What the Voices Cry
By Morbid DramaQueen10 A.K.A Dania
Chapter 4, Unknow Plans, Unplanned kisses
DISCLAIMER/CLAIMER: Artemis, Butler, Angeline and Timmy, Juliet and Minerva are all Eoin Colfer's. Sophia, Sasha, Ella, Marvin, and everyone else are MINE! As are Drace and Obsidian.
I actually started writing this before I finished Chapter 1, or anything else posted. I knew it was going to be a long one…
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She couldn't think of hating anything more. Well, perhaps the persons who forced her into this. And the designer. He must have designed it himself, as a cruel joke. No matter what anyone had said, it was plainly obvious He wanted to remind her of who He was, what He could do, and just how easily He could do it. How powerless she was.
Arse.
Once a year she had to endure the eyes, the smirk, the infuriating perfection of everything she'd given up. Ditched. Dumped. Thrown away. Any number of breakup terms could be used on the situation, yet none of them covered the complicated event. But there wasn't a sole word for it, except perhaps chaos.
So here she stood, acting like the perfect little hostess wearing her heartbreaker dress. It was the kind of dress a very wealthy, very vengeful woman would've worn to a public event that her ex-husband would have also attended. Or the kind of gown that a human doll would have been forced into as punishment for unspeakable crimes.
The long, form-fitting cloth would have been her first pick, something she'd undoubtedly would drool over….if it were any night but tonight. Any place but this place. For anyone but this person.
Emerald green silk, black satin conformed to show more than enough curves, a skirt that flowed out to touch the floor, a slit that went just below her hip….Artemis was taunting her. The stupid dress was designed by someone who knew her body shape well…way, way too well. Its sheer sexiness made her scared to leave her quarters. Maybe she would feint illness. Take her hair out of this ridiculous up-do and stick her head in the toilet. A little water for pseudo sweat, a can of cream of mushroom, a swift dusting of her palest powder and she'd be set.
Well, perhaps not. Juliet wouldn't fall for it. Any of it. Not that she had the chance, anyways.
She felt like a doll. A puppet. Manipulated. Artemis had hired a professional makeup artist, hairdresser, even called up a maid to aid her in dress (surprisingly, the stupid thing was extremely difficult to maneuver into by yourself. She suspected it was designed this way to prevent escape. Artemis knew her far too well). Plus Juliet and a second maid. Sophia was suffocated. The moment the troop of 5 determined women filed through the door, all hopes of escape were dashed. Without being able to do her own makeup, Sophia could not feign illness. They made her look spectacular.
Go.
Smoothing out the folds, she stood, gazing at her reflection in the full-length mirror across from the vanity. Red hair piled elaborately on top of her skull, carefully curled tresses hanging to lie across her shoulders and fall down her back. In the deep shadows of the room, they looked like blood dripping down slowly from her head. The heart-shaped face pale, smooth white with all flaws cover by powders and creams. Blue-green eyes lined with thin curves of kohl, framed with thick black lashes, given a smoky look by the dark shadows. Her lips were simply a cheery, glossy, curvy pink. No hair was out of place. No freckle exposed. No eyelash uncurled.
Well, her under eyelashes, the ones on the lower lip. The woman applying the mascara said if you didn't apply mascara to those, it made the eye appear bigger and stand out more.
Still. She was flawless in appearance.
How could anyone want to look like this? It was so unflawed as to be eternally imperfect.
Gritting her teeth, Sophia moved to the door, deliberately turning the brushed nickel handle and stepping into the hall. Damn, even the shoes he'd sent up were slutty. Lace-up stilettos, similar to the pair worn to that movie premiere, the night Arty invited her to move in.
Sophie trailed down the halls of Fowl Manor still in her little stupor. The sounds from the party echoed throughout the grounds. She could hear the orchestra, people laugh, talk, cars pulling up the long gravel drive, Butler's grunt of approval as he let another guest in, satisfied with their identity.
"Sophia."
She halted. Now she stood on the top of the grand staircase of the hall, looking out over the incoming guests in their fine, formal, evening wear. "How sudden." The walk should have taken longer. This was disappointing.
Right at this moment as she faced the small crowd below, the one making its way out onto the pavilion to join the real party, someone in that crowd looked up, elbowed their partner, and moved one. This action continued repeatedly throughout the line of guests, not that the recipient noticed. One person out of the many just stared, mouth ever-so-slightly agape. Then he remember himself, finished shaking the nearest guest's hand, brushed off the rest and made for the long crimson stairs.
