Bécquer moaned. “It’s not my fault. She doesn’t believe me.”
“Give her time,” Federico said, in Spanish now and somehow I knew he had checked to be certain nobody in the café could understand our mother tongue, before he added, “After all, for someone who is supposed to be all powerful, you are quite a sight.”
“Thank you for reminding me,” Bécquer answered in the same language. “Are you trying to cheer me up or push me to despair?”
“Neither. Just let Carla adjust, then ask her what we discussed at home and, please, be quick. Immortal or not, you should be lying down, not driving around.”
They stared at each other for a moment in silence and I knew they were talking mind to mind. But, to my regret, I could not hear them. I didn’t need any immortal’s powers, though, to feel Bécquer’s simmering anger and frustration with his condition. In the end, it was Bécquer who looked away, and Federico’s tight grip on the armrest of the chair eased.
With a sigh of relief, Federico turned to me. “Your espresso has grown cold,” he said unexpectedly. “And I blame myself for it. May I get you another one?”
I looked down at the cup, still full, in front of me, and shook my head. “It’s all right. I like it cold.”
Bécquer raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief, and I felt myself blushing at being caught in a lie.
Federico smiled. “Please, oblige me.” With a last, warning look at Bécquer, he went to join the line.
I followed him with my eyes, reluctant to face Bécquer just yet, this sulking, wounded Bécquer whose sorry state had already broken my defenses. How was I to deny him anything in his condition?
I shouldn’t have come, I thought for the thousandth time.
“Carla?”
Too late now. I turned to face him.
“Do you still want to terminate our contract?”
I nodded, not really listening, for my mind was still struggling to make sense of Bécquer’s situation. “How? I mean, who did this to you?”
Bécquer only stared.
“Beatriz,” I whispered.
It was the only explanation. But Bécquer denied it. “Beatriz is gone, Carla. You don’t have to worry. She won’t harm your children. And I assure you my present disability will not interfere with my role as your agent.”
“That’s not why I asked.”
“Out of pity then? Please don’t. I’m immortal remember? I will heal before the week is over. And, in the meantime, would you reconsider your position and give me a chance at being your agent?”
He raised his left hand as if to stop me from answering, while he continued, “I’ve already queried several of the editors as a follow-up to our conversations at the party. If I were to withdraw your manuscript now, it would be unprofessional on my part and awkward for you or another agent to resubmit to them. So before you decide to rescind our contract, please realize that doing so would harm my credibility and yours.
“As for your fears, I assure you they are unfounded. Beatriz is gone and I already gave you my word that I won’t talk with Ryan without your permission.”
“I’m afraid my permission is redundant. Ryan is eighteen and has a mind of his own. He has refused to stop seeing you.” And I don’t even know if I have the right to keep him from you. “You saved his life. Twice,” I said aloud. “And took him to NA meetings. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I should have told you,” Bécquer said and sounded contrite. “In fact, I should have asked your permission. I apologize for overstepping my boundaries. You are his mother. And I am no one to him.”
“That is not true. Ryan thinks highly of you.”
“He does?” For the first time, a smile touched his lips. But even then there was pain in his eyes. “Thank you for telling me.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So, going back to the contract,” he continued after a moment. “Would you meet me half way? Would you agree to let me represent you until we get an answer from these editors? If one of them wants to buy your manuscript, I’ll represent you just this time. If nobody buys it, then you are free to contact other agents. Does this seem fair to you?”
Fair? Fair had nothing to do with my desire to part with him. But of my two reasons, the first one, my fear of Beatriz’s retaliation, he had refuted, and the second, my attraction to him, I couldn’t mention. I couldn’t even think about it, for if I did he would sense it in my mind and could use it to charm me even more. And “more” was the key word, for obviously his charm was working already.
I nodded. “All right.”
Bécquer beamed at me. “Great. I will tell Matt to type a contract with the new clause and fax it to you.”
