Immortal Love

by Carmen Ferreiro-Esteban

  Just as I pried it loose, two hands grabbed me by the shoulders and shoved me back.

  “What have you done to him?” Federico roared. His back to me, he bent over Bécquer. Then again, he faced me. “You cut him with a broken glass and took his blood,” he shouted.

  For the second time that evening, his strong arms held me in the air. “I told you I would not allow anyone to hurt him.”

  I tried to speak but his hands were at my throat. I closed my eyes, certain I was about to die for Federico’s thoughts screamed of murder. But another voice was in his mind, a tenuous presence, like a thought made out of mist, fighting his instincts.

  He put me down.

  “Leave,” he ordered. Turning his back to me, he knelt by Bécquer.

  I didn’t move. “Is he going to be all right?”

  Federico didn’t answer.

  “Beatriz cut him with a broken glass,” I said. “I never hurt him.”

  “I know. I can sense your feelings, remember? I know your hate for him is gone.”

  Gently, like a mother cradles her child, Federico lifted Bécquer and set him on the sofa.

  “Bécquer is my ancestor,” I talked to his back, simplifying the story. “He’s Ryan’s ancestor too. Not his lover.”

  Federico looked at me. “That is why he has his picture.”

  I nodded.

  “Is he going to be all right?” I asked again.

  “Yes. But he needs blood and soon.”

  He needs blood. I shivered at the implications of his words. With Beatriz his blood giver gone, I was the obvious choice to replace her.

  I could leave, of course, as Federico had urged me to do and for a moment I did consider leaving. But if I left, Federico would force somebody else to feed Bécquer. He had made it clear he would not let him die. I couldn’t let somebody else take my place. Besides, finding this other somebody would take time, and Bécquer didn’t look as if he could waste any more time. I chose to stay.

  “But first we must clean his wound,” Federico continued. “Any glass left inside would prevent it from healing.”

  I watched as Federico removed the red handkerchief from his neck and used it to clean Bécquer’s cut. After retrieving several shards, he stopped and looked up.

  “We need a bigger cloth to dress his wound,” he explained as his eyes took in the room. “Perfect,” he said, pointing beyond my head.

  Faster than my eyes could follow, he left and returned holding a scarf, Beatriz’s scarf I must have dropped when she attacked me. While I held Bécquer, Federico wrapped it around the wound.

  “You should go, Carla,” Federico told me when he finished.

  “Go? But you said Bécquer needs blood.”

  Federico frowned, and then, as a spark of understanding lit his eyes, he shook his head. “My blood, Carla. Not yours. How could you think I would take yours?”

  “I thought he needed human blood.”

  “No. Mine will do.” Kneeling, he cut his own wrist with a knife and held the wound to Bécquer’s lips.

  I watched Bécquer, looking desperately for some sign of life, for although he had made Beatriz an immortal —

  You’re wrong. Bécquer’s voice resonated inside my mind, and so relieved I was that he was still alive, I didn’t fight his intrusion this time. Not even when his memories came rushing in. A fuzzy memory of Beatriz dragging a reluctant Bécquer through the library, of Beatriz drinking blood from him, of Beatriz, her eyes glowing red, staring at him with wild desire.

  Good heavens, Federico yelled, moving back. You made Beatriz immortal!

  Bécquer sat up. I didn’t. She stole my blood. Give me some credit, for Carla’s sake.

  Federico stared at me. You can hear us?

  “Yes,” I said, aloud now. For only then, I realized the previous conversation had taken place inside my head.

  Federico turned to Bécquer. “You gave Carla your blood?”

  “What if I did?”

  “Really, Bécquer. No wonder Beatriz attacked you.”

  “Glad to hear you approve.”

  “You knew Beatriz was concerned about Carla taking her place,” Federico continued, ignoring Bécquer’s sarcastic retort, “yet you give her your blood. What did you expect?”

  “Certainly not that you’d condone her attack.”

  “I do not condone her action. But this wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t use humans.”

  “I don’t use humans, Federico. You know quite well that Beatriz asked me to take her as my blood giver. As for Carla, you don’t have to worry: she doesn’t want my blood. You can ask her. When I’m gone.”