Sophia all the while just stood there, entranced one thousand miles away (or slightly less if her calculations were correct-but then she'd never been one for math). A person would have to be something absolutely dazzling to catch that one's eye, or so many in the masses below murmured. Pretty spectacular indeed.
"Sophia."
As though she heard him telepathically, her eyes snapped down. When her focus rested on him, body tensed with the scent of threat, part of him was deeply bothered by the hardly noticeable body stance. Another part had some sort of cruel satisfaction. Some years ago he would have banished these feelings altogether. Some months ago he wouldn't have felt them at all. Now they consumed him.
"Sophie." He said again, eyes sweeping over her.
With his examination Sophie straightened sharply, meeting his gaze. The blue-green orbs were on fire.
"Master Fowl." Honey dripped from the two words, hints of sarcasm like knives through the sweetness.
"You look…" Artemis swallowed, struggling for words. "…beautiful." He said finally, greatly anticipating the next comment.
"Thank you." A slight sneer curled her fresh pink lips. "I'm sure the designer had the wearer in mind. Really, you shouldn't let your guest wear your whore's hand-me-downs, Master Fowl."
It was a low shot. For as far as she knew, Artemis was still virgin and hadn't even dated anyone in the last half decade.
He scowled in return, taking the few quick steps to reach her. "The designer did have you in mind, darling." His hand shot up to grip her arm. Sophie cursed her prediction. He had been working out and she had not, something she regretted now.
As he murmured into her ear, the already dark blue of his eyes were darkening to an ocean-colour. "Keep in mind that there are over two hundred Fowl Industry employees and investors here tonight. And that your dearest sister's grave lies on this property."
She restrained a gasp. "Gods." This was downright cruel. The lowest of the low. Never had Artemis been so frightening, so bluntly inhumane, threatening. Of course he had already threatened to lock her up, hunt her down, take away her memories, forced her into many unpleasent situations, made her return to the 7th pit of hell, which was his home, every year, kept a constant tabs on her, et cetera. But desecrating her sister's grave? It was the deep end of a very new extreme, one that very much scared Sophie Iver.
Tucking her arm into his own, Artemis lead her down the staircase grandly, seeming to all the world a lucky man with a pretty escort. Under his grip she quivered. He could feel the quaking through the fabric of his Armani tux. And he savored it.
Leaning in to brush a tendril of auburn away from her neck, Artemis Fowl the Second fully enjoyed complete control of one person whom he had never so fully manipulated before.
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"Eventually he will grow weary of this." Sophia thought as she grasped yet another yuppie's palm in her own, smiling with gracious charm. A few made the mistake of addressing her as "Mrs. Fowl". She made to protest the first couple times, but Artemis moved to stop her, placing a gentle hand on her arm and smiling that vampire smile, assuring the offender. Now whenever an elderly patron commented on "such a lovely couple", Sophia's hold tightened for an instant and then released. Nothing was so humiliating.
Finally Artemis released her to go chat up some businessmen. She escaped to the dance floor and dining hall, mingling, darting and avoiding contact. Some offered their company, but she simply smiled politely and moved away.
Angeline and Timmy had not made an appearance since her arrival. She found, without surprise, that she missed hem. They would've kept her company and their son from being so domineering. When thinking about it, Sophie was shocked to realize that she had seen neither of them since two years previous, when she had met Angeline for a quick lunch back in the city. Mrs. Fowl had been in town with Timmy. While he was busy in some meeting, she browsed the city's art world, hoping for some find. Luckily, in the second store she perused she found an old acquaintance. Tara Gavin! Stumbling over her words, Sophie explained the name change in relating to some crazing family member who was currently in a state prison. They did lunch, and hadn't seen each other since. Sophie suspected Artemis convinced his parents to go on unusually extended vacations in July, telling them they would return in time to catch "Darling Tara" before she escaped back to America.
When she was off wandering by a bed of roses, someone who actually knew her approached her suddenly.
"Miss Gavin. Or, Iver, should I say. Excuse me." A soft, clipped voice said lightly from behind her. Sophie froze at the sound of her pseudonym, turning very, very slowly.
"Mrs. Hill." She said cautiously. The last time she had seen this prim woman was shortly before Artemis proposed…the first time, that is. From the sound of it she had been fed a similar story as Angeline Fowl. " It's Iver, now, quite right. Nice to see you again. I trust you're doing well?"
"Rule one: Draw the attention away from yourself; most people like to talk about their lives, so start with that."