“Matt is your secretary now?”
“And my driver.”
That explained my seeing Bécquer’s car at the light before. Matt must have dropped Federico and Bécquer then went to find a parking space. As for Matt being his secretary, did that mean he was giving him blood too?
“No,” Bécquer answered my thoughts. “Matt is not my blood giver. Funny that you’d think that when it was that same assumption on Federico’s part what brought me to my present state.”
“Matt did this to you?” Shocked at his words, I forgot to complain about his intrusion in my mind.
“No. Not Matt. Federico.”
“Federico?”
“That’s what I said.”
“But how? Why?”
“He found me drinking from Matt.”
I flinched, for if I had read the signs correctly Federico had more than a passing interest in Matt.
Bécquer nodded when I suggested it. “If I didn’t know then, my broken bones would have convinced me by now.”
“Why did you drink from Matt?”
“He offered.”
“You could have said no.”
“No. I couldn’t.” And as I looked at him unconvinced, he added, “I was unconscious.”
“Matt offered me his blood at Lake Galena,” Bécquer explained at my insistence, “and I said no. Then he helped me to his car and drove me back home. The guests were gone and the house empty when we arrived, Matt told me later for, by then, I had already passed out. Matt went in to get me some bags with blood from Federico’s room. When he didn’t find any, he panicked for he thought I was dying and decided to cut his wrists and give me his own.
“I drank from him, by instinct I guess, from his wrists first, then from his neck. When I came back to my senses Federico was looming over me shouting, and Matt lay unconscious in my arms.
“Before I had time to understand what was happening or make sense of it, Federico dragged me out of the car. I tried to explain but he wouldn’t listen. Instead, he hit me. My senses still dulled by my recent loss of blood, he caught me unaware and the force of his blow sent me flying against the library wall. My neck snapped when I hit one of the metal beams and severed my spine. Then the glass broke and fell on me.”
“Your face — ”
“My face, my arms, my body. I have more cuts than I can count, and broke more bones than I thought I had. Not to mention the fact that I was paralyzed from the neck down.”
“But your arms, your legs, you can move them now.”
“Sure. But it took me all night to regenerate my spine.”
I winced.
“Nothing to worry about, really, Carla. My bones are set now. The collar brace, the sling, the cast in my leg, they are just a precaution.”
“Federico seems to disagree.”
“Because he feels guilty and likes to keep me like this to order me about.”
“Federico loves you, Bécquer. He’s trying to help you.”
“He loved me, you mean. He loves Matt now. I’m no more than an inconvenience for him.”
“I don’t agree. Federico may not be in love with you anymore. But he still cares for you.”
“Why are you defending him, Carla? Federico is responsible for this.” He waved his hand as he spoke to cover his brac
e, his arm, and his leg. “You know, he overreacts when in the throes of passion. You were with him when he broke the steering wheel of my car. Yet you seem to think I’m the one to blame.”
“Sorry, Bécquer. I’m really sorry that you got hurt.”
“You’re sorry?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then, maybe there’s still hope for me.”
“Hope?”
“I was not totally forthcoming before when I said I’m all right. My bones may have mended already, but the cuts from the glass will take longer to heal for some were deep and traces of glass may still remain in others.”
He took my hand. A move I had not anticipated, and at his touch, a shiver ran down my spine. An unlikely reaction for his hand was warm.
“Federico swears the blood he buys in bags is all he needs,” Bécquer was saying. “But even he recognized human blood would help me heal faster and agreed to drive me here today so I could ask you.”
“Ask me — ?”
“Whether you’d be my blood giver.”
Chapter Twelve: Rachel
I stared at Bécquer in total shock. Was he serious? Did he really expect me to agree to be his blood-giver?
“I guess not,” he said when I didn’t answer. His eyes staring straight into mine were not pleading.
He let go of my hand and leaned back in his chair. He looked tired, exhausted even, the dark circles under his eyes ever so visible on his fair skin that was crisscrossed with pale scars.