  Setting his hands firmly on the sofa, Bécquer stood.

  Federico blocked his way. “Where are you going?”

  “To find Beatriz. I must stop her before she kills someone.”

  “You are not serious. You cannot stop Beatriz. She’s stronger than you are right now. She will kill you.”

  Bécquer groaned. “Thanks for your vote of confidence. But I’ve no choice.”

  “Be my guest.” Bowing mockingly at him, Federico stepped aside.

  I looked on, bemused by Federico’s reaction, for Bécquer was shaking badly and I couldn’t imagine how he was going to make it to the door, let alone confront Beatriz, this new immortal Beatriz who had lifted me with the ease of a tornado uprooting a tree.

  As I feared, Bécquer didn’t make it far. He took a step, then stumbled and would have fallen if Federico had not held him and helped him back to the sofa.

  “I need more blood,” Bécquer’s voice was low, demanding. “I must reach Beatriz tonight.”

  “Beatriz is beyond your help, Bécquer. She stole immortality. The Elders will kill her. You know the law.”

  “Yes, I know the law. I sired her, thus she is my responsibility. If she kills tonight, the Elders will blame me for her digressions and kill me too.”

  Federico’s face turned ashen. “Then I’ll do it. I’ll find her and kill her before she kills somebody.”

  “I don’t want her dead. I want to stop her before it’s too late.”

  “You can’t, Bécquer. You have lost too much blood and she’s driven by the unquenchable thirst of the newborn. Even if I’d give you blood, you won’t be a match for her.”

  After a rapid nod in my direction, Federico started toward the door. But before he reached it, I heard in my mind Bécquer’s voice calling his name. His silent cry, a compelling order that, even though it was not directed at me, overcame my will and sent me to my knees. Federico stopped.

  Give me your blood. Again Bécquer’s voice boomed inside my head, a command too strong even for Federico to resist.

  Through half closed eyes, I watched him walk back to Bécquer’s side, and sitting on the sofa pull down the collar of his shirt to reveal his naked throat. I looked away.

  I could feel the battle raging between their minds, flashes of anger storming back and forth, hurting as if a hammer was pounding my brain.

  “Enough,” I shouted, not really expecting them to hear me. But immediately the voices stopped and, for a moment, only Bécquer’s remained, a soothing whisper. Block your thoughts. Then their bickering returned.

  I can’t, I called to him. I don’t know how.

  Think of ice, Bécquer’s voice suggested. A wall of ice.

  I tried and failed. I tried again, until the wall remained, cold and forbidding between their minds and mine. And there was silence. A silence broken soon by the steps of someone running, getting closer and closer. Behind the sofa to my left, a door I hadn’t noticed before opened and Matt stood in the doorway.

  He was panting which didn’t surprise me for I had heard him running, but despite his obvious hurry, he stood on the threshold, blinking, and didn’t come in. The library, I realized then, was lit only by the moonlight coming through the glass wall, and for a human eye, the room would be almost in darkness. The fact that I could see clearly was, I guessed, another side effect of having taken B
écquer’s blood.

  While Matt waited at the door, Bécquer came to my side and helped me to my feet. “Sorry, Carla,” he whispered, his fingers pushing back a stray lock of my hair. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

  Before I could as much as nod, he had already reached the open door, and was inviting Matt to come inside.

  Matt didn’t move. “Where is Federico?” he asked, and there was fear in his voice.

  Bécquer pointed at the sofa. “Right there.”

  “Is he hurt?”

  “No. Why would you think that?”

  “My mother … She’s immortal.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  Bécquer’s voice was even. But Matt’s snapped. “Why? Why did you do it?”

  “He didn’t,” Federico said, walking to them. “Your mother stole Bécquer’s blood.”

  “You have to find her.”

  “I was just going — ”

  “To kill her,” Bécquer finished Federico’s sentence.

  Matt stared at Federico, eyes open wide with horror. “You can’t kill her. She’s my mother.”