"Fine, thanks. And your self, Miss Ga-I mean, Iver? My, I haven't seen you in nearly a decade"
"Eight years." Sophie said before could hold her tongue. Hill blinked.
"Oh. Right…well, it's a pleasure having you back in town. Been traveling, have you?"
Artemis had been casting some tales, hadn't he? She could see it in the other woman's eye—she was wondering about the broken engagement, the name change. Sophie considered address the topics herself, at least the first one, but waited instead. If Hill asked straight out then she was a gossip or liked to poke in her employer's affairs far too much for Sophie's liking. It was true to Sophie's faith in Artemis to believe he would never hire such a person as a secretary. Still…she was taking no chances. She could contradict something previous laid out to the woman. Artemis typically had two reactions when someone made a mistake involving him: Amusement or anger. Both had nasty consequences.
"A bit." She allowed finally. "You?"
"Not really, no. Keep busy with work, you understand. Got to keep the business going smoothly and Mr. Fowl happy." The woman's chest puffed out slightly. She was proud of Fowl Industry's progress and proud of her hand in it, even if she merely took letters, calls, made copies, and fetched Earl Grey.
"Ah." Sophie said politely. "Yes, I've heard the business has done quite well-" "Now that Arty doesn't have any distractions" "-and has and amazing stock value. The Fowls must be very proud."
"Indeed." Mrs. Hill sniffed. "But the poor boy is overworking himself. He'll be the first Fowl to start in the industry, and the hardest working one, I'm sure. He's got one foot in the grave already, though. I've never see him so ill. He started to really deteriorate…right three years after you left, actually."
Her expression clearly told Sophie that she, Sophie Iver or Tara Gavin or who ever the hell she was, was to be blamed for her employer's poor health. Sophie merely nodded, not willing to admit that she too knew what was causing Master Fowl's slow breakdown.
"I'm sure in due time, perhaps with the right encouragement, he might recover fully." She replied mildly.
"Oh, I'm certain of it. Mr. Fowl puts himself in a funk and pulls back easily all the time." A true statement-only it did not qualify in this matter. Five years was a long time to keep a foul mood. If anyone could overcome something as silly an juvenile as love, it should be him. Sophie did, why couldn't he?
"Have you met his friend?" Hill asked. Casually enough, but so casually Sophie heard genuine curiosity in her voice.
"Which one?"
"Ah, what was her…I'm afraid I've forgotten her name. Sophia! That was it. He calls her Sophie."
Several things crossed her mind. The first was that despite the situation, it was still funny that Hill did not know Tara Gavin had changed her first name as well as her last name. The second was to wonder if the statement had been cast to cause her some sort of jealousy or regret that this mystery woman with a Greek name was fraternizing with her ex-fiancé. The idea was quite hilarious.
The idea itself lead her to wonder: would it have mattered? Would she honestly care, even become green with envy, perhaps, if Artemis were to find a real beau, a girl who actually gave him the time of day? Somebody who would adore his numerous achievements, all the good he was doing for the world, the vast knowledge, not to mention the substantial bank account?
No. No, she would not be jealous. She would be very happy for him, truly. Artemis deserved honest, real love. Sophie knew she would feel nothing but joy (and perhaps relief) when (or if) it ever occurred.
"Really? No, I've not met her, though I'm sure Artemis will introduce us soon."
"Yes, I'm sure." Hill murmured, slightly miffed.
"Is she a nice girl?" Sophie inquired, restraining a smirk.
"Hardly a girl. Perhaps a year or two beneath yourself, Miss Iver."
"Really? And is she a beauty?"
Hill reddened. "Well, I've—you see…I've only seen her once. From a distance."
"So, he's never introduced you, either?" Sophie asked, astonishment flooding her innocent face, privately taking glee from torturing this nosey woman.
"No, he has not!"
"My, my. Artemis is losing those genteel manners, isn't he? The modern world is changing tradition."
They both remained silent after this final comment. Hill stared at Sophie, Sophie looked at the roses. Finally Hill sighed and departed with a quiet "good-bye". Sophia relaxed. In general, she had liked the woman. But she was just so involved with her Master's life…his likes, dislikes, preferences in colour and clothing, style, personal history…anyone who stood between her Master and his ultimate happiness was put on her list forever. Sophie had a feeling she wasn't on the list primarily because she was what would bring Master Fowl that ultimate happiness, or so Hill and Artemis thought.
"Speak of the Devil."
She had turned in horror to see Artemis scaling the dance floor, blue eyes narrowed. He was looking for someone, obviously, most likely his date. Didn't he warn her he'd expect a waltz or two.
