Magic & Mayhem

by Susan Conley

  “It’s addressed to you,” she explained as I frowned. “My guess is that he wrote to you to explain what happened.”

  I took the envelope she offered. Inside I found a leather-bound journal filled with Bécquer’s florid handwriting. A letter-size envelope was concealed among its pages.

  My heart beating hard, I tore open the envelope, unfolded the letter, and started reading.

  Dear Carla,

  I’m writing this letter as I wait for you to come. When you read it, I’ll be dead.

  Cesar, one of the Elders, came last Monday. His orders were to kill me, but I pleaded with him to let me live for a week longer so that I could finish my contract with you. He agreed after I promised I would take my own life afterward. As a precaution, he made me mortal and severed my spine so I would not escape.

  Once I’m gone, the Elders will destroy any shred of evidence that would reveal their or my own existence as an immortal. I abided by their desires when I was first changed. I told my friends to burn my old journals and the letters to my brother where I mentioned my secret life, and I would have done the same today, except that, if I do, you would forget me. I’m fool enough to believe you care for me just a little, just enough to want to know who I really was.

  Please believe me when I say I didn’t kill myself out of despair, nor because I am a coward and don’t want to face life in my present condition. I did it only because I promised Cesar I would do so.

  My mortality has returned to me the gift of writing. Reason enough to make me want to live this mortal life. The other reason, I suppose you’ve already guessed, it’s you.

  Alas, the choice has been taken from me, and so I will die tonight. But in my last act of defiance, I’m sending you this diary. Read it or burn it, as you please. But know, in either case, that my main regret as I prepare to die is that I did not have more time to be with you.

  Goodbye Carla. I hope that, despite my many faults, you will remember me. And if you, I dare not hope, were to love me in return, know I will remain with you forever, made immortal by your love.

  Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer

  “Does he mention Cesar?”

  Rachel’s voice startled me, bringing me back to the hospital room.

  I nodded. “Yes, Cesar caused his ‘accident’ last Monday.”

  “Then we have to tell the police. He must pay for what he did.”

  “No. I don’t think we should interfere. The decision must be Bécquer’s.”

  Rachel hesitated.

  “Please wait, at least until we talk to him. There is no last name in the letter. No way to trace this Cesar, or prove he’s real. It’s our word against Bécquer’s.”

  “And the notebook?” she said pointing at Bécquer’s diary sitting on my lap. “Maybe he tells more about Cesar there.”

  I knew the diary would not help us locate Cesar either because Cesar was an immortal, thus beyond human reach. Yet, curious to know what Bécquer had written, I opened it to the first page.

  I was eleven when I met Lucrezia on the patio of my aunt’s house. The year was 1847 and Sevilla was in spring, but not my heart, for my heart was still frozen in the winter morning, two months past, that had seen my mother die.

  “She’s in heaven,” the priest had said, “because God had need of her.”

  I nodded at him in fake assent, for the fear of the Church had been ingrained in me from the time I was a little boy and I knew better than to argue with my betters. But whatever need God had of Mother, I thought it was selfish of Him to take her from me and my seven brothers; God had the whole world to choose from and He had already taken Father from us.

  Overwhelmed by my loss and unable to sleep, I took to wandering the silent house in the dark of night. My aunt’s house, like most houses in Sevilla at the time, was built around a patio, its walls washed white, an orange tree on a corner and in the middle a running fountain to help fight the unbearable heat that came with summer. And it was sitting on the low ridge of the stone basin I saw Lucrezia for the first time.

  Bécquer’s words jumped at me from the page, kidnapping me against my will. I’d have continued reading, oblivious to Rachel and my foreign surroundings, if her voice had not interrupted me.

  “Does he say who this Cesar is?”

  I put the notebook down and, feeling strangely conscious as if I had been found peering through the window into somebody’s home, I shook my head. “No, he doesn’t. I don’t think we’ll find any clue about Cesar here.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s just a story. I think Bécquer meant for me to have it only after his death. I’m not sure I should read it while he’s still alive.”

  “And is he? Is Bécquer alive?”

  I looked up, startled by the familiar and unexpected voice.

  From his six feet of height, Ryan looked down at me.

  Chapter Eighteen: In the Hospital

  “Ryan?” I half stood then sat back again, worn down by my son’s scowl. “What are you doing here?”

  “Never mind that,” Ryan said, his voice cold. “Tell me about Bécquer.”

  “The doctors are with him now. But how did you — ?”

  “Madison told me you were at Bécquer’s. I thought it would be a good time to confront you two together and try to change your mind about my not seeing him, so I went there. David told me what happened.

  “I’m going to see him,” he added lowering his lanky frame in the chair across from us. “Don’t try to stop me.”

  “I won’t, Ryan. I think it would be good for him to see that you care.”

  Ryan scowled as if ready to argue then frowned. “You mean you’re all right with that?”

  “Yes, Ryan.” Turning toward the girl sitting by my side, I added, “And this is Rachel, by the way.”

