I've just come to a conclusion! Artemis looks like the lead singer of Maroon 5, just paler, darker hair, clean-shaven, and with a deeper voice. And Irish. God, I love the voice on the audio books. If you haven't heard them, I suggest you going to the web site and listen to 5 minutes or so. It's possibly the hottest Irish voice EVER! Remember, folks, this is coming from an American living in Hicktown USA, anything European is beautiful to be. Well, not the unshaved legs. That's not pretty.
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When his fiancé came to him at one am with a blindfold and determined look in her eye, Artemis was scared. He had been up going over some last minute details on some speech he had to give at some ceremony. Tara was in her work clothes with red, puffy eyes, and the air of high excitement. Normally he'd be worried that she was up so early. Or rather, late. She liked her sleep. One in the morning was too early for her.
"It's done." She explained to his skeptical look. "My studio. I've finished."
They'd been engaged for a full month, it was now July. There hadn't been any ring, though Artemis was market. He couldn't find anything unique enough. Or so, as far as Tara knew.
Artemis reluctantly agreed to follow. All the way up Tara chattered about how she had to reorder fabric, install speaker, refinish tables, sand, et cetera. Judging from her perkiness, Artemis guessed she had made herself a cup of coffee before coming to fetch him. He would have forced her to sleep if she had arrived in his study tired and dull, dragging her to the bedroom himself, tucking her in, stroking her cheek, singing some Italian aria in a soft voice. "It will take her hours to shake that off." He internally moaned. "She'll be crashed all day."
In recent weeks she had stayed up late working, and slept often. She avoided his office, taking a longer route around the door to get to her room, even if it wore her out. Knowing he would have scolded cause her to stay away. It took a lot of patients to deal with Artemis, and Tara just didn't have it now after having spent all day yelling at power tools and people on phones. They hadn't really spent all that much time together, either. "We'll have to remedy that." Oh, how he had missed her.
She stopped and turned. Artemis realized they had arrived. The huge dark cherry door stood before him, new and shiny and magical. Carved vines with springy leaves and flowers lined the edges, while in the smooth center a polished brass plaque read in a stylish calligraphy "Studio". Tara caught his eye, nodding for him to open it himself. Placing his hand on the cool, polished, brass handle, he complied.
The first thing he noticed was the colour. It was a warm, golden topaz, accented with midnight blue that glowed. Then he noticed the room was smaller. Two dividers that were custom made stood, a foot off from across each other, making a doorway similar to that of a public bathroom without a door, making it to where you could see inside the next room, but barely. The dividers held art, books, and memorabilia. One the side that he currently stood the room was used as an entertainment station with a flat screen and media center, along with a stereo cabinet tucked into one corner.
A huge cream sectional sofa and armchair on top of the rug Artemis recognized from the basement storage pulled it together. Off to the side, in front of the right divider a bar stood, stained to match the door and baseboards, complete with wine glasses. In the left corner by the furthest divider a sculpture stood, a flat black colour, abstract, curving into nothingness that you only realized too late to mean something profound.
Tara crossed to the armchair, plopping herself down and swiveling to face him, still in the doorway. Taking her lead, Artemis followed, looking at the shelves. She had installed the shelves herself, painting the back a different colour than the wall, or lining it with mirrors in some random pattern, something she'd seen in a magazine. About two yard from the sculpture and the end of the shelves a niche in the wall broke up the wall. A mural, probably by Tara, illuminated by tiny lights on the arch of the overhead drywall. It was an Asian inspired image with swirls of smoky mist and mountains. Characters spelled out inspiring messages around it, almost like a frame, in many different alphabets. Written in Sanskrit "Ham-sa" with "I honor the divinity that resides within me" under it in calligraphy. Ham-sa meaning "I am that" and the other referring to whatever talents one may own, and in case Tara's artistic mind and hands.
They were words to calm, words to infuse hope into a despairing mind. Perfect for his girlfriend when her creativity is low. Not spiritual in the religious way, but in the confident way. The way that opened your mind to possibilities.