"Choices?"
"Are you sure you want to leave?" The voice asked.
"Yes." She mentally snapped. "Choices?"
There was a sigh, then it spoke again.
" A) Stay in place, he might not see you."
"In this dress?"
"B) Disappear in the masses"
"Again, I point out the one troubling factor: the stupid gown."
"C) Fling yourself into the rose bushes."
It was her favourite out of the three options, but very immature for someone nearly thirty and virtually impossible as well. Especially with the dress. "It always comes down to the clothing."
So she took option "B", turning and gliding to a cluster of younger people, all chatting. She scooted in, smiling and nodding, winking at an occasional stare. As it turned out, a hand had followed her into the crowd. Dancing on her fingertips, then grasping her wrist firmly, she was being pulled back. "Damn." The texture and temperature were unmistakable. Artemis had found her in only 42 seconds of beginning his search. Amazing. Well, it was his party, after all.
The inevitable pull tugged at her arm, which felt numb, devoid of feeling or warmth. And then they were face to face.
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His plan had been to ambush her. While she stood examining the roses, he searched the masses. When he finally found the young woman, Artemis relaxed more then he had all evening. Instead of hurrying to catch her, he stayed put, taking in her serene expression as she looked over the blushing flowers. Conscious meditation. Sophie had a means of taking her mind and worries off her view through meditating at random and at will. It was a special kind, one that kept her conscious in the present, undistracted on both horizons.
Then she moved hastily into the crowd of younger investors.
Artemis groaned. The "kids" were his most irritating group of clients. Instead of clearly not about caring about their money or who dealt with it, as some others made painfully clear, the were not only interested, but concerned and untrusting. This newest generation was a nightmare in and of itself. Raised from the middle classes, they were enjoying their newfound wealth. When they were bored with discussing stock value and market fluxes, they pulled out stuffed wallets. Not to shell out pounds to shut him up, rather to show family photos and tell stories of their "quirky" kids.
He restrained himself, nodding in the right places, vampire smile flashing. Finally, when they finished their ramblings, breathlessly they inquired about his family.
"Do you have any children?"
"No." he always replied curtly. "I've not had the fortune."
And he hadn't. But he wanted it, wanted to carry the Fowl name on further. He wanted it so terribly, as did his ageing parents.
There was only one person he would want to have that experience with. She was neither inclined nor eager to even consider. She never had truly been.
"Ah!" He smiled, triumphant. Her moon-pale wrist was in his hand. He pulled and a moment later Sophie was stumbling before him. Her hands were balled up into fists and her glare was contagious. He returned the scowl.
"You could've just called me." She murmured, using her only free arm to tug at the bodice of her gown. Artemis didn't grace the comment with a reply, just took her other hand to slowly guide them toward the dance floor. Arching a brow, Sophie protested lightly.
"We are both full knowledgeable on the extent of my handicap." She pursed her lips, but didn't pull away. "Do you remember the last time we dance?"
"Together?"
Her response was to roll her smoky eyes. "No, with the flowers."
"You weren't—were not—that terrible of a partner. My feet were a little numb afterward, put apart from that."
Sophie scowled even more deeply to keep from giggling, then lifted her left stiletto over his shoe. Before she could stab him with her designer footwear, Artemis slid his foot away carefully and wrapped around her waist and they were dancing.
"Oh bloody hell."
It honestly was not so awful. Still. She didn't like being so close to Artemis. It wasn't safe for either of them. He might get some more…unreasonable ideas or assumptions. Not that he wouldn't be a complete gentleman about any actions put forth. Sophie knew and trusted these facts…but still. One could never be too…
She was swung back for a dip, gritting her teeth. "The git isn't going to make this easy." It was not so much the movement that was the problem as it was the music and how to move. Another twirl. She was flung in and out, hitting her nose against the chest of her partner. The black, Armani-clad chest of her handsome partner. Gasping slightly, Sophie reeled back only to find her left wrist and waist back in a vise-like grip, yet again. When he pulled his hand back after an undeterminable amount of seconds, Sophie could not move. Anything. Her legs were frozen, as were both arms. "Wait…" Only her neck and face remained movable.
Artemis's expression was carefully blank, save a small smirk of satisfaction curving his hips and playing about the corners of his eyes. An eerie reminder of his vampire nature.