“Does it hurt?” I asked him.
“Not at all.” A spark in his eyes, again he bent forward, and then winced — a sign of pain that negated his enthusiastic denial. But Bécquer, as if oblivious to his own discomfort, continued eagerly, “The interchange is quite pleasurable, in fact. And it doesn’t have to be for long. A week perhaps. I will not ask you to stay after I’m whole again, I promise. I will give some of mine in exchange. Taking immortal blood will make you stronger. It will also extend your life and — ”
“That is not what I meant.”
Bécquer frowned. Then, the shadow of a smile playing on his lips, he added, “So will you do it?”
Yes, my body screamed, with yearning for the power his blood had given me the previous evening.
“No,” my reason answered. “I told you I didn’t want to share blood with you.”
“Yes. You told me that before the party. But later you offered it to me.”
“And you refused.”
“And I would not be here begging, if I had accepted it. So, you see, we all make mistakes. I’m no hero, Carla. I want this to be over. But I’m no demon either. I have no devious plan for you afterward.”
The strangest thing of all was that I believed him. I believed he didn’t mean to force me to stay when he didn’t need me any longer. I believed him. It was me I didn’t trust.
I had tasted his blood only once and was already finding it almost impossible to resist its lure. How could I trust myself to give up drinking it after I had taken it for a week? And if I stayed longer as his giver, wouldn’t I end up like Beatriz, wanting its powers so badly I would steal it to become immortal?
“You are not like Beatriz,” Bécquer said. He was using his powers to sense my feelings so he could convince me to do his bidding. If I could, wouldn’t I use them too? To anticipate my children’s mistakes? To keep them safe? To be there when they got in trouble, like Bécquer had done the day he took Ryan to the ER?
“Beatriz had her agenda, her grandiloquent expectations of saving the world. You wouldn’t steal my blood.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I have had many blood givers. None of the others turned rogue.”
Could it be because you manipulated their minds like you are manipulating mine? I thought but didn’t say aloud because I was too busy fighting the urge to agree.
I pushed my chair back.
Every breath hurting as if the air had frozen inside me, I got up. “I’m sorry, Bécquer, but I can’t.”
I saw pain in his eyes, a flash of anger, before his features settled into a mask, a beautiful mask of cold disdain. “As you wish.”
Before I could answer, Federico’s deep voice came from behind. “Took forever but here I am.”
He came forward and set a tray with three cups on the table, three espressos black and steaming, while shooting a warning look at Bécquer. When he finished, he turned to me, “Carla, you’re not leaving now, are you?”
I nodded, for I didn’t trust my voice would not break were I to speak.
“But you can’t. You mustn’t,” Federico said, blocking my way.
I felt the undercurrent of a silent conversation going on between them and the sense of loss at not being able to hear their minds hurt almost like a physical wound. I had to go, I knew, or I would agree if only to stop that yearning.
“I’ll be leaving soon,” Federico continued. “And this may well be the last time we see each other. I would hate our acquaintance to end like this, in a hurried goodbye. Would you please humor me and take a seat?”
I found myself obeying his soothing voice. For a moment, I wondered whether he was using his charm on me, but rejected the idea. I genuinely liked Federico and wanted to talk with him. Besides, who in her right mind would say no to a chance to be with him?
Federico smiled and, after I moved aside my cold espresso, he handed me a new one.
“Where is my latte?” Bécquer asked, his sharp words covering my thanks.
Unperturbed by Bécquer’s demanding tone, Federico placed one of the cups in front of him. “You didn’t tell me you wanted a latte.”
“No, I didn’t. You’re right. I didn’t because you didn’t bother to ask.”
Federico sat down. “Gustavo, you don’t drink. So, really what does it matter which kind of coffee I brought you?”