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She was a little curious as to why Artemis had remained paused in front of her mural. Maybe he didn't like it. It was a little religious, something Artemis wasn't too keen on. It wasn't that he didn't like religion in general; he just didn't like it in his décor. Neither did Tara, but the Sanskrit word were ones she found stimulating to her creative mind.
He continued circling the room until he got to her chair, where he swooped down to playfully kiss her neck. Tara happily returned the favour, asking if he wanted to seek the studio part. Nodding he let her take his hand and pull him past the dividers.
The second room was a different colour, a cream similar to the couch. More neutral to accent any canvases she turned out. An orange wall to a blue toned abstract would look weird, so as a rule she only painted studios in the neutral whites. The back wall, old gray brick with arched medieval windows stayed as a reminder to where, exactly, the artist was. A down-to-earth message. The windows, beautiful, timeless, original glass and all were framed with sheer curtain, a deeper colour to the walls, floating in the midnight breezes.
A scrubbed wooden table with a more modern stainless steel counter with a sink capping the end to make an "L" with a short tail was the centerpiece. The foot-high ledge that had once gone around the perimeter was knocked out to be replaced with brick matching the back wall, including tan capstones, smooth to make seating. Cabinets lined the right wall, filled with supplies. A computer settled in one corner, along with an expensive printer and a wide selection of paper. Easels, five in total, antique, handcrafted too, all sat in a row, complete with blank white canvases.
Artemis once again walked around, examining every speck. Under normal circumstances Tara would have been nervous, but lack of sleep and a certain longing for her bed made her a little pre occupied. She leaned back in the computer chair she ordered custom, black leather with green corduroy trim, watching him intent, yet careless. She just wanted him to critique it quickly so she could go to bed.
Artemis, nearly done, looked up. He has been curious as to the source of light. High in the clean wooden rafter beams lights winked back at him. Spot lights, each at different altitudes. It was genius. Well, for her intellect, anyhow. In areas that were naturally bright, such as places near the windows, she'd put the lights higher, so the illumination would be duller. Looking closely, each light had a black device at their base, square and thick. It was a system invented by her to, at the click a remote, lower the light via nylon cord in said black device. In areas that she suddenly needed more light in, she could press a button and get it in a matter of seconds. Maybe she could even angle them too. He guessed she put dimmers in the media center, the kind you could soften to your liking with a switch. It was a nice touch for that theater look.
Finally he was done. He turned his piecing gaze back to Tara, crossing the gleaming hardwood floors in swift, measured footsteps. Yawning, Tara inquired after his reaction. I'd better make this quick. She looked like she was about to pass out at any moment, coffee or no, she was tired.
"It's exquisite." He answered quietly. "You did an excellent job. I know you did more than was required."
She shrugged. It wasn't like it had been some huge, boring project. She had been eager to start, happy to comply, welcoming the project with open arms and fresh cookies. Tara had been bored. This had been salvation, distracting and agreeably so. Sore back, aching knees, red puffy eyes….nothing compared to the sense of accomplishment that came with plugging in the electronics, the last task on the list, after she had swept, dusted, and polished everything one last time.
" Really." He insisted. "I love it. I almost wish I had chosen art as my career choice; however, the data showing most artists receive fame and money only after their dead really did not appeal to me. Any Da Vinci would be envious of a studio such as this."
Sighing which pleasure, Tara merely smiled, gesturing him to follow. They arrived at the bar, and she poured some wine, a bottle of '48 from Fowl estates in Italy. Raising her glass, she said softly "To the future."
Artemis nodded, raised his own glass, and sipped, watching her intently. She took a small drink herself, then looked up, meeting his eyes. Hers were unusually dark, wide, and nearly….terrified. Of what?
"Your eyes." Tara said quietly.
He turned round to the mirror hanging above the bar. Wide blue eyes met his. Two wide blue eyes. He had forgotten to remove his contact! It was so late he hadn't expected anyone to bother him. It was in because of a video conference he had at 11, but he's been so caught up in plans…Yes, he's accidentally kept it in before when with Tara, but he assumed she hadn't noticed, or didn't care.
"Yes?" He asked, voice a little cooler than previously.
She scowled, annoyed with his answer that did not exist. "Are they usually that colour, Artemis?"