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It had been a mere mistake that Artemis came by the blueprints for Foaly's mint-sized "Freeze-Ease" ray. Cheesy as the name was, the device was worth 100 times its weight in usefulness. The centaur had developed the tiny thing in his apprentice days, some 400-odd years ago. He had left it on file too, too sentimental to destroy it, too busy to improve his designs. However, Artemis was not in anyway too busy. He saw grand potential in the tiny incapacitator had and quickly moved to copy and further develop the bug.
The genius of the little bug was in that it virtually froze the limbs of the victim while still keeping their vitals at normal rates. Through the laser the body's functions were stunned to the muscles, leaving them unable to move. Depending on the setting, the unfortunate person could still move certain body parts. For example, the beam could be focused on the upper or lower body. The face, and arm holding a gun, legs about to jump. Something like a painless, focused version of the Star Trek stunners. If released to LEP personal, it would've been a simple kind of fairy mace or stun guns.
The only objection: to "freeze" anyone the person holding the bug would have to be very close. Practically within less than a meter for any decent shot. Because of the laser's intensity, it would've been impossible to incapacitate the target from any greater distance.
As far as Artemis's model had tried run it had only been tested five times; carelessly on a few employees, once on Butler (he had offered his service, seeing as his favourite maid, Margaret, had been a victim and several of those employees had quit and threatened legal action) and now on Sophia.
Artemis savored in his victory. He had worried dancing would've raised her pulse far too much for the tiny bug to work. One other fluke of the tool happened to be if the target had too high of a pulse, or wasn't already fairly relaxed, the beam wouldn't pass through the excited blood stream. But that hadn't played a factor in this situation. Sophie was naturally relaxed around him when she had alcohol in her system and in comparison to kickboxing and other sports she occasional played, the dancing was to be equal to taking a walk in the park. Sophie was defeated. That was all that mattered.
His plan had been a simple one: dance with Sophie, freeze Sophie, talk to Sophie. Months ago he had inserted the mint-sized bug into his ring, dead center as a false stone. Simple touching her arm gently sufficed. In the large group of people dancing no one would notice two people just standing, even if one of those persons was the host.
"Now Sophie." He said quietly. "I have an offer for you." Just to take advantage of the situation, he moved a step closer to press one hand to the base of her neck and use the other to smooth out the lines of worry creasing her pale face. There were not panic lines yet. "Good." He wanted her as close to the stages of calm as possible. She was making this easy. He suspected that she relied on some meditation/inner peace skills she's acquired in India five years ago. Exactly what he had planned on and the satisfaction warmed him.
But now she was talking.
"I don't want-"
"You haven't even heard my pitch." He said patiently. "I'm sure if you listen, my darling Sophia, we can find a compromise pleasing to both parties. Namely you and myself."
Sophie hated it when he called her "My darling Sophia". The pet name (for he said it like a true name) made her feel like a prized Persian cat.
"No."
Artemis frowned. He had at least expected her to be interested. The "darling Sophia" usually caught her attention enough to let him proceed on with any offer he had to sell. Rather, tonight she instantly turned him down. It was unlike her. But she had been more resistant this year than he was use to. Did she really find him so untrustworthy? He brushed the though aside.
"Sophia." He began. "This is-"
However, he was cut short by her lips locking on to his.
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Nearly every year Artemis brought up the offer of marriage or courtship. And ever year that offer was very painful for both of them. She refused (albeit kindly) and he turned cold. Like clockwork, he pushed it. By year four Sophie thought he had changed too much for her to ever accept and by year five stopped crying after the fated proposal. For Artemis it was the year John the professor enter Sophie's life, the year she stopped crying. She had moved on and he had not. So he stopped asking and started planning.
Before he stopped, Sophie always imagined the ritual becoming tradition, even after they long stopped loving each other. She was married with children and he asked. He had started losing the colour in his hair, even some hairs with it, and he asked. She was going through a mid-life crisis and he asked. They were both in their 60s and 70s respectively, in wheel chairs and walkers, taking 10 or more medications a day, wearing floral and baggy clothing, with hearing aids and grandchildren and he asked.
So on the night of the gala, Sophie assumed he was trying again after a 3-year hiatus. The timing was off, true (he typically asked toward the end of her stay, usually on the first day of the last week. This saved them at lot of unnecessary avoiding and uncomfortable silences if it only went on for a week. But Sophie had just kick off on her second week, halfway through her stay he couldn't just ask!), but that might not stop him. Maybe he was asking again. She was horribly wrong and at the same time astoundingly correct.
