Magic & Mayhem

by Susan Conley

  Which, again, was absurd.

  I barely knew Bécquer. I had met him only on three occasions and always at a professional level. Bécquer was my agent. Only as such had he invited me to his party. Yet, the intensity of his stare when he ordered me to drink his blood, back in his room was filled with the passion of a lover. Or was my memory deceiving me matching my own desires?

  I got up abruptly and dashed up the path that led to the dam. The gates were closed now and, unlike the whirlwind of emotions fighting in my mind, the water was still. Neither down at ground level, nor up where I stood on the walkway, did I see any sign of Ryan’s brush with death, nor of Bécquer’s confrontation with Beatriz. As far as the world was concerned, it could all have been a dream.

  But it had not been.

  Ryan had almost died there the previous night, and I, after knowing Bécquer for less than a day, had become obsessed with him. How stupid could I be? Bécquer was a 200-year-old man who drank human blood and manipulated people’ wills. Yet, hard as I tried, I couldn’t keep his dark stare from my mind or his deep, beguiling voice from haunting my thoughts. And his smile kept coming back, threatening to destroy the barriers I had so carefully erected around my heart.

  I had lost my heart once long ago when in my twenties. The irrational thinking that ensued had carried me into a marriage, followed by years of self-loathing, a direct result of my husband’s unrelenting mental abuse, and resulted in a bitter divorce.

  I would not lose my heart again.

  At least this time I knew I was not the only one to blame for my weakness. My infatuation with Bécquer was too sudden and intense to be real, which meant that, despite Federico’s reassurances to the contrary, Bécquer had charmed me. The solution to this unwanted situation was, thus obvious: I had to break all connections with him.

  And the safety of my heart was not the only reason for doing so, for the more I dwelt on the events of the previous night, the more I realized that accepting Bécquer as my agent had been an invitation to disaster. What had happened with Beatriz had not been an isolated incident, an accident that would not be repeated, but a warning of worse things to come. A reminder that if you play with fire, you’re bound to be burned, or, in my case, that accepting Bécquer’s help to get my book published could get my children hurt.

  And that was a price I was not willing to pay.

  Bécquer, for all his charm and impeccable manners, lived on human blood. How could I ever justify this? And if I didn’t, I couldn’t justify using his non-humans abilities to my advantage, either. Federico had admitted Bécquer used his charm to push his authors. The look of adoration in Richard’s eyes the previous night at the party left me no doubt he was already half sold on buying my book. His reasons had nothing to do with the quality of my writing or the strength of my story, for he had not read my manuscript yet.

  Yes, I believed my book was good and deserved to be published, but was I ready to compromise the safety of my children or my peace of mind for this to happen?

  The answer was no. Absolutely no.

  I had to call Bécquer and tell him I didn’t want him to be my agent, and hope he would agree to rescind our agreement on the basis that he had not played fair with me. The real me, the rational me, would have never signed, yet the previous day, I had done so, willingly, after a slight, almost nonexistent hesitation. This could only mean Bécquer had influenced my decision, and if he had, the contract was not valid.

  But the logic of my reasoning was lost on Bécquer.

  “I did not force you,” he told me, and, even though the phone I could sense the outrage in his voice at my suggestion. “You knew I was immortal when you signed.”

  “I didn’t know you were drinking Beatriz’s blood. I didn’t know you fed on humans.”

  “No, you didn’t,” he admitted. Then, after a pause, “Would you come over to discuss this further?”

  So you can use your charm to change my mind? “I’d rather not.”

  “Federico is here,” Bécquer insisted. “You can talk with him, as you seem to trust him while you don’t trust me.”

  “No, Bécquer. I don’t think so.”

  “What if we meet in a neutral place? Café Vienna tomorrow at ten o’clock?”

  “Are you crazy?” Federico’s angry voice came through the receiver muted, then stronger as he addressed me directly, “Carla, would you mind waiting a couple of days to make your decision?”

  I heard Bécquer swearing in the background, just before the line went dead.

  I set the phone down, confused. I had practiced my conversation with Bécquer a thousand times while driving home. None of my imaginary exchanges had ended like this. Why had Federico interrupted Bécquer? Why did he want me to wait?