"It depends."
"On?"
"My mood. They turn darker when I'm frustrated. And the same colour when I'm homicidal."
The joke was intended to relieve the sudden tension over his eye colour- Silly thing to have stress over-but only made things worse. Fear was now very apparent in Tara's body language, wide eyes, tighten joints, faster heart rate.
"They're contacts, Tara. I use them during business meetings." Best to tell the truth, it's be more obvious and comforting.
"Why?" Her body hadn't relaxed a hint, though she took some deep breaths she tried best to hide.
Bemused, he reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but allowed the action. Carefully, Artemis caressed her shoulder, trying to calm her. Maybe it's the alcohol. But she'd barely had a mouthful! The coffee then? It's bad?
"I had the same colour eyes when I was younger. Since most of my photos that are circulated through public media are take in the period to where I still had identical eyes, any business associates tend to be edgy when they see the colour change. It's just a contact. Nothing supernatural." He said easily, pulling her toward the couch. She shivered under his arms, still spooked.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I'm tired, it's late. Can I go to bed?"
She shouldn't have asked. He thought, entertain. She could have just left with a "good night" and he'd been unable to stop her. But now…
Instead of being grilled about what was bothering her, instead of being needlessly analyzed, Tara was surprised. Artemis sank to the floor on one knee, pulling a tiny black box out of one pocket.
"Tara-" He began, his voice soft, and confident, and shaky, and filled with worry, and joy, and admiration, and love, and hope and…and…
If he could have screamed curses to the sky he would have. But he didn't want to wake her.
Once again, she had passed out during a proposal. At least this time it had been exhaustion, and not shock. Or, so it appeared. He wouldn't really know until she awoke.
Walking to the brass intercom box beside the door, he wonder if this was how married life was really going to be…was she going to faint when told she was pregnant? When they reached their 25 anniversary? When he bought her the many expensive gifts he was already writing down in a big notebook labeled "TARA'S GIFT IDEAS"? At the very least, it would be eventful…something to tell the kids.
He pressed the button, instructed Juliet to aid him in carrying the future Mrs. Fowl downstairs, then proceed to fall back on to the spacious sectional with Tara. Juliet Butler said it would take her about 50 minutes to get up there, she was on a call with Butler and still doing rounds. Unlike her sibling, refused to stop everything for Artemis' whims even if it was "Important".
And for tonight, that suit the Fowl heir just fine.
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The morning after found Tara in bed with a killer hangover and need for entertainment once again. The hangover was from the caffeine, not the wine. She had found out long ago that if she consumed great amounts she would have head ache the next day. If she had any right before she went to bed, it wasn't just a headache, but a sore neck. Seemingly related but unknown, it was custom.
The entertainment part was her realization that the studio was done. On the upside she could now paint. On the down, she was expected to be popping out masterpieces. Artemis, a gifted artist and forger himself, expected her to make thing worthy of a museum. Seeing as their personal ideas of quality art differed, Tara did not see happy times ahead when their conversation turned to her job. She thought that most of the new things seen in museums were crap, junk, or offensive to be call "Art". A slap in the face to the profession. A pile of garbage isn't something to be put on display. She reasoned. That's why is garbage, and that's why wealthy fools see it as "art". It's junk, junk that's been professionally arranged, and junk they can afford. A slap in the face to real artist and to people less better off who are smart enough to throw away trash.
So Sophia sat, pondering, doing her best to avoid the splintering pain in her skull. Looking for a distraction, she swept her view about the room. Her interest rested on a shelf near the back of the room, beside the closet, right of the French doors. In light footsteps, counting the seconds, Sophia crossed to the selected row, pulling out a large pink hard back by Meg Cabot, peering into the space left behind. Grinning, she removed a black book, dusty and untouched since its find about a month or two ago.
She flopped back down on to the comforter, opening to the back. It hadn't been open, not a single word read. People normally signed the last entry; she was looking for a name.