  “He won’t,” Bécquer said while Federico glowered at him. “Federico is staying here. To attend to the party,” he added, shooting a warning look at his friend. Then he turned to Matt, “And I won’t harm your mother. You have my word. But you must tell me where she is.”

  “I don’t know. She came to my room and demanded I go with her. When I refused, she got furious. We were still arguing when, without warning, she turned and exited through the window. I heard the screech of tires and when I looked down, I saw her standing before Ryan’s Prius. She moved as I watched, opened the driver’s door and dragged Ryan from inside. I didn’t see what happened next for I rushed down the stairs, but her car is gone and I couldn’t find Ryan.”

  “She took Ryan?” I screamed and rushed to him. “Where did your mother go?”

  “He doesn’t know,” Bécquer repeated. “But, don’t worry, I can track her.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Gently, Bécquer grabbed my arms. “No, Carla. Your presence will provoke Beatriz, make her still more unpredictable, and hinder me. Ask Matt to drive you home and wait for me there. I’ll bring Ryan back to you. I promise.”

  He stared at me for a moment, his mind willfully dominating mine, while his fingers traced my cheek. Then he moved back, called his thanks to Federico for giving him the blood he had stolen, and left swiftly through the glass door.

  Chapter Nine: Kidnapped

  When I looked back into the room, my mind aflutter with feelings I had thought long dead, Matt was confronting Federico.

  “Is it true you were going to kill my mother?” he asked, his voice raw with anger and fear.

  Federico didn’t flinch. “Your mother stole Bécquer’s blood. Among immortals, that is an unforgivable crime. Even if I don’t kill her, the Elders will.”

  “The Elders?”

  “The Elders are our rulers. They implement the law and have the ultimate saying on who is to become immortal.”

  As he spoke, Federico walked somewhat unsteadily to the sofa and sat down. Matt followed him. “But Bécquer promised not to kill her.”

  “And he won’t, Matt. But if your mother kills tonight, not even Bécquer will be able to save her.”

  Looming over Federico, Matt screamed, “My mother is not a killer!”

  “Tonight, your mother has transcended her human nature. She has instincts she has yet to master and, until she does, her thirst for blood will dominate her actions. I’m sorry, Matt; but, tonight, your mother is a killer.”

  Matt moaned.

  Federico closed his eyes. I could feel the thirst in him, the urge to drink from Matt and his will fighting back.

  Please, Carla, take Matt away, Federico’s voice spoke in my mind.

  And you?

  I’ll be all right. I just need blood.

  How — ?

  I have some in my room.

  I flinched at the image of a human held prisoner in his room.

  A quick smile twisted Federico’s lips. I don’t drink blood from humans. I buy it in bags.

  I’ll help you to your room, then.

  No. I need you to take Matt away.

  I grabbed Matt’s arm and pulled at him. “Let’s go,” I said, cajoling him as I would one of Ryan’s friends. “Bécquer will bring Ryan to my house. Your mother may come with them.”

  Matt didn’t move.

  “Go,” Federico said. For a moment his eyes glowed red.

  “What’s wrong?” Matt asked.

  I sensed Federico’s reluctance to share with the young man his need for blood, and underneath an undercurrent of feelings quickly suppressed. I remembered how, earlier at the party, Bécquer had stopped Beatriz from calling Matt. His reasons were clear to me now. Matt couldn’t come, because he was with Federico.

  Yes, Federico spoke in my mind. “Nothing,” he said to Matt. “I’m tired. That’s all.”

  A light of understanding lit Matt’s eyes. “Did my mother steal your blood too?”

  “No. Bécquer took it,” Federico said. “He needed his strength to find your mother.”

  “I’m sorry.” Matt’s voice was soft now and the anger in his eyes was gone, replaced with concern.

  Federico nodded. “I’m sorry, too, about your mother.”

  I stepped back to give them privacy. Whatever had happened between them, it was obvious a new understanding had been reached. Federico had acknowledged Matt’s feelings for him. And, judging by his present reaction, he might return them as well.

  “I’ll wait outside,” I told Matt. After nodding my goodbye to Federico, I walked to the glass door and slid it open.

