“Better now?”
Bécquer’s voice intruded in my mind and the visions disappeared. I looked around. I was still sitting on the sofa, and Bécquer was staring down at me, his perfect features set into a mask.
“What have you done to me?”
“Nothing, really.”
I checked with my tongue and found no wound inside my mouth to justify the taste of blood my mind still remembered. So the blood had not been mine.
“You gave me your blood.”
He shrugged. “Only a couple of drops. Just enough to solve your problem.”
“I didn’t know I had a problem.”
“You just told me you faint at the sight of blood. And I couldn’t help but notice you were terrified of joining the party. Now, you won’t be.”
“Have you changed me?” I asked, my voice higher than I had intended.
“No. Of course not. You would need a lot more of my blood for that. I gave you enough to make you stronger.”
“How wonderful. I don’t know how to thank you.”
Bécquer gave me a crooked smile. “A kiss will do.”
“I was being sarcastic, Bécquer. Don’t you get it? This is exactly what I was trying to explain to you before. You manipulate Federico, and everybody else, for all I know. You assume what people want and give it to them. Then get upset when they are not overjoyed by your interference.”
“I meant it as a gift.”
“Maybe. But even if your intentions are good, it is not all right to force your will on others. I didn’t ask for this ‘gift.’”
“All my lovers beg me to give them my blood. I thought you’d want it too.”
“I’m not one of your lovers.”
Bécquer looked away. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “I see what you mean. I … I would take it back. But I can’t. The effect of my blood won’t last long, though, and I promise, I will ask next time.”
“You don’t have to ask next time for the answer is no. I don’t want your blood. I don’t want to be like you. In fact, I wish — ”
I wish I had never met you, I was about to say, but stopped because I didn’t want to offend him. Besides it wasn’t totally true. Although I’d rather not know there were immortal beings among us with powers to control humans’ minds, this ancient yet childish god who had just kissed me like a lover also fascinated me. And I hoped he had learned his lesson and was not sensing my feelings, because just then, I wanted nothing better than his lips against my lips and his arms around my body. A stupid wish I knew I must stop at once.
I stood up. “I wish we would stop wasting time and join the party,” I said a little too loudly.
If Bécquer was surprised at my sudden change of the conversation, he hid it well, for he just smiled and, already on his feet, offered me his arm. “Of course, my lady. Your wish is my command.”
I took his arm.
Chapter Seven: The Party
Bécquer stopped by the wrought iron balustrade overlooking the ballroom and turned to me.
“Do you think you can take them?” he asked.
I looked down through the slits of the Venetian mask Bécquer had just adjusted for me. The room was big, bigger than I had thought when I spied it from the front door, and it was crowded.
Under the wheel-shaped chandelier hanging from a central beam, men dressed in suits of bygone eras and women in long evening gowns stood in small groups, gathered around the central island getting their drinks, or sat on the sofas that hugged the walls. But for the raised platform at the back of the room that supported the piano, there was no empty space on the whole floor.
My guess was that close to one hundred people were there. More than enough to send me into a frenzy any other day. But not today. For the first time ever I didn’t feel like fleeing because I could sense their minds — I sensed their hopes, their uncertainties and their fears — as if I stood at the edge of their awareness. And thus, I knew that the crowd was not, as I had often imagined, an all-powerful beast ready to devour me, but made of individual human beings as flawed as I was. As I used to be. Because right then, high on Bécquer’s immortal blood, I felt invincible.
I could take them, as Bécquer had put it. Even more, I was eager to meet them, to learn their stories and even discuss with them the ones I carried, still unfinished, in my mind.
An unbidden smile came to my lips. “Yes,” I said.
Bécquer bent his head toward me. “So you’re not mad at me anymore?” he whispered and, when I said I wasn’t, he took my arm again. “Let’s go, then.”
We were halfway down the wide staircase when I spotted Beatriz. I recognized her by the blue shawl that barely covered her naked shoulders. She was talking to a man with a trimmed mustache and a goatee that looked too out of style to be real. As I watched her, Beatriz raised her head and her eyes met mine. I felt the ice of her stare, almost a physical touch that halted my step.
Bécquer groaned and stopped by my side. “Sorry, Carla. I was hoping to blend in unnoticed. Too late now.”
As he spoke, Beatriz detached herself from the gentleman and brazenly pushed her way toward the stairs, the brouhaha of conversation ebbed in her wake, and heads turned to follow her, until everybody in the room was staring at us in expectant silence.
Basking in his guests’ recognition and with the ease of a medieval king certain of his subjects’ loyalty, Bécquer addressed the room.
“Dear friends, please help me welcome my new author, Carla Esteban.”
He waited for the applause to subside then led me downstairs.
I felt the soothing comfort that emanated from his mind, spreading like a wave over the crowd, urging them to mingle, so that by the time we reached the floor the party had resumed in earnest. But Beatriz did not move.
“Where have you been?” she asked of Bécquer, her sharp voice belying the smile that curled her lips. “The guests were getting impatient.”
“You honor me, Beatriz, to suggest anybody would notice my absence.”
Ignoring Bécquer’s beguiling smile, Beatriz looked up to the staircase behind us. “Where is Federico?” she asked. “He’s scheduled to play in five minutes.”
“Oh, yes! Federico. Right,” Bécquer said lightly. “I’m afraid he won’t be playing tonight.”
“Really, Gustavo,” Beatriz said, and by addressing him by his given name she suggested a familiarity that excluded me. “Couldn’t you have waited to antagonize Federico until the party was over?”
She produced a cell phone as she spoke and started punching numbers.
In a flash, Bécquer’s arm shot forward and the phone was in his hand.
“You can’t ask Matt to cover for him. He’s practicing now for his performance.”
There was such finality in his voice that Beatriz didn’t argue.
Still holding her phone out of her reach, Bécquer scanned the crowd. Soon a playful smile lit his face. “Ask Sheryl to play for us,” he told Beatriz. “I’m sure she won’t mind.”
I followed his stare and noticed a red-haired woman holding a glass in her ringed hand while listening attentively to a middle-aged man whose crazy hair and overgrown moustache reminded me of Mark Twain.
“Sheryl is busy right now,” Beatriz said. “You can’t expect her to entertain your guests.”
“Actually you will have her eternal gratitude if you were to interrupt her, for she would like nothing better than to get away from her present partner. She is only with him because her boss asked her to do so.”
Although nothing about the perfectly made-up face of the woman betrayed her annoyance, I knew, thanks to my new awareness, that Bécquer was right.
Bécquer caught my eye as I looked back and winked at me. Beatriz was not pleased. “What is it with you, Bécquer? Why is everything a joke to you?”