-Today she left. Part of me had seen it coming, like one sees a fist moving toward their face, but neither ducks of grabs the hand to stop it. She left, trying to avoid me. Have we become so broken she'd leave without any farewell?—
-I'm in Italy now. Maybe I've come to terms with it. I can't tell, I haven't tried. The only way to know it to fall…again. How can I know if I am up for it? Perhaps this time I will not only fall, but stumble, make contact with the ground, and never get up to fall again…-
Sophia dropped the book in a flash, recoiling, jumping from the bed as if it were a deadly snake, a cobra, striking, laughing at her. It was obvious now that the book was Artemis'. She hadn't expected it to be anyone's…anyone who was alive. An old, long dead Fowl wife maybe, but her fiancée's? If she had known…if she had known she would have never…
"Oh get a grip!" She scolded. "You know you would have read it just the same, even a little! It's your nature, Sophia!"
All the same, she returned the book to its place and left to the studio, opting to have some strong tea this morning instead of the usual Columbian blend.
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Hours later, in the evening, Tara was somewhere off limits, once again doing something she shouldn't be doing.
Artemis' study. His private study. The one she had been silently forbade to enter without permission.
Well, she needed that book! One on ancient Norse myth he'd told her about, the book he's found in Germany six years ago. And she had a surprise for Artemis. An old 1st edition of a book on relative space theory, written by an old mentor of Stephen Hawking. The information itself was way out of date, but the book was worth a lot, and a priceless sentimental addition to Artemis' collection; it was one of his first relative space books he'd ever read at the tender age of 7, and his favorite, even if it wasn't current.
She had been hanging around for nearly an hour in a little alcove that was made up of a shelf jetting out about 2 and half meters, hiding that corner from the rest of the room, save Artemis' desk, which was directly horizontal from it. Another shelf, disconnected from the others along the wall, stood dead center, creating a column with two entry points on either side. That made it so if Artemis was leaning back in his chair, he could see in easily. She planned to sit in one of the armchairs inside, and wait until he was distracted, then jump out. If it was obvious he was busy, or not in the mood to be surprised, a back door, one leading to a tiny spiral staircase, would be used the moment he was distracted.
So she waited. And waited…
Finally, as the last pink clouds of light disappeared from the horizon, Artemis arrived. With cup of Earl Grey in hand, in simply a dress shirt and pants, carrying a manila folder, he settled in his chair, looking expectant. After a few silent moments of nothing, he sighed and examined his nails, bored.
A sudden tap broke the reverie, coming from god knows where. From Tara's crouched position behind the largest chair in the alcove she couldn't see its source, but suspected it to be the door when Artemis call "Come in."
But the taps sounded like they were from force on glass, not wood. They could be from the window…? Somebody outside on the old oak?
Tara's musing was broken by Artemis greeting.
"Hello, Holly."
The girl froze. Holly? That was a woman's name…"No!" She reprimanded her over-active imagination. "She's probably just an employee, or associate! Nothing more."
Then why did he did he sound so happy to see this "Holly"? Tara shuddered. It sounded like some stupid stick model's name. She knew she wasn't exactly Vogue perfection, but…
"Stop!" She roared. "Do you have so little confidence in him? He loves you!"
"Artemis!" Holly greeted warmly. "Good to see you again. I'm afraid I bear bad news-"
That sounded friendly, not flirty and seductive. Like an old friend. Not—not that.
"One of the sisters is Tara? She's living under my roof? I know. Old news, Major."
She sank to the floor silently. Oh. My. God. This was worse than Artemis cheating on her. Far, far worse. How did he know? Why hadn't he killed her? Tortured her mercilessly? Holly, or who ever she worked for, must have been the ones looking. They were dead. Dead.
Sophia did not move. She listened, hoping to find a clue as to how he knew this.
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I am soooooo sorry this took so long. I was gone, and my beta had some emergencies. Unfortuantly, she had to quit. So chapter 25 was the last chapter with good grammar. Sorry, my darlings.
On the bright side, I am nearly completely done. Everything besides 39 and 40 is done, typed…just not edited. That's what I'm doing tonight. Expect everything up to 39 this next week. But I must warn you, school is starting on the 14th. Ah, who knows, I might get this sucker done by then!!
Sorry again. Please review.
Dania