  I found myself in a graveled space between the back of the house and a stone barn. Light escaped through one of the windows on the first floor, which I guessed would be Matt’s room.

  The white limousine Matt had driven before was parked to my right; on my left, Ryan’s red Prius blocked the access to the front of the house.

  The driver door was wide open, I saw when I got nearer, which evoked in my mind the image of Beatriz stepping in front of the car as it turned the corner, of Ryan braking not to run her over, and of Beatriz forcing the door open and dragging him out.

  I ducked my head and looked inside the car. Ryan’s guitar was on the back seat as was his blue and white duffel bag, both items sending the message no mother wants to hear: that her son is moving out. Ryan had returned home after our discussion to pack his guitar and his clothes. He was moving out, not because he was ready, but to be free of my interference. Moving where? To the couch in one of his friends’ apartments? Hopefully not Emily’s, for Emily, the Goth girl with whom he had been going out on and off for a year now, was still using. Or so Ryan had told me only the previous week when he’d also told me he was clean. If only I had believed him! Not that his moving out mattered at the moment. What mattered was that Bécquer reach Beatriz before she could hurt Ryan or kill him. Or make him one of them.

  “Carla, my car is in the barn, would you come with me?”

  Matt’s voice startled me, and as I turned to face him, I saw the car key still hanging in the ignition.

  “Thanks, Matt. But that won’t be necessary. I’ll take Ryan’s car.”

  Matt didn’t move. “May I go with you?” His reason for coming — I want to help my mother — hung unsaid between us.

  I hesitated for a moment then nodded. “Of course.” Settling in the driver’s seat, I started the car.

  We drove in silence at first, which suited me fine for my mind was going in a thousand directions at once covering all the possible outcomes of Beatriz’s kidnapping of Ryan.

  Bécquer had said he could track Beatriz. But could he? Beatriz was immortal now, and immortals, Federico had told me, could block their thoughts, hide their presence from each other. And even if Bécquer found her, what were his chances of convincing her to let Ryan go? Beatriz had been raving ma
d even as a human; I couldn’t imagine how she would be now driven by the thirst of her newborn condition.

  “I understand you hate my mother.” Surprised by his words, I said nothing. Matt continued, “I hate her too, most of the time. But for all her faults, she’s still my mother.”

  He said this matter of factly, as if there was a bond between mother and son nothing could break. I didn’t argue, although in my case the duffel bag on the back seat said otherwise.

  “You hate her,” I repeated to keep him talking, for I didn’t want to dwell on my fears.

  “My mother didn’t raise me,” Matt said. “She left me with my dad when I was about two, while she went to pursue her career. She was a model, did you know?”

  “No. I didn’t.” That didn’t mean she wasn’t famous. Unlike Madison, who studied fashion magazines with the intensity a scholar gives a rare manuscript, I had never been interested in couture.

  “She was well known back then,” Matt said. “Made it to the magazine covers many times. I collected them all and hid them under my bed. If my dad saw them, he never mentioned it. We never discussed her. Then, when I was about ten, he got married again, and sent me to boarding school. Mother left modeling around that time and became Bécquer’s secretary. Lured by the promise of immortality, I guess. But not knowing who Bécquer was, her choice struck me as odd.”

  “And Bécquer? When did you meet him?”

  “I saw him when Mother took me from school, at Christmas or summer vacation. He spent more time with me than she ever did. I think he liked me and I liked him too. Mother seemed to resent that fact.”

  “When did you learn he was immortal?”

  “He told me last year when he bought his house in Bucks County. I had just finished college and was looking for a job. He offered me free room and board and a salary if I looked after the house and the grounds and drove his guests when needed. I agreed, of course. It’s a great arrangement for me. It allows me to pursue my music while I build my freelance business. And the pay is good. But living so close to him, he figured I would notice … ”

  His words faded as if sucked into a vacuum that silenced the world around me and stole the air from my lungs. It was a sudden change that came and went too fast for me to understand. A second frozen in time, I would have probably dismissed as a product of my imagination, but for the image it left, burnt in my mind, of a body suspended in midair between a concrete walkway and a dark mass of water.