through his writing, a Bécquer curious and naive, and terribly romantic. In his unaffected style, he described his obsession with Lucrezia, his love for Julia — the girl Cesar drove away from him with lies, and later married — his acceptance of a marriage of convenience with Casta, imposed on them by her father’s knowledge of the immortals and his threat to expose Bécquer to the Bishop. Bécquer had accepted mainly out of hope that a marriage blessed by the Church would put an end to his curse. He was wrong: his attraction to Lucrezia did not go away, but with time, Bécquer grew fond of his wife and very much in love with his children, including Emilio, my ancestor.

  His love for this baby who was not his and must have been for him a constant reminder of his failure as a husband, underscored a gentleness of his character that only enhanced my feelings for him. Feelings I knew I had to push out of my mind for Bécquer was immortal once more, and I could not see him again.

  Although it hurt, I had to accept that Bécquer was gone from my life. The only palpable proof he had ever existed was my two-book deal and the name of an agent I had yet to contact.

  That, and a distraught Ryan, still upset with me because Bécquer was immortal. As if it was my fault.

  But it was I who’d told him, and so he blamed me as he had blamed me for his father’s leaving when he was eight. I understood his anger at me was his defense against the pain of finding out Bécquer had lied to him and knew he would eventually work through his pain and forgive me. But not just yet.

  I had not asked Ryan if he had seen Bécquer and he had not volunteered any information. My guess was that he had tried and Bécquer had rejected him. I also noticed his showers had gotten longer, an indication that he was dating a new girl. A girl that was not Emily, Madison told me one day out of the blue. “Because I know you don’t like Emily and you’ll be happy they have broken up.”

  She was partially right. I liked Emily, but not the fact that she was still doing drugs.

  Madison didn’t tell me who Ryan’s new girl was and I didn’t ask. It was an unspoken understanding between us that her first loyalty was to her brother and I knew it would have been useless to challenge that.

  • • •

  A week had passed since Bécquer’s suicide attempt, when the doorbell rang.

  Abby’s mother was supposed to pick Madison up and drive both girls to the movies, so I assumed it was Abby at the door. I called to Madison from my study and, when she didn’t answer — not surprisingly because I could hear her up in her room, arguing fast and furious on her phone — I got up and opened the door.

  It wasn’t Abby, but Bécquer who stood outside. Bécquer with a bouquet of roses in one hand and a smile upon his lips.

  “Carla,” he said and bowed slightly.

  “Bécquer?”

  “I thought you’d refuse to see me if I called first, so I just came. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  I swallowed hard. “No,” I mumbled, not sure what his question had been.

  “I brought you flowers.” His smile had spread over his face now, so his eyes twinkled with mischief.

  I looked at the flowers to hide my discomfort at his sudden appearance. They were roses, red roses in a sea of green.

  “Roses?”

  His smile disappeared. “You don’t like roses?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Bécquer brought the bouquet forward and as I, instinctively, took it from him, a door slammed upstairs and Madison came rushing down calling to me in the hurried voice that announced yet another crisis in her life.

  “Mom. Can you drive us? Abby’s mom can’t take us to the movies — ” She stopped as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “Wow! Those are nice! What’s the occasion?”

  “An excuse to come and see your mother,” Bécquer said.

  Madison turned to me. “Does that mean you cannot drive me?”

  “Actually, I can. Bécquer is leaving.”

  “Bécquer?” Madison’s eyes swept over him with interest. “Ryan’s Bécquer?”

  “I guess so,” Bécquer said, looking amused.

  “Ryan’s upstairs. Do you want me to get him?”

  “No,” Bécquer and I said at the same time.

  But Madison was already half way upstairs screaming at her brother that Bécquer was waiting for him.

  I turned toward Bécquer. “Why have you come?” I asked, risking his stare. “You know it’s not safe.”

  “Please, Carla. Let me talk to you.”

  “Not now. Not while my children are home.”

  “Ryan’s coming,” Madison said joining us again, and, oblivious to my warning stare, invited Bécquer in.

  Bécquer shook his head. “Actually, I was leaving.”

  Madison looked past him to the driveway where his blue BMW was parked. “Is that your car?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “That is soo cool!”

  Bécquer smiled at her. “I can take you and your friend to the movies if you want.”

  “If your mother agrees,” he added as I glowered at him.

  “Are you serious? Can I drive?”

  “Madison!” I said. “You’re fifteen. Of course you cannot drive.”

  Madison sulked. “I don’t know why not. Ryan does.”

  “Ryan is eighteen and already has his driver’s license.”

  “So what? I know how to drive too and I’m much more mature than him.”

  “Sorry, Madison. But your mother is right. I’ll do the driving.” And before I could argue, he took the keys from his pocket and threw them at her. “Wait for me in the car. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “You can’t take Madison,” I told him after she dashed out, already punching numbers on her cell “I don’t want you to be around my children.”

  “Because I’m immortal?”

  He smiled as I nodded. “Then, there is no problem, because I’m not.”

  “You are … not?”

  “No. I’ll show you.”

  Without further invitation, Bécquer came into the house and pulled one rose free from the bouquet I had set upon the table. He winced, set the rose down, and presented his hand to me. A single drop of blood had formed on his thumb.

  “You’ll see,” he said brightly. “I heal slowly, as humans do.”

  To take this as proof that he was human was ridiculous, but his eagerness had convinced me he was telling the truth. Or was it my own desire blinding me into believing?

  “Alexander said your sentence had been revoked,” I argued faintly.

  Bécquer brought his finger to his lips to stop the blood from spilling, then nodded. “And it has. But I chose to remain human.”

  “Why?”

  The shrill sound of a horn blowing covered his answer.

 
; “I’ll tell you later,” Bécquer said after the noise stopped. “If you let me come back.”

  “Are you leaving?”

  Ryan’s voice startled me. But Bécquer, who had been facing the stairs and must have seen him coming down, only nodded. “I promised to drive your sister to the movies. Unless … unless you would drive her for me?”

  “Sorry, I don’t have time. I have to pick up Rachel in half an hour.”

  “If you drive your sister, you can borrow my car.”

  “Really?”

  Bécquer nodded. “If your mother would give me a ride home, that is.”

  Ryan smiled blissfully, and then turned to me. “Thanks, Mom,” he said with a quick hug that silenced my complaints.

  “You don’t mind?” I asked as I watched Ryan disappear inside Bécquer’s car.

  Bécquer closed the door. “Why? Is he a bad driver?”

  “I meant that he’s going out with Rachel.”

  “Why should I? Oh!” He blushed. With a swift movement he grabbed my hands. “What can I do to make you forget my childish behavior of that day? I asked Rachel to be my blood giver only to prove to you that I didn’t need you. I never cared for her.”

  “You used her,” I said, releasing my hands from his. “And you hurt her.”

  “No. I did not. I did not encourage her after that day. I was hurting for you, Carla. I wanted you. I had no desire to seduce her.”

  “But she cried after you fired her.”

  “She must have guessed I wanted to kill myself and felt frustrated that she could not help me.” He smiled coyly. “Give me some credit, would she have forgotten me already had we been lovers only last week?”

  “So irresistible, do you think you are?” I teased him.

  “I was, when I was immortal,” Bécquer said, serious now. “I am not proud of it. I know my behavior was often selfish and immature. But I’ve changed since I met you.”

  “You have?”

  “Yes. I brought you flowers.”

  I frowned. “What is that supposed to prove?”