At that time Sophie was not sure if she could handle the question without bursting into tears in this crowd of strangers, unable to move, unable to run away. Over the last days, ever since the opera, she had questioned her original reasons for leaving. She had left because she didn't feel like she could be accepted into his world, his family. Also because she thought it was unsafe—someone was looking for her, always. If Artemis had figured her out, who else? The temperamental Russians? He had more than enough of his own problems plenty similar. She didn't want Sasha to live alone for so long. She wasn't his equal intelligence wise. She had lied about who she was and there was not way he could still feel for her, Sophia Iver, the same way he felt for Tara Gavin. They were different people. She didn't like the idea of a restraining life of a billionaire's wife. Serious in public, quiet, non-spontaneous, fake smiles and big diamonds. Nothing she would want for herself. She would ruin his business, she would be bad publicity. He wouldn't be happy with her; she wasn't who he proposed to.
There were a hundred reasons.
Artemis wasn't any happier without her (that could be because he dwelled on the past too much), his company was not doing any worse or better than if she had stayed (this was because Artemis was naturally an excellent businessman), his health was declining (he was getting older, though) and he wasn't moving on (not her fault, it was his choice). The last two could really just be quirks that made Artemis Artemis, but still. Sophie was starting to feel some heat from herself regarding those past actions.
"I was twenty-one, for gods' sake!" She mentally scolded. "Far to young for engagement, let alone marriage to anybody! I was trying to save us both from an unhappy union."
It was her firm conviction that she would not waver. She would not change her mind. She had said no, she meant no. Besides, now she had a real, safe life, a good one at that. Friends, family, a career on the rise, a beautiful home, everything she'd always wanted for herself and Sasha. No illegal business, no escaping-by-second jobs, no fear. True, there was now no Sassy to share it with, but at least it was there and real. She would not change. She would not accept him, she didn't want that anymore.
"Then why is it so hard to keep from crying at the thought of never seeing him again?" Her sister's voice inquired.
When Artemis stared to explain his grand plan yet again ("…children, Sophie! The Manor, the family…we'd all be so content!") Sophie did the one thing possible to shut him up. With limited mobility, she could just kick him in the shin and run, so she had to be a little more creative. What she opted for was something a little mess and certainly personal. It was truly lucky that he had placed himself so close and that she had better reflexes.
To save herself shattering emotional pain, Sophie did something her imaginary psychiatrist would have an aneurysm over: she kissed the object of her pain. Not a peck or the pressing of one set of lips to another but something a little more personal.
Artemis's response was instant. One hand moved to dance about her waist. Sophie moaned. Eight years she missed out on this, gods she felt stupid. Had he gotten better? Like aged wine, somehow Artemis had beefed up on the making out skills. She almost forgot they were on a dance floor, and a crowded one at that, until he started pulling her off of it.
"Where?" She managed. He swooped to kiss the place were her neck met her shoulders.
"Garden."
That was how sometime later Sophie found her back pressed against the trunk of a rather large tree, her hands clamped to Artemis's skull, entwined in his salt-and-pepper hair, mouth firmly implanted on his. Magically, she could move of her own free will again. She was certainly proving it. Her goal was achieved, but she didn't seem able to quite finish the distraction.
"Sophie." Artemis murmured against her skin. "Sophie, I-"
Suddenly, he froze. Sophie felt his hands stop making the circle patterns on her waist. In seconds her arms were empty. She caught sight of him backing away, shaking his head, eyes dark with fury. Realizing, she choked. "Artemis, Artemis, please, I didn't—I didn't mean-"
But he stalked off, back to the lights of the gala, hair rumpled. Sophie, miserable, sat down on a stone bench to right herself, regained her poise, and followed. He must have taken a turn she hadn't seen, for he wasn't ahead of her on the path. It didn't matter. She decided to return to the party, using the lights as her guide.
How could she do that to poor Artemis? Hadn't he suffered enough by her hand? "He had tried to hurt you, too. And he's done similar to you over the years." her sister's voice pointed out.
"Yes, but I've done worse, tenfold worse." Sophie shot back tiredly. There was no real reason for arguing with herself.
"Who can judge that?"
"Artemis, that's who." She snapped. So much for not arguing.
As she edged toward the dance floor, one of the guests stumbled into her. The short woman, wearing a powder blue ruffled tablecloth, excused herself so loudly that other guests looked over, frowning and whispering to their partner. But the stout woman took no notice, just readjusted her glasses and hooted loudly. Sophie winced.
"Oh! Miss Iver! My, my, it's been suuh longggg! 's fiancée, aren't you? Have you 'ad the punch, it's faantastick!" Bits of spittle flew out with her words.