  Ryan looked at Rachel, as if he had just realized she was there, which knowing him, he probably had. Bending forward, he extended his hand to her. “I’m Ryan,” he said, reverting to his usual charming self. But when he turned to me, his voice was cold again. “It’s your fault. You know that, right?”

  “Ryan, please. I wasn’t even there.”

  “It’s your fault because you didn’t let me see him. If I had, I would have noticed Bécquer was depressed. I would have helped him.”

  “It’s not so simple. Bécquer — ”

  “ — can’t walk. I know. David told me. But you didn’t. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Don’t blame your mother,” Rachel said before I could answer. “I was with him every day this past week, and he never seemed depressed to me. So, actually, if someone is to blame it would be me.”

  “Of course not,” Ryan told her. “How could you have known?”

  By the eagerness of his voice, I knew the irony of his statement was lost on him.

  “Thanks.” Rachel frowned, as her eyes focused on his face. “I know you, I think. Aren’t you the second guitar from Shut Up and Listen?”

  “I am.” Ryan smiled, obviously pleased at being recognized. “Or was, I guess. I’m not sure if the band will hold together now that Matt’s gone.”

  “Why not? You could take his place as leader.”

  Ryan beamed at the girl.

  His anger at me momentarily forgotten, he plunged into a technical discussion of his possible suitability for the job while Rachel smiled at him. Relieved at the respite this turn of the conversation provided, I slid Bécquer’s notebook and letter in my handbag and grabbed my phone.

  I had called Federico from Bécquer’s house and, when I got no answer, left a message on his voice mail. He had not called me back. Or maybe he had, I thought as I realized my phone was dead. I threw it back in my purse and asked Ryan to lend me his.

  “Why?” Ryan snapped.

  Because I’m aski
ng, I wanted to say, but that would have gotten us nowhere. “Because Federico and Matt are driving back tonight to be with Bécquer,” I said instead, “and they don’t know he’s here.”

  Without a word, he took his cell phone from his pocket and handed it to me.

  I was punching Federico’s number when the doors to the ER swung open and a nurse came through. I froze and watched as, after a brief interchange with the receptionist, she started toward the area where we were sitting. The three of us stood as one.

  “How is he?” I asked, after the nurse confirmed we were waiting for him.

  “His vitals are stable,” she informed us in a professional voice. “But we want to keep him through the night for observation.”

  “I want to see him,” Ryan said.

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” The nurse’s tone became imperious. “He has requested to be left alone. So you’ll have to wait until morning.”

  He’s planning to do it again, I thought while Ryan insisted. “Bécquer doesn’t know I’m here. He would see me if he knew. I’m his nephew.”

  The nurse shook her head, her annoyance unmistakable now. “Not tonight.”

  I grabbed Ryan’s arm and pulled at him, afraid that if he continued pressing the nurse with his demands, he would ruin not only his, but also my chance of seeing Bécquer.

  “It’s all right, Ryan. You’ll see him tomorrow,” I coaxed him.

  He was about to argue when Rachel set her hand on his other arm. “Come on, Ryan. Your mother’s right. Let’s go. You can come back early in the morning.”

  Ryan hesitated for a moment then nodded at Rachel and shaking himself free of my grasp, moved back.

  I asked the nurse for more details about Bécquer’s condition while I waited for Rachel and Ryan to reach the exit doors. Then I steered the conversation back to the issue of seeing Bécquer.

  “I won’t bother him,” I told her, trying to keep the anxiety from my voice. “But I would very much like to stay in the room with him tonight.” As she shook her head, I rushed in, “You must let me stay with him. He’ll try to kill himself again. He admitted that much to me.”

  A flash of anger crossed the nurse’s eyes. “I assure you your brother will not hurt himself here. In this hospital, we observe the highest standards of safety.”

  Turning her back on me, she disappeared through the swinging doors.

  “He’s not my brother,” I said to no one in particular as I watched the door swing, alternately inviting and rejecting me. I considered following her, but glanced at the reception desk and noted the girl had followed our conversation and was watching me.

  Frustrated, I went back to my seat and considered my possibilities. Going home was out of the question. Whatever high standards the hospital had, I knew Bécquer was not safe. I would wait for another nurse to come by and ask her to be taken to his room. In the meantime, I would pray the haughty nurse was right.

  Lucky for me, Ryan had forgotten to ask for his phone back. This time Federico answered on the first ring.

  “He got it wrong,” he said after I repeated what Bécquer had told me during the ambulance ride. “I just talked with the Elders. Their sentence was to make him human. ‘A life for a life,’ that is how they phrased it. He will die eventually, of course, as all humans do, but the messenger was not supposed to kill him. He’s not supposed to be paralyzed either.”

  “Bécquer said that Cesar did it so he could not flee.”

  Federico swore. “Cesar? No wonder. I should have guessed.”

  “Guessed what?”

  “Cesar hates Bécquer. So he obviously twisted the Elders’ words to push Bécquer to kill himself, then paralyzed him just for his enjoyment. It fits just perfectly with his treacherous mind. His immortality has only increased the thirst for blood and depravity that made him infamous when he was human.”

  “Who was he as human?”

