The Masked Family (29 page)

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Chapter 2

Barcelona, Spain - November 1883

I am at a crossroads when he enters my life.

A year and a half ago, a bishop laid my first stone. In the time since then, I have grown; workers have dug and lined my foundations, sprawling over this space in the heart of the city.

It is a fitting spot, as I am meant to
become
that heart...beating with the rhythm of the faithful, given over to love of God and His creation. Everything about me is intended to express that love for as long as I shall stand.

Yet I do not love God. I know nothing about Him, and I know nothing at all of love.

At least until today.

Today, I see the newcomer for the first time. My patron, Señor Bocabella, walks him around the cavity of my foundation, describing his vision of me with grand sweeps of his hands.

The newcomer weaves a vision with
his
hands, too, but the pictures he draws in the air are much different than Bocabella's.

I overhear Bocabella call him
Gaudí
.

"To craft a fitting tribute to Our Lord, we must use His language." Gaudí sweeps his arm overhead, taking in the bright blue sky and shimmering sun. "The language of Nature."

Stern Bocabella grunts and nods. "You are a true believer, Señor Gaudí, and your ideas are inspired...but I am not sure that is enough."

Gaudí drops his arm and shrugs. "What else do you want from me? Spinelessness? Blind obedience? Perhaps your last architect would have lasted longer if he had had more of these."

"Let me tell you what I think of Señor Villar: he is nothing like you."

"I'll give you that." Gaudí rubs his bearded chin. "I am even
more
stubborn and
less
cooperative than he...at least when I am right."

"Which is always." Bocabella says it with a sly half-smile.

Gaudí chuckles. "Perhaps we
do
understand each other."

As they walk onward, I wonder if Gaudí will get the job. I wonder if he will build me. I wonder if I want him to.

This is the crossroads I face: I need someone new to bring me to life. Someone who will not hold me back. Someone who will give voice to the greatness that gestates within me.

Is he the one? I wish I could tell—but for now, his true potential lies as hidden as my own.

"What if I told you I had a dream?" says Bocabella. "A dream that I should hire you?"

"I would say that the only dreams I live by are my own." Gaudí smiles and parts from Bocabella, strolling to a section of the knee-high stone wall rising from my foundation. He crouches, black frock coat brushing the ground, and runs his hand along the row of granite blocks.

I gaze up at him as he touches me. His bright eyes blaze in the sunlight like twin blue flames, piercing the dusty afternoon air with unusual force.

He startles me with the strength of his stare. For the first time, I feel as if someone is looking directly at
me
—not at my foundation, but my true self, my spirit.

Mesmerized, I watch his every movement and expression. I cannot look away.

And then he does something no one else has ever done to me. Something extraordinary.

He tells me a secret. He whispers it so that I alone can hear.

"I will make of us a cathedral like no other."

That is what he says. "Us," as if somehow he intends to build himself, too.

His hand is warm on my granite. He smiles, and something quickens inside me. I know that I will never be the same.

"Well, Señor?" Bocabella's sharp voice breaks the moment. "Will you humor me? Or shall I summon the next candidate? Have you turned your back on the Holy Family of Our Lord?"

Gaudí pats my wall...and winks at me. I realize, as he pushes himself to his feet, that I do not want him to go.

Turning, he brushes the dust from his hands. "Congratulations," he says. "You're hired."

"
I'm
hired?" Bocabella laughs. "And what will you
pay
me,
jefe
?"

"Grief and insubordination," says Gaudí. "Struggle and strife and pain. Endless controversy. And genius. All the ingredients we need to exceed our limits.

"And if we are lucky, I will pay you one thing more," says Gaudí. "A prayer for all Barcelona...all Catalonia...all mankind. A prayer so huge and lasting and wild that God Himself will not wish to look away from it."

"Your ambitions match my own," says Bocabella. "Very well. I will go to work for you."

"And I will build your cathedral," says Gaudí. "I will build your
Sagrada Família
."

My spirit soars as he says my name for the first time. My mind rushes with excitement at the thought of us two working together in days to come...of him lavishing his attentions upon me. Teaching me to fulfill our mutual dreams.

I cannot imagine what he will make of me, but somehow, I know it will be grand. Somehow, though we have only just met, I trust him without reservation.

Somehow, I know that this was meant to be.

 

What happens next? Find out in Day 9, now on sale!

*****

About the Author

 

Robert T. Jeschonek is an award-winning writer whose fiction, comics, essays, articles, and podcasts have been published around the world. DC Comics, Simon & Schuster, and DAW have published his work. According to Hugo and Nebula Award winner Mike Resnick, Robert "is a towering talent." Robert was nominated for the British Fantasy Award for his story, "Fear of Rain." His young adult urban fantasy novel, 
My Favorite Band Does Not Exist
, was named one of 
Booklist
's Top Ten First Novels for Youth. Visit him online at www.thefictioneer.com. You can also find him on Facebook and follow him as @TheFictioneer on Twitter. 

 

*****

 

*****

 

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Being trapped in a book can be a nightmare—just ask Idea Deity. He's convinced that he exists only in the pages of a novel written by a malevolent author . . . and that he will die in Chapter 64. Meanwhile, Reacher Mirage, lead singer of the secret rock band Youforia, can't figure out who's posting information about him and his band online that only
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*****

THE MASKED FAMILY

Copyright © 2012 by Robert T. Jeschonek

www.thefictioneer.com

 

Cover Art Copyright © 2012 by Ben Baldwin

www.benbaldwin.co.uk

 

Published in May 2012 by Pie Press by arrangement with the author. All rights reserved by the author.

 

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

 

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