  Before I could find an explanation for their strange behavior or gather the courage to call again to clarify my position, the phone rang, startling me.

  “My deepest apologies,” Bécquer said after I picked it up. “Federico thought we were engaged for the next few days. He was mistaken. In fact we can meet tomorrow. Please say yes. I promise I won’t influence you, and, if after our conversation you still want to break our contract, I will abide by your decision.”

  I said yes, of course. How could I not when he put it that way? Only to realize after I hung up that if I had so easily agreed to his request on the phone, my chance to deny him anything in person was close to nil.

  • • •

  I was early the next day for my meeting with Bécquer. It had been a conscious decision. Being first, I thought, would give me an advantage, or at least, save me the embarrassment of walking the length of the room under his stare.

  The place was almost empty when I arrived — too late for the morning rush, too early for lunch — and in no time I was sitting at one of the tables by the window, my espresso forgotten in front of me, watching the door. As I waited, I questioned the wisdom of my decision for every time the door opened my heart jumped in my chest and the mantra I had chosen to repeat to keep me calm lost a little of its effect.

  Somewhere outside the chimes of the town hall clock sounded the hour. Any moment now, I thought, but I was wrong. Bécquer was not the next person to come in, nor the following one. By ten thirty, my mantra had changed from “I’m in control” to “He’s not coming,” and my nerves stretched to the point of breaking.

  I was considering leaving when the door opened, once again, and Federico appeared in the doorway. Federico, and not Bécquer, my mind registered, whether with disappointment or relief I was not sure.

  My first thought was that Bécquer had sent Federico to drive me to his house and, bracing myself to resist such a request, I waited for him to come over. But Federico stalled by the door. Holding it open with his body, he was maneuvering a wheelchair through, when one of the baristas, a girl with ginger hair, as natural looking as Madison’s bleached blonde, rushed to his aid.

  I imagined the man in the wheelchair to be an acquaintance of hers, for despite the long line that had formed by now to order, the girl didn’t return to her post behind the counter, but stayed by the door talking to him.

  Across the room, Federico’s eyes met mine. He shrugged, and I nodded and looked away, embarrassed he had caught me watching. Out of the window, the cars coming down Main had stopped before the light. And again, like Sunday morning, a blue convertible was first in line. The roof was down, and I couldn’t see the driver, but the car I was certain was Bécquer’s.

  “Sorry, I’m late.”

  My heart stopped at the sound of his voice, Bécquer’s voice, inside the cafe, addressing me, while his car stood outside. I turned, startled, and met his eyes staring at me. His eyes, dark and serious, at a level with mine, because Bécquer was sitting. Sitting in the wheelchair Federico had pushed through the door.

  Bécquer in a wheelchair?

&nb
sp; “Bécquer,” I whispered, my voice entangled with too much feeling. “What happened?”

  Bécquer shrugged, or tried to, for his neck was encased in a collar brace that limited his movements. “I fell down the stairs,” he said, a wink in his eyes belying his words.

  His face, his handsome face, was criss-crossed with pale scars. And as I looked down to hide my shock at his condition, I noticed he held his right arm in a sling against his chest, and the right leg of his dark suit had been cut lengthwise to accommodate the cast.

  “My apologies, Carla,” Federico said moving from behind Bécquer. “To get a wheelchair took us longer than anticipated.”

  “And it was totally unnecessary,” Bécquer said. “I could have walked.”

  “You could not,” Federico said, a note of frustration in his voice.

  Are you crazy? Federico had asked Bécquer on the phone the previous day when he offered to meet with me. Now I understood why.

  “I would have waited,” I told Federico, “had I known.”

  Bécquer scowled. “No. You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t have believed me had I told you. In fact, you still don’t believe me, and you are looking at me.”

  He was right. While my eyes had taken in the details of Bécquer’s condition, my mind refused to admit it, for Bécquer was immortal and immortals heal immediately. Were Bécquer’s disabilities real or was he pretending to be disabled to manipulate me?

  Bécquer swore, making no secret that he had read my thoughts. “Do you really think so poorly of me?”

  He tried to stand as he spoke, but managed only to hit the cast against the floor before Federico stopped him. “If you don’t sit still, I’ll take you home.”

  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 brace, 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.”