Sophie grimaced. The spit itself was bad, but the fiancée question was far worse. The woman, who was Mrs. Bennet, the wife of one of Artemis's top employees in Fowl Industry, was quite fond of alcoholic beverages, as Sophie knew from previous incidences. Apparently she had been generous with the punch tonight. This caused her to verbalize a thought many who saw Sophie had repeatedly. "Why, she looks uncommonly similar to dear Mr. Fowl's late fiancée!"
The world had been told Tara Gavin was dead, perished in an airplane crash eight years ago, shortly after her engagement. Many felt pity for the Iver girl, the "replacement". Some were appalled with Artemis. But nobody mentioned this to Sophia, so she was content. The story did its job. Few questions were asked. With her once a year appearance, there was little opportunity for suspicions to be voiced (she guessed Artemis said she was some missionary, a good excuse for her absences).
Now Mrs. Bennet was speaking the unanimous thought.
"Hello, Mrs. Bennet." Sophie replied kindly. "You've got my name right, but I'm afraid I'm not Mr. Fowl's fiancée. He's currently unengaged. Can I help you with anything?" She asked in a rush as the woman staggered to the right.
"No, no my dear." She giggled. "I'm fine. What a great parteeh!"
"Right." Sophie murmured, the offered her arm. "Why don't we go sit down?"
"Alright." Mrs. Bennet consented to being lead away. "To get more punch? Punchy-punch!" She giggled again.
"Um, no, we'll just sit, shall we?" Sophie asked as the older woman stumbled. "How is your husband?"
"Oh, I don't know, probably shagging that waitressssss." Mrs. Bennet said, irritated. "I give him three, three, beootiful children and the man can't bloody-"
Not wanting to hear this woman's life story, Sophie interrupted swiftly. "Have you seen Master Fowl lately."
"Eh, no I haven't."
That was when she saw him. He was chatting up some investor and laughing at something the fellow had said. Surprisingly, it was a real laugh. She stared, unable to look away. He looked like Artemis again, happy. Her cheerful Arty, her Artemis darling. The one who ordered her meal in the restaurant while she was in the bathroom and remembering to ask that the tomatoes be held. The Artemis who surprised her with a huge blank canvas of a room, endless supplies, and a work team.
But then he caught her eye and the laughter faded. Neither broke eye contact. The intensity of both gazes could have powered a city, it was so electrical. It wasn't until his friend looked over as well to see what Artemis was staring at. Artemis distracted him by speaking again, then glanced over with a smirk before leaving. Sophie remembered the woman yammering beside her just in time to catch the tail end of the woman's rant.
"-So gud that you are to accompanty Mister Fuwl on the expedition-"
Sophie's head snapped around. "What expedition?"
Mrs. Bennet was irritated at being interrupted again, especially over such a stupid question. "The one Miss Hill told me about."
Sophie stood. "I must go, Mrs. Bennet. Sorry, personal business. Why don't you lay off the drinks for tonight, eh? "
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"Ms. Hill."
The woman turned around to be surprised by the sight of a fretful Tara Iver. The girl (well, hardly a girl now, she was nearing thirty) looked something near panicked, her eyes wide and hands in fists.
"Miss Iver, are you alright?" She asked, concerned.
"Yes. I was—that is I…did you speak to Mrs. Bennet of some expedition Ar—Mr. Fowl and myself—are…are to"
"Yes, the one you are setting off for next week." Ms. Hill cut her off kindly, albeit confused. "Why? Master Fowl said it was-"
Sophie did not wait for the older woman to finish. Instead, she tore through the crowd (it was quite hard in such a restricting dress). For nearly twenty minutes she searched, growing more and more panicked every second. Artemis had disappeared. On the single time she actually seeks him out, the billionaire was gone. He completely vacated the dance floor, gardens, dining hall, entrance hall, grand staircase…
"He would do it just to spite me." Sophie assured herself.
Another fifteen minutes passed and she found him discussing foreign policy with some ambassador. Ignoring normal etiquette, she approached. Touching his arm lightly, Sophie gave the man stand across from them a dazzling smile and turned to Artemis.
"Darling, you know I absolutely hate to bother you, but there's an emergency in the study and you simply must attend to it immediately."
"Your wife, Mr. Fowl?" asked the dignitary.
"Who, me?" Sophie feigned shock. "Oh no, no no! Artemis and I are merely friends. I've been managing his household on those awful business trips." She leaned in to fix Artemis's lapel. "He has them all too often, don't you, Artemis darling?" Her pout was very convincing.