  “He was Cesar Borgia. The one who inspired Machiavelli to write The Prince. The bastard son of that other Alexander, the Renaissance pope who ruled the Church with the libertinism and nepotism of an absolute king.”

  “Oh!” I said. For what else can you say when history, the history you studied at school becomes alive on a Saturday evening in, of all unlikely places, the waiting room of a hospital?

  “Listen, Carla. I have to hang up now. I need to talk with the Elders again. They forbade me to help Bécquer before, claiming that his paralysis had happened after he became human. But if Cesar caused it — ”

  “Then you can heal him?”

  “I hope so. As I hope they will send somebody to talk to Bécquer. He needs to explain to them that Beatriz stole his blood for they believe he changed her on purpose. Once this point is clarified, they may even revert their sentence. In the meantime, you keep Bécquer safe, all right?”

  “Of course,” I said, as if I could.

  A thousand times more eager to see Bécquer now that I knew the Elders did not want him dead for I hoped knowing this would stop him from trying to kill himself, I walked to the desk. Unlike the nurse, the receptionist seemed sympathetic to my request, or maybe she was just bored and glad to have something to do.

  “I’ll check with the nurse,” she told me.

  She punched a number on the phone and conveyed my request. “I’ll tell her,” she said shortly.

  “What is wrong?” I asked prompted by the note of concern I had noticed in her voice.

  “Probably nothing,” she said lightly, but her eyes did not meet mine as she gestured toward the elevator. “They want you upstairs. Third floor. A nurse will meet you there.”

  Too impatient to wait for the elevator, I ran up the stairs, arriving at the third floor flushed and out of breath. But it was fear, and not the running, that made my heart pump faster.

  The nurse who had talked with us before was waiting for me by the elevator. Her haughty look, I noticed, was gone.

  “I apologize,” she said when I joined her. “You were right, about your brother. He tried again.”

  “Did he? Is he — ”

  “He’s all right. We got him in time. But I believe it would be better if you stayed with him.”

  “Did he swallow more pills?” I asked as I followed her down the corridor.

  “No. He charmed one of the nurses into bringing him flowers. We always have extras from the maternity ward. New parents are too busy with their babies to carry all the bouquets they get. He smashed the vase and tried to cut his wrist with the broken glass.

  “You have to give him points for ingenuity,” she continued. But the image her words evoked of the blood spilling from Bécquer’s veins was so vivid in my mind that I felt dizzy, and for a moment I saw black.

  “Are you all right?”

  I opened my eyes. The nurse had grabbed my arm. I was glad she had, because my knees had grown weak. I took a deep breath. “Yes, of course.”

  “He’s not your brother, is he?”

  I shook my head. “No. He’s not.”

  “I didn’t think so.” I blushed — was my attraction to him so obvious? — “He was pretty vocal about not having any sisters. And also about not wanting anybody with him.”

  “Yet, you let me come,” I said as we resumed walking.

  Her smile disappeared. “In my experience, a suicide attempt is a cry for help. A disability is tough on a relationship. Until he has come to accept his condition, my advice is that you tell him that you love him. Unconditionally.”

  As I struggled with my reply, she stopped and knocked briefly on a closed door and, without waiting for a response, entered the room.

  Chapter Nineteen: The Pact

  Bécquer was lying back on a half-raised bed. His hair, tousled and matted with sweat, framed a face so white it could have been a sculpture.

&
nbsp; I stood by the door, not sure how to proceed while the nurse checked his IV and took his vitals. Ignoring her, Bécquer stared at me with his dark, sunken eyes. Still totally still, and silent. That he was still was not surprising as his arms, set parallel to his body, were strapped to the bed. The silence he broke at last, when the nurse left closing the door. Polite and distant, he thanked me for coming and asked me to take a seat next to his bed.

  “So, it’s you,” he said when I did. “The mysterious sister I never had.”

  Afraid my voice would break if I spoke, I only nodded. His wrists, I noticed as I looked down to avoid his stare, were bandaged.

  “Is that how you think of me?” he continued. “As the brother you must keep from harm?”

  I swallowed hard. “Ryan claimed to be your nephew. The nurse assumed — ”

  “Ryan is here?”

  He struggled to sit up as he spoke, the muscles on his naked arms flexed under the straps binding him to the bed.

  “Please don’t let him come,” he said as, defeated, he fell back. “I don’t want him to see me like this.”

  You should have thought of that before, I thought. But he looked so hurt and dejected I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

  “He left already,” I said instead. “When the nurse told him he couldn’t see you until tomorrow.”

  Bécquer sighed in relief, then again his face tightened. “Does he think I’m a coward?”

  “No. He blames me.”

  “You?” Bécquer frowned, then nodded when I told him why. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “Of course, you will,” I said, frustration and despair spilling into my voice. “And when do you plan to do that, before or after you kill yourself?”

  “Touché. I’m sorry, Carla. I really am. But I told you, I have no choice.”

  “Yes, you have. Federico spoke to the Elders tonight. Cesar lied to you. The Elders sentenced you to be human, not to death. To be human, not paralyzed.”