Bécquer glared at him. “And that shows how much you know me. I don’t need to drink. That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy drinking coffee. And when I do drink it, I like it with milk. So, I’d really appreciate it if you’d get me a latte. I’d go myself, except you have made it very difficult for me to do anything on my own just now.”
Federico’s eyes glowed red for a moment. Then, he turned and glanced at the counter where the line almost reached the door. When he looked back, his eyes were back to normal. “I’m sorry. But it would take me too long. Would you be so kind as to drink your coffee black just this time?”
“Fine.” Reaching forward, he lifted his cup.
Bécquer was right handed, I knew, and, his right arm being in a sling, he was using his left hand. Still, it seemed to me, he was inordinately inept with his left one. Or maybe he was weaker than his relaxed attitude had suggested for his hand was trembling, his movement so shaky, I had to stop myself from leaning forward to help him.
But if Bécquer needed help, I reasoned, Federico would have offered it. Federico shrugged when I looked at him, and, grabbing his cup abruptly, drank his coffee in one gulp.
The coffee had been too hot for me to take more than one sip, but Federico didn’t show any sign of distress. Unlike Bécquer who, as the rim of the cup touched his lips, winced. In Bécquer’s hand the cup trembled, the steaming liquid spilling over his fingers. Bécquer swore as the cup slipped from his grip and hit the table, coffee splashing in all directions.
Federico stood and wheeled Bécquer chair back. “Really, Bécquer. Was that necessary?”
Bécquer said nothing, but stared toward the counter while Federico offered him a white handkerchief he had produced from the pocket of his jacket to dry his hand.
I got up to fetch some napkins from the island by the door. When I came back, the girl with the ginger hair who had greeted Bécquer before was by his side. The nametag on her black top read Rachel.
I set the napkins on the table and sat down. The napkins were unnecessary for Rachel had already wiped the table with a cloth. She was fussing over Bécquer now, while Bécquer stared at her, at her
cleavage more precisely, for the girl was leaning over him. Visibly upset, she gushed excuses and apologies as if she were the one to blame.
“Are you sure you didn’t burn yourself?” she asked.
Bécquer shook his head and smiled at her, with that maddening smile of his that could melt ice.
“Let me see.” She took his left hand in hers. “Oh no!” she said as she examined his fingers. “You did burn yourself. I’ll bring you some ice.”
“That won’t be necessary, Rachel.” He pronounced her name slowly, rolling the R so that he was almost purring. “It is just a small burn. In my circumstances,” he waved his hand slowly to include his broken leg, his arm held in a sling, and the collar brace around his neck, “it does not signify.”
The girl let out a nervous giggle. “May I at least bring you another coffee? Latte, isn’t it?”
Bécquer beamed at her. “That would be lovely.”
I followed Rachel with my eyes, frustrated at how much Bécquer’s flirting with her bothered me. Without making a conscious decision, I stood again.
“I have to go,” I said to no one in particular and, grabbing my coat from the windowsill, I started for the door.
This time, Federico did not try to stop me, but when I got to the parking lot he was waiting by my car.
“Other door,” he said, pointing at the front of the building. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I came to apologize for Bécquer’s behavior and beg you to reconsider his proposal of becoming his blood giver.”
“Did Bécquer send you?”
“No. He’s too proud or too stupid to do so. Probably both. But he’s hurting and he needs you, so I came in his stead.”
“You’re wrong. He doesn’t need me. Not anymore. He has found a new giver.”
Federico sighed. “Yes, I guess Rachel would do anything for him at this point.
“But don’t let his shameless flirting mislead you. I don’t think Bécquer cares for the girl. He’s probably charming her to cover his hurt at your rejection.”
“Are you saying he’s using her? And you are all right with that?”
“Don’t be so harsh on him, Carla. Bécquer was eleven the first time he tasted immortal blood. And although he remained human for many years, I think a part of him stopped growing that day. When he’s upset, he reverts to being that child.”
Immortal Love Page 10