"The study?" Artemis prompted softly.
She clapped her hands, as if so joyful of the reminder. "Right! Of course! It's complete chaos…"
Slightly embarrassed, Artemis lead her away by the arm, throwing an apologetic glance back to the man they left behind. The pair went across the dance floor, dodging twirling partners, indoors, up the grand staircase, downing halls until they reached the door to Artemis's study. It faced the drive, the opposite side of the party. Sophie bet the moon could be seen through one of the windows, a crest of white.
"What chaos?" His voice's coolness was in glacier proportions.
"I need to talk to you."
Not even making another sound, he turned back toward the direction of the stairs. Growling, Sophie huffed after him.
"You are a truly spectacular host! Threatening your guest, stunning your guest, walking off on your guest during a crisis and let's not forget the random expedition you've planned to take said guest on, might I add, without telling said guest!"
Artemis froze for approximately 16 seconds, then swung round to drag his appreciative guest into the study. Slamming the door, he let out a long, very annoyed, breath. While Artemis abused the 138-year-old door (installed by his great-grandfather, Arthur Demsy Fowl), Sophie settled in her usual winged armchair in front of the desk. It was not an unusual scene. Artemis moved to stare at "Persephone", back to said guest. Said guest gritted her teeth and prepared for an unpleasantly long wait. To her surprise, it only took Artemis two minutes to gather himself.
"Who told you?"
"That is of little importance." Sophie replied, her voice strained. "Tell me exactly what you have planned, Artemis Fowl, and perhaps I won't leave in five minutes. Maybe I'll be generous and spare another ten."
Instinctively, they both had mental reactions to the demand. Sophie tried to recall where her escape bag was and Artemis tightened both hands into fists.
"I tried to explain this to you tonight, while we were dancing."
"When you stunned me, you mean? What was that, by the way? I haven't seen anything like it on the market. No matter, keep explaining."
Of course she was still on the market. Of course. Eight years retired and the habit hadn't faded.
"You did not allow me the chance to explain. "
"So start! Expedition: Where, why, who, what's in it for me?"
"It's in the Andes."
"The Mountains?"
"No, the music group. Yes, the mountain range in South America. There is some…artifacts there that I am interested in finding."
"Really? Artifacts?" Sophie barked a laugh. "Are you sure you don't mean gold? Hidden native's treasures? El Dorado, Artemis?"
"No quite." He said calmly. "Incan treasures."
"So I'm right." She shot out, eyes flashing. "You want the gold."
"No, it is more than that. I want the accomplishment, I want to find the elusive history." He corrected.
"Then why do you need me, Artemis? I can't speak Spanish as well as you can, or Portuguese at all. I can't mountain climb exceptionally well, I fail at any map reading… you know all this! Why do you need me?"
"You have an Art History degree."
"Me and over several million people. A few more of them actually care about it too."
"Yes, but you have more than that, you can tell the difference between metals, minerals and stones. You know your natural stone facts. You know the history and the value. You can be my editor. What era, style, reigning monarch, part of the country, materials—you have everything and then some, Sophie. I need you for this one. "
"I can't just leave! I didn't pack for a trip to Columbia!" A pathetic excuse, he would buy anything she need without her even asking. "It's dangerous, we have no proof! It's a myth and—I can't just leave! I have things at home… who knows how long it will take?"
"Two weeks, Sophia. Two weeks and then I will take you straight to New York. I swear. And we will find it, Sophie, I promise."
She bit her lip. The offer was…good. Not to long, just the same amount of time she had planned to stay in Ireland. With Artemis at her side, there was no way they couldn't find it, if it existed. But she couldn't spend two weeks with Artemis in the Andes! It was the mountains for gods' sake! Neither of them knew the terrain or anything about survival there.
"Artemis…Artemis, you can't expect me just to go…you can't! I've got obligations, family…I-"
"It is a good thing then," Artemis replied, standing, a smirk playing about the corners of his mouth. "That I didn't expect you to agree."
And then there was darkness. Sophie was out, dead cold.
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Oh I do love my cliffhangers! The next chapter will be out hopefully over the weekend, for it's short. Then expect chapter 6 the weekend after. My computer ban has been lifted, but I do have play practice to look forward to soon. We'll see what happens. All will be explained next chappie! It's much shorter than this one, thank goodness. Twelve pages, over 7,000 words total. Yes, I'm good. But now it will take me forevah to edit this one…
Hey, don't you think for such a juicy, nice, long chapter I deserve a review?
~Dania